My partner and I have been talking about needs. One perspective that he has proposed is that if we are living from our essence, our true selves, then we have no needs, at least none that we need another person to meet.

This morning I offered the following counter argument:

That would make us different from every other living being on earth. Our very lives depend upon each other.

Even non “living” things such as water has needs. Without the warmth of the sun there would be no evaporation and hence, no rain. To be water in all its diverse glory it needs mountains, cold, lemonade, tears etc.

Even the sun, I like to think, feels a certain pride knowing it is part of the miraculous process of photosynthesis, tenderness when it warms the cheek of a small child, wonder at the beauty of how it sparkles on the surface of a lake.

I am suspect of any premise that raises us up “above” or even sets us apart from other beings. I need you. You need me. Now how ’bout we experience as much joy as we possibly can getting those needs met!

This just in (from a conversation with my friend Amanda):

Amanda: How about I text you when I am on my way home from the movie theater and I’ll come get you.

Me: I have a better idea. No, not a better idea. That was a wonderful idea. I have a more efficient idea, an idea that better meets my need for efficient use of my time this afternoon.

Here’s to taking one more step towards removing comparing and one upping from our relationships!

The other day I was admonished by yet another author to live each day as if it were my last.

Exploring my annoyance with this hackneyed piece of advice, I realized that there is one very good and very simple reason to not greet each day as if it is going to be my last and that is because it is highly unlikely that it will be.

Even if I were 99 years old and, statistically speaking, likely to die within the next ten days, on any given day, the likelihood of me dying on that day is only ten percent.

I agree that it is important for us to face and come to terms with our mortality but I prefer to live each day as if there are many more to come. This perspective is both more in alignment with reality (a realm in which I prefer to live) and also encourages me to give my loving attention to activities that need years of such nurturing to thrive and grow: friendships, my garden, my music, all the things that make my life rich and worth living.

At the ripe old age of 56, I keep learning new things. Though I also keep learning new skills (with the help of my partner and a friend, I put a new roof on my house this past summer), the new things I am speaking of here are much simpler than that, things that fall into the category of “I probably should have known that by now”. I am sharing them here just in case you too did not know what I didn’t know and would therefore appreciate knowing these simple but valuable things.

This will be an ongoing list to which I’ll add new items either as I remember having learned them or when new light bulbs go off.

Today: Don’t look at the keyboard while texting!

I was taught to not look at my fingers when I learned how to type (on an actual typewriter decades ago). It was an important part of my development as a pianist to be able to play with my eyes on the sheet music in front of me rather than at my hands. And yet, when I bought my first cell phone, it somehow didn’t occur to me that what was true of typing and playing the piano would be true of texting.

Then, one day, it suddenly occurred to me (in the way that revelations do) to try looking at the text I was writing rather than at the letter “keys”. Bam! Within a few sentences, I noticed an improvement in the accuracy of my typing. I could feel my brain rejoicing at finally being given the feedback from my eyes that was necessary for it to fine tune the movement of my fingers!

All these (many) years I have been bewildered and frustrated by my seeming inability to improve my skills at texting. How could I not get ANY better at something I do every day?! Well, because texting is requires hand-eye coordination and I was leaving out the eyes! Or rather I wasn’t giving them the information they needed to assess the accuracy of the movements of my fingers and provide feedback to them.

So, now I know. And now, who knows how fast and accurate a texter I will become!

I don’t quite remember how it began but I know that Alex was instrumental in creating what we now call dinner group. She had spent most of her adult life up until buying her house a few blocks from mine living in intentional communities. She missed sharing meals with other community members and so wanted to recreate the experience of shared meals here in our neighborhood.

The idea is simple. There are five hosts (my partner and I count as one) who take turns cooking dinner for all six members of the group plus any approved guests (hosts are free to invite guests without prior approval). Dinners are posted on a shared spreadsheet to inform guests of date, location and menu and hosts of how many guests to cook for.

Dinner group provides the gifts of company, food and not needing to cook. These meals are not potlucks. The hosts provide all the food. Attendance is also not required. If a member’s schedule (or inclination) does not allow for sitting down for a meal, food can be taken to go.

That’s the basic structure of what has become a treasured part my life over the past several years. To share a meal, to talk, to laugh, to spend time with friends. Simple idea. Simple pleasures. Rich harvest of connection and community.

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Here are some additional comments from members of the group:

Alex: When I talk about it, one thing that seems important is that no money is exchanged.  And that it’s not a fixed or obligatory schedule, that everyone just cooks when they want to. 

Paula: Because dinner group went on pause during the pandemic, I now appreciate more deeply the pleasure of gathering with you all in your homes. 

