Running The AT?

The Appalachian Trail is a 2,200 mile journey over mountains, roads, towns and farmland.  Historically, it has become a mindful journey.  A long and challenging walk through yourself.

While it is a hike through some of the most beautiful land on the eastern coast, it also has its challenges.  Black bear, poisonous snakes, insect bites, rough terrain, mosquitoes, and poison ivy. Among other not so healthly experiences, the mind also has its own journey.

You mostly walk with self, often accompanied by other thru-hikers.  But you do the bulk of the trail work inside yourself.  That can include climbing over fallen trees, rocks, streams.  It also includes working out your head stuff.

Like so many things so simplistic for the gifts they offer, walking the trail has become a sort of record thing.  Speed  Like Ms. Pharr who ran the 2,200 miles meeting her husband nightly with food and supplies.  Or the recent person who beat her journey.  Now the Belgian dentist,  Karel Sabbe, has topped Ms. Pharr's record. Most of the thru-hikers carry their own packs. They have designed restocking sites.  There is no time clock other than the weather.

I wonder if we now should be measuring the JOY one has in completing a task, walking the walk.  Maybe it is time to compete to see who grows more academically, emotionally, is in better shape than their counterparts.

I thought the measurement, if there is one, was to be inner growth. It wasn't about bragging rights, appearing in recreational magazines. Here is what was written about the experience:

"Hiking the trail is not just a physical accomplishment; it’s transformative in other ways as well. Hikers’ experiences of rebirth are not merely figurative and don’t always disappear after the hike is over. Some feel they’re communing with God while on the trail; for others, it restores their faith in humanity. Because hikers are away from family, friends, and significant others for weeks or months at a time, they must trust and rally behind one another. More than one romantic relationship and countless friendships have started on the trail and continued once the hike is over. The trail has its “sacred sites” — not only gatherings like Trail Days but also the shelters, camping areas, and towns along the way, where hikers laugh, dance, and tell stories of adventures, of hiker traditions, of trail magic, and of the heroes and legends that have grown up around the arduous walk. It also has its sacred texts, in the form of guidebooks and shelter journals, which hikers sign upon arrival at each outpost, debating philosophy, telling jokes, letting others know about “unfriendlies” in the area, working through their own inner struggles, and inspiring those whose energy is flagging. Many are at a crossroads in life and are searching for answers, and their fellow travelers or the trail itself eventually provide them, though the revelations do not come quickly or easily."

https://www.bostonglobe.com/magazine/2015/09/09/inside-mind-appalachian-trail-hiker/HZQS53jPKcj6wirW2Ll0LM/story.html

Remind me again, what kind of 'trail magic' you are getting when you run the AT?

A Churchie For A Day

This morning I decided to explore my area more.  There is a church in town that has a pretty open orientation to belief systems. this isn't my first visit to this denoination. I went to a Unitarian church in elementary school.  My mother seemed to think she should expose us to 'religion.'  And so we were exposed.

My first memories about this church was that I had to awaken too early on Sunday mornings.  It was a long drive to Baltimore city, some forty minutes or so. I was usually sick in the stomach both from the long drive and mom's incessant smoking.

It was a large and magnificent building called the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore.  I remember asking my mom how they knew to make it the first?  Did they anticipate others?

Sometimes my brother and I sat in the adult church service.  Other times we went to the children's Sunday school.  I did like the Sunday school and I really liked the teachers. Plus, the refreshments afterward were bountiful.

Not much for 'organized' religion, I thought the Unitarians deserved another try. Besides, I may meet people in my small community.  The grounds for the church were large, with every kind of northern wildflower you might imagine. I was perplexed to figure out which building of the two was the sanctuary. I was early so there wasn't a soul outside to ask.  Then I saw the sign eclipsed bya low branched group of trees:

SANCTUARY
OFFICE

 The inside of the church was non-descript. No icons, no religious material, just nice veiling beams and an openness to it.

Almost immediately, I was welcomed by a Buddhist woman who was the official 'greeter.'  After a short walk into the open space, another woman announced that there is no minister during the summer.  A recording of music by Peter was played on the screen along with the lyrics.  That lay people lead the service.

