New Season, New Light

It's been a very long winter in our part of the mountains, punctuated by the arrival of a challenging new visitor. Thus my interrupted postings... Still, if you will all bear with me (which might allow me to bear with myself), I will attempt to share my feelings as this journey unfolds.

For starters, I'm learning to be grateful. Gratitude is a great helper of souls, I recommend it. And I don't mean gratitude for those glorious or exceptional happenings. I mean small things we may consider ordinary which, in the end, are not so minor at all: the rising sun, a scrumptious meal in endearing company, a great movie, a phone call, a caring family, and dear friends. But most of all these days, I give thanks for a recently enlightened and (not so newly) devoted husband, who is becoming my greatest teacher.

I'm back! Stay tuned.

Splendor Up High

Photo David Andrew Hamilton 2008

Too long ago I promised a few real words, so here I go. It's been a long, sizzling summer here and, guess what? I can't believe I'm writing this, but yes, I've had my fill!

Now I greet with open arms the cooler, quiet lavishness of nature's stunning gifts to itself. That which will stir my soul and soothe my bones for a few short days before the frost, once again, draws me to the fireside.

My ponderosa

Photo David Andrew Hamilton 2008

The proverbial picture and proverbial thousand words. It's been so long, the desert is a strange place. But it's a promise: next time I'll stretch my blogger muscles and write real words.

Thanks for your patience.

The Deepest Well

Photo Aline Lesage © 2007

'Solitude is the deepest well I have ever come across. I imagine it would be different if solitude was forced on you, but to choose it is to find a sustenance that never runs out.'

Robert Perkins Author, filmmaker and outdoorsman

The Pilgrim's View

Autumn Glory Photo Aline Lesage © 2007

'Better be a pilgrim without a destination,

than to cross the wrong threshold every day.'

Sy Safransky

Founder and Editor,

THE SUN Magazine

Callings of the Heart

Photo David Andrew Hamilton © 2007

* * *

Seven years ago today, an invisible wand was swung and I was propelled into an unexpected Journey of small miracles. On a bright, pink and blue day just like this, I boarded an aircraft, filled with youthful anticipation of my upcoming discoveries in a new part of the world. But my anticipation went beyond the simple attraction of unexplored geography. Indeed I was considerably more intrigued by the man I was about to meet, whom I only knew through his voice and written words. Despite my best disposition, the flight was tedious. My mind kept wandering in too many directions and I was unable to read, eat or rest. For what seemed endless hours through my window, vast expanses of unknown land and mountains unfolded only too slowly while useless speculations added to my weariness. Finally, a crimson, blurry sun began to set on the high horizon and the sky darkened. Sometime later it filled with stars, then, quite suddenly, a maze of reassuring city lights finally appeared below. By then, not only was I exhausted and worn, but I was concerned I looked nothing like that carefully chosen snapshot I had sent through the mail. Would he even recognize me? After a safe touch down, I started unfolding my stiffened legs, proceeded to adjust my prim navy jacket, and smeared a dash of lipstick on my dry mouth. Among the usual hustle, I gathered my hand luggage, took a deep breath and said a prayer. The cabin gradually emptied and as I followed the long line of passengers up the gangway, I remember being taken over by a strange thought: ‘I am about to meet the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with!’ And where did that come from, I wondered? At no time during our lengthy correspondence and numerous conversations had such an inconceivable notion entered my mind. At least my head certainly had not been there, but could my tricky heart already have, without warning? At that same moment, a current of uncontrollable excitement ran through my body, so intense I had to ease my pace to catch my breath. What was happening to me? Was this really possible? Contrary to the dire predictions of some, the man soon did appear: he was neither a figment of my mind nor some insubstantial soul with a dark purpose. Not only was he quite real, but from the instant I glimpsed him I also knew that, if not even more endearing, my best presentiments were uncannily accurate. That moment of our meeting remains as vivid and fresh as this morning’s rose. Standing motionless behind the small crowd, he waited for me to see him. When I did, his hands were tucked in the front pockets of his jeans while a pair of eager, lake-blue eyes already took me in. There was no mistake. I fought not to run and, with as ladylike a pace as I could muster, I advanced toward him. The next instant we smiled, and we smiled again. Then I put my bags down and we hugged for a very long time. It was like coming home. True, it was very late and this peregrine was an emotional wreck, yet our Journey was only beginning. * * * Some months later after a second, lengthier visit, he proposed. Naturally we anticipated the most challenging phase of our plan only lay ahead, and we were not wrong. The challenge came with formidable proportions. During our long, endless months of waiting, the so-called system provided numerous — if despairingly silent — reminders that there would be no special treatment, no kindly allowance to expedite our wish to be together. In that passionless and overly zealous establishment responsible for the processing of aliens, True Love and the ultimate dose of bona fide would earn us no privilege. Like thousands of others like us, time and patience were our only assets. But I believed in something. Whatever was in store for me, my new calling was my creed. Patience, prayers, resilience in the face of false and devastating assumptions and especially our faith, all finally paid off. We have been married for five years — seven years since that initial, momentous flight —, and I proudly bear witness to the principle that love conquers all. Many times I have spoken or written the following, but I seem to have good reason to repeat it here. When all is said and done, I would rather be sorry for what I did, than regret holding back when fear might have stood in the way. But then, this Journey is something I will never regret. For who in their right mind could be sorry for growing new wings, for coming upon a new creative voice and a new love, all in the same package? You may not know me, but I am of an age where I feel entitled to impart small pieces of advice. So here it is: however many or few seasons you have treaded this earth, if a sparkling chance to follow your Spirit knocks at your door, if ever you should feel something tugging at your heart and pointing in some unknown and preferably frightening direction, I suggest you pay dear and close attention. Chances are, a priceless treasure of your own only waits to be unearthed.

