It's Deep in the Bones

I joked apologetically about the paper work at the kitchen table of the transitional shelter. A closely cropped blond tipped person sat across the table. I had heard about C from another client and the outreach worker said “she thinks that she is a black man“. It was considered a delusion and I thought well that doesn’t seem that crazy to me. If you can be trans gendered why not trans racial?

I don’t miss all the paper work of working for an agency, but I do miss the people and the advocacy. I miss the inside of the “not always so fun when you are in it” survival track. I miss the humanity of it all. Even though that does get lost sometimes in the paper work and the posturing. Since the company crashed, I fill my time with groups on the ground and on the net and my favorite pastimes writing and art.

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New to the local Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) Branch, I agreed to help set up last Saturday’s workshop. (Code Pink the women who brought supplies to Gaza via the Egyptian gate is part of WILPF). The workshop was the Beloved Community’s training on White Privilege. I don’t really think that I need a workshop on white privilege, but I was looking forward to playing some of Augusto Boal’s Theater of the Oppressed games and getting to know some of the members better. The workshop facilitated by a multi racial individual focused largely un the more typical contemporary racial injustices and encouraged introspection.

One of my haunting brushes with White Privilege was when I found out that my beloved grandfather lost much of his mother’s Wabanaki culture due to climate of his times and he was forced to “pass“. He told me this when I was very young and he showed me an article about the Penobscot people. It is not even clear if this was his tribe because his half sister has a different story. I try to catch up on this loss by going to pow wows and reading. I like to be positive and hopeful. Times have changed now and it is actually kind of cool to be of native descent. Sometimes when I go to workshops like this or even pow wows. I feel a grief in the deep mists of my soul. Whether it was cool or not I think that I would feel that way. Probably because the look of loss on my grqandfathers face when I asked him to tell me more and he couldn’t. My garandfather who took the time to teach me so many things was never at a loss.

Many people claim native ancestry and like me the lineage was lost by the melding process or on a bad day you might say the “dispersal“. In the 19th century Native children were taken from western tribes and brought east. Some of them had been displaced to the west by manifest destiny in the 17th and 18th century. This is how my partner’s family who was part Blackfoot a northern Plains tribe ended up in Maine. Maybe that is why there was always such a resonance between us. I like to think that even though my grandfather was told to deny his tribal heritage he carried it deep within him and I inherited some of it. If you met him you would believe that too. It emanated in the way he lived his life.

A couple of weeks ago at a Wabanaki festival at Bowdoin College, I met a man Hawk Henries who makes eastern woodland flutes out of beautiful wood and plays them. He is a member of the Chaubunagungamaug band of the Nipmuc Nation. Which recently lost its federal recognition as a nation, (I looked this up). This means that the traditional slices of land near Worcester, Massachusetts are not officially considered tribal. The Nipmuc would have had to maintain 7 criteria for the federal government to consider their land tribal. I suppose that these pesky hoops one has to jump through were not something that the majority were willing to do. I don’t know specifically what the hoops are, but I think that after all they are someone else’s rules and probably constraining in many ways and just not worth it.

Most of the eastern woodland tribes dispersed and basically went underground to survive. It is interesting to read how they confounded enemy tribes and white settlers by trekking through the swamps and woodlands that they knew so well. The survivors effectively vanished into the woods in the 1600‘s. Not naturally a nomadic people they became so, making them a difficult target. You can google this information to learn more.

Hawk is very interested in music in a spiritual way. He learned to play the didgeridoo as well and had one with him the day I met him. If I was more secure in my financial situation I would have bought a flute. They were beautiful. I bought a cd instead. Just as well because I don’t have time to relearn the flute. There are beautiful pictures of Hawk’s flutes and Maine here http://www.hawkhenries.com/

beauticia and pops periwinkle at peace rally copy

beauticia and pops periwinkle at peace rally copy, originally uploaded by suzeesjubileez.

Hello Peace lovers,
Is this business or is it art or is it activism?
I believe Art is activism and art dolls are not just for fun.
Pop Periwinkle ( one of my needle felted characters) hopes to have an audience with Obama. Yup he is going to hop in a priority mail envelope in two weeks and head for the white house. If you want to put in your short peace oriented two cents worth or perhaps some words of encouragement for the beleagured prez and his incremental steps towards peace go to my flickr and add them under Pop's pic. Or call me and I hope to collect some signatures and hand written notes before the big send off! http://www.flickr.com/photos/suzeesjubileez/3426913690/

Thanks Susan

todays poem. Haven

For Mofle-
“…the ones whose homes were destroyed
who were stranded under the sky.”


Fresh spring snow
Cream of wheat


Warm coffee,
hot chocolate
white dollops of fluff on top
brown speckles seeping through.

