At Sea, Back in England, Still a Writer?

In Israel, I learned that this baby's play area is called a "university."

And this "rose red city" encountered through a slot canyon (look deep into the picture) shows the indivisibility of "human" and "natural." 

Back to work today, I got so cold upstairs that I came down to sit in front of the electric heater and sat so close I scorched my cardigan! Even the temporary flush of a big dose of niacin didn't heat me enough.

Back from Israel, at my parents' house which is still the place I've lived in for the longest continuous time in my life, although my grandmother's apartment in Israel is the place that's been there for me my whole life, I'm still not home. I saw my last warm sunshine possibly for many months before entering the airport yesterday morning (although thankfully there's been some November sun in England too)...

...and with one foot in Israel, the other in England, and most of my material and emotional center of gravity in Alaska, I feel like the arches on that baby university. And at sea, actually--neither or none of my feet are on anything solid right now.

Nausea? It's from the Greek word for "ship", their chariots of the sea. And with so many seas between my feet, perhaps it's not surprising that I've been so continuously nauseous for such a great while now. Something has to shift.

I loved my friend Dawn's comment on my last post that inside-outness can often be a feature of travel. 
Who am I now? And where should my axis center? Axis center...accent...
By the time we left Israel yesterday, my accent in Hebrew was driving me nuts, and at the same time I was so tired that I was saying words with all the consonants reversed and forgetting basic words for things. I was very single minded about speaking Hebrew the whole time I was there, but since I'm not used to speaking it that was quite a workout, with so many features of language to juggle plus the intensity of communicating with real people about real things as opposed to doing exercises.
And that ferocity of linguistic focus, plus the almost-complete absence of downtime in this very social trip, begs the question of why Hebrew is so important to me (i.e. why am I practicing it instead of German or Spanish). It also left no energy or time for creative writing, with the clock ticking on my critical paper deadline and much still to do on my creative thesis. You wouldn't even know I was in an MFA program.

I am so confused. Every once in a while in the past week, I've read a poem and felt a moment of "ahhh" as a poem begins to surface from my own subconscious. Every once in a while I've eaten a date and felt a sweet spot of acceptance from my guts. But most of the time it's swirls of word sounds and grumbles of the self-contained ocean of my body. 

My mum's three brothers and their families are such awesome, admirable people. I see how direct some of their paths have been and how they have created their own success within that path through commitment, intelligence and perseverance...

...and I can't help but look at my own flounderings and fumblings and feel I don't belong/deserve/measure up. I'm too old to have so little to show for any of what I have to offer. And I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up. Or where.

Now that I'm not focused on speaking my second language, and now I'm not in that intense, fresh-tasting country to which I feel such a connection, even anxious to catch up on work and get those book reviews sent out, I hereby commit to opening up some time just to sit with pen and paper, or a clean Word file and nothing else on the computer. 
I don't believe these waters upon which and surrounding which I'm a seasick sailor contain monsters or darkness. I believe there is so much that may come to the surface, and writing is the best way I know of to midwife that surfacing.
I have a feeling it'll have to be a process of surrender and innocence, and that I'll have to let go of any presumptions about what/who/where. I'll even have to let go of any expectations of my own success or even continuation as a writer. My writing might be the end of my writing. 
I am numbed by my unknowing, and yet willing to embrace this unknowing. 

my mum and her three brothers--album cover shot. how wonderful to still be
standing around in shirtsleeves in late November!

And Finally...

Final Prompts from HWAMC:

 You made it! 30 posts in 30 days! Today, write a recap of your experience. What was your favorite prompt? Least favorite? What have you learned?
 Describe your HAWMC experience in one word!

Recap: April has been an extremely transitional and often uncomfortable month. I transitioned away from two months of dog-sitting in a comfortable, large, somewhat remote home. My grandmother, who is very important to me, died--age 93 and ailing, but suddenly nonetheless--and I found myself dropping everything, including an enormous amount of money, and flying to Israel. Then I returned to AK, spent less than two weeks alone in the water-less cabin that has been my home for several years and is no longer, and thence out to Athens, GA, where I am now. Even without the extra trip provided by those few days off my meds, the month has been a whirligig of displacement, recollection, keen emotion, and uncertainty for the future. Nonetheless, there have been some glimmers of optimism toward that future also. 

