Too Soon for Solstice

Hard to believe summer is almost here, with the solstice just two weeks away. Especially since we've had SO much rain all spring, to the point where I fear the ground and gardens will remain permanently soggy.

Also sad to think that in just two more weeks the days will begin getting ever so slightly shorter again, an idea that completely deflates me each year on the longest day, especially this one where it seems like we've barely emerged from winter yet and haven't had nearly enough sun and heat to make even the distant idea of autumn in any way welcome. We need weeks and weeks of hot steamy days and equally muggy nights before that even begins to sound appealing.

I kicked off summer with a camping trip in upstate New York where I discovered that schlepping a ridiculous pile of belongings someplace, cooking over a fire and sleeping on the ground can be amazingly fun if you have the right gear (and fellow campers who know what they're doing!). With those awesome self-inflating mats that go under your sleeping bag, and with a new lightweight, easy-to-set up, waterproof tent from REI I was as cosy as a bug and slept for 10 hours the first night -- unheard of even in my own bed at home! The whistling wind and waters of Lake George lapping just outside, as well as a gentle, misty rain we woke to the next morning, all contributed to sleeping like the dead.

I now understand the appeal of camping, which had completely eluded me before. Why lug everything to some remote place and make extra work for yourself, only to sleep uncomfortably on the hard ground with the most rudimentary and disgusting bathroom options. And I admit the outhouse was the one unpleasant challenge, but I just held my breath, shut my eyes, and powered through -- kind of like doing burpess, ha ha! And that one negative was totally offset by the plusses: no phone or internet; the peaceful sounds of nature all around us; hiking, kayaking and hanging out by the fire; and revolving the day around preparing for and eating our simple meals was incredibly relaxing and restorative.

We have a fairly quiet and uneventful summer ahead, with the exception of a couple of fun trips later this month. Maddie finished her finals on Friday, and heads to Maui, HI with a friend and her family on the 18th for a week -- lucky her! On the 29th I'm heading back to Montana with Jane and Mel for a series of concerts Jane put together and I've helped promote. It's called Four Musicians Rendezvous and includes R. Carlos Nakai (top native American flute player), Will Clipman (Western percussionist), our friend Jack Gladstone (Montana's Blackfeet Indian troubadour) and Lee Zimmerman (well-known cellist), who will play together that week in four shows: first at Glacier as part of the Music in the Park series; then at Pablo, a reservation; then a house concert at Jane's which should be a blast; and finally at our friend Bill Montgomery's place outside of Whitefish called Stillwater Landing.

Bill is a huge music lover from Seattle who built the coolest outdoor stage on Stillwater Lake, and another one indoors in an airplane hanger. People fly in on seaplanes, land on the lake and pull up to his dock. You can camp there on the grounds as well, and musicians from all over the country come to play in this beautiful setting -- it's awesome. Click on the link above to check it out.

Also on the agenda in Montana is of course to get some writing done. I picture myself sitting on the deck at Achewa, looking out on the glorious view of Flathead Lake and the Mission and Swann Mountains, laptop in hand, and inspired as usual. Liza, Henry and Brian have been waiting a long time -- I have to get back to their story and hopefully inch closer to its resolution. Life and my business have dominated these past several months and my novel got shoved to the back burner. A major summer goal is to get back in the groove on that, and dare I say finish it by the end of the year. The worse thing about setting this type of goal is if I don't meet it, I will feel like I have failed again. But without a deadline, it's so easy to just drift along, always busy, always pressed for time to write. So there it is. Throwing down the gauntlet on myself, argh!

Spring ramblings

Wow, I think this is the longest I've ever gone between posts since starting this blog. How to explain it? Well, the good news is my business has really picked up, seemingly in direct response to the tanking economy.

Lately, I am at my computer from 7 or 8 a.m. until after dinner many days and never seem to catch up. I often wake in the middle of the night in a panic that I've forgotten something, or to add three more things to the to-do list ever swirling in my head. But it's all good -- bring on the business! I can't afford an assitant yet but the fact that I desperately need one must be a good sign, right?

Also, training for spring races, taking a few weekend getaways, having houseguests and a big Easter dinner, and parenting a new-driver, kickboxing, crushed-with-schoolwork but still finding time to break all the rules 16-year-old somehow manages to eat up the rest of the time -- go figure.