I did not see
the ones whose homes were destroyed
who were stranded under the sky.

I did not want to see it .
I did not want anyone to see it.


The maple syrup pools
in the crevices,
the sweet steam
sweeter than plaster dust.


The refugees have come here again
from the south.

They say even with the cold
it is warmer and safer here
though the same stars
pierce the heavens each night.

The wood fire softens our home.
The chickadees dance.

I can not grieve.
These were not my losses
hearts listen and imagine the depths .

The birch beacon
at the edge of our field
sings always.



Susan Chandel
March 10, 2009

memoir magical journeys

I was inspired by Natalie Goldman's old friend from far away a viewing of Milk and my first trip to San Fransisco.
magic in journeys: June 1974

Perched on the royal blue aluminum framed Jantzen pack, I leaned my back against the sign post on the sweltering gravel of an Oregon afternoon. I remember the jumble of logs and the waterfall across the two lane highway. Things had gotten a little crazy leaving Seattle. My penchant for comic book heroines had gotten the best of me when I sized up the stumpy middle-aged business man who was looking for a mistress to hire for the week. I passed on the offer over a hot fudge sundae.
So I sat, my native skin all brown from the roadside tour and considered pairing up with the dirty blond guy 16 feet down the road. I was looking like Idgy Threadgood ( who hadn’t appeared on the movie screen yet) in my cut off jean overalls, my sleeveless tee and purple converse high tops instead of her rounded work boots.

“ Where you from?” I said. “Weymouth , Mass” he said, only a few towns up the coast from my home and as it turned out he knew my friend Desmond’s brother. Never mind Desmond’s brother was a bit of a black sheep I knew him too. So as the waterfall surged before us and the surf roared behind us we forged a brief traveling alliance to San Francisco.

In Coos Bay a red pick up truck pulled up driven by a chunky poet and his side kick. “We are goin to the mission district. Hop in back” he said.

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In the church basement on Sunday afternoon, the women from the homeless shelter drew pictures of redwoods. Three redwoods with hearts on them and intertwined roots to make a strong community of trees on a white poster board on a card table. Their poster represented a love for community, a love of the earth and the interconnectedness of all things.

It had been too long since I had seen the giant trees from the bed of the pickup truck speeding along the coast to San Francisco. The ride that landed us whirring at midnight in the mission district. I poured myself into a luxurious bubble bath in a clawed foot tub. Effervescent as the bubbles after a five hundred mile ride in the open air along the coast, I disappeared in the soaking warmth for maybe a half hour.

The librarian’s apartment was a perfect haven not far from the legendary Haight. Poet home sitters, art and books, to top it off a little poem I had written years before, was published in that issue of a national magazine. I hadn’t been looking for it. As it had been such a long time since I had written it, but when I spied the magazine on a rack I looked through it and there it was. Wow! So I bought a pair of fluorescent fangs and rode the buses around the city in victory.

Later when walking about, exploring the fabled city, I ran into my friend who had left Amherst for Alaska and who I had crossed Canada with. It was incredulous. I inserted my fangs and grinned a giant smile. We talked for a few moments, Alaska wasn’t what he had been looking for so he had decided to head south . After our strangely brief meeting, we continued on our way as if in a dream.

Magic endures in moments large and small, from meeting an old acquaintance on a city street far away from anywhere we expected to be to the eagle that’s waits around every bend of the river we kayak on. The interconnected roots of the redwoods that stood for miles along the highway was hidden from me that summer. The magical interconnectedness that sparkles through my encounters with humanity on every journey each day still fills me with awe.

Ten Miles of RIver a Valentine's Story

When I was young I lived in a college town on the rolling Androscoggin River for 3 and a half years which is a very long time for me to have lived in one place. When I got divorced 30 years later I moved back to that area from the mountains in the more rural western part of the state because it was convenient to the three small cities where I would be able to find work and because I still knew people there.

Strategically, I had gotten some free lance work in my field ( research, trainings, and consulting). I was going to many conferences and workshops in order to meet prospective employers. After 14 months I was attending a training workshop. A woman I had met there introduced me to someone who was opening a new company so I gave her my resume. The woman just happened to pass us as she was running errands in the neighborhood.

Things seemed to be unfolding as I had planned. Within a couple of months I had a job at this company. As is my custom I threw the tarot cards. Every love card in the deck came out along with good fortune. It was the happiest spread ever and had nothing to do with work. Hm. I had a friend throw the cards from a different deck and the same thing.

A few months later I found myself falling for some one at work. I started with an appreciation of perspective which was a little different than mine, practical, calm and insightful. Then there were silly things like disappearing dentures and lost keys. We went to lunch, my heart was doing jigs. We looked at my muffler which was falling off and we went to her house which was much closer for wire hangers and tools.

