:Happy Leap Day!

What could be better than something extra!

A gift, another day, 10% more, a celebration.

The more, the merrier.

 Of course a celebration is in order.

Today's celebration is extra dog cookies for Daisy, then breakfast for us, maybe at the airport if the restaurant has reopened after its remodel. Then tai chi practice and a speakers' seminar.

Fireworks optional.

Take the Path With Heart

At the heart, all the material energies flow up from below and include security, creativity, will and determination.  These worldly energies converge to meet the intangible energies flowing from above that include communication, vision, direction, guidance.

The heart, or cross point, is central in Christianity, the Kabbalah, Hinduism, and the National Rifle Association.

The heart is a crossing point, a collection, a meeting place, a sangam, a central pivot point.

If one wished to spend more time in the upper realms, away from the duality of up or down, sick or well, that person has to go through the heart, the connector of energies, the crux of the matter.

Here in the heart center is the conglomerate of sensation, intellect, emotion, and action.  Here is Sorcerer Don Juan's path with heart.  And so with any decision at the crossroads, lead with the heart, there's more juice in it.  Everything else will follow.

Ice is Dicey

The brook ice is melting into an ice shark swimming downstream.  The mountain trail site reports that the ice bridges over stream crossings are beginning to melt and becoming dicey.  There is one trail called the Dicey Mills Trail up to Whiteface, one of the peaks over 4,000 feet yet to climb.  The trail is named after Mr. Dicey, but makes me think twice about climbing there.  As Jim says, "Don't ride a horse named Timber."

Savoir Faire Ees Everywhere

Today is the cardinals' turn for the feeder.  They are timid and rush off when we come to the door to admire them.  The male watches over the surroundings while the female takes her breakfast.  He is very solicitous and concerned for her welfare.

And then I hear the voice of a character in a book I'm reading say sternly, "Don't anthropomorphize the animals you study.  You can't possibly know their cognitive system."  This character is an anthropology professor, flamboyant as a cardinal, but not at all shy or solicitous.  And although I like confidence (aplomb), flair (panache), and the cheese-stealing mouse in Klondike Kat (savoir faire), I don't much care for loud and overbearing know-it-alls who try to sway me to their point of view.  The cardinals, I like.  The professor, not so much.

Spring Cleaning

The goldfinches are swinging through the area, not yet gold, but hungry nonetheless.  They are batting the chickadees away from the sunflower seeds at the feeder.  Jim could be a goldfinch to my chickadee when it comes to the new bag of peanuts in the shell.
It's another cleaning day!  Spring approaches and it is time to dust winter off the shelves and window sills.  Time to vacuum up the peanut leavings, and nifty nab the trash blown in on the wind.

All This Holding On

YS 3.50: Tad vairagyad api dosha bija kshaye kaivalyam.

By nonattachment even to all the powers of the mind and world, the seed of bondage is destroyed and thus follows independence.
Not that the "powers" are bad.  Just that holding on to them will entrap, tie up, bind, and enslave.

So, let go.

You let go.

No, you first.

Bump Note

Waiting for the bump note to end the winter hiking, I looked up "bump note" and couldn't find a thing about the phrase. It is the last note of a piece of music, especially Sousa-oid, so I looked up Sousa Marches and found sheet music to buy,

youtube orchestras to watch, 

and then branched off from there.

It was especially bump note-y to see the saxophone group hiking in the mountains.

But really the coups d'bump was the girl playing three instruments at once.  No wonder she's so thin. 

Her bump note is shutting off the video camera.
It's a good thing I didn't give up music for Lent.

Ash Wednesday

Put away the fish beads, the donuts, the booze.  Blow out the candles, use the ash from their wicks to dot the forehead, and meditate on the third eye, more difficult to focus on, of course, due to the overindulgence of the night before.

But this calls for practice, not sacrifice;

surrender, not deprivation;

Spring, not new snow.

Fat Tuesday

The Mount Waumbek hike was not just a walk in the woods.

It was icy, shockingly bitter cold, and required hot cocoa to keep going. 

Icy road, icy trail, icy branches.

Fortunately, the microspikes worked very well the whole way.

I had a new turtle fur to keep the neck and nose warm.

And I remembered to pack the cocoa.  There was just enough time before freezing at the summit to drink a whole thermos full, stuff in some cheese and an egg, pack up and descend while chewing.

