One Wild and Precious Life

Fall, Again

Nearly a year since my last entry!  My dental hygienist once said, "If you'd get your teeth cleaned every one year, rather than every three years, you'd be a lot better off!"  (I do that now, I assure you.). It's the same with blogging: if I'd blog every one week, rather than every 48, I'd also be a lot better off, too.  So I'll give it another shot.  Here we go!

This will just be a catch-up on my life, but I promise to post something of substance next time.  I've moved.  Living with my best friend was meant to be a short-term situation that turned into something a little more than short-term (nearly 3 years!), but the time came when I needed to have a space of my own, with more of my own things and my own energy around me.  I've been able to unpack boxes that were packed in 2014 in Tennessee; seeing my own things is like being reunited with old friends that I've missed.  There's the sweet little oak dining room table that has been with me since 1973, and the pitcher my mother bought for me in Gatlinburg, Tennessee when I was in my 20s, and so much more.  My things have way too many stories attached to them, which makes it really hard to be without them, or to let them go .  Cheryl and I are still best friends, of course -- we both agreed that my move was fully due.

So this summer was one for settling into my new digs and catching up on health care, which involved four (count 'em, four) different doctors, a battery of various tests, and waiting anxiously for results.  Health care in Buffalo sure has changed since I last saw a doctor here 15 years ago: now my entire chart is online, including test results and various scans,and I can access everything.  Amazing.  But all the rigamarole makes me feel trapped in the maw of the medical monster.  I guess it comes with aging.  However, as a result of the settling in and the doctoring, I didn't get out to the trailer by the lake one single time. Not once! I couldn't face the repairs that I know need to be made, the appliances I know need to be replaced, the work that needs to be scheduled and paid for, because I can't do any of it myself.  But tomorrow Cheryl and I are going! So I'm excited about that. The weather has been so summery and hot, clear through September (except for one short cool spell), that we're even planning to go to the beach.  I can't wait.

Aside from that, I continue with my part time work, my thrice-weekly yoga, and my sobriety. I've been off, then on again, my food program, and my weight is back on the way down.  I had 2 bicycles stolen in 4 days in my new neighborhood (including my dear French 5-speed, which I'm still grieving), and now keep my third bike of the summer inside the building.  Sigh.  Last week I broke my desktop computer, so all my work now gets done on my dear iPad, with a Bluetooth keyboard. Not sure what I'll do when it's time to print something, but I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Well, that's enough for now. I'll be adding my blog address to my email signature again, so who knows? I might get a few visitors.

Belgium, So Far

Using my tablet, which is imperfect, so I'll be brief & experiment further tomorrow (pictures, etc.).

Great adventure today in Bruges (Brussels is home base for 3 nights, then on to Paris on Sat.).

First, a brief story:  My maternal grandfather, my mother's daddy, fought in World War I, and eventually died from complications from mustard gas injury there.  But when my mother was small, he came home with a piece of lace from Belgium for her, and she eventually wore that lace as a wedding cap when she was married in the 1930s.  I still havethat Belgian lace wedding cap, and I took it out of its wrapping in my bottom dresser drawer at home before I left Tennessee in July.

I've always known this trip is my mother's gift to me; when I discovered that the flight I booked to Paris would actually land in Brussels, I knew it was mother's doing.  So today I had a great day trip to Bruges.  I bought handmade lace - 2 pieces in 2 different lace shops.  And each time I was so close to tears, and each time, I told Mama's story of her daddy, and WWI, and the Belgian lace wedding cap.

At the first shop the woman, maybe my age, said, "Isn't it wonderful how, in our lives, we get to live things twice?  And when we're young, we don't know this."  At the second shop the owner was older, and she pointed out that my lace was nearly 100 years old now, maybe more, and that I must frame and preserve it.  She was also touched, and regretted that I didn't have it with me, so she could see it and show me how to mount it.

As I pondered it all (didn't Mary treasure many things in her heart?) over my spectacular lunch of MANY mussels and Brugge-brewed beer, I grew teary, and also now as I write this.  I thought I was traveling to gather stories and pictures to bring home - who knew that I would also be bringing my stories to a bigger world?

Sabbatical!

Yes, I'm on sabbatical.  Last night I tried my first blog post of the trip, and got hung up by the length of time it took to post photos.  So maybe I'll try again, but not right now.  I need to work on reducing their size for blog posting, I think.

My first question is, how did I ever get so lucky to have work that gives me 3 months of paid leave for "true sabbath," that is, "rest," every 5-7 years?  I certainly didn't know about this when I was in discernment for the priesthood -- I didn't choose this vocation (well, I didn't really choose it anyway -- it kind of chose me) based on getting a sabbatical.  I think I first heard about this when I was graduating from seminary, but I never really dreamed it could happen for me! I tried to plan a sabbatical 3 years ago, and nothing seemed to work out right.  This time, after nearly 10 years at St. Raphael's, everything just seemed to fall into place in the most wonderful ways.

So now I have embarked on the adventure of a lifetime.  I don't think I've had three months off work since the summer after my freshman year of high school.