For the first time in my life, I go days without returning phone calls from friends, or even my mother. And worst of all, I haven't written a single word of my novel in more than two months. I was so guilt-ridden by this distressing state of affairs that I took a leave of absence from my writers group -- I couldn't stand the pressure! Twice in a row it was my turn to submit pages and I had to defer to the next time, and then do it again. I finally had to concede that this novel, as much as I love it and am committed to finishing it as soon as possible, is a hobby right now and has to take a back seat to growing my business and the rest of my hectic life.

I honestly don't know how other writers do it. You will immediately think to yourself: it takes discipline. But it also takes time! I already get up at 5:00 a.m. to exercise most days, and I fall into bed at 10 p.m. -- after usually spending a couple of important hours with Maddie (and Gossip Girl or American Idol, yeah baby!) -- completely fried. And OK, I admit I'm not giving up Friday night happy hour either. I often vow to write on Sunday mornings but end up either going for a nice run, bike, not-so-nice swim or walk with a friend, sleeping in or reading the paper for the first time all week. I refuse to give up that bit of genuine leisure time either.

And then there's Facebook, my newest time sucker, made even worse by the glacial slowness of my wretched computer. Every week I vow to buy a new one, then chicken out on spending my precious hard-earned savings just yet and put it off for another week or month. So instead I wait five minutes for each FB page to load, and since I now check it (or respond to other posts and comments) at least twice a day, that's another hour shot -- I won't say 'wasted' because I love Facebook madly and think it is the greatest and easiest way to keep in touch with people.

So, with spring races done and most of my current work projects finished by early June, I'm hoping things will slow down enough that I can get back to Liza and co. and crank out another 50 to 100 pages this summer. That would put me close to finishing the first draft. I could return to my writers group in the fall with new material for them to merrily eviscerate. That's the plan, anyway -- we shall see...

Dead Mice and Cat Poo

OK, so what is it about early spring that brings out the gross factor? Not to mention the false hope one gets as the sun starts coming up earlier and earlier, until it's already getting light as we start our run at 5:50 a.m., only to be slammed back into pitch darkness from beginning to end when we had to turn the clocks back two weeks ago. After so many cold dark days all winter long, it's a little demoralizing.

Even the cats still don't want to go outside. This weekend I discovered our black cat Fanny (Miss Kitty Fantastico, named by Cassie after the Buffy the Vampire Slayer character she resembles) has been using one of the planters in our family room as a litter box. Mystery solved: I'd been finding random pieces of cat poo on the rug, and then on Saturday saw it scattered around the base of the peace lily. On closer inspection, I realized the pot was full of poo -- yuck!

Then yesterday I found a dead mouse on my dining room rug. Lucky for me I was with a friend, who very kindly and helpfully threw it in the outside trash. Unluckily however, Maddie discovered another one in the family room later, with no friends around to save us. I told her to cover it with a paper towel and I would get it soon. The two cats had other ideas -- they thought a rodent under cover was another super fun game, and playfully tossed it around the house some more as Maddie watched, aghast. After searching every room, I found it curled up on the basement stairs.

Picking up a soft dead mouse, even in a paper towel, is a horrible, cringe inducing act. I shuddered and literally almost got sick as I wrapped my fingers around it, cupped it in my palm and ran outside. I imagined it was still alive and moved slightly as I held it, which was like those moments in a horror movie when the bad guy you think is dead suddenly opens his eyes and lunges. Or Glenn Close in the bathtub. I shrieked and jumped like a cartoon of a woman with a dead mouse -- cliches become so for a reason, right?

Now this morning, another dark run from beginning to end, in the damp, foggy gloom. Fanny has probably pooped in the planter again, and no doubt mice are trying to sneak in as I type. Enough already. I want sunrise at 6:00 a.m. I want my cats to go outside and keep the mice out as well. I am so totally over winter and cold and poo and dead animals in the house. Call me crazy.

The Meatrix

This is awesome -- a simple tale about where the meat, eggs and milk most people eat come from. Watch it!

Can This be Right?

From an article called How to Kill a Palestinian by Dr. Elias Akleh on www.uruk.info:

The Israeli spokesman, Nachman Abramovic demonized Palestinian children stating "They may look young to you, but these people are terrorists at heart. Don’t look at their deceptively innocent faces, try to think of the demons inside each of them … I am absolutely certain these people would grow to be evil terrorists if we allowed them to grow… would you allow them to grow to kill your children or finish them off right now? … honost and moral people ought to differentiate between true humans and human animals. We do kill human animals and we do so unapologetically. Besides who in the West is in a position to lecture us on killing human animals. After all, whose hands are clean?"

Human animal mentioned by Abramovic refers to the Judaic religious belief that Jews are Gods chosen people; the elite and the pure-blooded, while all others (non-Jews, Goyims, gentiles) are animal souls incarnated into human bodies to serve the Jews. Killing a human animal is just a sport like hunting deer or birds.

