So, this morning we were talking about Willie Nelson’s guitar, named Trigger. The Partner, it being early and he being just the teensiest bit megadystopian, commented that now, Trigger was stuffed, in a museum, and you had to pay to see him. *I* responded with words to the effect that this is the same thing that happened to Lenin. I was treated to that priceless look the Partner gets on his face at moments like these, which sadly are not rare. Isn’t Lenin wax? he said. Taxidermy, he said, is not done on PEOPLE. I realized that I had actually been picturing Lenin….well, stuffed. Hay! Horsehair! Good Lord. My mind and welcome to it.
We’ve passed yet another milestone, which is to say, Thanksgiving. It may be apparent to the careful Gentle Reader that Life in the Wilds is not without incident. And, incidents on a 24/7 and seemingly unending basis. Last week alone we had a flat tire (NUMBER TEN) (on the brand new tires. I cried. Then I found Les Schwab, as previously described.), the roof leaked in a huge storm (dome shifted), and…oh something else went totally sideways which I now forget. It’s rough out here, let’s just say. Mercifully we were not in Sandy’s path but it often feels as if we are not far from it, either. Then, Thanksgiving.
We had one of the worst set-to’s of our little lives, the Partner and I, on Wednesday. I hiked up onto the bluff seriously thinking that now might be the time to just put myself down once and for all. Enough is enough and my little nerves are shredded. What, I roared at myself, is the frigging POINT?! This is when I saw the bear scat. Somehow that changed everything just enough, seeing that little berry-filled mound and knowing that once again a bear was really around, that a bear is afoot!, for me to pull myself together, wipe off my glasses, stump down to the yurt, and tell the Partner that if he was still speaking to me, I had some bear poo to show him. Also, the tip of Mt. Shasta was glittering high above the clouds. It all looked like Shangri-La. Again, the humbling realization of the complete interconnection of all things and the necessity to quietly observe the patterns, the knowing that however weird things may seem we are all in a flow, a huge flow of divinity really. Clear your energy and carry on, in short.
We thus make it to Thursday, amazingly. Usually we cook the turkey outside on the Weber. This year that wound up not working and a third of the way through the turkey had to be rescued from said Weber, wiped down, and put in the oven. Since a miracle had already happened and the turkey was smaller than usual, this worked splendidly- the roasting pan was the right size and the bird fit in, right next to the pie which was also being agonized over, since the oven temperature is not what the dial might make you think it is, if you know what I mean. It all turned out, anyway and in the end, just like I knew what I was doing, and we had actually a wonderful, and grateful, dinner. We were too full to eat pie til the next day, and even the pie seemed almost other worldly in its custardy, honeyed pumpkin spicy pie apotheosis.
If I ever get (another- there IS one already. Of Winnie the Pooh) tattoo, I think it will say:
NEVER, EVER, GIVE UP.
Boozilla: learning to fly one room at a time 