My plans are in three parts.  The first two weeks I spent with my family, staying with my sister-in-law in Illinois, and haunting Terre Haute, Indiana, where I grew up.  I took many sentimental journeys there, revisiting places and people that meant (and still mean) lots to me in my growing up years.  As I said, I hope to post pictures:  of the 2 houses where I spent my childhood, schools I attended, etc.  I also had the opportunity to spend time with 2 of my life's best friends -- women I've known since we all were 13 years old.  And I had a lovely visit with my one remaining brother, Paul, who was my childhood companion, and who is the only remaining person alive who has known me since I was born (well, except for my Uncle John, whom I haven't seen in decades).

Things aren't always working out as I'd planned (thanks, John Lennon, for saying that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans), but I feel like a sponge, soaking up every experience, every adventure, and learning from it all.  So far, it's wonderful.  Miraculous, even.  I'm eating well and abstinently (no flour, sugar, or alcohol, weighed and measured quantities, regular calls to my dear, long-suffering sponsor).  I'm feeling such gratitude.  I even heard God in church (where else?) last Sunday -- it's great not to have to be "in charge," and just go and sing and listen.  Life is amazing right now.

Now I'm in Buffalo, NY (well, near there, anyway), camping by the lake in my friend Cheryl's cozy, sweet little trailer, and using a mobile hot-spot that I purchased in order to have the internet while I'm here.  My plan is to be here by the lake during the week, when the campground is nearly empty, and then be in Buffalo on the weekends, doing city things.  I'm also hoping to get a lot of writing done.  I'll be here for the next 4 weeks with my faithful dogs -- and with Cheryl, too, beginning next week.  Today it was beautiful in the morning, and then it rained, which was also nice.  I've experimented with my camera's auto-timer, and taken pictures of myself outside, alone and with the dogs.  It's the kind of day when it's hard to know what to wear -- it's damp, so feels cool, but too warm for jeans and sweaters.  So I keep changing clothes.

I've had time for reading (Cynthia Bourgeault, "The Meaning of Mary Magdalene;" Phil Cousineau, "The Art of Pilgrimage;" Richard Rohr, "Breathing Under Water;" Diane Mott Davidson, "Fatally Flaky," and more and more to come).  I've been catching up on Jack's Blog, which I'm enjoying very much.  I've been catching up on email.  I've been taking naps.  I've even been reading Facebook from time to time! Sunday I got to finally see "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel."  I guess it would be hard to go wrong with the cast it has, but I was simply enchanted.  I could have stayed with those people and watched their lives the whole night, and was sad when the 2 hours was over.

I'm also listening to a lot of old music -- revisiting the past, I guess.  Before I left, I downloaded Beach Boys (yes, it feels like 1966), Neil Diamond (yes, it feels like 1973), the BeeGees (yes, it feels like 1982), James Taylor (1971).  Oh, music can take me right back to how it felt back then!  I've also got "Graceland," the Beatles, and "Born in the USA," and I keep thinking of more music I want.

The next leg of my great sabbatical adventure is Europe -- 5 weeks in Belgium, France, Spain, and Italy.  Parishioners have given me a week's time share in southern Italy and a week in southern Spain.  I'll be chasing black madonnas all over the continent!  I'm particularly excited about seeing Paris, about which I've had dreams -- literal, night-dreams, though I've never been there, and about all the madonnas I'll be near in southern France and northern Spain.  It's truly going to be a once-in-a-lifetime trip -- unless my retirement dreams of winters in Sicily and summers in the US really work out.

So I'll be writing and adventuring and posting more here.  Stay tuned!

So Grateful

I'm not making an extensive post tonight, even though I think I should create works of art every day, like some of my blog friends.  But I'm blown away.  I preached about my daughter yesterday, about how a tragedy can sometimes turn into great gifts.  The response of my parishioners has been overwhelmingly touching.  Your comments here have been manna from heaven for a hungry heart.  I'm slowly, slowly learning that opening my heart means that others will touch me in meaningful ways, and that has happened.  This introvert, this one who was a solemn, lonely, isolated little girl, and who grew into a sometimes rather isolated woman, is learning to open her heart.  God is helping to teach me this; you all are also teaching me that it feels better to have an open heart than not to have one.

This is another example of how the tragedy of losing Eleanor has become a great gift.  My heart feels touched by your responses -- all of you.  I am replenished.  Today was an amazing day, with parishioners reaching out to me, with some of you reaching out to me.  I've experienced God's love through all of you, and I feel better able to face those other uncertainties that life is always bound to hold.

My goodness.  My gracious.  Thanks to the loving, good, and gracious God.  And thanks to Eleanor again.  And maybe more than that, thanks be to all of you.  ALL of you.

And Now, a Pause....

It's that time of the year again.  It caught me by surprise.  Most of our autumn beauty is past, though in Knoxville, down off the Plateau, it's still lovely.  I'm finishing up this church season of Ordinary Time, and making preparations for Advent, which begins on the 28th, the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  We'll be purple at church for a while then, and "preparatory" -- making ready for the birth of God's dream among us, and the final coming, when God wins, once and for all, and goodness and mercy will reign forever.

I've been enjoying another week of mild weather -- the nights are cold, as they should be in the mountains in November, but the days are a warm embrace of sunshine.

