Sunday - Bloody Good Sunday

Today was such a great day.
Even though it is Sunday (the day before Monday) I did not plan and did what came up and what I wanted to do - it worked out beautifully. (Almost too good to be true or like I am missing something super big, but until I find out what life is good/amazing/fulfilling/and full of joy.)
I stayed in my room doing laptop stuff for the first few hours I was awake.
The first thing I did when I stepped outside was found myself eating fresh figs from the tree just outside the hut and talking to Zane. (He asked me if I knew anything about freeganism and or squatting.)
From there I wondered to the lake and found a harmonica man sitting. Talked to him for a few minutes then moved on.
I did a lap around (most of) the lake looking for a spot to build a type of walk out board and or dock. Most times I pocked a stick down nasty smelling bubbles would come up. I decided to find the creek instead :)
Through my off the path woods exploration I heard an operah singer on the path near where I was. It was my buddy Vince. I could tell by his voice. We walked and talked for a bit (having not seen each other in 2 full days, which in this world and living so close can feel like a long time.) He was collecting leaves which are now hanging from the ceiling of his and Marek's room (it looks incredible. So peaceful and natural.)
Our path's diverged and I went back to find the area of creek I found when I left Jen Agor's house during orientation training and needed some think time. I found it!
It is such a beautiful spot - I forsee it becoming a home of mine. A place to swim, a live bamboo structure, and in a place where I feel far away but I am really not that far away - I think yes?! (Made me think of James.)
I dunked my body in the river and as my clothes dried I crawled around a patch of bamboo, got eaten by mosquitoes, and planned/dreamed up a home. I felt powerful, wild, and beautiful. It was incredible. Life is what you make it - and I am making mine good!
I sat outside with my back against Frank Science Center (with a roof over my head) for a few hours doing computer stuff and having a short phone conversation with Kelsey. Felt SO good to be outside AND doing computer stuff for college life.
I headed over to The Pines in my welly boots and knee length blue rain jacket allowing my hair to get wet (for the 4th... time today I believe.)
(~~I would quickly like to share my appreciation for auto draft saving! I just accidentally x-ed out of all my internet windows and thought I had lost all of this writing. Thanks world!)
I ate dinner there with the crew (except Ines because she was sleeping) and visiting with Marek and Vince until they went to bed around midnight and kicked me out. :)
Tomorrow I am definitely anticipating being filled with more of a schedule than has been the case for the past 3 days as well as the need to plan out my day (I already have a list of places to be where by the side of my bed so I don't forget). It starts with a breakfast potluck on the patio of founders at 8 AM. I keep filling my life with things I like.
Today was a GOOOD day.
Also Gabe and I had a quick exchange about the tarp of his I burnt holes in last semester by accident. I gave him options a) I could take him out to dinner like I offered when I gave him back the broken tarp but realized I had left my wallet in my room or b) claim the tarp I brought to school and I would get another one if he already replaced his old one. He said that he doesn't have a tarp but would rather go out to dinner. That feels better to me too - I want to give him something that really means something and something that is really me giving and I strongly believe the best and most lovng thing you can give someone is your time: that I am happy to do for a friend who I feel lucky to have in my life.
I wish I wasn't tired and I wish my alarm weren't set to go off in 7 hours, (if it weren't I would eat dark chocolate reeses, play guitar (somewhere not in my room to not wake up Katie), type up the new email list for the Food Justice Club (25+ people left there email, lets see how many show their faces at the meetings), clean up a bit, and make cookies in the Shore kitchen. Part of me is ready to do stuff and or excited to continue living a good day - but the louder part of me is starting to fall asleep so into bed for me. I really like my bed :)
So many good things in my life~

Before I Forget Baja

This isn't my writing but I want to put it here before my inbox eats it forever and I never see it again. I have yet to read all the way through it but I am sure I can connect with so much of what Chris talks about.

Here is the story that Chris Scammon wrote about our trip to Baja California, Mexico (Feb - March 2012). (It is not super prevalent in my life right now I just stumbled upon it and thought to put it on my blog, so here it goes.)

