Society's rules so often dictate my life. (Some of us are pretending to be normal.) If it weren't culturally apropos, my leg hair would grow without fear. I would love to dance in the grocery store. How many times have I restrained myself from hugging a total stranger because they exhibited exceptional eccentric behavior? Wouldn't you like to know?

In my own experience, this cultural pressure extends even more to parenting. All of a sudden, passersby voice a wealth of personal advice. How do they know so much more than me? Some strange lady on the subway says that my child is cold so I better cover her up. At a company party, women I've just met scorn a mother for giving her one and a half year-old a bottle. In their eyes, the kid is too old for such baby nonsense.

Living the middle-class suburban lifestyle has had me rather pinned down. Well, here comes the glory part:

My family has saved our pennies and dimes, sold our worldly possessions (sans a few stuffed suitcases), and we're re-locating to China. Can I get some rules here on how to deal with a two year-old and a young marriage when moving to Asia? Actually, scratch that request. I am thrilled to make up my own rules. Don't get me wrong, I'm reading travel books and parenting books with philosophies combined, but no Chinese lady on a subway is going to tell me anything... at least nothing that I'll understand!

I was taken back to my Evergreen roots with "The Good Body", a poetic dialogue performed by three multiple-personality women. On an intimate stage in a cold room, Olympia screamed back at me, "Don't get too comfortable in your seat. WE are going to explore counter-culture. WE are going to force you to get inside of yourself." And I laughed. I cried. I got MAD. Sad. I wanted to move and heal all the wounds of our sick society. I wanted to be back on Division Street in Olympia screaming with every fiber of my soul "Whose streets? OUR streets!"

It's been a while since I felt that fire...the fire of injustice not only around the globe but in my neighborhood and in my own body. At Evergreen, there were platforms to discuss this "rage against the machine". We went to countless lectures with open dialogue. We gathered at potlucks to bounce around political ideas, to form our ideas into actions. We rallied on the streets.

One of my favorite scenes was the formation of Olympia's underground bike protestors, coined "Critical Mass". One May Day I rode with Critical Mass through downtown Olympia in the hopes of scattering police so our march could proceed uninterrupted. I rode with Critical Mass to feel the chains of my own restrictions break free. I felt like any kid with a good cause and some muscle to back it up...liberated.

I felt that way again tonight. "The Good Body" took me into a world where women are absolute objects, where women's own self-image is perpetuating this mentality. And what can I do now? I don't have Critical Mass to back me up. I don't have a thousand protestors to join in my counter-culture chants. I have one good body with one good mind and one good soul.

A professor at Evergreen taught me the importance of being alone. "Home is a physiological and psychological compound that allows you to be alone without feeling lonely." I can still hear his steady Native American voice sounding in my heart.

A friend at Evergreen taught me a meditation that is most effective when leaning against a tree. (I always preferred the cedars.) First, to begin the meditation...Breath. Become your breath. Then feel your legs reach out and root into the ground. Become the roots. Then feel your arms branch into the sky. Become the branches. Keep growing both ways. Reach infinity through your roots and branches.

In this sense, literally and metaphorically, our actions and our ripples in the pond of life can reach to infinity. I may be one. But I am one good body with one good mind and one good soul.

I'm having an affair. I'm involved...however smaller than me it may be, it has the appeal of being sleek, smooth and black. Last night I alerted my husband that I want out...out of the affair. It's sucking up my life and I spend too much time cuddling on the couch while my daughter vies for my attention. It's not fair to anyone.

Last night between pillows, I whispered to my husband...

"Damn you SONY...this PSP has claimed my LIFE".

This affair hurls me back to freshman year of college when I'd close my eyes for a good night's rest and Tetras blocks would infiltrate. Now Lumines is the culprit. Those blocks shade over people's faces during conversations, and at night I solve block problems while attempted sleep is futile.

Anymore, I force myself to pick up one of three unfinished books. They remain dusty while I consistently clean the PSP screen.

"Sell it," I commanded Aaron. Put it towards that new apple laptop. We only just forked over 1,800 dollars. A drop in the bucket.

