Good Tidings

IMG_0549So dear readers, here in the Land of Lake Effect Snow  we are deep into the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.  It is all too easy to lose sight of the Spirit of the Season when dashing through the snow in a four horse powered all wheel drive.  There are presents to purchase, wrap and ship. Cards to be written and mailed in a timely manner, Don’t forget the run to the hardware store to grab those replacement bulbs for the light strings we’ve already hung up. I know I have spares tucked away somewhere but their location isn’t noted on my Christmas ta da! list so off I go again. Oh yes and we DO need some groceries from time to time.

Then, every so often a little reminder pops up that gives me a reason to stop and reconnect with the True Meaning of Christmas.  Yesterday this sweet little ornament came in the mail with a happy holiday card and a note from on of my friends from the Bedlam Farm Creative group.

IMG_0545This little hummingbird not only reminds me that Spring will come again, it also tells me we are so connected even across the miles. She’s a perfect addition to my collection of nature themed ornaments. She also reminds me of the wonderful hummingbird photos another of our group members often shares with us ( check some of them out here: http://www.susantaylorbrown.com/hummingbirds-in-flight/ )  Best yet this sweet little bird said someone is thinking of me! Don’t take this as a complaint, I am at my best and happiest when doing my “elf” work of the season (more to come on that in a future post) Still, in this season of doing so much for others, did my heart good to be remembered.  Such feelings are the fuel that keep kindness flowing.

Happy Trails good readers and remember ” If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Lawrence Peter Berra.

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by on December 12, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group, Family and relationships, The quest for Inner Peace
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on December 12, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/good-tidings/

Red and White

So, dear readers, the blogs I follow are currently filled with stories and photos of Holiday decorating. I laugh and am inspired and will have much to work with this weekend when I kick into full decorating mode.

reindeer

This is a bit late for me.  Yes, my younger daughter and I are “those” people who program the car stereo to the 24/7 Christmas Music station as soon as it comes on. Oh come now, holiday music just makes the frequent bursts of Lake Effect snow (which can arrive as early as late October) much more festive and fun! I can in fact be found puttering around the yard on any warm October weekend putting up the outdoor lights.  Oh  stop shaking your heads.  Other than a test run, I do not turn them on until after Thanksgiving.  If I wait until November, chances are I will need an ice pick or roof rake to get anything hung.  I simply prefer to get the outdoor lighting done on a 50 degree day free from frozen precipitation, so October is when I start.  I repeat, once tested, the lights do not come on until after Thanksgiving. The start of the Macy’s Day parade is actually my reminder to go plug in the timer, so our guests will leave that evening in a blaze of holiday sparkle and color.

I do have the presence of mind to hold off decorating indoors until Thanksgiving Weekend. Usually I am close to done by now, however I spent last weekend shopping local to support Plaid Friday and Small Business Saturday. Thoughtful, unique gifts requiring more travel and time than a one-stop Black Friday Mall experience. Well worth the effort,  far more personable and fun, trust me.  So I am just getting started and feeling the vibe thanks to fellow Creative Group Blogger Lisa Dingle (read all about it right here: http://justponderin.com/2013/12/02/on-the-admission-of-colored-christmas-light-snobbery/ ).  Like Lisa, I am in the process of “bringing up the boxes”  although my elves are scarce these days so it is taking me a bit longer.  In between basement forays, I catch up on recent blogs and posts.  I came across one piece which evoked memories so powerful I had to stop and write an immediate response. In my response I promised a longer post.  Here it is:

