PNewl PNews Volume 16 Issue 1

PNewL PNewS

Volume 16 No. 1 “All the pnews that phits.” April 2008

Things I am Learning And Other Miscellaneous Observations
It’s all about learning these days. Later.

And so begins Year 16 of the PNewL PNewS. Thanks for reading.

Reminder: 27th Annual Angel Island Picnic Saturday June 21 2008
Perles Beach. Be there or be square

Bye Bye Ann
My cousin Ann died this past month. She was a good friend for a good long time. We called each other west coast sisters. We ate great food, Worked on some projects together. Took walks at Point Reyes. She and her partner Victor joined brother Peter and I in Thailand and Bali and “Langwacky” (aka Langkawi Malaysia). She introduced me to NPR. She was an incredibly
gifted artist and teacher. And there are many who miss her. I am one of them.

Amazing…
“Looks like you forgot your kleenex tonight,” said Amelie as she dug around in her bag for some. The night before, at the premiere of Swimming Upstream: The Katrina Monologues, I had suggested people bring along their tissues as it could be, like lots of things in New Orleans and on the Gulf Coast in general, emotional. This night was the 10th Anniversary of V-Day, celebrated with a star studded very New Orleanian version of the Vagina Monologues. I wasn’t expecting the emotions here but out they poured. Sigh.

I have recently returned from five days in New Orleans, a visit that was so cram-packed full of different events and experiences and plenty of emotions, it’s hard to know where to start and how to tell the story. I told Sue and every other word was amazing. She said it was ok because it seemed that it truly was an amazing series of events.

The first two and a half days were taken up with site visits in New Orleans and on the Mississippi coast, meeting amazing activists and organizers and seeing the impact of the work they are doing. I want to adopt them all, I want to be them when I grow up, I want the world to be overwhelmed with pride for these folks who are doing such good hard work because the government isn’t. I want them to fulfill their mission, to be our future leadership, to solve the problems that New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are examples of. So many people said that NOLA provides a microcosm of the problems facing the country and the world. These are the people who are going to walk us through to the solution. Listen and learn. Love them. They are us, when we are the best we can be. (I don’t know what some of this means but I am on a roll.)
After this, I said to someone, I am full. I can’t hear anything more, can’t absorb anything else and I found I didn’t know myself very well. I went directly into two workshops on socially responsible investing, lead by a whole pile of—yes—amazing women. While I probably could have absorbed more under different circumstances, I learned a lot and was once again inspired by thoughtful smart amazing people doing good work.

With a brief break, we moved on to the premiere of Swimming Upstream, dramatic readings of a series of monologues by New Orleans’ women describing their Katrina-affected lives. It premiered in the Superdome—this weekend dubbed the Superlove—and all those images we all have in our heads of the hideous moments post Katrina…the people stuck in that building with little support…the overwhelming images…it was powerful being in that building, but hearing the women read the words was more powerful. In the way that is New Orleans, music was at the core and as we sniffled from monologue to monologue we were cradled in the melodies. I can’t imagine hearing “This little light of mine” ever again without getting choked up, it was all so moving. When it comes to a town near you, see it. These are stories, like so many, that need to be remembered.

Meanwhile, I managed to catch snippets of the French Quarter Fest—great music in all nooks and crannies as well as great food— and the events at the Superlove—part of the celebration of the 10th Anniversary of V-Day, working to eradicate violence against women. Non-stop early in the morning to end of the work day, speakers from around the world, local performers and celebrity leaders appeared on that stage.

The final evening we went to the closing event, a star studded, only in New Orleans version of the Vagina Monologues with people like Jane Fonda, Jennifers Hudson and Beals, Doris Roberts (from among other places, Everybody Loves Raymond), Charmaine Neville, Faith Hill. Plus 1200 women who hadn’t been back since the storm. At the end, Eve Ensler, the producer of the event, asked everyone in the audience of about 15,000 people who had been abused to stand up—my guess would be a third stood up. Then she asked everyone who knew someone who had been abused to stand and the whole room was on their feet. Together we sang R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Yeah, I had my kleenex then too.

