sue rose blog

Sep

2019

Presence.

I used to sing to my young children, “Oh Gentle Presence”, an old hymn from my upbringing.I will forever remember the moment I realized that Nicky thought I was singing about presents. Hmmm. What could a gentle present be? Maybe a gift of your presence.

Is there anything more important than giving somebody your full attention? Look into their eyes and listen. Really listen. Hopefully, they will allow you to speak and listen back. If not, you still got the gift of learning who they are in a way many people have undoubtedly missed. And that changes your life in some way. Always.

I often think about the epidemic I’m witnessing in populated areas—but it exists in the wilderness and in-between. You know it–how it feels when you’re walking along and a stranger is walking toward you, seeming to look right at you, and you smile, readying yourself for a polite exchange of words—only to find they are speaking into some kind of device and not to you. Invisibility. Then there are Facebook, YouTube, ad infinitum…where everyone gets to feel famous…except usually, nobody’s listening.

Are you an over-talker? Over-talkers don’t listen. They just keep on talking about themselves, or what they do or don’t like, or believe in—without pausing to let you contribute to the “conversation”. Over-talkers make you feel invisible, or at best, not worth listening to. Sometimes being stoned, as many people often are today, turns an otherwise good listener into an over-talker, just as too much alcohol can make a pacifist angry. Even if temporarily, choice moments can be missed.

It’s getting worse. Most people don’t even give their best friends their full presence.

I remember being invited to a client lunch of appreciation for the work I had done—a one-on-one—feeling baffled by my client’s texting during the entire one-on-one exchange. I left with an empty feeling, rather than one of recognition.

I took my daughter on a mom-and-daughter week-long vacation a few years back and, in a bold gesture, insisted we would not drink alcohol or smoke pot the whole time. My reason: I wanted her presence. And I wanted her to have mine! I got a lot of pushback on that one and had to dig in my heels and stand my ground–but we ended up having the most deeply connected and fun few days of our lives together, save for the baby years.

In the adult dating scene this is a conundrum, because we want to appear to be carefree and fun-loving for first impressions. But think about this—at least by the second or third date: If you are trying to get to know somebody, does it make sense to be drunk the whole time? Or constantly stoned? How present can you be with your date? How much can you learn about who they really are? Beyond the resumes, profiles, and portfolios is a person with a depth of experience and wisdom you have yet to discover. Isn’t that worthy of your presence?

Nov

2018

Senior Morning Stretch: Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends!

I have wanted to post a video series to share with you some simple routines that will help you feel great! This idea has been on my mind since my first attempt (outtake above) way back in September. The attached video was produced by my pal, Glad Devotee, on the last day I spent with her and her hubby, Harpmaker, and their puppies – at Lower Sardine Lake between Sierra City and Graeagle, California. Everything was going just swell–until the wind decided not to cooperate. (Here are Jazzie and Bella in their favorite kayak.)

Two months later, I’m still thinking about doing the series. What do YOU think? Are you at all interested in learning an easy half-hour routine you can slip into your day–preferably in the morning? I call it the Senior Morning Stretch. It is easy for anyone to do. You can do it at home, in your jammies, no makeup or shower required. I notice that when I don’t do it, I feel old! Sore, creeky and grumpy even. Enough of that! Staying flexible and pain free is better.

This routine kept me limber all through the 127 days I lived in Sparky! Believe me, it was a lifesaver. Each morning as I awakened to the lovely sounds of wood creatures, I would grab the ceiling strap with my left hand, do a backward shoulder roll to the left, kick open the door with my feet, and roll the rest of the way over my shoulder to land both feet into my Crocs, which I’d left in precisely the correct position outside the door. Then I’d grab my foam roller and place it into the door hinge to hold the door open while I continued my morning rituals. (The foam roller turned out to be way more than a massage tool – and well worth the space it occupied in Sparky.) My purple yoga mat came out next, unrolled in just the right spot facing the morning sun. After preparing my perfect glass of coffee, washing and slathering my face in unscented shea butter, I’d grab the roller and my glass of coffee to start the day right – on my mat – for coffee, meditation, and Senior Morning Stretch.

