Well those mojitos put us in a fine party mood and we needed that too, because 999 of the surprises waiting for us were FEATHERS. Not really. But there were lots of feathers. Most notably, in the centerpieces on the table. The centerpieces rose from the middle of the table as a opeened umbrella would, tall and slim then exploding into a shower of burgundy, gold, orange, deep-hued roses. And coming up the middle, reaching for flight in the sky were...wait for it...feathers. Pheasant feathers in fact. Hanging off the free-standing umbrella of flowers were little votive candles that twinkled like the stars, all over the room. Magic! They were sublime creations of fantasy, hope and drama that stood watch over a party that was wrapped and twined with laughter and tears. The last time I cried so much in one day was the day my mother died. The last time I laughed so much in one day was the last time all the Mueller Girls were together.

Okay, about the dress: it was freaking unreal. A silk sheath with a slight contrasting silk belt with a beautiful crystal buckle. The dress was form fighting to right above the knee, where it fell into a fabulous skirt, like a flamenco dancer. Of course, covered buttons ran the length of the sheath in the back. This was one serious dress. Vera Wang? Our Girl had her hair done up, back, smooth, to right above her neck, where an orderly bun of sorts served to anchor her veil, which fell from the middle back of her head. Words cannot describe. One of the best attributes of the dress was that it was fit to perfection. It stayed firmly in place all evening and I never saw her tug at it once. I have never, ever seen a bride so beautiful.

The bride's father provided a seminal moment for us all when he rose to give the toast to the bride and groom. When he said, "You are my treasure...." she sobbed and sobbed. We sobbed, too, grateful for all those memories of Russell Elementary, the St. Joe, Sun Valley, Grandma Jo's, and the image of tha little blond spitfire with the infectious laugh. Dad spoke simply, gently, genuinely--a man completely in touch with his feelings on his Treasure's wedding day. It was deeply powerful as much had been that day and this latest surge of stem cell emotion completely drained us. For the moment. Us Mueller Girls got it back when it was time to dance, though. Good thing we have each other.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

They had a cocktail party right after the wedding in the same courtyard as the wedding. The sun was going down but it was still hot and bright and they served mojitos. O my! Rum, sprite and sour, powdered sugar and lots and lots of fresh mint. These things are Cuban and unbelievable. The wedding party used this occasion to excuse themselves and picture away the time we spent sipping and nibbling wonderful little things like smoked salmon and caviar. It was great to visit with all the peeps afoot as they had come from Canada, Pittsburgh, Carolina, Florida, SoCal, North Idaho, Puget Sound and Oregon. Soon it was dusk and as the candles were being lit, a handsome man appeared in the courtyard, playing the most beautiful accordian music. As the evening deepened, we followed the accordian player in a procession to dinner, where 1001 surprises lay waiting....

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Lotta folks have caught up with me, saying, Whoa Whoa Whoa JBelle! Yer goin' way too fast! Back up, start at the beginning and don't leave a thing out! What happened at the wedding?! Well, folks, I'll tell ya; here's what happened:

It was a hot and sunny afternoon and we all gathered in the courtyard of this very posh hotel to witness the wedding vows between our MVP Mueller Girl and her very hott Timothy I, who used to be Timothy II but got sent up to the Bigs on November 12, 2005. Anyway, a couple of months ago, we received a wedding invitation that was BROWN. True story. I started to think to myself, I sure am glad my mother is not around to see this buuut, as the whole thing was pretty well done I thought, well okay, we'll see. The invite had a FEATHER on it! So we arrive at this courtyard, done up to emulate the sanctuary of a church (couldn't fool JBelle,though, it was a hotel), and strewn down the aisle in the most delicate of manner were feathers. uh huh. FEATHERS. The usher hands me the program and on the cover it says,

"It takes a special moment, a sacred space, to see the beauty of the feather, and if you have paused long enough to notice, and stopped long enough to pick it up, you can be assured you are on the right path. "

The plot begins to thicken. The bridesmaids come down the aisle in brown silk dresses, much like the prom dresses of the mid '60s; definitely a Jackie Kennedy/Oleg Cassini look. Their bouquets were the deep ruby, gold, orange of fall, but with nice, rich, garnet brown feathers. True! Then the bride comes down the aisle and the air, all of it, is sucked out of the courtyard at that very moment, with the vortex of this nuclear force right at Our Girl's feet. She was a vision. No exaggeration. No hyperbole. No shit. She was a vision. She floated down the aisle, deeply happy on her father's arm and he: serenely peaceful in turning her over and becoming Timothy II. What a way to retire. We all cried for the second time.

