Saturday, April 10, 2021 (17 days before April’s full “Pink Moon”)

I’ve completed a couple of serious changes. Quit a part-time job after working at it on and off for fifteen years. And, cancelled an online refinance project after my application lingered open for months.

Stopping work was difficult. It meant being among long-time friends less. Extra income is pleasing, but situations do change. It was time to leave and so I did.

The other event, arranging for a refinance online, began easily. The interest rate and terms were right, the mortgage broker was pleasant, and things began progressing nicely. Here’s the upshot, we initiated this process seven months ago, and clear to this week my app didn’t become closed.

The broker and underwriter explained that re-fi’s have slammed their system because of low interest rates, causing the longer time to close my app. Finally, I began complaining about the wait, they were reassuring that my application was in its closing stage, would complete in a few days. I waited but with continuing complaints and they reassured continually.

Here’s what got to me. Over six or seven months a life will change. One might marry, divorce, have a baby, switch jobs, and etc. Each time the mortgage reps requested updates to my application, they called for documents not needed in the beginning, maybe a way of continuing their stall. The lagging time became more problematic, until it felt best to bail, and I did.

So, there’s a new me, no outside work and still with a long-time mortgage arrangement. I’m relieved. The years have taught that when matters cause discomfort, it’s appropriate to assess, to zero-in on what’s causing the most distress, and then, make mind-easing decisions.

Sometimes I’m wrong, and after cooling down have felt sorry. But another six or seven months pass and much changes, for time introduces unanticipated rewards.

Dear Friends: Appreciating more, home and neighborhood, embracing what’s most real. Diana

Friday, April 09, 2021 (18 days until April’s full “Pink Moon”)

While driving on a dead end-street, curious about where it might lead, I stumbled onto this emblem of the Old West. The wagon is parked in a weird place. One must know where to fine it, or like me discover by accident.

It’s nearly hidden in a large parking lot emblazed with No Trespassing signs. My first time seeing the wagon, I was trespassing. I had to use the no-trespassing area to turn around my vehicle and reverse direction on that dead-end street. I didn’t have a camera then but kept thinking about the wagon. A few days later I upped my courage and again trespassed, this time taking a camera.

The wagon in great shape evokes the period it represents. Sighting it makes a viewer’s brain dredge up images of this Central Oregon town’s early days, say that period between 1900 to 1920, or so. That period was true frontier living. This magnificent lumber environment really popped once finally rails were laid successfully the entire way, over mountains and canyons between the Hood River and Central Oregon.

Yes, this wagon is a magnificent reminder.

I love the local history and fortunately some of it remains evident. While out and about my eyes always are open to spot relics that draw up those old years and create a visual relationship to the past.

Dear Friends: Feeding arcane interests also teaches more about living today. Diana

Thursday, April 08, 2021 (19 days before April’s full “Pink Moon”)

Yesterday afternoon while mucking out around the barn, on catching sight of Broken Top I paused. From my viewpoint some twenty-odd miles away, its details seemed unusually vivid. Trying to understand why, I looked closely at the collapsed volcano. It was framed in late-day thin light. In the mild weather that unusual light revealed the profile differently. I went for my camera.

Broken Top on any day is an eye-catcher. It’s an identifiable, long and rangy structure among Central Oregon’s Cascades. It has standout jagged peaks surrounding its lower, beautiful center area. That spent volcano attracts hikers, bikers, and horseback riders, traffic that keeps it a busy destination.

Intrigued and hoping to capture more details, I focused-in closely and achieved this surreal image. It draws me in, tickles my imagination.

My direct line of vision from the barn to Broken Top always rewards. Its unusual profile attracts my gazes and stimulates my recalls of pleasant horseback riding there.

In these photos Broken Top seems more dreamy-like. The images stimulate new imaginings.

Dear Friends: It’s less about what’s being seen, and more about how it’s being seen. Diana

Wednesday, April 07, 2021 (20 days until April’s full “Pink Moon”)

I’ve always been a reader, grew up following mostly male writers, didn’t become introduced to modern women writers before discovering Ernest Hemmingway. My first reading of his work (I forget which one) set me back on my heels. The writing, clean, specific, and sparse but powerful, re-set my standards for “good writing”.