Now I’m still doing it, albeit back in civilization, minus the lake and mountain scenery. Are you interested in seeing the series? Let me know by commenting or emailing me–and if you’re even curious, I’ll grab a friend and try “Take Two”.

This Thanksgiving, eat well, love much, give thanks, and stretch!

Oct

2018

A Good Trade

Noqkwivi is tapkiqwnova, a Hopi specialty entrée. White corn hominy and tender lamb stew served with blue corn frybread.

My new acquaintance, Vernon, led me 22 miles from the Navajo reservation onto Hopi lands. I had been “invited” by my other new friend, Andi, a beautiful Navajo woman. I met her at the McDonald’s in Winona that morning – as often happens – in the ladies’ room. She had asked me where I was from, and I told her, “actually my car for now – until I find my place”. She was absolutely beautiful. Tall, thin, and stately, with her hair neatly combed back in a clip, Navajo jewelry, beautiful skin, nice jeans, and a colorful scarf around her neck. She took a pause, and I could tell she was thinking something. Then she wished me safe travels and left the bathroom.

Outside as I was packing up my car for the day’s trip, wondering which route to take and where I’d camp, she approached. “That’s a nice bed you have in your car,” she remarked. She told me she was on “transport”, using her Jeep to take people from the Navajo reservation, where she lives, to their doctor appointments. “It gives me a chance to come to town for a cup of coffee, and meet people. I like people,” she explained. “And you have nice curtains.” She asked where I was headed. I told her I didn’t know.

That was the opening. She insisted I head north on Highway 87 (not 89) and stay at the Navajo reservation, where she lives, or the Hopi reservation. “Navajo are good people. Hopi are good people,” she said. “You can sleep there.” I asked for more detail. “Will I be welcome on the reservations? I sleep in my car. Would I just pull off the road?” “You can wait and follow me,” she offered. “But it will be a while. I have to wait for these people to have their doctor appointments.” We exchanged phone numbers, and she said she would find me – also that T-Mobile was “all over here”, so we would be in touch. I took her photo and promised not to post it online. She said she was shy about cameras.

I decided I probably should head on, since I didn’t like to show up to camp at a late time of the day, which I later thought might have been a missed opportunity. After gassing up and procuring ice for my cooler I swung back to McDonald’s hoping she would still be there. Yes, I would go with her. No silver jeep.

Well, I thought, maybe she will find me later. I took her advice and headed north on 87, using my phone’s mis-navigation, which told me the Hopi reservation was about an hour ahead, and then the Navajo another half hour after that. When I thought I might be in Hopi lands, I saw Vernon on a turnout taking a photo and turned off to ask him, “Excuse me – how will I know that I’ve reached the Hopi reservation?” I asked. He was young, and not tall, so I thought he may be Hopi himself. “No, this is Navajo. You’ve been on Navajo lands since 5 miles out of Winona. You need to go another 22 miles to Second Mesa, and that’s where the Hopi reservation starts.” We chatted a bit. He was ¾ Navajo, and married to an Apache woman. I told him I had dated an Apache but he was kind of crazy. He smiled and said, “She is crazy too. That’s why I’m so crazy about her.”

Then Vernon offered to drive ahead and lead me to the Hopi Cultural Center. Great! (No photos allowed inside, or I would have!)

When we arrived, he flashed his brake lights and I turned in to the parking lot, then he swung back around to chat some more. I told him I wasn’t sure about stopping so soon in the day, and maybe would head up to Moab or over to Canyon de Chelly, which I remembered was on Navajo lands. He assured me that I would be totally welcome to sleep there and not to worry. After going through my map and suggesting various routes to my optional stops, we said goodbye. “Just a minute”, and he reached inside his car to retrieve something. “Since you’re traveling alone and all.” He handed me a sheathed knife. I opened my door and retrieved my survival knife—my one solid weapon, handed it to him. “Can you use this?” He smiled. “It’s a good trade,” I added.

We both smiled and nodded. Then one last suggestion: “Have yourself a nice lunch before you go. The food here is good. Try the hominy with blue fry bread.”

