QUAIL MUTTERINGS #60. What’s Next? (May 2021)

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            Are you feeling young and spry? Not so much? Just wishful thinking? Try keeping up with your grandkids or running around with a ten-week-old puppy! Just kidding—not sure if this really works or not. But these distractions can get me out of my head for a while and into the present moment, which seems like a good thing.

            This past year, and counting, has been hard on all of us and we’ve each handled it in our own unique ways—and still are. When things are tough for me, I guess my natural instinct is to hyperfocus on something that I’d consider productive, so there might actually be something to show for my efforts. This can be exhausting and lead to other stresses, but somehow, it’s become my coping mechanism.

            On the bright side, there are four newly published books out there: one women’s fiction and three novels in a YA series. However, my psyche is scanning the horizon, once again, like a hungry coyote. What’s next?

            I find myself coming back to the natural world over and over, finding solace amongst the sagebrush and muttering quail. This is my home, where I dwell—the place where my life belongs.

            The lilacs have been the most beautiful, prolific and long lasting I have ever seen—in my whole life! And that’s saying something. Our close neighbors, a pair of Red-shouldered hawks, are raising their young’uns nearby: sharing their grace with us when they come to the fountain for water or just to check in. One of them, in particular, will linger, as if to say, “Hello.”

            “And A’ho to you, too,” I answer.

            This winter and spring Kent and I have taken to desert wandering. We’ll pick a fairly unknown trail and meander around the cactus and chaparral without seeing another human being. Instead, we traverse with bighorn sheep and horny toads. This is how we like it: safe from Covid. Because we’re still not out of this pandemic. I know that we all sincerely WANT to be, but the truth is—we really DON’T KNOW what’s coming. So, for the most part, we’re continuing on with our own set of safety protocols and staying away from crowds. But when I think about it like this, I realize that perhaps we’ve always been a little that way. Besides, maybe I can use this time to find out what’s next for me.

            Now, back to where I started. Our new Australian shepherd/border collie puppy has us continually learning and adjusting—keeping us on our toes and trying to be as ‘spry’ as we possibly can be—for a couple of sixty-something year-olds.

            So, here’s to your own adventures and to being youthful and spry in your own way. Carpe diem!

Chi Varnado has four newly published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #59. It’s Not All Bad (January 2021)

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I’m slowly coming to realize, or possibly to admit, that this whole global pandemic hasn’t been an entirely bad thing. It was good for the planet, at first, with less toxic emissions, since we weren’t driving as much; but bad because of the drastic increase in plastic consumption. Yes, it has been catastrophic on so many levels, but it has given us pause. Another opportunity to go inward, listen, and change direction. We are who we are, however an occasional wallop can help us to wake up and pay attention.

We have all been affected by the coronavirus, however, let me begin by acknowledging those who have been devastatingly ripped apart by the virus or from its consequences. I am deeply sorry for all you’ve been through.

The biblical words, this too shall pass, doesn’t mean that we should stand by and blame those around us until it goes away. Our frame of reference must change—if we are to go on as happy, positively adjusting individuals who are capable of adding our contributions to the collective—for the good of everyone.

When this pandemic first hit home, I was unmoored, and worried for the community and our family of kids and grandchildren. Everything changed in a day. No more substitute teaching, no more tutoring, and my husband no longer went to his merchandising jobs. We had no idea at the time that our working days, as we knew them, were over.

I began eating less, to conserve the food we had, and foraged for wild greens here in the canyon. We wandered the hills, soaked up the sunshine, and ate a super healthy, mostly vegan diet—to boost our immune systems and lay the seeds for happiness.

After a month or two, with no improvement in sight, our daughter started coming up with her kids once a week to get a good healthy dose of countryside (as they continue to do). We lay in the tender new grass growing in the spring, watching the clouds float by and telling stories to each other. Our grandson chose to lie in the hammock, reading, while his little sisters splashed and played in the creek nearby.

It so happens that the first book in my new series had just come out and the shutdown forced an end to the book signings and events that had been scheduled. Being creative is my outlet—my sanctuary. I think we were all flailing during those first few months. Obviously, this does not promote happiness and well-being, but that’s what we need to stay healthy.

When the recession of 2008/2009 hit, we found ways to adjust. We had to think outside the box and piece together multiple jobs to make ends meet. As a culture, perhaps it was a temporary lesson on living within our means. To us, it meant getting creative with our streams of income. We dabbled in several things, but I won’t weigh you down with the details.

The positive things that this pandemic has given me were hidden at first. But I now embrace working at home, for the most part, and spending more time in nature. When the kids visit, we no longer sit around inside. Instead, we take walks, play in the sand pile, go for wagon rides, have BYO picnics… Because their extra-curricular activities have been curtailed, they now have more time to spend with us. And that is wonderful.

