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Home Sweet Home

I made a rough watercolor of the cabin my sister and I stayed in at the bottom of the Grand Canyon 3 years ago.

My brother sent a photo and news video recently about a house we lived in as kids (below). There had been a fire and the friends and neighbors were rallying to help out the family. That house was not much when we lived there, and the story brought back a flood of memories.

We moved there when I was 7 years old. It was a tiny little house in a rundown neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis. But we had loads of fun there. I remember that very well. The house had an upstairs, more of an attic, divided into two parts. My three brothers had the side with a sliding door and we four girls shared an even tinier space with no door. We girls slept head to foot in two hospital beds our Aunt Marie, a nurse, had acquired. And we had a ton of fun, even in that tiny room. We played a sort of football game on the beds with rolled up socks, a game I’m pretty sure I made up, dubbed Hike 44. Though we were jealous of the boys’ “bigger” bedroom, we enjoyed invading their territory when they weren’t around.

Our house, sixty years after we lived there.

We’d moved there from a house my parents owned, in which all seven of us kids slept in the same bedroom. That neighborhood was nicer, though, and there was a white fence across the front and a patio my Dad had made in back, with large squares of different colors of concrete. Apparently, Dad had intended for us all to move back to California, where he was from, and he sold that house. But something fell through and we were stuck. So we moved into that little tiny rental, where Dad used to say if you were sitting on one side of the living room you’d be touching knees with whomever was sitting on the other side. We lived there for three years.

There were two houses past us to the east, and beyond them an empty lot that we took advantage of, for all sorts of adventures. Another great feature was the ditch on the other side of the house. All for our fun. We played cars and trucks in that ditch, dared each other to jump across, and had even more fun when it rained, making little streams, dams, and lakes. There were many times when I couldn’t bear to go in for dinner. That is also the house where we girls played the game of being witches, wearing a blanket or sheet on our shoulders and running around the yard, under that characteristic Midwest pre-thunderstorm green-grey sky. As tiny and cramped as that house was, we had all kinds of fun there.

I photographed this interesting house on a trip to Montana with my siblings.

Across the street from us were Mr. and Mrs. Fredericks, an older couple with no children. I was a very shy little girl, but for some reason I spent time at their house, just on my own. They had a sink in their basement, which I found very unusual, and she pronounced it “zink,” which was also interesting to me. One time I bragged to Mrs. Fredericks that my waist was 24” (apparently not bothered that made me a rather chubby little girl). She couldn’t believe it and said she’d give me a quarter if it was true. She took out her measuring tape and I got my quarter!

I bet my parents were pretty unhappy to have landed there with seven kids all crammed together. I’m pretty sure I would have been, had I been the adult. I might even have felt a bit desperate. I wonder if they knew how little it mattered to us kids?

It was just one of the four houses we lived in when I was growing up and definitely the lowliest. But it was still home to us kids and I have many fond memories of living there.

“You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home.”

― Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems on my blog. And if you know someone who would enjoy these letters, go ahead and forward this one!

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Mexico, Revisited

Having just last week expounded upon the notion of uitwaiien, I’ve decided this week that I need to go to Mexico, at least in my mind. Last year at this time I was in Akumal, Mexico, with my childhood best friend, who lives in Texas and whom I only rarely get to see. She works in travel and arranged a complimentary stay for us in a luxurious resort there. That trip was such a beautiful time for me. A gorgeous beach with perfectly lovely turquoise Caribbean water that broke way out in the distance, resulting in a gently lapping sparkle of sea on pristine white sand. Completely comfortable temperatures every day. I have kept Akumal as a weather location on my phone just to imagine I might be going there soon. Day after day, the temperature is around 82 degrees. Ahh.

My friend had some business to do, but I mostly lounged on an umbrella-covered chaise or a fabulous covered “beach bed,” gazing at the sea and sky. Endlessly. I found I was unable to read or nap or shut my eyes at all. I was simply mesmerized by that beautiful water and its gracious conversation with the shore. It was a meditation. When Anne and I were together on the beach, we chose not to talk all that much. We were easy with each other, as always, after all the years since we were 13. And I was perfectly content.

I came home utterly, totally, thoroughly, wholeheartedly relaxed. I felt like my heart had sprung wide open. And as often happens when I travel, I found a tiny heart-shaped memento–this time, a piece of coral in the water. I brought it home and placed it on a little table in my bedroom. I press my finger to it as I pass by. And my Romantic (with a capital R) heart took it as an omen. (Nothing to report as of yet.)

Living here in the Midwest, I long for the sea. I do. I long for it, even though I grew up here. I know many Midwesterners who feel pulled to the mountains. Okay. Gorgeous. Sure. Awe-inspiring. Yes. But not my heart’s resting place. Mountains, I feel, block the view. Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. 😉

I love a broad, expansive view, of fields, hills, woods, sky, water, any of those, with water right at the top of the list–my heart opener. If I was going to uproot myself, which would be hard, as I do love the Midwestern landscape, it would have to include proximity to a large body of water.

So here I am, in a particularly bitter cold February in Missouri. I accept it, as this is my home and this is what we have here: four seasons, each with its own unique beauty. But while meditating, I often envision that beach at Akumal with its glistening water. Quietly out and back, out and back, ever and always, teaching the art of doing nothing (another Dutch word, niksen). Intruding thoughts go poof! into that blue sky, to be carried off by a gull. Ahh.