Here I sit, belly full. It was very, very good. Andi got in touch by text. We’ll meet again soon.

Oct

2018

Sunset at Grand Canyon – Yikes!

On the single day I had at the South Rim with no fog or rain, I determined to capture its magnificent sunset views. Rather than hop the shuttle at Bright Angel trailhead and hop off at each of the viewpoints along the South Rim for a photo op (which is what everyone else that evening was up to), I devoted two hours to skipping the shuttle, hiking the Rim route, and taking photos all along the path as the sun was setting. This gave me the chance to see more views and take photos the others would miss. Plus I got a nice hike in.

At Powell Point, the wind suddenly whipped up and the temperature dropped instantly about 20 degrees (effects of Hurricane Rosa). It was really cold, and I admittedly felt a bit smug that I had stuffed a wool hat, extra polar fleece, and gloves into my day pack. I continued to Mohave Point, just in time for the finish of the show. My favorite photo from the evening was the one above—taken as I looked back on my path halfway between two of the shuttle stops. Here are a few more:

And here’s the beginning of the storm:

Next morning…

I was up at 5am, excited to get out while it was dark to the Tower and catch a few shots of sunrise. I knew this would be last chance before leaving, and didn’t mind freezing in the wind for 45 minutes before sunrise. I got to be the first person there, and the best shots came before the sun actually rose.

After warming back up and having breakfast it was my plan to leave for Moab, via Page. I made an impromptu turnoff to view an archeological site of a little Anasazi community and, while in its little museum, was asked by the ranger if I

had heard the news. There was a sinkhole just north on Hwy 89, (my intended route), and a washout on the North Rim of the park. I would have to alter my plans once again. Onward to Williams, Winona, and the Navajo and Hopi Reservations.

Sep

2018

Losing My Religion

Remember REM’s song, Losing My Religion? I’ve never been a fan of religion, even though I have a strong mystical sense. During grade school I would sneak out to the woods to converse with the trees and angels. I sat in my bedroom reading Emerson, Thoreau, and Castaneda. One of my very favorite passages is in the introduction of the book, The Soul of Rumi, by Colman Barks as he describes fana:

“For this open-air sanctuary without buildings, doctrine, or clergy, the one some of us live in now where the Lord is what is, nothing less than that, the experiment to live without religion, or rather to live in friendship with all religion simultaneously, is the brave American try for freedom and flow: Thoreau’s retreat to Walden Pond, Jake Barnes slipping into old Spanish churches to listen to his thoughts…Huck out on the river at night, R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe up on stage ‘Losing my religion.’

“There are many powerfully inclusive gestures, figures, and journeys that inquire into mystery outside the structure of any belief system. That’s fana.”

Losing my religion these days, is a process of losing all the old, programmed bits, with all sorts of baggage – big and small – I’ve gathered along the way.

At Navarro Beach I met some young hippies who instantly became my friends. They offered to share their campsite since I didn’t have one. Around their campfire late at night I was asked, “Why are you here?” “To take down all my old structures. Undo everything I had in place.” They seemed to understand. I was invited to travel with them for the next day, but realized next morning that wouldn’t work. I was up at six doing yoga on the beach, ready to take off at seven and all I got from their camp was some very loud snoring. We still keep in touch, after having spent only an evening camping on the beach, sharing food and wine, and playing “bones”.

Attachment to a way of life—in fact, losing my judgment about any way of life—

although challenging, is refreshing as well. I am not rushing now. Not accomplishing at the expense of peace of mind. Losing the habit of worry. Not running, scheduling (much – OK maybe I haven’t completely lost that yet), not working so hard. Losing my need to know what to expect and how I’ll end up once I feel old. (Note the operative word: feel. Even though I am old by some standards, I still feel young.) As I lose my material possessions, I occasionally wonder what I’ll do if I wish I’d kept them.

Then I think of the monks in caves, meditating and living on only what was given to them out of the generosity of people and their faith in the support of Life itself. Did they worry about where they’d end up when they got really old?

