Danny Boy – oh manny boy – uncanny how much I do love thee.  Bee me, bee free, bee sweet like honey to the comb. How I am like you, like a dog, loyal to a fault.  Forgiver, Forgetter and follow the scent like a hunter on the trail of a rabbit in heat. Eat Meat – Repeat. Blood, Flood, Mud…I live in a world filled with mud, have 4 pairs of mud boots and you simply have 4 paws, paws that dig in the dirt, rooting for field mice, bounding after squirrels in the Aspen trees.  Flees, did we get them from that fat cat named Juliet?  Forget it, Regret it! Look at her sideways and avoid her friendly catly ways.  Danny doesn’t like fish or seafood of any type.  Avoids shrimp and scallops – perhaps I should follow his lead and avoid the toxic chemicals and pharmaceuticals that end up in our waterways.  You may think that a dog isn’t that smart, but their innate instincts, I’ll take any day over academic learned ways. 

Too smart for my own pants.  I’m sure I heard that as a wee one.  I’m not really a smarty pants, just won’t say no, or can’t, or let go of a dream without a fight.  Started College at 14 instead of High School.  Youngest one to be made a TM teacher.  Perhaps I was over-ambitious.  What happened to my childhood?  Follow the scent of the desire like a turtle racing the hare.  Slow and steady wins the race.  I chase Danny when he chases squirrels.  Sometimes I’m smart and stand still, listen and wait.  He always comes back.  He knows the rules, loves to break them without a care in the world – then give me that sad brown eyes – I’m so sorry look and get some loving lecture about – “this is just for your own good” – with “bad dog” thrown in a few times – which turns to lots of petting, loving and then way more “good dog” to the bad.  He knows I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with him.  I traded in having a man in my life for the greatest dog on earth – DAN the MAN!

Inner Animal


The BEE in me is waiting for warmer weather.  Huddling in the darkness, in the cold, rubbing my hands and feet together to spark some heat waves.  Scurrying to keep busy, busy, busy, always on task and with a purpose to my every move.


The HUMMINGBIRD in me is always on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Going from one project to the next like flower to flower, gathering the sweetness.  Forever looking for the nectar, the pearly white teeth, the wisdom within the happening.


The RAVEN in me is moody and withdrawn.  Quietly watching, always observing, just out of reach.  Brooding in the meditative, early morning, tea sipping, couch time with myself and Danny Dog.  Mind actively alert and calculating everything in its perfect timing.  Sit, Still, await the right time to make the next move.


The ELEPHANT in me is holding onto my most cherished memories. Forgetting everything and nothing at the same time. Tears well up when I’m all alone and can reminisce.  The Elephant in me cares so deeply about family, pulls the tiny helpless youngster out of the slippery river bank.  My Elephant memory remembers only half of the truth.


The LLAMA in me likes togetherness, likes Tribe, likes writing with women on Mondays.  The llama in me loves to hike, trek and ground with the mother earth beneath my feet. Walking two by two, pacing myself, knowing that NOW is all that there is.


The DOG in me is smug.  It’s part Pug.  It loves napping in the sunshine.  It loves chasing squirrels like it chases dreams.  The Dog in me howls at the moon and runs uncontrollably when it hears certain sounds.  Tractors, Road Graders, and Snow Plows hold a certain fascination.


The Goat in me is sturdy, dirty and grazes on weeds and other edibles.  She wears flowers in her hair and dances on tippy toes.  She looks for trouble around every bend in the road and climbs trees with the grace of a ballerina.


The GIRRAFE in me is calm, clear-headed and bright-eyed.  The Girrafe in me pays close attention to diet and exercise.  She loves her flexibility and strength.  She fasts on liquids for days at a time, sometimes weeks. Leafy greens and high hanging fruit are her favorites.  She longs to be a monkey at times, to frolic in the upper canopy but is satisfied with being a Giraffe because of her viewpoint. She knows that the Mirage is not just a figment of the imagination.


The SEA TURTLE in me is floating in a world of imagination and light.  Beauty flows in and out of my mind, my heart and wraps around my Being.  The Sea Turtle in me moves effortlessly through life – avoiding the pitfalls and hungry sharks.


The TOMCAT in me likes to wander the streets alone, scavenge for treasures in unobvious places.  The TomCat in me likes the challenge in the chase.  Online dating, blind dates and talking to strangers at coffee shops I find intriguing.  He likes going to movies alone and dining at a table for one.