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There was a year my Christmas tree was simply white lights with red balls of various sizes. Since I am given to a more colorful lighting style and have a large collection of vintage ornaments as well as many from various places I have lived or traveled to I actually had neither plain red balls nor white lights.  I had to go out and purchase all of these and since it was November, I paid close to full price for everything. This was absolutely unheard of for a post-holiday  bargain shopper like me ( my family assures me they all love receiving last year’s Hallmark ornaments in their stockings and gift bags. ) The truth is that year, I could not bear to open my big box of carefully stored ornaments.  The memories which would fly out like Pandora’s Box were a vortex of emotions I could not face, because that year I did not believe Hope would remain in the box.  The previous winter my husband and I had conceived our first child.  The baby came two months premature just before summer. He was still born. We named him Zachary.  We had some warning, as sonogram done a few days earlier indicated serious problems.  We were still grappling with how to tell our families when I went into “spontaneous labor.”  Given his condition ( Trisomy 18 )  Zachary’s prognosis for life was not hopeful.  I accepted still birth as a merciful miracle. Still, it shattered my heart into a thousand shards of sadness, shards so sharp I could feel them everywhere in my body for months on end. People told me how strong I was because I spoke so eloquently of my faith that everything happens for a reason and urged my family to believe all would be well. People believed me because they never heard the sobs that wracked my body every morning when I woke knowing what I had lost, sobs deep and powerful as if trying to loosen those shards lodged deep in my soul. In the midst of that pain lay the fear that I would never be granted the gift of motherhood. So it was that when the holidays came I knew I could not face the tsunami of memories contained in the ornament box.  There were  pieces of my childhood, or places visited during my adolescence when we traveled the world and lived in Southeast Asia. There were ornaments from friends scattered across the globe. It was more happiness than I could bear to feel in that season of a first loss lived too young. Yet I knew I needed do something to take a step towards moving forward or my fears would become my truth.  I needed to decorate a Christmas tree, as an act of faith as if I was still that child who believed in the magic of the season. So I chose only what I could bear to do.  Red ornaments and white lights; red for life and love, white for hope.  I did it to move towards life,  to reach for love and find hope. I needed to believe if not for myself, then for the new life I was knew I carrying once again.

first christmas

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by on December 6, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Family and relationships, The quest for Inner Peace
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on December 6, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/red-and-white/

Chasing Rainbows

So, you know dear readers that I myself am a reader of several great blogs from fellow members of Jon Katz’ creative group. (quiltofmissingmemories.wordpress.com , treehousefoodie.com , quarryhouse.wordpress.com  to list a few)  The group also has many gifted photographers, poets, musicians and artists.  Frankly I consider myself quite the interloper, a fool among princes, given to bad but heartfelt haikus and an abundance of supportive (and equally heartfelt) commentary. To my bemused surprise, the more we share, the more common ground I find.  Whether it is time spent in another country, a common love of brussel sprouts or a similar parenting perspective these serendipitous meeting points have fostered hope for my creative intentions. I began this blog as a direct response to the support I received for the photos and poetry I had posted. Even as I did, I feared I was setting up a potentially futile creative goal.  I started this blog just as summer was coming to an end. It is one thing to meander along trails, snapping images to fuel thoughtful prose which can be edited between bouts of gardening and experimental cooking.  Once the school year begins such leisure time simply ceases to exist.  Working full time, running the “Mom Taxi,” throwing in dog walks and training sessions for fosters, leaves little time for thoughtful editing of the jumbled musings most entries are born with. The early arrival of hard frost where I live in Upstate NY is merciful because my garden would be dead from neglect by October anyways. Although my camera is almost always at my side and I have a small portfolio of images, their related stories must wait to be told while the responsibilities of running a household take priority. It is a choice I make consciously, and usually without complaint, because I have paid dearly in the past for neglecting those priorities.  I steal precious minutes for writing during lunch breaks, waiting for rehearsals to let out, while dinner simmers on the stove. Often, the very thoughts I was percolating turn up in other member’s posts. This creates a small wave of jealousy which washes ashore on my deserted island of busy-ness because obviously other people have time to write down thoughtful creative insights.  And then something happens to shake me out of my fog of pity. Like driving home and seeing this

rainbow

And then coming home and reading about another rainbow here: justponderin.com/2013/11/20/on-freakin-rainbows-and-t/

and I realize we are all of us chasing rainbows and when we catch one we put it out there for everyone who might need it. It doesn’t matter whose words, or images they are.  This is all coming from the same place, one tremendous Heart beating to the Call of Creative Spirit.  When I am given the gift of time to express myself, I will take it gratefully and use it wisely to post thoughtfully because it is not a race and we are all winners here.

