pink and white morning, plus two more

sunrise 7:12

Happy New Year to all sunrise watchers.

I awoke this morning during that period of pre-dawn light which I have come to love.  There is enough light to see everything around you, but not quite enough for color.  I love to get up and clamber my way through the lengthy ritual of winter layering in the reduced sensory atmosphere of monochromatic illumination.

It was a lovely, pink and white winter dawn.  We have enjoyed a couple of weeks of consistent cold and one or two new installments of snow dusting, so the skiing and snowshoeing remains perfect in the back fields.

Another thing I love about this season is the visible signs of passage on snow.  Not only do I see the signs of bird hopping and deer and rodent trails, I can also see the signs of human travel.  My two sisters and a brother-in-law made a spontaneous trip to spend New Year's with us, and our ski tracks are still out there to remind me of that wonderful visit.

The holidays were wonderful, family packed, and busy, but I'm ready to get back to business.  I have a couple of resolutions to tackle, and I'm ready to get started.

But I felt a little twinge of longing to visit this blog.  I actually saw two December mornings with the intention of posting, but life got in the way.  So I leave you with a plethora of back yard photos this morning - from today, December 30th after the first snow, and December 22nd, just before the snow.

May you all enjoy a sense of new beginnings, no matter where you are in the world or in your life -

December 30th --- (perhaps a bit beyond dawn, but the morning light on that glorious day was irresistible)

Clara with a dog cousin...

Dec. 22nd - last day of ice perfection before the snow blanket arrived.  We had a 3 hour, 5 on 5 hockey game that day, with our Pakistani exchange student in the goal.  Another first, for sure.

Guster was leashed to keep his bark away from sleeping guests.  Clara discovered what fun it is to play with Guster on a rope ---

coping with darkness within and without

sunrise:  7:07

Good news.  The earliest sunsets, the earliest darknesses of the year have already passed.  From now until June, the sun will stay with us a tiny bit later every evening.

The latest sunrise is still couple of weeks away, but in just a few days, the net daylight receipts will begin to rise.

More than in any prior pre-winter stretch of days, I've found myself seeing the slant of the sun.  There are so many things that I have seen through new eyes this year, due to the presence of this teenage exchange student from Pakistan whose life experience has been so removed from what we know, before she came here.

It's not just cultural and climatological differences, it's also just a generally sheltered life.  There are a lot of things that Q just never wondered about before.  This is a very intelligent girl, with a pretty good education (mostly in English) in one of Pakistan's better schools, from what we can glean.  But then there are these gaps in her knowledge where her reasoning is replaced by childish naivete, or what I might call magical thinking.  J and I delicately encourage her to think, treading carefully around faith and belief.  It is an interesting twist on the usual emergence of adult perspective through that revelatory life stage called adolescence.

In any case, as I explained the darker days of winter to Q, and how the sun was lower ALL day (it doesn't just follow the same sky path more quickly), I began to notice it myself.  On these longest days, the sun gives us that exquisite low-angled light for much longer stretches of time as it lingers low along the horizon.  Not so exquisite when it's in your face on the highway, but dazzling if you're just looking at the world.

***

I want to share one more thought before I sign off today.

We shed some tears yesterday over the devasted families of Conncticut, who have just seen such nightmarish, heart-crushing violence done to their little ones and others.

There is such anguish and suffering in the world, and it can seem especially unthinkable when it manifests itself at this supposedly delightful, celebratory time of year.  There is a reason why ancient peoples established so many celebrations of light during this darkest time in our calendar year.  At the best of times, humans suffer and struggle.  In darkness and isolation we suffer more.  This time of year is more of a reaching and striving time than a basking in the glow time.  It's hard work to live these lives; it's not easy for anyone.

It is the mistaken idea that everyone else is bursting with joy that often drives people to a breaking point.  We are supposed to be joyful, life is supposed to be filled with love and gratitude, so if we're not, our lives must be broken.  Not so.  We are all struggling together.

This shouldn't be a downer - it is a shared reality.  Perhaps with that acknowledgement, we can more readily open the doors of our hearts to the joy, beauty, love, and great gifts of the world.  Invite all those wonderful things into the house, knowing that they arrive with baggage.  Set those bags in a corner for now, over there with everyone's else's bags.  We'll deal with those all in good time.  For now, sit down, have a drink, take my hand.

Find a smile for this day.  Offer it to someone you love.  Offer it to a stranger.  Offer it to the great wide sky over your head.  And don't forget one for the mirror.

holidays with family - the work and rewards

sunrise:  6:47

I delivered the last of our traveling children to the airport at 5am this morning.  Thanksgiving comes and goes so fast, especially when so many of your favorite people in the world come and go along with the holiday weekend.

The reassembly of a loving family for the holidays is like throwing a bunch of colorful ingredients into a food processor and turning it on high, with the top off.  It is very exciting and might be quite beautiful if you don't mind cleaning up the mess afterward.