Imagination vs Reality

Photo Aline Lesage © 2007 Imagination and fiction make up

more than three-quarters of our real life. — Simone Weil

What a fascinating statement! This may be open to some interpretation but for me, it means that - contrary to some (possibly envious) critics - fiction writers such as myself can also claim to have a real life. I don’t need anyone to tell me, I’ve known this for a long time. Yet I find it heart warming that this respected French philosopher, referred to by T.S. Eliot as a ‘woman of genius’, believes real life should include all products of our daily imaginings. Whether our fantasies are solely generated by our minds, by the novels we read or write, or by snippets of natural and human wonder we might encounter on our way to the supermarket, these inner workings of our brain all make us who we are. The next logical step in this thinking is quite simple. In the end, we alone are in charge of our thoughts, thus of our original, personalized take on ourselves and the world and, yes, of much that actually happens to us in the process. No more finger pointing, no more whining allowed! For 75% of our time at least, living a gratifying life is up to us. Have a great imaginings day!

The Last Tree

Lake Crescent - Olympic Peninsula, WA Photo © Aline Lesage 2005

Only when the last tree has died And the last river has been poisoned And the last fish has been caught Will we realize that we can't eat money. - Cree Proverb

Happiness, Anyone?

Photo © Aline Lesage 2003

Five Simple Rules To Be Happy

1- Free your heart from hatred;

2- Free your mind from worries;

3- Live simply;

4- Give more;

5- Expect Less.

The Traveler's Lesson

I'm Following You

Photo David A. Hamilton ©2007

Autobiography in Five Chapters

by Portia Nelson

Chapter One:

I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in. I'm lost. I'm helpless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two:

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I'm in the same place, but it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter Three:

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there. I fall in. It's a habit. But my eyes are open. I know where I am...I get out immediately.

Chapter Four:

I walk down the same street. There's a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter Five:

I try walking down a different street.

