Old Boots Never Die

I finally had to pony up for a new pair of hiking boots but it feels like I am betraying the pair purchased a mere six years ago. These boots have carried me over miles of jungle, hammered over portions of the Appalachian Trail, climbed over fallen logs, squished through swamp edges, splashed through puddles, slogged through mud up to their shoelaces, have been sprayed, powdered, debugged, hosed down, scuffed and banged, not to mention squashed by long hours of supporting my body as it swayed to and fro while searching the tops of tree branches looking for anything with wings.

My old boots have been faithful friends. They are part of my history of exploring this world. You can see the worn suede where the shoelaces were pulled tight, the permanent curve in the shoe where my foot breaks over, the trail dirt embedded in the metal lace ties. There are faded grass stains on the toes. The tongue is torn on the right boot. The treads are flattening out. I slipped several times last summer. By the end of a day of birding, my feet were sore and blistered. It was time for them to retire.

But I cannot just toss them into the trash. They have been a part of me too long. They are full of good memories of striding along woodland paths or slipping through the rain forest at dawn. I’ve lost count of how many birds I have seen while standing firm in them on this uncertain earth. They still speak to me of possibilities, of places to explore and discover, spiraling pathways and rocky trails. Just because they are getting old and worn does not mean they are useless. There is a wisdom in these old boots, a reminder to never stop seeking my own path. 

I have a new pair now and have been clumping around the house in them to be sure they are comfy. Yesterday, we took our maiden voyage around the lake, up and down our mountain roads. They are light, stick to the slopes and waterproof. But like all good friendships, it will take awhile to get comfortable and learn how much I can trust them in unfamiliar territory, find out just how supportive they will be when the going gets tough. But I expect we will do just fine in our walks into wonder. Want to come along?

Guest Blogger! Mom & the Florida Cardinals

Mom & Dad know what is important in life....

"Yesterday I went outside when it finally began to warm up.  The freeze this year set new records for cold and the length of time it stayed in this part of south Florida.  I couldn’t save most of our plants and the hibiscus tree will take quite a while to recover BUT I had been able to wrap up my orchid tied into that tree.  It has been there for a year and a half  and didn’t seem to be doing anything.   Then as the cold weather was sweeping down from the north sending us all indoors, I was astonished to see a lovely dark red orchid flower in my hibiscus tree.  Who ever heard of orchids flowering in January?  Is that a good omen?  Who knows?
At any rate, I cut the orchid and brought into the house to make sure I could enjoy its beauty and then went out and wrapped the whole plant in my best quilt batting.  Tied it carefully to shut out as much of the cold as I could.
After three days of keeping my plant in the dark, and tempted by temperatures in the 60’s, I decided to take off the wrapping and let it get some light and sun.  As I began to unwrap the many layers of batting I was aware a bird had landed in the tree not far from where I was working.  I stood very still, just letting my eyes roam around to spot the bird – ah, a female cardinal.  She was chirping away and never looked in my direction.  I was pretty sure she knew I was there so I spoke in a soft voice to welcome her.  Then I sang the pretty bird words in a kind of sing-song manner – she still stayed so I began to work again but very slowly. 
Then she flew into a nearby tree where I heard a lot of chirping going on and  a few minutes later she was back, this time with a bright red companion.  She went to the front of the tree, but her buddy came to my side, perched on a branch about two feet away from where I stood, and looked directly at me.  I have never in my life had a wild bird come so close.  I spoke softly to him and now worked at my unwrapping very, very slowly.   He didn’t reply to my overtures but he kept his eye on me.   Finally he flew to the branch where his lady was waiting and they had a little conversation – I had a feeling it was about me.
By that time I was finished unwrapping my pretty orchid so I just played with the leaves and the new bud for a while, and then took a different route to my door – I didn’t want to disturb the birds by passing too closely.  I have always felt lucky whenever I saw a cardinal in the tree outside our dinette window or anywhere else for that matter, but to have them fly in so close to me and stay awhile made me feel as if the day held the wonder of wonders in it."

