Birds of a Feather

Although I wasn’t gone nearly as long as predicted being home makes me feel complete. In fact, it was only Friday, July 14th, that I lost my way. A scorching hot day for the rest of Los Angeles County ended in a perfect night. Hearing complaints about the heat I headed to my garden. There, deep undeniable contentedness that comes with feet warmed on the hot cement sidewalk made cool by water straight outa the hose, little piggies washed free of sweat and dusty earth relaxed my spirit.

Later that day I met a retired Sensei Reverend at the Venice Hongwanji Buddhist Temple’s Obon. He saw what I possessed and said only the old timers would understand. Sadly most elders are gone. Footloose I feel the call of a challenge. How do I share something nobody understands, least of all myself?

One day later, here I am, back in the saddle at home, in front of hubbies G510s with the screen that’s twice as wide as my shouldes. Finding the “Write” button on birdsofafeatherhome.wordpress.com I’ve arrived. The button wasn’t available on my teeny tiny iPhone on Friday when I frantically searched for breadcrumbs home…to no avail.

It seems devices have differing displays. Whew. I did enjoy my forced vacation away from my home nest. Happily it was spent forging new memories at my own physical home and the spiritual home of my ancestors.

Armed with Jet Pack I’m flying in and out of my favorite places…my Father’s kingdom has many rooms. Thanks for visiting my nest. Please leave a feather of advice or your own story finding your home.

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of Obon

16 July 2023

The above was the view as the troop train rolled into the City of Los Angeles December 10, 1944 following a 3 day train ride from Georgia. The …

West to Los Angeles, CA, Port of Embarkation

I love me a blank page. It could be in a planner, on a canvas or even a project idea I’ve come up with. Blank pages allow a feast of ideas as mind’s fodder…Imaginary dawn dressed tables, white linen below gleaming silverware, gleaming china painted with gold leaf, fine crystal flute of pale bubbly champagne as a fresh plucked raspberry is dropped in. Why not, it’s a blank page. Lengthy lists hand lettered in a teacher’s font with simple stick figures acting out their parts, illustrated all the right actions. Or a detailed road map of a hero’s journey sketched out with photographs showing the beginning, middle and end, highlighting history, commencing with the conflict containing a surprise solution. But a blank page that’s blank after accidental deletion…that’s a different story. My next story.

I started cleaning out the weeds.

Perhaps it was me, but a me I don’t remember. Here I peck today, crooked left thumb tapping the left side of the keyboard, right thumb paused in place for typing action, hoping there’s no deletion accident.

A tap to return and I recognized the photo. Kind of. The plumeria grew down over the years. Weeds spilled over red bricksbecame a tripping hazard!!!

The title caught my attention and I know exactly what I meant. The now exuberant plumeria had been lost and covered by grass two types of ground cover, and weeds, branches stunted in growth. Life at that time seemed to raise me above and beyond. I

was just me. Plain. Ordinary yet quirky LAUSD teacher. Overworked and underpaid, same as other service professions. Like many of my colleagues, I taught elementary school because I followed my passions through the arts. As an artist I thrive on sharing my craft with each individual experiencing it; transporting them above and beyond their wildest dreams. Yet since I was a teacher, I knew teachers had all sorts of opinions. But this time my colleagues and I stepped up and spoke as one. We were heard. UTLA provided the opportunity for plain old weeds to overcome a seemingly formidable foe. A strong, tenacious community soldier. Like UTLA. Like me. Like you.

Those sticks grew into a tree and no longer touch the ground. I prune her glorious yet grossly sap filled arms to keep flora off my roof. People no long trip over the weeds spilling out of the brick planter, breaking out of the former mortared cracks. Insurance insists.

I suppose that’s what brought me back. The lure of a blank page. It had that bit of history. 2019 is several lifetimes away. I’m still editing my life. Now I’m ready to share. Meditating on life, carving out my garden, focusing on critically thinking and well, on Being. Thank you for Being on my path. Together, we are strong. Energy goes where attention flows.

Mom was right. From the micro to the macro. Where is my energy flowing?

I bought these pink and white roses from the 99 Cent Store last month. It confused me when I first saw their blooms from the corner of my eye. There are two white and two pink plants in one pot. At $1.99 it was a bargain!  The ninety-nine cent terra cotta pot fits it perfectly.

I reused my daughter’s pink sequined coin purse to plant up some baby spider plants.  I’m hoping to display them in my entryway this spring.

All in all, a lovely Saturday in my garden.