SPRING

Photo © Aline Lesage 2006 My Choice, Really? It’s a pretty morning in the Northwest. After our long and dreary winter, these clear skies, morning patches of puffy pink clouds, and budding crocuses scattered over the green lawn are a welcome sight. Welcome indeed! Welcome also seems my kind of upcoming Friday. Still, when they come around — which is an uncommon occurrence —, these quiet, unencumbered, no-bills-to-pay, no-pressing-issue-to-address-days tend to trigger an eerie feeling, as if something should be happening. Nothing great or exciting of course, like winning the lottery or learning that some Hollywood mogul is offering to buy the movie rights for my novel. Nothing like that. And I don’t mean some mild annoyance like your car won’t start, your regular ATM is down, or your internet server is temporarily disabled. No, this is more like shattering news that will require you to see your therapist for the next couple of years. For example, suddenly learning that someone you love is plagued with a devastating condition, or worse, that they’re moving to a town three thousand miles away from you and that you’ll probably never see them again. Or that suddenly and inexplicably, your best friend is no longer your best friend. And then there’s the pure and simple unthinkable, that I might learn of some devastating condition of my own. So why should my mind even go there today? Is this another of our unbesought female attributes? Don’t men ever experience that same sense of racking-without-any-reason sense of dread and impending doom too? So do I just happen to be wired this way, or is it rather all about attitude? Ahhhh, AT-TI-TU-DE! They say life is 10% facts and 90% of that miraculous or deadly potion, depending on how you ingest it. I guess I'll have to think about this. But if that’s true, I mean really true, then I need to enjoy this day for all its worth. Maybe it’s time to give praise for all God’s crocuses.

Cape Kiwanda, Oregon

Aline Lesage © 2007 The Penitent Writer Yes, I’m guilty! Senseless guilty for not having blogged for, well, way too long. But then does anyone have any idea of the time and energy involved in marketing one’s own novel??? Believe me, it’s nothing less than awesome (I’m trying to pick my words here). So for those who might have missed my postings (is there truly someone out there who has?), I’m back. I can only start with today, can’t I? And tomorrow, or the next day, maybe I’ll have something more to say. Thanks for your patience. Oh, since I’m at it, I wish to all (intelligent men included) an inspired, scrumptious and uninhibited International Woman’s Day. And remember: well-behaved women seldom make history!

JUST PUBLISHED!

GABY'S PENANCE In 1911 after her unspeakable sin, the penance and

the torment she inherited governed her entire life. But did it have to be forever?

Gaby's Penance, iUniverse 2006, ISBN 0-595-39487-6

Learn more about Gaby and how to order:

www.alinelesage.com

A Woman's View On the Spirit of the Heart as Moon Disk by Kojiju Merely to know the Flawless Moon dwells pure in the human heart is to find the Darkness of the night vanished under the clearing skies. Poppies, Port Angeles WA Aline Lesage ©2004 Kojiju was the daughter of the director of the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine in Kyoto. During her long life she served first in the retinue of an empress and later an emperor; in 1179, (at about the age of 58) she became a Buddhist nun. She was also an active member of the poetic revival which took place at the end of the twelfth century. Her poem reflects the Buddhist teaching that enlightenment is innate: not something to be looked for outside ourselves, but always already present, waiting to be seen at any moment. (Courtesy Jude Rozhon)

Today's Quote

Northwest Cherry Blossoms

Aline Lesage ©2003

Learn to get in touch with silence within yourself, and know that everything in this life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

