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pecuniumFor all that I'm being sent hither, thither and yon lately (Korea in Aug/Sept, Sacto last week, and Texas in a week and a half) it's homey here. Still a mess of boxes and half-sorted stuff (the kitchen is too small, but the new cupboard, and some care are working around that to make it more of something I can use, and it seems I am the only one who is going to be making regular use of it. Maia can cook, but is more than willing to leave me the day to day chores of making dinner. She, as is her wont, is prone to fits of cakes and cookies. If we still had goose eggs, for the asking, we'd have more flan), and boxes to empty, but sorting out.
I got home from Sacto, to be reminded that there was a retreat this weekend, and she was going to be away, straight after classes ended Friday.
Ambivalent is the word. To see here was top of my list. The week in Sacto was stressful, to say the least, and I missed her. But I am pretty set in my religious ways, and a weekend of touchy-feely was more than this one-time altar boy; who pondered orders, was up for.
So Friday night, and early Saturday were all to myself. I got caught up on a weeks worth of LJ, some other fora I belong to, some other blogging, and a few minutes of the debate. I also touched base with some loved ones far away (which is what put me in mind of the debates).
Then to the camp. No one seemed to be stirring, and I, while certain of being in the right neighbourhood(the truck is a known quantity, so when I found it, I knew I was where I was supposed to be) did not want to intrude, so I read in the car, and wandered about the exterior displays (native plants with explanations of the Chumash use of them, a hut, made with traditional materials, save for the rebar center ring... a slight dichotomy, when compared to whale vertebra chairs, and bulrush walls; a three-dimensional map of the Morro Bay watershed, and so on) until Maia awoke from her nap and we headed off to Worship Sharing.
Quakers, for those who don't know, are in two stripes. Maia belongs to the unprogrammed stripe, which is the most known (Nixon was a programmed Quaker, more like Presbyterians), this means meeting for worship is sitting in silence, until the Spirit moves one to speak. Intendent silence is a powerful thing... moving, even if one is not of the tradition. I've never been moved to speak at a meeting for worship, but the meditative aspects are potent. A devout sayer of rosaries probably gets to the same place, but with much more work.
Worship Sharing, to this (mostly) outsider, seems to be more active. People discuss the things which have recently moved them, in the spiritual aspects of their lives. Again, not quite what my rearing makes easy, and actually makes a tad uncomfortable, so today I spent that time reading my book, listening to the birds, and taking some pictures.
After that was supper, and I got to be the center of attention, at my table. Maia, you see, had talked about me while I was gone, so I was greeted with, "So this is, "The Terry, which meant a fair bit of playing with who had been talked about ensued.
The highlight of the weekend was the music. Not that it was great, but rather that, for the first time (and not for very long) I performed in public; with others, on the penny whistle. I've been playing with it for about a decade, but only in the past year, or so, have I put any serious effort into it. Not as much as I ought, but more than a trifle. So I jammed a bit, and was not awful. Maia even said the variations I worked into Loch Lomonnd were pretty.
After the retreat ended, we went riding. I don't go often enough. For some reason I feel the work is not worth it, until we get going. This was some 7 miles along the ridges above Montana de Oro, overlooking Morro Rock. It was glorious.
Grand, wonderful, exhilarating, terrifying (having a tired horse elect to go careering up a narrow track with steep drops to the right, while sunblind is not to be commended) and comfortable. With pads above a racing saddle (little more than a postage stamp, with stirrups) is the next best thing to bareback (barring thighs I don't have, the male anatomy is not meant to be on a horse without a saddle.
For reasons too long to explain, Maia has modified the stirrups so that I couldn't use them well, and the last three miles were done sans stirrups (to include that mad ride). It was better than with a larger saddle, and I'll feel it tomorrow (hell, I feel it now) but it was a confidence builder (what with my illness, and lack of time in the saddle, I am leery of riding, it's a vicious circle, and I need to work on it).
So, that was my weekend, free (mostly) of politics, and drama. A shower, a dish of pasta, a glass of wine, a bit of journaling, and I am off to bed. Well earned rest in the land of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.
I got home from Sacto, to be reminded that there was a retreat this weekend, and she was going to be away, straight after classes ended Friday.
Ambivalent is the word. To see here was top of my list. The week in Sacto was stressful, to say the least, and I missed her. But I am pretty set in my religious ways, and a weekend of touchy-feely was more than this one-time altar boy; who pondered orders, was up for.
So Friday night, and early Saturday were all to myself. I got caught up on a weeks worth of LJ, some other fora I belong to, some other blogging, and a few minutes of the debate. I also touched base with some loved ones far away (which is what put me in mind of the debates).
Then to the camp. No one seemed to be stirring, and I, while certain of being in the right neighbourhood(the truck is a known quantity, so when I found it, I knew I was where I was supposed to be) did not want to intrude, so I read in the car, and wandered about the exterior displays (native plants with explanations of the Chumash use of them, a hut, made with traditional materials, save for the rebar center ring... a slight dichotomy, when compared to whale vertebra chairs, and bulrush walls; a three-dimensional map of the Morro Bay watershed, and so on) until Maia awoke from her nap and we headed off to Worship Sharing.
Quakers, for those who don't know, are in two stripes. Maia belongs to the unprogrammed stripe, which is the most known (Nixon was a programmed Quaker, more like Presbyterians), this means meeting for worship is sitting in silence, until the Spirit moves one to speak. Intendent silence is a powerful thing... moving, even if one is not of the tradition. I've never been moved to speak at a meeting for worship, but the meditative aspects are potent. A devout sayer of rosaries probably gets to the same place, but with much more work.
Worship Sharing, to this (mostly) outsider, seems to be more active. People discuss the things which have recently moved them, in the spiritual aspects of their lives. Again, not quite what my rearing makes easy, and actually makes a tad uncomfortable, so today I spent that time reading my book, listening to the birds, and taking some pictures.
After that was supper, and I got to be the center of attention, at my table. Maia, you see, had talked about me while I was gone, so I was greeted with, "So this is, "The Terry, which meant a fair bit of playing with who had been talked about ensued.
The highlight of the weekend was the music. Not that it was great, but rather that, for the first time (and not for very long) I performed in public; with others, on the penny whistle. I've been playing with it for about a decade, but only in the past year, or so, have I put any serious effort into it. Not as much as I ought, but more than a trifle. So I jammed a bit, and was not awful. Maia even said the variations I worked into Loch Lomonnd were pretty.
After the retreat ended, we went riding. I don't go often enough. For some reason I feel the work is not worth it, until we get going. This was some 7 miles along the ridges above Montana de Oro, overlooking Morro Rock. It was glorious.
Grand, wonderful, exhilarating, terrifying (having a tired horse elect to go careering up a narrow track with steep drops to the right, while sunblind is not to be commended) and comfortable. With pads above a racing saddle (little more than a postage stamp, with stirrups) is the next best thing to bareback (barring thighs I don't have, the male anatomy is not meant to be on a horse without a saddle.
For reasons too long to explain, Maia has modified the stirrups so that I couldn't use them well, and the last three miles were done sans stirrups (to include that mad ride). It was better than with a larger saddle, and I'll feel it tomorrow (hell, I feel it now) but it was a confidence builder (what with my illness, and lack of time in the saddle, I am leery of riding, it's a vicious circle, and I need to work on it).
So, that was my weekend, free (mostly) of politics, and drama. A shower, a dish of pasta, a glass of wine, a bit of journaling, and I am off to bed. Well earned rest in the land of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.
