Enough. Memories & Snow.

It's snowing.

It's snowing, again, in Helena, Montana.  Though this is my fourth or fifth snow since I've lived here, I can't help but stare out the window this Saturday morning and watch it fall.

Fall, accumulate, fall some more.

It's great to watch the snow fall; first, as little specs of frozen water, and  - soon -  these large flakes start falling.  It's still magical to me - in my 38th year of continued wonder - snow is still magical.

It dawned on me, as I sat by the window, that I did the very same thing - watched the snow fall - 18 years, ten months, and twenty-nine days ago.  I also watched the two loves of my life play in the snow, build a snowman, and have a snowball fight.

Memory is a funny thing.  I've mentioned this before, and consider it true, that our memories are a kaleidoscope of broken remembered, recalled, and real.  Sometimes we color recollection with undue bitterness - other times imaginary happiness -  but this morning's memory was an equal balance, a moment when I was just simply content.

I'll come back to that word in a bit - content.

January 1, 1996 - it snowed in Abilene, Texas.  I was close to seven months pregnant, sitting on the couch in the living room, watching my husband and daughter playing in the unexpected New Year's Day snow.  Hearing both of their laughter, her squeels of joy, his patient teaching - I held my hand on my tummy and let the moment consume me.   Meeting and knowing that now - without entry of future or past... I was truly content.

It has taken me a long time to learn that contentment is truly of the Divine.  We are often a society of more, of want, of continued desire.  Contentment is enough.  It's the cup just warm, a soup just seasoned, a touch just right.

Enough is living in the now.   No expectations - only the recognition of enough.

I found myself smiling this morning - wrapped in my memory and thankful for that opportunity.

Life has changed.  My goodness - a son born and grown, a daughter realizing her own wonder and life - letting go of a first love - to allow for the opportunity of the right love.

I am - today - amazingly content.  The snow is still falling, my coffee is wonderful - this now is just enough.

Much love -

Simone

Learning to Live in a Zero World

Tomorrow morning I will walk to work, just like I have since I moved to Montana.  Yet, tomorrow morning it will be zero degrees.  Zero.

This made me reflect on a few things that this Texas Transplant has learned living in this arctic paradise I now call home.

The closet by the front door is truly meant for coats, boots, and drawers filled with gloves, mittens, tuques, hats, and ear muffs.

Down vests did not go out of style with Marty McFly.  They are alive and well in Big Sky Country.  In fact, they're down-right toasty.

Radiators.  I questioned them, fiddled with the knobs, ... they are amazing.  Heats the house and warms mittens, tuques, and socks.

Warm socks are heavenly.

Really, really heavenly.

Boots - Good boots - are not alway the prettiest - but man, oh, man - no water, snow, or puddle will breach these babies.

And you can actually take out the felt liners to wash.

Wonderful.

Say it with me...

"YakTraks."

You read that right.  YakTraks.

All of you wonderful people fearful of a broken leg, ankle, arm, ... or any other part of my body (Diane, Athena, Kim, Bob... everyone...) ... These amazing things strap on to the bottom of my shoes - and ... well, I don't fall.

Where have these been all my life?

Homemade soups and stews have never tasted so good.

In fact, chicken and dumplings are officially my new favorite.

Texts from people I love!  

Especially texts keeping me plugged in to my local weather...

... and your local weather.

(Rebbeca is Rebecca - I'm just too tickled with it this way to change it...)

My daily glance of your weather.

And my weather.

But mostly what I've learned living in this frozen wonderland is this...

I am living my brand new adventure - it's beautiful and it makes me smile so often because I am joy-filled.  In awe of this windswept snow magic, the mountains, the people - so much to learn, to see, to do.  Best give it my honest effort and embrace it fully.

I miss you.  All of you.

Love - lots of it.

(Returning to my book and hot cider)

- Simone

A Little Grass - A Big Problem

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge - you might not know the name of the author, but likely you've heard this line, "Water, water every where, nor any drop to drink..."

Growing up in West Texas, I appreciated early on the importance of rain.  Now living in Montana, having streams, lakes, rivers and rain in what seems to be abundance, I appreciate more and more the value of water.

This got me to thinking - about a conversation with my friend Rebecca.  Simply - it's a pet-peeve of mine that borders on being judgmental.  I apologize in advance for the tone this writing will take.

Lawns.  Lawns bother me.  A lot.

Let's start with some history from the National Wildlife Federation:

"The history of the lawn in America has its roots, so to speak, in the English country estate, where lawns provided sweeping vistas enjoyed by the aristocracy and were mowed and fertilized by flocks of sheep. Beginning in the 19th century, however, suburban Americans took to lawns like fish to water—and both fish and water have been adversely impacted ever since."