Well into the ceremony, a prayer of remembrance was issued for the people now gone who wait for us, including my parents. Never saw it coming. Tears for the third time. But we were just getting started.

There were, to be honest, some highly confusing moments that made me wonder if times have changed, if we have all gotten older, if we have mellowed? Take for instance, the end of the cermony, where the bride and groom release those doves into the azure of the Arizona sky. All those rednecks from North Idaho and not one 12 gauge shotgun comes out? Fifteen years ago, them birds never wudda made it.

Can you really take the North Idahoans out of the woods?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Well, the Mueller girls got together this weekend. Met up in the desert, we did, to marry off one of our finest. I can tell you, objectively, that there never was a more beautiful nor happy bride. We Mueller girls are loud and proud and fabulous but this weekend belonged to our Beloved Brandi, who strutted around her reception, arms thrown wide out, proclaiming, "It's All About Me!" We Mueller girls left standing looked at each other and said, "Damn straight."


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

One Thing I Like Thinking About Dept: no matter how cold and dark the days, when daylight in upon us, about 4 am, the sky glimmers pink above the pine trees.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The "Kan EWA

The venue has been set: Portland, Oregon. The event: Thanksgiving, featuring the kick off of The Godfather Holiday Film Festival.

The Chows say it's gets damned wet down there but they are happy to make the trip as they want to walk the legs off their Uncle Jonny, known elsewhere as The Christ Child. They also say their Auntie Angela is quite generous with the turkey skin and couldn't give a rip about their hips, their cholesterol, or their teeth. They love Auntie Angela. Cleo says he is looking forward to meeting Buster Harrison, although he doubts they can spend much time together, as there is no way Buster can really keep up with The Chow Nation. Cle says Buster's a candy-ass daddy's boy who doesn't have a clue. And he says Buster's daddy is a candy-ass, too. The other Chows totally agreed.

The People's Choice entry into the film festival is now being deliberated; you can vote, too, by just commenting what you think the appropriate movie would be for the film festival. The film festival, now ten years old, features all three parts of The Godfather Triology. The festival runs from when people come home for Christmas until they leave again and features The Godfather every year. It's only been lately that the festival has started at Thanksgiving; with the early beginning, we now have been able to add a few movies each year. I just hope we get some good nominations this year and we don't have to watch that damn Sound of Music again. I don't happen to be among those who think it's the greatest story ever to float over the big screen. I much prefer Top Gun. That Goose is a cut up! I also like My Fair Lady--Rex Harrison, *two sets of eyebrow raises*. One of my newer faves along with Billy Elliott is Finding Forrester. That guy I sleep with on a regular basis says he going to nominate American Treasure. I can live with that. Without Pacino or DeNiro or Andy Garcia, it offers Cage and Voight: ecclectic but interesting, a off-beat combination yet pleasing to the palate.

As for the menu, it'll be a variety of least effort/best taste offerings that are back by popular acclaim. We're not going to try anything new this year. And we're not going with Grandma Jo's Eternal Pleasers that take 3 weeks to produce and 2 years off your life to do so. This is so we can concentrate the off-film-viewing time to two things: dominoes and running around. Oh, the great American holidays: 4th of July and Thanksgiving. When you can be yourself and that puts you at your very best.
~for my family, in anticipation


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Autumn

When
"the landscape yields....We go to sleep with the peach in our hands and wake with the stone, but the stone is the pledge of summers to come..." Emily Dickinson

When
"cider light opens the deepening woods" Phillip Booth

When
the rains and the snow begin in the Pacific Northwest

When
"times in the morning early
when it rained and the long gray
buildings came forward from darkness
offering their windows for light " William Stafford


~with thanks to Brian Doyle
PORTLAND Magazine



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

All Souls' Day. I had planned to go the Cathedral tonight to hear the Gonzaga Choir sing Requiem Mass. I had planned to write about my Aunt Winnifred, Winnifred Ames RN, and how she inspired me. I had planned to say a rosary in honor of Anthony. I had planned to reserve this day to think about people who were genuinely special to me and to do only really special, indulgent things like treat myself to Mass in the middle of the week.

