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| October into November 2007 We've had a delicious day of woman-rain: the soft, slow, gently soaking rain that calms and nourishes all that is parched in the earth and in me. I snuggled under a sleeping bag surrounded by two equally lethargic little fur-beings, dozing and reading, stroking their silky coats and drifting to the sounds of rain on the roof. It's a relief to be done traveling for a while, to be able to settle in at home without having packing and travel preparations as an agenda. Walking on my favorite nighttime trail this evening, the still-moist air was filled with scents of sage, everlasting and other green perfumes. Cleared skies, crisp air and millions of stars surrounded me as I ambled. Brimming with the joy of being home in this country place away from the intense, over-peopled energy of my trip to Maryland to visit my folks and extended family, I breathed in the peace with every pore. Leaves are turning-mostly to a bright yellow-and starting to drop. Nights are getting noticeably longer with dusk coming earlier and daylight appearing later, a welcome change for those of us who enjoy the peace of the darkness. At the library I see a press release announcing that an ancient oak at one of our downtown intersections will have to be taken down. Three arborists the city consulted agreed that the extent of disease in its 42-inch trunk and huge branches made it a serious safety concern. There's to be a ceremony this Sunday with our local Chumash elder presiding to honor and give gratitude to this Grandmother Tree for the gifts she has brought to so many generations in her lifetime. It's meant to be a time for everyone to say goodbye to her before the takedown begins on Monday. Two previous takedowns of diseased ancient oaks in our downtown stirred vehement protest demonstrations and tree-sitter vigils. Our city council has clearly chosen a more enlightened approach to the issue this time. In Ojai, folks treat our heritage oaks with reverence. They're left standing in the middle of our roadways (lower trunks painted reflective white) and taking down any one of them requires a city permit. How can you not love a town like this? Floating in my hot tub these past few nights I've been serenaded by the coyote clan that lives in the foothills at this end of town. I've missed their raucous conversations for a while. Lately there are red tail hawks calling to each other, drifting and soaring in the thermals above my head as I sit in the garden drinking my morning tea and getting my daily portion of sunshine/vitamin D. As I came through my gate after a trip to town for errands one day this week, my arrival flushed what I think was a sharp-shined hawk out of the persimmon tree. It took my breath away: so wild, so close and so beautiful. Digging in the dirt is, as ever, how I re-ground and replenish myself after a sojourn in the intense, peopled swirl of visiting family. Pulling up the gone-by dregs of arrugula and black kale, I plant sets of red and green mustard, spinach and baby bok choy for my winter salads. In a huge new pot, I set the two dozen purple parrot tulips my godson brought me from his trip to The Hague. Since they won't emerge till spring, I add a small Butterfly Weed in the center of the bulb circle. It's supposed to be a favorite of the Monarch butterflies that are due to be emerging from their cocoons in February/March. Some local tree people came to do the too-heavy-for-me pruning of frost-damaged trees and shrubs around the eastern perimeter of the wild meadow. They also trimmed out the pepper tree under which Ms. Pretty now rests and some drooping oak branches that were scratching my car in the parking area, then did some major brush clearance, I loved that when they chipped all the dead debris it became compost that would go back into soil of the meadow from which it all originally grew. Alas, the clearing seriously compromised the privacy fence that the trees and shrubs had provided along that eastern perimeter. Yesterday (several days after I started writing this) I spent the day trimming the branches and vines that poked from those now scrawny trees into the chain-link fencing that was uncovered by the pruning. Today I've finished clearing a channel along the fence so that I can hang shade cloth to create some privacy while things regroup and replenish themselves over time. And, I started the slow process of digging deep holes for five new ultra-fast growing shrubs that should fill in the gaps fairly quickly. I dig some then fill the hole with water to soften the next deeper layer of soil. I do several rounds of this to make each hole large enough and deep enough for the gopher-proofing cages that will protect the shrubs' roots from the depredations of the prolific gopher colony that lives under the meadow. I work slowly, moving back and forth from one kind of work to another taking breaks to check on the whereabouts of my two five-month old kitties who have been having their first harness-free days out doors. They've learned to come to the sound of their treats in a shaker and my calling “Hey You!” They get treats and loves for showing up and then we all go back to what we were doing. They hang out near me as I work, exploring all the wild spaces, leaping and chasing after insects and each other. I love the peace and rhythm of working in the earth, especially in my time-out, unplugged weeks when I am free from the call of the phone and the people in my life. I've come to cherish and depend on these uninterrupted monthly quiet-weeks that so profoundly feed my soul and spirit. I never know or plan for how I'll spend the time; it just unfolds in its own magical, often surprising way. Just as in my regular weeks, the lesson is to let go of ideas, plans or agendas, to simply follow where the energy leads me. I get better and better at it as the years go by, this living organically in harmony with my inner being. These times of solitude fill me up and balance me in ways that allow me-during the other three weeks of each month-to be more fully present to and open-hearted with all the family, friends and clients I love and care about. This week, for the first time since I buried Ms. Pretty in mid-July, I've been able to be near her grave without tearing and feeling pain in my heart. Her spirit seems so present now in my new little female kitty (Sugar). It's a trip having two kitties at once, loving them differently, experiencing their very different personalities, their different ways of relating to me (and to the world), watching them growing into themselves day by day. They delight, amuse and amaze me with their rodeo, Indy 500, championship wrestling and exhausted-kitty routines. Watching them cuddle and spoon and groom each other melts my heart every time. Handsome Boy, twice the size of his sister now, eats more than twice as much as she and eats it in half the time it takes her to daintily (and somewhat distractedly) eat her smaller portion of wet food. They both hang out on the partition over my sink as I prepare their food. Then he races around and between my feet yowling as I carry their food bowls to their eating tray. She follows us at a much more sedate and calm pace. I have to intervene each mealtime to keep him from displacing her (she gives way easily) at her bowl once he's polished off his own portion. I coax her along (I blush to admit) by spoon-feeding her as I use my body to keep him backed off. He's such a single-minded chowhound. It's been a liberation this week, after almost three months, to have the three sets of French doors open all day without worrying that they'd escape before it felt safe to give them free rein to go out on their own. Spaying and neutering are on the agenda for November and so is my annual 10-day birthday retreat. It's my 67th this year and I'm happy to report that, though well on my way to 70, I find myself feeling juicy, vibrant and at peace with both who I am and who I am not. The shape of my life and my days living in the slow lane continues to delight me. And, I'm still mostly fascinated by the way the years etch their marks upon my face and body and spirit. Though the wildfires are still raging all through southern California, our little enclave has been spared. There are pink skies and red sun some evenings from the closer fires but no real smoke and ash this time. We all send prayers for the thousands of people who've been displaced by or lost their homes and belongings to the blazes. The fires are scary enough and then there's always the looming potential for mudslides during the winter rains because so much of what holds the earth in place has been taken by the infernos. The latest in the book news saga: There was an early October explanatory, apologetic email from the editor at New World Library. It promised that she would soon have a clear space of time to give to reading my manuscript and noted that her brief taste of it “was compelling.” I'm not taken in by the promise. I'm prepared for another few months of waiting. I have absolutely no idea what the Grandmothers' timing is on all this but I continue to be willing to surrender to and trust in whatever it may be. I don't think about it much having learned so well about that letting go during the long two years with the agent. 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