Another Israeli spokeswoman, Tzipora Menache, stated that she was not worried about negative ramifications the Israeli onslaught on Gaza might have on the way the Obama administration would view Israel. She said "You know very well, and the stupid Americans know equally well, that we control their government, irrespective of who sits in the White House. You see, I know it and you know it that no American president can be in a position to challenge us even if we do the unthinkable. What can they (Americans) do to us? We control congress, we control the media, we control show biz, and we control everything in America. In America you can criticize God, but you can’t criticize Israel"

Link to my Facebook Page

Atrocities in Gaza Continue. If We Are the Change, Where's Our Leader?!

What's happening in Gaza is disgusting and dispicable. More than 900 Palestinians killed and thousands injured vs. 15 Israelis. The Palestinians have been living in virtual concentration camps, with no food, medical care -- or normal lives -- besides what Israel allows aid groups to provide them.

For whatever good it does, please sign this petition to stop the violence against children in Gaza. This YouTube video offers proof of the real cost of this madness.

I agree with Robert Fisk in an article in the Independent sent to me by my good friend Nanci Martin yesterday. Nanci, who lives and works in Cairo and reads everything, says Fisk is the Arabs' favorite Western reporter. Unlike his snivelling, brainwashed, propaganda-spouting U.S. media counterparts, he questions Israel's defense of its actions and quotes The Irish Times' Fintan O'Toole 'speaking the unspeakable':

"When does the mandate of victimhood expire?" O'Toole asked. "At what point does the Nazi genocide of Europe's Jews cease to excuse the state of Israel from the demands of international law and of common humanity?"

Many outraged Americans are wondering the same thing. At what point does the U.S. stop blindly accepting every atrocity Israel commits in the name of its own security and victimhood? And where the heck is our new president, just eights days from his inauguration? He's speaking out about the stimulus package, unemployment and even Iran, but not a word about this front page tragedy that's caused demonstrations and calls for a stop to Israel's agression worldwide.

Why does Obama remain silent in the face of these crimes against humanity? Hmmm, could it be because he took so much money from AIPAC during his election campaign? Then he went to their annual conference in June and basically kissed their asses, retreating from every previous position he'd held. Instead of his previous vows to stand firmly for justice, diplomacy and peace in the Middle East, Obama promised Israel another $30 billion in military support and an undivided Jerusalem, shocking and outraging Arabs and others around the world.

If this is change, we'd all better rethink our hopes and dreams for better days -- and world peace -- ahead. Money clearly talks, Obama has already sold out, and the Palestinians are SOL.

Music P.S.

I saw two good shows this weekend: Oasis and Ryan Adams at the Patriot Center Saturday night and Last Train Home yesterday at Iota. Ryan Adams was quirky and funny (and good), and Oasis was LOUD.

I was thinking -- from my excellent seats in the third row on the right (thanks, D.O.!) -- that that volume of noise can not be good for your ears. So I made some tissue-paper ear plugs and then enjoyed the show. The lead singer is really full of himself but the music was fun, especially the only two songs of theirs I actually know: Wonderwall and Champagne Supernova.

Last Train Home was awesome, as usual, and their Sunday afternoon gig at Iota was a nice way to kick off this last crazy week before the holiday. I also hope to hear them out at the Flathead Lake Brewing Company in Big Fork, Montana in 2009. They've played there before and say they're planning to again -- that would be a blast.

And finally, my all time favorite band this year, Old Crow Medicine Show, will be on the Conan O'Brien show Tuesday, Dec. 23rd, at 12:35 a.m. They're also doing two shows at the John Paul Jones Arena at UVA on April 17th and 18th -- they're opening for the Dave Matthews Band. If you can see them, do it -- they are the shit, as Nickie would say.

Solstice Optimism

OK so it may be only 17 degrees outside, and with the whipping wind it feels like 3, but yesterday was the winter solstice. That means each day from now on it gets lighter just a little bit earlier, and although it may indeed be freaking freezing out there, we are on the upswing to summer.

I'm about to head out for a run. This will be the coldest day so far for me, Evelyn, Lynn and Nellie. Ann already left for a two-week holiday trip to Utah and Hawaii, so she'll miss today's fun. We'll be well armed thanks to the nifty face masks Evelyn gave us for presents. We'll all look like outlaws -- or Hannibal Lector -- covered below the eyes in black foam with breathing holes over the nose and mouth area.