I read this morning that 5 children were killed on Highway 395, riding with their father to meet their mother. The other motorist involved crossed the center line, collided with the pick up full of family, and killed all the children, causing the father to be air lifted to Sacred Heart where he is in critical condition. Alcohol was not a factor. And so I start the day instead, in tears and grief for those poor parents, facing a new life without their lifeblood.

I cry for them, for me, for my Aunt Winnifred, for Mike and Brandi, for all the people who step up daily to help people and families battle against the Great Separation of Death. Brandi, who facilitates lung transplants, primarily for victims of Cystic Fibrosis. Mike, who facilites the in-home care of lung transplant patients, most of whom are pediatric. Aunt Winnifred, a career Red Cross nurse, when women did not work outside the home even though they were educated. For this darling family, just living an ordinary day, only to have it be the abrupt ending to a beautifully framed beginning. I cry for all the unfinished songs, half-eaten cakes, half-formed wishes, interrupted ambitions, and thwarted attempts. I cry for the mothers and fathers whose memories torture and comfort them at the same time. I cry from pain, from joy, of living and loving and staying open to all the possibilites. I cry in thanksgiving and in shame--for my own exquisitely beautiful family, knowing fully that I am inadequate and not worthy.

And try as I might, I can't make any more sense of it than that. I can't understand why all five of the children of hard-working, loving parents can't stay for a little longer. I can't understand the logic of children suffering from hideous medical malfunctions. I can't begin to understand the bravery of the relief workers worldwide, who truly make a difference, when the rest of us just talk about it. Is this the sorrowful mystery of life? The agony, the ectasy? The pain, the joy? The hope, the sorrow? The full range of motion that Anthony pursues day after day? This is it?

So I offer a prayer, the only thing that someone like me can bring; hoping that tomorrow will be warm again and soon, not too soon, we will all be together again.




"The challenge for people of faith is to be fully present in the moment and not despair." --The Reverend Bishop William Skylstad, D.D.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Well, the party is a bit of a blur now. Met alot of nice people, washed and dried about 500 serving bowls, platters, plates, pans and pitchers. One thing I remember is requests, then pleas, for recipes. Guess I'll post 'em one day soon. I clearly remember Mike the Bike Stud and his gorgeous bride, very happy, chatting, laughing and really enjoying their friends. They were everywhere at once and were utterly lathered in the love and regard of all. For me, that was like a favorite birthday present. That and eveyone eating like pigs. It was quite a night because we had between 75-100 trick or treaters. ! People were posing their kids in the graveyard and photoing them. ! (This graveyard has been an annual event for the better part of 10 years; what's the big deal now?)

Best costumes: this is tough. The costumes were smokin'. I would say...Charlie Chaplin. The guy was awesome. And Cynthia the witch. Long silky purple hair? Can ya argue with that?? Best hor d'eurve: Garlic/Pesto/Sun Dried Tomato torte. Favorite person: Seamus the bartender! Favorite gift to Mike the Bike Stud: jar labeled 50 reasons why you are my friend containing 50 really sweet personal observations (sigh) Best Realization: we are now old enough to have the oldest child of among us tend bar for us (long sigh) Best Surprise: the enormous pumpkin, carved "Happy 50th Annual Glock-o-ween!" sitting on the front porch (I thought, I am SO damn tired. I don't even remember buying that pumpkin. That's because I didn't buy it. Mike the Bike Stud brought it from his work, where some highly talented co-worker presented it to him. It was so cool!) Best these times are a-changin': not one pumpkin in the graveyard was taken and smashed on the road.

It's now one for the books.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I've been asked to flesh out (heh heh) a few more details of the graveyard at Bellemaison. Actually, this time of year, there are two. We have the one, our really special place, The Pet Cemetery. It sits at the bottom of the big rock and near the Angel That Beckons. Here rests the best members of our family: Damon, Junior, JC, Diego, Stanley the Jewish Teddy Bear Hamster and that archangel of seraphic proportion, The Puss. The Pet Cemetery is a visit to our youth, our age of innocence, our time of thinking that Everything was simple. The lions that guard Pope Leo's tomb guard our beloved here, too, courtesy of The Museum Store and we are always comforted knowing that we valued these relationships beyond everything except each other. A walk in the garden is never a real walk without pausing at The Pet Cemetery with a prayer of thanks and a promise to be better. Such small creatures, such powerful consolation.