Let me give you some statistics to mull over:

• The average homeowner will spend 50 to 100 hours a year maintaining their lawn (but only 35 hours a year having sex!)
• 10 times more herbicides per acre are dumped on lawns than on fields of agribusiness
• Per acre, it costs more to maintain a lawn than it does to grow corn, rice, or sugarcane. More than 40 billion dollars (!!!) are spent on lawns in North America - more than we spend on text books for school classrooms.
• 7,500 Americans are injured every year using lawn mowers, about the same number as firearms.  Most of those accidents involve children.  More than 30% of these injuries resulted in an amputation of some sort - limbs and digits gone in the pursuit of green!
• 50-70 percent of residential water is used for landscaping - most to water lawns - which total approximately 20-30 million acres in the United States.
• A gas powered lawnmower emits 11 times the air pollution of a new car.

Any minimal amount of research shows how lawns (and our continued pursuit of a perfect lawn) is damaging our rivers, lakes, streams - and equally damaging needed birds, bees, and other local wildlife.

But we continue to do this - we continue to pay and toil away at unnatural grasses in areas that were never meant to support such water consuming ground cover.

Gardens.  What happened to gardens?  Vegetation that proved magical in growth and amazing in their ability to support our physical needs - gardens were instrumental in teaching children and provided families with a most cost effective means of nutrition.  

Maybe one day, we'll stop trying to match the Jones' and get back to the land as it was meant to be - unmanicured in most instances - and real.  Local grasses, wild flowers, a utopia for the local wildlife and insects that carried our lands through hundreds of years.  

Quite possibly, people who are consumed with "healthy living" will realize that it's not just your body or your food that you need to consider while in this pursuit of "health"... it's also the world you're creating.  Consider xeriscaping, maybe box gardens - enjoy the outdoors as it wants (and was meant) to be.

And that - my dear ones - is my rant on lawns.  

Good day and much love.

- Simone

(P.S. - Might I recommend: http://www.sunset.com/garden/earth-friendly/lose-the-lawn-low-water-landscaping ... or... http://www.wildflowers-and-weeds.com/ ...)

My Autumn - This Autumn

Never have I seen an Autumn made just for me,
breathtaking, feral, and completely present...
This Autumn, my autumn
is the cinnamon stick balanced on a chipped mug of steaming cider
wrapped in the soft indulgence of a rich red velvet wrap
and the crisp sound of the first bite of an autumn apple
My Autumn, this autumn
is the tight dry burst of a dark malbec with a taste of the soil of Bordeaux
the show of dry wood burning and taking sparks to the heavens
and a lover's soft warm whisper on my ear
This Autumn, my autumn
takes the pastel buds of spring, the green of summer, and sets both to flame with color
completely vane - it applauds itself each time the wind passes through
and should your feet find the leaves, colored, ready - you are told - I Am Autumn
My Autumn, this autumn
is the four legged romp through morning dew and piles of color collected
a technicolor cornucopia of smells and sounds
tail wagging, nose pointing, ears up and ready to find - more and more...
This Autumn, my autumn
knows the breathy sound of Nina Simone piped to my ears as I wander
rightly placing my steps forward
crooning to the land, to my heart, to my knowing - keep going
My Autumn, this autumn -
is the worn smell of a good book - the sound of a page turning
and the next chance for a new beginning - the world sleeping and waking again
How lovely you are - my autumn.

Happiness Is...

• Warm tea ... Hot coffee
• Autumn leaves in the wind - they rattle like applause at their own beauty - perfect vanity
• Solving problems at work or computer issues that will help others
• Cooking for people
• Cooking for just myself
• Real Foods on Helena Ave. in Helena Montana (it makes me so happy - no packaging)
• Dexter's tail - he has a nub and it is so wonderful when it wags
• Thoughts of my friends - I can't wait until they get here
• Diane Taylor
• Friends who have known me for almost 15 years and still love me - like Athena
• A cold, perfectly presented, sugar rimmed cosmopolitan 
• Reconnecting with the many branches of my family tree
• Limes - they're just good all the time
• A good book
• A good song
• Dancing - anytime - often 
• Workmates who laugh with me - and get my odd sense of humor
• You
• The right song at the right time
• A husband who puts up with his wife moving to Montana - and thinks it's a good idea.
• A short double espresso, topped with steamed soy and half a shot of honey
• My Germans - Karin, Wolfgang and Melanie - I love them so much
• My four children ...  I miss them.
• ....
• and knowing what makes you happy...

So ....

Care to share?  Happiness is....