My inability to not ‘do’ has allowed me to get a lot of writing done. I published two books last year and am planning on two this year. One is a novel I’ve been tinkering with for the past decade and am finally taking this opportunity to just do it. Who knows if I would have ever gotten around to it otherwise? And this feels great. Luckily, Kent is onboard and reads my work and offers feedback. I’m grateful that he at least seems to enjoy it.

And speaking of gratitude—this appears to be the ticket. I’m so thankful that I can feel gratitude for the way things are, for the most part anyway. I still hope the pandemic ends soon, but, in the meantime, I’m going to try to continue to find the little things in life to be grateful for. So—cheers, everyone. Happy New Year!  

Chi Varnado’s latest novel, The Dance Centre Presents the Nutcracker, the second book in her MG/YA series, was released in August 2020! The Dance Centre Presents Giselle is the first. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #58. Coping, or Not, During the Pandemic (September 2020)

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First, let me preface the following Psycho Rant with an apology. I usually try to find the positive in things, but recently have found it to be a lot more challenging. This piece is more of a journal entry than an essay. As we know, writing can be cathartic in many ways. It can allow us to gain perspective on things that we’re too close to. If you choose to keep reading, then please follow through to the end. The diatribe most definitely needs a follow up.

Psycho Rant

Bloody hell! I worry that this may indeed be my unraveling. It’s not just this, it’s almost everything—at least that’s what it feels like. Besides it being over half a year into this pandemic, there’s extreme polarized politics; global unrest; extreme weather conditions, fire storms, and hurricanes of unprecedented strength, resulting from our changing climate…. I apologize, in advance, for my rant. I usually try to focus on the positive, but I’m failing miserably at that too.  

            These stresses take their toll on our world, as well as our bodies. Nervous ticks; sore teeth and jaws from clenching and grinding; strange skin eruptions; changes in vision; peripheral numbness; eating disorders. The list of symptoms does not stop here. Are they all related? What’s causing them? Is it a systemic problem that our whole world shares and we can’t help but absorb some of it into our own physical bodies—whether we realize it or not? After all, everything is connected—and relative.

            Our societies, circles of friends, and families are being torn apart. One side is on the left and the other right. Some believe the disease is a hoax, some are absolutely terrified of it. And there is hypocrisy on every front. Our behavior has gone down the toilet. We’ve stopped seeing others as people, burying empathy. What would Jesus do? Or Buddha, or Mohammed?

            There is so much that is wrong right now. I can hardly stand it. I’m not holding up well at all—and I’m not alone in this. But I am. The lack of community that we’re all experiencing, along with so many other things, is definitely taking its toll—on our health, both physical and emotional; and on our relationships. And I don’t have an answer.

            But I do try to see some friends. We physical distance outside in my yard, bringing our own chairs, drinks, snacks, and, of course, masks – in case we get too close. Regular bathing and shampooing kind of lose their necessity. But there’s no breaking of bread together or hugging. And yes, it’s better than nothing. But yet, it’s severely lacking and I’m about ready to break.

            And I digress further. We really are trying to be extra careful and do our due diligence to help slow down or prevent the spread of this horrible virus. When I see groups of people gathering together, with no masks, I sometimes wish that I didn’t worry about such things. That I could somehow buy into that free-living view. But I can’t. I did take science courses in college, and was raised by very intelligent, educated, science-respecting parents and grandparents. And no—I don’t buy into ALL of either side. But when in doubt, isn’t it safer to err on the side of caution? For now—I’m still there.  

            I don’t think that this is only my cry for help. It’s coming from all of us. We’re no longer whimpering—we’re wailing. Usually the stronger help rescue the weaker, or the healthy take care of the sick. But now we are all on that sinking ship with no one out there to save us. Bloody hell!

Follow Up

I asked my sister if this Quail Mutterings was too much. She said, “It’s perfect and it’s also too much.” But a part of me wanted to show that even though I have so much to be grateful for, I also succumb to emotional turmoil. I imagine we all do.

            Even though the pandemic probably won’t go away any time soon, not everything has changed for the worse. We certainly don’t take as much for granted anymore: time spent with friends and family, going out to eat or see a movie, traveling. We have slowed down, perhaps in fits and starts, and taken more time to look around us and be more present. And that’s a good thing.

            Just yesterday, I kept going out on the porch—called by the birdsongs and gentle breezes. The temperature was perfect, and twice, I saw deer. In the morning, a doe with two juvenile fawns was crossing the field. Later, I watched them drink from our water-trough-fountain.

            Then I remembered the metaphor that my sister talked about. It’s like when a deer crosses a meadow. She needs to keep going across the open areas to get to the safety of the other side. And, like her, we also need to continue on to get safely to the other side of this pandemic. Perhaps that’s what we should strive for. Tread lightly, smell the air, and wander meditatively. Thank you for reading this to the end. We really are all in this together.