Parkinson's Straight from the Horse's Mouth

Welcome to the blog of Barbara Waters. Experience my personal up's and down's in this new cycle of becoming a Parkinsonian. All is not doom and gloom! Join me on this adventure within and without.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

September Song

September is "My Month." Good things happen to me then. I found Taos in 1968 on September 24. Two days later on my birthday I found a teaching job here. A year later in September I found "La Isla," as Taos Indians long ago called the fifteen wooded acres where I now live 8,000 feet high at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Seated atop the closed aluminum gate in front of Frank Waters' property, I heard the golden aspens murmur, "Some day you will be the steward of this land." One year later I found Frank Waters. And we are still here, although Frank's energy has been transformed since June 3, 1995. As his memorial boulder promises, "We Will Meet Again As Equal Parts Of One Great Life."

After all these years, September is still gold with sunflowers and purple with wild asters under a cobalt sky. Its peace and contentment fill me with equanimity about my August news. I do not feel "optimistic" about having Parkinson's, as Michael Fox claims to feel. He is writing a book about optimism. Fox is too young, and I am too old. I am satisfied to settle for equanimity, seasoned with peace and contentment.

Living in an old adobe house has a lot to do with my sanguine frame of mind. A visitor to a friend's old adobe recently caressed its walls with her hands and said, "It's like being in a convent."

"A convent?" said my friend, picturing a cold, sterile prison.

"These walls radiate peace," replied her visitor.

At La Isla the whispering aspens echo, "This entire golden acreage radiates peaccce. Treasssure it. Peaccce be with you."