Happy Trails good readers and remember ” If you see a fork in the road, take it.” Lawrence Peter Berra.

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by on November 22, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group, Guest Posts, The quest for Inner Peace
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on November 22, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/chasing-rainbows/

The Rules

To fully appreciate the context of this post, you might want to reference fellow blogger Lisa Dingle’s recent entry  at justponderin.com/2013/11/10/on-freakin-bisquick/

I do foster care for rescue dogs and our current house gust is a little fella that goes by “The Dude”   (yes, as in the Coen Brothers  “I’m the Dude. so thats what you call me.”)  Although he resembles a bowling ball more than he is likely to use one I would not put it past his  Dudeness to push one down the alley to knock over a few pins.

.Dude

  He’s got “tude.”  He’s also smart; smart enough to realize that when you are a guest in our house  “there are rules.”  Our own rescue girl Miss Delilah read him those rules when he arrived and periodically she reminds him of said rules when she deems it necessary.  Dude listens respectfully, licks his butt and moves on. It’s a Dude thing.

Rules are what keep most households from pitching over the edge into the abyss of domestic chaos.  Abyss ( what’s the plural ?  Abysses?  Abyssi?  )  anyways in general, an  abyss  is not a place one wants to go ( yes Lisa Dingle  I too have seen the movie…I too did not care for the ending and to be honest the whole breathing water concept complete freaked me out.)  so we have rules, some written but mostly unwritten.

The Bisquick post from my Bedlam Group friend and fellow blogger ( I am totally riding on coattails of the talented writers in The Group to even call myself a “fellow blogger”  with my fledgling posts, but I have been encouraged by their support so I’ll claim fellowship, no rings needed)  struck a chord.  Bisquick is a staple in our pantry because believe it or not it is vegan which makes baking for my vegan daughter and son-in-law much easier.  I have endeavored over the years to move away from packaged foods, but Bisquick is staying, kept fresh in it’s air tight supesized container which holds the “family” box I purchase at our nearest bulk foods warehouse.  Hey, it’s a nice balance to the organic local veggies we receive every week in our CSA Farm share box. Nothing says healthy more than a beet, brussel sprout and parsnip potpie topped with a flaky Bisquick Crust. Yum!

I am kidding.  While I do make Bisquick Crusted pot pies ( both veggie and chicken as our younger daughter is not a vegetarian) I have not, nor do I intend to put beets in them.  I stand alone in my enjoyment of the earthy, red root crop that were such a generous portion of this years farm harvest.  I have a refrigerator drawer full of beets. Unlike the kale we received in shrub like quantity each week,which can be frozen, the beets pose a dilemma for me.  Yes they can be pickled, but as much as I like fresh beets I simply dont care for pickled beets.  In fact I didn’t know I like beets because the only way they were served when I was a kid was in the pickled form.  Imagine my surprise when I had them fresh and lightly steamed!  My beet dilemma stems from a rule I grew up with. “Don’t waste food,” a rule reinforced by the years we spent in Southeast Asia where we saw firsthand those starving people parents reference when quoting that rule. ( To their credit my own parents never did that, even before we moved overseas.)  Receiving the CSA share boxes this year really pushed me to cook both spontaneously and creatively,  which was for the most part a good thing (hence the five bags of frozen kale in the freezer, waiting for their moments of glory in the winter soups to come)  Thankfully, beets keep a good long time.

Lisa’s “freakin’ Bisquick ” story brought to mind my important kitchen rule.  While we do have our kitchen cabinets somewhat sorted by category ( and refrigerator shelves too I might add)  I can function with the occasional ingredient shuffle.  For me it’s “The List” rule that matters most.  When one uses the last of something, one should write it on “The List”  posted on the kitchen fridge.  It is important enough to require a small magnetic pen/pencil sleeve stationed right next to “The List” to ensure writing implements are always available!  Nothing raises the ire of Mom quicker than the discovery that someone has used up the peanut butter, last egg or brewed the last tea bag right after the weekly grocery pilgrimage.

