- I forgot: The utter glory, the sheer magic of berry season. The full measure of deliciousness and wonder to be found in Marionberries, farm fresh blueberries and raspberries and strawberries, as well as farmer’s market cucumbers and lettuce and tomatoes, real maple bars, and seafood fresh from the Pacific.
- I forgot: That giant, lush roses and daisies and sweet peas and hollyhocks grow wild in the ditches along the side of the road, and in some places, the trees are so thick you can’t see through them.
- I forgot: There are some trees that are so green they are almost black.
- I forgot: That nothing here ever dries completely, that it’s either soaked, soggy, wet, or damp. I forgot mud and mold and moss.
- I forgot: Every summer has its very own soundtrack. This summer it’s Beach House Radio on the TuneIn Radio app. It’s perfect, “If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air,” (Groove Armada, At The River).
- I forgot: Even when you have tons of good food available, you don’t have to eat it all at once, don’t have to eat until or unless you are hungry. There is enough, enough time, enough goodness. You can wait, or you can eat–either way you can relax into the sweetness of enough.
- I forgot: If you drive HWY 22, you will get stuck in traffic caused by massive farm equipment driving slowly down the road towards the next field.
- I forgot: The gray sky and rain will make me feel terrible, down and depressed and tired, even this near the beach.
- I forgot: This close to the ocean, it’s like there is a giant white noise machine running 24 hours a day, and it’s wonderful.
- I forgot: I never tire of walking on the beach, the smell and the sound and the shape of it. This space, this place is precious.
- I forgot: On some days, it’s so foggy that you can’t see the ocean, even if you are right next to it.
- I forgot: In Waldport, owning a weed-eater is more important than owning a lawn mower.
- I forgot: Sometimes driving to the store to buy groceries or taking a shower is the only time you’ll have alone, so take advantage of it.
- I forgot: How much I like the people I love, how much I enjoy their company, and how much I miss them when we are apart. It is absolutely a survival technique to forget this, because if I felt the entire measure of how sad I was to be separated from them, I’d fall down and never want to get back up.
- I forgot: It’s more fun to remember stuff with other people who remember the same things, even if your memory of it isn’t exactly the same.
- I forgot: No matter how long or how well you know someone, you still don’t know everything.
- I forgot: That I am never really ready to go home, because this is home too.
What do you wish to start?
Getting published. I believe in this in a way I never was able to before, and now I need to get organized, approach it with focus and determination. I need to write the first book so that I can start the next one, which is right there waiting, not very patiently. I have done so much writing around these two books that the sense and shape of them, the anticipation, the magic waiting to be born feels at times like it’s choking me, like I can’t breathe. I also wish to write and submit all the smaller things swirling around, shiny and sharp. I have to get them out and let them go.
Taking real care of myself. Getting enough play and rest, spending my creative energy, eating healthy amounts of good foods, doing enough exercise, practicing true self-care and fierce self-love, sinking deep into my practices–being healthy in all the ways I’m currently not well, not strong. Embodying and manifesting my innate wisdom and compassion and power.
Living a wholehearted life, wild and precious. When we were walking down on the bayfront in Newport today, a little girl stopped me and said “Do you want your fortune told? It only costs a dollar.” Her friends had dared her to do it, so I gave her a dollar. She smiled and said “You are going to have a wonderful life,” and ran to catch up with her friends. You know what? I think she’s totally right.