Nov12
Posted on Nov 12 by Ruth Davis
I hope you’ve been enjoying the beginnings of fall where you are. Here on the northern California coast, I can feel November is right around the corner. We had some record breaking 75° days a few weeks ago, but now the weather seems to have officially turned. The mornings are gray, with marine layer dampness, and this week, we’ve even had a few days of rain, which, you know, I love. I am really enjoying my new writing class. Each week in our Zoom gathering, we explore a different element of storytelling, then we write for twenty minutes, practicing that element, then share the writing in smaller, break out rooms. At first, I wasn’t sure if I should practice with stories I might tell in my one woman show, or work on my novel, so I was thrilled that the teacher encouraged us to choose a scene from the previous twenty four hours instead of something we’re working on. This has turned the exercise into a lighter, more curious exploration of the element without any end game or emotional...
Sep24
Posted on Sep 24 by Ruth Davis
Fall has arrived on the Northern California coast. The mornings are damp from the overnight fog, the wild blackberries are ripening on the brambles, and large flocks of migrating shorebirds are passing through, feasting in the mudflats one day and gone the next.This is my favorite time of the year, when it’s cool enough to wear long sleeves, but not cold enough for a jacket. I love the moody skies reflected in the marsh, the pops of reds and oranges in the trees along LK Wood Boulevard, and the honking Canada Geese flying overhead on their way to warmer weather.Fall is also a time for harvesting, for celebrating the bounty of all that we’ve planted, and for remembering what really matters. So often we rush through everything, so focused on “done and next” that we don’t pause to celebrate, to honor, to step back and really recognize all of the big and small things we’ve experienced along the way. We don’t applaud our hard work, revel in the surprises that appeared, or tender ourselves for the things that didn’t...
Sep18
Posted on Sep 18 by Ruth Davis
I didn’t participate in Tashlich, the Jewish New Year tradition of tossing bread crumbs into a body of moving water to symbolize releasing your transgressions from the year. I realized that, while I have always enjoyed this physical ritual of letting go, I no longer needed it. I hold no grievances or grudges or regrets because I practice making amends and letting go every day. And I didn’t know any of the people who would be there, so it wasn’t about connecting with community, either. So I didn’t go. It was a little sad, not to feel the pull to participate, but there was no guilt or regret. Instead I felt I was honoring the letting go of something that I once loved and no longer resonated with. I’ve been practicing this kind of letting go a lot these past two years. I’m learning that, just because I liked something once, doesn’t mean I have to keep liking it forever. I can give myself permission to walk away from people, classes, passions, anything that no longer serves me, without...
Sep01
Posted on Sep 1 by Ruth Davis
BODIES OF WATER by Ruth Davis Two Turns of a Somersault I was friends with Ilene Miller the summer after third grade because she had a swimming pool in her backyard. It was an above ground Doughboy, three feet deep with blue vinyl sides and white vertical ribs. We’d perch on the narrow, plastic ledge, then tumbletuck into the water, racing from one side of the pool to the other. Ilene usually won because she could turn around underwater. Ilene and I invented Hiney Boppers. We’d hold hands and, on the count of three, jump up, spring to the bottom, then push off the soles of each other’s feet into backward somersaults. In a perfect Hiney Bopper, our butts would meet and bop against each other on the way around. Ilene’s neighbor, Jill taught us how to do handstands in the pool, and we spent whole afternoons upside down, our legs spoking out of the water, judging whose stayed the straightest, the longest. We dove for pennies and had underwater contests, counting one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand to see who could hold...
Jul11
Posted on Jul 11 by Ruth Davis
Ah, summer….when the days are long and stretched out in light and heat and possibilities. For many of us, summer was the best thing about being a kid. There was no school, you could play all day, and go out again after dinner because it was still light out. Summer offered an escape where you could disappear into a book, or the swimming pool, or a favorite hiding place, and just be with your own imagination for a while. Often, thinking about our childhood summers can spark a dream, or remind us of something we’ve forgotten we loved. I grew up on Long Island, east of New York City, in a suburban wonderland of green lawns and good schools, and a mix of Jewish and Catholic families. Summer was weekly visits to the library, and staying up late with Beezus and Ramona, and Encyclopedia Brown. Summer was lying on the sweet, grassy slope in our front yard, imagining shapes in the clouds. Summer was playing kickball with the neighbor kids in the school yard across the street until dark. I was the youngest, and always had to...
Jul06
Posted on Jul 6 by Ruth Davis
I hope your summer is off to a light and easy, relaxing start. Here on the northern California coast, the mornings are cool with blue skies, and the afternoons are sunny and breezy, sometimes full on windy. But it hasn’t stop me from riding. Last Sunday I parked at the clinic and rode the bike trail through town to the marsh, then continued along the coastal trail. The wind was pretty strong along the water, especially on the way back, but I was singing as I pedaled, “I’m riding in the breeze, past the swaying trees, and it’s eeeeease–y on my eeeee-bike.” And I wasn’t even in my highest pedal assist gear. I am so loving my volunteer gig, stewarding in the Redwood trees for two hours, once a week. I get to the Sequoia Park Zoo a few minutes before it opens at ten, so that, even after signing in and getting my Sky Walk Steward gear, I have at least fifteen minutes alone in the trees before any visitors show up. I walk past the flamingos and the bear...