Where's the Peanuts? 2010

Oak in the Seed posts seems to follow the seasons. You might remember last year's story about the Blue Jays rushing our deck on the frigid mornings for a few peanuts and black oil sunflower seeds. Well...they're back!

I'm hungry. What are the Deck People serving this morning?

 

 Look! Peanuts!

 Which one should I choose?

I'll help you decide!

 You take that one; I'll take this bigger one!

 

 This one is juuuust right!

 

 I have a feeling I am being watched.... 

I'm hungry.

 

SUMMONS: GRAND JURY

In a city in Passaic County, NJ, on the third floor of the courthouse administration building, there is a large rectangular room where a random group of men and women are gathering, summoned out of their lives by court order to do their duty as American citizens. Jury duty. I am sitting now, in this room, writing in my notebook and waiting for the show to begin.

It is almost 9:00AM. There is an aura of impatient anxiety in the room as people flip open their cell phones and tap out messages to someone in the outside world. A puzzle with most of its pieces waits on a front table. The sky is gray outside the tinted windows, exhausted from the exertions of this morning’s snow squalls.

Someone’s cell phone dings. A man on the other side of the room answers it. His voice is deep, resonant, floats like lava across the room, touching everyone. We learn he is speaking to Manny about Tom and Larry, and how he had been expected to be somewhere else this day. “That ain’t gonna happen, man,” he rumbles into his phone. “I’ve got jury duty.” He pauses, listening, then glances at the entry door where the stream of today’s jurors are still checking in. “I have no idea what’s gonna happen.”

Having served as a Petit Juror more times than I can count, there could be hours of waiting, followed by suddenly jumping up to follow a blue uniform to the courtroom of a judge for further selection. But this is Grand Jury this time. A Grand Jury decides whether or not there is sufficient evidence for a case to advance into the system. Petit Jurors must commit one to three days; Grand Jurors in NJ are required to serve two days a week for seven weeks. You can hear many cases in a day, not just one. AS A GROUP, we are our own legal entity and can ask questions and require witnesses to show up.

But I found this and more out later. Here I am, still sitting in the chair, writing and waiting for a blue uniform to give us the orders of the day. But suddenly, someone said, “ALL RISE,” for the Honorable Judge So-and So. A man in a black robe swept into the room and strode to the podium, then had a clerk swear us in. Be seated.  Out of the approximately 100 people who were assembled, two groups of 23 each would be randomly chosen via computer. As they began calling names, I sensed an energy spinning in the room and going into the back of my head.

I put my book away and zipped my bag closed. Swung my purse over my shoulder. We watched each person whose name was called sigh and roll their eyes before collecting their coats and walking to the line forming at the back of the room. There was a pause.

“Diane Brown.”

New Year's Resolutions - Not So Much

I do not engage in New Year's Resolutions for fear of disappointing myself when I don't live up to them. Resolutions are rules applied from the outside in and can be shucked off like this morning's bathrobe. The closest I will come is to create cliche generalities like, "Be happy," or "Find opportunities for love and laughter," that leave room for months of exploration and are impossible to criticize. To kickstart this "resolution," my husband and I have tickets to the movies tomorrow at a 3-D theater to see this year's (all two days of it, anyway) cinematography blockbuster, "Avatar." On the way home, we'll stop at Costco and maybe take out a membership so we can buy super-sized packages of paper towels and chocolate chips. January 2 should be a good day all around.


The only thing I will come close to resolving is something I want to do anyway, so it's win-win. It's hard to imagine turning away from butter and sugar but I confess to be pretty much cookied out now that the holidays are over. Celery sticks are beginning to look appetizing. Salads--YUM at any time. I will have no truck with DIETS as they only serve as another stick of guilt to whack myself with when I fall off the wagon on Fridays. It's not as if I don't know when to say "yes" and "no" but I agree with Harvey Steiman: "Everything in moderation-including moderation." (One of my greatest fears is getting run over by a tractor trailer after refusing a chocolate creme brulee). As the dark weeks of winter 2010 offers up its stews and scalloped potatoes and cheesy gratins, I will temper them with lettuce and carrots and apples, broccoli, lean meats and sugarless snacks.


But stay out of my bottom desk drawer.