Sam and Sally: Leaving Patmos

Today Sam and Sally leave Patmos for a trip through Europe -- Italy, Spain, France . . . here are excerpts from the last week . . .

Sally wrote:

It's early Sat morning; roosters are still crowing away. Got a few more sunrise shots to add to the hundreds we need to weed through and keep our favorites. Sam's back up on the upper patio with notebook, pen, and coffee. I'll go up later when the sun has heated up the cozy little nook with a bench (mostly protected from the wind which seems a constant here) where I can let the sun soak in to store up to take with me. . .  As Sam keeps plastering pics of me in his emails, here's some of him . . .   

Sam wrote:    

There's a rock in the bay of Petra, where we hiked on Wednesday, that is  rumored to have been the abode of hermits in the 4th century. There are  steps carved into the rock, and you can see where they enhanced the  scooped out "caves" to live in, cut water gathering channels, etc. That  eremitic life has had an appeal to me for a long time. Reminds me of  some of the more remote island hermitages in Ireland, though this is  much older. . . 

Melanie: The Thunderer

Melanie says: 

Wrote in my car during a thunderstorm.

Came from the sky, I guess.

------------------------------------------------------------

The Thunderer

In the lightning storm of my heart, you have carved place of passion, a home of wavering turbulence lit up with light, igniting and uniting electric fire within torrential tears. You have burned me, scorched me, marked me, branded me and made me your own. With tears I have washed the fire of this love, this loss, this burning desire. I lie awake at night praying for stillness, for the calm center of the storm to pass over me and offer me release.

You hold yourself in, but I see you for what you are. The power to create and destroy. The explosive giver of life. The source of fertile conception, the semen source of life. The destroyer. The beginner. The stormy one who tosses the seas upon the shore, who leaves the maidens widowed and with child. Who returns on cresting white caps, to the maelstrom of the sea. You light this fire and it consumes me as you dance away on waves of my tears.

You are the thunderer, the one we were taught to fear. And I, alone in the cliffs, watch the bruised clouds crest over the mountains that announce your arrival with pooling hail.

Hail.

Hail.

Hail.

Washing over me until I am brought to my knees in despair. You light the sky around me, but I am small and the brilliance blinds me, cripples me and breaks me. And I drown in your arms, engulfed by flames, licked by the flames of desire, defeated by the forces that separate the day from night, man from woman, water from fire, and tears from rain.

 

Today: May 24, 2011

Finally made it to market.  Some mixed emotions but happy, happy!  Just a little more work to do . . .
More info and links soon . . .

Excerpt from Sam's Description of Easter Week on Patmos

"On the Tuesday after Easter,  you’d have heard firecrackers going off much of the day. Sometimes, it was just children playing (driving away demons), but mostly it was associated with the rite we witnessed in the morning in Plateia Levias (which means Lesbos Square). Today was the day when holy relics and icons were brought down in procession from the monastery by the abbot and monks (some came from a few of the churches, as well) and church members, and arranged around the square. Believers moved around the square and kissed the icons while the monks and abbot were chanting. Then they went over to an altar and did some more ceremony, and then returned to the square, where the holiest relics in the cathedral were held by monks, and believers lined up for a baptism by the abbot (he sprinkled holy water on their heads with bound branches—we don’t know what—and carnations, after which each believer kissed both the relic and (often) the hand of the holder. One of the most prized relics of the monastery is the skull of St. Thomas (that Thomas, the “doubting” Thomas), which is in a sort of silver bucket. There was another skull, and what we think is a hand, and a particular bound book, and a few other things. It took a long while for people to accomplish this (we were inches behind the abbot and the monks). After this ceremony, groups of icon holders and supporters began moving through the streets of Chora, taking icons into local houses to “bless” them for the coming year. Fireworks are part of this as they stop at each house. . ."

