Desert Diva

Yesterday was a busy day.  I had an appointment at 8:00 a.m. in Las Cruces, and at 10:30 a.m. another with Dr. Pirela-Cruz (my othropedic hand surgeon).  I’m fine – my wrist is healing slowly, and the pain I feel from time-to-time was explained (the site of the surgery and the bone will “smooth over” in time).  The little “knot” in my palm is something called Dupuytren’s contracture and could be a result of the trauma to my wrist. Not to worry for now as it’s very slight and my hand isn’t contracting at all.  Oh the joy…

I had lunch and did a little shopping in El Paso and arrived back home in the late afternoon.  Last night was big band ballroom dance night at the country club.  I hadn’t been dancing there since I broke my wrist a year ago in April.  However, I decided to “give it a go” (wearing my wrist brace) and was surprised at the outpouring of how I’d been missed.

At the “mixer” one of the regulars stood with the women and when the music started immediately began dancing with me.  It was – well “sweet” of him.  Jerry (who I refer to as my “eighty year old boyfriend”) walked in and immediately swept me up on the dance floor.  When I danced with Warren, (who I’m a little nervous since he’s a great dancer) I told him “I think I forgot how to dance.”  He smiled and told me that it looked like it took me fifteen seconds to remember…

So, I had fun – lots of it.  I’m just angry that I let the trauma of my wrist “rule my life” with dread and fear.  After I got home I had a call from my friend Steven who is “quite the dancer” and I think we fit well together.  He’s in Washington, but “wished” I was there to go out dancing.

Maybe I’ll dance country-western tonight and sign up for the Argentine Tango class…

Only the Good Friday is hosted by the eclectic, but multi-talented Shelly.

OK, I’ll admit it – about a hundred years ago I loved watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show.  Now for the big secret – I wanted to BE Mary Tyler Moore.  Yeah, yeah, yeah – very cheesy and not cool.  However, growing up to be a baby boomer and the combination of television were seducing.  I loved the show opening – the song and the way she turns with her coat on after the ducks turn in the water.  However, I digress…

These days I’ve been looking for inspiration – visable proof that the world isn’t a cruel and horrible place and there are souls out there that are “good.”  Not to generalize, but I’ve lost faith recently – especially in men.  Something tells me there are “good ones” out there, but I haven’t seen any lately.  Please don’t send me messages that say “Hey, there ARE good ones out there.”  I’ll believe it when I see it and I don’t think it’s wise to hold my breath.

Was I supposed to write about “inspiration?”

Ah yes, someone has inspired me lately.  I don’t think he’s aware, he’s just being honest and writing about his experiences and feelings.  He’s funny, talented, and more importantly he can share his feelings.  Michael, of “Privacy of the Mind” can “tell it like it is.”  The “gift” in that is that at least one person doesn’t feel so alone and isolated in their feelings.  I imagine there are many.  So go “check out” Michael, and while you’re there go look at some of his amazing photography.

So, I leave you on this “Only the Good Friday” with wishes of “finding your own bliss,” and the following quote:

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.” ~ Muriel Rukeseyer

Only the Good Friday is hosted by the eclectic, but multi-talented Shelly.

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few days ago I took a walk along the beach in the early morning.  It was foggy and misty, and at the end of the walk there was a cove at low tide with an amazing array of starfish.  The total walk was about five miles and I returned cold, wet, and angry at myself for not bringing my camera.

Yesterday, I looked at the tide schedule and at just before low tide took a return walk to the same place with my camera.  It was sunny, but there was a headwind as I walked toward the cove.  My silent hope prayer was that I would see the starfish again and be able to photograph them.  There weren’t as many, but I found a small collection just as the tide was coming in.  (My feet got wet!) It was a small request, but I feel that God (or the universe) had honored my prayer and I felt a happy presence of being one with the natural world.