Earlier I had googled the website to learn the talk would be on COSMOLOGY.  Not much of a follower of that, I thought at least the question and answer period would be interested. as an experiencer, you can imagine the myriad of questions I had.  This is going to be fun, I thought. Instead, she read from a prepared text, rarely looking up at her audience.  Then she invited us to come up to her alter for some star dust and a sip of tea.

"Star dust?"

I was more than intrigued.  I quickly cued in only to find some glitter doused into my left palm.  The rest of the service I spent trying to remove it.  I was afraid I might be tatooed for life.  Worst, I had been lied to! I thought, hoped that NASA might share some of this for the greater good.

The tea cups were about the size one might enjoy for a child's tea party.  One teaspoon of tea was barely evident in each cup and I was careful not to consume before the 'unity gathering' officially took place.  I sure didn't want my sipping to exclude anyone.

Maybe I'll wait til the fall when the interim minister returns. I may just get a better sense of the church. Or not.

Maine, Minerals And Me

It's a lovely day in southern Maine.  I just got off the phone from a friend in the southern town in western Carolina where I lived for years.  My friend calls with a report on how things look from my home exterior.  A trained naturalist, the friend just returned from Maine. We spoke about areas we both love to visit.

It's the little things in life that are so endearing.  A phone call from a distant friend, distant only in geography.  Good friends are never far away. They ensure you know that by checking in.  I still keep up with friends from elementary school.

Soon the pressure washer fellow will arrive.  Then the fellow who will repair things damaged in the move. When my favorite teal glass lamp is repaired, a new coastal style white shutter chest will arrive a week or so later.  The teal lamp with a new shade will really spruce up the room.  Then I will have a coastal painting reframed.  Did I already tell you this in an earlier blog?  If so, just know I have a lot going on.  <giggles> Of course, all of this will take a few more weeks.  Especially, getting into the cue for the repairs.  Apparently, now they send out an estimator.  Then find a repair person, furniture cleaner, etc.

The twig table as well as the lamp will probably need to be taken to the repair shop for a week.  I can't wait to get them back and to use them. Yes, more weeks to wait.

While all of that is in the cue, I await my feathery flock of friends.

The birds haven't visited the bird feeder yet.  It may take a few weeks.  Last night I put out my four solar lights near the boundary of my land and the preserve. Soon, I will put out the trail camera to see what visits in the night. I can't wait to see what is out and about in the wee hours.

Land is a curious thing.  We are all just passing through it.  I like living on it gently.  Doing no harm.

Did you know that in Maine, mineral rights to land automatically convey with the land? They don't out west.  I found after an extensive google search, this information was not readily available.  But then, that isn't odd is it?  Especially in a country that values energy and capitalism over people.

Maine has a unique value of the land and of its people.  They really are leaders in the environmental movement.  I really shouldn't call it a movement because it has always been a way of life for them. Maine keeps it simple.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"I am."

"I am, who?"

"I am a Mainer."

Catholicism As A Cult

For most of my life, I have been plagued by poor souls who follow organized religion.  Yes, it plagues me. Trained as a sociologist, I follow groups.  Always have.  But Catholicism, like the Moonies, or evangelists stand out in the crowd. Why you ask?

Let's look at their history.  Organized by King Constantine who founded the religion based essentially on real estate, their financial holdings are worldwide.  Money is their foundation. Control is their god.

Is God really about money?  And control?

This religion also has a huge history in pedophilia. Yet, the followers continue to tithe, to follow. I shake my head in amazement, in disgust at all of that.

Take a read.

I Stood Up in Mass and Confronted My Priest. You Should, Too.

Catholics should not keep on filling the pews every Sunday. It is wrong to support the church.

 https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/23/opinion/i-stood-up-in-mass-and-confronted-my-priest-you-should-too.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage

Celebrating 70 Soon

When my adult children asked me what I wanted to do for my 70th birthday, I told them I had to give it some thought.  After simplifying this to a fun and meaningful birthday, I made a decision.  I really just want to have my two children together for the weekend.  Dinner out at a lovely place, spending th days together.  Old times.

I loved being a part of my children's lives.  Helping to guide them, mentoring them, loving them.  But for about eight years, things have gotten busy. Jobs.  And then the grands came along.  It is hard to have much of a converation with them around.  I do enjoy them dearly. But there are times I just want to spend with my children.