This is the third winter solstice since I started this blog. Three times I've noted that the shortest day of the year has passed, and we're on the upswing to lighter, warmer mornings. Lots of changes around here as three solstices have come and gone. Lots of howling at the moon and then just getting on with things.

As one more year winds down, I'm trying not to think about the novel that still sits unfinished, the bills that have to be paid, the hard work required to make my business a success, and other challenges I can't avoid in the new year.

For now I'm gonna put on my running shoes and my Jesse James mask and head out into the frigid pitch dark morning. I'm gonna hit the trail and log my four miles, because I know it always makes me feel better, calmer and ready for anything. Just gotta keep moving, and the rest will take care of itself. At least that's the mantra I use to quell the worried voices in my head.

I usually write these posts after my run, when the endorphins are flowing and my natural optimism is riding high. I should be there in about an hour -- and hopefully by the next solstice I can report that the novel IS finished, the business IS making it and all the other stuff has also taken care of itself. Inshallah.

Change We CanNOT Believe In!

Tom Vilsack for Secretary of Agriculture in the new Obama administration? Talk about the fox guarding the hen house! Vilsack has been a huge supporter of industrial agriculture, CAFO's (factory farms) and genetically engineered crops, and was voted "Governor of the Year" by the Biotechnology Industry Organization.

To protest this outrageous sign of business as usual from our new 'agent of change,' who took money hand over fist from these guys on his way to the White House, sign this petition by the Organic Consumers Association.

They are mobilizing hundreds of thousands of people to say NO to Vilsack. Their website links to several alternative choices who would move us forward toward safer, sustainable agriculture -- in other words, real change.

The Beautiful Truth

Check out the trailer for the new movie The Beautiful Truth, about the Gerson Institute and its organic, plant-based approach to healing cancer and other diseases. I was psyched to attend the opening in L.A. in November (thanks to my fabulous San Diego Thanksgiving with Lynne and co.), and hope to do some work for the organization and its warm and inspiring executive director, Anita Wilson, in the new year.

Max Gerson came up with his novel, nutritional approach in Germany in the 1920's. The mainstream, allopathic medical industry in the U.S. has been trying to discredit it every since. Why? Because there's no money to be made encouraging people to eat more fruits and vegetables! The "war on cancer" -- and heart disease, etc. -- is a multi-billion dollar industry in this country. Big pharma and big agriculture are big business.

If everyone quit eating chemical-covered food and feedlot meat, ate a natural plant-based diet the way Americans did 100 years ago, and quit taking all the drugs and vaccines our doctors/drug pushers are so quick to recommend (because they've been brainwashed by the pharmaceutical industry, which provides huge amounts of funding -- and control -- for their education and research), we'd be a lot healthier and see far fewer of the chronic illnesses that plague our population: obesity, diabetes, MS, CF, autism, Parkinsons, and of course CANCER.

That's the beautiful truth, as discovered by a 15-year-old boy who travels around the country exploring the connection between nutrition and health for a school (or homeschool) project. It's an eye opener.

Other good movies on this subject that challenge the way things are: Healing Cancer From the Inside Out; Eating: The RAVE Diet; and Food Matters. I like this quote in Food Matters: "One quarter of what you eats keeps you alive, and the other three quarters keeps your doctor alive."

Despite our quick and easy diets of cheap, abundant and convenient processed food, and despite the FDA's and USDA's shameful dereliction of duty as they feed at the industry trough, everyone knows the old adage -- and we also know in our hearts it's true: We ARE what we eat.

A New Day?

Watching the returns with a boisterous bunch of Obama supporters last night, including my very engaged daughter Maddie (and with regular calls from her older sister, who giddily stood in the rain for hours to vote for president for the first time yesterday), even a diehard cynic like me couldn't help but get swept up in all the excitement. Especially -- after years of grief from all my yankee family and friends for even living in the Old Dominion -- when VA did us proud and turned blue!

Seeing those crowds of ecstatic people dancing in the streets and parks and squares all over America, you couldn't escape the sense that this really WAS a huge deal, that electing a black man represented something that transcended all of the serious problems in the system and in our country. I am still skeptical that Obama can enact real change in some of the major trouble spots: the wars, the financial mess, and much-needed health care reform.

Still, knowing he took too much money from Fannie Mae, Wall Street, big pharma and AIPAC (to name just a few from my bad-guys list), and knowing that within his first 100 days we might see far less substance than promised, for just a few hours last night -- and really, for the next four years -- the significance of his spectacular achievement eclipses those concerns. This morning I think everyone woke up with a sense of wonder that truly ANY child in this country can grow up to be president.