These oddities of life, the Rules we use to stave off insanity and chaos  require humor because if we didn’t laugh we would cry.  That humor is what I love so much in Lisa’s blog, why I have referenced it here several times and likely will again.  In the meantime I just want to know  “Who used the last of the freakin’ Bisquick without putting it on The List!”

Now off to google Beet recipes.  Happy Trails good readers.

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by on November 11, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group, Much ado about nothing
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on November 11, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/the-rules/

Basket Day

It’s November, which means many things at our humble homestead.

Once we’ve plowed through the “OMGawd ( that’s for my fellow Blogger Lisa Dingle whose work you can check out at  justponderin.com )  it’s gonna snow any minute now” marathon of garden clearing, garage cleaning, wood stacking, recycling runs we are free to turn our thoughts to several important countdowns. If you are my would be perfect husband ( so named because he truly seeks elusive perfection in everything he does; besides the title of “nearly perfect husband” has already been tagged in the aforementioned blog  wink  wink Lisa D. ) there is the countdown to Black Friday, because if one is a vegetarian, Thanksgiving simply does not hold the same appeal as when one was a carnivore. The appeal of finding the deal of the year, however know no dietary restrictions.   I, on the other hand love Thanksgiving because it combines two of my most cherished elements of life:  food and family, without the stress of would be perfect gift giving associated with next month’s big family and food holiday season.  My countdown however targets the Friday prior to Thanksgiving, a day known here as “Basket Brigade Day.”  It has been my favorite day of the year for over two decades now. That is because in 1992, my husband (inspired by a life coaching seminar he had attended) asked me to help him organize a Thanksgiving Food Basket progam.

We started small and kept it simple, drawing on family and friends to help us purchase enough food to stock a few boxes to provide Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkeys for  a couple of local families in need. A few years later,  we had close to a dozen people coming to our house a few days before Thanksgiving to help sort food, assemble boxes and deliver in all kinds of weather.  There was the year the teams delivered in near white out conditions when a Lake Effect snow storm blew in unannounced. Another year one of the delivery teams required a police escort to make their delivery as the intended home was on a city block where a shooting had occurred.  One year, I saw a small blurb in our local paper  asking readers to send in their thoughts on what they were most grateful for. I wrote in  my entry that I was grateful for the people who took time each year during a busy week to help us deliver those Thanksgiving Baskets. I got a call from the features editor asking if they could do a story about our “Basket Brigade.”  They sent a reporter/photographer the next week; they told me there would probably be a little story in the paper on Thanksgiving Day.

Thanksgiving morning the local section of the paper had two stories side by side on the front page. One featured coverage of the County’s decision to eliminate the annual Thanksgiving food distribution program because the resources were needed for the Christmas program.  The other story featured our little Basket Brigade.  We were amazed  and my daughter who was only 7 at the time was a little embarrassed  because she was in one of the photos, helping me  (I was pregnant with her younger sister then.)  The next week, the social worker from our local elementary school called and asked if they could become involved in the program.  The following year  the elementary classrooms collected food.  Some of them collected small change to help purchase a turkey to go with their box of food.   The idea was to show students how a big need could be met when everyone contributed just a little bit.

That year we tripled our delivery capacity and almost two dozen families had  Thanksgiving Dinner.  Volunteer drivers assisted by members of a girl scout troop made deliveries for three hours on a dark, windy afternoon. Some of the classrooms had decorated their boxes and included cards or drawings.  A small mountain of extra food went to the local Christmas Bureau to jump start their holiday food drive. The impact on the students was significant enough for the school to make it an annual tradition.  The year after we almost missed delivery because of a snow day, we moved deliveries to the Friday before Thanksgiving,  just in case ( as I’ve said here before this is Upstate New York people, after Labor Day, snow is ALWAYS a factor;  plan for it, dress for it.)