Upon Reflection

Sunday May 8^th, 2011

 

Upon reflection of the death of Osama Bin Laden Gabrielle Macalister writes:

 

 

You live bang bang

By the sword bang bang

You die bang bang

By the sword bang bang bang

This note was found swirling in the wind outside of a Russian torture chamber where

our hero is being held by a consortium of American, British and Russian energy czars

who are all thieving conniving rouges and tightly enmeshed in their cabal to destroy 

the truth.

Slavko: Spring Travels

We went to Bosnia (Busovaca region) for a few days, my godchild had a Communion, so we were invited to it. Just plain beautiful . . .  As we sat under the cherry tree full of blossom, and white petals pouring down in our Turkish coffee, and our hair, I realized the inspiration of the Japanese with it... 

Chaz Has: More Recurring Dream

Saturday Night 4/30/11

While on the mission to the Arctic Macalister discovered a secret code that the energy companies were using to transfer money to political operatives.  The energy companies had found a way to open a pocket in their emails and dump digital lump sums of money, cover over the pocket and then send them to the murderous operatives silently and without a trace.

Friday Night 5/6/11

A very scary Russian oil czar has Macalister locked in an interrogation room in Minsk

and as the Russian circles around his prey and says, in a delightful voice, this is my most favorite part of the chase.  This is the part where we kill you Macalister.

--Charles

RECURRING DREAM

Tuesday night 4/26/2011

 

I dreamt last night of a top-secret organization that went around the world gathering the truth and storing it in airtight vaults.  This organization was prompted by fears that President Eisenhower developed during the course of his Presidency in the 1950's.

Along with other private parties Eisenhower felt that the truth in the United States was being heavily marginalized by marketing forces, political parties and the growing power of international corporations who needed the truth manipulated to meet the needs of these organizations.  Eisenhower was further concerned by the effectiveness of the Chinese military to brainwash their own people and prisoners of war during the Korean War.  He even conceived that the American government could start wars all over the world based upon lies and then later just tell the American public oh we made a mistake.

 

This truth-gathering unit was called the Manchester Guild.  Very powerful private families, both liberal and conservative, came together to fund the Manchester Guild

and Eisenhower even alluded to this guild in his famous speech about America becoming wary of the Military Industrial Complex dominating our society.

 

The Manchester Guild ran its operation out of non-descript warehouses in Eastern Washington.  Their goal was to gather the Truth until it was time for the people of the United States to face the real truth.  The Okanogan Valley is the last place any threatening organization would ever think to look for gatherers of the Truth. The truth was being stored in heavily secured and protected steel vaults. My childhood friend Doug Woodrow was the director and he smiled fiendishly whenever current American culture was mentioned.

 

 

Thursday night 4/28/2011

 

Tonight my dream life traveled to Nigeria, Africa where an American CIA operative was on an assignment.  This CIA agent stumbled upon a group of Manchester Guild Truth researchers and he studied their operations from a distance for several days.  One morning, however, he awoke in bed to find himself tied up and gagged and the Guild's protection team was gathering up his belongings and his CIA tools and flying him back to America to face interrogation.  The agent was blindfolded and inoculated with sedatives and the next time he awoke the CIA operative found himself in an interrogation room in the Manchester Guild complex.  The agent was informed of the purpose of the Manchester Guild and was told his life had just become very complicated for this discovery of his.  The director of the Guild explained it to the agent that if the CIA agent did not become a double agent working for the Guild then the CIA agent would find himself dead by the side of the road in some far off country having a civil war.  After some further conversation the CIA agent agreed to work with the Manchester Guild.

 

 

 

 

Friday night 4/29/2011

 

The CIA agent, now working for the Manchester Guild is called Gabrielle Macalister and he has been called back to the headquarters of the Guild to take an assignment of great danger.  He was to infiltrate a large multi-national energy company and find the truth behind their planned growth to develop oil fields in the Artic region.  The Manchester Guild had a growing concern that the balance of power on earth was in jeopardy because of this energy grab.  Something was driving the corporate greed of this company to lie to the world about the need for drilling in the Artic polar cap.

