"I forget that it counts."

Let me start by saying that Jena Strong is a fantastic writer. She is a mother of two daughters, a life coach, a wife, and a fabulous writer - among many other things. I often read her blog posts and then print them and glue them into my journal. Tonight is going to be another one of those nights I think.

In her last few posts, Jena wrote about an upcoming (and now past) trip from Vermont to San Francisco to spend time under the teaching of another fantastic writer and teacher, Karen Maezen Miller.

In Jena's latest post, this is the section that caught my eye and my heart.

"I feel like every time you sit down to write a poem, you're practicing," she said.

She is right. Writing - poetry particularly, but all writing really - is one of the ways I practice. It's at the very heart of how this blog came into being. And at the same time, I forget. I forget that it counts. I see what I don't do, where I fall short. My brain is dense with self-judgment, criticism, and doubt. I want to say I don't believe a word of it.

Don'tdoenoughyogadon'tmeditateconsistentlydon'talwayswalkmytalk
whydoIhaveamigraineshouldIfeelguiltyaboutbeingonvacation
howisGregdoingwithoutme
etcetcetc

I can forget that what I do do counts.
What you do counts, too.
Come to think of it, what we do is all that counts.


So very well said, Jena.
I too forget that it counts. Everything counts.
I forget every single day. Every hour. Every time I turn around, I have forgotten.

Often I allow myself to think that being at home with my children, reading to and with them, and going on short day trips with them doesn't count as much as...
I think that sitting poolside and watching them play in the pool doesn't count as much as ...
I think that cooking for them, even though I hate to cook, doesn't count as much as...
Then again, I think that going out to eat with them doesn't count as much as cooking for them, even though I hate to cook.
I think I don't count as much as... because I'm not earning a salary.
I think that I don't count as a good example of the real women, the strong women, the women who are good role models because those women don't earn master's degrees and then stay home with their kids for the next 15+ years.



I forget that reading and journaling and taking photos and telling our stories and welcoming friends to share our lives and praying and writing all count.
I forget that lighting candles and incense and remembering those that I love in prayer and kind thoughts and moments of simple soul-deep connectedness, even when separated from them by hundreds or thousands of miles - I forget that it counts.
I forget that smiles and waves and "please" and "thank you" count.
I forget that responding to emails and phone calls and text messages counts.

I forget that me being me, failing and falling apart, strong and weak, loving and laughing out loud, weeping, growing, being defiant, being compliant, reaching out, reaching in, being silent, grateful, discontented, writing, not writing, cooking, not cooking, cleaning, not cleaning, teaching and not teaching - I forget that me living my life to the fullest, it counts. Big time.




Letting go of what is not kind or generous or thoughtful counts too.
Choosing not to retaliate, not to criticize, not to engage in needless debate counts.
Apologizing, forgiving, releasing old grudges count.
Breathing, simply inhaling and exhaling, taking many long, slow breaths before responding, sometimes choosing silence, always seeking to foster calmness and welcome gentleness - it all counts.

I forget far too often that it all counts. Every single minute of it.

Thanks, Jena, for yet another fantastic blog post.

Pondering...

Is it me, or does it seem like nearly every website and blog is trying to get me to buy something? I know that when I walk into a store, the shopkeeper's goal is to get me to spend my money on something. But on every blog too? Really? I find it most fascinating when those websites are about saving the planet, living greener, being more environmentally aware and conscious --> "Now that you have read my words of wisdom and encouragement, click a few more buttons and buy this sorting basket, this bin, this book, this handmade something or other, this program, this series. Buy something here, now, from me. Save the planet; buy my stuff."



Is it me, or are several of my friends, women I respect, whose writing I really like, making the decision to stop blogging because life is calling them to live rather than just to write?



The truth is that I have been drawn away from my computer lately.
Drawn away from facebook and blogger and email.
Drawn to walking in our neighborhood.
To taking trips with the children - and alone.
Drawn to making phone calls and creating hand-written letters and planning (gasp!) face-to-face conversations.
To playing games and making up games.
To finding "the nut," the core, the root of the thing, the things,
the person, the people who matter most to me.
Seeking. Finding. Resting. Rejoicing.
Aha moments. Tearful moments. Shared moments. Solitary moments.
Beauty, so much beauty. Laughter. Quietness. Grace.
Holding space, making space for all of this. For me.


