WHY DO WE WAIT FOR THE RIGHT CONDITIONS?

WHEN THE WRONG ONES WILL DO

WHY DO WE WAIT FOR THE RIGHT CONDITIONS?

GROWING AND MAKING STUFF

MAKES ME HAPPY

GROWING AND MAKING STUFF

AWARENESS...

STAYING AWAKE TO THE REMARKABLE IN THE ROUTINE

AWARENESS...

Hi. I’m Maery, a writer in the Twin Cities. Although I no longer have the body for extreme adventures, I love to bicycle, go horse trail riding and take hikes with my dogs.  

One thing you should know before you join me on my quest -- I don’t have a map. And I’ve been known to wander off course and stop to listen to birds and look for agates. I also have a few issues with fear and anxiety. In other words, I’m not a good role model or adventure guide. But in this time of uncertainty and polarization, I'm not sure anyone has a reliable map. We'll just figure it out as we go.

trees

I was meditating a while ago and put out the question to the universe, “Who am I?” I know. I’ve been asking that a lot lately.

I really hadn’t expected an answer so I was surprised when the words that came into my head were “Truth Teller.”

What? No I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t keep backspacing over what I’ve written here. I wouldn’t be thinking that I sound too negative, too radical, too angry.

And which truth would I tell? There’s my truth. There’s your truth. There are a million truths out there. There are even “alternative facts” to contend with now.

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horse

My horse Shadow, 1998

Prologue: I wrote this for a reading at my writer’s group to discuss where I am as a writer. WARNING: It contains some swearing and crazy-ass thinking. I’m still grieving the loss of Luke. And it appears any time you suffer one loss, it brings up feelings from all the other losses in your life. As I explained to my writer’s group, I may often be quiet on the outside, but my brain is very busy and very vocal on the inside, and it sounds something like this…

Since Luke died, I’ve been trying to figure out who I am.

I know that sounds very silly, coming from a woman my age. Or just silly in general because, of course, losing a horse, no matter how much I loved him and how much a part of my life he was, doesn’t change who I am. I’m still me.

Of course.

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horse running

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. It’s as though I turned sixty last March and my brain stopped formulating thoughts into words.

No, that’s not the whole truth of it.

There was a lot going on besides reaching an age that could be called “old.”

My horse, Luke, had been having one heaves* attack after another. I would find him wheezing and coughing this horrible ratcheting sound, followed by a long moan that raised goosebumps on my arms and made my own breathing stop. I’d call the vet, cry while I waited, unable to do anything but massage Luke’s neck and press my face against his fur.

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