Then there's the other graveyard that goes up just this time of year for a few brief days. It represents those spoken unspoken words and feelings, those of our evil twin brothers and sisters. Yes, the expressions of idle time and fervant ambitions toward the last word spring to life (oh, I am cracking myself up here) close to Halloween each year.






Take for instance, this one that adorns the dollar sign:
"Joseph of XXXXX
His need was greed
Too late he see'd
The error of his ways"




Then there in the simple one that says much: "I.H. a female dog" I believe that was a soccer competitor from a rival high school that inspired our sweet little girl to such generosity.








But you can also see who is loved and admired in this family. This to a former coach of that same little girl, who still fiercely loves a good soccer game:
"Sir Eddy Birrer
We All Die?
We Shall All Die
All Die Shall We
Die All We Shall
He was fond of play of all kind
Soccer, word, keen of mind
Alas! he succumbed! Oh why!
The poor bloke choked on a fry"











Another coach merited this:

"I passed I kicked I shot I scored

I was not soft I tackled hard

But the whistle blew the crowd roared

Death issued a Red Card

Brian Meier

1995"

It was a few trips to the UK that inspired the boys and girl that used to live here to reenact their fascination with Celtic gravestones to Halloween immortality at Bellemaison and even the parents got their shot in on year, a comment on life in the new millenium:





















JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Spicy Enchiladas with Pumpkin Sauce

2 cups cooked, skinned, diced chicken

1/2 cup chopped sweet onion

sea salt and lemon pepper

15 ounces pumpkin puree

4 garlic cloves, peeled

1 jalapeno chile, quartered (remove ribs and seeds for less heat)

1 teaspoon chili powder

8 corn tortillas

1 1/2 cups grated sharp white cheddar

Preheat over to 425 degrees. In a medium bowl, combine chicken and sweet onions. Season generously with salt and pepper. Set aside.

In a blender, puree pumpkin, garlic, jalapeno, chili powder 2 1/2 cups waters, 2 teaspoons salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper until smooth--keeping an eye on the blender top as the blender will be quite full). Pour 1 cup of sauce inthe bottom of an 8-inch square baking dish.

Flash fly tortillas in the scantest of oil and lay flat on work surface. Mound chicken mixture on half of each tortilla, dividing evenly. Roll up tortillas and place, seam side down, in baking dish.

Pour remaining sauce on top; sprinkle with cheese. Place dish on baking sheet and bake until cheese is golden and sauce is bubbling, half hour or so. Let cool 5 minutes before serving.

I throw in tiny pieces of spice to the pumpkin--used allspice, nutmeg and some cinnamon last night--not so much as to overpower the flavor of the chicken/garlic/thyme but to compliment the pumpkin, creating a nice contrast between the pumpkin/chicken thing. Worked well.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Well, the holiday festivities are coming along nicely. The cemetery is up; the pumpkins are carved. My friend Jeanine brought over her Brian and his Bobbie and batted clean up on the pumpkin carving. They created an awesome, fearsome lot. We only did 40 this year but it looks pretty frightening nonetheless. The draw back is that while it's cold it's not too wet so there have been lots of cars at the end of the road here, slowing down to gawk, THEN realizing turning around is going to be problematic as this is the end of the road and THEN making really badly executed u-turns. If I didn't have Mike the Bike Stud's Halloweenie 50 to tend to, I would get a chair, sit down at the curb with the Chow Nation at my side and glare as they tried to sneak back by. It occurs to me, not too gently, that much of what we do here at Bellemaison is for us, not for the viewing public. When we get to the point where we want to entertain the folks that live around here and their friends, we'll put up a booth and charge 'em. They can look around all they want then. Until that time comes, I remain more than a little self-conscious that there would be things to look at here that people would actually drive over for and a little bit cranky that they are foolish enough to do so. But it would be the first time that I was cranky with entertaining gig pending. *eyes rolling*

Went with deep navy blue taffeta for the dining room table. Had a silver jack o'lantern that I picked up in Noo York Citty when I was there in September that I put a navy blue candle in and then flanked with those purpley, magentaey, green hydrangeas that are still in the garden. Then created a cloud or mists around the whole thing with that really, fine meshy fabric, they call it tulle apparently, that makes it all like being outside on Halloween evening. It's got sparkles in it and last night, you couldn't see the fabric at all, just the twinkles and the depth of the folds and swirls of the fabric. Should work out just fine. It's a trick: they should think, am I in, or am I out?

My friend Rebecca came and cooked up a storm in the kitchen. I think that's her real calling. She is a goal-oriented, action plan girl. And she loved all that cheese I bought at Costco, already shredded.