Disengaging
It’s a brief time before the process will hit its full stride—when moving will become a full-time job. The disengaging process has begun. Regrets about not getting to those things I can always do because I never felt pressed before loom large. Events I could always go to next year but now probably won’t. Skipping some meetings because…well, I have been to enough of them…and why bother? New will be good but missing the old, the familiar, will be hard.
I knew something was going on when I drove through the Wildlife Refuge in early April looking for the white pelicans—one of dad’s and my favorite—thinking I’d missed them: they usually leave around this time. Tears were streaming down my face. I said aloud, so you thought this would be easy? Ha. But a flock–they are so big the word “herd” comes to mind—of the pillowy white birds were perched on the mudflat in the pond by the Lookout. I was so pleased, I miss them already.

It’s impossible to imagine leaving now. The weather is perfect. Warm in the sun, a little bit less so in the shade. Sun glistening on the bigger than ripples/not quite waves in the canal. The neighbors are leaving—the frantic energy and activity of season is dissipating.
The breeze feels like fine silk as it touches my skin.

I remember when I first started walking with Kathleen—it was this kind of weather and she said, “When we’re walking in July, we will think of these perfect days and remember why we live through the hot part.” Each year, I have thought of that and been so grateful for knowing these moments of perfection.

Once again, I am writing this as Bear and I sit in the shade of the palm tree in the cul de sac. He is chewing on a stick—an expensive one this time: a Bully stick and if you don’t know what that is, well, I will forgo the description. It’s almost cloudless though there are clouds beginning to build in the east. Maybe we will get a thunderstorm in the afternoon with much needed rain. A boat just went by and I feel as I sometimes do—you may have the boat, but I get to be here every day…for now.

And too soon as always, it is time to go. Bear’s done with his bully stick and he’s wrestling a palm frond into submission. He apparently thinks it’s time I got involved.

I had to go to North Carolina to mow my lawn

After I picked up a frightening rental car (I just replaced the tires on the Prius after Ken the mechanic berated me mercilessly for going way beyond their limits so I am a bit sensitive to bald tires and tags on the windshield that say this car should have been serviced 4000 miles ago), I drove into Weaverville. I wondered what the heck I was doing here. After picking up provisions, I knew. EVERYTHING in the bleeping county is blooming—and as one who has missed seven or eight years of spring, seeing that green and the remarkable flowers is worth the time money and effort. I can deal with the emotional upheaval later—or after dark.
I had no idea the two smaller trees in the front yard are actually gigantic dogwoods. The short leafless shrubs are now vivid azaleas. The blank spaces along the path are –oh Chris told me what they are…little white flowering perennials? The dirt wall at the end of the driveway is sprinkled with really teeny iris and purple and pink things (if they are weeds, don’t mention it as they are lovely), and the sweetest little violets. It’s a big glorious party in the garden. Who knew?

Not all of this has been glorious. I am still dealing with the what the heck am I doing here part. Buyer’s remorse? Who knows. I love the new but hate the details—the sad, the missing, the uncertainty, the fear. I spent a couple days facing that. I think the lack of TV unmasks a lot of it. If only I could drown out my monologue with a little All My Children or Grey’s Anatomy. But when I finally wandered out into the world, it got better and I remembered that this is mostly good (except for the sad, missing part).
I believe this is gonna work. I got to have dinner with Betty and Tom who just happened to be in town. I went to a book signing with like 14 you know like 20-somethings (what generation are we on…z-gen?). I missed Hillary’s swing through Western North Carolina but she sold out which is a hopeful sign. (Which is not to say I am Hillary fan—I just like that there are people here who would show up for it). I have seen men my age without wedding bands. I went to the preview of the local open studio tour and won an hour massage at the local Zen inn. I hung out with some of my neighbors who I like more each time I see them. I met a woman who moved from California to Florida to North Carolina and wants to commiserate, wants new friends and is a Pilates instructor (all good).

I stripped the quaint wallpaper trim that has made me feel this home wasn’t mine and found environmentally correct paint I can consider for the kitchen. I have moved some glass globes around so that I can live with the yellow-gold metal fixtures until I get someone to replace them (I fear electricity). I went to a couple stops on the open studio tour and brought home a large flying ceramic pig whistle that is holding court in an otherwise bland bathroom. I walked with Jane-the-human and Sadie-the-dog on the Blue Ridge Parkway and along the Swannanoa River (near where brother David went to Outward Bound). I am a lucky girl. Life is good.
Ah, it’s time for Desperate Housewives…somewhere other than here. I will go read the recently autographed book instead. Sleep well.

