QUAIL MUTTERINGS #62. Happy New Year! (September 2021)

Posted on October 4, 2021 by chivarnado

What? New Years already? I know it may sound strange, but that’s what this time is for me—and always has been. When I was a kid the final days of summer marked an end to my untethered happiness and freedom. The start of school threatened to undermine my sense of well-being as visions of long hours trapped indoors permeated every bone in my body—lowering a cold, dark veil of doom. I can’t help but think that my feelings of malaise, which tend to surface toward the end of each summer, might very well stem from these strong childhood emotions. Intellectually, I understand that this state is very confining and limiting, but it still takes a bit of an attitude adjustment to move past it.

Later, as an adult, this time of year had me preparing and beginning a new session of dance classes at the studio, along with the collaborative decision of what story ballet would be our focus that year. It was all so new and exciting each time, launching our whole family and so many wonderful Ramona dancers into another cohesive work of art, incorporating music, choreography, dramatics, gymnastics, costuming, dancing, backdrops… It developed a life of its own; one that I feel extremely grateful to have been able to enjoy for so many decades.

This fall ushers in a new school year, and the weather begins to cool ever so slightly. The sun arcs across a lower part of the sky casting longer shadows and yellowing light. Vacations come to an end, extra-curricular activities fill children’s after-school hours, the holidays slide into view… And the thought of another year of not getting together (indoors) with relatives puts a damper on what we can safely look forward to.

But as The New Year awakens, there are glimmers of hope out there. The deer are still going about their business here in the canyon and more are coming in closer for water and food. Rutting season is approaching—so there’s that. Something to look forward to? This past spring’s young, who still look so vulnerable, may not think so. But who knows? I certainly don’t.

But this is the time of year when I reassess the things I’ve been doing: projects, writing, puttering, attaining or not attaining goals… and do some hard thinking about my priorities. Am I fulfilling my obligations to myself, family and community? Am I being productive enough to keep me satisfied? What can I reasonably look forward to for the coming year(s)? Not that I come up with all the answers—or even close. But for me, it beats frittering my time away without at least contemplating the alternatives.

Sometimes one day can drag on as if it were five while others disappear in the blink of an eye. This year has flown by and I find myself trying to grab it by the tail and ride it into the next—hoping (beyond hope?) that we will come out of this pandemic intact and perhaps better for it.

No matter what all this may mean for each of us—I wish you all A Happy New Year!

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 #61. In the Now/The Search for Common Ground (August 2021)

Posted on October 4, 2021 by chivarnado

If I’m having trouble being present in the here and now, our six-month-old Aussie/Border Collie will snap me right back. She thinks nothing of ‘disturbing the peace’ and bringing my attention front and center—onto her.

“Please pet me. Let’s go for a walk. How about a game of fetch? Or better yet—yahoo time with no leash!”

These days it’s all about the dog and what she needs during the day. But sometimes (a gross understatement) there is work to be done and I have to figure out when and how to do it, and with or without her. Things like ongoing maintenance issues around the property: broken pipes, backed-up drains, faulty irrigation systems, battling ants and mice…

During the past decade or so we’ve taken to leaving the car hoods up to dissuade rats from seeking comfort in the engine compartments and chewing wires, which can end up costing hundreds of dollars to repair. Our practices would never fly in an HOA neighborhood where garage doors are required to be shut and clotheslines are prohibited. Aah, the country life.

I’m grateful every day to live out here amongst the rocks, trees, birds and lizards—especially these days as we attempt to skirt around the recent Covid surge and polarizing speech surrounding the many issues which have come to a head. When crossing paths with other people, I strive to find our common ground. There is always something we can agree on, or at least we can try to see through each other’s eyes and go from there. Blanket statements about anything won’t buy much. How can we be absolutely certain about things anyway? Just straighten up and smile—over and over and over again.

Besides, everything is shades of gray. We’re only human and really can’t possibly see the whole picture, no matter what it is. When I was a kid and stated some fact or point of view, others sometimes asked if I was sure. I remember replying, “No, I’m not totally sure.” Heck, I wasn’t even certain, beyond any doubt, that I was really here at all. It could all be a dream or something beyond my comprehension. Even now, I still think that everything is shades of gray—even things we may feel strongly about. And definitely for what we think things should be like. Why can we no longer admit that we simply do not know?

So—back to the dog. Last Sunday Zelda and I hiked up the mountain behind our house and sat on a flat boulder part way up to watch the fog roll into the canyon as vapor trails. For an uncommonly long time for her, she laid quietly beside me while I sat cross-legged admiring the view. Then we both heard footsteps coming down the trail, not human, and focused our attention. A doe with lovely long lashes peeked around a rock and looked at us. I said, “Hello, beautiful,” and Zelda produced a soft little growl without moving. Fortunately, she was on the leash and didn’t bolt after the deer when it turned away and trotted back up the hill.

Thank goodness for the little happies like this in our lives to remind us that we’re not alone and that life is special. One of my little happies this summer has been adorning our five-year-old granddaughter with elaborate (for me) seaweed costumes on our forays to the beach. And we draw hopscotch patterns on the sand with our toes and I watch her and a friend dance along the shore, wearing their towels as cloaked actors. Every couple of weeks a few of my women friends come over for a no-frills, sit out in the shade, gab session that usually only lasts an hour or two. But it’s hopefully enough to sustain us until next time.

So, in the meantime, I’ll try to remember to stay positive, straighten up, and smile—over and over and over again.

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

Posted on January 15, 2021 by chivarnado

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.