Hmmm... I'm pondering a few questions over here...
And sitting silently in and with the questions.
Perhaps someday the answers will come.
For now, I wait. wonder.

Things that don't matter...

I just finished reading a book called Barefoot, by Erin Hilderbrand. It was billed as "a great beach read," which I thought would mean "not serious, fun, silly, just a way to jumpstart the summer without being challenged or moved at all." I'm glad this book did not fit into my narrow definition of a beach read. There are life-rattling situations for each of the novel's three main female characters to deal with: Vicki had lung cancer, Melanie was reeling from her husband's infidelity, and Brenda had recently derailed her career as a college professor.

After being diagnosed with cancer, Vicki began to compile a list of things that no longer mattered to her because her illness and chemotherapy and surgery and the very real possibility of dying and leaving her two young sons behind had become the only things that mattered to her. Here are a few of the things she put on her list:

* the smell of a new car
* spinach in her teeth
* Colleen Redd's baby shower
* the baseball standings
* a pretty skirt worn with the wrong shoes
* powder-post beetles in the attic
* uncut toenails
* the traffic on I-95
* collecting pinecones for Christmas wreaths



Naturally, after I read that list, I pulled out my journal to pen my own.
Here are a few things I put on my list of things that don't matter.

* whether the Christmas tree is real or fake
* using the "right" fork
* hair color or style or length
* eating cereal for dinner
* buying clothes at the mall or at Good Will
* the cost, square footage, or style of a home
* Playstation or Wii or X-Box
* reality shows about bounty hunters or surviving in the jungle or people who have too many children
* reading and being able to articulately discuss Tolstoy or Shakespeare or Maya Angelou
* whether the books I like matter to reviewers or other readers
* responding to or forwarding chain emails - or even reading them
* who wins the NBA finals or the NHL or the Super Bowl
* winning at tennis or ping pong with the family - why keep score at all?
* how often I dust or vacuum or mop the floor
* brand name cereal, pasta sauce, coffee, clothes, shoes, furniture, jewelry, colleges
* saying the right words when I pray - or saying anything at all
* being "right" about what matters and what doesn't matter


Here's what matters most to me these days:

* celebrating important accomplishments and occasions with the people I know and love
* that we are together, healthy, happy, thriving.
* that our roof is strong and not leaking at the moment
* that we are loved and fully engaged in loving others
* connections - deep, soulful, mindful, intentional, spirit-stirring connections
* peace, first within, then with those around me, and in all the world
* deepening my faith practice without apology or explanation
* regular times of prayer and sacred reading, lectio divina


* adult sleepovers: sipping wine, reading to each other, complaining about our lives, laughing at ourselves, telling stories, sharing secrets, and celebrating long friendships against all kinds of odds
* honesty, speaking the truth in love, to myself and to others
* keeping the Sabbath wholly, at rest and afloat in joyful celebration
* reading and writing every day
* laughter and tears
* dinner with the family, lunch with friends, and tea alone
* intimacy and solitude
* "aha" moments, especially the ones that coincide with the "aha" moments of others

* a growing and active son, skinned knees, hairy legs and all
* an active, beautiful, strong daughter, who is heading off for a week of camp on Monday morning (Please pray that she is safe and has a good time while she is there; she matters a whole lot to me - more than ever these days!)
* playing with my children's hair and earlobes and fingers while listening to the stories they tell of their time with friends
* lying in bed until 1 am reading and copying pithy quotes into my journal
* waking up, making strong coffee or tea, and smiling to myself about my new late night reading addiction
* asking and then living my way into the answers to the larger life questions that seem to be heavy on my heart and mind of late, even heavier than usual
* being aware and mindful of the many blessings I have received and continue to enjoy in my lifetime
* being grateful for all of the above

School's Out For Summer... tomorrow

Tomorrow is supposed to be the last day of our homeschool year.
Yeah for the kids. Yeah for me.
It's been a tough year. Lots of ups and lots of downs.
Many laughs. Many tears.
Parenting is the hardest job I have ever had.
Homeschooling makes parenting into a two-job career - and neither job is paid.
Well, certainly not financially remunerated.

Tomorrow is their last day at their desks, listening to me yammer, assigning assignments I later forget to check, reading stories I neglect to ask them to write about, planning field trips we never report on. We look at trees and flowers everywhere, but can't name many of them. We listen to bird calls, but don't bother to find out what kinds of birds they are. We are deeply impressed with people who can identify trees and birds and flowers.

