Meredith Kendall's Blog, page 63
July 30, 2013
deja mow
An hour ago a woman in a red shirt and khaki shorts was mowing the neighboring lawn.
Now a man in a white shirt and khaki shorts is mowing the same lawn. Red lawnmower.
Hmm. Just remembering the grinding sound of metal on stone and sudden silence. My son was here, hanging on the deck. Could be a connection.
Now a man in a white shirt and khaki shorts is mowing the same lawn. Red lawnmower.
Hmm. Just remembering the grinding sound of metal on stone and sudden silence. My son was here, hanging on the deck. Could be a connection.
July 29, 2013
Grand Avenue
There's a plastic sign on the wall that says, "PLEASE NOTE OUR CHECK OUT TIME. 10 AM. AFTER THE ABOVE TIME ANOTHER DAY WILL BE CHARGED. LEAVE KEY AT OFFICE. HAVE YOU LEFT ANYTHING? THANK YOU. COME AGAIN."
The hair dryer is inexpertly screwed to the wall, and falling off. The door takes a real key, clipped to a green plastic rectangle: 19. Room 19
The furniture has white paint, shaded light brown at the edges. In many places it's chipped and worn to bare wood.
A train goes by every few hours, out back, a few feet from the jacuzzis. It blasts a whistle and shakes the room.
The rooms are on the sides of a U with a parking lot in the middle and the pool at the bottom of the loop. We are on Grand Avenue: a street of old motels with outdoor pools, T-shirt shops, mom and pop shops, pizza places, a Greek restaurant, and a candy store. At the end of the Avenue is a carnival with scary rides and more shops.
Our favorite housekeeper is from Romania. She cleaned motel rooms all morning and then we saw her working a kiddie ride at the carnival in the evening. The girl in the candy store is from Turkey. She asked me how Bonono Turkish Taffy got it's name. I said I didn't know. She didn't either.
Across Grand Avenue is a path to the beach. A white sand beach on the Atlantic Ocean. A beach with hundreds of tourists. Maybe thousands.
There is also a synagogue. A man came to clean inside this morning. One year I saw people go inside on a Saturday night, to express their religious beliefs. What's it called when you must have enough people? A quorum? That's the right word for a board meeting, but I can't remember the right word in this instance.
The other guests here at our motel are from New York, Vermont, and Quebec. There are a lot of people from Quebec. Big family groups.
The Quebecois get three rooms in a row and gather in the parking lot to talk and smoke. They go to the beach even when it's 62 degrees, windy, and misty. They dig big holes in the sand and place their chairs in there, out of the wind. They swim and toss frisbees. They drink beer and smoke cigars and cigarettes. They talk and talk and I don't know what they are saying. Then they come back to the motel and get in the jacuzzis and pool. They drink more beer, barbecue burgers, and smoke more cigarettes.
The sun came out this afternoon. We lined up on the dry sand as the tide came crashing in. Frothy white on the green waves. Sky foggy around the edges. Thousands of us on the beach. Pizza, beer, and cigarettes. Boogie boards, beach chairs, and bikinis. Wind, rain, fog, mist, and then the sun. It was grand.
The hair dryer is inexpertly screwed to the wall, and falling off. The door takes a real key, clipped to a green plastic rectangle: 19. Room 19
The furniture has white paint, shaded light brown at the edges. In many places it's chipped and worn to bare wood.
A train goes by every few hours, out back, a few feet from the jacuzzis. It blasts a whistle and shakes the room.
The rooms are on the sides of a U with a parking lot in the middle and the pool at the bottom of the loop. We are on Grand Avenue: a street of old motels with outdoor pools, T-shirt shops, mom and pop shops, pizza places, a Greek restaurant, and a candy store. At the end of the Avenue is a carnival with scary rides and more shops.
Our favorite housekeeper is from Romania. She cleaned motel rooms all morning and then we saw her working a kiddie ride at the carnival in the evening. The girl in the candy store is from Turkey. She asked me how Bonono Turkish Taffy got it's name. I said I didn't know. She didn't either.
Across Grand Avenue is a path to the beach. A white sand beach on the Atlantic Ocean. A beach with hundreds of tourists. Maybe thousands.
There is also a synagogue. A man came to clean inside this morning. One year I saw people go inside on a Saturday night, to express their religious beliefs. What's it called when you must have enough people? A quorum? That's the right word for a board meeting, but I can't remember the right word in this instance.