I need to be clear about something here.  I write about this  not for recognition.  The Basket Brigade is an astoundingly simple program, we have not created anything innovative or heroic.  It can be (and in fact has been) replicated with a handful of people almost anywhere a community is willing to come together to help one another. That is the beauty of the idea. I write about it now because as our Creative Group members have been following the “Days of Gratitude” challenge I have been counting down the days to my favorite day of the year.  It is not my favorite day for the obvious reason one might think.  It is very gratifying to know we have done something to help others in need. The day’s significance comes from something I realized when I overhead a conversation between one of my daughters and her young friends. She had been invited to do something and she said she was going to be busy because it was “Basket Day.”  Her friend asked her what Basket Day was and our daughter answered “You know, the day when you deliver food to people who need it for Thanksgiving.”   For her and her sister, Basket Day was not something extraordinary but something we did as a matter of fact, something they thought everyone did. While I know my daughters have long since realized this is not the case, as I am sure the students of the elementary school also go on to discover, for me this is the day we can plant the idea that there is a way to help when help is needed.  My favorite day is Basket Day, when the difference I have made is starting a thought, planting an idea, creating a possibility. Let the countdown begin….

basket brigade kara and emma

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by on November 10, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Family and relationships, Making a difference, The quest for Inner Peace
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on November 10, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/basket-day/

On Becoming a Band Mom

As I mentioned in a previous post, my daughter has joined Marching Band this year.  It is something she has wanted to do for several years but until now has not been able to fit it into her schedule. Last year she was presented the opportunity to be in the honors orchestra program.  She’s played violin in the school orchestra programs since third grade. Her scores from her NYSSMA solo fest have qualified her for All County and Area Allstate Orchestra.  Years ago she wanted to be in BOTH orchestra and band, but this was not an option at the time.  For a while she played on the field hockey team, a sport she enjoyed. She;s always liked running around and hitting things with sticks, so it makes perfect sense that when she joined Marching Band she ended up playing in the percussion “pit”.

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This year’s show is called “Metal”, a conceptual piece which plays on the themes of Metal as an essential resource and style of music.  As one student from another band commented during a recent competition, “Wow, your band marches to Aerosmith.  That is unbelievably cool.”  The show itself is indeed unbelievably cool.  The guard uses metal poles, flags in metallic colors and shiny swords.  The band uniforms have had one sleeve removed so the kids could all wear tatoo “sleeves” on the exposed arms.  The senior and junior drum major (whose uniforms are completely sleeveless) not only have a tatooed arm, their other arm is wrapped in silver fabric, giving a bionic appearance on one side.

majors

The back of the field features several multi-story scaffolds  with decks on which several of the pit percussion students perform.

scaffold

Along the front row, among the usual assortment of percussion instruments like marimba, xylophone, chimes and cymbals are some unusual percussion elements: hollowed oxygen tanks, metal bells made from weights and an anvil….yes you read that correctly  an anvil.

anvil

Oh I almost forgot,  there are a series of oil drums which are used at one point in a “Stomp” style percussion “conversation” with the drumline.

IMG_0459

Now bear in mind every band has a total of 15 minutes to stage, perform and exit the field. The show itself is about 9 minutes.  Do the math.  That’s 3 minutes at either end of the performance to get all that “metal” onto and off the field. Right, oh and during final competition it is pared down to 13 minutes.  This show is breath taking in more ways than one.

You can imagine the army of parent volunteers it takes to pull off a show like this.  This years band numbers just under 15o students. That’s a lot of uniforms to keep clean, flags to repair, instruments to keep tuned, not to mention mouths to feed.  Yes, every weekend when competition is local,  we feed the kids a hot meal complete with “grab and go”  snacks for the road trip ahead.  Every weekend a big trailer is loaded with all the show components and a small army of “Pit Crew” (they used to call them the “Pit Dads” until several Moms joined in) all caravan to the competition site to stage the show, pack it up, get it home and gear up for the next rehearsal. Rain or shine or snow. Hello, this is Upstate New York. By October, snow flurries are always an option.  If you don’t know how to dress in layers, you can’t live here.