PS I did not mow the lawn, but someone else is or has or...well, we shall see.

I love my stuff...sometimes

Much has been going on and I can't seem to keep on top of blogging as well apparently. We had a big fund-raiser here and a couple days later Gini and Bear and I caravaned to North Carolina, in two loaded down vehicles.

There is a saying I’ve mentioned before that there’s no such thing as bad weather, it’s bad clothing choices, or something like that. For those of you who have unlimited experience in the frozen tundra of the northern tier of states, you know better than I the truth of this statement. I am the first to admit I am a weather wimp. I have not driven in snow since high school. Oh there has been the occasional Christmas at my parent’s house but never far and never long and always really really slow. Now I am willingly moving to a place that gets cold and I am wondering what I am thinking. I am not worried about being cold—I would much prefer to be cold than hot which is ironic since I willingly moved to what I hope is the hottest place on the planet (if anyone lives somewhere hotter they should consider moving because I just don’t think we are meant to live like that)—it’s just that I am a bit out of practice when it comes to dressing for cold weather climes.

I am worried about the learning curve. I just came in from walking the large hound. He has taken this short-term climate change in stride. He has more energy than ever. There are great new smells and animals—with neighbors in the shape of llamas, horses and angora goats, some are even bigger than he is—and terrain to cover and shrubs to pee on. He’s in heaven. On the other hand, I had to come back in three times to upgrade my outfit, adding first a scarf then a hat and mittens, and finally hot coffee. Bear, in the meantime, is sitting his delicate fanny directly on the frozen ground. I have to say the first time he did that he got up immediately and turned around to look at what he had been sitting on as if to say, what the heck? Shortly thereafter, after several runs pursuing the many sticks in the yard, he lay prone (Merriam Webster: having the front or ventral surface downward) on the frozen ground, looking up as he does, adoringly and he was happily cool.

We also got to play minor roles in Patsy Thompson's latest DVD (http://patsythompsondesigns.com/). And then, leaving my aging truck in NC, we drove back down together. Immediately following was the annual arts & crafts sale with Susi and Barb et al, and phew, now all there is to do is deal with the bajillion tourists. Oh wait--next week is a fund-raiser for Greg Mortenson who wrote Three Cups of Tea (he builds schools in Asia--FABULOUS book, wonderful org, send him money now at http://www.ikat.org/).

In the meantime, I have done some packing and some sending of things to others and some donating to worthy orgs like SWFAS and the Library, my two favorite local causes...and sometimes I wonder why I keep things and sometimes I can't imagine ever parting with every broken pencil and twist tie. What is the deal? I have to think on the meaning of this more and will get back to you if I come to any understanding...

So I just wanted to say I hope you all are staying well and that the return of the daylight (after that absurd ridiculous dangerous-to-children-boarding-early-buses, why-can't-they-wait-til-April time change--don't get me started, I am realllllly upset about it), is brightening your view of the world.

More pics below. More words in the near future I hope. (Got my taxes organized so there is hope for more interesting things in the future...)

Here are Bear and I after unloading the vehicles. We are very tired.












And another results-of-moving photo...

until we meet again...peggy

PNewL PNewS Volume 15 Issue 4

Once again, I have battled with MS Word--what were those developers thinking? Oh my. Just when you think things are settled, they hop all over the place. Alas. Here's the blog version. Here's the way to the PDF version...