A new reader tells me I remind him of a writer named Horace Kephart. (Has anyone out there heard of him?) According to this new friend, Horace left his life and family behind to travel solo and live a subsistence life in Appalachia. Must find his writings when I get into internet land. Within his comment on my post was a nudge to lose my fear of animals. He is, of course, referring to my fear of bears and wild cats. I decided to eliminate one leg of this journey due to my fear of camping and hiking alone in the forest in grizzly country, at the height of bear hyperphagia (the period of excessive eating and drinking to fatten for hibernation). It was a tough decision for me. I simply didn’t feel comfortable with it, and realized that, even if it turned out all right, I would not have thoroughly enjoyed my time there because I’d have been constantly on the lookout for danger.

My days of running from danger, high cortisol and adrenalin, ambulances, blood, needles, tubes, and hospitals are done. I’d rather go the easier route this time around. It’s not without a slight pang of loss for what I may be missing. Reminds me of every decision we have to make; there’s always the other decision we could make, and something we choose to go without in order to have the other.

Losing My Fear – of Heights

I didn’t realize I had a fear of heights until recently when I decided to take a hike called The Sierra Buttes Rim Trail. It wasn’t a long hike – only 2.5 miles each way. I thought it would be perfect for a Sunday stroll (and it was!). There is a 1500 ft. elevation gain over the 2.5 miles up to a lookout. The scenery all along was gorgeous, the sun shining, and yellowing leaves rustling in a fall breeze. As I climbed higher the views were humbling. I hadn’t realized that the “lookout” up there consists of a series of about 200 metal steps with railings leading up to a small, square tower that looks like a kitchen inside. It’s locked, and I can only surmise it was installed for the comfort of the five intrepid souls who decided to build this thing.

This is where the fear of heights kicked in for me. I had my cell phone (camera) in my left hand and held the rail with my right as I started up the first flight of 45 steps. I noticed a bit of vertigo when I looked around at the beautiful views around and below me, and decided I would need to focus directly on each individual step as I ascended. The wind got stronger as I went up. I had to stop mid-flight and gingerly, while body-hugging the rail in a much too desperate manner, put my phone in my zipper pocket so that I could hold the rails with both hands. My hiking hat with its five-inch brim had to be stashed in my pack because I actually thought it could act as a sail and blow me right off of the structure. So I very, verrrrry, slowly sat down on a step, removed my pack and tightly-cinched hat, stuffed the latter into the former, slipped back in to the pack, and proceeded to turn back around for the remainder of the climb. This process took a good 10 minutes—an eternity at that moment.

On I went, not without random thoughts of turning back. There were several flights of steps until finally, I reached The Rock. Here were signatures carved into the stone, of visitors over the decades who were rightfully proud to have made it to this spot. I continued on. I made it up to the very top and walked around the “kitchen” in the style of Inspector Jacques Clouseau with my back against the building, inching along sideways, like I was searching for a gunman around each corner. I couldn’t help but feel a little dweebie when I saw a couple casually walking around up there with a puppy under one arm (Ho! Animal cruelty!), so I made my way back down to The Rock. Relieved to sit, I scooched up to its autographed face and, although I wasn’t carrying my good knife, (I did have a tiny one in my pack that I usually use to slice apples), I shallowly scratched the surface with my name and date alongside the others who most certainly had better knives and more patience.

Losing My Fear – of Bears????

That blog must wait for another day since I haven’t lost it yet (my fear of bears), but I will consider. It doesn’t help that I called my daughter in Alaska for advice. “Should I be scared?” All she said is, “Just don’t run up on a Grizzly. They’re monsters.” She texted me this photo she’d taken only 2 days before, outside her cabin in Healy, AK. Now there’s a woman who should write a book.

Aug

2018

Don’t Give Up on Love.

“Don’t ever give up on love,” said Underworld Traveler, my old friend and esteemed shaman, who I visited and journeyed with a few weeks ago. His beautiful partner, Minister of Song, drummed with him – two drums, not one – a magnificent multi-dimensional sound to assist my journey.

I won’t. Give up on love, that is. I have needs, yes. But they are simple: Security, Love, Freedom. Love should come first, but when I was asked the question a few years back, “What do you want?” That’s what I came up with spontaneously. It holds true today, as I sit inside my Sparky, trapped in with a fly, afraid to exit the car because of the presence of Mountain Lion Superior.

