The Saturday Breakfast Serial

This week I’m taking a break from the Serial.  :)  I may start a new one next week.  If you haven’t read the Desk, you may find all 8 chapters under the label “Saturday Breakfast Serial” in the side bar.

Have a great week end.

Tea for Tue: Our Lady of Guadalupe

Two years ago today, I painted this picture on the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  Here is the story that goes with the painting.

The Prayer

Three of us stand with canvases and easels in my friend's tiny home.  Her plush black cat looks on with ancient wisdom shining behind her benevolent and mildly curious gaze.  A stool in the corner holds brushes and paints.  I have never painted before.  Not on canvas.  We begin with a story and a journey.  And we begin with a prayer. Which writes itself in charcoal on my canvas.  We drum the canvas and we bathe it in rose water to invite the prayer in.

Did I mention?  It is the feast day of Guadalupe.

The Vision

I see her in my mind's eye.  She fills the cosmos.  She is woven into the fabric of the universe.  She is so big, I can only see her face and shoulders.  She is too big for me to see all of her.

The Painting

Over the prayer, the painting begins to emerge.  The face takes on shape from the prayer and the rayos, the corona around her, takes on a color I did not expect.  The Roses explode from her dress in all directions, merging with the cosmos.  And her hair...most surprising of all to me...her hair is white.

the Saturday Breakfast Serial-The Desk-Final Chapter

Well, at last we come to the final chapter of The Desk.  If you're new to this feature, or if you just need a recap, you can read all the previous chapters before coming back here to read part 8.

The Desk - Final Chapter

        I put my hand out, and cautiously opened the small drawer inside the desk.  I pulled out the packet and set it on the desk in front of me.  I was remembering what the journal had indicated about the herbs.  There was nothing here that would harm me.  And the words came back into my mind, “There is wisdom of a sort if you will allow the consciousness of those plants to speak to you.”   What did that mean? 

        I had been sitting with the herb packet for 5 minutes and hadn’t felt any strange reactions, so I took the next step, which was to carefully unwrap the packet.  The paper was thick, but soft.  Obviously handmade and it was intricately wrapped and folded around the herbs to make a secure bundle.  There was no fastener.  Only the folds in the paper tucked in on themselves.  Once I discovered the trick to unwrapping it, without tearing the paper, I was able to expose the contents.  The herbs lay in their little paper nest, and again I waited.  I could smell a faint aroma, which seemed to grow stronger within a few minutes.

        I stood up and walked a few steps from the desk.  I wanted to think.  I realized I was more than a little afraid of what might happen.  I began to pace.  Walking helped me to work through my nervous energy and calm my thoughts.

        What does it mean, to allow the consciousness of the plants to speak to me?  I wondered.  I stood a short distance from the packet on the desk and gazed at the mixture of herbs and flowers.  The fragrance seemed to grow stronger, and I felt a memory opening up.  I remembered drinking this tea.  “Oh, it’s tea,” I said aloud.  And I was certain I had loved this tea.  I picked up the packet taking great care not to spill any, and carried it into the kitchen.

        I carefully measured out a small portion of the tea into a small teapot, while the water boiled on the stove.  I sat at the kitchen table while it steeped and poured a tiny cup after a few minutes.  Holding  the cup in both my hands I brought my face close and breathed deeply the fragrant steam.  I took a tiny sip and the memories came flooding back as a door in my mind unlocked and opened up to show me visions of the past.

        I had been the writer of the journal.  The contents of the desk had belonged to me.  I had taken a trip through Europe and after, was scheduled to meet up with a group of scientists in central Asia.  I had been a botanist and part of an expedition to catalogue the plants of the mountain region in Pakistan.  The herbs had been given to me by a holy man we had found living alone in the mountains.  He was a wise man and a healer, and had shared his knowledge freely with me about many of the plants in the region.

        I had wanted to stay.  There was years of work that could’ve been done, but there was unrest in that part of the world, and we were ordered back home.  None of us wanted to go.

        All of these memories surfaced in rapid succession, like watching a movie montage.  I put the cup on the table.  Now I understood why I had lost those two hours.  My mind had not yet been ready to remember, and so it had gone blank.  

        I took another sip of the tea.  I had much to sift through in my memory, and I looked forward to reading the packet of letters tucked away in the desk.

The End

Thanks for reading The Desk on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  Check back next Saturday.  I haven't decided if I will start a new serialized story or if I'll take a break from it for now.  Let me know your thoughts.  