Granted, you have to sell your soul to get there, and who in their right mind would want it? But Obama smashed through the ultimate glass ceiling and all the ramifications of that are just starting to sink in. Pretty cool.

Does repeating Yes We Can make it so? In the case of a black man becoming president, we now have our answer. In the case of pushing congress to do the right thing -- conduct critical investigations, be responsive to contituents and stand up to the groups that line their pockets -- for now we'll have to rely on the other word Obama likes to throw around: hope. That and the inspiration hangover he got us all drunk on last night.

A Mile High on Life

Achewa -- Sitting here at my laptop, at the big, smooth wood-slat table that Michael made by hand, on Buffalo Trail way high up on the ridge in Somers, Montana, gazing out across Flathead Lake to the Swann and Mission mountains, and life is good. I hate to brag (yeah, right! I hear a chorus shouting), and I'm sorry if this makes anyone else feel bad about themselves and wish they were here too (laughing heartlessly), but I simply can't contain my joy and just plain happiness every time I look out the window onto this amazing vista.

I dont know why it is, I honestly don't have a clue where this came from, but I feel so peaceful and calm and RIGHT when I am here -- I feel creative and energized and every moment, no matter what I am doing, I actually live in the now, which is normally very hard for me. This place is totally Power of Now!

I just got back from running, and it was a little scary because I saw a big horned animal of some sort dash up a hillside in the woods as I approached. Was it running from me? or from the mountain lions Jane saw in her yard twice last week? I had a can of bear spray with me, but everyone knows mountain lions stalk their prey -- from behind -- and they enjoy it! At that point I decided to turn around and go back the way I came, where other houses were, and hopefully people. I'd forgotten my cell phone and had visions of being found by someone in a pickup truck hours from now, a bloody carcass by the side of the rutted dirt road. Yes, roll your eyes and call me a drama queen if you must, but mountain lions are no joke!

The photos are of the Going to the Sun Road, an incredible ride that snakes up 35 miles to Logan Pass at the top of Glacier, and is only open in the summer because of high winds, falling boulders and avalanches. Lucky for me -- lots of lucky things seem to happen here -- they opened it up last Saturday because the weather was so beautiful. It has been sunny, clear and warm all week -- really unusual and everyone here is thrilled about it.

I now have to finish a couple of scenes in the novel before my workshop starts tomorrow. Liza is scheming her next rendezvous with Henry, and Brian is preparing for a difficult meeting with the lawyers who are handling his case against the priest who abused him. They're all rattling around noisily in my head. Henry is actually starting to stamp his feet -- he can't wait to get his hands on Liza again. Brian is so nervous he's making me sick to my stomach, so I'm gonna do exactly what Hannah R. Goodman says: just vomit it up, get it all out, and worry about the mess on the page later. (See Hannah, I do listen!)

Then I'm headed to the last farmers market of the season in Whitefish, which has live music and is more like a street festival. Joanie, Jane, Alice and I are getting things for a dinner Jane and Alice are throwing here tomorrow night for various friends, environmentalists, conservationists and a few musicians, including Jack Gladstone -- check him out at http://www.jackgladstone.com/. He's Blackfeet Indian and I watched him record his new CD yesterday, The Heart of Montana -- at a studio here in Somers, which was really fun. The national Christmas tree is from Montana this year, and Jack is performing at the lighting in DC in early December. Of course we're gonna have a party for him, so stay tuned!

Nine Miles and OCMS

Just finished our last training run for the Army 10-Miler -- Ginny, Andrew, Elizabeth and I -- nine miles on a crisp, cool, perfect fall morning. And we all felt great! Finished in about 1:40, or 11-minute miles, which is ok because you're supposed to do the training runs up to two minutes slower than your race pace. I'd like to do the race in under 1:40, since my best previous time is 1:41:something, but you never know. Last week I felt lousy during the entire run, today was a piece o' cake. It's always a crapshoot. Last year it was unseasonably HOT the day of the race.

If we have good weather and if I feel good that day, I just might meet my goal. But the big news today is we're DONE -- one more track day left but all the long runs finished. And tonight we're going to see Old Crow Medicine Show at the 9:30 Club: rock me mama like a wagon wheel -- yeehah! I'm not driving, and I'm not getting up early in the morning for any damn long run. No sir, we are done!