MLP showed up in my camp last night and it was a chill-to-my-bones experience. I heard her gobble up a wild turkey and then take down a deer—all within 50 yards of me, myself, and Sparky. I hustled out of there as soon as I could gather the courage to exit my screen tent. That was an imaginary barrier between it and me, of course—but unzipping the door and making my way to Sparky was really a challenge.

Back to Love. I won’t live without it. And Freedom! Ahh! I must have my freedom. This means nothing in particular, but everything to me.

Aug

2018

Blogligent No More

I was blogligent (negligent about blogging) for a bit, but feeling a bit bloggy again.

It’s funny how much I’m learning about myself at this late date…being out here in the woods. I’m realizing that I like to help when asked, and tend to try hard to meld to situations – but when I hit the “done zone”, I’m done. That’s it! There’s only so much I can take.

What’s too much?

I’m really literal. When you say something I tend to believe it. Like, when you say I can come in to pee and make coffee after 7 a.m. and you’ll leave the door unlocked, I show up at 7, coffee and pot and reishi mushrooms and filter in hand, ready to pee.

When the door is locked, it upsets me a little, but I try to be OK with it because I know it was not on purpose. So I beeline down to the nearest café, which turns out not to have eggs. And the coffee sucks, compared to my usual. And I don’t eat my perfect breakfast. The day goes on, imperfectly. And I know I need to just ride with it. It’s all there in the Buddhist teachings. Lean in to the discomfort.

But when that happens twice, I “read the signs”. The signs say it’s time to move elsewhere! Even when you tell me it was accidental, I know that I’m getting a valid message I may not understand ‘till later. No animosity. Just time to move on.

Damn, what a day that was. Now I’m in my screen tent and camping “illegally”??. I was going to drag it up to the bumpy dirt road where I was camped before, but just was too tired after driving two hours to charge my battery, buy groceries, find a library (which turned out to be closed), get gas, etc.

Nobody has even noticed the “day” tent here for the last week, and I did buy a bear canister. So I backed Sparky in, adorned her with camo, and took a chance that my luck will persevere. Heck – if a ranger shows up to scold me, I’m a senior with a senior pass, I’m a woman, and I’m on public lands with a bear canister. How bad can that be?

Wild turkey cries and I hear one creepy low growl. A few more stifled gobbles, then silence. Tinkle-tinkle goes the babbling brook.

To Be Continued…

Jul

2018

Bloggus Interruptibus – and My New Loves

It’s been nearly three weeks since my last blog post. I would like to blog about my reasons for not blogging for so long. I’ve fallen in love with Max, Huck, Toby – and a few other furry and feathered friends.

My intention with this trip from the start was to find peace-of-mind, live in nature, and write. When I began blogging, I realized I needed to post photos and video (and learn how) and weeks into it, I noticed that most people were not reading the text in my blogs. They would glance at a photo and a video. I really wanted them to read because I am a writer – not really a videographer, a blogger, or a social media natural.

Being off-grid added fuel to the fire of frustration. My intention to achieve peace-of-mind and live in nature was contrasted with this need to find phone and internet service so that I could post my blogs!

All I wanted to do is write.

The blogger’s need for internet and cell phone connection was really impacting my experience in nature. I really had to think about the reasons I am making this effort to live in nature, off-grid, for an extended period of time. I haven’t stopped writing, but I’ve reverted to using an actual pen and journal!! It feels good. I vowed to not make this blog another job. I want to use this as an expression of creativity, if at all possible – when it feels good and natural.

Who would have thought that a dispersed site in a remote coastal area would offer me the best phone and internet connection I’ve ever had—even in the city? My client has another project for me, and I’ll stay put here until it’s completed to make sure I don’t add that stress of frantic searching for internet back into the mix. My new charmed life just doesn’t have room for knowingly putting myself into stressful situations! I have no agenda to be anywhere but where I am anyway. And I’m in the forest only five miles from the beach. No kidding.

