When *S*****T* Happens

Well then.

Sometimes it feels like the world is caving in a bit, and maybe it is; or maybe it isn’t and it’s all just coming from me.

For the second time, I’ve had my credit card stolen at a place that I frequent regularly — a place filled with kind, quiet, people who spend a couple of hours working on their computers in a pleasant environment. The first time it happened, I felt like it must have somehow been my fault. Of course it wasn’t.

Now that it’s happened a second time, I’m livid and … something else that I haven’t yet identified. The difference is that this time I told everyone nearby immediately and then pretty much everyone I know when I got home. Why? Because I don’t want it to happen to anyone else. Yes, I’m savvy enough to know that these things happen all around us far too often, but loving enough to believe that I won’t be robbed because I’m a good and kind person. Yes, well … I guess that’s naive to a “T” isn’t it?

And it leaves me wondering about life in so many ways.

One of the problems for me is that I really, really don’t want to have to beware every time I leave the house. I really, really don’t want to believe that any passerby and his mother is out to steal from me and who knows who else. And I really, really don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching my back. I’d like to say that I refuse to live that way, but the truth is that I won’t be able to let it go — I’ll be watching my back pretty much forever now. I suppose you could say that’s a good thing, but it doesn’t feel good to me.

Yes, it’s a huge wake-up call that hopefully melds okay-ish with my life, but there will always be a part of me that hates it.

The Irony of Life, or Why I Hate Throwing Things Away

A few weeks ago, I decided to take a leap — a big one for me. But after years of “NO, I Might Need That!” I felt in the depths of my soul that it was time to purge, to let go and live happily ever after with what I already have — mostly, to feel lighter myself.

Ohhhhh how very wrong I was. Or right. Or something in between. The truth is that I just don’t know, because purging is not in my wheelhouse. But a week or so ago, something in me changed, and I hit the LEAP button. Had I done a positive thing that would make life easier, or had I just wildly tossed all the supplies that I’ll certainly need on Monday?

And in truth I wasn’t even quite sure what my end goal was, but I was definitely certain that some sort of action needed to happen. How did I know? Honestly, that part remains a bit fuzzy, but I forged ahead anyway, enlisting the help of a friend and going at it Big Time.

So we put on old clothes and sat on the floor for hours and climbed through years of well-stashed “but I might need this!” mosaic supplies, eyeing each piece relentlessly. And then, after filling boxes upon boxes upon boxes of glass and china that I reluctantly deemed “will never be used” … I tossed it. Okay not all of it, but so many boxes that my back still hurts, AND I’ve lightened half of my supplies. What was I thinking?

It’s a funny thing. One day life seems perfect, and the next day you realize you’re only using half of what you’ve collected over the years and maybe you DON’T need it all. And maybe you don’t even know exactly why, but you see the path and it’s calling you. And then I shed my very-long-time way of seeing, and suddenly now it’s hard to remember what I gave away.

And even more surprising, I found myself joyously making art again and planning classes.

So very often it’s the journey that finds us.

Cleaning Day

It’s unusual for me to enter the hell of housework, but sure, every now and then it happens. And this is one of my favorite things about the holidays — the joy of family arriving makes everything fun — even cleaning. I mean, it isn’t raucously fun, but still. At any rate, my life of late has been a whirlwind of washing everything in the house, tossing anything that’s no longer usable, and donating the rest. And then comes the fun part — re-dreaming, re-arranging, re-hanging and, often enough, re-loving.

Yes, the wonderful, mind-altering, fabulous thing happened, and yes, I actually cleaned.

Mind you, when I say I cleaned, I mean I CLEANED — right through the nittiest gritty on the planet. And then another thing happened. A wonderful, magical, mystical thing.

I was hot into ripping off bed covers and sheets and pillows and the errant what IS that? when I saw it. Between the mattress and the box spring, between the feeling and the knowing, between the motion and the act (10 points if you recognize the reference), a small piece of folded paper poked herself out quite nonchalantly. Just a papery flutter minding it’s own papery business. So of course I immediately pulled it out, and with it flew a lilting passel of individually written 20-year-old memories spilled full out and joyously tumbling all over the floor. Some written to me; some written to each other.

And suddenly I was back in those joyous days of artists arriving from multiple states, laughing and creating non-stop, sharing food and ideas and sleeping exhaustedly on every flat-enough service of every room in the house.

Over those years, we made art together for hours and hours at a time, easily filling a day or two with each visit. New friends, old friends, come-and-go friends, love-you-forever friends.

“A security I cannot describe.”
“Pure solace, as it always is.”
“May you have an enchanted and marvelous time in this room.”
“Rest and be refreshed.”
“I find peace being in this bed and with those who live here.”
“Sorry for the scraps — I don’t travel with paper!”
“Rest and be refreshed.”
“Is this bed comfy or what???”
“Workshops, gardens, peace, contentment, beauty, and inspiring art.”
“With each short visit, I’m reminded how it might be to stay with cherished family. Thank you for your friendship, humor, advice, and suggestions.”

