Many years ago I did meditation for awhile, but it didn't last. Recently a friend recommended "Meditations to Change Your Brain," by Rick Hanson, PhD, and Richard Mendius, MD. She said their material was really changing how she lives and feels in very positive ways. The biologist in me became intrigued, and I have almost finished my first pass through the 3 CD set. Early on, Hanson and Mendius give reasons why it's hard for people to be happy, showing how the evolutionary history of our needing to be ever alert to the possibility of danger in its many forms makes it difficult for us today to relax and "enjoy the moment."

As I stood in my cool basement folding newly washed napkins and dust rags, this CD track came to mind, and I stopped to think about the moment. As I sorted and folded, I became amazed at what lay before me within these mundane items--colors, patterns, textures, an explosion of delightful variety that I ordinarily wouldn't notice as I acknowledged the uncomfortable chill and thought about my next task.

And now, as I write, I watch scattered snow flakes drift in from the north and know that if I went outside and examined them I would see their incredible delicate symmetry and infinite variety. So much in our everyday worlds can bring pleasure if we just remember to pay attention.

Long Silence Broken

I haven't written in this blog for many months. The irony is that I was so busy doing interesting things that I didn't have time for it! I'm going to try to catch up now, beginning with a trip to California in May to do research for my book, "Saving Audie: A Pit Bull Puppy Gets a Second Chance," to be published this May.

My photographer, Bill Muñoz and I flew into Oakland to meet Audie and his family, especially his official person, Linda. Audie was just a puppy when rescued from the Michael Vick dog-fighting ring in 2007. Thanks to the diligence and determination of a number of people, the Vick dogs were tested to see if they might be dangerous to people or animals, and all but one of the 48 pit bulls showed promise for rehab.

When we visited Audie at home, he was alarmed at first. In his life before coming to California, strangers generally weren't good news. Despite his past experiences, he clearly wanted to trust us and be friends. He would come close, then run away, come a bit closer, and run off again. Soon he was jumping on the couch and sniffing, then running away, and after about 10 minutes, he settled down next to me, snuggled against my leg, and went to sleep.

We also got to meet many people and dogs associated with BAD RAP (Bay Area Dogowners Responsible About Pitbulls), a wonderful Bay Area organization devoted to education about pit bulls. BAD RAP provides obedience training for pit bull type dogs and their humans every Saturday morning, and there's always a waiting list. Dogs adopted by or being fostered by BAD RAP folks also show up just to enjoy the activity and to savor the company of their friends, both canine and human.

Writing this book has been a great pleasure, and I feel it can contribute to helping dispel the image of pit bulls as innately dangerous dogs. With any kind of dog, what matters most is how they are raised and how they are trained. All dog owners should take the responsibility of helping their pets learn how to be "polite" members of society through obedience training and insistence that the rules of good behavior be followed.

Audie has his own fan page on Facebook, and soon he will have his own website as well. In addition, he and some of his brothers and sisters have their very own blog courtesy of BAD RAP.

Audie's buddy, Uba, whom he often gets to meet and greet on Saturdays, is especially fond of letting folks know what he's up to.

Resilient Nature

Low temperature records in western Montana were smashed in early October, 2009, when thermometers plummeted into single digits overnight. For several days, low temperature records broke. September had been warmer than usual, and trees and bushes hadn't even started to change color. Everyone worried about the plants, whose leaves shriveled in place on their branches, as the hormones that weaken the bonds between leaves and stems never got produced. Normally, perennial plants undergo an orderly process to get ready for winter, withdrawing chlorophyll and nourishing sugars from their leaves and passing them on to the roots for winter storage. What would happen in the spring? Would branches and buds die? Would the plants struggle to come back when days lengthened and temperatures rose?

When I walked through my yard during the winter, I shuddered as I looked at the thin terminal branches of the trees--how could they survive the shock of that bitter cold? Would I have to prune away inches of dead wood and wait a year or more for the trees to come back?

I needn't have worried--despite their nasty early autumn surprise, my trees came back as beautifully as ever, with apricots leading the way. For me, this photo of opening apricot buds on branches with still-clinging dead leaves is a testament to the toughness of trees. Animals can move around to mitigate nature's surprises, but trees are stuck in place. They have to be adapted to rare events, even those so rare they've never experienced them before! My already deep respect for the resilience of the natural world has deepened even further.