And -- as the icing on the cake -- I leave at dawn on Friday for the last best place again. Gonna learn about screenwriting at my workshop; run alongside the rushing river in Big Fork; listen to Jane's friend play guitar at the Whitefish Boat Club; ride at the Bar W; and dance with the wranglers at the Blue Moon -- someone pinch me, I must be dreaming! :)

Not a Bad Way to Go

My across-the-street neighbor Duncan MacLeod died last Sunday. He was 83, a quirky, funny, friendly and sometimes grumpy old Scotsman, a former CIA covert agent and WWII veteran who earned a purple heart and a bronze star at a battle on the Anzio beachhead in Italy.

He'd had a debilitating illness a few years ago and worked really hard to come back from being almost bedridden. He faithfully did his physical therapy, walked and puttered around in his yard -- which he was passionately devoted to -- and eventually worked his way up to riding a bike down on the W & OD Trail at the foot of our street. I used to get a kick out of seeing him go off each morning. He seemed much older and more frail but just as happy as could be, riding along on his big, blue old-fashioned bike. It was one of those ones with the thick tires and wide brown leather seat. He sat completely upright, which I'm sure was easier on his back, and wore his helmet -- most of the time.

But he never carried any ID or a cell phone, and last Friday he apparently had a massive heart attack while riding. It was a beautiful day, cool and clear with perfect blue skies. Our friend Tom Carter was riding his bike to work and saw the police gathered near Bluemont Park, and more officers searching further along on the side of the trail. Even though he'd be late for a meeting, he turned around to see what had happened. I'd seen Tom earlier that morning when we were all out doing our usual Friday run. After a while you get to know many of the people who use the trail on a regular basis, so he stopped to see if anyone he knew was hurt.

The police couldn't identify Duncan, so Tom called me. I went across the street and asked his wife of 58 years, Marcy, if he was home. She cheerfully reported that he was still out on his daily ride. The police came to talk to her, and took her to the hospital where Duncan had unfortunately been put on a ventilator because they didn't know he had a "do not rescuscitate" order. The only good thing about that was it gave his three daughters time to get here from Boston, Connecticut and London. They gathered at the hospital with all their kids and quietly let him go.

Duncan's daughter Wendy MacLeod is a well-known playwright, and playwright-in-residence at Kenyon College in Ohio. She wrote The House of Yes, which was made into a great movie starring Parker Posy that won an award at Sundance. She is an amazing writer, and gave the most wonderful eulogy at Duncan's service. She said that during the past several years, he would occasionally report on an old friend who had died and would say, "He dropped dead of a heart attack -- lucky bastard!"

As our good Samaritan Tom commented later, "Duncan had a great life, and he died at 83 doing something he loved on a beautiful fall morning. There are a lot worse ways to go."

Completely unrelated sidenote: During his last week of life, Duncan had the pleasure of seeing our big silver maple tree covered in a festive display of toilet paper each day as he went about his business. The deed was done over Labor Day weekend while we were out of town. The culprits: young boys on bikes who also drew giant whimsical pictures of penises in the street and on my driveway with shaving cream. According to my next-door neighbor Steve, they set off firecrackers and shouted "I love you!" at the house as they rode off into the night, full of piss and vinegar no doubt, as we used to say in Rhode Island.

One can only assume these sweet declarations were directed at our darling Maddie. Eric, my other across-the-street neighbor who lives next to Duncan, kindly sent me the photo for posterity, and we all had a good laugh about the curious thinking processes of 15-year-old boys -- truly a wonder and a mystery.

Evelyn's ATV Adventure

So yesterday, as I was trying to decide on a theme for my usual melancholy Summer's End post, I got this great email from Evelyn, A-#1 designer, running partner and partner in several misdemeanor capers as well over the years.

I saw the bruises myself this morning, and that girl is lucky she lived to tell the tale, and to run again! We both agreed that getting injured and not being able to run or exercise any more would be a fate almost worse than anything in terms of the quality -- and energy -- of our lives...Here's her story...

Evelyn: I'm doing well, although a little banged up. My fun-loving wacky brother invited us up to his in-law's cabin this past weekend right outside of Berkeley Springs. He was excited to introduce us to the wonderful world of ATV's-having just bought two himself. Since we all went dune buggy riding out in Oregon and thought it was a total blast, I figured this could be cool. And it was, to a certain extent, except for the fact that it is totally FÖÖKIN INSANE! The course was more suited towards say a professional motor cross'r than little 'ol minivan drivin' 'round Arlington Ev and was only one way - no turning back: this should have been a warning sign.