After my eyes had opened, I searched for other writers using sentences that seem sparse, but create impact. One of my favorites was the Southern writer, William Faulkner. There were others excellent, too, who represented the Harlem Renaissance, James Baldwin and Zora Neal Hurston, among others.

Soon I discovered Twentieth Century women writing in styles sparse and impactful. Initially topping my list were Jean Rhys and Tillie Olson.

This ever growing pursuit of fine writing I attribute to having read Hemmingway. He was a genius and brilliant writer, whose novels and stories deserved every accolade they achieved. Like many others interested in writing well, I studied his sentences and story structures.

Other than his writing skills, I can’t stand Hemmingway. My feelings are refreshed by the now-streaming Ken Burns television series, “Hemmingway”. Aside from being a writing genius, Hemmingway was a bully, a drunkard, an unabashed slaughtered of African wild animals, and a needy womanizer.

I hesitate to add this, but as much good as Theodore Roosevelt did for us all by establishing America’s public lands, his persona otherwise reminds me of Hemmingway. It was no accident that Hemmingway’s hero was Theodore Roosevelt.

Both got away doing “manly things”, before public consciousness grew to today’s levels. Nowadays we worry about the environment, its wasting resources and disappearing species. We dislike those who poach and plunder.

Maybe it’s wrong to apply today’s standards to yesterday’s heroes. Can’t help it though. I had to cringe physically and squint my eyes to avoid witnessing Hemmingway’s now-terrible “sports-killing activities”. In the Burns telling, besides a viewer having to see the fun of slaughtering gorgeous wild animals, try watching as bulls are slaughtered by a human dancer who’s surrounded by protective teams of humans.

If my writing is readable, has value and impact, I owe much to having read Hemmingway. After writing now about him, maybe I’ll revisit old favorites, “The Sun Also Rises” and “For Whom The Bell Tolls”. I’d read in a modern light, I’d re-think the meanings that might underlie his sentences. Maybe I’d even manage cut the man some slack.

Dear Friends: “New wine in old glasses”, or views over time altered by experience and learning. Diana

Tuesday, April 06, 2021 (21 days until April’s full “Pink Moon”)

Eleven years ago I plunged and brought home ten day-old baby chickens. For weeks they huddled in my garage, in a large horse watering trough over which hung a heat lamp. Those were my first ever chickens, and I liked them.

A couple weeks later while shopping in a feed store, I came across three unwell baby chicks, separated from other chicks. These were two bantams and a Welsummer, sale priced at fifty cents each. I knew about bantams but nothing about a Welsummer. I inquired, learning it’s a standard breed that originated in the Netherlands. Oh well, might as well try to save three lives.

On the way home, I wondered how to separate safely these tiniest babies from bigger ones in the trough.

I rummaged and found an unused terrarium, set it on a living room side table and added a couple inches of critter layer (a kind tiny beings won’t sink into). The challenge was to rig an essential heat source. I solved that by taping to the terrain a 2×2 stick of tall lumber, to support a hanging a lamp.

In a short time, I had a reason to fall in love with the Welsummer. She was tiny, but bigger than the bantams. (I could set at once on one palm all three chicks.) Almost immediately in the terrarium, each bantam snuggled its way under one of Welsummer’s little wings. She accommodated their need with striking generosity. Then and afterwards, the three slept in a huddle that was smaller than a baseball.

Early on, I lost one of the bantams. The other and Welsummer survived and eventually joined the other chicks. On that first day, when Welsummer singled herself out to me, she had become special.

Now eleven years later, all the chickens except Welsummer have passed away. She still looks good, has appetite, and her behavior is normal. I’ve learned lessons from my domestic chickens. When one aging stops eating, roosts alone in unusual places, and “looks off”, there’s not much help for it. I’ve tried to counteract nature assisted by a knowledgeable veterinarian. I’ve force-fed, force-watered, and kept a hen alive for an extra month or two, but when one’s ready to go, that’s it. Domestic chickens aren’t bred to live much past their active laying years.

I have still a happy hen, and best of all, it’s sweet Welsummer. I figured that when only one hen remained, she’d become my household “inside chicken”. But now in warm spring days Welsummer seems comfortable as always to hang out with my twin goats. She eats eagerly, and aside from Purina feed, receives chopped greens, rice and beans, and handfuls of treat “gummie bugs”.