Meanwhile, the wild world is also awakening to our late spring, with lovely buttercups blanketing sunny areas on the meadow in front of our home. I do love the spring!

An Uneven Spring

Here in western Montana, Spring has taken its time arriving. After a couple of unseasonably warm days in early March, our weather was overly chilly and gray for way longer than normal. Signs of Spring were hard to find here on the outskirts of Missoula. Last week I rummaged through some dried leaves and found hope in these daffodil shoots just emerging from the cold earth. But north of us, on the same day in the little town of Arlee, a friend celebrated the arrival of spring big time with beds bursting with daffodils in bloom. This photo shows only a few of her actual thousands and thousands of these wonderful spring flowers.

The differences in microclimates here in the mountain west always intrigues me. My friend's garden is always ahead of mine, for she lives in a special little corner with a steep hill just behind her property to the north, which both shields her place from the cold wind and radiates sunshine's warmth into her orchard of peaches and cherries, trees it isn't worth trying to grow where I live. Even in my own yard I see differences. The front yard, which faces north and is partly shaded by the house, has yet to come alive, while the garden area on the south side is beginning to show promise.

Changeable Season, Changeable Place

I haven't written here since we returned from our winter odyssey, mostly because I'm come to realize that my blog is really a travel and photo blog, and my hometown of Missoula, MT, can be pretty boring photowise in late winter. The dead grass of the meadow across the street has been washed out by rain and frost, the pines' needles wear their black-green winter color, and the snow comes and goes. I call the place "Grayzoola" at this time, as the skies are almost always gray.

Now and then, we get some relief, as we did about a week ago. The sun came out, the air warmed, spring seemed on its way. On one particular day, light rain dampened the meadow grass, turning it golden in the rare sunshine. I kept glancing out the window, savoring the amazing color of the meadow, and suddenly a giant almost double rainbow glowed into being. I grabbed my camera and snapped away--here you can see the result:
















Then, only a few days later, we awakened to a transformed scene, much more typical of this time of year, and to show the contrast, I once again took photos:





















It can be quite disconcerting to see such radical changes in the environment in such a short time; am I having hallucinations? No, I'm living in the Mountain West! Then, in a few more days, the weather returned to its normal boring late winter state, with dead grass and gray skies. The only ways we know Spring is on its way is to go walking at an hour which would have been pitch black in January and to notice that the robins are back.

At Rancho la Puerta

After returning to the mainland, we visited family on our way south to spend a week in Mexico at Rancho la Puerta, a wonderful spa that has so much more to offer than a typical spa. My husband Greg gave cooking classes in trade for the week, while all I needed to do was choose among the many interesting, healthy and/or fun activities offered every hour during the day. We stayed in a beautiful cassita and learned qigong from Robert Rosenbaum, found out practical ways to resolve personal conflict from Peter and Susan Glaser, hiked, danced, and ate great vegetarian (with seafood) cuisine, all in beautiful surroundings. We also made a number of new friends we hope to keep in touch with, and we will return next year during the holiday season.

Hawaiian monk seals on Maha'ulepu Beach

I may have left Hawaii physically, but part of my spirit remains there. On our last full day on Kauai, we visited the one last remaining undeveloped stretch of beach on the island, the beautiful Maha'ulepu Beach. Both our cars on the Mainland sport bumper stickers proclaiming "Malama Maha'ulepu", which means "Help (save) Maha'ulepu." All beaches in Hawaii are open for public use, but the land above the high tide line is mostly private. So far, the land adjoining this beautiful stretch of beach has not been developed, making it much more appealing to the public than beaches that lead up to plush hotels and private homes. The public can rest under trees and hike through the dunes and relax here.



We were lucky when we visited, as a mother endangered Hawaiian monk seal had hauled out of the sea on the beach, and a volunteer kept watch to make sure no one disturbed them. They spend most of their time sleeping, but now and then the pup gets hungry and waddles over to mom, nosing her and crying out until she rolls over to expose her teats for him to feed. We got to watch this process. At the time, the baby was only 2 weeks old but growing fast. What a treat, and a fine ending to our time on this beautiful island.