But I've been out of sorts.  I'm gaining weight again.  My will to be active, eat right, abstain from alcohol, read and write daily, do yoga -- all the things that keep me feeling really good, has lagged.  The will just isn't there.  And I've been beating myself up severely.  Scold, scold, scold.  Many mental finger-shakes.  Finally a colleague said to me, "What would happen if you moved from a position of disappointment and discouragement with yourself, to a position of curiosity?"  Well, that got my attention!

So I asked myself:  what is going on here?  I asked "why," which is sometimes helpful, sometimes not.  This time, it was.  I realized that I am in a time of transition.  My beloved Bishop (who is my boss -- not the parish where I minister, but the Bishop, is the one that I work for directly) is retiring, and we're about to elect another.  I don't know any of the candidates, and must go forward on trust -- that people I know and love have screened these candidates.  And of course, now I must also do my homework, and find out all I can about the nominees.  But losing my +Charlie is a great blow -- he has nurtured and encouraged me as a priest in the eight years since I've been here.  He knows my parish, and the growth we've experienced since I came here.  A newcomer won't know any of this -- we'll just be that little parish out on the edge of things.

I've also begun the very slow process of seeking another call.  Leaving this parish.  I'm in no hurry; I'm very happy here.  But I have many years yet until I officially retire from the active priesthood, and I will serve at least one more parish in that time.  So I've very gently and tentatively put my toes into the waters of looking around -- and that is a scary process of stepping into the unknown.  There are times here when I feel as though (after 8 years!) my ministry has just begun, just taken up steam.  But the decision to begin the journey into the unknown is always scary.

So with those conclusions, I felt a little better.  Of course I feel a little unsettled; my comfortable and enjoyable routines are naturally being shaken up a bit.

And then I watched Oprah on Thursday.  I watched Marie Osmond, 8 months after the suicide of her 18-month-old son.  She looks good.  She looks better. 

http://static.oprah.com/images/tows/201011/20101109-marie-osmond-4-300x205.jpg

When I say better, I mean more real.  I can look at her face now and see what she's living.  I can see who she is as a person right now.

I've followed Donny & Marie since my daughter was a fan, back in the 1970s and 80s.  I didn't really become a fan, but their faces "registered" with me as cultural icons of a sort.  My daughter had some sort of "head" that she got from her father and stepmother -- a "styling head," that was Marie, I think.  There was a knob with which you could make hair longer or shorter, and a set of "makeup" paints to apply to the face.  I don't recall her using it, and it was always a little macabre to me, this disembodied "Marie head."  I thought the two of them, Donny & Marie, far too happy, far too "pretty," and I thought their teeth were way too big and straight.  I didn't know Marie eventually had 8 kids.  And I certainly didn't know that her son committed suicide by jumping from his apartment window.  Oh, my.  I watched her weep on Thursday.  Eight months is nothing, when grieving the death of a child.  It hurts more at eight months than it did at 8 days -- a lot more.  The shock and denial have broken open into a deep pool of loss, a pool so deep you fear you might never surface again.  It shows on her face.  I love her for that.

I watched her rub her hand over the cover of a scrapbook her son made.  I know that gesture.  It's as though you might feel a bit of the person who owned it.  I watched her say, quietly, "My Baby."  I wept.  And I learned.  I realized, through the truth in her face, her gestures, her words, that I've been there.  I'm still there, sometimes.

And I realized that tomorrow is Eleanor's birthday.  Tomorrow, 42 years ago, I gave birth to my own walking miracle.

Isn't that little bald baby cute?  Yep, 42 years ago I was giving birth, and then 27 years ago, when she was 14 years old,  I was turning loose, I was grieving, I was stroking her things and saying, "My Baby."  She was struck down by a car and killed in the springtime, but forever in the autumn I'll remember her birth.

And my "disorder," my "upset," all became clear to me.  Yes, there is instability in my life right now.  There's a lot I don't know.  But tomorrow is her birthday.  Okay; no wonder.  I guess the rest of my life her birthday and death day will be not-so-great days for me, at least days when I give myself permission to be not-so-great.  It was a great relief to realize this, actually.  Now I can be sad, I can be lenient with myself, I can stop beating myself up and just be sad.  My darling child.

This is how she looked the fall before she died.  Not a "finished product," not the polished and beautiful image she might be at 25 or 30.  She was a kid, with too-long bangs and a blemish on her chin.  But look at that hair, look at those features, and especially at the life in those eyes.  She hated this picture; didn't even show me the proofs when the school pictures were taken.  After she died, I wrote to the company and they sent me these.

  Within weeks after she died, I dreamed of her.  This is how she looked.  We met on this beach and hugged, and I said to her, "So you're not dead, after all!"  And she nodded, and I awoke knowing she was okay.  I believe it.  I know it.  It's a huge comfort to me.  Someday, I'll see her again.

So OK.  I don't mean this to be a downer, but a source of hope and joy.  I came to understand myself better, and feel compassion for myself.  I came to honor and remember my baby.  After tomorrow, things will feel much better again, and I can adjust to the other uncertainties in my life.  I'm grateful for this person who enriched my life, who gave me so much.  Thank you, God.  Thank you, Eleanor.  Happy Birthday.