Additionally, I finally got my own domain and started this wordpress blog, as I'd been talking about doing for about two years, thinking I'd have time this month to learn/teach myself how to do all sorts of things to make it just how I wanted it, as well as migrating the original blog over here.

Was I crazy? I don't even have my blogroll in my dashboard, let alone the comments set up, such a big reason for me to move... -- But therein lies much of what I've learned in this month. Life is full of ironies, and:

• No matter how pretty or not-pretty it looks, the blog comes with me everywhere.
• Sometimes having a prompt helped get me to write a post even when the day was basically over; other times the prompt was a turn-off to my creativity.
• Paradoxically, I think I may have lost readers during this process. I don't think anyone has come over to my blog from HAWMC either. Paradoxically, I'm not feeling too hurt right now. As I breathe life into this new blog, I draw on my new sensitivity to and understanding of audience/readership and feel I'm honing it even when I suspect no one's reading at all and 24 out of the 24 comments I receive are spam trying to make my nonexistent readers buy sunglasses, solar panels, or penises.
• Despite being a constant companion, my blog hasn't taken over my life, not remotely. But I think I only skipped one day the whole month, this past Sunday, despite all that long-haul travel.
• I'm learning how to talk frankly and openly about having bipolar disorder and beginning to recognize that if I am willing to be frank and open, my eloquence as a writer may turn out helpful to others. May turn out to be helpful to me, too!
• I'm (back) in the "Well, I don't really have anorexia" frame of mind. Do you think I do?

Prompts: I liked the "day to day" prompt because of how it invited us to look at our conditions integrated into the rest of the world and life, as they in fact are. Adversity the day before got me going, so perhaps I liked it in that sense. I didn't like the prompts about social media and making compilations of those. I'm simply too ignorant.

The HAWMC experience in one word? Sidewinder.

Wordless Wednesday HAWMC #10

PROMPT: It’s often hard to like pictures of ourselves – post your favorite picture of yourself.

Favorites change all the time, just like our faces and the stages of our crosses. Many more photos of this trip to come when things are more settled.

HAWMC 9 Caregivers' Advice

I'm squatting outside my grandma's apartment trying to pick up internet and a bit of sunshine (fickle, dappled, windy today), feeling my feet go numb. A moment ago, I was staring back at a white cat with a black tail, its left eye an oddly angled slit, the tip of its right ear missing, the pink of its flesh visible under the nappy fur. Descendant of cats I've chased, stalked, befriended, begged leftovers for from my grandma, my whole life. It stared at me awhile, the novelty of a person just hanging out here, and then stalked off disdainfully. Good conversation. I've had whole conversations with nary a stammer, both in Hebrew and English, but also times when I can't get a sentence out. I suspect this afternoon is one of the latter times, but everyone else is talking loudly so I'm off the hook. The canopy is gone, the chairs are gone, the fridge is full of leftovers. (Seeing the food that came in for the big meal last night reminded me of how good the food is here and also of why I feel depressed when there's a gathering in the US with regular American food; it's not just because inevitably there will be nothing I can eat. Hint: even the peas and carrots were spiced.)

In parens, but that might just be my segue. Today's prompt solicits advice and tips for caregivers, professional or otherwise (professional advice and tips, or professional caregivers??). Fresh, fresh food, with the right kind of spice to do honor to the food's deliciousness. That's my caregiving advice. And you can take it literally in terms of what food to offer, but also in terms of how to have dealings with a person with a(ny) health condition. Both for anorexia and for bipolar, an environment of abundance would be a really good thing to create. People with these conditions (I) tend to put themselves (myself) down, be very hard on themselves, and only feel a sense of worth or right to exist if giving and doing and helping others. (Help me out, guys--is everyone like this, or just people with anorexia, or people with both? I don't think it's just me.) So, if there is an environment of abundance, that can help with a sense of safety and security, within which the caregiver can offer an environment of unconditional love and allow the person to feel and experience that she is loved, she doesn't need to be running ragged just for basic survival needs, and there is some beauty and safety in life.

Good nu?