We don't have an organic garden where we grow all our vegetables. We don't compost our store-bought fruit or vegetable skin or repurpose our used milk containers. (If the milk and veggies are organic, does that count for something?) We don't bake our own bread, sew our own clothing, or grow yogurt cultures. We don't run a home-based business out of our home or have entire chapters of dense books committed to memory. We sometimes stop at Starbucks on our morning walks and add more calories to our diets instead of only burning them.

But we do read and discuss all kinds of books. We quiz each other on the state capitals and also a few international capitals. We travel near and far to see people, places, art, architecture and shopping plazas. We take photos, keep journals, and stop to watch turtles and fish float in nearby ponds. We make our own lunch and dinner from scratch most of the time and do chores and walk the dog and play tennis and go for walks and learn a few verbs in Spanish every once in a while.

We watch videos of poets performing on you-tube. We go to plays, concerts, church activities, tennis matches, horseback riding, the library, local museums, bead shops, markets, and local parks. We invite people over for dinner and ask them questions about their lives and tell lots of stories about our life together. We listen to stories on NPR every now and then and yell at the people on the radio.

We pray together every day and read the Bible and try to find ways to apply our faith to everyday situations. We want to make a difference in the lives of people we know and even a few that we don't know. We give money and clothes and toys and bikes and time and smiles and hugs and food to people in need. We try to forgive those who hurt us, do as little as possible to hurt each other, and give thanks that we cannot understand how or why so many people seem to go out their way to harm others.

It's not always fun and laughter and happy times here at The Silvermine Academy. Sometimes the kids roll their eyes when I tell them to pull out their journals or to get ready for a spelling quiz. Sometimes I roll my eyes when I remember that, in fact, it's time to start homeschooling - especially when I am planning or producing a blog post or a cool design of some kind in my journal.

I dread this time of the year when I remember that I have to write a summary of the year in descriptive, eloquent, glowing terms. After all, Kristiana is a sophmore in high school, and I've gotta produce a portfolio of some kind to present to colleges on her behalf. What she did. How hard she worked. How creative she was. All that jazz.

Confession time: I still haven't written the summary from last year, her fresh-woman year in high school. At the end of last year, the year that she and I had alone together because Daniel went to "traditional" school (that little traitor - but he came home after one year - that little genius), I was so happy about all we had done together, all the things we had read and seen and enjoyed, that I forgot to write any of it down in a school year summary document. I thank God that she and I kept daily journals and took a fair number of photos. I'd better get on top of that soon. Real soon.


Often, it feels like we are floating along without much of a plan, keeping precious few records of the little that we are doing, but having a great time together, getting to know each other deeply, and most of all, learning the importance of not taking one day, not one hour, not one moment together for granted. This year, more than any other in our lives, has taught us that truth. In one moment, in a split second, life can change completely.

Tomorrow, next week, next year, high school graduation - none of that is promised. So, ultimately, who cares if there aren't a lot of book reports or lab reports or randomly assigned dioramas to produce and show to other people? This isn't for anybody but us. This is about opening our eyes, ears, and hearts to each other and to the world and taking in as much as we can.

Isn't that what school is supposed to be about?


Tomorrow is supposed to be the last day of our homeschool year. But knowing us, we may change our minds at the last minute and vote to watch one more segment of Planet Earth, listen to a few more birds outside, and move a turtle out of the road - and count that as a science lesson. One never knows, do one?


PS. Maybe I'll use this blog post as part of K's high school portfolio packet...

Thanks again...

Since last I posted, I went on a journey to Connecticut and New Jersey. (I apologize to all I didn't get to see; it was an absolute whirlwind. I spent less than 24 hours in each place - or so it seemed.) My amazing niece, Liz, graduated from high school. She and her sister, Clare, take my breath away every time I see them or listen to them speak or spend any time whatsoever in their company.


In the light of all that has happened in the world since then, with the crash of that flight from Rio to Paris, with countless unreported deaths and illnesses, job losses and company closures, I find myself once again giving thanks.

Life is fragile and beautiful and wonder-filled and frightening
and so outrageously marvelous. Every single day.