We had a few messes over the last few days, but the overwhelming takeaway is that everyone works very hard together over the cleanup.

As long as we continue to hold this great depth of dedication and love that will not falter, as long as we keep working hard to listen with real attention and think hard about the changes in each other and in ourselves, then I think every gathering will leave us feeling as warm and beloved and fortunate (albeit weary) as we all do after this one.

Family takes a lot of work, but it's worth the trouble.  Nothing else offers the same rewards.

election day, big and not so big

sunrise:  6:21

prolific photos from my new, high res camera...

Election day has loomed so large for so long that most of the people I know are looking forward to it mostly so that it will be over.  (case in point made by this little girl on youtube) I recognize that the right to vote is an enormous privilege, and I really DO care who is ruling and representing my country, my state, my town...on the other hand, there are other things that predominate my attention.

I care that we decided to invite our temporary Pakistani exchange student to become a permanent member of our family for the year.  She came to the polls with J and me this morning.  She was the highlight of my last week's column in the Bangor Daily News.  She helps us discuss and understand how most Pakistanis feel about the awful things we read in the news about events in Pakistan.  It feels pretty important.

I care that my youngest daughter is back in local waters after 7 months away, crewing on a small (90 foot) passenger boat above the Arctic Circle, and that she's coming home soon, and that her dearest new friend and shipmate is recuperating in our home after breaking her neck in a terrible shipyard accident.

I care about an exquisite, frosted November morning in my back yard, where I always seem to find peace no matter what else is happening in this unpredictable life we lead.

Election day is a big deal.  But the immediacy of living can sometimes make it seem like a passing point of interest.

(Go Obama!)

St. John's, Newfoundland

 

Very belated posting of a sunrise photo from last August.  20-year-old T was a deck hand on The Wanderbird for the last six months, an 90 foot Dutch fishing trawler re-fitted to become a unique ecotourism ship for one to three week excursions.  She travelled north all summer, above the arctic circle, and finally returned to local waters last week.  Three crew, two captains, and 8 to 12 passengers at any given time.

It was about as far off the grid as one can get in this high tech age - no phone or internet was available 95 percent of the trip.

Soon, our dear youngest daughter will be returning home to figure out what comes next.  Hard to know what the transition will be like after such an experience, but I do know that she will never regret this half a year.

Senegalese sunrise

sunrise:  6:59

Toubab Diallo, Senegal

I spent last week in Senegal, a country on the westernmost edge of Africa.  My 23-year-old daughter and I were visiting her best friend from high school who has lived and worked in the capital city of Dakar for the last 15 months.  Along with best friend's mom, we made the trip to see her second home.  It was the first time any of the 3 of us had set foot on the African continent.

Below is a transcription of a sunrise journal entry from our first morning in Africa - in Toubab Diallo, a small beach-side village one hour south of Dakar.  I was still experiencing a disorienting culture shock in a land of intense heat and humidity, with sights and smells and languages and customs that had my head spinning.  By the end of the week, I had grown enchanted by the place and people of Senegal.

"I couldn't find my watch last night, but I needn't have worried about knowing when dawn was approaching.  Here, like, perhaps, every place on Earth, when dawn is about 40 minutes away and that dark night turns toward a deep blue hue, the birds wake up and start to make a great noise.

Another thing that helped me feel at home in this very foreign-feeling land was looking from our balcony over the beach this morning and seeing four dogs romping around the sand with wagging tails.

A flock of large birds (I'd have guessed Canadian geese if I weren't in Africa) flew overhead in V-formation.  A fisherman carried his boat motor over one shoulder, down to the beach where a couple of dozen long, narrow wooden boats were all lined up ("pirogues").

Women carrying what looked like laundry baskets on their heads made their way up a hillside walk.  It was strange to see many women and girls carrying things on their heads that way yesterday.  Somehow I thought it might just be some antiquated practice that no longer existed except in the imagination of American film-makers.

I'm trying to balance my caution (about parasites and mosquitos, about people who might want to pick my pocket, overcharge me, or steal my camera) with my open embracing of this whole place.  It will take some time.  Things are unfamiliar.  We get warnings about holding tight to our purses if we get stopped in traffic, conditions appear less than immaculate, and you don't get the sense that there's much in the way of safety inspectors policing roads, restaurants, hotels, and shops.

I was friendly with a woman on the beach yesterday who was selling jewelry and trinkets from her handmade baskets, and learned that I need to exercise greater restraint.  She proceeded to barrage us with patter to buy her things for a long time, even moving her whole operation onto the sand right at our feet where we were sitting in the shade.  I want to be friendly and to meet people, but I guess I have to learn to be more selective.

The sun has risen.  The sky and sea have changed their grays to blues.  The birds are slowing the pace of their frenzied huntings, or callings.  The air is gently soft on a moisture-laden breeze, but it portends the heat of day ahead of us.

My first night under mosquito netting is now behind me."

peaceful in fog

sunrise:  6:09