Quick Dispatch from Israel; HAWMC Animal

My hair had been growing dreadlocks for several weeks. My mom, bless her, held out until my third day here before politely requesting I brush my hair. Several short weeks of growth. Two hours long hours combing out a pile of hair and skin into my lap. And my teens are just about beyond their half life. 
Greetings from Israel. Mourning is an action here, "sitting" for seven days but with a complete infrastructure of receiving guests, visiting, morning and evening prayers, hospitality--provided by relatives other than immediate family (who are children/siblings/spouse)--grandkids like me are not "immediate" so we get to be hospitable, which is very lovely, but days are very long. People come who are uncles' friends, old classmates of my mom, second cousins I haven't seen since I was seven, and then of course the very familiar faces, although even since I was last here eighteen months ago some of my cousins have had more kids.                                                                                                         

Everyone brings what they have within them at the moment. Some have tears. Some have memories and stories. Some have talk of politics or renewed religious feeling. Some have jokes, and it is good to see the mourners snorting with laughter. So many people have been here, I sometimes lose track of what happened on which day. Of course, my 24-hours journey with eleven-hour time hop with language switch probably augment that disorientation, since half the time I'm even on a different day than I would be back in AK. But with all the social fuss happening in the canopy outside the apartment, I keep expecting my grandmother to be inside, keep wanting to tell her "Do you know who was here? Do you know what they said?" My mom has expressed exactly the same feeling, and I suspect we're not alone in one way or another. 

I don't even know which is more "home," here or Alaska. "Here" is more familiar in a rootsy lifelong way. Alaska is/was an incredible opportunity.  When I figure it out, I'll post some pictures. The whole WiFi/data situation seems tertiary in urgency right now as cousins and other close relatives arrive constantly at erratic moments. Things will calm down a bit tomorrow.  We think. So, but nonetheless, here is an HAWMC post. 
Prompt:                                                
If your health condition (or the health condition of a loved one!) was an animal, what would it be? Is it a real animal or make believe? I thought of lemmings, cascade of falling off a cliff, but I don't think I am legion enough to be lemmings all by myself.                                                      
Before lemmings, I thought of birds. Migratory birds, to be precise. But the migratory bird that is anorexia/bipolar is an eccentric migrant. She will fly to the far north in the spring when she could be eating early cherries, and eke along in the north until right around when the berries ripen, and then fly for a sojourn to the desert. She has one wing much stronger than the other, which causes her to fly in circles some. But it's not always the same wing that's stronger. Sometimes she migrates many times in a year; other times she stays in one place, sunk down in the ground, for a whole year at a time. Sometimes she dresses up to join the crowd, leading with her strong wing. But the weak wing is always pulling her in to a center that may not be her own.  When she visits her home-place, where everything tastes better, she waits and waits, gets hungry, eats, feels sick, hates herself for feeling sick from the food of this special place, but still eyes the persimmons that are a miracle of April, the exquisite dried apricots from Uzbekistan, the green powder she brought with her as a taste of her own better self, is disturbed at the back of her nauseous mind by questioning thoughts about the next time to eat, wishes she had the strength of wings and character never to eat again, to become her own totem cicada, sing all day, and dissolve at sundown into a leaf-skeleton of abandoned beauty.

2011 Retrospective

What an auspicious last day of the year! I've put in almost six hours on a very complex editing deadline, made a raw ginger spice cake on a total whim,

 worked out hard, shared some love vocally and over the internet, and I still have time to think back on this year, in blogging and otherwise, before we head up the hill to a New Year's celebration!

The biggest thing about this year for me has been the process of continuing to put my writing front and center in my life. I started my MFA at the Rainier Writing Workshop at PLU. I met some wonderful people there with whom I hope to be friends for life, and am working with a great mentor. I went to the Writers' Conference here in town again and met Rita Dove, Nickole Brown and other wonderful poets.
That link also tells the story of my participating in a poetry reading, starting out with the inadvertent slapstick of falling down the stairs!

Five of us here in town formed a poetry group. We meet twice a month, once to critique one another's poems, once to discuss a book we've read. It's an absolute lifeline.

I've written poems and cut them up into strips and put them back together in funky orders.

I acquired a tiny netbook on which to write and work wherever I go, and covered a notebook with inspirational quotations from teabag tags (that notebook is now long filled up).

I remind myself to ask the important questions...

...and I use my writing to make my gifts seem more familiar.

I've also repeatedly used my blog as a sounding board and a refuge to help me be a better version of myself. It provides accountability, feedback and visibility, as well as an impressive sweep of freedom.