THE TRIP

My name is Charles Fisher Scammon.  I am one of the few relatives of the famous nineteenth century seaman, Captain Charles Melville Scammon, commander of the San Francisco whaler Leonore, early member of the United States Coast Guard, explorer, writer and expert on the life and death of the gray whale.  He was a mighty man of the sea, born on the seacoast of New England, as were my father and grandfather.  But I was never at ease on the sea and though I followed the famous Captain out to California, I moved to where I really feel at home, to Nevada City in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

 Yet I find myself, in March of 2012, traveling out of the comfort of the mountains down to the flat plains of central California, down to San Diego and then to Mexico and then south through Baja, to rendezvous with my famous forebear at the mythical place which the locals call Laguna Ojo de Liebre, but has been known to generations of sailors, mapmakers, and members of the family as Scammon’s Lagoon.

When I was young my mother told me about Scammon’s Lagoon and how she had always dreamed of visiting this magical place, the Marine Mecca for the Scammon family.  She had been born and raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia but in the late nineteen thirties had made the daring move of leaving the highland South for the rocky shores of New England.  She met my father on an outing to the sea, near the fishing port of Gloucester, where he had spent his childhood.  I always associated him with the ocean because of a childhood book he had given me about Gloucester, but we were not an ocean-going family: we lived a suburban life outside of Boston. We rarely went to the beach and most of my life was entered around the Charles River, a fresh-water world of boating in the summer and skating in the winter.  Sometimes we went fishing but the catch was usually a six-inch sunfish; there were no whales in my river.

And yet I always remember a constant family reference to the famous Captain Scammon humming in the background.  He was famous to us because he had a Lagoon named after him.  I’m not even sure I knew at that point about the whales, and in any case Captain Scammon was not as famous as our relatives from my mother’s side of the family, which included Meriwether Lewis.  Hard to compete with the star-power of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.

So it was not until my parents retired to Arizona that the idea of visiting Scammon’ Lagoon became a real topic of conversation.  There was a time when my parents were in their seventies that they had the time and the energy to consider finishing off all the unfinished business of their lives, including a little jaunt down to Baja to see the famous Lagoon.  I remember my mother saying many times how important it was to her to make this trip, to the point of it being some sort of evidence of religious devotion.

But the reality of such a trip in those days was daunting.  It was a long foray into a foreign country with foreign money and a strange language.  There was no one my parents could stay with, and possibly not even a convenient motel, which meant camping out somewhere, and my parents were not a camping-out sort of couple.  So they never made the trip, but they passed on to me the notion that someday the Baja hegira was a religious duty I would have to fulfill.

In 1987 I moved with my wife Janet and my children Alex and Jessica from London to Nevada City.  We talked from time to time about going to Baja, going to Scammon’s Lagoon, but the closest we got was a vacation to the border town of San Felipe. The logistics of getting halfway down the Baja peninsula still seemed overwhelming.

In 1999 Janet was the Director of the South Yuba River Citizens League (SYRCL) and established the Wild and Scenic Film Festival, a huge environmental extravaganza that brought a diverse group of filmmakers and environmentalists to the streets of Nevada City.  Two of these filmmakers were Tom and Debra Weistar who were running a program for youth called Finding the Good  (FTG)which included a trip to various environmentally-important places in Mexico.  One of these sites was Scammon’s Lagoon.  Realizing that I was related to the eponymous Captain Scammon they began a ten-year campaign to lure me and the family down to Baja.  It sounded like a nice vacation to me, but I sensed a latent fervor to their invitations which I could not understand, and anyway, we were busy with kids and schools and trips back to England.  Besides, maybe Baja and this Lagoon were being hyped beyond any reasonable expectation.  So for the next ten film festivals we would meet the Weistars and they would dangle images before us of an epic journey to an immense body of water filled with giant whales and countless birds in the mystical center of Baja, topped off with a generous portion of the best fish tacos in all of Mexico.  But we still didn’t bite.

Then, in 2011, when I turned 66 and the wheels of time were forcing me to consider all the things I really wanted to do in this life, Janet and I decided that 2012 had to be the year when we would quit messing about and seriously get our teeth into this trip.  So we called the Weistars and told them that we were ready to go for three weeks in March.  They were overjoyed.  We were excited.  Everything was finally falling into place.  There was, however, just one question mark in my mind.  It was when Tom said, “And when can we get together to discuss the film?”