Autumn

Summer has come and gone since I've written.  But I've been reading my friends' blogs again, and it has inspired me to return.

Since the 3rd of June, my last post, much has happened.  I've had a birthday.  I've lost 27 pounds.  I've been on vacation.  It has been a wonderful summer, though very hot!

For my birthday I was in Indiana and Illinois, visiting family.  I had a wonderful time.  I had delicious strawberry shortcake at an urban church's strawberry festival, a huge affair where over 10,000 desserts were served!  I told them about my little church's festival in May, where we serve about 350.  But it was the same wonderful feeling of a church doing ministry all together, feeding the whole community.

My sister-in-law's yard was in fine form.

 

This is looking toward the neighbor's house.  SIL has had the landscapers in, and they've worked hard on it all.  Here's where I sat in the mornings to write in my journal:

On my actual birthday, I had lunch with 4 high school friends, two of whom I literally have not seen since high school graduation.  We were all part of the same crowd in high school, attending one another's slumber parties, crying on one another's shoulders, playing soccer with a crushed up soft drink can in front of the gym, and laughing till we cried on more occasions than I can count.  It fed my soul so to see them, and was truly the best gift I've received in a long time.  That night I went to dinner with my sister-in-law and her friends at a lovely Italian restaurant located right in the Terre Haute airport.  I had chicken piccata that was to die for, as I watched through the huge windows when a huge, bellowing, blowing, lashing rain storm swept across the tarmac.  I also watched videos on big screens showing scenes of Italy -- and it was such fun to say, "I've been there -- and there! -- and there!"

I had lunch one day with my brother Paul -- the only one still alive (my brothers were all 12+ years older than me).  He seemed his frisky old self, now a year after his beloved wife of many years died.  Ramona, we still miss you.

Then, in July, I went to Buffalo for 2 weeks, staying, as always, with my best friend in the world.  We had such fun!  She has the best little veggie garden on her upper front porch, and we ate a few things from it while I was there.

This is actually a shot from last year, so I got her pretty flower boxes (that we planted together), but not the veggie garden, in the corner where I'm standing to take this shot.  This year the porch was even more beautiful than last.

We spend weekdays at the campground, lazing along and barbecuing, going to the beach late in the afternoon and catching up on our reading (I read the first 2 Steig Larssen books, and two books about compulsive eating, which gave me much food for thought).

Oops, ignore that man -- it's Cheryl's partner and my good friend, Tom!  But you can see the camping trailer where we stay and the pretty, shaded lot where it's parked.  And this is what we saw every night we were there:

Oh, I'm not even sure this is a good example of the best of them!  But the campsite is literally steps from the lake (maybe 100 yards?), and after dinner it was delightful to walk down together and feast our eyes on the beauty of it.

On weekends, when the campground filled with noisy campers and many noisy motorized vehicles of various sorts (golf carts, ATVs, go-karts, motorcycles, and the beach with ski-dos and motorboats), we came back into town (about a 45-minute drive) and did city things, such as the stunningly beautiful Buffalo Garden Walk, movies, and parties with the girls.

Okay, this is a shot of Cheryl and her pretty table -- but quite frankly, when I was with the girls, I was having so much fun that I forgot to take the "girlfriend pictures" of all of us together that I love so much!

I drove home a happy woman.  We ate healthy, wonderful, fresh food, grilled meats, and drank lots of water (along with other libations!).  I maintained my weight -- even lost a couple more pounds.  My soul was filled with good friends and happy times.  I went to church at two cool churches, and got to talk to two cool priests that were new since I lived there.  Ah, it was the vacation that I needed last year and didn't get, because I was too busy in California and too sick in Buffalo.

Yes, I've had bothersome allergies on and off all summer.  But I learned to manage them!  Triumph!  Claritin-D is the antihistamine that works for me with minimal side effects (I believe different ones work best for different people), and also Nasonex nasal spray.  I've had to keep my house closed up and the cooling system fan running all the time, which is a great disappointment for me, as I love nothing better than open windows and fresh air blowing through, when it's cool enough.  But this is how I managed to keep things well under control, so I did not have a recurrence of the bronchitis that laid me so low for two months last summer.

So now I feel rested and energetic again.  This is a testimony for at least one good, refreshing vacation each year, and preferably two.  I've continued to lose a bit of weight, though the heat in Tennessee has resulted in me being less active during August, and now even into September.  My yoga studio closed, so I haven't done yoga regularly, either.  So the weight loss has slowed, and I'm struggling again.

My friend Susan (who's also our parish secretary) gave me a great 18-speed bike she wasn't using, and I've ridden it a few times.  Funny, though -- when I was in my 20s I did not own a car, and my only transportation was a bicycle.  I rode it everywhere, at first with my daughter in a little seat on the back, and then later, she followed me on her own little bike.  My 10-speed bicycle truly was almost like an extension of my own body.  It's not like that now in my late 50s, I can tell you!  It was a great surprise that riding uphill (on this very hilly Plateau) was difficult, even in the lowest gear!  What has happened, except for 3 decades and 80 pounds?  Huh?