I am thankful for safe travel, not only by airplane, but also by car, by foot,
by scooter, by bicycle, by minivan, and by bus. Every safe journey is a gift
that is far too often taken for granted.


I'm thankful for art, the kind that we create and the kind that God creates.







I'm thankful for cousins who dazzle and friends who open their homes to us and neighbors who dog sit and children that hug, kiss, smile, and tell jokes freely.



I'm thankful for food and drinks and flowers and tablecloths.




I'm thankful for this computer and the electricity that flows through it. I'm grateful for paper and pens and the simple wonder of handwritten letters. I am grateful for the buzzes of text messages and the anticipation that surges before answering the phone.

I'm thankful for my husband's miscalculations on how much salmon and fruit to purchase at the market - and the bounty we have enjoyed over the past three days. I'm thankful that my children love salad and fruit and skim milk and 15 grain bread and ice water as much as they do. I'm glad they like ice cream and chocolate and smoothies too; who else would I indulge my sweet tooth with???

I'm thankful for a healthy body: my senses of sight, smell, taste, hearing,
and most of all, touch. I am grateful that I am immune to Hepatitis A and B. (How I came to know that fact is a long story that isn't worth telling here. But I'm grateful nonetheless.) I am thankful that I can go on walks with my children in the morning, do push-ups (which is my latest passion), eat fresh spring/summer fruit, wash dishes, play with my children's hair, and enjoy the new oils I recently purchased from Itiel.*

I'm grateful to be alive.
Still.



Robert Benson's* small breviary has quickly become
one of my favorite books of all time.
I will end this post with a quote from its Evening Prayer:

"We Your servants give You humble thanks, Almighty God,
for all Your gifts and graces to us this day:
For the splendor of the whole creation and the beauty of this world;
for the wonder of life and the mystery of love;
for the blessings of family and friends,
and the loving care that surrounds us on every side.
And for this day's work, for the things that demanded our best,
for the things that delighted us; and for the disappointments and failures
that lead us to depend on You truly.
We thank You, O Lord.

Stay with us, we pray,
for evening is at hand and the day is done.
Be our light in the darkness, and in your great mercy,
defend us from all perils and dangers of this night.
Hear us, O Lord."

Indeed.



* Please click on their links and check them out.
Good stuff. Great people.
See sidebar.

Thankful Thursday

I am thankful for the library: for the freedom to choose fantastic books and movies and bring them home for free. The freedom to choose terrible books and movies and being able to return them without having wasted money. I'm thankful for the rain we have received this week. That our roof doesn't leak. That I am no longer afraid of thunder and lightning.


I'm thankful for the gift of prayer and mercy and grace, for peace and strength. For the Bible and the comfort it brings to me every time I sit down to read it. I'm thankful for the multi-national family and friends that surround us and call and visit us and care and pray for us. I'm grateful for Suzy, who wrote to me and called me to let me know she was back in town, visiting from Arkansas. For her sense of humor, her tears, her prayers, and her friendship. For Lisa and her wise and womanly words. For Karen and her green lifestyle. For Jill's late night sense of humor.

I'm thankful for Leonie and Ian and Magpie Girl and Kelly Rae and Kristin and Karen and Melodee and Natalia and Jen and Jena and Eduardo and Andrea and Andrew and Laura and Lori and Laurie and Shelby and all the other men and women I know who write and take photos and make videos aand tell stories and laugh and cry and live full, confusing, doubtful, joyful, traveling, singing, dancing, funny, fun-loving, musical, artistic, playful and fearful and creative, serious, seeking, laughing lives. For the ways in which each of them, each of you, has accepted me and reached out to me and loved me.


I'm thankful for the internet, cell phones, blogs, digital cameras, and external hard drives. For Trader Joe's, Harris Teeter, Fresh Market, for organic onions, soy milk, chocolate bars and brown rice. I'm thankful for fresh fruit and salad and homemade dressing. For sorbet and gelato and ice cream sandwiches and butterscotch bars. For ice wine and gin & tonics and caipirinhas and mojitos. For Nicaragua and Spain and Brazil and Argentina and Italy and South Africa and England and Costa Rica and Puerto Rico and Rwanda and Germany and France and Ireland and all the countries, the cities, and the towns that have been the holy ground on which my life has been and is being lived.