The Chows think every bit of this is overrated. They think that Ball is still the only decent pursuit a good weekend should hold and that Halloween, come to think of it, is much too frightful to be roaming the streets. They said they are going to go to bed early and wait for all the fools in the air to dry up. Apparently there's a lot of crankiness going around Bellemaison right now.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

People have been calling and writing and saying "JBelle! JBelle! What ARE ya going to have to eat at the Howloweenie 50?" Well, folks, I'll tell ya. Silvie and I finalized the menu just tonight and if Dorothy and Cleo can get to the store and back with all the stuff, here's what we're gonna do:

Howloweenie 50

Menu

Cheese Smokies
Honey Wings with Horseradish Whipped Cream
Hot Wings with Buttermilk Dressing
Chicken Empanadas with Salsa and Sour Cream
Chicken-Pecan Bites with Curry Dipping Sauce
Jeanine's Hot Sausage Balls with Chutney

Jack o'Lantern Cheese Ball with Severed Fingers
Queso Blanco with Ghost Dippers
Hot Onion Dip with corn chips
Pesto Sun-Dried Tomato Torte with assorted crackers

Savory Shortbread
Wasabi

Magnolia Chocolate Cupcakes White Chocolate Frosting
Magnolia White Cupcakes Dark Chocolate Frosting
Memphis Spice Cupcakes Caramel Frosting

Hot Mulled Wine
Bloody Marys


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Dick's Phreaking Phenomenal Phairchild Bloody Marys

1 Can V-8 juice

2 lemons

4 drops tabasco

2 dozen shakes celery salt

1/3 cup worchestershire sauce

Pour into half - gallon bottle and fill to top with vodka. Shake well and refrigerate.

Cleo is not having such good luck with his Eldridge Cleaver costume. I said, "Geez, Cle, it's a 60's thing. Like so much else, you hadda be there."

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Got a call on the land line about who gets print in Notes from The 'Kan EWA and how. Seems some of my friends in Noo York Citty are questioning exactly how the Chows get this whole thing together and put it out here. hmmmph. Be the first time that New Yorkers offered advice on how things should be and how folks should act, wouldn't it?

I think Cleo calls a lot of the shots and Silvie does alot of the work. She likes to get her agenda right up front, you know. Even though they are a stellar group, fact is, my friends from Noo York may not have paid the attention to The Chow Nation that they need to grab headlines and print inches. Or whatever the hell they call it, there in Noo York Citty, the publishing capital of the world. Nevertheless, goes without saying that I loves 'em, those pals of mine in NYC. They are my folks and they best be studying hard. 'Cause I'm coming back to town soon and then, the partying starts....

~for the Archangel Gabriel xxoo

JBelle
Bellemaison
The "Kan EWA

The garden is preparing for the new year. I wish I was as good at change as my garden is. Effortlessly, the shrubs and plants begin to turn yellow and gold and as I let hips form, all seems so well with the world in Bellemaison. The bright, clear, still light turns the remaining leaves and petals translucent and the birds gangrush the euchinea, dogwood, and magnolia for one last unfettered feed before it's time to go. Soon the roses will sport high dirt collars, then with the snow, will be entombed until after St. Patrick's Day, snowy mounds holding the secrets of next summer. The daylillies have already lost their long mangy yellow manes to the Felcos and now sport the good sense layers of pine needles. They hydrangeas wave in the wind magenta and green, at a loss for leaves. The lavendar has been buzzed, with the gathered up remains earmarked for little Christmas gift-projects that will unfold around the kitchen table when the winter winds howl and swirl through the memories, ambitions, plans and consolation that is Bellemaison. The Chows' coat is thick and lush at their skin and my bike comes in under the porch for additional protection. It's now here again, that change that begins the moment you get that very first tooth.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Gosh, there' s just so much to do! Club Chow is awash with all the Halloween goings on and preparations. The Chows have been pouring over Martha Stewart, Williams Sonoma, and Emeril both in print and online for the latest in chic Halloweenings and now that they've cornered the market on resources, they're down to arguing over exactly how it's all going to play out at Bellemaison. But they have figured out their costumes. It's all set: Pete is going to be a pirate, Silvie a mermaid, Dorothy a red devil and Cleo, well, Cle has decided to go as Eldrige Cleaver. He's a got a real challenge as Eldrige had curly hair but Cle says he can pull it off. I have decided to pretty much stay in character so I will be a witch. Don't I just wish I had black hair. Thank god I do have the warts.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