bundle

When our daughter joined the band I knew of course I would be part of the volunteer parent team. I mean I was PTA treasurer during their elementary years, served as a girl scout troop leader (thats a whole series of blog posts) and chaperoned field trips for as long as the girls would allow. What I didn’t know was that Band Parents are not like most volunteers  There is an immediate almost uncanny sense of belonging and acceptance.  It is like becoming part of a huge family. We have our dysfunctional moments triggered by oh, trying to fit a 12foot 7 inch scaffolding tower through an 11 foot stadium doorway, or hauling all the show components to the football stadium only to discover the keys on hand don’t open the lighting panel, so everything gets hauled by to the parking lot for that evening’s rehearsal. There were road trips in rain so intense the competition events were moved to indoor venues, after everything and everyone were thoroughly soaked from setting up and practicing in the deluge. There was an out of state trip involving a full weekend of travel, the steepest stadium access road imaginable ( the crew almost radioed for crampons and climbing ropes) and a night performance time that got pushed to just before midnight because of  weather delays. Note to would be fellow travelers:  Be advised, we Upstate New Yorkers never leave home without bringing our own weather. To pull together so these kids can get on the field and rock the judges (the drum major’s final salute ends with a fist pump)

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this crew is a tight knit, well oiled and more than slightly crazy team.  My kind of family.

I’ve only encountered this kind of belonging in a large group once before. Here, online, in the “Bedlamite” creative group started on Facebook by author, photographer and would be pirate Jon Katz.  Odd that in over a half century of life among humanity its happened twice in the same year, but I know the authenticity of my experience in the bedlam Creative Group made it possible for me to dive right into the sea of other Band Parents.  I somehow knew whatever I had to offer would be “good stuff.”

justbee

Happy Trails good readers!

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by on October 31, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Family and relationships
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on October 31, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/on-becoming-a-band-mom/

Messages from the IGA

Life has been pretty hectic since my pilgrimage to the Bedlam Farm Open House. A new school year began the day after I returned home and with it came seven new faces in the program where I am  a special education assistant. That alone has kept the teaching team on our toes. I have also become a Marching Band Mom, as my daughter now plays in the percussion pit. Add in her violin and piano lessons on alternating weeks, yeah the Mom Taxi had to hit the ground running from day one.  It took longer than I wanted to complete my blog entries about the trip, but that was an essential piece of this process for me.  Something in my consciousness shifted, connections were made and  I felt a need to document that shift. The creative spark fired by the Open Group this summer has become a reliable ember I can draw from day after day. I am taking a digital photography class to become more familiar with my new camera’s features. Homework week one?  Use the manual to find a whole list of specs and features. Week two? Shoot using only manual settings.  Hit the ground running.

So, I am building a small portfolio of photos and blogs post ideas. Oh, I’ll throw in a few of those bad haikus from time to time too. Meanwhile there was a whole garden and a little fish pond to tend to over this long weekend.  I am facing a small dilemma regarding a bullfrog, but that’s the background for another post. Unseasonably warm weather has kept things in bloom far longer than usual. Without a killing frost, the weeds have held on longer too.  It was quite a jungle out there. We lost a few trees in the big thunderstorms this summer,  so I had quite a bonfire going last night. It was the first time since the Open House that I have had more than a few minutes to sit and just be.   What a beautiful night, even though clouds prevented any stargazing. I found it surprisingly easy to get lost in the flames and just watch the sparks shoot like fireworks into the night sky.  I found myself sending a few prayers of gratitude soaring with them.  Life is balancing out nicely right now.

So this afternoon when I looked at my grocery receipt I was confused. “Turn your groceries into towels!” it proclaimed in large print across the bottom.  Why on earth would I want to do that? While my family is pretty adventurous when it comes to cuisine I doubt they would consider eating towels. I was not wearing my prescription sunglasses so I could not read the smaller print that might enlighten me to the advantages of converting groceries into towels.  It was a mystery that had to wait.  I ran several errands, came home, made dinner and forgot all about it, until I sat down at my computer. There on my desk was the receipt with the mysterious offer. So I read the details.  Apparently grocery purchases at this store earn points towards  featured items, which this month happen to be towels. Bear in mind this is one of the last IGA (independant grocer alliance) markets in our area, a midsized Upstate New York city.  Like the small family run farms Jon Katz blogs about, IGA are a vanishing breed. Granted, I (like Alec Baldwin’s now famous Mom, Carol) cannot imagine living beyond driving distance of Wegmans. Still something about this offer made me feel a little guilty.  I realized I don’t shop at the IGA very often, even though it is closer for quick trips where I only need a few things ( which happens every other day it seems)  Maybe my life is not as balanced as it seemed. I should (no, not should  I made a vow not to “should” on myself a few decades ago) I will stop there more often…after all who doesn’t need a new towel or two once in a while.