Ah!! The Film!  That’s the part of the journey I hadn’t expected.  There is always some part of a journey you don’t expect, but it usually comes somewhere in the middle.  But here it was before we had even thought about basic logistics.  The film!  Why had I not seen this coming?  And what would it be?  I was concerned because, as I was beginning to see, besides the whales the major actor in this drama was me!  And I had no idea what my role was supposed to be.

So for 3 months before we left for Baja we were continually discussing the PROJECT, which was for Tom and Debra basically a question of ‘how do we make a film?” For me it was more a question of ‘how do I have a nice vacation?’  Still, as time went on, I became more attuned to imagining some great meaning in my re-connection with my famous past.  I kept asking Tom just what he expected me to say or do, or feel, but all he would say, in his laughing, cryptic way, was to ‘be natural.’  Now being natural is an existential challenge at the best of times, but it’s a bit more complicated when you have an 8-man film crew following you and a boom mike bobbing over your head.  And then there were the conference calls with famous people around the world.  I talked on the phone to a whale expert in Australia, a woman who wanted to know my opinion about whether the mating patterns of female whales is representative of the power of women in society.  I believe I said yes.  And then there was a man in San Diego who told me how influential Captain Scammon’s book had been in his life.  I thanked him, but having not read the book I really didn’t know what to say.

We had meetings.  Many, many meetings.  We had meetings to plan the trip and meetings to meet the crew and meetings to plan the talks to all the world-famous environmentalists, and meetings to discuss the outcome of the previous meetings.  Through all this I was slowly getting some sense of the Weistar’s vision of the Second Coming of Scammon.  They were merely making their normal trip to Baja with a group of students and a group of interns, with the intention of making a movie about the whales, with me as an added attraction.  Or was I the star?  I couldn’t tell, at least not from the directors.  But somewhere in the last few weeks before we left I had my first revelation: they weren’t going to tell me, so I might as well shut up and get on with the show, wherever it might be going.

Obviously it was going South.  In early March we got on a plane to San Diego where we were going to be picked up by Tom Weistar and his crew. I remember stumbling out onto the sidewalk in the blinding southern California sun, and before I could quite adjust my vision I heard Tom calling out “Welcome to San Diego.  What do you think of your journey so far?” As my vision returned I realized there was some young punk named Ori standing in front of me thrusting a large white microphone in my face, actually waiting to record my answer to that ridiculous question.  I felt anger rising up out of the burning sidewalk, up into my heart and throat, clouding my brain, leading me to make some petulant reply which  I soon regretted when I saw that I was not only being recorded but photographed and filmed as well.  They asked me some questions about Captain Scammon and this and that, which I struggled to answer.  Finally they put all their recording toys away and allowed me to seek refuge in the Finding the Good van. 

Now this van is a mighty beast, capable of carrying a dozen students with all their gear, tents, sleeping bags, plus computers, tracking devices, navigational aids, cameras, binoculars,  recording equipment, and all manner of digital devices that I was at a loss to identify. They let me sit in the front passenger seat of the van, a place with an immense view of the world, and it was there that I began to take stock.  Yes, I was starring in a film I didn’t understand, but that was true of everybody all the time. And besides, I was sitting in a van heading for an adventure in Baja thanks to the generosity and incredible effort of my driver, the irresistible and irrepressible Tom Weistar, the maestro of Mexico, the Neal Cassady of the New Age, a man who could drive for twelve hours straight, who could negotiate the complex border crossing in Tijuana, who knew where all the best fruit stands were all the way to Scammon’s Lagoon, and who, as promised, took us to the best fish taco stand in all of Mexico.

And so, as we settled into the long and tiring trip down the spine of Baja I slipped into that semi-conscious state akin to dreaming, listening to the sound of the traffic and believing that the mind’s transformative magic could turn the rumble of the road into the sound of the sea. I listened to the hum of huge trucks, behemoths slowly swimming up behind us. They were waiting to get by, waiting with exquisite timing and an ancient knowledge of the road, to pull beside us and at the last second evade the oncoming traffic, powering around the next rocky bend and disappearing.  In the pleasurable half-doze that is given to passengers riding shotgun, I tried to imagine my old ancestor making his way south to find the home of the whales.  With vast stretches of time and sea did he half-doze and imagine himself discovering all the great cetacean secrets?  Or was he all business, keeping his eye on the road, totaling up the profit on a fully-laden ship pulling into the port of San Francisco?  Or was he worried, as I could imagine, that he might not be successful, that he might not satisfy his backers?