And it was, again, bliss, no matter the distance.

Love you forever, indeed. Maybe cleaning isn’t so overrated after all.

* Image above by Pam Goode, taken one night in Ireland.

Beach Poetry

Some days the wind is so merciless
that the few birds venturing out
hasten in their flight,
cursing the rougher movements, the lack of food,
the strain of wings.

Some days the sand blows so briskly that it stings,
minuscule dots of quartz and glass
co-mingling
with the sharper air that
pulls my breath away.

Some days seem ripe for staying in
and lolling here and there on
softer sofas than this.

Yet some days lay splendidly before us,
mingling breath and sea and quartz
into our dreams.

© Pam Goode 2023 (Poem)

Image by Ben Wiid

Baa Baa Black Sheep

Gotta say there’s NOTHING like visiting my sister, shepherdess extraordinaire. She decided a few years ago to buy a sheep or two and off she went — building hutches, fences and water troughs, scratching limbs, studying every conceivable aspect of shepherding, scheduling and completing regular health and med checks, naming each one in a thoughtful manner (take a look at Crosby and Nash!), keeping the hay stocked and whatever else livestock require, AND growing her own veggies.

And yes, she’s up to 35 sheep now.

Mind you I can do none of these things, and by none, I mean not even the tiniest smithereen of sheep care. I am, however, great at giving each one a big smile multiple times daily. I think they like it.

NOTE: We have no prejudice toward the color of any sheep or person shown in this collection. We do, however, have sweet memories of the song. You’ll notice that our sheep come in delightfully assorted colors.

Waiting

Is there a purpose in waiting? I feel a bit like it’s a vigil, which makes sense. I know it will mean a bevy of time, a tsunami of pain, a gasping of fear.

I can do that.

What it doesn’t require is my personal presence, but most definitely my spiritual presence.

And I can do that.

What it doesn’t promise is a requested outcome, allowing only my prayers.

What is does promise is waiting. I don’t mind waiting, and yet I hate it. Or maybe I don’t hate waiting, but I hate the reason.

Some reasons are joyous. Some, uncertain. Others, life changing.

And the time it takes to receive an answer of “yes, it’s this, and it will be okay. Probably” is both momentary and lifelong.

And the time it takes to receive an answer of “yes, it’s this, and I’m sorry,” is also both momentary and a lifetime.

Lifetime. Lifelong.

I’m not sure I like those words anymore.

I like the word forever. And ever and ever and evermore.

“The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Love to All

Clouds

I love clouds.

In fact I love them like crazy and I don’t even bother wondering why — I just look up in awe every day, gasp a little, and snap. Honestly, there’s not a day that I arrive home without some new cloud photo stashed in my computer.

This one was snapped at dusk near my daughter’s house, and I can’t help wondering when the fire will capture her too.

And it’s an interesting thing about clouds — I almost always miss the grand finale. I suppose it’s because I tend to come home at 5 or 6 and stay there. And even though the clouds are everywhere around me, my house is secluded, the trees abundant and tall, and to be honest, I forget.

Yes, I forget what isn’t in front of my eyes at a given moment. We’re all like that to some extent, but you know what? It’s a huge flaw in our day to day. Too often, the magic is exactly where we don’t look.

But then … on the days that I have a bit more leeway, I might walk out of the grocery store or bookstore or starbucks and BAM — I’m gobsmacked by the pulsing light that streaks the sky with gusto, almost as if the sky accidentally broke and, in the time it took to fit the pieces back together, we’ve almost, almost, forgotten that moment of magic.

Because we humans — we really need to learn to SEE.

Love to All

Those Days

I got a fast car.
You got a car with a little bit of rubber,
keeping us slow when the slow is good,
and we’re loving the life in between,
in between.

Dolled up right for yesterday
and hunting tomorrow
in a hungry way,
gotta go, gotta go, gotta
go again, cause that’s surely
most all that we know.

Oh that’s surely most all
That we know.

We know.

© Pam Goode

A Fabulous Morning at Barcelona Cooking

A FABULOUS time at Barcelona Cooking: Walking to class on La Rambla; Prepping veggies and making stock; teaching a handful of kids who were VERY eager and VERY good how to make creme brulee, including the torch; super duper burners!; setting up the first course — soup with flowers and tomato bread; working on the Spanish Omelet; Paella; and a group of very happy girls.

All in all we learned to make paella, Spanish omelette, tomato bread, crema catalana, and sangria. Perfect for those interested in cooking with organic and local produce.

Barcelona Architecture

It just so happens that my family is laden with architects, which means I can’t get enough of Barcelona and her boundlessly beautiful style. Enjoy!