bonfire

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by on October 15, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Much ado about nothing
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on October 15, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/huh/

All Good Things Conclusion

You know that quote “all good things come to those who wait” and the platitude “everything happens for a reason” which we console ourselves with when faced with crushing disappointment? If you detest them then stop reading NOW because this is the final chapter of one of THOSE stories.

They talk late into the evening, about dogs and kids and favorite stories from the Open Group page.  The next morning after coffee and some peach bread, her simple offering of thanks for gracious hospitality,  they set out in a small caravan towards Cambridge.  After passing through Saratoga Springs, still bursting with activity of races and weddings, they agree to let their own GPS directions be their guides.  This gives her a chance to grab a few roadside photos which  ever so slightly appeases the ghost of the missed Adirondack foothills sunset moment of the previous evening.  She also has time to checkout the Cambridge Farmers Market, where she is seriously tempted to buy a pair of alpaca wool socks for Jon Katz.  Its a reference to a running joke in Open Group.  She settles for a loaf of sour dough bread from the RoundHouse Cafe Bakery stand with some local jam to serve as lunch, then  drives north  towards Bedlam Farm. She notices her heart is fluttering.  It is not far and she is one of the first to arrive. She is greeted by Pearl one of the original Bedlam Farm dogs who now lives with Jon’s daughter Emma.  Soon Lenore comes over and sitting with these two dogs is a cherished moment.  They are a direct connection to Rose,  whose story is her favorite of Jon’s books.  More Open Group members arrive and there are introductions and hugs and stories. She wanders around, absorbing every joyful moment.  There are donkey talks with Simon, Lulu and Fanny,  Fran’s wonderful miniature gardens, Maria’s studio filled with her amazing scarves, whimsical potholders and pincushions, the much photographed dahlia garden. Jon notices her pirate bandanna and takes a few moments to show her his Jewish Pirate emblem tatoo.  Mary Kellogg gives an inspiring and moving talk about encouragement and the boldness of publishing as an older woman. Mary reads a poem that speaks of choices. She hears the line of “making a ripple,” when others merely sit and feels these words open a big door for her. A group photo is taken, which she is grateful for, knowing it will serve as proof this afternoon was not just a surreal dream. “A dream come true,”  a fellow Group Member says as they stand along the fence watching as Jon and Red do their sheep herding demonstration.  Rose would have been a joy to see, but Red!  Oh Red!  It is an ethereal experience to watch his powerful, graceful outruns, to feel the intensity of his focus as it directs even rebellious Zelda’s movements.  She notices she is not the only one with tears in her eyes.  They smile at each other and the realization hits her.  Things happened for a reason; the previous car trouble, the delayed trip, the time of waiting  gave her this moment to be shared with old friends who have just met. From this moment “she” has become one of “us.”

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by on October 11, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group, The quest for Inner Peace
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on October 11, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/all-good-things-conclusion/

All Good Things Vol5

You know that quote “all good things come to those who wait” and the platitude “everything happens for a reason” which we console ourselves with when faced with crushing disappointment? If you detest them then stop reading NOW because this is the next installment of one of THOSE stories.

