catching a look back at me

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My friend is an avid hunter.  Something I’m not.  I don’t deal well with dead animals or the killing of them which makes me a supermarket hunter.

I’ve had talks with my friend about his love of hunting with his pride in providing for his family and pride in the hounorable hunt.  In that I learn of his respect for the animals he hunts as well as an abiding wonder as he sees a herd of elk or bears lumbering across the field below his tree stand or a wild turkey by the side of the road.  And he shares the excitement of watching deer and seeing a moose lift his huge head as he munches soft meadow greens.

My friend tells me of all this.  He sends pictures of the animals he sees as he works in the wilderness of the rocky mountains.  He shares a zen with the wildlife around us and  when he sent me this picture he was in awe of the wildness and depth his camera caught. I like that about him.

Photo Courtesy of Martin Istok

 

mother’s day redemption – a story

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The three make an unlikely group. The couple, two men who have lived together as lovers for over 20 years, and the child.

The trendy reservation – only restaurant and eclectic menu suit the couple well as they playfully debate which wine will accent the meal so carefully negotiated and ordered.  The child doesn’t know if she can eat at all. She’s quiet, softly petting the tablecloth, the silky lines in the linen, as she listens to their conversation. Not contributing to the festive occasion. She is, as they say, expecting. Pregnant. A bad girl. A shame, and tonight she will have her baby. Continue reading

potato soup

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The smell of potato soup wafts up from the stove as I hold the seven week old baby girl tucked to my chest, rocking back and forth to try to get her to stop crying. And shivering.  She is shivering. With my free arm, I stir and stir and stir the soup with the big broken metal spoon that I found in the cutlery drawer with a few stray spoons and forks and crumbs.  The spoon grates against the pot with each pass through the thin soup. I can’t let it burn; it’s all there is to eat in the house.

I hadn’t thought of the family for years but they came rushing back to me with all the desperation and fear and hopelessness from so long ago.  With a thick, creamy soup simmering on my stove; bacon, onions, potatoes, rich and creamy, I caught a memory as I lifted the lid to check and stir. Continue reading

perspective

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I remember a conversation with a friend when I said “I just don’t know where I fit” and the response was “well, right here. That’s where”.  This past few months since leaving the teams I was working with, it’s been a bit of a stress and pressure and an overwhelming feeling that I have to find a new “fit”.

Any time there’s a big change we struggle to find a place that doesn’t bind or pinch or slosh around like an overfilled wading pool. Maybe the fit is in our perspective of our here and now.  Maybe it’s ok to step back and change perspective.

A walk in the Ancient Forest near my house is healing and inspiring. Offering a note to be taken that today is a tiny piece of everything; that it’s ok to just breathe and be.

 

 

smells like a wet dog in here

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I flicked the light on at the top of the stairs and got about two steps down towards the basement before I yelled “the basement is flooded!”.  And just to be sure I ran down and stood on the bottom step looking at stuff floating around in 5 inches of water.   Continue reading