I am falling for a Virgo what is going on here. There was such a striking contrast between us the practical- the creative, the wise- the wild, the neat- the sloppy, the introvert-the extrovert. ….Not too mention a myriad of taboos. While I was getting the tools. I looked at the bookcase which very much reflected my own. We fixed the muffler and talked. Every word was so witty and wise although I can’t remember them I did finally say “you know you have to stop saying this in credibly witty stuff or I am going to have to start flirting with you. “ The response was you better not do that. I apologized. That was the mid November 1998.

With in three days we were dating and by the following Valentine’s day we shared a house. The ten miles of river was the distance between our childhood homes and ten is the amount of years our deep love flowed along that river. We were a very striking couple in that we had the bases covered because of the marvelous way we complimented each other. It was mystifying to some but it worked in the most incredible way. The greatest compliment from my love was that I had given such joy and fun where that had not been any. If that is the most I ever do on this planet I will be satisfied.

In mid November of 2008 my great love crossed over after a long illness at home as desired and several days of me saying that it was time now.

Gypsy Spirit

Perhaps you are wondering what I have been up to. I have been of course enjoying my activist leanings and looking for work. I have been taking two classes one on colored pencil drawing and one on heart centered meditation. A new writing group has captured my attention. Here is a piece I just posted.

Gypsy Spirit

My childhood was full of the moves associated with a military family. It is through these many changes and uprootings that I grew a gypsy spirit. It’s a way of seeing that is always stronger when there is a turning in my life. I think of it as a survival skill that comes out when needed. I had already moved 4 times in the same general part of the country. We were about to move again to an unfamiliar place when I first noticed it.

The summer before our move while my father was stationed in Okinawa and we were living near my grandparent's. A photograph of a smiling boy playing near the surf hung over the old mahaogany crib in the bedroom at the top of the stairs at the house my father grew up in. I had seen it before, but this time it spoke to me not in words per se but I could feel the handsome boy on the beach who looked to be close to my own age. It was a beautiful picture but I had a vcery bad feeling about it.

I asked my aunt who this was. She told me that it was my father as a child. She was unusually dismissive, I did not believe her and felt even sadder. One day after my fathers return. He was preparing the car for our cross country trip while I sat in the driveway, I had his un divided attention so I asked him about the picture. He too said that it was him as a child. I out and out said “Daddy don’t lie to me” and I described exactly where the picture hung in his family home. He told me that it was his younger brother Georgie. After some prodding, bit by bit he told me that he died in an accident as a child when he was 5. He was upset about talking about it so I did not ask any more questions. Later I found out that my father had only been 7 when their older brother accidentally ran over Georgie, while test driving a car. Dad and Georgie had been very close and I don’t think that my father ever got over that loss. This helped me understand my father better over the years and I am grateful for this.

The gypsy spirit was still with me that summer. The night before we moved to the strange new place, I dropped of to sleep and asked to see where we would be living. Sure enough in my sleep I flew over the new town, when we got there it was exactly as I had seen it.

I did describe the town to my dad before we got there.... Even though it tickles me, the gypsy spirit actually it is a very powerful tool and a peaceful type of protection. It helped me stand my ground against my father who had an angry streak and served me well in my youth when I traveled parts of the world by myself. Oh, sometimes it just serves to make my life a little more magical and fun. Other times it really has saved me from harm. Although there have been times when I knew I was walking into a risky situation and did so anyway, because I was confident that I could handle it. I am not sure that all this spiritual swashbuckling was ethically sound, but it sure was fun. I may have taught someone a lesson they needed to learn. My philosophy is we are here to have fun and if make we a difference that’s good too.

I can share some of those “I am reading you like a book so don’t cha be messing with me tales” and other stories where I met some pretty mystical travelers who maybe had a little more control over their powers and I could clearly recognize but I didn’t want to be messing with them.
What brings up these musings on the gypsy spirit is that …I am now in a major transitional phase. Recent years may have dulled my edge a bit. Ten years ago, we found this marvelous hand hewn “tree house” hidden from the road in a clearing. It was not advertised in the paper the sign on the mysterious drive said for “sale by owner.” I kicked up the maple leaves on the decks to the song in my heart. I was about to receive some money from my share of a business. The timing was good and we bought it. It still makes my heart sing. Many animals cross the meadows, birches glow amid the pines and it has been a good place to raise a family. Since my youngest is a senior in high school and my sweetheart has moved on. I decided to take a heart centered meditation class as I prepare to make a decision on my next step.