 

Gabrielle Macalister was a distant relation of Billie Joe Macalister and often sang the Tallahatchie Bridge song when he was alone on these dangerous missions.

CHARLES 

Chaz Sez: Ah! Spring!

" . . .the canopy of light through bare winter branches

tingles the sleeping reptile brain

 submerged in glacial mud waiting for rebirth."

Horses on the Green

Lori takes another step to getting her horsey place up and running:  she turns her horses out for the first time in their new beautiful,  fenced pastures. 

Last Weekend

Passover at our house Saturday night:

And Easter in Seattle on Sunday with Eliot, Kyra, Eason and us:

Updated: Eliot and Paul's Showcase Cabinet

 UPDATE:  Eliot says . . . ...The walnut cabinet with figured oak drawer faces is all solid wood, even the drawer bottoms!
It's about 80% "recycled" wood, complete dove tail construction, and most boards are book matched (look at the tambers closely).
The drawer faces are cut from a single board (wood grain follows across the whole piece) and the legs are made by a friend blacksmith.

Eliot sends along two photos of the stunningly beautiful cabinet that he -- and his business partner/buddy Paul -- designed and built.  They hoped to use it to showcase their design abilities and fine craftsmanship.  I'll see if I can get Eliot to tell me more about it so I can describe the telling details of their masterwork . . .

From Sam & Sally on Patmos

Dear J&J,  We are here in Greece! Been a week now on 

Patmos. We came via Athens, but spent only an evening and 

a day there (one night). Visited the Acropolis and a few 

other sights, but had to catch a ferry. 

It's beautiful here. We're in Hora, a cluster of stone 

buildings around the Monastery of St. John,  which 

dominates the high point. It's a rabbit warren of stone 

passageways. Ariadne could make a fortune. We're learning, 

though, just by being adventurous. 

Our house has a great view of the Aegean.  We have our 

own courtyard, complete with two lemon trees heavy with 

fruit. Upstairs. Downstairs. You should visit! 

This is a working trip, so we're spending four to five 

hours writing each day.  Things come at their own pace, 

even so. We still have two months before we head back.

Love from Patmos, 

Sam and Sally 

Eliot and Lori Rebuild the Tack Room

Mor4e Machines . . . A couple of Weeks Back . . .

Shiah, Eliot and I hit the high mountain back country . . . West of Winthrop, up against the Cascades . . .

Workday, Sunday Funday

JW borrowed a bucket lift so I could clean up the horse arena ceiling . . .

Stylin' . . .

Stretching . . .

Looking down at partial extension . . .inside arena . . .

The stuff I'm cutting . . .

And trimming a dead limb while I'm up here . . .

Lori keeps the fire going . . .

SATURDAYS

SATURDAYS

 

Nowadays Saturday is

My day of rest and repose

I read in a magazine

That Saturday should be

Your action day to gather roses

And ride bikes and climb a tree

What happened to me

 

CHAZ

Chaz Adds: I'm OK

I'd like to clear the records for all
I just have an active fantasy life which shades my vision of reality

Chaz Sez: In the Night

In the night full of fright

My mother came to me 

And turned on my light 

She pulled back the curtain 

And revealed the swelling sea 

She then turned to me 

And said don't be so concerned 

With losing so many things 

You will win so many more 

Just don't lose yourself or the ring 

Of your heart or the depth of your core 

My father came to me 

In the night full of fright 

And knelt down beside me 

And even though he was 

No longer on this earth to be 

He swore he would watch over me 

My son oh my son 

Gather your courage for these 

Nights of fright will pass if you 

Have the strength to honor your friends 

and defend against the foes 

Adjour adjour adjour 

Allow my weary son 

Passage into the Sleep 

My mother from the swirling sea 

And my father from the darkest of 

Nights strechted their hands like trees 

Over my heart and stayed with love 

Through the night with frights 

Charles 

On the Methow River, First day of Spring, 2011

Spring's insurgence,
shorelines retreat.
Soon there will be
no place to stand.