He says, "I'll miss it. All the new games are coming out next year. Lumines is the only really good game now."

Great. Just imagine all the other games I'll sneak around with while you're at work.

No decision has been made, but my mind will not falter for my own sanity's sake.

As stated in an earlier entry, I don't want to betray my "jenny of the wood" persona by purchasing a cell phone. Well, Cynthia and I put our heads together and there really is more to the story...

Almost every one in my life stated that it was "necessary" for me to get a cell phone. I'm just a sitting duck, a helpless woman with a baby, a weakling.

All of a sudden the world is telling me that I'm going to need a cell phone because I'll be stuck in the middle of nowhere with a baby with no payphone around and strange looking men surrounding me. Shoot...I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT. I'm starting to get REALLY SCARED. I better never leave the house. In that case, I won't need a cell phone anyway...so I win! ha, ha, ah...

But seriously, last night Cynthia made a wonderful 'sum it all up' statement. "Our society is sold," she said with conviction. "YES!" I cried in excitement. Leave it to Cynthia to tell it like it is. She nailed it. And not only is our society sold, but we are AFRAID. Everyone who attempted to convince me that I needed a cell phone tried to put fear into my life. It was because the baby might be choking in the car down the high way, or the weather conditions will be so bad that l'll have to wait four hours in the car with a freezing baby. And I'm not making this up...people really tried to convince me that these things WILL HAPPEN.

I find it all laughable. Yes, bad things do happen. Yes, I might one day wish I had a cell phone because I'll be inconvenienced. But, some of the jewels in life are learned during the hard trials. My goodness...what if my patience were tested? What if Maeli and I had a four hour conversation about God while we waited for help, and it changed our perspective on life? What if we ended up helping someone when we were in need of help? Let's look at the positive here. Fear and gullibility are tools of only one mastermind and we're not friends.

When I lived in Brandywine wood, I climbed at least a tree a day. The last time I felt a tree's arms beneath my feet I was pregnant and even then Aaron scolded me.

Today was no different. No trees for me, even though I took a hike through a heavily wooded area. The final destination was a pristine swimming hole, not to mention the dazzling waterfall.

I excited in my brother's slide down the waterfall into the clear swimming hole. My adventurous heart leaped at the chance but then another force tugged at me a little stronger. Motherly instinct, my friends...you can't leave home without it because it won't leave you. All I could reason was the safety of Maeli. And for her to be safe means that I must be safe. This is not the Jenny that I used to know. I've shed so many layers and become so much more adult.

On the ride home my brother teased me for not sliding down the waterfall. My reply was, "I have a dependant." It sounds blunt, maybe even harsh. But, self sacrifice is blunt and harsh sometimes.

Everyone has a different picture of heaven. Sometimes I wonder what will or will not be there. The other day I was rocking out to the ultimate rock and rollers, Led Zeppelin, and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd be doing this same thing in the afterlife.

First, why wouldn't Led Zeppelin be allowed in heaven? Does the famous cliche "sex, drugs, and rock n' roll" sum it up? If you ever read up on Led Zeppelin's off stage experiences, you might have a clue as to why they wouldn't be allowed in heaven.

Second, why would they be allowed in heaven? Ahhhh...the synergy...the musical masterpieces of these four men make so many hearts melt. John Bonham keeps the beat, even when he throws his sticks into the crowd and bangs on the kit with his over sized hands. John Paul Jones smooths in the back bass, while Jimmy Page rips the lead guitar until you think you can't take it anymore. It's just that good. And finally, the glue that keeps them all together: Robert Plant. One day I was telling my dad that I couldn't stand some of today's "hip" music because it seemed like band's screamed through the songs. He looked at me with disbelief and said, "What about Led Zeppelin?" True...so very true. Robert Plant wails...but he mimics unrequited love, passion in the loins, regret at the heart of all mankind, and the simplest of loves. He screams with style.