Two very recent writerly things: I'm starting to submit my work! Which means I can start the process of receiving slews of rejections that will finally lead to acceptances!

And second, I mentioned yesterday this idea for a book that I've been obsessed with recently but too busy to implement, and I received more negative, skeptical or concerned comments than I ever have before for a creative endeavor. My sincerest thanks to you all for your care and consideration: I hear you. I don't quite know what to do with it yet, since I have so much energy behind the idea and have practically half written it already in my head, but the unanimity of the response makes me sit up and take notice.

A year ago, Phil had his eye surgery and we drove up to Anchorage every week for a month or two. We're not sorry to be skipping that this year, but we sure enjoyed the beauty of the drives.

We continue to hike in all weathers, and to appreciate the beauty both on the beach nearby...

...and right outside our cabin.

We disturbed wildlife in remote places not far from where we live. The sea otters seemed like they were 'in church' when we showed up.

And whereas last year, a gray whale washed up on our beach, this year we found a salmon shark.

We grew a big garden again. More than my weight in potatoes...

Some other beautiful roots...

And I added a dehydrator to my toolset and made lots of homegrown kale chips, although we agreed eventually that chard and beet green chips are much more delicious! 

Our horseradish came back gigantic from last year, and I made some amazing condiments with it. 

The dandelion wine I made two years ago matured to be smooth enough for prime time. Oh, and I had my first ever night as a blonde!

I continued my "witchly" ways, making tinctures and syrups...

...putting nettles in my smoothies...

Another thing I made during this gifting season was hops pillows. Hand-sewn (I don't even know how to use a sewing machine) and filled with hops blossoms and buckwheat groats.

I made eight of them for eight lovely ladies. I was surprised by how many of these recipients immediately reacted that it was a 'microwavable neck pillow,' when I thought of it as an eye pillow and think microwaves are the devil's work! I think that microwaving would volatilize the hops and take away their goodness, but people should enjoy their gifts however they would like.

We went to Arizona and helped David and Heather paint their ceilings, and enjoyed some gorgeous cactus hikes.

We went to Oregon for Phil's niece's wedding...

...hosted Phil's son and grandkids up here...

...and saw Phil's daughter Amy get married!

We got a decent-sized refrigerator...

...which precipitated our transformation of our little side room into a kitchen.

This was also the miraculous year that saw running--or at least walking--water come out of a faucet in our cabin! The pipe's only frozen twice so far, and we're impressed with how well our thousand-gallon tank is lasting us.

I'm so happy that I traveled all the way to Israel, renewed connections with all my lovely relatives, played in the kitchen with my grandmother...

...and hung out with my sweet mum!

 On the goodies front, my cashew-based cheesecakes were a hit. Especially the white chocolate-blueberry swirl...

 ...the chocolate-peanut butter one (requested many times)...

...the mint chocolate one (my birthday cake)...

...the coconut-lime (commissioned twice)...

...although my reduced-fat crustless version replacing cashews with cooked parsnip might have seemed strange to some!

My carrot-cardamom cookies are probably my personal favorite from this year.

And the holidays were a great opportunity to make some delightful experiments.

Healthwise, this has been an interesting year.

I got done with chelating and candida cleansing. My adrenals recovered to the point that around May, I began to be able to exercise intensely again. It's been such a pleasure to be able to enjoy moving my body, and to feel better about it as a result of (albeit agonizingly slow) improvements in body composition.

After a lifetime of shying away from any kind of medical oversight, I've continued to work with a Naturopath and a Therapist, working on supporting my deranged endocrine system and other things using mostly bioidentical hormones and herbs.

Although there have been definite improvements, several dosages have had to be increased this year. I don't know how much of that is just fluctuation and how much is a result of my continuing fluctuations in diet and stress levels.

Another thing that came to light this year was a diagnosis, or a label, for the rollercoaster experience of which I've so often described my life as consisting, and the challenge of accepting/rejecting/coming to terms with the label and the lifestyle behaviors and medications recommended to control it. It might even explain why I had an eating disorder for so long and why full recovery continues to be elusive.
Overall, these must all be good things: opportunities for growth, certainly.

I'm so grateful to this guy for being my anchor on the wild ride!

 And now this post is so long, probably no one is reading anymore!

Happy New Year to everyone! I'll be back either tomorrow or the next day with some thoughts and intentions for 2012.