And so I shall.  Plans are in the works.  This touches a very special place in my heart.  I am indeed lucky.

25 and 70

The year was 1974.  I was twenty-five years old.  The Watergate hearings seemed to go on forever.  The President of the United States, Richard Nixon, was about to be impeached. He resigned. It took two years.

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/complete-watergate-timeline-took-longer-realize

Fast forward forty-five years.  Once again, we are investigating the President of the United States.  This time for breaking more laws than I care to count.  For possible treason involving Russian hacking of our elections.  We have an idiot for president and a very unstable man.  At best.


Cohen pleads guilty, says he coordinated with Trump to pay off women and influence election

Washington Post.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Counsel_investigation_(2017–present)

Forty-five years.

We're just fifteen months into the current presidential corruption.

A long time friend called today.  We are similar in age.  She thanked me for supporting her to take a high level position in finance.  We laughed about all of her series examinations to be licensed. The hard work.  The fear of possible failure.  Then the conversation turned to our lives.  Marriages.  Children.  We spoke about the wasted years with husbands who could offer nothing in a relationship.  We spoke about our gratitude in having children.  Being mothers. We spoke about now.

We spoke about forty-five years of living a life.  Of learning.  Of being honest with yourself about what you really want.  About what you are willing to put up with.  About having no clue what your life has meant to others.  About learning what it has meant to you as the sand in the hour glass measures the passage of time.  Each morsel becomes more precious, minute by minute.

Experiencer Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera runs for the Senate.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2018/08/20/she-claimed-aliens-kidnapped-her-child-major-newspaper-endorsed-her-bid-congress/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.f726b9caafff

The human condition continues.  Truth shows itself like flower bulbs erupting for spring. The real story is ~ what will we do about it?

A Fall Day InSouthern Maine

Taupe tree trunks, elms, pines and oaks reach toward the sky.  An assortment of wildflowers in front, placed like an orchestra before the stage showcases. There are white yarrow, queen anne's lace, blue indigo, pink, yellow, violets, dusty mauve something, wood sorrel and purple violets.

I am curious what lies beyond the woods as I see light through the trees. This fall, I will explore it as well as the Presumpscot River nearby.

It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon.  A strong ocean breeze blows in from the east on a cool late August day in this coastal town.

The rustle of tall, fine fescue awaiting mowing and trees swaying in the backdrop are the chorus.  All this softens the warmth sun as it moves west to drop below the horizon.

Fall is in the air and it is a welcomed return from a few weeks of unbearable heat and humidity.

Soon birds will eat at the newly installed trefoil designed feeder on the side of the house.  Black oiled sunflower is a favorite of birds everywhere and there is plenty to eat.  I feel like a child awaiting their arrival, like a child on Christmas morning.  The anticipation is palpable.

I don't worry about the wildlife here.  Moose aren't seen too often in southern Maine.  The katydids are getting noisy on this back-to-school day.  This time next year, I will have a naturized buffer between my home and the wonderful neighbors next to me.  They'll be native wildflowers, maybe a couple of small trees.

The adventure continues.

Moving?

I've used the same moving company for years. The first move was outstanding.  The same driver packed us up and moved up.  The second move was ok, so was the third.  The fourth was a nightmare.  The company salesperson lied.  I was told everything would be packed and unpacked and the boxes removed.  They refused to do that.  The fifth move I used the same company was a different transfer agent who used the same incompetents to move my things in.  Everything was unpacked.

The sixth move was basically ok.  Several things were broken at my former house including a damaged wall.  Moving things into this house, repeated the same scenario.  I paid for unpacking and the boxes to be removed and the company told me it would be a unpartial unpack.

The same salesperson handled these moves.  This person is a pathological liar as is just about everyone with whom I have dealt.  They will be reported to the Better Business Bureau for starters.

Moving is always a challenge.  No one should be allowed to drive nine hours straight, then unload a truck with one novice.  The novice had no clue how to assemble my bed frame.  Six unnecessary holes later, I showed him hold to assemble it.

Many things are missing from my move, some are broken.  The top of a twig end table was snapped off.  The company will send an assessor out.  In a few more weeks, someone will come out to repair the damaged floors and my things.  My grandmother's bowl is missing and that is near and dear to me.

Buyer beware!!