An imperturbable demeanor comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune and misfortune at their own private pace like a clock during a thunderstorm.—Robert Louis Stevenson
A lot. My injured foot is still a problem. No publisher for my novel. We’ve canceled an anniversary vacation. A neighbor is not doing well. And I am assured by a former student that, “There is hope in this world, ya know. And it’s okay to get depressed; it just means you’re paying attention. And while anyone is still paying attention, there is still hope for everyone who is not.” Walking, submission, altruism, A Christmas Carol, righteousness, and hope. The ocean of my business.
A couple of weeks ago on a trial 1-mile walk that went well.Continue reading →
My best time was eight minutes and some seconds per mile (maybe more than thirty, but not much) over highway hills in the rain. I was a lot younger then, had been training for a half marathon in Seattle, and that fast run on steep hills resulted in injury.
But that’s not what we meant, is it?
We want my best time on vacation or during sex, or whatever. My best time as a writer. My best time writing or weaving or knitting or playing with my children.
Sunsets are always pretty. We like the magenta and orange ones but also the palest gilt edges under horizon clouds.Continue reading →
Decades ago now, a friend visiting with us became impatient with talk of high tide and low tide. “What does that even mean?” She was genuinely irritated, as if I’d made it up talk of tides to annoy her.
So I took her to a window and pointed at the Cape: “See where the waves are hitting the headland? Remember that.” And then I literally waited six hours before taking her back to the same window and pointing again at the Cape. “See how the surf is barely breaking on the seastack second out from the headland? What you saw before was high tide; this is low.”
The Cape and the first two seastacks during low tide, but not very low. There are at least two more revealed during a minus tide. Continue reading →
Arctostaphylos ura-usi is the scientific name of kinnikinnic, an evergreen trailing plant related to the broad-leaf evergreen tree we called “madrona” when I was a girl, Arbutus menziesii, and more distantly to Gualtheria shallon, salal. Kinnikkinnik is found across North American and was smoked, though that’s not something I’ve ever tried. The name kinnikinnik, derived from the Unami Delaware /kələkːəˈnikːan. is enough to make me fond of that plant; I recall climbing a madrona when I was no more than five and tearing open a plastic packet of soy sauce to rub on the smooth red skin where the papery bark had already flaked away; and this morning, I picked and ate what are nearly the last of the salal berries on my way off the beach from a long run this morning.
The first time I ran the Hood to Coast relay, I was not expecting 96° on my first leg. Six miles in the heat of day was entirely new to me. I ran in the mornings in temperatures below the 60s. But I was in the middle of my life and managed to maintain about 9-minute miles even in heat. I did see people drop on the course, and one poor runner had collapsed from heat exhaustion. Someone tried to hold her up without getting wet himself while someone else trained a fire hose on her.
After the residency I feel a little bit like I’ve had a firehose on me for a week. Yes, that tired. But good too.
I know most people prefer the sun, but I was grateful to find beach weather when we got home! It’s restful weather.
The first time I ran the Hood to Coast relay, I was not expecting 96° on my first leg. Six miles in the heat of day was entirely new to me. I ran in the mornings in temperatures below the 60s. But I was in the middle of my life and managed to maintain about 9-minute miles even in heat. I did see people drop on the course, and one poor runner had collapsed from heat exhaustion. Someone tried to hold her up without getting wet himself while someone else trained a fire hose on her.
After the residency I feel a little bit like I’ve had a firehose on me for a week. Yes, that tired. But good too.
I know most people prefer the sun, but I was grateful to find beach weather when we got home! It’s restful weather.
The first time I ran the Hood to Coast relay, I was not expecting 96° on my first leg. Six miles in the heat of day was entirely new to me. I ran in the mornings in temperatures below the 60s. But I was in the middle of my life and managed to maintain about 9-minute miles even in heat. I did see people drop on the course, and one poor runner had collapsed from heat exhaustion. Someone tried to hold her up without getting wet himself while someone else trained a fire hose on her.
After the residency I feel a little bit like I’ve had a firehose on me for a week. Yes, that tired. But good too.
I know most people prefer the sun, but I was grateful to find beach weather when we got home! It’s restful weather.
I used the forecast of rain to skip my run, but it’s not raining, and now I feel guilty for still sitting up in bed, draining my second cup of too-strong coffee (the only coffee I like), and listening to Jack Driscoll in a video from January of last year. I was there. In “First, Do No Harm” from January 2023 in Seaside, Oregon, Jack reminds us: find your character on your page, care deeply, even for the flawed characters, especially for their flaws, because that’s what we all are. That story he read got me again. [I hope the link opens.] I have not heard the other two talks that are linked on the residency Bulletin. I’ll need more time to go there.
Marsh Hall at the end of the walk, my favorite entrance to campus.
For Jack, Gary went over to campus and sat on a bench and played “Parting Glass” by the High Kings, the live version where the pipes come in [at 2:32], turned up all the way on his phone, and cried because it was for Jack and because of the pipes and because… We think Jack would like that. We’ve listened to it a few times now.
I am in Forest Grove, Gary too far away. This week is the residency of the Pacific University MFA program, my alma mater. I am the emcee for the seven evening faculty readings. The faculty are astonishing and wonderful, the reading last night was wonderful, and I am filled with wonder.
I made this quilt for my first residency at Pacific University in 2005. The pillowcase, too is from that time.Continue reading →
Most days Gary and I go out early, but this morning I slept in—going on six when I woke, which is sleeping in for me. We went out for our walk just before seven, which is late for us. We like to get out early to avoid visiting dogs. Really, we go out early because we love having the beach to ourselves. Often, ours are the only human footprints on the sand. We often see wild tracks of coyote, deer, elk, raccoon, and birds.
Wildlife doesn’t scare us. Dogs do sometimes.
Beach finds. The local bald eagles passed overhead on our walk home this morning, which is the best find of all!
[Gary says he’s afraid of “bats” as carriers of rabies. But bats generally avoid people and so will other wildlife. Or, in the case of elk and raccoons, we have enough sense to avoid them. Only a dog will come right up to a person, bump or charge or bite them for no good reason at all.]
I witnessed a baby seal playing in a tide pool. I was too close when it came to the surface from swimming in forward rolls. I backed away fast as I could. Mamma would be out fishing. A while back a woman refused to put her dog on leash. The dog chased a baby seal and I couldn’t stop it. There are federal laws protecting marine mammals from any direct or indirect interference —“including harassment, hunting, capturing, collecting, or killing”. “You’re too close if an animal starts to stare, fidget, or flee into the water. Even if you don’t see these reactions, keep yourself and your pets at least 50 yards away (1/2 a football field). Keep your dog on a leash around seals or sea lions to prevent bites to the dog and the seals or sea lions. And never feed or attempt to feed a seal or sea lion—it’s harmful and illegal.”
This is a black Oystercatcher and I am a long ways away from it, using a zoom to get this shot. My husband and I are partial to this species and their distinctive call. [It stands on one leg in the photo, but has another tucked up.] The pair north of us have successfully repopulated our shore. We see five at once these days. One time the parents made quite a fuss to distract me from their youngster, who was forty or more feet above me on the rocks. I still backed away so as not to further distress the parents.Continue reading →
IMPERFECT PATIENCE 