PNewL PNewS
Volume 15 No 4 “All the pnews that phits.” February 2008

To?...or…From?
Cousin John sent an email asking whether my upcoming move (Summer 2008) was away from here or to there. Interesting question. It's a little of both...
Let me give you a brief description of the events that transpired, in somewhat chrono-logical order, to get me to where I am today.
☛ I was born…ok, ok—I’ll skip ahead.
☛Last spring, I got some nice things from my parents’ home.
☛ In May, I went to a quilt symposium in Mars Hill NC and stayed in Weaverville with Patsy and Ernie.
☛ In June, I got stuck overnight in the Chicago airport and I noticed that there were people of all ages in the world.
☛ I returned home to find it hot and the hot continued and then more hot. (It was hot in December. By then, people were pleased–it's cold and dark everywhere else. And it's hot here! Cool! Not to me. I am sick of it.)
☛ I returned to my expensive home on a barrier island containing nice things from my parents’ home, two feet (sometimes less) above sea level, in hurricane country (and with the specter of global warming loom-ing). How's that for tempting fate!
☛ So I went back to NC and I drove and I drove and I drove. I went into every nook and cranny I could find. I was drawn to some parts and not to others. And I went back a couple more times and then I drove down a driveway and I thought, this looks like home. And hopefully it is.
Gini tells me I should tell people it's time…to go…for a change…finish this sentence as you will. I have a list of 17 reasons why I’m moving and I could list them here but I find people then like to argue about why they aren’t legitimate reasons. And some of them are big and are included in the above timeline and some are small (e.g., my silver jewelry tarnishes within moments of putting it on).
So I guess that’s it—it’s time to enter the next phase. I figure at the rate I am going, I have three good moves left in me, this being the first. Sara and Bob are talking about the golden years in the northwest so I may meet up with them then/there. There are a few options for the second one.
I could stay happily where I am for a bit longer—and frankly this all happened a lot faster than I expected—but if I will move on soon, why not now? Don’t get me wrong. I love Sanibel. It is gorgeous and much of the year, quiet and comfortable. I have made several great friends—many I consider world-class. It will be hard to go…and exciting!
Meanwhile, I am writing this from my makeshift dining table in the mostly empty place I will soon call home. Schools are closed because of freezing rain (or some are opening at 10— that seems like a logistical nightmare for parents but I spose that isn’t my problem). ) My new neighbor Chris says you just stay home when weather is like this. Ok, I can do that. Yesterday it was cold but sunny and I met up with Chris and five other neighbors for lunch at the Camaraderie Café. It felt like the right name and place for the occasion. Here were my soon-to-be people and they looked pretty friendly. Plus the food was delicious.
I don’t know if I answered your question, John. I guess I am moving from and to at the same time. And Gini says I have to come to Sanibel for at least a month each year to stay her friend. That is a win-win in my book, which is ok by me.

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Life Goes On…though sometimes it doesn’t

2008 started out a little rough though it’s since calmed considerably. Three deaths, several illnesses of frightening strength for friends who are too young to be facing such things (or are we that old?). In light of these monumental events, I thought it would be an interesting exercise to write my obituary. Here is a first draft.

Margaret Hale Newell, known for better or worse as Peggy, died. She was born on April 30th 1957 in Cleveland Ohio. She died at a comfortably advanced age of a brief pain-free illness.
Highlights of her life included being the daughter of Sterling and Frannie Newell, and sister to Evie, Peter, David, and Martha, and human to Rocket, Dusty, Sally, Beandip and Bear. She marveled at her great fortune in making friends in high school and college who remained close throughout her life. She was passionate about quilting, travel, and philanthropy, in no particular order. She believed in the importance of humor, friendship and napping.
While she experienced only moderate success in her work, it only bothered her occasionally because she always seemed to find more fun things to focus on. She did feel successful in other ways—in unpaid positions with a variety of organizations, in her friends and in the legacy she left behind.
Her greatest regret was that she didn’t take up tap dancing earlier.

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Things I am Learning
& Other Miscellaneous Observations