Now for a shout out to my new loves: Max, Huck, Toby, and the Biddies. I am extremely fortunate to have special friends scattered around the globe who have open door policies, and I’ve stopped in on some of them for a few days and been lavished with love, healing, incredible food, cuddles, and a peck or two. I’m recharged, and ready for a full experience of freedom….

My new loves:

Sunny’s biddies gave me fresh eggs every morning! That’s Max with his fishin’ jacket on, Toby on my lap, and Huck in the brown chair…California dreamin’.

Jul

2018

It’s Shower Day – UPDATE (read the text)!

Let’s face it—camping can be grungy. As a working woman, I have not lost my need to feel clean and presentable when I go into public, which will be this afternoon, since I need to find some internet and phone service soon!

I bought this Ivation RECHARGEABLE shower on Amazon about a year ago when I had started planning for this, my first solo camping trip of more than a day or two. When I charged it 3 days ago, I found it had held 90% of its charge for the year it sat unused!

I made a simple conversion from “office-in-the-woods” to “shower-in-the-woods” by using my desk as a vanity for shampoo etc., and removing everything else but for the shower and a large pot of hot water. I wanted to bring a stainless deep turkey fryer and heat the water over my fire, but couldn’t fit that in Sparky this trip. So I use the largest pot I have and heat the water on my Coleman stove, with an extra coffeepot-full at the same time just in case I need more.

I have always loved showering outdoors, but this shower – overlooking the creek and under the shade of huge pine trees, is the best yet. I simply hang the shower head from the center grommet on my screen shelter’s ceiling. Even though I doubt anyone would see me from the road, I ensured my privacy by installing (very easy) two of the wind panels on my shelter, just on the sides that were barely visible from the road. The soft panels, made of the same fabric as the roof, just hook on the top and bottom corners and Velcro across the top and sides of the shelter. When not using them, I leave them hooked at the bottom and just rolled up for easy install next shower time.

This shower-in-the-woods experience beats a 5-star hotel any day. Squeaky fresh and clean, I am! IMPORTANT UPDATE: Some astute adventurers have made a point that, even though I am using mostly Dr. Bronner’s unscented castille soap, it is safe for the ground but NOT for water and aquatic life! I have moved my shower 100 ft. away from the water, even though it was about 12 ft. above on a ledge. Also, I got rid of all cosmetics other than organic, unscented shea butter and Dr. Bronner’s unscented castille, and baking soda for tooth-brushing–as well as unscented laundry detergent. I’m going in to bear country, and one must be careful not to smell TOO GOOD!

DID YOU KNOW?

Emanuel Theodore Bronner was the maker of Dr. Bronner’s Castile soap. He used product labels to promote his moral and religious ideas, including a belief in the goodness and unity of humanity. Wikipedia

Born: February 1, 1908, Heilbronn, Germany

Died: March 7, 1997, Escondido, CA

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Jul

2018

I Stumbled Upon a Spring for Drinking!

If you’ve ever watched or read David Wolfe, you know how good live spring water is for your body. I actually did my own test once, freezing ice cubes from RO water bought at the Glacier machine vs hand-collected spring water. Once the ice cubes were frozen I opened my freezer door to see that the spring water had actually sent stalagmites up to the roof of the freezer! That’s a sign of living water infused with hydrogen, and David Wolfe actually found ormus substances (including gold, I seem to remember, but don’t quote me) by spinning live spring water in a centrifuge.

I decided before launch that one of my hobbies this trip would be to locate springs and collect good water for drinking. Hopefully you won’t recognize me by the time four months is up!

I had looked on findaspring.com to see if there were any springs nearby my camp. Unfortunately, the closest one was about 4 hours away- at least of those that are logged on the website. Then I went for a hike in the mountains, with no thought of it for the time being. About two miles into the hike, I spied this lake being fed by a stream. When I followed the stream uphill, marked by beautiful primrose—it was a spring! This absolutely pure ice-cold water was bubbling up from under a 13,000 ft. mountain. I was at about 10,500 feet and all I had with me was a liter water bottle, so I dumped out the dead stuff and filled it at the source!