Tired but happy, I had a simple dinner of fruit, cheese, Kashi garlic crackers, and of course red wine.  Afterwards, I took a well-deserved soak in the hot tub, had a shower, and drifted off to sleep with Cali at my feet.  My life has never been exactly “what I planned,” but still I know it is blessed in many ways.

Today I’m off to Tillamook to have my propane tank recertified, and return to Lincoln City for the evening.  I may “go for” the seafood buffet at the casino – crab legs are calling my name! 

I’ll never forget the words of an unconventional Catholic priest (Father Keith Hosey) who was the former director of John XXIII Center in  Hartford City, Indiana – “There are blessings all around if only we have eyes to see.”

Only the Good Friday is hosted by the eclectic, but multi-talented Shelly.

El Santuario de Chimayó

Recently, while in Santa Fe, New Mexico, a friend and I took a drive up to Chimayó to visit the chapel and the surrounding town.  Whether or not you are Catholic, (or even Christian) it’s a beautiful area and peaceful and serene.

The Potrero plaza of Chimayó is known internationally for a Catholic chapel, the Santuario de Nuestro Señor de Esquipulas, commonly known as the Santuario de Chimayó. A private individual built it by 1816 so that local people could worship Jesus as depicted as Esquipulas; preservationists bought it and handed it over to the Archdiocese of Santa Fe in 1929. The chapel is now managed by the Archdiocese as a Catholic church. For its reputation as a healing site (believers claim that dirt from a back room of the church can heal physical and spiritual ills), it has become known as the “Lourdes of America,” and attracts close to 300,000 visitors a year, including up to 30,000 during Holy Week (the week prior to Easter). It has been called “no doubt the most important Catholic pilgrimage center in the United States.” The sanctuary was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1970.

Chimayó is also known for the weaving traditions of the Ortega and Trujillo families, who have been weaving in the Spanish Colonial tradition for many generations and now operate weaving businesses near the Plaza del Cerro and in the placita of Centinela. Their traditional craft is but one of several still practiced in the region, including tin smithing, wood carving, and making religious paintings.

My friend Luz and I toured the chapel, walked through the town sampling the chile, and visited the old cemetery.   We even met a local woman who turned out to be the wife of the maker of the cross that Luz purchased (and the maker of a bracelet she bought).

What heals?  Is the “dirt” really holy and a conduit of special powers, or is it the faith of the person seeking?  The site itself is anticlimactic – a small hole with uh, “dirt” (tierra bendita) with plastic scoops like one would see in a child’s sandbox.  Nevertheless, people flock to the site and apply the dirt to themselves as well as take it in various packages to loved ones.

For me, the “miracle” was to visit a beautiful place and to be attuned to “the Divine in nature.”  Somehow, that seems enough…  The entire Flickr set of Chimayó is here.

Only the Good Friday is hosted by the eclectic, but multi-talented Shelly.

When you’re a child, your world is filled with nursery rhymes, jump rope jingles, and sometimes the seemingly “strange” action and verse.

As a child, I was part of a strange game, ritual, etc… Every time one of my brothers or sister found a “dandelion puff,” we would chant the following:

“Momma had a baby and her head popped off.”

When we got to the “head popped off” part, we would flick the puff off with our thumb and watch the seeds fly off into the air.  Where in the world this childhood “ritual” came from I’ll never know.  What I do know is recently I was in Santa Fe, New Mexico hiking and photographing with some new friends.

You know what happens next…

Yep, I saw a dandelion puff and felt encouraged, compelled to pluck it and repeat my childhood ritual.  It felt like I was transported in time back a few years, decades, eons to my carefree childhood summer days when it seemed all I had to worry about was to not get sunburned.  My friend Luz remarked that she had never heard that rhyme.  So I ask you gentle reader, have you ever “popped the head” off Momma’s baby?  Is this a midwest ritual?  Inquiring minds want to know!

Nevertheless, it’s good to go back in time to visit our childhoods – if only for a few magical moments…