Sense of place

 An Everett residential sandwich

 A driveway on Whidbey Island

On the road from Bend, Oregon bound for Everett, Washington

 In a field in Bend, Oregon

Any place: Pete and Jots together

In the woods of Langley ... spreading out and rooting

On the Ledge in the woods of Kitsap Peninsula

Beginning Year three in the woods of Langley, Washington

Short on spoons and words today, so instead a random photo journey of places and spaces we have been to get where we are.

Flowing: Practice Patience and Endurance ... timing is divine

Pete and I drove to the Pacific Ocean shore of Washington State last Sunday to celebrate a bit of mastery with practicing patience and endurance. I wrote about it on our other blog VFT. This morning the sensation of being here ... on the Ledge as the weather swiftly proceeds around and through this upland wood is pure grace. The clouds have some where to be, they move across the sky from east to west racing to some unseen destination. Or, maybe they simply race. The air is freshened by the race, a little rain has doused us with moisture but mostly the wind is primary.

This lifestyle we live as modern day Gypsies separates us from so many things and many people. In a common day the separating incidents are more than enough to turn a soul to stone. I watch my darling partner endured one more exposure in the pursuit of an ordinary goal: shopping/in-building bank. Though Pete is less sensitive to chemicals than I he is nonetheless a Sensitive. We wade through the process of unraveling separately and as a pair and as the grief rises like fermentation from raw milk or a batch of kim chee we are pitched by the brain fog or weakness and flow somewhere else. A treasured member of our ohana (kin) waivers between the realms of physical and spiritual life, she is with her sons and hospice care givers back on O`ahu. If we could be on the island we would be with her physically. We cannot so we connect through the cell phone and I tell her, "I'll love you forever." A message from her left on Pete's cell phone "See you later alligator" remains until technology erases it. This cousin has shared her self and her love with thousands of people, young students, troubled families and spiritually disconsolate souls. She has been unselfishly giving in all these years. "Maybe she should have been just a little more selfish sometimes," my brother said yesterday when we talked of this Makua O`o ... our cousin. The grief of separation is real. It is one of the deep emotions the sort of emotion that is expressed in such different fashion among our kin of humans. I feel the loss and purposefully give it my cousin's scent and allow myself the tears, listen to the music of the islands and then turn most of the rest of the grief over to Ke Akua. At least until the next time.

We went to the ocean to hear the roar of the Pacific. We went to celebrate the dream that has become manifest. We went to remember those who are separate from us and yet are never far enough to not love forever. Writing here I am reminded of the divinity of timing. We went to the ocean and found a new o'o and today I'm here back at the page of this blog to use it. "I'll love you forever R. Mokihana."

Listen … with your whole body … LISTEN RESPECTFULLY

R . E. S. P. E. C. T.

Sister Aretha is singing to me in The Kitchenette. R.E.S.P.E.C.T. I rock across the floor with her and dance in sock-covered feet glorious rhythm, the music takes me through the morning. My list of things to do gets done, and I have some fun. Pete's getting so close to hanging the two-piece Dutch front door. Adjustments need to be made; hanging a door is tricky. I am so lucky to live with an artist like this man. "Don't worry honey, things are going to be okay. Don't let these little things rattle you." A shim here, a shave there. He's right, I rattle a lot if left to my own devices. So, to get that rattle out I'm here at the keys taking a break from cleaning and clearing the kitchen part of the kitchenette. A nice nibble of 71% dark soy lecithin free chocolate is helping, too. I feel the welling of tears bubble and somehow they find a comfortable exit ... perhaps that is one of the exit strategies writers have always taken. Fingertips press to the shaft of the quill; then to the fountain pen; typewriter key; computer keyboard. R.E.S.P.E.C.T...

The process of moving is like hanging a door; it takes adjusting, a shim here, a shave there. We'll be moving into a smaller than The Kitchenette space and only the things we love and need will live inside VARDOFORTWO. I know those adjustments will be made, in time. Today, I focus on cleaning and clearing so I can move the table I use for sewing and cutting into the room. I clean the kitchen, sort through dishes, pots and my stack of clothes and make room. There's a progressive to this whole art project of vardo making and tiny space living. Taken out of place, or too far in advance, the art is rushed and perhaps like watercolor everything smears or become rattled. Living simply is an art project of an exquisite sort. I get to meet my old genetic memory of life with a clutter and stacker mother ... and decide if this isn't just one more of those adjustments that needs a little shim or shave. It's a journey and we love it.

We have shadow on the sidewalk so that means there's some sunshine out there. A batch of milk paint for the door can be mixed and a first coat applied to the raw oak door. It's part of the do list today, and now that I've done a bit of successful Fingertip Exit Strategy, there's room for a little more on the do list.

Hope your day is a little do, a little exit strategy that suites you and above it all, hope Sister Aretha sings a lot of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. into the day.

Aloha, Mokihana