It was empty before I arrived back at camp. The next day, I hiked back up with my gallon jugs to fill one at a time. Because of my shoulder injury, I chose to hike in and out twice with one gallon at a time. It was worth it!

Jul

2018

My Charmed Life Found Me – Finally!

I happened upon this dispersed campsite after I decided that I now live a “charmed life”.
(Yes, it was a decision – less angst and more flow.) I never could have imagined I would find a site this stunning, and it offers me the solitude I’ve wanted along with a few surprisingly friendly extras.

Take the wine rack, for instance. I was holding the bottle of wine and thinking about setting up my screen shelter, when – voilà! There it was: a perfect place to stow my bottle until cocktail time! (I’m getting really good at this manifesting thing!)

Two stalwart white pines stand sentry at the front zipper-door of my shelter, guarding my creative space. These trees also sheltered me from strong winds that raged a few nights, keeping all other campers at bay. No matter – even if they had stuck it out, my site is about half an acre, and populated by wild roses, scrub, grasses, pine, aspen, and wildflowers thick enough to camouflage my whereabouts. Worries about rain and flash flooding here are scant; I don’t sleep in my screen shelter anyway! I ran across a wild turkey and her chicks, gobble-gobbling away into the tall grasses. This is the sign of the give-away in Native American lore; I’m feeling the wonder of receiving and making mental notes to give back.

As I gaze beyond the cliff (only about a twelve foot drop to the water) I wander through space and time as butterflies and hummingbirds make their zigzag patterns downstream. It is idyllic. Yes, a charmed life. I like the sound of it. I like the feel of it. Think I’ll keep this going….

Jun

2018

How to Make the Ultimate Coffee – On or Off the Grid

A few months ago, someone posted a request on one of my group Facebook pages:

“How do you make the best camp coffee?” At the time, I had not learned of this technique, taught by Mellow Traveler.

For decades, Mellow Traveler wracked his brain for a better way to brew a perfect cup of coffee as he made his way through the wilderness. Finally he arrived at this technique, which uses a few common bar staples and a tea strainer. He and his partner, Mademoiselle du Monde, use this technique every day, whether at home or off the grid.

Mademoiselle gifted me this setup as a launch cadeau de bonne chance and I have used it every day since—whether I’m camping or in a friend’s home. It’s truly the best brewing method I’ve used – and deserves every ingredient be of the highest order.

Consider adding my special supplement: Jing Herbs Reishi Mushroom with cracked spores! Here’s what Jing Herbs has to say about it:

‘This Reishi Mushroom extract powder is a wild crafted tonic herb for cultivating Spiritual energy, modulating immune function, and promoting health, longevity, and peace of mind.

According to Shen Nong’s Divine Husbandman’s Classic of the Materia Medica: “Long term consumption [of Reishi mushroom] will lighten the body and prevent aging, extend one’s life, and make one an immortal.” We at Jing Herbs agree. As a matter of fact, if you were given the choice of taking only one herb for the rest of your life, from all the herbs in the world, we belileve Reishi should be your choice.”

You can purchase coffees infused with reishi; however, I don’t think you’ll be getting a therapeudic dose. Reishi in this form is not cheap, but I’ve have a sense that it’s working for me, especially as I attempt to ease off pills and capsules and get more superfoods in whole forms. I have led an especially stressful life, and still feel half my age. As I work toward continuous improvement, eliminating stress and easing off the habit of stressing seems to go along with my Reishi habit!

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Jun

2018

Meadow Hot Spring: “The Girls” See Some Sun!

Meadow Hot Springs is on an expansive private acreage about two hours south of Salt Lake City. Its owner allows people to soak and accepts donations from those who wish to show their appreciation. Now that it’s been seen on various blogs, the springs are still wonderful but sometimes trashed by unconscious party-types.

This was an easy segue from the city back into a more natural environment. Driving on Highway 15 brought back memories of the LA Freeway! It had been widened to 5 lanes each direction to accommodate the 2012 Olympics. Yikes! 70mph just wasn’t enough for these people. I had cars, trucks, and motorcycles passing me on each side.