I rise earlier and earlier in these years. I don't know why. Age, sadness, a willingness to epiphany. Something is opening in me, some new eye. I talk aless and listen more. Stories wash over me all day like tides. I walk through the bright wet streets and every moment a story comes to me, people hold them out to me like sweet children, and I hold them squirmimg and holy in my arms, and they enter my heart for awhile, and season and salt and sweeten that old engine and teach me humility and mercy, the only lessons that matter, the language I most wish to learn; a tongue best spoken wordlessly, with your hands clasped in prayer and your heart as naked as a baby.

--Brian Doyle
PORTLAND Magazine
Spring 2005

Turns out The Big Halloweenie Hisself, Mike the Bike Stud, turns 50 on Halloween Night. We're going to have the party here at Bellemaison which means I have to get the beer cans and apple cores out of the front room.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The "Kan EWA

There was a mighty ruckus and commotion out at Club Chow this morning; grabbed my camera and walked out there just in time to hear Pete giving some guy a piece of his mind. Pete was righteously cheesed. Turns out the guy was hired by the neighbors next door to decorate the house and shrubs with Christmas lights. On October 19? Now the folks who have the place next door, nice people, WSU graduates, Presbyterians, hardly ever irritate me at all. But here's my question this morning: can ya really claim to be a Christian person if yer hanging lights on yer place 67 days before Christmas??


Jbelle
Bellemaison
The "Kan EWA

To Autumn
by John Keats

Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run.

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowes for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless ona granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with fumes of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

My friend Tisa stopped by today with a little help with those pesky details of life that nobody wants to think about. T always was the most organized among us and I appreciate her catching up with me. Good to know somebody's got my back.

New Living Will Form

I, __________________________, being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it.If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for:(please initial all that apply)


_________a Bloody Mary,
_________a margarita,
_________a beer,
_________a steak,
_________ lobster or crab legs,
________ the remote control,
________ a bowl of ice cream,
________ a plate of enchiladas,
_______ a martini,
_______ some bar-b-q,
_______sex,


it should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed personal and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes and call it a day.Under no circumstances shall the members of the Legislature enact a special law to keep me on life-support machinery. It is my wish that these boneheads mind their own damn business, and pay attention instead to the future of the millions of Americans who aren't in a permanent coma.

Signature:___________________________
Date: ___________________________
Witness: __________________________e.


Although she claims to be from Virginia, I really think T is from North Idaho.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Absence

Talking to the children's absence, you imagine them
canoeing or sitting before a fire, sparks

arcing like imitation stars. There's so much to say,
even in the unrelenting heat, the sun

balanced overhead while you collect facts for them
as if they can hear you: how the barracuda's jaw

can spread so wide then thrash and rip into anything,
how bees can't find their hive if it's moved

more than a few inches, how your own house settles
fraction by fraction into clay and river stone,

and dust is alive though you sweep it into piles
meaning the desert is a guest in the corner

of your room, meaning your feet keep stirring clouds
of creatures and you pass over animal and plant

and never feel the burden, or do feel the burden and bend
like a sapling, like a heavy flower brushing

the ground. This is what separation trains you for.
You as an envelope releasing them, you ripping

the cord, you with your stains on them, the ones
you need ten hundred mirrors

to see. The old goddess of tether and straw, the one
who makes you to lie down, to be crushed

till you come out oil of fish, oil of granite, come out
ash and live in the fine grit under their feet,

who licked you alive and left the taste in your own mouth,
your own love: sand, ground tooth, spider,

sawdust, hair, and adoration turned to powder,
and absence teaching its teaching and all

you cannot say, you'll never say, swallowed, a coating
inside lungs and all passageways, all orifices being

the openings of absence, and what you want to say turns
to air, but you try your prayer once more: old goddess

of rain, wash us with your silent tongue as if
we were always being born, just born, slick

and stunned, with our legs kicking

Anne Marie Macari
Gloryland
Alice James Books

Top 10 Things About Living in The 'Kan EWA

10. (Tie)Wapato Tomatoes and Dutch Oven cooking on the St. Joe
9. Biking in North Idaho
8. Huckleberry Peach Pie
7. Seeing 9 area lakes from the top of Mt. Spokane
6. Foster Avenue in Coeur 'd Alene Idaho
5. Apples!
4. Waking up to sweet air
3. Manito Boulevard in October
2. The big new fountain at Riverfront Park
1. All this and soooo much more

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Went over to Bre's place (To Bre Or Not To Bre) and took the food quiz. Turns out I'm French food.

"Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do."

Son of a gun! First time anybody's ever said that 'bout me! :)





JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Chows are really getting sick of the doorbell. They say all this fuss and attention about the Portland Marathon has really screwed up their nap schedule big time. Pete says we do not need any more anythings sent here as support and congratulations; Do' says that you can never be too thin, too rich, or have too many friends. Sylvie says presents are just fine, as long as they are for her. Cleo says, Grandma, you are very lucky.

As usual, Cleo is right on. I am rich, rich, rich.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

As Jimmy Buffet said about tattoos, "Hell yes, it hurts!" The Portland Marathon is now in the books and those ugly rumors about me wanting to quit FOUR blocks before the finish line are completely scandalous. Also the ones about me yelling to the belly dancers, "Shake it girls! I didn't come all the way up here to have to wave your veil at me!" Yeah and then there's the one about me yelling my blood pressure to the resident standing outside the hospital, followed by a "You know it, Mister!". And when we were smoking by other women my age on our way to the finish line by saying, "That's my daughter ahead of me; she's University of Portland All American." I had just hoped to get out of town before this information became public.

So many people have said, "JBelle! JBelle! yer old as dirt! yer huge! ya have no sense! how did YOU finish the Portland Marathon???" Well, folks, I'll tell ya, it's simple.

With hard work and your guardian angel, dreams do come true. And yes, I did cry at the finish line.

~for God's special angel, Peedy McCarthy

JBelle
Bellemaison
The Kan 'EWA

Heard from my friend Jenny Rose today. She's moving in on the Powers That Be to get herself into nursing school. Chows were particularly excited about this as they know she will be a compassionate, principled health care professional. They prefer to handle most of the thorny issues in their life by sleeping on them as they believe a nap is good for everything but on this matter, the Chows dug up a copy of the Prayer to St. Anthony, who is the patron saint of the poor, and want to dedicate it to The Jen, their kind friend with the sweet touch. They say they are fixed financially, but sometimes they are in need as great as any street dog.

The Chow Nation's Prayer to St. Anthony

O Saint Anthony, Saint of Miracles, Saint of Help. We also have need of your assistance; we have need of this special favor: our friend Jennifer wants to work with really sick kids, healing them, consoling them, helping them. She has been a good friend of ours and speaks for the little ones who have no voice.
Therefore, console us in our present necessity and grant us the help that, with full confidence, we hope for. You won't be sorry, St. Anthony.
We, The Chow Nation, will help you with a miracle for someone else.

~for Jennifer

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Lotta folks have been checking in and saying jBelle, jBelle, where's yer picture? My response to that has always been, I am mainly a figment of your imagination.

okay, okay, I give. Here's a shot with the Christ Child, taken about two weeks ago, guess where?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

As it happened, we ventured over the pass and made it to Missoula to watch The Griz play Homecoming football this weekend. Always an honor to be in The Holy Land. The people there are ranchers, loggers, proud and gentle, quietly thrilled to be educating their children. I trekked up to the M early Saturday morning and reviewed the lay of the land. So much has changed, so much the same. The trees were the same, beautiful in golds, oranges and reds. And of course, the big sky is still magnificent and big. But the new bridges, masonry buildings and housing developments made me wonder what lies beyond--just how far is Montana from Los Angeles these days or Noo York Citty for that matter? Will the people of Montana always show a subborn preference for doing the right thing, for giving the parking garage back, or will they too settle in with Growth and Development, with Going along and Getting along? I was reading some of the maps on the wall at the Shack Cafe, drawn in the early 1800's and loved their glaring omissions and faulty assumptions. Like no Lake Coeur d'Alene. Just what was the source of the clearly marked Spokane River? The imperfections delighted, touched me, as reminders that these United States of ours are works in progress, still, and that there are many drawings left to come. Being far, far removed from my original Jewish ancestry, I find I have a New Year's wish nonetheless: I hope that we never lose our imperfections and that the pride of having a big sky and colorful trees never leads us to the place where that pride overcomes the gentleness in us that craves to learn new and more things, and to educate ourselves in a manner that makes us all want to come back to Homecoming, at least for New Year's.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The Kan 'EWA