I'm thankful for A-line skirts and flats and denim jackets. For padded bras and argyle socks and suede boots. I'm thankful for beads and wire and ear hooks and the tools to make my own jewelry. For colored pencils and stickers and scissors and glue sticks. For candles and incense and room spray and perfume. For magazines and mailboxes and stamps and envelopes. For passports and airplanes and backpacks and tray tables and duty free shops. For ipods and earphones and podcasts and cds and dvds.


I'm thankful for shampoo and hair dryers and Dr. Bronner's soap and homemade skin care products. I'm grateful for Lockstar, the amazing salon that caters to black women with natural hair. For hair color and rubber bands and plastic caps and hairpins and towels. I'm thankful for the stories and laughter and food and joy that are shared between the women at the salon as we "suffer for sexy."

I'm thankful for my children and my husband and that they know when mama needs a break. For my study and my books and journals and elephant collection. For the seashells and smooth stones and cathedral candles and tiny vials of olive oil and limoncello that line my travel altar. For travel journals and momentos and maps and old museum entry stubs. For peace flags and crosses and magnetic words and collages and photographs of my children. I'm thankful for tennis rackets, walking shoes, wristbands, and NBA basketball and hand weights.

I'm thankful for my minivan and open parking spaces and shopping carts and personal sized watermelons and free samples and money back guarantees. For salespeople and store clerks, especially the ones that remember me and ask how the children are doing. For employment and debit cards and credit cards and a husband who insists on paying everything off every month. For a home I love and a life that is full and frustrating and overwhelming and peaceful and adventurous and blessed and mine.



I'm thankful that I have a hope and future. That I am not alone. That I do not have to be afraid to walk through all the valleys and shadows of everything that looms above and ahead. That I know that I know that I know that all shall be well.

I'm thankful to be alive at this time in this place living this life.

In the land of giants...

Shadowed by powerful friends,
Punitive foes.

Overwhelmed by internal fears,
External conflicts.

Feeling unnoticed,
Disrespected.


Sit still.
Breathe deep.
Stand firm.
Walk steadily.
Live fully.
Anyway.


I often feel small, insignificant, unimpressive,
overshadowed, unprepared.
But still... But still...

Celie said it so well in The Color Purple:
"I may be poor. I may be black.
I may be ugly. But I'm here."


****************
Kristiana spotted the car as we pulled into a parking space last night.
I had to take a picture. I absolutely had to.

A Memorial Day Prayer

by William Sloane Coffin, Jr.

Gracious God, whose own Son's term of service to humanity was so full that its brevity was no distress, we call to mind on this Memorial Sunday those who will not grow old as we are left to grow old, those whose lives were too brief for us but long enough, perhaps, for thee.

Forgive us that they died so young because we were too unimaginative, too imperious, too indifferent, or just too late to think of better ways than warfare to conduct the business of the world.

Gratefully, we remember the generosity that prompted them to share the last of their rations, the last pair of dry socks, to share in the course of one hour in the foxhole more than most of us care to share with one another in a lifetime.

And we recall the courage that made more than one of them fall on the grenade there was no time to throw back.

Grant, O God, that they may not have died in vain.

May we draw new vigor from past tragedy.

Buttress our instincts for peace, sorely beleaguered.

Save us from justifications invented to make us look noble, grand and righteous and from blanket solutions to messy, detailed problems.

Give us the vision to see that those nations that gave the most to their generals and least to their poor were, throughout all history, the first to fall.

Most of all, give us the vision to see that the world is now too dangerous for anything but truth, too small for anything but love.

Through Jesus Christ our Savior, who became what we are to make us what he is.

Amen.

This life work I am called to do...

K, wearing earrings given to her by Lisa and Doug on their recent visit.
********************************

I just started Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn. Judging by the size of the tome (387 pages), I don't expect I will read it word for word, but I plan to scan it for nuggets to shine up and store in my storehouse of needed helps and hints on how to do this parenting thing with intention and integrity.


D, at a local barber shop having something fantastic carved onto his scalp.
****************************************


This is the first nugget mined from the book, taken from the prologue.
"[Parenting] is clearly a life's work, and it for life that we undertake it. As we all know down to our very bones, there is no question about doing a perfect job, or always 'getting it right.' It seems more a quest than a question of anything. 'Perfect' is simply not relevant, whatever that would mean in regard to parenting. What is important is that we be authentic, and that we honor our children and ourselves as best we can, and that our intention be to, at the very least, do no harm."