'An Orgy of Consumption' The unspeakable is happening. After being wooed, stimulated, and encouraged in every possible manner to accumulate goods until they gradually, ineluctably clutter our homes, our basements, and finally our garages, the next bright idea is what? Consider moving some of it on, perhaps? Wrong! According to a recent article in The New York Times, a new fad urges us to hire a professional organizer specializing in ‘designer garages’. After we have over purchased, over spent and over accumulated mounds (often unused, if not useless) of consumer paraphernalia, now we are encouraged to further pay in order to get them organized! As expected, this new brand of service doesn’t come cheap: think between $8,000 and $12,000! But take heart, for this upscale service guarantees your ability to cram (and find) in your garage: pantry, lawn and garden supplies, sporting equipment, tools, weight bench, and yes, even your SUV! A deal, indeed! This new fad of organizing our clutter with sophistication is apparently based on our growing obsession for orderliness. I have to question this newly identified human ‘need’. Has it not, like many others, been simply created to appear indispensable to the mass when in fact, this ‘obsession’ may apply to a mere selected few? And read this: according to a survey by the Ikea furniture company reported by the National Association of Professional Organizers Website, 31 percent of respondents stated they got more satisfaction from cleaning a closet than from having sex! So I have to wonder: could humans be undergoing some morphing process where matter, ultimately, will take over mind completely, including their sex life? Again according to The New York Times, Peter Walsh, a psychologist who earned the job of celebrity organizer as host of the cable television program ‘Clean Sweep’, has expanded his focus from treating the symptoms of clutter to pondering its causes. ‘There is an orgy of consumption going on in this country’, says Mr. Walsh. In his book to be released later this year about the psychology of clutter, the author (sadly) acknowledges that ‘he is a lonely voice calling for a new era of American asceticism.’ It has long been proven that less is better and that ‘Small is beautiful’. Albeit wise, these challenging concepts may not have have made it into mainstream American thinking however. Well, at least not yet. Mr. Walsh concludes: ‘This is the Supersize-Me society. So it’s going to take a while.’ Designer garage, anyone?

One Writer's Love...

North Thompson River, British Columbia

Aline Lesage ©2003

I have no time now for anything but trying to love other people. That is a full-time job. To fill my writing with that will take everything I have. Anne Rice

Bravo, PBS!

Migrant Worker Huts, Okanogan, WA Aline Lesage ©2003

It’s a common saying: you can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you come from. Considering the research tools now available, exploring one’s roots is no longer an unusually challenging feat. For many Americans of European descent who choose to initiate a search for their ancestry, the ambition to build a family tree is, in fact, a doable feat (for the beginner, the records at Ellis Island remain a well-documented and trustworthy source). All it requires is a healthy measure of patience along with a willingness to connect with a number of organizations, internet sites and/or distant family members having already gathered parts of the information. For many, as it turns out, assembling their family tree has become an entertaining and usually rewarding experience. But for many, many more, it is not so. In a series entitled African American Lives, the first of two parts which was aired on PBS last Wednesday night, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. is the masterly teller of this different story. With compassion, humour and superior skill, Mr. Gates leads us to an enlightening experience. Surely these tales of economic migrations, harrowing family separations and discontinuity are only too familiar, yet here they acquire an existential dimension not usually found in history books. In this impressive documentary, the likes of Oprah Winfrey, Quincy Jones and Whoopi Goldberg become models to demonstrate that a search of any African American’s ancestry is, at best, a startling, if not heroic endeavor. Thanks to the advancement of genetic sciences and genealogy however, this might be about to change. In the first episode of African American Lives, the stories of nine contemporary African Americans are traced to the nineteenth century, before emancipation. With the second episode to be aired next Wednesday, the excitement grows as it offers the promise of revelations that, for nine people at least, could bridge the crucial and appalling gap between two continents. It’s a sad enough truth that the ancestors of most African Americans never freely choose to immigrate to America. But, as this PBS series aptly demonstrates, their contemporaries are now being offered a small consolation. Finally, they may be given the extraordinary tools to learn, specifically, where it all happened, how it happened, and who they are.

Quote for today

Cape Kiwanda, Oregon

David A. Hamilton ©2005

'You only hurt yourself when you're not expanding and growing. Many people can't stand the thought of aging, but it's the crystallized thought patterns and inflexible mind-sets that age people before their time.

You can break through and challenge your crystallized patterns and mind-sets. That's what evolution and the expansion of love are really about.'

Sara Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart

Simplify!

Olympic Peninsula, WA

Aline Lesage © 2005

Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! We are happy in proportion to the things we can do without.

Henry David Thoreau

The poet's wise exhortation eluded me for a long time until circumstances showed me the way to, clearly, a healthier lifestyle. When I adopted (or began adopting) Thoreau's soul saving principle a few years ago however, I didn’t realize (duh) this was not a ‘one time deal’, that in fact I was setting in motion a process that would require my constant, undivided, and ruthless attention.