Now I could always meditate from the heart, but I am most comfortable zoning out and flying around. I can be very grounded and still fly around. My teacher tells me to try to stay in my body and be more focused. I picked an unusual medicine card~ armadillo upset down. It is a card about protection shields and armor. There is a lot to that. On the surface, it could mean that I have been standing still for too long. Ten years is my record for staying in one place. In my case perhaps that is the challenge. I am still mulling it over. The time may not be quite ripe for a sudden physical change… though other changes are happening.Perhaps I will be able to come up with an outside the box way to travel and stay here. Time will tell.

HippY DaYs a la Etsy!

When I started to think about Hippies. I thought about several of my friends who sell their work on etsy. These artists are both talented and out spoken and have the true hippy spirit whether they were there or not... I asked some of them what they thought about the hippy days and social justice. I got some great stories: The freethinkers team ( see eye of wonder in the side bar) got really excited and showed thier hippy spirit
CabArray Martha a wise woman with a sparkly presence who facilitates the freethinkers lived in NYC
In '62 in the East village. She attended the NYU Washington Square college of Liberal Arts and Sciences. I used to hang out at a coffee house in Greenwich Village almost every day. She probably rubbed elbows with Bobby Dylan back in the day. spongetta says: In '72 I was a year old born to a couple who moved to the Catskills to afford land and live a sustainable life,yet to this day, claim they were never hippies.
realisationcreations who is from Australia obviously says:
My Dad told me this great story when he came and stayed at our place recently, about how he and my Mum met. They were both quite young, but were leaving behind failed relationships by travelling by train to the furthest place away from Adelaide/Melbourne that they could think of - which was Perth. When on the train they bonded over the fact that a man was making rascist jokes about the Vietnam War - my Mum and Dad had only met, but they were the only two that didn't laugh.
A day later, they reached Perth, and went out for a beer. It was really crowded on 3 sides of this bar, but one side was clear, so Mum and Dad walked up to the clear side and ordered a beer. The barman looked at them and said: "You realise you're on the boong side?" (Boong was/is a pejorative term for our indigenous Australians - the Aboriginals). Dad was stunned and asked him to repeat it, which he did. This was not happening in the other major cities at the time, but Perth was somewhat isolated. My Mum and Dad were shocked, and Dad turned around to the Aboriginals who were drinking there, and asked: "Do you mind if we drink with you". The reply was: "Yeah, no problems mate. Go ahead and drink with us".
My Dad told me that Mum later said that that was the moment she fell in love with him.
zephi says: I was there in spirit, Suz ;) That’s for sure check out Tori’s blog as well as her shop! The link is to the side.
beachcomberscove who was one of the very first people who came to mind when I thought of etsy hippies had this to say I afraid I was/am more of a wannabe hippie. I was in college 66-71; did have some semi-hippie friends in the art dept.
BUT, (sheepishly admitting) it was a Baptist school so we weren't very wild. But compared to the ministerial students, we were a little crazy:D (artsy). Oh yeah but ahe came out of the closet since.
Kymsart777 describes a home simlar to mine only I raised 3 artsy activist types
In 72...I was 10. Born in 1962 but a hippie at heart for my whole life. I am the proud parent of 4 Artsy, Fartsy, Dreadlock wearing, birkenstock, freethinking, long haired hippie kids! Thank goodness! I sit here in a peace sign tee as I type.
AltheaP whose work I admire greatly tells this tale: 'There's a generation of Native people here who were taken from their parents and put into "Indian schools" in the hopes of turning them into Baptists.
Actually, we lived in small town North Carolina when we first moved south and more than once, we were congratulated by strangers for "bringing little heathens into our home." My kids are Korean, and I guess the assumption was we'd brought them here to Christianize them.'

Maine was always a hippie destination with its ragged coast, less expensive inland farm tracts. Communes cropped up every where and are cropping up once again as people are feeling the crunch.


One of the first Maine hippies that came to mind was Bob Matus. Originally from greater NYC. He lived in the bay area back in THE day before moving to the Maine coast. A local Maine poet Gary Lawless remembers him making pine needle baskets out in the bay area now he carves really cool wooden items.
heroncovewoodcarving says: …a while back you mentioned my pine needle baskets ... I HAVEN'T been doing those for longer than most of this team has been alive,lol but I recently heard from an old friend on facebook who says she still uses the pine needle coaster I gave her over 30 years ago!
Lizzyoos A boogying, tie dying woman says: Oh I wasn't ( a hippy then)then but have been since and I would love to join in... let me know I have lived the life and lifestyle since and always will.... I never stopped doing tie dyes either. You'll find beautiful hand dyed silk neckties and silk scarves at reasonable prices and she even throws tie dying parties and rock concerts. Yeah she has connections when she isn't dipping cloth, she is a dj.
SO visit my all free wheeling hippie friends on etsy!











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