Indeed.

My Life as captured at World Market

I really like that store, World Market. I have enjoyed every one of the strolls I have taken through it over the years. Chairs and jewelry, food and wine, dishes and candles. It's all there. Jumbled together. In no particular order, it seems. But all so colorful and inviting. So tempting and so reasonably priced.

In my more sane moments, I ask myself: do I really need any of this stuff, really? Is there one single, solitary thing in this store that I can honestly say that I need? Perhaps not. But it sure is fun walking through there. In my less than sane moments, I have been known to fill an entire basket with stuff that I don't need and, even as I am being checked out, I shake my head at the excessiveness of it all.


I was introduced to "Illy from the Bialetti" many years ago. I hope I never recover from that introduction. Italian coffee from an Italian coffee maker. Memories of Italy, Orvieto, Firenze, and wandering around up and down the streets of Italian cities and towns. Again, I hope I never recover.



I am not much of a cook. Well, I cook pretty regularly because my family has this nasty habit of wanting to eat every day. But if I didn't have to cook, if someone were willing to come and take over that chore, I'd give it up pretty quickly. I'd rather clean than cook.

So when I gaze with fear and trembling at spice racks, when I see the names of herbs I wouldn't even know what to do with, I wish I were more creative or at least more interested in creating dishes that we would find delightfully delicious. Until such time, I finger the spice bottles and pray for invitations to other people's houses for dinner.



Sweet syrup. I buy the peppermint syrup every now and then for peppermint mochas, especially around the holidays. Yum, yum. And of course, one bottle of syrup which will flavor 2 or 3 dozen drinks, costs less than two white peppermint mochas at Starbucks. Yikes!

One lesson I learned the hard way: don't ever use one of those pumps in a syrup bottle at home. It's the same as leaving the bottle wide open. And ants really like open bottles of flavored and sweetened syrup. Yikes - yet again!



I love candy. I really do. I like fruit flavored candy. But I refuse to eat something from a bag with a label that I cannot understand. I must admit that the colors caught my eye. The display of all the sweets produced somewhere on the other side of the planet made me smile: there are people all over the world who like fruit flavored candy. What a great reminder that there is much more that we share as people than what divides us. Everybody likes sweet stuff and peace and love. Everybody loves their children and wants the best for them - except for a few whose thought processes we will never comprehend, that is. Quite unexpectedly, those brightly colored candy bags brought it home for me.



I'm feeling cut in half and blurry a lot lately. Happy. Wandering. Wondering. Grateful. Fascinated. Enchanted. But blurred and blurry too. I feel split between wanting to be the best wife and mother possible, wanting to live alone in Madrid and be a tour guide for solo women travelers, wishing I could be the next door neighbor to so many amazing people I know, in spite of the fact that they happen to live in distant countries and cities (India, Italy, England, Spain, Nicaragua, the Netherlands, Brazil, Sandy Hook, San Francisco, Dayton, Baltimore, Chicago, Williamstown, Ponte Vedra Beach, Norwalk, New Canaan, Stamford, Brooklyn, just to name a few), wanting to dedicate my entire life and all my time and resources to helping people who are in desperate situations, wishing I could teach and lead retreats for exhausted people in need of renewal and refreshment, and wanting to be the ultimate wasteful, thoughtless, excessive World Market shopper that ever did walk the face of the planet. Mine is a deeply divided spirit and heart. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Who knew that a stroll through World Market would bring so many thoughts and questions and confessions to the surface of my soul? Who knew?

Between the doing and the being...

Loving.
Dreaming.
Believing.
Wondering.
Wandering.
Questioning.


Living at attention.
Watching.
Praying.
Listening.
Learning.
Journaling.


Seeking light.
Seeking heat.
Seeking peace.
Being drawn inward.


Hibernating.
Be back next week.

Happy Mother's Day!

Please read this post - it says everything I would love to say about Mother's Day. But better. Thanks, Jen, for your eloquence.

These are the two people that fill my days,
warm my heart, and gray the hair at my temples.
They make me laugh and weep and want to live forever and want to run away - usually all of the above at some point every single day.
Thanks, K and D, for giving me the gift of motherhood.
The gift that truly keeps on giving.
I love you both - more than you will ever know.

I'm going to _________ in my mind...