But I am energized and excited about the season to come at church.  We're doing 4 sessions on Sunday morning about Christian healing, and it's a lively group of 6 of us.  The Bible study on Wednesday is finishing up our very long study of Exodus, and that's exciting, too.  This is the first time we've attempted a formal study of the "biblical theology" of a book of the bible (though I tend to think that's what we actually do each time we meet), and it's exciting to see people finding the theological themes or loci in the book, and learning more about God, more about humankind, more about judgment, compassion, and grace, as we review what we've discussed.  We'll soon wrap this up and our next study will be the Gospel of Luke.  I've started reading "The Wisdom Jesus" by Cynthia Bourgeault, and think maybe I'll have a book discussion on that for our next Sunday series.  Can you tell I'm well rested and ready to roll?

Just the last bit of wonderful news from my autumn is that my friend Sandi got a new Kindle for her anniversary, and she has given me her old one, already loaded with maybe 100 books, mostly detective novels!  What fun I'm having with it!  What a generous heart, for her to give me such a wonderful gift.  So I'm reading Steig Larssen's third ("The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest" -- I was waiting for it to come out in paperback), and next is the Sue Grafton "U" book.  Yay!  Lots of fiction to supplement the nonfiction that I'm also enjoying.

Now the colors are changing in my yard, and I'm about to uproot my dear veggie garden and reduce it in size by about half.  I'll keep the rhubarb, grapes, and herbs, and try to coax the asparagus to life again next spring.  But it's being reduced from a large, rectangular plot, to a smaller triangle.  The dear parishioner who built my gate is going to help me move my fence, and I've got to get out there and weed and remove the raised beds, so the job can be simply done.

I'm sure all of you are stopping to enjoy the fall.  Take time just to be in a few delicious moments -- as many as possible.  You'll never live these particular days again!

Remembering Mary (1913-1999)

Dear Mama:

I'll start with this one -- my smart-looking mother in her suit and hat, patiently tolerating her fool-for-love husband and the daughter that never smiled for the camera as she wished.

Today is your birthday, Mama; you would be 96.  And you died 10 years ago next month.  I miss you more than ever, you know.  How you would love this place that I've landed in my journey!  Actually, I believe you do see and love this place, and that you're so happy that I'm here; but I wish you were here to share it with me.  How you would love being "The Rector's Mother," the Queen Mother of this parish!

The longer you are gone, Mama, the easier it is to remember this mother, the one in this picture, who often treated me, as you always said, "like a hen with one chick," who tenderly nurtured this girl that you didn't really understand much at all.  You see, you were an extrovert, and I was always an introvert (Doesn't this picture show it?  I cared not at all for what the photographer and you wanted me to do) -- and became even more so after my daddy died, and then as I entered moody adolescence.  My withdrawn interiority left you baffled, I know.  And you didn't know much about raising girls.  Though you were a tomboy, grew up with four brothers, raised three boys before me (and I think you secretly preferred boys), you somehow expected me to be a "girly-girl."  But instead you got the same dirty little rough-houser that I'm sure you were.  But I do know that you continued to love me fiercely, and even admire me, yes I do know this now, more than you could ever say.

Here's another picture; I'm not sure you'd like this one of yourself, but I love it as a family shot (I've posted it before, but I can't resist):
I'm seeing for the first time that, despite your extroversion, you really did not like to have your picture taken.  I know you never felt very good about your own looks, often called yourself "big and horsey," and always felt clumsy and overweight.  And yes, sure enough, you handed down those body image issues to me!  But you also gave me so much more, so much good stuff.  I can't even begin to say it all, won't even try, but we both know all the good stuff, and maybe someday I'll be able to sum it all up.

What I'm thinking of tonight, Mama, are a couple of things in particular.  I'm thinking of your love for the outdoors, nature, and time spent in the open air, which you also passed on to me.  I'm thinking in particular of my fire pit, which is ready for another burn:

I'm wishing that I had got it started tonight, in your honor.  I can't count the number of campfires we sat around in our plastic web and aluminum tube lawn chairs, Coleman lanterns hissing in the background, staring into the fire, adding one log, then another, to keep it burning after dinner, toasting marshmallows on sticks, singing silly camp songs, with you telling stories about your own childhood, or the early years of your marriage, before I came along, or about my brothers' escapades when they were my age.  Oh, those were good times, sitting around that fire.  Thank you for that.

Another thing I'm thinking about, Mama, is what a gardener you were.  Some of my earliest memories are of the African violets you nurtured in the windowsill on South Eighth Street, and how you carefully pinched off the brown leaves and watered only from below, so not to get water on the leaves.  I remember your hydrangea outside the dining room window, which you fed with coffee grounds and eggshells, and how it bloomed pink, though you wanted it blue.  I remember the armloads of tulips that you sent to school with me for my teacher, and the May baskets we made one year for me to hang on neighbors' doorknobs early in the morning.  I know you would love these perennial gardens around my house (though you'd want me to care for them better, or hire someone to do it), and you would also love my veggie garden, and would take an intense interest in my tomatoes, coaching me about how to encourage maximum fruit.  Some years I pinch out the suckers, Mama, just as you showed me, but I forgot to do it this year.  It's too late now; the fruit is already setting.  I know you'd laugh at the little herb bed I put in tonight against the potting shed:

Yeah, I know calling it a "herb bed" is a joke.  I know you're wondering about the lids from the cat litter buckets.  But I lost the little fence things that I used to have out by the garage, and I need something to warn the lawn people not to whack them down with the weed whacker.  Maybe tomorrow I'll go get some more of those little fence border thingies.  And I know it's only peppermint and dill.  The other herbs are back with the veggies, and the oregano's under the ornamental dogwood.  But the dill came up from last year in a small planter on the back porch (there's more!), and it re-seeds so nicely and smells so good.  And you'd appreciate the peppermint in your iced tea, now wouldn't you?  Mmmm, mmmm.  And if it gets too overgrown, the worst that will happen is that it will grow out into the lawn and the lawn people will mow it down, and then it will smell beautiful.