Personally, I hope they will be in the afterlife so that I can rock out to "Bring it on Home". Then again, "The Stairway to Heaven" that Zeppelin built just might end up in vain like the Tower of Babel.

Brandywine wood was a secret haven for Cynthia and I. Chop wood, carry water, and live simply were our mottos. We had a choice whether or not to hook up the already existing phone line at the cabin. The conversation was simple between the two of us. "No," Cynthia said. And I replied, "That's what I thought."

Today, I'm no free bird like my Brandywine days when I didn't tell anyone where I lived and I sure didn't have a way for anyone to get in touch with me.

A few days ago I was reminded about my choice not to have a phone. Aaron asked me to get one. My first reply was "no". Aaron was not surprised but since then he's been trying to convince me to join the rest of the wireless world.

Am I just stubborn?

I am indeed a social person who likes to network. I was that way when I lived in Brandywine. It was a comfort that I could escape from that social reality anytime I wanted. With a cell phone, I don't have that freedom. I will be contactable.

Am I just stubborn?

I don't even know. Maybe married life needs a cell phone. Do I just need to give up my "jenny of the wood" title and get the gadget? I don't know if I'm ready for that because "jenny of the wood" still lives in my heart and I don't know if I can betray that old persona.

I may be far from the forest, but I can find a few parallels...

I remember days when patches of sun would warm certain ferns or mossy spots on the path. Bloated clouds would pretend they were blimps moving across the sky. And I would sit on a dry spot of ground near a slug or two as they held my stare for hours.

I once wrote that I wanted my husband to be like a slug. It sounds ridiculous, sure, but I was certain that slugs were some of the most facinating creatures. They were steady and positively moving forward. They left a glistening past behind them and ahead they were always searching. It was in the searching that I loved them the most. Balancing on a salal leaf with assured fortitude, their eyes never ceased to search for possibilities.

I found a man like that. He's not slippery and I can't use his slime to heal a cut, but he's always looking for more possibilities.

I found this searching in something else the other day. Holding my four week old daughter, I watched her search and search without wavering. Her eyes held a learned gaze and I can't help but sit in my sunny spot in life and awe at her.

I'm still facinated with slugs. I love how they magically dissappear if you take your eyes off of them for just a moment. And I'm sure that one day my daughter will do the same thing.

A colorful poster board sign flapped in the gentle breeze. Zachariah stopped in that cool Washington morning and read:

"PLANT THE SEED
Full Moon Party
Tuesday, August 15th at dusk
In the Evergreen Meadow
Celebrate the Corn Moon
Bring a musical instrument"

Meanwhile Cynthia was boiling a pot of water on the propane stove in her geodesic dome. Afir was outside brushing her teeth when Cynthia called through the open door, "After we stop at the co-op, do you want to visit grandmother tree?"

Afir called back in a singsong voice, "But of course, darling."

Three hours later they were both perched in the arms of a two hundred foot Sequoia. They shared a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, and they each had an apple. Afir looked out into the bay area of Olympia, Washington to observe a pack of crows take flight, one by one, as if it were rehearsed.

She turned to Cynthia and said, "We should make a treat for the party tonight."
"It is the way of it," replied Cynthia as she began to scale down the tree.

Later in the afternoon, Afir plopped down on a pile of firewood comprised of dead splintered branches. It was enough wood to blaze a small fire for at least eight hours. Cynthia gracefully approached the pile with an armful of wood.

Afir said, "We still need some more. I'd like to double this pile so we can keep a bigger fire." Cynthia nodded in approval.

A mile and a half up the wooded path across a street on a basketball court it seemed as if a grasshopper had suddenly turned poetic with it's chirp. But it was simply Zachariah on display with one of his thousand odd noises.

His grasshopper song stopped and he said to Chris, "I saw the full moon sign on campus today."

Chris watched Zachariah begin to shimmy up the basketball pole and pause at the backboard. He called out like a laughing chipmunk and lowered himself head first into the hoop. He slithered through, pulled his feet out, curled up like a ball, and then leaped onto the ground.

After a short pause for breath, Zachariah said, "I can't figure out whether to bring my didgeridoo, my flute, or my drum."

