On a melancholy October afternoon, my friend Steve invited me to join him for tea and a torte at his teahouse. He packed a basket with loose leaf green tea, a clay pot, and delicate glass cups
Read more →Posts Tagged Seneca Lake
“Why don’t you write about the Iroquois?” my son Anthony said. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “The people who lived here had a Matriarchal Democracy. Perfect!” “Good idea,” I said. “It’s embarrassing how little I know.” Five
Read more →
Rituals focus my attention and bring a sacred sense to life. Personal rituals help me honor the things for which I’m grateful–friendship, family, the earth, and bereavement and grief work. In this spirit, I look back at rituals
Read more →A small group of women and men gathers at the south end of Seneca Lake for a sacred water ritual of gratitude and protection. I wrap a Tibetan yak wool blanket over my winter coat. It’s 15
Read more →
My legs ache and a blister throbs, but I don’t stop or slow down. I focus on the copper vessel ahead of me with its beaded red cloth cover. It holds water collected four days ago at
Read more →
“What the hell did you do to my forsythia?” I screeched. “We agreed it was too big. It took over the whole yard,” Vic said. “You’re being a bitch.” “That was my bush. You didn’t ask me.”
Read more →
I arranged glass canning jars on the wooden shelves in the cellar to please my eye—apricots between red cherries and crimson tomatoes, purple red plums next to pink tinged peaches. A rainbow of jams filled the higher
Read more →
If I only push harder, I’ll catch a tailwind and launch my book. This month it will be finished, I said in August. I said it again in September. Burn those engines on high heat and surge
Read more →
Being alone was all right, as long as nobody came and left again. — Das Blauekleid (The Blue Dress) by Doris Doerrie, translated by Ellen Schmidt At 1:00 am, I look out my bedroom window and see
Read more →