So that's all I'm going to write tonight, Mama.  Happy birthday.  I'm not sure how much birthdays mean over there where you are now, but I know that remembering and good memories and being loved all mean something.  I miss you.  I love you.  These two gifts, the outdoors and the gardening, are what I miss in particular tonight, though you know there is so much more.  I know that you're happy that I'm happy here on this beautiful Plateau.  And yes, I know you're proud of me, always were, even though you only learned to say that to me at the very end.

And now I'm going to bed.  Another gift you gave me, though I've only learned it so very late in life, is to get to bed at a decent hour so I can enjoy the cool beauty of the morning.  There's nothing like running with my dogs in the early morning, especially these next few days when the temperatures are gorgeous.  It's wonderful to see the bunnies and the chipmunks, as well as cats and dogs going about their morning business.  Everything is so fresh and new and holy.  Thank you for the early morning, too.  I hope your journey on the other side is going well, Mama.  I'm sure it is, as you're a worker, just like me.  G'night.

Back Home Again

Okay.  I've had an absolutely lovely time away.  The retreat was great.  All the presentations, including mine, were well-received.  The Mercy Center in St. Louis was probably the loveliest, most gracious retreat center I've ever attended (and I've attended quite a few of them).  I took a couple of pictures of my favorite parts: 

Yes, the Mercy Center has a lovely labyrinth, constructed, as I read the story, over landscape fabric.  It was initially built by a group of women, and mulched with wood chips (wisely salvaged from pruning and trimming on their own property -- oh, that I could get our church to do that!).  Now the dark black mulch is shredded rubber, an excellent choice, I think, and I wish I could get hold of some for my own labyrinth.  It was striking.  It is a 12-circuit, like the large one at Chartres Cathedral in France.  It also seems much like the one at Kanuga Camp and Conference Center, where I actually learned to appreciate the labyrinth.  It does seem longer than the one at Kanuga, though.

The outdoor stations of the cross also touched my heart, probably because I saw them so soon in the Easter Season!  I've longed for outdoor stations at our parish.  We have a beautiful and unique set inside our church, and we use them exactly once a year, during Holy Week.  I'd be happy, though, if others wanted to use them more often.  But in the church, to move from one station to another really only requires a shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.  I really wanted stations that you could actually walk a few steps between.  You might be able to see in this photo that the cross sits in the center of a very large circle that contains all 14 Stations of the Cross, each one sheltered in a small wooden "house-shaped" structure, mounted on a pole.  My idea, exactly!  And executed most beautifully, with great love and devotion.

I did not get any pictures of the presenters, but the Hindu woman (a social worker by day) appeared in a sari; the Muslim woman appeared with appropriate head covering, the Jewish woman wore a lovely yarmulke or kippah, and the Zen Buddhist wore traditional Japanese robes.

I didn't get pictures of them all, but I was so very pleased that they were so warmly received by the audience, a Christian religious order (some of whom, I was told, might be fairly conservative).  Everyone there seemed to want to know more about the worship and mystical practices of the world's great religions.  I was also very touched at the warmth with which my talk and my presence were received.  Though I was much too much of a newcomer to share in the rather intense emotional experience of the entire retreat, I certainly felt loved and welcomed, and that was a Good Thing!

During my presentation, I offered this quote, by Bede Griffiths, an English Roman Catholic Monk:  "If you look at religions as they present themselves to us, it is like five separate fingers.  But if you penetrate to their source -- to the palm of the hand -- you will find they all spring from the same source  and instead of being separate entities they are, at their base, sharing in one common, mystical tradition."  This quote was received with many nods and murmurs of assent.  It's what I believe, too.

I left the retreat warmed to my heart.  I was fed by all of the presentations (on interfaith approaches to prayer, worship, and meditation) and the people who were there; I slept a lot, signifying that I had allowed myself to relax into this time of grace and rest.  I was also installed as a Companion in this order, something requiring more of a commitment than my previous status as "Friend."  I wish I had also taken more photos of this gracious location, with its wide, spiral staircase spanning three levels (but also with elevator), its lovely grounds, and the delicious food we were fed with far too great regularity!  I loved this beautiful and holy place, and do hope to return.

And then I drove the three hours back to my family's home in the easternmost part of central Illinois.  Oh, how lovely that was!  I wish I had pictures, but I don't.  But my heart danced in the arms of my family.  I conversed and broke bread daily with the ones I love, and then also had a lovely dinner with my one remaining brother, who generously shared pictures of himself and others in my family.  He lost his wife 7 months ago, but is coping remarkably well.  I was so happy to see my loved ones doing well, and regretted missing the ones who were working in another part of the state.