So where do you go, in your mind, when you need to escape to someplace else? What is your heart’s resting place? I hope you have one. I imagine we all do, although some wander off to theirs more often than others. One day, I hope to get my actual physical body back to mine.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here. And if you know someone who would enjoy these letters, send them here!

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Uitwaiien!

The sun even looks cold up there.

According to Dictionary.com, “The Dutch compound word uitwaaien means “to jog or walk into the wind, especially in the winter, in order to feel invigorated, relieve stress, and boost one’s health.” It is pronounced out-vahyn. I prefer my incorrect pronunciation, OOT-vahyn, since it’s more fun and sounds more like I imagine Dutch to sound. Naturally, upon learning it, this word immediately appealed to my love of language and newfound sense of adventure when it comes to cold weather. Also, I like saying it and so it has become a new addition to my vocabulary.

At this writing, it is 3 degrees, “feels like -11. The sun even looks cold up there, barely showing through the clouds. Calls for an adventure of some sort, I feel, begs for uitwaiien. I took Miles on a longer than usual neighborhood leash walk, but really? That’s it? Knowing Miles and his preferences and having learned that pajama days are not what they’re cracked up to be, I took care of things at home with a view to going back out for a hike. First, I swept the powdery snow off the front steps, walk, driveway, and car. I filled a dish with warm water and put it on the railing for the birds and squirrels. Yesterday, in anticipation of 2-4′ of snow that did not materialize, I hauled a 40-lb. bag of black oil sunflower seeds home from the hardware store and filled up the birdfeeders.

There’s the sun in this photo, too, barely visible.

I warmed up my boots, gaiter and mittens on the grate, fed Miles and gave him the anti-inflammatory that his older dog body now requires, and got ready to go back out, handwarmer and treats in my pockets. Exciting! Miles was happy and commented that he was surprised I would go back out in the cold. Oh ye of little faith!

We headed across the bridge with a spring in our step, me practically running to keep up, and even though I was game for a nice little uitwaiien, I imagined it to be a short one. Just a quick, invigorating swing around the meadow. But Miles talked me into going onto the ridge perimeter path and then, even, the ridge trail itself.

I don’t suppose you need to know the whole route.

Suffice it to say we had a lovely hike on this very cold day. Of course, very cold is relative. An Iowa friend wrote that it was -15 degrees there, actual temperature! That is a very cold day. I might not feel quite as chipper at -15. I don’t imagine I could live farther north. My eyelashes had little balls of ice on them as it was. But I did not even crack open the handwarmer and Miles, with his curly coat and high degree of energy, was full of all the happy adjectives you could name, and he probably would even be so at -15. He is a great role model for exuberance, in any weather.

The view from the bridge
My friend Julie and I have played singles pickleball this winter in 30 degrees. She carries “little bottles of heat” with her and on New Year’s Eve we had hot chocolate with a little Bailey’s. As she always says, no matter what the weather, “We’re outside and we’re having fun.” The great thing about playing outdoors in winter is that playing hard warms you up, so you can play longer, instead of the other way around. And so, uitwaiien! It’s invigorating and fun! I haven’t gone in for those cold showers or baths that are supposed to be good for your health but I am open to newfangled ideas and I might try it. Why not?

I hope if you are not already a fan of uitwaiien, that you try it out. We have a really cold week coming up that is providing plenty of opportunity, beckoning us, calling each of us by name, “Come, come! Be a polar bear!”

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Daemons

I’m reading Philip Pullman’s latest novel, The Secret Commonwealth, the fifth book in his fantasy series that started with the trilogy, His Dark Materials. I love these books. One of the things I love most about them is that every human in their world has a daemon, an animal that is essentially a part of but at the same time apart from the human. Though they look and move about like animals, they speak, feel and think like humans. The pair are two sides of a coin. They are one, but two.

love this idea. Imagine! What might it be like to have a part of yourself as a physical being that you can hold, curl up with, talk and plan and mull things over with, share your deepest fears and feelings with–the closest companionship ever? In this volume, someone mentions with horror that in other worlds (ours), people go through their whole lives alone. That sentence gave me a jolt. Yes. We are essentially alone.

But then I do have my dogs.

There’s that joke about a person noticing their neighbor talking to a cat. And then it goes, “I went home and told my dog, and we had a good laugh about it.” I do discuss many things with my dogs, my heart’s companions. They are so tuned in to humans, and they have been for centuries.

Whenever I go out of town, I’m told, Miles gets a stomach ache; and I look for signs of him in the dogs I meet when I travel. I love Rufus very much, but Miles feels more like he could be my other half; and he pays very close attention to everything I say. The cynic might say he’s waiting to hear the word “treat,” but I like to think it’s more than that. We do love many of the same things–playing in the woods, messing about in water, lazing around on the couch, meeting new people and their daemons, taking fast walks around the neighborhood, even tearing paper! And eating. We both love to eat and we love treats!

Sadly, these sorts of daemons are only with us for a few short years. And that’s the difference and the heartbreak. Philip Pullman’s daemons are with their people for life.

“When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value the only companion we will have from birth to death – ourselves.” – Eda LeShan

Here’s a vintage card, one that people interpret in wildly different ways from what I meant!

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. I hope you, too, have a sort of daemon, imaginary or real, to accompany you through your daily life. And if you don’t, I hope you can come up with one. Imaginary or real.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”