The other guests here at our motel are from New York, Vermont, and Quebec. There are a lot of people from Quebec. Big family groups.
The Quebecois get three rooms in a row and gather in the parking lot to talk and smoke. They go to the beach even when it's 62 degrees, windy, and misty. They dig big holes in the sand and place their chairs in there, out of the wind. They swim and toss frisbees. They drink beer and smoke cigars and cigarettes. They talk and talk and I don't know what they are saying. Then they come back to the motel and get in the jacuzzis and pool. They drink more beer, barbecue burgers, and smoke more cigarettes.
The sun came out this afternoon. We lined up on the dry sand as the tide came crashing in. Frothy white on the green waves. Sky foggy around the edges. Thousands of us on the beach. Pizza, beer, and cigarettes. Boogie boards, beach chairs, and bikinis. Wind, rain, fog, mist, and then the sun. It was grand.
July 27, 2013
back forty
Calendula, yellow daisies, bee balm, morning glories, and sunflowers. Love my backyard. Perfect temp and humidity this evening.
I worked most of the day, then zipped down to Portland, and back up to Livermore. Gave my son & his delightful girlfriend a ride. They cuddled in the back seat, exhausted from work, while I gabbed: talked their ears off I guess.
Then back home. The deck. Not working, just admiring the view. So many colors, shapes, and textures.
I sat on the deck with a small glass of chilled chardonnay and listened to the songbirds. Looked at the flowers, bushes, and trees.
The vegetable garden is out back, the back forty. Not acres: feet, I suppose. Beets are big, peas gone by, green beans are slowing down, lots of kale and cilantro. A few blueberries and raspberries. Would like to keep chickens, but that seems too complicated.
Do they eat copper beetles? I find hundreds of them daily, in the trees, on the raspberry bushes, hibiscus, irises, and ferns.
What was once lawn is now rows of vegetables, lined with hay. My back forty.
I worked most of the day, then zipped down to Portland, and back up to Livermore. Gave my son & his delightful girlfriend a ride. They cuddled in the back seat, exhausted from work, while I gabbed: talked their ears off I guess.
Then back home. The deck. Not working, just admiring the view. So many colors, shapes, and textures.
I sat on the deck with a small glass of chilled chardonnay and listened to the songbirds. Looked at the flowers, bushes, and trees.
The vegetable garden is out back, the back forty. Not acres: feet, I suppose. Beets are big, peas gone by, green beans are slowing down, lots of kale and cilantro. A few blueberries and raspberries. Would like to keep chickens, but that seems too complicated.
Do they eat copper beetles? I find hundreds of them daily, in the trees, on the raspberry bushes, hibiscus, irises, and ferns.
What was once lawn is now rows of vegetables, lined with hay. My back forty.
tent
A tent appeared on my neighbor's front lawn this week.
Wedding? Big party? Drunks parking on my lawn and crashing into my house? Traffic jam in the neighborhood?
What day? When? Oh dear. Should I offer my couch as a place to crash? Can I escape?
So it was today. As usual, all my fears and anxieties were for nothing.
People came in SUVs this morning, delivering 6 foot tables and folding chairs. There were about 10 tables. Then tablecloths, trash cans, jugs of beverages.
I thought I would bring over a vase or two of flowers. I have lots of flowers in my backyard. But I was engrossed in my work. I worked all day yesterday and most of today on my fall Reiki course. The syllabus and web page- it's a hybrid course, mostly online, 3 six hour face2face meeetings. Reading assignments, objectives, papers, rubrics.... I'm rambling. Sorry.
When I looked up the guests had already started to arrive. Oops. Can't really bring flowers now: party crasher. "Hello, here are some flowers, Oh! what are you eating there?" Right?
It was mostly elderly women, chatting animatedly in French. "Oui, oui!" I heard.
Anyway, I had to go and pick up my son & his girlfriend.
Big tent. No big deal.
Wedding? Big party? Drunks parking on my lawn and crashing into my house? Traffic jam in the neighborhood?
What day? When? Oh dear. Should I offer my couch as a place to crash? Can I escape?
So it was today. As usual, all my fears and anxieties were for nothing.
People came in SUVs this morning, delivering 6 foot tables and folding chairs. There were about 10 tables. Then tablecloths, trash cans, jugs of beverages.