Getting to see the whales at Scammon’s Lagoon, even in the 21^st century, is not an easy thing to do.  First of all the whales are only at the Lagoon for a short part of the year, and the time to interact with them is variable.  Secondly, there is no airport nearby so you have to drive the long road from the border through beautiful but harsh and repetitive desert, with frequent stops at Army checkpoints to display your passport as well as your good intentions. For me there was the added strain of stopping to have interviews with local dignitaries, all of whom had to be photographed and recorded.  Sometimes these interviews were a mutual strain of incomprehension, but what was so impressive to me was the love everyone had for the whales; these were not just ordinary gray whales, these were Mexican gray whales and there was a great pride in the fact that Mexico was taking a leading role in protecting them.

After a long day of driving we arrived at Guerrero Negro, the nearest town to the Lagoon, a reasonably prosperous Mexican town but definitely not a place catering to tourists, just the last place to stop and pick up supplies before heading out to the Lagoon, some 45 minutes away. And these last 45 minutes take you through barren salt flats, because the Lagoon is almost entirely surrounded by the world’s largest producer of salt.  The shallow, protected waters of the Lagoon which are so perfect for nursing whales are also perfect for harvesting huge quantities of salt, piled into immense mountains of white crystal, waiting to be taken by barge out to cargo ships moored just outside the Lagoon. 

So Scammon’s Lagoon is not a normal tourist attraction.  What you find when you reach the Lagoon is a beautiful Visitor’s Interpretive Center with a small café (featuring Mexico’s second-to-best fish tacos) and little else. But when we arrive the Visitors’ Center is already closed, so we make our way down to the campsite which Tom and Debra have used for many years and we set up our tents with the rest of the Finding the Good squadron.  We have already met this crew several times before, but now we begin the slow process of filling in the gaps and fitting into the day-to-day routines which have been established to make this expedition work.  Although FTG is nominally an educational experience with a curriculum centered on the environment, it seems to us outsiders that the real center is the interpersonal one; that is, learning how to treat the natural environment starts with how to treat each other, and as usual the best place to see community-in-action is around food, and how the dishes get done.

Each day there is a rotating list of jobs for each of the participants, from being responsible for cooking the meals  (with all the ingredients referred to in Spanish, as part of the cultural immersion) to getting all the dishes clean (not an easy task in a place where water has to be shipped in).  Before each meal there is a group circle in which announcements are made, problems discussed and plans laid out.  It is where I see the loving care with which Tom and Deb shape the direction of the group without seeming to do any shaping at all.  Inevitably there are crises and interpersonal gripes, but it all seems to get handled without much fuss, although I know there is a lot of work going on behind the scenes.  I wonder whether the same sorts of problem-solving are going on out in the Lagoon, mother whales nudging their young ones to find a way to insure their own survival.

I have a lot of questions to ask the whales. Tomorrow we will go out and maybe get close enough to ask them.

Scammon’s Lagoon is situated halfway down the Baja peninsula, shaped like a hook to catch all of the northern winds and fogs, so to have a perfectly sunny and warm day like we had that next day, is a rare and blessed event.  Apparently Captain Scammon had almost missed the Lagoon when he first came here.  I wonder if he was as nervous as I was when he realized that he had finally found the right place.  I was sitting at the edge of the Lagoon in the early morning sun, half-listening to the sounds of dishes being put away, half-listening to the muffled sounds of spouting whales out in the very, very large Lagoon.  I was thinking that this was the day I was to meet the whales, an event I had thought about for years and yet, because it had taken on such mythic proportions, I was certainly not clear on what I should do.  But clarity would have to wait.  A cry went up from the camp that we should all assemble to get in the vehicles and head for the Visitors’ Center.  The boats had been rented; the cameras had all been checked and put in plastic.  The microphones were already recording students’ impressions of the day, lunch had been prepared, sunscreen applied, extra layers of clothing stuffed in waterproof bags.  We were almost ready to go and I could feel everyone’s rising excitement.  We were on the way to get in the boats, but still there was one more formality that had to be filmed and recorded, an interview I knew was coming and for which I was still mightily unprepared; the meeting with the Keeper of the Lagoon, the whale-whisperer par excellence, the mighty and powerful Shari Bondi.

