December 7: Orientation

Home renovation.

Being able to find

the Big Dipper.

May 30: Home again

Home from vacation

Refilling the vases

with what's blooming now.

Posted with Blogsy

April 28: Brigadoon

Driving homeward

after time in the city.

Fog bank.

Posted with Blogsy

April 25: Home

Pair of nuthatches
checking out the birdhouse
while I fix the back door.

March 9: Cat's back

We couldn't pick up our cat from where she was being boarded during our vacation until this morning. Those who say a cat has no feelings have never seen our cat back in her home after ten days away.

Cat reclaims her home
meowing with feline joy
in every room.

January 21: Home

Home from work

Orion rising over the house

Our place in the galaxy

Posted with Blogsy

September 30: Home again

In the washing machine

a small chestnut

pocketed on the island.

May 26: Home again

Relieved that the jays

abandoned their nest-building

over our front door.

Posted with Blogsy

January 7: Landscape of home

Driving Route One south from Belfast this afternoon, enjoyed the brief, wan sunlight shining on the gray winter waters of the bay and the familiar line-up of islands that I've recognized since childhood.

Same islands in the bay
that as a child I named
from my grandmother's porch.

March 6: Blue sky

Home sick today. Outside stretches a brilliant, cloudless blue sky, the kind of sky that prompted Dickey Betts of the Allman Brothers to write about his girlfriend (in the song "Blue Sky"), "You're my blue sky, you're my sunny day..." At least the dazzling day's providing me good light to read by, as I huddle near the front window wrapped up in a thick blanket, book in hand.

Stuck in with a cold,
taunted by this perfect day.
Sun, snow, river shine.

December 5: Inside

Spent almost the entirety of today at home, inside, trying to shake--or at least begin to recuperate from--an icky virus that's been kicking me in the gut for the past week. There's nothing like an illness, even a slight one, to pull us out of our heads and remind us that we're all animals, in vulnerable, animal bodies. And sometimes our bodies force us to take some down time when our minds don't want to. But in this age of social media, hanging out at home is almost too stimulating. The never-ending string of Facebook updates leading me to a variety of fascinating weblinks, constant email both personal and from work, several rounds of Word Jong to catch up on, as well as two weeks worth of New Yorkers on my iPad, new songs I had to download from iTunes, and an animated advent calendar on my computer desktop all kept me so occupied/distracted that I never even got to the one, relaxing thing I planned to do today: read a new mystery novel (also on my iPad). The good this is that I accomplished most of these things while lounging on the couch, so I was at least resting my body if not my mind.

Sick, I retreat to
a comforting habitat:
the living room couch.

September 12: Houseful of Buddhas

While I am not a practicing Buddhist, I have strategically place around our house several small statues of Buddha and various bodhisattvas. One in particular, a Thai Buddha, bears a facial expression of such serene calm that I often find my eyes drawn to it in times of stress or anxiety, for its soothing influence. Others are fat and laughing, the kind one finds in Asian import shops everywhere. Those make me smile. Each one has its own mood, its own meaning for me. I'm drawn to the Buddhist emphasis on the ephemerality of life, which urges one to value the present moment and not get too attached to the world. While I haven't achieved a Buddhist detachment from the material world by any means, the core of my spiritual beliefs is to be mindful of Now. My buddhas remind me of this.

Haiku has a direct connection to Zen Buddhism, which is one of the things that sustains my interest in the form. On a site called "In the Moonlight a Worm...," sponsored by the Arts Council of England, I found this perfect explanation of the relationship:

"In Zen Buddhism there is a great enlightenment called satori, sought through many years of disciplined meditation. There are also many little flashes of enlightenment, called kensho, which are intense forms of those everyday noticings that surprise us or please us because they seem to reveal a truth, or to be exemplary, or to connect us again, momentarily, with the sense of awe. Haiku is a momentary, condensed poetic form and its special quality is that it is perfectly adapted to give the reader that little instant of kensho insight. Basho developed the haiku form so that each haiku became a little burst of awakening. It is this that is the essence of haiku, not its number of syllables."

I can't express it any better than that.

Visitors ask me,
Why so many Buddhas here?
Because life is brief...

July 24: "Mmm, doughnuts."

...to quote Homer Simpson.

Every weekend Farmers Fare in Rockport taunts me with Facebook reminders that Saturday is doughnut day, with fresh doughnuts from Tracey's Bakery in Northport arriving at 10 a.m. They post photos. Their description makes them sound almost healthy--made with organic sugar and flour, local eggs, and Cabot Creamery butter, fried in safflower oil. This rainy morning seemed like a doughnut-worthy day, so I succumbed to temptation. Luckily my husband was gracious enough to help me fulfill my craving by driving to Farmers Fare at 10:00 on the dot and getting me some.

This is what he brought back for me:

The big one on the left is obviously a glazed doughnut, and the smaller one is cream-filled. They were both exquisite. Enjoying them with my husband this morning reminded me of when I was a kid and my father used to bring home a box of Dunkin' Donuts' Munchkins every Sunday morning. (I loved the chocolate honey-dipped.) As an adult who tries to lead a healthy lifestyle, I don't eat doughnuts as a rule, but for ones like those pictured above, I make an exception. And it's always worth it. Now I just need to fight the urge to make this a regular Saturday morning ritual. I suppose I could always alternate Farmers Fare doughnuts with a sticky bun from Home Kitchen Cafe in Rockland... 

And soon enough, I'll be looking like Homer Simpson.

Rainy Saturday--

homemade doughnuts for breakfast

with husband and cat.

November 22: Driving Home

Spent my day driving home from Vermont. A long trip, punctuated by seeing nine roadside hawks and some blue sky. I was tired and wanted to get home in time for the Patriots game, hence I will confess that I was indeed speeding a wee bit at times. At one point, though, I shocked even myself at how fast I was going--definitely not my usual driving mode. (I feel compelled to add that I quickly slowed down and it didn't happen again.) Guess that's the lure of the open highway with home at the other end, good music, and little else in way of distraction...

Road, cars, tree a blur.
Must be anxious to get home--
going 95?!

November 20: Crows

Yesterday I drove to Vermont, a state where I lived for five years (including four in college) and visit at least once a year to see my best friend and her husband in Montpelier. Vermont is a beautiful place, and if it only had an ocean, I might still be living there. (Lake Champlain, while once an inland sea, doesn't quite match up to Penobscot Bay.) So whenever I drive to Vermont and start seeing the familiar exits off I-89 and the profile of the Green Mountains rising to the west, I feel like I'm entering my second home.

Just at dusk as I was about to cross the bridge over the Connecticut River, which divides New Hampshire from Vermont, a massive flock of crows flew over, heading for their roost somewhere north of Lebanon. We don't often see such large numbers of crows--usually just one or two in the yard, or a small group mobbing a red-tailed hawk (which I also saw yesterday at Maine Audubon's Gilsland Farm). But even the family group I watch every day in my neighborhood belongs to some larger society of its kind. Also, unexpectedly large numbers of anything elicit awe (unless it's something like, say, fire ants or maggots, in which case that awe might be tinged with horror or disgust).

Dusk settles, crows flock,
a loose swarm headed for roost.
I too drive homeward.

Shortly thereafter, as it grew darker, I watched the young moon rise, and Jupiter hung clear and bright over the backbone of the Green Mountains.