Anywho I'm driving along pretty well, anxiously anticipating the end of this thoroughly enjoyable, bone-jarring, back twisting funfest, when I came upon a deep gully that boggles my novice ATV navigational skills. Going right could potentially mean driving myself right off the side of the mountain ala Thelma and Louise. But remember how the ending didn't show the final hideous conclusion that would have rendered our two heroines into an unrecognizable blend of human and t-bird parts? Instead it conveniently ended freeze frame, car at its apex, occupants off into the great blue, unscathed, free of torment and indecision. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky...my ending would include those missing ingredients...gravity and impact. So I prudently choose the left –

Wrong.

I wind up driving into the chasm, coming to an abrupt stop, falling off...slowly… as the ATV falls with me, resting on my left knee that couldn't move out of the way because my goddamn foot was pinned under the tire tread -- budding triathlon career flashing quickly before my eyes! Luckily, said wacky brother (and this is the sane one) was right behind and quickly removed the offending vehicle. Afterwards he was like "Hey you want to go again?"

NOT!

I went back to the cabin, opened the appropriate alcoholic beverage(s), got on my bathing suit and went tubing down the creek for the rest of the afternoon, happy in the knowledge that once again I've emerged intact from yet another familial bonding adventure.

Karen: Thanks, Ev -- great tale, well told! And most importantly, a happy and injury-free ending. I would be SO bummed if you weren't there on the trail this morning at 5:30 a.m., and all other future mornings as we head toward the dark, cold days of winter, to help me discuss and deliberate and make sense of another season, another election, another job, another year...so let's stick to run/bike/swim Evil Knieval stunts from now on, OK?!

Extra Heads

The thing about people who live in rural Maine is, they hunt. And as a result, they sometimes have extra heads hanging around, like these here. My brother plans to take them to his fishing camp out on Big Beaver Pond -- 200-acres way off the beaten track (far from the maddened crowds of Rangeley, pop. 1000, that is) with just two cabins on it, Mark's and one other guy's. He fly fishes there, and the sound of the loons across the water is haunting and beautiful. But for now, they're just hanging around the office, and are the first thing you see as you enter. A funny little reminder that we weren't in Arlington any more...

The other head is a moose my nephew Byron got when he was 14. He won a prize for biggest antlers in the state that year. I've never been a big hunting enthusiast, but that's gotta be a pretty cool experience for a teenaged boy.

Wide Open Spaces

This country has many incredibly beautiful places, and I've been lucky enough to visit two of them in the last few months. After a week in Montana in late April (and another trip planned for a writers conference in Kalispell in early October), I just spent two weeks driving up through New England again, like last summer. But this time I went to Rhode Island, Cape Cod (Osterville, Craigville Beach, Hiannis), Boston (Newbury Street, the North End, Freedom Trail and Quincy Market), and finally three blissful days in the lakes region of Maine. And surprisingly, two weeks in the car with 15-year-old Maddie and her pal Kelsey was just about the most fun I've had all year.

My brother Mark has carved out a remarkable life for himself in Rangeley, Maine, population 1000. During the summer that number swells with vacationers drawn to the region and all the cool stuff it offers: fishing, boating, swimming, hiking, fresh lobster that melts in your mouth; fields of wild purple lupine and Indian Paintbrush everywhere; sunny, breezy days and cold, crisp nights; small town life with a 10-minute July 4th parade of kids' bikes and carriages decorated like floats; church suppers and fireworks on the lake; and so many stars it's unbelievable -- like a giant twinkling blanket that looks like it's laying right there on top of you, close enough to reach out and grab.

We stayed in an old farmhouse (circa 1865) Mark owns and rents out, which sits on 100 acres next door to Pleasant Acres, his home, forestry business and Christmas tree farm that sits on another 100 acres. Our house had its own beautiful pond, a view of Saddleback Mountain to the left (see the "saddle" in the photo?), and an overgrown road/trail through the fields and woods where I went running. Marie and I drove through a few times to tamp it down a bit; it was teeming with wildlife but otherwise so quiet and still, so private and beautiful and removed from everything. My heart sang as i chugged along, just elated to be there alone in such an amazing place. I know this is so corny, but I couldn't help thinking of that Dixie Chicks song I love, Wide Open Spaces, and how that is exactly how I felt, exactly what I needed this year, and what I seem to be craving on a regular basis lately, as I negotiate through the changes I'm making and into the future.

She needs wide open spaces
Room to make a big mistake
She needs new faces
She knows the higher stakes
She knows the higher stakes.

Well ain't that the truth?!