Winter Whimsy Holiday Arts & Crafts

If you're in the Olympia area on Saturday the 9th, come on downtown to Gallery Boom for the Winter Whimsy Holiday Arts & Craft Show.  I'll be there sharing a table with my friend Sage Adderley-Knox-Author of Invoking Nonna and owner/operator of Sweet Candy Distro & Press, as well as Sage's Blog Tours.

If you're not familiar with Gallery Boom, it plays host to local artists to display their wares in an antique-mall-like setting.  If you're looking for great gifts look locally.  Why not support a local artist! 

Crowd Sourcing for Permaculture Project

Aren't they cute?  Every year, one of my hens does me a favor and decides to go broody.  These are my latest batch of chicks hatched out in August.  They're 4 months old now, and almost as big as the full grown hens.

I have been putting permaculture practices to work on my place and it has made an incredible difference to the land.  

Now I am in the process of getting my certification as a Permaculture Designer.  I will be designing Permaculture Systems to help people provide their own resources sustainably and to help rehabilitate the planet.  I think it's pretty noble work, and now it has called to me.

I'm reaching out to do some fund raising, so I can afford to take the course for this coming year.  A year long permaculture design course, very detailed and very in depth.

Please go to my fundraising page on Go Fund Me, if you'd like to contribute.

Thanks for reading.

Tea for Tue: Tea With Whimsy: Flashes of Insight

Another excerpt from Tea With Whimsy.  This post was from October 20, 2013 and I see that I posted it at 3:38 am.  I guess, I just wasn't sleeping much in those days.  Thankfully, I don't seem to have that issue anymore.  This post was titled...

Flashes of Insight

Yes, it's after 2 am.  This is another of those nights I guess.  At least it's been awhile since I had to write myself to sleep.  I've been sitting here wondering where this story is going.  I'm usually really punchy when I'm writing it, and it comes sometimes like a dream.  That's how I've been writing it down anyway. 

Reading it back, I know it's not that well written...I've done better, but there's just something about having this experience.  I guess you could say it's good medicine.  I suppose I'll keep going and be grateful for it.

So to get back to the story.  I seem to remember we were in the garden looking at the moon...


Her brightness lights the yard and I can feel my cells absorbing the reflected rays, just as the plants all around us are drinking in that marvelous light.  There is a sense of a collective sigh of contentment and it feels like my heart is shining as brightly as that moon.

And then a shudder runs through me, and I feel the air suddenly charged as the world around us lights up with a blinding flash and the explosion of Thunder rips through the air.  The smell of rain comes to us as the wind picks up, and we run for it bursting in through the kitchen door seconds before the heavens open up to drench the land in a mud spattering  downpour.

"My lantern's gone out", I observe aloud.  I set the lantern on the table.  I can't stop shivering and I feel cold all the way into my bones. 

"Your hair!" exclaims Whimsy.

"What about it?" I touch it and hear the crackle of static electricity.

"It's practically standing on end!"  Whimsy declares with a touch of awe in her voice.

My attention is drawn to the window just then and I peer into the blackness which has settled in between flashes.  "Oh look at it pouring!  I'll be drenched if I try to go home now.  You said the storm was hours away"  I chided her.

"That was HOURS ago!" she laughs, and I realize she's right.  That happens every time we get together...it's impossible to keep track as the hours fly by.

"Come over here by the fire!  You haven't stopped shivering since we got back inside."  We stand around the kitchen stove rotating to warm first one side then the other.

After a while I finally stop shivering and I look at the cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall.  "Good Heavens Whimsy!  It's almost 3 am.  I'll bet my cats are in a tizzy with all this thunder!"

"What about your husband?  Does he know you came here?"

"No.  But he's out of town until tomorrow."

"Well then, I guess you'll stay here tonight.  You can go home in the morning, after the storm lets up."

"If the storm lets up by then", I reply.

"Come on", says Whimsy.  "I'll get the cot and set it up here next to the stove and you will be warm as toast.  Then you can go home after breakfast."

In less than 20 minutes I'm snuggled down on the cot, wrapped in wool blankets.  The fire pops a little.  I listen to the creaks and noises of Whimsy's house.  The clock ticks rhythmically and sounds its cuckoos at 3.  The storm continues outside as I relax and the dreams begin before I'm fully asleep.

Thanks for reading.  Join me next Tuesday for a little retro Tea With Whimsy.