Chris replied, "Bring them all."

The child asked, "What did you go to college for?"
Deep innocent eyes...they searched and seized my attention.
"I went to college to find myself. And look...here I am."
The young one turned away as if hit by blinding sun through a moving windshield.
Beneath her shadow I whispered, "In college I studied writing and art."
The moment lost, her attention drawn away, the world passing by, and I sat still as if time were merely a sparkling sun ray glinting on the path.

Now it seems that most of my moments are like those...too fast to collect the details. Body moving, mind whirling, space enclosing and not the provisions for contemplation. But, this was not always my story. There were months when all I had were night and fire. There is no warmth like that which you create, and there is no light like finding yourself in your own warmth. Did you know that fire heats a man more than once?

When the rain let up, I'd range through the clearcut and pick through the limbs left by loggers. Heaped in piles as high as fifty feet, I'd balance on alder, cedar, and fir to find my heat for those Washington winter nights. There is a trick to carrying a hundred pound log on your shoulder through a mile of deer path. To be a human fulcrum, focus and endurance are required. But, above all, the mind must reject any thought of failure or weakness. Once the mind is mastered the wood bearer begins to carry a log on each shoulder.

All I had was a tomahawk, a mull, and a bow saw. Aside from a good tool, confidence is necessary. Also, a good pair of boots helps when sawing alone. But what is most challenging when sawing logs is finding a sound cadence. Irregularity slows everything. And a good groove will always produce a harmonious sound when the mull slices through like no effort was even needed. Through practice, a keen insight is developed concerning where to hit the grain to make it look effortless. But just like hauling logs on your shoulder, it also takes the power of positive thought. Yes, I can do this and I will do this.

After I quartered the segmented logs, then I prepared kindling with the driest and straightest of the lot. Be mindful of fingers for once I bandaged up a sliced finger as a result of not pulling away soon enough when the blade came down. Thankfully, it wasn't my finger. Then, in good housekeeping, the wood was properly stacked next to the wood stove.

Again I ask if you know that wood heats a man more than once? It burned my legs and arms as I hauled logs to my cabin. The friction, the rhythmic sawing...it all showed on my back like hot tea beads perspiration on the outside of a cup. I blazed log after log as bark splintered and chips flew. It kept me going just as I kept it going every night sitting alone when all I had were night and fire.

WOODNOTES

4

'T was one of the charmèd days
When the genius of God doth flow;
The wind may alter twenty ways,
A tempest cannot blow;
It may blow north, it still is warm;
Or south, it still is clear;
Or east, it smells like a clover-farm;
Or west, no thunder fear.
The musing peasant, lowly great,
Beside the forest water sate;
The rope-like pine-roots crosswise grown
Composed the network of his throne;
The wide lake, edged with sand and grass,
Was burnished to a floor of glass,
Painted with shadows green and proud
Of the tree and of the cloud.
He was the heart of all the scene;
On him the sun looked more serene;
To hill and cloud his face was known,—
It seemed the likeness of their own;
They knew by secret sympathy
The public child of earth and sky.
'You ask,' he said,'what guide
Me through trackless thickets led,
Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and wide.
I found the water's bed.
The watercourses were my guide;
I travelled grateful by their side,
Or through their channel dry;
They led me through the thicket damp,
Through brake and fern, the beavers' camp,
Through beds of granite cut my road,
And their resistless friendship showed.
The falling waters led me,
The foodful waters fed me,
And brought me to the lowest land

Unerring to the ocean sand.
The moss upon the forest bark
Was pole-star when the night was dark;
The purple berries in the wood
Supplied me necessary food;
For Nature ever faithful is
To such as trust her faithfulness.
When the forest shall mislead me,
When the night and morning lie,
When sea and land refuse to feed me,
'T will be time enough to die;
Then will yet my mother yield
A pillow in her greenest field,
Nor the June flowers scorn to cover
The clay of their departed lover.'

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. "Woodnotes" Poem, (Boston: Monroe, 1847)