The MANATEE in me is used to being ignored, relishes in nature as its oasis in the midst of life’s storms.  The Manatee in me sees all the beauty in survival by focusing on NOW exactly as it is.  It wishes it would have a thicker skin and be as tough as nails more than not.


The MOUNTAIN LION in me is pacing, craving, ready to endure the longest, toughest of times without regret or a whimper.  The Lion in me keeps the peace with its sheer presence.  Fear, razor-sharp teeth, intimidating… I don’t think so.


The MOUSE in me loves to nest.  The Mouse in me is into Tiny Houses and Functional Spaces with no waste.  She likes Sustainable Gardening and Living off the Grid.  She will find a way to make Ghee from Goat or Sheep milk. The mouse in me hates to give up Cheese!




Perfection of Pear

She Came from a bowl of pears, plump, speckled with a splattering of caramel colored dots of ripening.  She was left outside on the tree when the first frost came and fell to the ground as the sun rose and the frost melted around her feet.  She longed to be baked.  She didn’t care if it were into a pie or simply popped into the oven and baked to perfection whole until the juices began to seep out and form a glaze over her whole body.  She didn’t know how she happened to reincarnate as a pear.  She thought that each lifetime would be a higher vibrational being – or even to remain in the light and helping tend to nature from the other side of the veil.  She had learned the most from this particular happening.  She had learned that judgments, expectations, and longing was the greatest of human flaws.  Simply being human wasn’t necessarily a blessing, it could, in fact, be a curse.  Being born a pear was both humbling and somehow enlightening.  She now knew what perfection was.  Perfection was to love through the imperfections.  To fully embrace her uniqueness, her one of a kind size and shape.  To live fully into each moment.  To love being still.  To observe her surroundings and not get ahead of herself by the longing to be somewhere else or something else.  To relish in the gradual dissolution…the sagging, the rotting and the oozing.  To flatten back into the earth and be covered with fall leaves and snow and to become one with the worms, beetles, and mud.  To not care what comes next.  To feel the sensations and not to criticize or even care what comes next.  She let go.  She became not even close to a pear in a bowl.  She journeyed farther from consciousness.  She drifted off into space.  She became an astronaut of sorts.  She looked down at the planet as it became smaller and smaller.  She felt as if she was so large that she was the Sun shining down, up, around and bursting into a billion pieces, showering meteors, raining pears, becoming darkness and being at peace with herself. 

Mea’s Imaginary Obituary



 She longed to blend in, to never be noticed and to become one with her surroundings.  Mea Lama, drifted off with the geese as they flew south for the winter. We aren’t quite sure of the date.  It was somewhere between the last perfect day of autumn and the first flakes of snowfall in the winter of her hundred and twenty-third year.  She was often seen perched up high in the trees, like a hunter waiting for the turkeys to waddle through the thicket.  Though she wasn’t a hunter.  She was a watcher of birds, of squirrels and of herds of deer as they made their way through the forests.  She climbed trees to free the leaves that were stuck, that hadn’t had the good fortune to turn colors and drift gracefully to the ground.  She climbed trees all winter plucking leaves and releasing them.  She felt at home up there, amongst the trees.  
She didn’t go to town to socialize.  She didn’t hang out at the coffee shop to gab.  She would have pieces of twigs and leaves in her hair and stuck to whatever she was wearing, often leaving a trail of forest debris in her wake.  She was at home in the woods.  She loved the silence broken by the creaking, the whistle of the wind and the chatter of the squirrels who had become used to her in their territory.  By the time spring arrived in Fairfield, a small midwestern town amongst the cornfields of Southeastern Iowa, she would have all the leaves removed from each and every tree.  The buds loved the ease in which they could burst forth with the first sunny days and warm spring rains.  Mea made life easier to be a tree.  She spent the spring and summers clearing the forests and woods of all dead branches and fallen trees.  She kept busy all year tending to trees.  She will be remembered for her actions, not her words.  She would often come to Open Mic and Cafe Paradiso and stand on stage for her allotted 10 minutes.  She’d push play on her old Sony Tape player and play the sounds from high in the trees.  She’d gaze off thru the windows at the back of the room. She never spoke a word and no one asked her any questions.  It was odd, but the locals liked it.