Anita Friedenberg:  

Life: What Bits I've Learned: It was over 40 years ago that my ex-husband, Mark, and I built a special home on a serene parcel of land,on Whidbey Island, WA, with nests of bald eagles, deer, and hundreds of kinds of birds, not to mention the two gray whales I once saw hugging the harbor just below my home. The landscape there was lovely; mostly blackberry vines, small blackcaps, and redcaps winding around the fireweed, nettles and Indian Paintbrush. The house was built on a bluff just overlooking Holmes Harbor on Whidbey Island surrounded by tall hundred-year-old cedars, evergreens, salal, and wildflowers. But, after my ex-husband's 8 years at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, my parents moved into Whidbey first, in 1974, since Mark worked in Federal Way. We tried the commute southbound on I-5 for 5 months in 1979, then moved to Federal Way in May. It was a new little neighborhood, nice friends for my children, but it wasn't like Whidbey. I actually worked first in downtown Seattle in the Credit Dept. of Nordstrom, which exploded into numerous stores since the 1980's. Later I worked in the Juvenile Court House and attended Paralegal classes at the University of Washington. Finally, I returned to work in Federal Way School District, where both my children grew up. However, by 1998, my father's health began to worsen, and both he and my mother moved to be nearer to my brother in Iowa, then Kansas, and finally Texas. Then they returned to Washington state to live with me on Whidbey after Mark moved out in 2003. and I became officially divorced in 2004. When I refer to "that house," there is much love and reverence I hold for it, not because it was a simple materialistic object. It was something my mother and father built, bit by bit, (the entire lower level) and all three terraced and landscaped lawns and flower beds. My parents were always inseparable, gardening together---out by 7:30 a.m., and back in the house by dusk. My father was quite a woodworker and although his loss of one eye due to a detached retina when he worked at Lockheed, did scar him emotionally and physically, it did not hinder the care and love he must have put into each handbuilt doorway, windowsill and pieces of furniture, he built with his own designs. As well, outside, the yards reminded visitors driving by, of Butchart Gardens near Victoria, B.C. One of his proudest creations was the fence and intricate trellis he built especially for the roses that my mother and he tenderly cared for. Thus, I refer to it as: "The Whidbey House." So much of my two children's childhood consisted of numerous, and excitable visits to see their grandparents and the Island. And for me, it was a precious haven, where I could be "me," help with the gardening and cooking, and spend warm summer nights gazing at sunsets over the Olympic Mts. with my parents. Those precious times when we all were there still ring true in my still aging mind, despite the fact that the new owners have let it go, not caring for it inside or out. Life must go on, no matter what sentiment we cleave to in our hearts. Thus, when I was forced to sell the house because it became too costly for me, since I was then unemployed, I tried to shove all those memories into my mind, much like I would of photos into an heirloom satchel. I left the first week of February, 2008. Bittersweet, but that is Life. I have loved animals of all kinds throughout my life, but have a special affinity to cats. I have had 4 kitties, all but one died of old age. The little 4-year-old Himalayan died abruptly for an unknown reason. Mark had given me that little flea-ridden baby cat as a comfort for me and a sibling as well, for the remaining "two elderly sister cats," BooBoo a tortie, and a Siamese calico mix, named Tonic. Our first cat, named "S'mores," was actually my son's sweet, long-haired calico and had just died. But, one thing I have learned the hard way is that "You can never replace a beloved animal or child, by having another one." As well, I inherited my father's elderly black cat after he died, and she died shortly afterwards. These days, after I had to sell what I refer to as my "Whidbey House," my joys still include landscaping for myself and others' special areas of gardens. I love creating quiet corners mixed with natural plants, annuals, and perennials that convey a special feeling of well-being and love. I also love to attempt to lift huge rocks I have relocated from some wild area and add to rockeries or terraces planted with wild mixes of colored shrubs of hydrangeas or rhodedendrons, and add 3-4 ft. Japanese maples and ferns. Most of the time I need "some help" with the huge rocks. Gardening will always be one of my greatest passions---its successes and failures help teach me about Life. I used to be able to hike, very well as a child of a mountain climber, my dad, but much less as a 40-50-year-old. And now, I just want to see new things, taking walks and pretending it really is a "hike." I used to love to photograph all the small wildflowers along the trails up near Holden Village near Lake Chelan but up high near Holden and Hart Lake. My friend, Joseph, my husband of almost 5 years, was the expert on all the types of birds, so we both try to photograph wherever we go. But, even a photograph doesn't always capture the true essence of the moment. Sometimes there is too much beauty, or just wonderful vastness. I can only imagine photographing all that, so I don't try. The photograph remains in my mind's "eye." And at other times, I will just run out on the sand of the beach, let the tide take its course, and turn to see my footprints disappear behind me. Poetry, is something of a contradiction for me. It always seems, as in photography, that there can never be adequate words that can capture what you really want to say. Yet, I will spend hours and hours revising a poem, trying to get it "image" ready, good enough for me, and hopefully good enough for others to read. It is usually deep, perhaps a bit dark, but dealing with any subject I try to tackle, whether it was about my father tenderly feeding sugar to a honeybee on the deck of the Whidbey House, or an attempt to squeeze into poetry a tiny one of Stephen Hawking's "truths." I have always written, since I was 16 years old, and have had about 10 individual poems published. And if I have to thank anyone for the encouragement they gave me, it was my 9th grade English teacher, Donald Holmes, and my 12th grade English teacher, Alex Toth. As for college, at CSUN, Dr. Deutsch who studied with John Berryman was an incredible mentor. As well, a few classmates encouraged me to keep writing, or at least keep trying to. My daughter and son are both grown and live in Wisconsin. Julie is married, and and has a very talented (mechanically) 8-year-old old son, Nathan Erick. They live in a small town named Orfordville, WI, near Janesville and Beloit, WI. They live on 4+ acres in an old farmhouse, Julie and her husband, Ryan are continually refurbishing. Nathan now is in second grade, loves art, loves sports. He is so imaginative and his curiousity about all living things is endless. He is a precious grandson, and for a child so young, he has a very high standard as far as a work ethic goes. He is actually a very hard worker---when he goes outside to pretend he is a farmer---he showed me in April how the vegetable garden had to be weeded. It was a windy, chilly day and we were both...Expand for more