More lessons from my chickens: they’re individually smart as needed, and each has a unique personality.

Dear Friends: Those little impulse chicken buys gave me years of eggs, fun, and learning. Diana

Monday, April 05, 2021 (21 days until April’s full “Pink Moon”)

Last night, I watched the original movie, “My Fair Lady”. Without much that interested me on television (I don’t subscribe to cable), I turned to Netflix. That site just had added the movie.

I’m a Hepburn fan, but resisted the movie, “My Fair Lady”, because I’m also a Julie Andrews fan. Andrews created on Broadway the leading role of Eliza, and the onstage musical ran for years. Back when “Lady” was about to become a movie, Audrey Hepburn’s onscreen fame was enormous. She badly wanted Eliza’s role, and got it. I was among the Julie Andrews fans angry that she who had created Eliza onstage didn’t get the movie part.

Both actresses, British born, understand how to create a cockney role. Aside from that, the all-musical movie role requires dancing and singing. Hepburn once was trained as a classical dancer but wasn’t fully capable. Her singing voice was small and its range limited. In the movie, she lip syncs to singing by soprano Marni Nixon, who often performed as “ghost singer” for non-singing actresses.

I boycotted the movie then and since.

Last night, it turned into a wonderful reintroduction to the marvelous Rex Harrison, as Professor Henry Higgins. (Harrison created the role on Broadway, co-staring with Julie Andrews.) The movie is beautiful in every way, cinematically, visually, and musically. Hepburn as Eliza is charming, and of course after Harrison has turned her into a swan, simply is gorgeous. These many years later, the movie comes together nicely, even if one still has reasons to resist its charms.

An original poster to today’s header photo, because it’s so lovely, hung for years in my Kansas City apartment. Sure wish I still had it today, probably a collector’s item.

Dear Friends: Much depends on politics, timing, opportunity. Second chances may alter appreciation. Diana

Sunday, April 04, 2021 (In 23 days, April’s full “Pink Moon”)

Spring cleaning! I’m working in the RV garage. It’s been storing hay. Now, needing more space I’m examining stuff in there long-forgotten, tossing the unused and unwanted.

Suddenly, a surprise. A box holds a set of books purchased years ago that I’ve assumed were lost. It’s a collection that sends me back by half-a-lifetime. These books have to do with the American poet, Emily Dickenson, once my special interest and long time study project.

These hardcover books are a variety. Some contain all her known poems, including special volumes that contain all her poems in handwritten facsimiles. These demonstrate how her handwriting changed over the years.

Yes, I was that much into Dickinson.

There are biographical works, most by recognized Dickinson experts, all finely researched and written. Besides this unexpected opportunity to re-read Dickinson’s great poems, rediscovering her returns a significant bit of my personal history. Remembering amazes me.

I knew Dickenson’s poetry well before becoming assigned to a business trip in NYC. Afterwards with free time, I rented a car and drove to Amherst, the environment of that great writer. After touring the Dickinson home and visiting the college, I drove to the Harvard Library to see its Dickinson collection and purchased the now newly-found volumes to pursue studies more.

After retiring and moving to Oregon, my interests turned to new directions. I got a couple of horses, and as an almost complete novice, had to learn quickly as much as possible about equine housing, training, and tack. I loved having horses and became consumed. Many books in my active library testify to these interests.

Now, in a sort of rebirth, I’ll re-find Dickinson and re-experience a learning curve on rediscovering her greatness.

Dear Friends: Among trash in a largely ignored space, found jewels will re-enliven a kindred mind. Diana

Saturday, April 03, 2021 (23 days before April’s full “Pink Moon”)

A couple days ago I happened upon my cat Max as he began working on a baby bunny. My discovery came too late to rescue baby but that warned, “baby bunny season” has arrived. Now it’s time to start keeping my cat inside.

Through today and many ensuing, Max will be an unhappy pain in my neck. He’ll brush against my legs, circle figure eights in front of my steps, position himself in my blind spots. Before taking a step, I’ll have to search and avoid landing on him. For us both, it’ll be awful before getting easier.