Ever since the Weistars had entangled me in this filmic adventure I had been hearing about Shari Bondi, her mythic experience with two whales that saved her life, her intense study of whales in Canada and then her journey south to Scammon’s Lagoon where she consummated her love of whales by living full-time with them, marrying a local fisherman who became the first whale-guide, and how she had almost single-handedly set up rules to protect the whales from injury and exploitation.  Somehow from all this I had conjured up a picture of this woman as a rather severe and distant conservationist, a picture that was instantly erased when she came running down the beach towards me, flung her arms about me and blurted out in trembling voice that she  had been waiting to meet me for her whole life.  I must say that I was rather flattered by this exaggeration but I was still at a loss to understand why she, and many, many others, were so thrilled to meet the relative of the man who had nearly wiped out the entire gray whale population in the last century.

There was little time for reflection: we exchange greetings and then head for the pangas, which are relatively small boats carrying eight to ten people, plus a lanchero who commands the boat and is responsible for our safety as well as the safety of the whales.  The whole affair reminds you of the whaling boats which set off from Captain Scammon’s ship with the harpoon being the most obvious piece of gear, while for us the most obvious is the multi-channel microphone on the end of a stick.  All around us are breeching whales, thousands of them at last count.  The Lagoon is much bigger than I imagined, and although there are so many whales they all seem to be very far off.  My son Alex and I sit there thinking about the Scammon legacy.  Maybe today we will never see a whale up close because the whales will tune into some ancient hostility or, at the very least, an ambivalence.  Certainly they have a right to be wary, and the whole point of the whales migrating down from Alaska to the warm waters of Scammon’s Lagoon is to provide a safe place for giving birth and a place where the mother whales can teach their calves how to swim and how to survive, a very basic prerequisite for every mammal.

As our boat slows down we watch and wait for the whales to approach, and notice that other pangas are already enjoying whoops and shouts as the cautious mother whales inspect the boats, searching for any sign of danger.  And then—Yes—a huge gray whale surfaces a few feet from our boat, and a massive eye emerges to check us out.  It is a very odd this eye, because you feel a connection with an ancient and unknowable creature from some other world, and at the same time you sense that this being is really there to play, to have some fun with the kids, to pass the time of day with these strange boats in what is otherwise a fairly boring lagoon.

It’s almost as if the mother whales are there to show off their children, and that they crave being the center of attention, and it is clear they really enjoy being stroked by everyone in the boat.  Everyone, that is, except me and Alex.  Over and over again the whales surface on the other side of the boat, but when Alex and I get there they are gone.  And when they do appear on our side they tantalize us with an exquisite dance, surfacing over and over again just out of our reach, like some reluctant lover.  It happens so often that the whole boat is in on the joke, waiting to see our frustration and listening to our theories about how the whales have been planning this for weeks—or maybe years. I try to remain sanguine, but my disappointment is certainly showing, particularly galling since the film crew is catching every twitch and grimace.  It goes on for half an hour, until one mother whale, obviously more sensitive than the rest, finally takes pity on me and eases up to my outstretched arm.  And then the long journey is over.  I feel great relief.  Maybe it is the fact that the cameras are recording the event and I know that I can finally stop acting a part.  But as I stroke this mother and baby over and over again I start to get a sense of what an extraordinary meeting this is, that this monstrously large mammal and I should be relaxing in the pleasure of each other’s company, when only a few years ago there was no contact at all.  It is quite astounding that these wild beings should be seeking us out, that they should be demanding our attention, that they, after all we have done to them, should be so trusting of us and vulnerable in our presence.

