Judy's chickens who ran away waiting on her back porch to get back in. The one in front is Isabelle or Izzy, also called Rogue One, an expert escapist even with her wings clipped. *** The Late Years Seventeen February 24, 2019 Hardly anything dismays a daffodil. Crowds of them are shining in my gardens, some stalks bent so the blooms touch the ground, others are as upright and cheerful as usual. It has rained for days, the ground soggy, mud on our shoes and on the dogs’ feet; the hens wet, their wings unfluffed. They gather at the top of their “room” to watch birds or dogs or any entertainment that keeps them dry. I read old diaries and think about my life. Could it be that in my eighties I still possess innocence of heart? I never did try for more than who I am, what I was. I fought and got labeled a trouble-maker. Some few saw deeper, saw the reality behind the laughter and the silences. Who else would I be? The daffodils do it every year, despite weeds and other debris in their near neighborhood,
Photo of Bald Eagle near Jordan Lake Dam by Doc. Ellen, DVM *** The Late Years Sixteen, February 17, 2019
You are the flower of my aging heart, always there, in person or by email. I called you my support system. More than that. Like you see into Wag’s soul, quiet and reclusive though she is, and into the hearts of the eagles that keep an eye on you while you check on their precious nests and even attend your public talks on eagle lore, you see into mine. Yes, despite my suffering when his love claimed mine, and yet so much we had to let go, you understand my contentment nearly thirty years later, when our story will take its destined place in the history of our two warring cultures. I said, “I’m so glad I found you in my older years, and you echoed the thought. Love becomes eternal in such moments. Years aren’t necessary. Certain instants in a long life when time stands still are all we need.
This is a view of the Black River in the Taiga (wild forest) in the Mezha District of the state of Kostroma, where I was taken in 1992 to see the area of Mikhail Bazankov's rodina or birth place. *** The Late Years FifteenFebruary 10, 2019 This week I proofed the first long chapter of my love story. He’s gone. I’m alive. His sons and his wife live. I live, to tell our story, our history. At times we wanted to forget, to escape our love. We tried and failed. It plunged us too deep, well below consciousness, where the Muse dwells, and the inmost truth of our being. Later this week, the world will know all the details. Maybe some of the hate will subside. What need is war and making souls into enemies? We got past all that at the end of the twentieth century. Now we have to relearn it. I lost him, but the words still live. Those movements thirty years ago that taught us the permanence of love when soul is drawn to soul. That won’t disappear even when I die, but I have some years yet, and three more books to put out into the world. We ached. We rebelled. We hurt each other, but we couldn’t let go. We didn’t. Our story, our history now rests like those suffering ancients did
in the stars. *** Baba Summer Part One will be published on February 16, 2019. This is the first of four memoirs about my experiences in the 90s in writer exchanges getting to know Russian people. I knew that Adelaide Books of New York City was to publish it this year, but I learned only earlier this week that it was to come out February 16, 2019. That’s a week away, folks. It might be a couple of weeks before I get the books I’ve ordered, but feel free to send in checks now for a signed copy. Paper: ISBN-13:968-1-949680-74-9 $22.30, with tax, $24. With postage: $26 from Judy. E-book, ISBN-10: 1949180-74-3. $9.77. You can also buy it from the Adelaide Books website, and see some comments on my writing from Susan Broili. http://adelaidebooks.org/baba_summer.html
Baba Summer, Part One (520 pages) is a memoir by writer Judy Hogan of her first visit in August 1990 to Soviet Russia as part of a Durham, NC Sister Cities Writing Exchange with the Writers Organization of Kostroma, a city which had been closed to Americans during the Cold War. In diary, and letters with her new Russian friends, she shares her experience, not only of falling in love with her partner in the exchange, Mikhail Bazankov, but also of many other new bonds she made with Russians: a nationally known painter, a school teacher, a translator and proof-reader at the VAAP copyright agency, and a student of philosophy. Hogan learned to speak, read, and write Russian so as to enhance communication with her new friends. The exchanges and their mutual projects continued through 2001, and Hogan anticipates publishing another three volumes of diary, narrative, letters, and poetry. She names the twelve years of her intensive experience with Russians as the most important event of her eighty-one years. This book begins in August 1990 and ends in June 1992.
My orchid when it was young. *** The Late Years Fourteen February 3, 2019 We met in a Baptist Church. Some of us are church-goers, some of us are not. We had a prayer from Debbie–non-denominational. We introduced ourselves. We were nine, with our two lawyers. They were eight, with their staff and lawyers. The Christian rule is to love your enemies. First, we talked briefly, each of us about our concerns. Then we went over the history of what happened in court over the five years. So far, we’ve both won and lost. So have they. The appeals court said we had to start all over, go back to the beginning, but we all chose mediation. The mediator was kind and respectful, treated us all well. First, he listened to us. Everyone got a chance to speak. Then he took our list to our enemies to see if they could agree to any of our wishes. Meantime we ate a potluck lunch and rested. They’d brought sandwiches and ate in their designated rooms. The mediator returned with three of our wishes granted, all minor, and yet a good sign if our enemies could yield in small ways. We think they don’t want to go back to court. As the afternoon wore on, they never yielded on the big things. Our lawyer proposed having a break of several months, when more information would be available, and they agreed. As the clock moved toward five, we all wanted to leave. We said goodbye and shook hands. If we didn’t exactly love our enemies, we did respect them more than we had before, and