Max, about fifteen years old, has been with me since he was about two. He originally was an outside-only kitty and stayed that way a few years, living in the barn and ridding (supposedly) the mice. One day on finding him with a swelling wound, I took him to our vet who discovered a small puncture apparently from a cat fight. The fight meant that Max had to avoid contact with other cats a couple months, until his wound aged so he could be tested for kitty aids. That day Max moved into my house.

After an initial confusion, Max loved being inside. Finally, after testing negative, he became an inside-outside guy. In mornings, I must navigate around his figure-eight weavings, and avoid stepping backwards onto his parked body. My happy morning moment is pushing him outside for the day. Usually Max reappears before darkness and comes inside. The exception is baby bunny season when he shows up outside my bedroom window at 2 a.m., or doesn’t appear at all.

Last spring, a teeny bunny hopping near my backdoor probably was from a litter nested under the haystack in my barn. I decided to let that baby grow and kept Max inside. The cat was unhappy but the growing bunny pleased me. Our baby grew more strong and alert while eating my hay and living safely under the barn floorboard.

Max had been inside for a couple of months before other cats began prowling his territory. That’s when my cat again went outside, and right away, discovered our bunny in the barn. Max tried to get the little one, but bunny survived, grew up, now and then became visible, and still nests under the barn. Recently, another bunny hopping with ours suggested maybe soon babies.

Today Max and I will restart our dancing act. He’ll languish during the weeks of safety growing babies need. My cat and I will watch bunnies through a window, staying alert for invading other cats. When it’s appropriate, my cat again will be outside and free.

Dear Friends: I loved Speedo, a domestic cottontail rescued on my property (another story). Diana

Friday, April 02. 2021

Well, I did it and got the ball rolling, to phase myself out of a long-held part-time job. Starting in two weeks, I’ll work one day weekly and only for short hours.

Whew! For weeks I’ve been thinking about doing this.

I’ve worked as a sample-server in the local Costco since 2007. Well, on and off. Long ago I got fired and after a couple of years rehired. That taught me how working again can be pleasant after a hiatus. That’s why I returned to work last fall, after a stretch of pandemic-caused unemployment. I wanted again to be among people.

But the times have changed and so has my work. These days I’m ready to retreat, increase my free time. It would be easy to rattle off a number of reasons. The reality is my wishing to focus on pursuing other interests. This seems the right time to explore many things more.

I’m grateful for having the wherewithal and freedom to make such a choice. It will be fun to find where my interests may take me. I’m expecting to learn lots, so stay tuned.

Dear Friends: Relinquishing a habit that tires increases one’s sense of strength and freedom. Diana

Thursday, April 01, 2021

Last evening purely by accident and soon delighted, I watched three hours of video tracking America’s historical Women’s Movement.

It introduced me to the talent and achievements of one Carrie Chapmen Catt. During the late 18th and early 19th Centuries, she was a key mover in achieving the 19th Amendment. Following its radification, Catt founded the League of Women Voters. Her skills for organizing and leading were exceptional.

Another video reviewed the later Women’s Movement during my lifetime, a reminder of much I witnessed over the years, renewing both delight and worries. The world’s work, becoming ever more technical, opens paths for newcomers to the workforce, but leaves out those who don’t lead with their brains. Fortunately, President Biden’s infrastructure bill will open physical jobs. Many who feel left behind in job opportunities will be provided the satisfactions of earning wages and being productive.

A third video introduced me for the first time to an amazing singer/songwriter, Holly Near. She was as talented, distinctive, and influential as Janis Joplin, and I totally missed knowing about her. Fortunately, she was able to adapt to fame and the times without becoming self-destructive.

What a trip, those three hours of video! They’re so worth watching. Catch them if available for streaming on PBS or other cable services.

Shifting topics slightly, but still on streaming, don’t miss these examples of outstanding film art: “My Octopus Teacher”, “The Life Ahead”, and “Nomandland. One captures the beauty and intelligence of octopuses, another the still-wonderful presence of Sophia Loren, and in the third, the enormous talent of actor Francis McDormand.

Dear Friends: It’s awe inspiring: all that’s been done, what’s being done, and what the future may offer. Diana