We spend several hours watching, filming, caressing and playing with the whales that day, and again the next day and the next.  It gives me plenty of time to sit back and think about what’s going on out there, and what’s going on for me.  First of all I am beginning to understand why so many people are so enthralled with this contact with the whales, why Sherri Bondi sings to them and calls them by name.  Is there any other non-domestic animal that has this sort of personal, intimate relationship with humans?  I am blown away by the mystery of why these whales should be so loving towards us, and wonder what it must be like to be a whale calf and be the recipient of love from such a huge heart.  I am particularly grateful that I have come here to witness this and to believe that, as far as I can tell, the whales of Scammon’s Lagoon have forgiven me and my family.

There is certainly much to forgive; we almost destroyed them all.  But I am beginning to wonder whether I have been looking at Captain Scammon from the wrong end of the telescope.  I have been focusing on the destructive part of his career, but there was more. The Captain spent only a few years hunting the whales, but many years in researching, drawing and writing his extensive book on cetology and the gray whale in particular.  It was a labor of love. which was certainly rare, and possibly unique, in 19^th century America.  After his whaling days Captain Scammon joined the Revenue Marine, a precursor of the modern-day Coast Guard, and thus was in the vanguard of those whose lives are dedicated to protecting the whales rather than hunting them.  As I look back at this trip down to Baja I am struck by the many conservationists and whale-lovers I have met who told me that their real introduction to the life of whales was through The Marine Mammals of the Northwestern Coast of North America by Captain Charles M. Scammon.

Now I am back in the mountains of Northern California, far from the ocean.  But each day I take a walk which takes me past a pod of huge gray rocks, covered in blue-green lichen, which look more and more like a family of whales rising up out of the sea.  So each day I am reminded of the ocean and what the whales have given me: a reminder of the importance of taking care of our children, a model of loving kindness, and a lesson in the power of forgiveness.

And I want to attache a photo to go along with Chris' story. Such a good photo! 

Applicability and Enjoyability

I just realized that I kind of fulfilled part of an assignment for Maia's class by hanging out with new friends outside while it was raining, and being observant. I love learning from life and finding out the system recognizes such learning.
Here is what I wrote about my experience: (the assignment is to be in rain for over an hour, make note of where the water goes, and connect thoughts to my major - go Maia for creating amazing assignments!)

Without having the intention to do so, I sat in the rain for over an hour sitting listening to live music and talking to friends. My attention was not focusing on the water coming from the sky or where it was going but I was very aware of the beauty of so many people sitting listening to music in the rain. As the rain hardened some people started to pack up to leave but they waited until the end of the song to leave; many stayed. Some folks had umbrellas while other folks sat with nothing between them and the rain. In this scenario I was noticing the people – I study people, I am amazed by people, I am astounded by people. This was a good experience that reminded me that people are good, patient, dedicated to what they like, and how supportive community can be.

I started sitting in the (wet) grass with Molly as it was drizzling. I did not notice how much it was raining until I looked down and saw dots on my shorts from all the spots rain had hit. We had talked about it, but we were loving it not at all bashing it. I was aware of different reactions and ‘solutions’ to the rain (I am wondering now if that is why not many Guilford students were there, or if the reason was because it is the first Saturday on campus.) I found a good group of people. We sat in the rain listening to music and dancing in our spots in the wet grass until the band stopped then we sat in a circle in the grass and talked for another hour or so. Just as the band was ending the sun came out and the rain stopped. The band narrator thanked everyone for withstanding ‘the elements’ and sticking around to support them. This pushed a little button in me – while a speaker would say something if it was really hot, a presenter probably wouldn't think to mention ‘the elements’ unless it was raining, snowing or very sunny. I think that is strange how people categorize things like that. It reminded me of my friend (who is director of the semester program I did in California before college, Tom is in his 50s) whenever he knows rain is on the way he jokingly says ‘weather is coming!’ I love hearing different approaches to weather – what is good? What is bad? Etc.

That is what I typed without much thought (and then one quick read through late at night,) but I am pretty proud if it and glad I connected the dots.

Rachel, Lucas, Eli, Justin, and I hung out (hopefully the first of many nights!) It started when I saw Lucas sitting alone and told him where I was sitting if he wanted to join – I ended up joining him when ‘my people’ left. Rachel joined. The music continued then ended. We stayed sitting in the grass in a circle talking for over an hour and ended up exploring the woods (being aware of spider webs) and heading to the meadows to scope out a spot to sleep. We stayed together visiting till just before midnight, exchanged phone numbers, and decided to sleep outside tomorrow together in the meadows J  

Life is good. 