• On New Year’s Day, I found myself catching up on my reading on…garbage. I learned the average American purchases 200 plastic bottles each annually, 80% (3.2 billion lbs. ) of which end up in landfills. Check out the Co-op America archives at http://www.coop america.org/pubs/caq/articles/ for the Fall’07 issue. The most impor-tant thing I learned was that some towns recycle all plastics (#1-7) even though only #1 and #2 are the only ones really re-used by anyone (and they are recycled into things that cannot be recycled so it’s kind of a dead end though the “things” are fleece jackets, railroad ties and other…stuff). And the towns do this theoretically because they think more people will recycle if they don’t have to look for the number on the container. Speaking of STUFF, please watch this video—it’s so good. And it will make you think! http://www.storyofstuff.com/index.html
• I started volunteering at the local library this past summer and it quickly became my favorite part of the week. I have tried to analyze the parts I like the best—at first it was wandering the aisles, re-shelving books and coming upon authors I have never read. I never left with less than a combination of 12 books, magazines, books on tape, DVDs and “playaways.” Soon, I gained an appreciation for all the intricacies of the behind-the-scenes organization that allows the “front of the store”—the part y’all hang out in—to run so smoothly. It’s complex! Now, with season in full swing, it’s running as fast as you can (metaphorically) to keep up with the volume of people and books etc coming and going. It feels like an essential service we volunteers are providing. I’ve looked into Library Science programs—there are several “distance learning” possibilities—and am considering going back to school. I have visited four of the libraries in Western North Carolina. Being afraid of exams, I will probably remain a volunteer but I just might surprise myself.
• According to USA Today, 48% of people online regularly check 2 or 3 different email addresses. 42% have only one (and 5% have 4-5, and another 5% have 6 or more!).
• My brother Peter gets Merriam-Webster words of the day via email. The word for November 30 2007 was “snowbird—1 : any of several birds (as a junco or fieldfare) seen chiefly in winter. 2 : one who travels to warm climes for the winter.” I am quite familiar with the latter. They are here now. But I didn’t know it was “first used [in the early 1900s] to describe men who enlisted in the armed forces to get food and clothing during the winter months and then deserted as the warm spring weather approached. Not long after, the term was applied to the northern laborers who would flock down south to work as the cold, harsh winter set in up north.” Who knew?
• I clipped an article by Andrew Weill which listed Ten tips for a Great Old Age, and the final was to “Keep an ongoing list of the lessons you have learned, the wisdom you gain and the values you hold…read this over, add to it, revise it, and share it with people you care about it.” I am just finishing my fifteenth year of doing that with you. I guess I am ahead of the curve…for once!

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If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world
and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” EB White

Must See

Once again time has gotten away from me. I have some posts that are partly finished but I can't seem to get motivated. Too much weird life stuff going on. But I didn't want to forget to tell anyone who reads this about this wonderful video. I saw Annie Leonard do this live with a huge length of paper and a magic marker. She was amazing. Now it's on film and this is her website (http://www.storyofstuff.com) but it's not there right now--I did find it on youtube in chapters. Plllllleeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeee check it out--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqZMTY4V7Ts

Rest in Peace, MS Explorer

When I opened Google News and saw an article about a cruise ship floundering in the icy water off Antarctica, I had to check it out. Dad went to Antarctica many years ago on the Explorer and then several years after that we spent two weeks on the "Little Red Ship" going 2,000 miles down the Amazon River ("Iquitos to the Sea"). I was reminded of that trip as I looked at all the many photos of the sinking.

It was a neat boat ("It's NOT a boat--it's a ship!" I hear my father cry.) It accommodated 150 passengers but there were only 55 on our trip. I often felt there might be more crew than paying customers. Dad and I shared a cabin across from the gift shop which was overseen by a very attractive young woman so Dad did a fair amount of shopping. There was a library/lounge that was a lively gathering place before dinner. Lectures took place in the auditorium, which some of the guides nicknamed the Nap Room because no matter how interesting the lectures, almost everyone fell asleep at some point once the lights were dimmed. Dad and I finally stayed in our cabin and listened to the lectures over the in-room audio. The beds were more comfortable than the seats in the auditorium! In our defense, we were up at 5:30am and in the zodiacs to go in search of birds, sloths, caiman, piranhas, pink dolphin or whatever there was to see.

The sinking of the Explorer reminds me of such wonderful memories--locals pulling up in dugout canoes behind the ship to offer fresh fruits and vegetables and often some crafts, the tour of the Manaus Opera House (and a less memorable performance) which was seen in the movie "Fitzcarraldo," the "meeting of the waters" caipirinha party, jumping in the river and floating (really fast!!) to the raft they anchored further down river, watching the feather-clad lovely women dance the Boi Bumba, motoring through water buffalo grazing under water, water lily pads the size of my bed, hanging with my father, the views along the banks as we cruised by (in some places you can hardly see the other bank--in others, I was glad I wasn't on the bridge guiding the ship because the narrows are pretty narrow when you consider the maneuverability of a slow moving, not quick to react vessel. And we only ran aground once!) And the birds!!! Did I mention the birds? And all of this from the comfort of our little red ship.