Laughing, she climbs back into her trusty vehicle and heads downs the road. The GPS tells her she is just minutes away from the home of her hosts for the night. She finds the house and drives once around the block, trying to calm her pounding heart. At the door she is welcomed in with warmth and enthusiasm. Introductions all around, offers to help carry her bags, gifts of thanks placed on a gracious kitchen table. Soon, everyone is chatting more friends catching up than strangers newly met. Time to head for the potluck. They gather chairs and their culinary contributions. She is feeling better about hers since she stopped at a local farm stand and purchased half a dozen beautiful peaches to grill for dessert. This will compensate for the somewhat over baked cornbread she has tucked in the bottom of her grocery tote. Another group member will meet them at the potluck dinner; her dog was taken ill and she is not sure if this will change her plans. Her host family lives just outside historic Saratoga Springs. The town is clearly in full celebration mode for this end of summer weekend. Signs of weddings abound, and she is struck by the thought that just a year ago her own family was in full wedding preparation mode. Then there are the horses, so majestic and spirited! She thinks of meeting Simon, Lulu and Fanny and has to catch her breath.
The Anderson’s horse pasture and home sit on top of a hill with a classic view of rolling peaks. As group members arrive and greet each other with “Oh I love your blog,” “So you are the one who has the goats,” “Oh yes, he is the poet.” A masterful pirate ship carved from a watermelon arrives. Much delicious food is shared, some pirate bling is distributed, many hilarious stories are shared. Although the planned photo walk is cancelled by a rain shower, everyone departs smiling at the promise of meeting again at the Open House. As she rides back with their other guest, (whose dog is doing well under her husband watchful eye at home) their conversation is peppered with “Oh my look at that shot….should we pull over?” As they talk they find so many connections in their past; it is not often she finds someone who has also lived in Hong Kong and knows the Starr Ferry. One spectacular vista almost has them convinced to take the photo op but the roads are very winding, darkness is approaching and their hosts car would be far ahead of them in minutes. “Those are the Adirondacks right?” her new friend says. “Yes,” she responds. “Well, another time” they sigh and drive on. Any other such moment would break her heart, but under the spell of this dreamlike evening, she believes in second chances.

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by on September 28, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on September 28, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/all-good-things-vol5/

All Good Things Vol 4

You know that quote “all good things come to those who wait” and the platitude “everything happens for a reason” which we console ourselves with when faced with crushing disappointment? If you detest them then stop reading NOW because this is the next installment of one of THOSE stories.

She lays on the ground, stunned and breathless. Her dog sits quietly beside her, sensing something is wrong. Gingerly she lifts her arm and the pain shooting up her arm rouses her awareness. The wrist appears normal, though very tender to the touch and difficult to move. She tucks her arm into her jacket. Thoughts race through her mind as she walks the dog to the corner and back. “No, not this time,” she vows resolutely. She will wrap the wrist tightly, stash some ice packs in a cooler, down some ibuprofen and hit the road. Off she goes, driving one handed and cautiously but driving intently. It is early, highway traffic is minimal and the coffee is strong. Striking views of fog draped hills, farms peering through the mist, dotted with cows and horses (was that a donkey maybe?) give her journey a magical quality. She is not given to romanticizing about dreams coming true. There is a four hour drive ahead of her, many unknowns at the destination, her cornbread for the potluck is overbaked and she has had nightmares about getting kicked off Bedfarm for taking pictures of Simon. Still there is something promising about the odd little encounters that happen along the way. At one rest stop there is a black lab walking by the picnic tables; at the next one there is a truck with a portable chicken coop. A sweet senior citizen asks her for some help with her car’s cruise control because she is driving the same kind of vehicle. “I’m so glad you are here,” the lady tells her. Me too, she thinks, me too. She resists the impulse to stop along the highway to take pictures of the misty dragons that drift above the Mohawk River. The NY Thruway is not a quiet country road, better not push one’s luck. The photo ops only increase once she leaves the highway and heads north along state roads. Small towns filled with abandoned brick factories, railroad bridges crossing rocky creeks, fields of wildflowers and so many old barns all asking to become a creative springboard. I will have to come back, she whispers as she keeps driving north and east. Then just a few miles from her host’s home she passes an irresistable signpost. She turns around, pulls off the road and takes her first picture of the weekend. “Petrified Sea Gardens?” There couldn’t be a clearer omen for the surprises yet to come.
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by on September 28, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Bedlam Farm Creative Group
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on September 28, 2013

https://dhrahalski86.com/all-good-things-vol-4/

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