Maddie and Kelsey were great travel companions, if a bit obsessed with capturing all the fun they were having in pictures. Kelsey was the best car-trip kid i've ever met -- whenever Maddie was being a pill Kelsey would agree with me, which drove Maddie nuts but restored harmony every time. She also made two great "Rhode Trip" CDs that we're still enjoying. Our number one best road trip song recommendation? Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show, the hands down winner and favorite new song:

Rock me mama like a wagon wheel,
Rock me mama, any way you feel, hey, mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a southbound train
Hey mama rock me.

How in the world did it happen that I love country music now?! -- crazy! Enjoy the photos.

Sharon and the Solstice

It's the summer solstice again, the longest, brightest day of the year. We celebrated this morning by holding a memorial exercise class in honor of Sharon.

It's impossible to believe it was a full year ago that we attended her funeral, a full year that she's been gone. It still often doesn't seem real. It's easy to sometimes get caught up in our busy lives and forget for awhile, although I'm certain that isn't true for Jeff, Laura, Tom and the rest of her family, who no doubt confront the loss anew every single morning the moment they wake.

Our team of 40 to 50 fellow exercisers is running the Army 10-Miler this year to raise money for pancreatic cancer research, in memory of Sharon, as well as my dad (pictured above) and grandfather and many others who've been touched by the disease. The training kickoff was also today, designed and led by Ginny.

Pancreatic cancer is the LEAST funded yet the fourth greatest killer. Virtually everyone who is diagnosed dies, most within just a few months. Symptoms are vague, and diagnosis almost always comes too late for treatment to be effective. Pancreatica.org, the group we're raising money for, supports efforts to find better early detection methods so people can actually have a fighting chance.

Meanwhile, I'm losing another friend this week too, to geography, not illness. Lynne, who I met at the Mad Manor playground when Cassie was two and I was pregnant with Nickie -- almost 19 years ago -- is moving to San Diego with her family. We've been best friends and kindred spirits since day one, raised our kids together, talked literally every day, homeschooled together, shared books and our education, political and religious passions -- when most people thought we were completely crazy and obsessed.

Lynne (above, with me and Ginny the other night) is the friend I could always call and rant to about whatever new outrage had gotten my blood boiling. She is one of the smartest (but also funniest, bawdiest and most self-deprecating) people I've ever known -- reads several books a week and is a virtual library of information on countless topics. We explored many interests together, and most recently she's led the way down a whole new -- and totally eye-opening path -- with her 9-11 truth activities.

Yup, down the rabbit hole we've gone, all right. It's been fascinating to first resist, then read and watch and learn, and now see other people resist when I challenge prevailing views and raise troubling questions about that huge event and what it means for us today. And right or wrong, the journey has been incredibly stimulating, scary and fantastic.

Lynne and Faton and their kids, Ally and Will (who are still great friends with Cassie), and Paulie, our quirky, wonderful godchild (I watched him being born, one of the coolest things ever), moved to DC 10 years ago and over time (mostly because of Paul's particular challenges) our contact became less frequent, but never less important. We'll still have cell phones and email (thank god!) and I now have a great reason to visit San Diego -- their new place is four blocks from the beach in La Jolla. But of course it won't be the same -- no more meeting for a drink at the Four P's or Nanny's (and staying up way too late) on a week night, no more fly-by's or coffee dates, no more book and DVD swaps. No more knowing that even though we were talking on the phone, she's always been just 20 minutes away.

The summer solstice here again, a whole year passed, and more changes -- and loss -- than I can ever remember. This has been a year of incredible challenges, some painful, some scary, some exciting and new. My business continues to grow, my novel is slowly, slowly coming along, and life keeps moving forward, with or without our permission.

I guess it's a good time once again -- as the school year ends and the lazy days of summer lay wide open before us -- to remember Sharon, to hang onto her beautiful spirit, and to do the best we can with the gifts of life and health and love that we are still so lucky to have. Anything less than total gratitude would be a crime, wouldn't it?

Ya Gotta Love Montana

Where else would the daily special be Tuna Melt with tater tots? At Scotties, a cowboy bar and attached casino (all the bars come with a casino) in downtown Kalispell.

Spent a week out there late last month with Jane, worked on my novel and again just fell in love with the place. (The second photo is my workspace at Jane's neighbor Joanie's, where I did my writing every day. Also the Mission Mountains, the saloon Michael built at Angeda and Jane's beautiful Achewa.) There's something about that area -- the scenery and wide open spaces (like my favorite Dixie Chicks song) -- that I'm really drawn too. Already trying to figure out how to get back again -- maybe a writers conference in the fall. Did I mention people consider Kalispell a vortex, like Sedona, Arizona? It seems to draw creative types and people starting over, and everyone you meet is like a long lost friend.