I think of the many people who are reliving their memories of the MS Explorer as it went to its watery grave (I always wanted to say stuff like that). It's a kind of neat tribute to ship that served so many so well. I only wish I could relive the memories with my dad.
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The photo was sent to me by my sister who got it from a friend who sent me the address for someone who knows someone who may have taken it, but I haven't heard back. I will update this when I find out who took it.

Weaverville ho!

I returned last week from my first stuff trip to North Carolina. I picked up the rental truck (apartment.com has the best rates I could find, brand new Penske truck) and loaded it with the help of Katie Scherbel, Steve and Kathleen Faraone, and Gini Jones. Putting the puzzle of boxes and furniture together was a challenge (thankfully, unloading it myself was WAY easier). I drove the next day as far as Newberry SC and then into Weaverville the next morning.

The truck, by the way, was a dream. When I dropped it off, I told the guy I'd love to own something like that, if it weren't for the fuel--it was pretty new (under 13,000 miles), comfortable, working CD player. Other than the time I was backing down Patsy & Ernie's driveway, when my perspective got skewed in the rear view mirrors because of the serious downward angle, driving it was a piece of cake.

Driving up to the house was very strange. What am I doing? Familiar and not. What if I can't find my way?

Turning down the driveway, I think I giggled. This is MINE! The key worked and the place looked just like I remembered. I was unloaded by 3pm. Unpacked and put away the following morning. I did a pretty good job of deciding what to move. I had everything I needed for the kitchen and bedroom, had a comfortable chair, a boom box, a small dining room table, even cleaning supplies and olive oil. Why is it I need all that stuff at home--my other home?

I walked around the house many times, viewing it from many angles. It looks different without the leaves that were here when I was last. I walked up the road, peering into the neighbors' yards. My road is rural but there is a nice sized community around it. And there are plenty of animals-- sheep, dogs, llamas have been seen so far. A place at the end of the road sells bison meat...

I thought about running a few errands but the way the truck drank fuel and the way it took up just a bit more space than I wanted to park in a small town, I scaled back expectations and just went up to Patsy & Ernie's to get stuff I had left there. After unloading that, I hopped into the shower. Midway through, I heard, "Oh When the Saints" REALLY loud. I turned off the water...dripping, nervous, wondering what it meant. The music had stopped. After getting dressed, I looked around. Nothing looked weird. I had a hunch. There was a box on the counter I had noticed but had ignored. It is the doorbell. I may choose from something like FIFTY different songs--over 10 Christmas carols, several patriotic choices, a few religious ones and Happy Birthday. The only problem is I couldn't get the volume down and I can't change the song--note to self: next time take a few tools. So for now, it's Oh When the Saints.

The doorbell ringer was Chris who lives across the street. My realtor knows her and had mentioned her name. I found her information online and emailed her with some basic questions. She responded! Then when she saw some activity over here, she dropped by and left her card. I ran across the street. Didn't want to miss this opportunity!

Chris is a potter--she makes whimsical animals--you can see them at rakuzoo.com. She and her partner Steve moved up from Florida six or seven years ago. She loves it. She told me about the community they live in which includes a number of homeowners and shared land. Sounds like good neighbors to have. We had a glass of wine and a wonderfully comfortable chat. Via email later, she offered a Meet the Neighbors event next time I am there. It was a fitting end to a really successful visit.

Returning the truck and flying home was easy. Everything went so well it was scary. Many times throughout the trip, I thanked my parents for working so hard to make this work.

Photos: (top) Fairly self-explanatory. Steve, Kathleen and I loading. (Yeah--I know. Looks pretty good for November. Why am I moving? That will be addressed soon.)
(middle) Looking down Ballard Branch Rd. MY road.
(bottom) My House (and the truck) through the leaf-less trees.
Thanks to Gini for the top pic.