A few months ago my friend Amanda and I created a weekly dreary work hour.

I was two years behind on filing my income tax returns. She had tasks related to insurance claims (she’s a massage therapist who bills insurance for her services) that she had been avoiding for months. Having enjoyed having each others company for other work around the house and in the garden in the past, we thought that perhaps doing these odious tasks together would make them a little less odious. At the very least, we would get them done.

It works like this: At five minutes before our designated time, I clear and clean the dining table that doubles as a desk for me and my partner. I set up my computer on one side of the table. Amanda arrives and sets up her computer on the other side. (Dreary work often involves a computer!) I turn over my hourglass and we begin. When the last grains of sands have fallen we stop.

Just one hour once a week: a length of time short enough to commit to and long enough to get things done. And get things done we have. My 2020 tax returns have been mailed off and Amanda has taken care of multiple insurance-related tasks.

Who knows how much more we will be able to accomplish during all the dreary work hours to come! Or, how many more friends will join us. We were to have doubled our numbers to four the last time we met but a spring snow storm trapped them in the hills. There is a fifth person, a friend of a friend who is considering joining as well.

In time we may need to rename these sessions to dreary work PARTIES!

I’ve never wanted to have an altar. I’ve had it recommended to me many times by friends and teachers alike but the idea never appealed to me. I have neither gods nor gurus, crystals nor other sacred objects to place up it. I do not engage in prayer. And, even if I had all these things, even if I prayed, I do not have the space.

But then, one morning, I felt a gratitude that moved me so deeply that I found myself yearning to make an offering of thanks, an obeisance for the gift I had received.

I lit a stick of incense and placed it in front of me at my small writing desk to let it burn while I wrote my morning pages.*

“Whom am I thanking?” I wondered. My ancestors for giving me the body and life that made possible the experience I was giving thanks for. The laws of the universe, for bringing existence, with all its countless wonders, miracles, beauty and gifts, into existence.

Are they represented in the space before me? My ancestors, yes. Ashes of my father, grandmother and grandfather are contained in small urns that have had their place at my desk for many years now. The universe, yes. My desk sits in front of a window that looks out into my garden, where I can see daily evidence of nature’s wonder in the plants, animals, sun, moon and sky.

At this window, at this small desk, for over a decade I has sat nearly every day with my tarot cards, my journals, my sorrow, my fear, my anger, my dreams, my nightmares. There is prayer I suppose in my laying down of cards, in my writing. And now there is incense and a ritual practice of giving thanks.

I believe I may have space for an altar after all.

*The practice of writing morning pages comes from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.

A few months ago I sliced my left index finger open with a pruning saw.

The cut was quite deep. Deep enough that after applying pressure for five or ten minutes, there was no lessening in the steady flow of blood out of the cut. It was clear that I had two choices, attempt herbal first aid or go to urgent care for some stitches. I chose the former.

Plants possess a wide and varied array of properties from anti-viral to mucilaginous. What I was looking for was a plant that was styptic, that would stop the bleeding.

The first one that came to mind was yarrow but I was knew that I had only a handful of dried leaves in my herbal pantry and that, in the late fall, there wasn’t any growing in my garden. I therefore asked my housemate to do a google search (lest I bleed all over my computer) for styptic plants. Among the plants on the list was horsetail.

Horsetail I had plenty of for it fills my garden every spring and is very easy to dry. I took my jar of powdered horsetail to the kitchen, held my finger out over the sink (the best place I could think of as blood was still flowing out of my finger) and sprinkled the dried horsetail directly into the open wound.

The bleeding stopped almost immediately. At first I thought that the plant material might be no different than gauze or cloth; that once it was saturated, the blood would simply seep through it. Instead it acted like a plug, a remarkable plant scab sealing up a cut too deep and wide for my own blood clotting mechanisms to respond adequately to.

I confess to experiencing some concern over the next few weeks as the deep green color of this horsetail scab became almost black and the scab itself remained firmly attached to my finger. Had I made a mistake? Had I, in fact, caused myself harm? Was the slight inflammation a sign that the finger was infected and that this infection had been caused by my actions?

Eventually however, the inflammation subsided and the scab began to break off in tiny pieces as the skin underneath healed, no longer needing the plant’s protection and assistance. I had not made a mistake. Indeed, the horsetail had not only stopped the bleeding and created a scab strong enough to take the place of stitches but also facilitated healing so complete as to leave just a faint trace of a scar.

Herbal magic.

Final note: During the day I protected the cut by covering it with a band-aid. At night I removed the band-aid to give the cut some air.