It doesn't take much to make me start to dream of travel again.

* seeing an airplane float by overhead
* receiving an email from a friend in Spain or Italy
* reading stories in the newspaper or online about places I'd like to visit
* being berated by someone that I thought liked me, loved me, supported me
* cleaning poop out of Maya's box in the morning

So when I found this post at a very interesting blog this morning, I began to make a mental list of the places I'd want to visit if I followed this man's advice. But first, I need to get a job - and then I can quit it in order to travel around the world. Minor details, I know...




PS. Check this post out and you will understand why Jen Lemen is one of my idols. She really is.

My Chicks Listen to My Voice

It was a sunny Charlotte evening. I was on my way someplace... I can't even remember where. I saw them. A family of geese. The parents are over on the right with two babies near them, and six others stood a few feet away eating.


I couldn't just drive past such a serene family dinner. I had to stop and watch. I pulled out my camera and captured a few photos. First the babies stood together in a group eating. A little ways from their parents.



Then when I got out of the minivan, they took off running.
In the wrong direction.
Nooooo! I called out to them and told them that their parents were the other way. They didn't listen.

What did I expect? Half the time, it feels like my own kids don't listen to me. Did I expect to be a cross-species mother to six geese??!!

I jumped back in the van, following them, hoping to figure out a way to herd them back towards their parents.


Then Mom must have called out for them because suddenly they all stopped.
A few of them looked back the way they had come.
Still. Quiet. Listening.


Then they turned for home.
And took off running again.


I could almost read their little goosy minds:
"We hear you, Mom. Don't leave us. We're coming."
And in one furiously fuzzy blur, they sprinted past my van.



As I watched them make their way back to their parents, I thought to myself,
"There may or not be a deep lesson in there someplace.
It was great to watch the story unfold.
I am so glad I had my camera with me and that I stopped."


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Later on, as I thought about that scene and looked at the photos I'd captured, I was reminded of the teaching of the one I love most of all. He once spoke about being the watchman-shepherd to his sheep. He said: "The watchman goes on ahead of the sheep, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from her because they do not recognize a stranger's voice... My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me."

A week ago right now...

Whenever I take a trip, no matter how long or short, I spend inordinate amounts of time sitting still, looking around me, listening, breathing deeply in order to live and experience the moment fully. I take photos of my hands and feet so that later on, I will have proof that I was, indeed, there.

Whenever I take a trip, no matter how long or short, I spend inordinate amounts of time thinking about the trip once it is over. I rehearse meals, conversations, activities in order to remind myself that I was, indeed, there. My thoughts sound like this: "Twenty-four hours ago right now, I was... Six weeks ago right now, I was ... Two years ago right now, I was..."


This is our little clan at a gas station, taking a quick break on our way to the beach last Friday. No, we didn't buy any of the fireworks or pecan log rolls or gourmet peach syrup or pecan brittle available at the shop next door.

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Today, I have thought: "A week ago right now, I was..."
For example, right now: "A week ago right now, I was still in the car driving to Doris' house for the weekend. We were eating Cracked Pepper and Salt potato chips, and I was sipping my water bottle."

This afternoon, I pulled out my favorite travel book, The Way of the Traveler, and read about the final stages of any journey: pondering and retelling the tale, putting away all the things taken along and displaying the momentos brought back. On this trip, the only things I brought back were a few seashells, five postcards, and a bag of lifesavers. (So far, so good on my resolve to spend less and give away more...)

One of the gems from the book is in the form of a quote that
Pam Brown wrote about the treasures brought home from travel:
"You will bring back pots and pictures.
A sheaf of photographs. A jingle of coins.
But you will bring back more.
A vision of a wide world. Remembered laughter.
New friends. New understanding."



No, I didn't parasail. But I did watch in wonder at the courage of those who did. And I thought of the courage it took for us to go
- in the face of criticism and contempt.
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There were many reasons and excuses I could have given for not going on this trip. The criticisms from friends/enemies/critics almost kept me at home. But I went. I am glad I did. I ventured forth. I returned exhilarated, rejuvenated, recharged.

Once again, this treasured volume spoke truth to me as I perused it earlier.
"Everywhere I have gone, everything I have done,
has been for this - the spiritual lesson I now take within.
Had I stayed at home when the journey called me,
I would never have learned this lesson.
Gratitude fills my heart."