This afternoon I arrived home.  I was so, so happy to be with my doggies again.  Mr. Buddy, who seemed to have a sore back when I left, is fully recovered.  My kennel lady was kind enough to text me and tell me of Buddy's return to dancing.  The kitty has taken up residency in a windowsill in my study, and I'm delighted that we can finally all be one family down here.  My  youngest dog, Ms. Clementine, has grown far gentler and more respectful, so the kitty need not live in terror any longer.

So I'm so happy to be here.  I was only gone a week, Wednesday-to-Wednesday, actually eight days, if you count them up on your fingers.  But meanwhile, things have gone wild in my garden!  Just look at a few of these!  I've often had the experience of being gone midsummer, and finding my garden gone wild upon my return.  But never have I had this experience so early in the spring.  Things are so much more lush and beautiful than when I left a week ago!

This tree peony never fails to knock my socks off.  I love the vibrancy of it.  This year it has more blooms than it ever has had.  I made the mistake early on in my time here of cutting it back severely, and it has bloomed ever-so-slowly and sparsely in the years since.  I love the blowsy sensuality of these blooms.

This is only the second year in my 7 springtimes here that I've seen these clustered purple wisteria blooms.  The wisteria is amazing, when it decides to happen.  The problem is that it doesn't like any severe cutting back, and if I actually trim back what has extended into the little tree next to it (see upper right), then it doesn't bloom again for ages.  Of course, two years ago we had a severe late frost -- but I'm ever so grateful for these blooms that occurred during my absence!  Now if I could only nurture back its twin, which was chopped to shreds -- twice -- by my ever-helpful lawn crew.  This year I will try once again to pick one perfect stem and nurture it into a small tree.

I could post a number of other photos I took today, including some dynamite columbine.  But  all of these sweet flowers do announce spring to me.  I love lilies of the valley.  I remember when I was a young teen my favorite cologne was "Muguet des Bois" (flowers of the woods, as I recall) -- the sweet scent of lilies of the valley.  They are such a pretty addition to my springtime.

I can't believe that I was gone only for a week, with nothing but the barest hints of these things when I left!  Now they are all in full flower.  Besides that, when I took my walk with the dogs tonight, I discovered many, many tiny bunches of grapes on my wild-as-can-be (though of a domestic variety -- only neglected) grapevines.  I have a parishioner of Italian extraction, who knows about these things, who insists that all these tiny buds will produce only tiny, tiny heads of grapes.  But it's too late to prune as he has instructed, this year.  And there are so many little bunches!  The very best I can do is to find ways to repel the deer, so that I can eventually see all that develops for myself.  Then I'll know better what I should do for next year.  I have shiny things to set blowing outside the garden to scare away the deer.  I can get some netting (though this is best in battling birds).  I might even surrender to the terrible prospect of "liquid fence" -- garlic and rotten eggs!  Oh, my.  But I'd love to save the grapes that have budded out (pictures another day).

How lovely to get away!  How lovely to visit a fine facility and also be part of a lovely retreat!  How truly heartwarming to visit old locales (including the gravesites of my parents and daughter), and to enjoy the love of my family for a few days!  And how wonderful to return home, especially to an abundant garden!  Thank you God, for all of this!

Sentimental Journey

Okay, I have so much to say that I can't possibly say it all tonight.  I just arrived home from 3 days with my family in Illinois and Indiana.  I baptized a great-grandniece in the little church I was confirmed in (here's the church, St. George's Episcopal, in West Terre Haute, Indiana -- I'll send a picture of the baptism when my niece sends me one):

When I was growing up, we held Sunday school in the undercroft, which was accessed through the cellar doors you still see at the right of the building.  The parish hall, which you see to the far left, wasn't there, nor was the white fence (or paved parking lot, which you don't see in this picture).

Not only was it great to see my family, but it gave me a great chance to revisit old places from my childhood.  It was a rich time.  Yesterday before the baptism I performed, I visited the church where I was baptized myself, St. Stephen's, across the river in Terre Haute.  Then I took a short tour of my old neighborhood where I lived from age 2-8 years, including the corner house where I lived with my parents and brothers during those years:

 
It's a humble little house, somewhat worse for wear, and looking a bit different than when I lived there.  It had gray tar-paper siding then (asphalt? asbestos? that heavy shingled stuff that felt like sand on the outside), and there was an enormous white hydrangea bush in front of that front double-window (which wasn't double then, but rather, just one large, double-hung window).  There was no chain-link fence or flagpole, the front porch and steps were simple cement (maybe painted red?), and the front sidewalk (not even visible in this photo) was in good repair.  That very front room was my parents' bedroom, though it was my grandmother's room when she lived with us.  The side room with the slight bay window was the living room, and behind that was the dining room.  The little part that looks added-on in the back was the kitchen.  The garage has always been there, though it was tan stucco when we lived there.  Those maple trees at the curb were very small when I lived there; my daddy planted them, and one has been cut down -- it was an orderly row of five saplings.  The back yard, which you can't see here, has been changed dramatically; the brick sidewalk my daddy laid when I was 4 (I "helped") has been torn out and replaced with cement "steppingstones."  I almost cried when I saw it.  The last time I was there, the walkway was still there, though very overgrown with grass between the bricks.  I wish I had photographed it then.