Thus it's with no small measure of aggravation that, whatever brand of minimalist I claim to have become, my ‘old ways’ and the relentless pressure of the capitalist machine constantly threaten to creep back in, overtake my pocketbook and, more sadly, myself. My effort, I now see, is surprisingly complex and boasts countless ramifications. It’s like deciding to go to war: one must plan for incredible resources (albeit of another kind) and formidable energy.

I’m happy to report that on the living-with-less front, I can now go for awhile quite without concern. I’m better able to limit my sinful strays and go to sleep at night, mostly satisfied I’m not depleting more than my reasonable share of the precious planet’s and of my own resources, those very ones with wise pondering Presidents pasted over them.

Yet one of my utterly disturbing, though perhaps inevitable incidents did occur recently. While purchasing my chosen item (indispensable, of course) in a shop, I proceeded to pull out an unofficially self-outlawed credit card, only to realize the piece of plastic in my wallet was not the precise one I wished to use that day! For there is another one of course, conveniently stashed away at home and accessible for precisely those ‘unexpected needs’ — read slips. As you may or may not see, my multiple plastic items are the issue at stake here.

This latest experience is only too benign but oh, how it speaks! Such contradiction on the way to my simplified and blissful life! But then should I really be so harsh on myself? Can one expect to so easily undo what fifty years of materialistic addiction so successfully achieved? I must find consolation in the fact these episodes are merely reminders that in order to honour Thoreau’s admonition, I must consistently tend to my simple garden, never assuming its perfect, simple quality will bloom from wishful thinking alone.

My ambitions of Simplicity require dedication, courage, and a bottomless dose of heartless disdain for the world of consumerism I’m proclaiming to be anathema. Choosing to live with less is hard, very hard. Ask anyone who has ever attempted to lose weight.

But this stubborn Irish is not about to give up. Live my war on plastic!

Lake Osoyoos, Okanogan Valley, WA ©Aline Lesage 2005 Feliz año nuevo! Small surprises in unexpected places. As it happens on this New Year’s Day 2006, I traveled to a remote town east of our Great Cascades, only to find that almost every restaurant was closed for business. Willing to help, our hotel attendant suggested a local Mexican restaurant, which she believed might be open. It had been a long day on the road and had every choice been available, I must acknowledge I probably would not have considered this. Given the circumstances however, I was willing to forego my reluctance: at this point in fact, both my husband and I would have tried anything for the promise of a warm meal! It rained hard on Main Street and I remember running down the sidewalk, anxious for a dry place. When we arrived at Rancho Chico’s, every table (save one, as if we might be expected) was occupied with cheerful families and groups of all ages, all enjoying what was obviously an outing and restaurant of their choosing. Arms open, the manager greeted us with a broad smile and exclaimed, ‘Feliz año nuevo, amigos!’ to which I replied with my own wish of ‘Bonne année!’. If anything, this was an inviting prelude and I thought, maybe this won’t be such a terrible experience, after all! Needless to say, I was quickly forced to abandon my unsisterly attitude du jour about ethnic food in a foreign place. Among others, my husband’s ‘shrimp cocktail’ turned nothing less than memorable, my Mexican stir fry an outstanding and satisfying meal with our tasty, just-so-tangy Margaritas pleasantly adding to the experience. And with his enthusiastic seasonal greetings later, the manager even served us a sampling of their ‘Mexican cheesecake’! What more can one expect, I ask? Not to mention its reasonable prices, this establishment provided the friendliest atmosphere I have seen in a long time. I wholeheartedly acknowledge the business community’s well-deserved holiday at this time of year. On the other hand, I certainly wish to salute those — this hard working and caring Hispanic community in particular — who know the value and benefits of dependable service, genuine cordiality, and heartfelt dedication. Rancho Chico Family Restaurant 22 N. Main Street Omak, WA