The Journey - Accepting My Own

This morning my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m. - that's awfully early for a Sunday - and my head was smarting from the weather change that Montana has subjected me to...

At 5:30 a.m. I tossed my feet to the side of the bed, found shirt, pants, jacket, warm socks and shoes and made my way to the door of my neighbor.  She and I had a date to meet the sun - and so we went on our way.

We talked while we traveled - discussed her upcoming surgery, enjoyed our warm beverages (my coffee, her green tea) and I drove in the dark Montana morning to Hauser Dam - she had never been.

When we pulled up to the dam, she said to me, "Wait - I need to read you something - it reminds me of you..."

So I listened  -  and she read:

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

...

I was taken aback and felt blessed at the same time.

Moving 1400+ miles from the home I've known has been liberating, scary, hard - and frankly, the most rewarding thing I've ever done for myself in my entire life.  As she and I hiked around the dam this morning we talked about "home" and what that means... I reflected on my mindset made anew by my choices: home is truly where my heart is - and right now - my heart is here in Montana.

Oh, sure, I proudly say I'm a Texan - through and through - but my travels to Germany a few years ago - and then my move to Montana made me realize that a place or destination does not define me - it's my ability to accept the amazing opportunities that have opened for me - and not feel as if my life is pre-designed to be someone for so many other people...

In this move - I've learned to be someone for myself.

I'm often asked by individuals I work with, "But you're children..."   I miss them - I miss them all - but I respect their own voice, their own role in their future.  My children will need to fail, and they will need to know the feeling of trusting their own voices and decisions - I have faith in all of them.  (And I'm proud that they have found their voices... so proud...)

Much love to you in your own journey.

- Simone

Something About Sarah

In 2011 a beautiful friend of mine suffered a loss that I never want to experience - a loss that most people will (hopefully) never understand.

She lost her teenage daughter.  

Does it matter if I told you it was to cancer, an automobile accident, drugs, a doctor's mistake, or to juvenile diabetes?  (Truth be told - Sarah died of the latter of this list.  She was too young, too amazing, with too much potential...)

I do not often attend funerals.  I celebrate the life of the one you lost and I also weep for your heavy heart - but in my few years I have experienced many funerals and areas of mourning.  Frankly,  I have learned that it's best for me to just seldom visit the mass of mourning often found in funerals.  Mourning is very personal for me...

And yet - yet - I found myself standing in the auditorium of a local high-school.  I was the first one there... (this happens a lot) and there was Sarah - ensconced in her final resting bed.  Her coffin was a macabre of signatures, small sketches and Sharpe notes.   

I met Sarah through her mother.  The background is a long twist of strange and online wonder - but Sarah continued to be this amazing light of "wow" for me.  Her mom invited me to birthday parties, and I found these beautiful children on my steps at Halloween.  (Bella before she was famous? HELLO!  I remember when she happened upon my porch as Bella - apple in hand.  Man, she was cool.)

Frankly - and I still believe this - Sarah was cooler than the rest of us.  Tuned into the culture of her generation, she knew music, and topics far beyond our understanding. 

That day in September, I found myself sitting with a very still Sarah for almost half an hour.  Just she and I in an auditorium.    

Make this not real.  Sarah get up.  Hey, kid, stop it.  

I thought it all - Please God.  Please.

Finally, I got the courage to walk to her coffin and wrote on the top.  Nothing amazing.  Nothing important - but I wished once again that I could breathe into her the life she lived so amazingly. 

Soon others filed in - soon I saw her mother, her father, family - her uncle (who I adored) file in and the songs, stories, began... we said goodbye.  We enjoyed Sarah's joy - we praised the life lived... we cherished her.

I had not planned to walk past he open coffin.  Frankly, I've spent years (and years) avoiding any more open coffins - but I was there, in the first row asked to stand and start the walk past the open bed showing the Sarah that was not Sarah and I couldn't escape - so I walked.  Round back, around the side, near her family I stole a glance at her mom and dad - at her uncle and I ached for them. 

Three years later - I ache for all of them.

Sarah was/is amazing.  Hey - I attribute her awesomeness to the people that paved her path - there are a lot of you.

Reminders from Sarah:

Don't mistake another day for another chore. 

People love you.  Lots.  Open your arms to the possibility of this love.

Care for you.  You have one chance to do this.

Listen to music loudly.  There's a reason for this.

Sing.

Sing often.

And hey - if you have the opportunity to cross the path of Sarah's family - you'd better take notice.  Her soul is hers because of the divine people in her path.  Take note: learn something.

Remember Sarah.

Love you all.  Really, really, really.

- Simone