The Riddle of Choice and Water

What is something you cannot see but hold with you everywhere you go?

Your name

 I was thinking about this concept this morning and then on my way to lunch someone asked me if I had ever considered changing my name to River. 

Water, my name, unconditional belonging by choice, title, responsibility, judgements... 

Connecting Dots - Near and Far

Today was full. Today was good. 

Bullet points and a few photos for later. 

-Woke up early, feeling responsible and in control.

-Decided to drop and add a class, researched logical change

-Balanced life on campus and life outside campus well. 

- Was in direct contact (chat with big gaps) with James for the first time  since leaving the protest. 

That was really good and sparked these photos. 

He is the one on the top right corner - on top of a car I believe

Hm~ Colorful, crazy, bizzare, playful, simple --- very James like!

Glad, lucky, and excited, and pleased to call him my friend. 

-My meal plan changed and I was reminded of how amazing it is what I get if I ask. :)

I am very happy with my current food situation. Glad I will have responsibility to stay connected and committed to food.

-Wondered around in the woods with Ben Evans, Moira, Pat, John Madden, and Ilana. 

That was nice. 

-Went to Deep Rots and Target with Cara, Lee, Emma (mature, Quaker, first year). 

10% discount in Deep Roots when I show my ID :) 

-Calm solo time in my room thinking, unpacking food, and organizing. It felt good. 

-Made sauerkraut in the shore kitchen. Excited to eat it. 

Fingers crossed it is going to work out. 

So many people keep complimenting my skirt! 

I am feeling very free with my hair - I play with it and adjust it often but am very unconnected to what it looks like and allow it to like whatever. Passing the mirror is a surprise every time. 

I caught myself telling Kelsey earlier over the phone about how different aspects of my life seem to be coming together right now. It is beautiful and also explains part of the heavy water I have been swimming through. It is good though. Glad it is happening. 

Still haven't made a homework graph. That is ok - manana!

I like how I feel like I am living, doing what I want to do, and being responsible and loving. 

Like I said at the beginning - today was very full. It is nearly 1 AM and I really must sleep soon. 

Excited to put on my (Cameron!) flannel, turn the light off, and climb into my mattress/nest so near the ground and curl up. 

I am living a good life. 

The Goodness

While I  certainly have had my gripes and struggles over the past few weeks I am very glad I am here now and doing what I am doing. About an hour ago I found out that I had 15 pages of reading due for my 8:30 tomorrow and that I need to submit something else for that class. Next thing I knew I found myself fully absorbed and thoroughly enjoying the reading and feeling appreciative of the assignment as it is something I would want to read but would most likely never actually get to. Less than an hour after finding the assignment I was complete and had enjoyed it and shared some of my excitement with a few of my classmates and friends (Marek and Molly).

Lots to do: reading for Friday from Plato, MT for Jim before 8:25 tomorrow morning, sleep, listen to myself, Slow Food Club form (fill out, email to Marek, hear back from Marek, and print) before 8:25 tomorrow and get Jim to sign, prep for Maia's 10-2 class in the woods, and more. My life is full and my life is good.

I connected with people that aren't in my Guilford world today, specifically James and Jim from England (different people with coincidental names), that was good. I connected without getting too sad about getting pulled back into wanting to relive the dream of my past. Good to keep in touch. It feels real and healthy to include while at college.

Just enough distraction to keep me focused! A quote of someone walking into Shore and having a brief exchange of words with me about my study spot. (On the front porch of Shore from 8 PM - midnight ish.

When I am good to the universe it is good to me. Just as I was starting to wind down and wonder where my happiness went and begin to feel tired while still having stuff to do a friend and a guitar joined me on the patio. With all of its ups and downs, life is good.

:)

Our first meal together for our second year of college was home made peanut noodles, with sauteed veg and spicy cashews. Made in the Pines by flash light with closed curtains. Beautiful Moon. Catch up conversation on the roof. Good to be back with my good friend/buddy so close. Fell into place so naturally. 

Friends give and friends take. I took information and gave my ears and questions.

It was a good walk and talk and was good to be back in the woods.