I purposely arrived at Meadow Hot Spring on a weekday at 9 a.m. to avoid heat, crowds, kids, and nighttime party animals. There was a friendly couple in the first pool that gave me some reasons for changing today’s travel plan along with a few hints for camping in Yosemite once I get there. This pool was beautiful, and a perfect temperature. After a nice soak with casual conversation I decided to check out pool number two. The second pool was trashed with beer cans, charred wood, and an overflowing garbage can, so I walked on to pool number three.

This last of the three pools felt wonderful and had no obvious remnants of party animals or floating garbage, probably because it was full of fish! I had read that they would nibble my skin like the Japanese skin cleaning fish at spas, so took a chance. The combination of perfect temperature water, friendly fish tickling my legs, giant dragonflies lazily buzzing by, and the crickets singing a background lullaby was relaxing enough to make me think it might be time for “the girls” to come out and see the sun.

Pool three was a bit of a distance from the others. Nobody was around – just me and the wild things. I relaxed into a nook in the rocks and softly paddled my feet. The calm peacefulness here dropped me into a distant memory: It was 1987, in the South of France, near Aix-en-Provence. My husband was singing the opera Der Rosenkavalier at the Aix Festival and we were staying with Anna. Isabelle’s brother Peter drove a bunch of us, me and a gaggle of Parisian friends—all piled into his too-fast and tiny sports convertible—to a rugged cliff where we lost our clothing and dove into the glistening azure water, naked and happy.

Not since then had I bared my breasts in the light of day, and in public. Today was my chance to let “the girls” out for a while, silently asking the fish to stick to my legs and feet. I moved to the wooden dock to dry in the sun, but when I heard a group of young scouts arrive at pool number two, I had to abort the sunbath early, tuck the girls in, and hike back to Sparky for a lunch of radish, snap peas, carrots, cheese, and smoked salmon. It was time to head for my next stop, and I wasn’t sure where that would be.

All-in-all, I give Meadow a thumbs-up. I’ll stop in again if I’m in the area for sure.

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Jun

2018

Dirtbag in the Driveway

Note: In case you’ve never hung out with a rock climber, the term, “Dirtbag” is an affectionate term for one who lives in his or her car. Climbing magazine ran a hilarious glossary of terms that parce out dirtbags of all types. According to their definition, I would be considered a “Classbag” because I’m living out of my car, but have a variety of outfits along, including a business suit just in case I have the opportunity to meet a new or potential client.

Princess Shiatsu and I became lifetime friends back in the ‘80s when I lived in Salt Lake City. Princess, now with Smiley Curmudgeon, her wonderful mate, remains a constant source of healing for me. It is seldom I can hang out with another person who actually feels the impact of every food she eats – and is willing to go without the ones that make her feel bad. I am the same (at least part of the time), but I am lucky that can eat a much wider variety of foods than she can without getting sick or feeling pain.

Because of their home configuration I slept in Sparky by night and lived in and out of their home in the daytime. Between trips back and forth to the library for work, I raced home for lunch, served (!!) promptly at 12:30 and consisting of organic meat or wild-caught salmon with a “green drink” – a homemade simple soup consisting of watercress, kale, avocado, and chicken broth, steamed and blended into a smooth drink. YUM! We also usually ate two or three whole radishes with each meal.

I wish I could replicate the soup out here in the wilderness, but don’t have the kitchen prep tools so I’m eating very simply: mostly crudité (rainbow carrots, snap peas, radishes, and radish leaves) plain and raw, along with either salmon or eggs – and some fruit.

Princess introduced me to the concept of eating whole, fresh radishes at most meals, which have wonderful health benefits. Their leaves contain 5 to 10 times the benefits of the actual radish! She finds the leaves too pungent but I really like nibbling on them especially while I’m driving. I appreciated the radishes’ anti-inflammatory characteristics most. After having injured my hip and shoulder, then re-injured myself the day of my launch, I had arrived in Salt Lake City exhausted and hurting. I think it’s remarkable that I’m feeling great again only four days later!

So here I am, a Dirtbag at 63, in the driveway for now but heading out in the morning. I’m headed for Meadow Hot Springs to have a soak. Stay tuned for news from “the girls”!