Momentary Magic: A Story Excerpt from Hearth & Heart 2017 Winter

        I couldn't tell at first that it was snowing. It just looked like a ripple in the fabric of reality, and the tiny flakes were more like mist than snow.
        The fire in the hearth flared up and burned brighter, and within seconds the ripple had become a full swirling snow storm, driven by the North Wind.
        I bundled up in layers of wool and dug out my pruning shears, intending to cut some greenery for the approaching Midwinter holiday. Then stepping out of my door into the swirling snow, I headed to the forest along the back end of my property, where years ago I had planted a Holly tree.
        I threaded my way carefully through the field, not wanting to even leave a footprint to disturb this work of nature as the snow began to transform the landscape. And as I drew closer to the wooded area, a curious thing happened. The swirling snow seemed to go into slow motion, and the North Wind seemed to calm. The world became very still. The usual local sounds had ceased, and even my footsteps seemed almost completely silent.


Full story available in the 2017 Winter edition of Hearth & Heart at Pegana Press

the Saturday Breakfast Serial: The Desk part 7

Welcome to another installment of the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  We continue with part 7 of The Desk.  You may read the previous chapters here on the blog.  And now...

The Desk part 7

        I slept deeply and soundly, and was aware upon waking that I had been visited by many dreams.  Twice, I had wakened in the night to scribble notes in a dream journal while still half asleep, having cultivated the skill of writing in the dark so as not to come into full wakefulness by turning on the light.
        I slipped my hand under the pillow to make sure the little leather journal was still in its place.  Drawing it out, I laid it on the night stand, then sitting up in bed, I opened my dream journal to review the notes from the night before.
        The first scribbled notes jogged my memory.  The dream had been vivid and involved.  As if I were reliving a memory of traveling to a remote part of the world.  In the dream, I traveled by train, by ocean liner, by train again, and eventually on foot.  It had seemed like I was meandering, in no particular hurry, but that I had been irresistibly drawn to a remote and primitive part of the world, high in the mountains.  I had seen many interesting places along the way and met many people.
        What struck me most about the dream, was that it had seemed to be a memory.  A memory which I had no difficulty in recalling now that I was awake.  As if I had really lived it.  I could remember snatches of conversations, food eaten, hotel rooms, inns, and hostels, each with their own vivid sights, sounds, and smells.
        The second part of the dream had mostly been about a summer hiking trip in a mountainous region in what seemed to be somewhere in Asia.  In the dream I seemed to be part of a small entourage.  This part of the dream was not as clear in my memory as the first part had been.  But I had the distinct impression that the journey took place over the course of months, rather than weeks and that we were well guided and well protected.
        Whatever else I had dreamed, if there was anymore after the second waking, was lost to me.  And I felt like I had gotten a very good night’s rest in spite of the adventurous content of my dreams.  In fact, I felt deeply peaceful and content, though I couldn’t say why.
        I put the dream journal back on the night stand and got out of bed.  Quite a little time had passed while I had been pondering last night’s dreams, and I was beginning to feel hungry.
        I went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.  The chilly house made me long for a hot shower and warm clothes and so I put off having my first cup until I was showered and dressed.
        After breakfast, I took my second cup of coffee into the living room.  I drew the curtains to let a little of the weak morning sun filtering through bare branches into the room and stood surveying the contents of the tea cart.  The desk had been left open, but I didn’t notice any fragrance from the herbal packet still tucked into its drawer.  I put the cup down, and drew up a comfortable chair to begin going through the sorted piles of memorabilia.
        Among the pile of trinkets I had sorted the day before, was a small jewel box containing a small gold watch on a stick pin.  Such a delicate watch.  Obviously it had belonged to a lady.  I set the jewel box back into a cubby in the desk, and continued replacing the items I had taken out the day before.  There were bottles of ink with pens and stationary of fine paper.  There was a packet of letters tied with a ribbon, which I placed back into the desk hoping to read after I finished with the journal.  There were miscellaneous foreign coins, a small ledger with some expenses noted, and a thick packet with maps and itineraries in a paper document sleeve fastened with string.
        The maps were of interest.  There were maps from all over the world.  One in particular showed the mountainous region in Central Asia, with the map folded open to reveal the Hindukush range.
        One of the last things I placed into the desk was a sketch book which contained artistic details of plants including roots, leaves, flowers, and seeds; each accompanied by its botanical name.
        I wondered about the packet of herbs and flowers stored in the small desk drawer, and which had been referred to in the journal.  I remembered my first encounter with these herbs and how it had affected me.  Was I ready to investigate further?


Thank you for reading and please join me here next week for part 8 of The Desk on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.

Saturday Breakfast Serial update

Due to some scheduling conflicts the Saturday Breakfast Serial will be posted later than usual today.

The next installment can be read here later today.  Thank you for your patience.