I thought I would bring over a vase or two of flowers. I have lots of flowers in my backyard. But I was engrossed in my work. I worked all day yesterday and most of today on my fall Reiki course. The syllabus and web page- it's a hybrid course, mostly online, 3 six hour face2face meeetings. Reading assignments, objectives, papers, rubrics.... I'm rambling. Sorry.
When I looked up the guests had already started to arrive. Oops. Can't really bring flowers now: party crasher. "Hello, here are some flowers, Oh! what are you eating there?" Right?
It was mostly elderly women, chatting animatedly in French. "Oui, oui!" I heard.
Anyway, I had to go and pick up my son & his girlfriend.
Big tent. No big deal.
step back
Reiki.
Sharing Reiki with another person.
I'm at this stripped down stage. I don't prepare, I don't make arm or hand gestures first. I don't play sound bowls (love them!), burn sage (love that too), dance, shake rattles, or dangle crystal pendulums (wonderful beautiful tools).
Just plain. I just place my hands: share Reiki. Do that as long as I can, as long as feels right. Hands off, I'm done.
Like Pamela Miles said last week, "Hands on, I'm doing Reiki. Hands off, no Reiki." Or something very similar to that. "Hands on: Reiki. Hands off: no Reiki."
Yeah, that's how I am. No drama. Just Reiki.
Oh, and I don't try. I don't force it. I relax, eyes open. My mind drifts.
Another thing she said, "This is not your personal meditation session." This is for the client. Be there for your client. Check, does he/she look comfortable?
That's where I am with Reiki right now.
Heard Pamela Miles speak last week at the Portland (Maine) Public Library. She speaks well about Reiki. I like what she has to say about Reiki.
Sharing Reiki with another person.
I'm at this stripped down stage. I don't prepare, I don't make arm or hand gestures first. I don't play sound bowls (love them!), burn sage (love that too), dance, shake rattles, or dangle crystal pendulums (wonderful beautiful tools).
Just plain. I just place my hands: share Reiki. Do that as long as I can, as long as feels right. Hands off, I'm done.
Like Pamela Miles said last week, "Hands on, I'm doing Reiki. Hands off, no Reiki." Or something very similar to that. "Hands on: Reiki. Hands off: no Reiki."
Yeah, that's how I am. No drama. Just Reiki.
Oh, and I don't try. I don't force it. I relax, eyes open. My mind drifts.
Another thing she said, "This is not your personal meditation session." This is for the client. Be there for your client. Check, does he/she look comfortable?
That's where I am with Reiki right now.
Heard Pamela Miles speak last week at the Portland (Maine) Public Library. She speaks well about Reiki. I like what she has to say about Reiki.
July 25, 2013
fish
In the sidebar. Right side.
Fed them lately? They're hungry.
Thank you for your time.
Fed them lately? They're hungry.
Thank you for your time.
all apologies
Sorry, poor neglected blog. It's been 14 hour workdays, trips to Virginia and Minnesota, visits with family, and exciting extra projects. Summer in Maine: beach and garden. Too little time to blog. Will attempt to reform self and blog more.
July 17, 2013
lightning
Like I"ve never seen before.
HAARP?
Circles, horizontal, forked with 3 tongues, 3 bolts at once, blinding like a flashbulb. I didn't know where to look, there was so much all at once. I had a 360 degree view and swiveled my head around to see it all.
Some summers I feel lucky to see one bolt. I've never seen a storm like this one and hope I never do again. 15 minutes solid of thunder and lightning. Rolling thunder that never stopped and lightning shapes I didn't know were possible. Bright as daylight.
HAARP?
Circles, horizontal, forked with 3 tongues, 3 bolts at once, blinding like a flashbulb. I didn't know where to look, there was so much all at once. I had a 360 degree view and swiveled my head around to see it all.
Some summers I feel lucky to see one bolt. I've never seen a storm like this one and hope I never do again. 15 minutes solid of thunder and lightning. Rolling thunder that never stopped and lightning shapes I didn't know were possible. Bright as daylight.
July 15, 2013
isthmus mornings
Thinking about living on an isthmus.
We walked the line, mornings, before anyone else was up. Sometimes foggy or misty. We quietly circled the girls' cabins, talking softly, walking quickly.