One nice view almost made the trip worthwhile.  But I am rethinking this winter hiking business. 

These are for celebrating Fat Tuesday:
Doughnuts, chocolate cake, baked ziti, and turkey enchiladas.
A romance novel, tridoku, the blogosphere.
Hiking overweight with back pain, cold feet, blisters, and knee strain.
Driving on ice and wrecking the car.
On this Fat Tuesday I embrace my mistakes and infirmities.

One McMuffin To Go, Please

Three hours to think about hiking Waumbek, while eating the egg mcmuffin on the way.

The five-headed Ganesh clears the way, keeping an eye on the four directions and me.  The forecast is for NW winds at 25-35 mph.  Nothing subtle about that.

Gearing Up

Planning a winter NH hike means a new and bigger back pack (:D), something to wear over the face,  hand/toe warmers, and maybe some new snowshoes.  I can't seem to muster any company for the below-zero wind chill and snow beauty. 

But what is more appropriate than to hike in view of the Presidentials on Presidents Day?  These are views on Mt. Cabot and Mt. Waumbek.  It looks like Waumbek will win out because it's a shorter trail and not as high.

Change

Ayurveda - the science of longevity and good health - says that winter is the season for Kapha, congestion and sluggishness, a phlegmatic constitution, tending to overweight.
But Daisy's hair is shedding, the top of the frozen lake reflects standing water, and spring birds are singing.  The season of in between.  It is forecasted to be windy today, blowing from the west, bringing Vata, unsettled air, movement, anxiety for change.

Jim is cleaning out the cold wood stove, Pitta wannabe, we've restocked the wood ring, and have already packed up to go.  Looks like Vata wins today.

Quite an Accomplishment!

What would get rid of the fishermen?
It was a phone call and the words, "Come home!" clearly heard in the morning meditation.
When next the fishermen were spotted, just two hours after they had set up, they were reeling in their lines and folding their tip-ups!  One was talking on his mobile phone and using his free hand to load up his ice sled.

They departed, leaving only their holes and one fish breakfast for the crows.  We stayed after all.
And accomplished three things:

1.) Jim set up the mouse-eaten and mouse-soiled sissy box

in hopes that it would act as a deterrent for all fishermen this weekend, one of two free fishing weekends in Maine. 
2.) The chickadees were nosing around the birdhouses.  So Jim took them apart to clean them out and make them ready for the springtime nests.  He found an old nest and eggs.

Not sparrow, not wren, but chickadees!
3.) I marked the route to Everest Base Camp.

After dreaming about the trek, my back hurts this morning.

Food for Eagles

Ice fishermen disturb our morning right out in front, not twenty feet off the dock.  They leave their catch flopping and dying on the ice while I'm drinking coffee.  It's enough to make me feel murderous.  So we're packing up and getting away from our get-away.  The sooner the better.

YS 2.34 Maintain a centered calm by befriending the friendly, rejoicing with the virtuous, showing compassion for those who suffer and disregarding the wicked.  Out of sight/out of mind, wicked men.

Part Two: Burn Hut

Skiing in is beautiful.

The hut looks like a hut.

From the side the propane tanks are chained to the walls.

The outhouse does not have a fur-lined seat.  Sitting on the seat in the middle of the night is cause for pause.  I can never prevent that final gasp and whimper.

The hut is heated by wood and we feed the stove.

All night long.  The stove smokes even with the dampers completely open.  But it's warm enough to wear short-sleeve shirts.  Our water supply is melted snow.

We ski in the meadows,

through the aspens,

climbing and falling.

At the end of the trip we eat cake.  Lemon torte cake with raspberries and lemon cream cheese frosting.

And that's the end of a beautiful tradition.

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

Happy Valentine's Day

Sunny days and milder temperatures should lead an adventurer outside to scale Waumbek or Cabot Mountain.

 We shall not cease from exploration  

And the end of all our exploring 

Will be to arrive where we started 

And know the place for the first time.

 ―T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

However, Valentine's Day intervenes, and the adventure occurs at the mall instead of outdoors,

where visits to candy stores tempt,

 glittery dresses invite admiration,

sparkling Uggs beckon to the eye,

and the pink wrapping at Vicky's stops us in midstride.

Hubba Hubba.

Today, Honey Badger don't need no stinkin' mountain.