Sometimes I stopped to take pictures of the peaceful cabins, the misty pond, the barrels of flowers. The sign posts, the bear, the candy store. The convergence of the ley lines.
Two ponds. And we were on as isthmus. An island, if you count where a marshy stream ran through a culvert under the dirt road. Turtle crossing.
I brought 3 big tubs of meds to the lodge. Got coffee. Chatted with the Eastern European kitchen staff. Read bulletin boards. Gazed at the pond. Waited for people to arrive.
Thinking about camp. Teen camp. International teen camp. I worked there the last 7 summers. Not this summer; I retired from camp nursing. Thinking about the isthmus.
We walked the line, mornings, before anyone else was up. Sometimes foggy or misty. We quietly circled the girls' cabins, talking softly, walking quickly.
Sometimes I stopped to take pictures of the peaceful cabins, the misty pond, the barrels of flowers. The sign posts, the bear, the candy store. The convergence of the ley lines.
Two ponds. And we were on as isthmus. An island, if you count where a marshy stream ran through a culvert under the dirt road. Turtle crossing.
I brought 3 big tubs of meds to the lodge. Got coffee. Chatted with the Eastern European kitchen staff. Read bulletin boards. Gazed at the pond. Waited for people to arrive.
Thinking about camp. Teen camp. International teen camp. I worked there the last 7 summers. Not this summer; I retired from camp nursing. Thinking about the isthmus.
July 12, 2013
summer in Maine
It was an error in judgment. I didn't mean to do it. Really.
But I did. I agreed to teach 3 summer classes (at half my regular pay) and this means no time off. OK, I have a few weekends. Most weekends off. But the classes overlapped spring and fall semesters. So I'm teaching all summer. Thank goodness I love to teach. Really love it. Love the students: watching them learn and grow in confidence and abilities.
But summer! Again, thank goodness, it's been exceptionally rainy. Might as well be inside.
But today? Today. Today was sunny, warm, and dry. Perfect summer day in Maine.
What did I do? I know you want to know. Hey, you made it this far: you want to know.
OK, alarm went off at 5:30, but I was having a compelling dream and hit Postpone x 6. At work by 7 for important meeting. Meeting went well. I love my boss. Lots of catching up to do, lots of work. Had lunch with a friend. Left after lunch, had my hair cut, bought sandals and work clothes, came home. Oh. It's hot and sunny. Went to the beach. Was mostly deserted. Read a good book and swam. Came home and worked in the garden.
Another big bag of green beans, which are thriving. But mosquitoes lurk in there, take care. Never had mosquitoes here before: rainy summer. Peas peaked and are going by. Picked them too, got about 1/3 cup. Wasted space? Picked kale.
Steamed green beans and kale. Delish with vinegar, oil, & tamari.
Now relaxing on deck. Listening to neighbors playing horseshoes: young guys. They talk about the score. There are sound effects and applause.
Long day. Good day. Hope yours was too.
But I did. I agreed to teach 3 summer classes (at half my regular pay) and this means no time off. OK, I have a few weekends. Most weekends off. But the classes overlapped spring and fall semesters. So I'm teaching all summer. Thank goodness I love to teach. Really love it. Love the students: watching them learn and grow in confidence and abilities.
But summer! Again, thank goodness, it's been exceptionally rainy. Might as well be inside.
But today? Today. Today was sunny, warm, and dry. Perfect summer day in Maine.
What did I do? I know you want to know. Hey, you made it this far: you want to know.
OK, alarm went off at 5:30, but I was having a compelling dream and hit Postpone x 6. At work by 7 for important meeting. Meeting went well. I love my boss. Lots of catching up to do, lots of work. Had lunch with a friend. Left after lunch, had my hair cut, bought sandals and work clothes, came home. Oh. It's hot and sunny. Went to the beach. Was mostly deserted. Read a good book and swam. Came home and worked in the garden.
Another big bag of green beans, which are thriving. But mosquitoes lurk in there, take care. Never had mosquitoes here before: rainy summer. Peas peaked and are going by. Picked them too, got about 1/3 cup. Wasted space? Picked kale.
Steamed green beans and kale. Delish with vinegar, oil, & tamari.
Now relaxing on deck. Listening to neighbors playing horseshoes: young guys. They talk about the score. There are sound effects and applause.
Long day. Good day. Hope yours was too.