I have many other things to tell and show you; but there was such deep-down sweetness and satisfaction about making these visits to well-known and loved sites this week.  I've been writing down memoirs for myself over the last few months, and this "sentimental journey" (yes, the song has been running through my head all day) deepened my experience and stirred up more memories.

It was with some sadness that my dogs and I (they made the trip with me this time) bid my family and these familiar places good-bye.  It's great to be home, but it was a really meaningful and moving visit.

My Birthday, and the Weekend

It has been a good weekend.  Friday I worked on my back porch, clearing, cleaning, sweeping, planting, making it generally a nice place to hang out in the cooler parts of this summer.  Friday and Saturday were cooler than it has been, so it was actually enjoyable to be working outside.  I still want to buy some brightly colored annual flowers for my "window box" planters (that sit on the ledge), but that will come later this week.  Here's some of what I've done so far:

I know, it looks a lot like last year, except I bought a new umbrella with a crank and a catch that allows me to angle it, so I can have shade in the late afternoon (this photo faces West, and now that the big maples are gone, there's nothing to provide shade from the late afternoon sun except this little umbrella).  The leafy green thing on the right is actually a hydrangea that I bought last year at the farmer's market -- the woman who sold it to me had trained it into a little tree (I'll have to do some trimming to get it back there).  The blue pot closest to the camera has dill that re-seeded from the "crop" I had in that pot last year.  I only used that dill a few times, but if you put a little bit in yogurt, it makes the nicest sauce for grilled salmon.  The lowest green thing you can see is something my neighbor gave me -- she calls it "oregano," and it certainly smells like oregano, but it has leaves that almost look like hydrangea leaves -- sharp-toothed, rather than the small, round leaves that most oregano has.  The stems are also thick (kind of like coleus), not like the thin stems of my other oregano.  Anybody have a clue?  On the left is my fountain, made from a Walmart resin pot and a piece of pipe I found near my fire pit.  I'd love to have something on that wall -- but it's vinyl siding and not truly my own home (the church provides this house for me), so I'm not really confident about what I can actually do.  You can also see the two new boards that replace splintery ones -- I haven't stained them yet.  A parishioner did that repair for me -- the same one that made me the pretty little garden gate that I posted before.  Here's another shot:

If I'm standing at my back door facing vaguely northwest, here's what I see.  In the little planter on the ledge are coleus, given to me last fall by my spiritual director.  They're small just now -- I let them go far too long, rooting in jars of water.  But I can tell they're growing.  Soon I'll have 1 or 2 more of these planters, also planted with pretty coleus.  If I look at this corner, here's what I see:  the little concrete garden angel with a broken wing that a clergy buddy won for me at one of those fun gift games where you can open a new gift or steal one from someone else.  She was a real pal.  The coleus given to me my my spiritual director.  Down below, a bird (heron? ibis?) in rusted metal that my sister in law complimented after I bought it at the Pier I "scratch and dent" store.  The mosaic pot is one I bought at TJ Maxx, and it has lemons that remind me of the Amalfi Coast in Italy.  The bottom is busted out because I left it out and it froze -- but it's still pretty!  The gray thing to the right of the hydrangea tree is a funky little bird feeder that I won THIS year at the same silly gift-game event.  The pot on the base of the birdbath has a little rosemary that wintered over outside.  I transplanted it, so let's see if it survives my merciful ministrations.  On the table, at the very, very far left of the picture, you see a small gray thing.  It's a sweet little cement pig that my artist friend, Rara Schlitt (the one who painted my black Julian) made and gave me.  He's laughing, and I love him.  So this view contains a whole bunch of things that have connections to people I love.  No wonder I love being here!  Behind the porch is my potting shed.  When I came here, it was an airless, moldy mess.  There was ZERO ventilation, and it smelled like the various fertilizers and poisons stored therein.  See that raised up thing at the very top of the roof?  It's a vent that the SAME parishioner (the blessed one of the new boards and the garden gate) installed when he replaced the moldy roof.  And he also installed a screen door that I bought and painted the same blue as the porch railings.  I know, some people think the color on the railings and screen door is way too "loud" -- but it makes me smile.  Anyway, he also installed a skylight in the potting shed (other side from this view).  So instead of dark and dank, now it's dry and light, though way too messy and full of spiders, still!  But this view contains lots of love and affection -- things people gave me and did for me.

I also cleaned and filled THREE hummingbird feeders.  Here they are (look for the dots of red, the most difficult being above and slightly to the right of the one that is at the far left):

You can also see the screen door on my potting shed here -- I seldom close the wooden door that is opened within, which is why it stays so dry, light, and well-aired in there.  No windows, though, except the skylight.  The tree is my flowering cherry, that blooms in both spring and fall.  Much clipping and trimming needed, of course.  On the left is my bird feeder (you can't see it -- it looks like a little church), but you can see at least the bottom squirrel guard (there's also one on the top), and they seem to be effective.

And now I must go.  My family is here -- from Illinois!  It's the best birthday gift I could possibly get!  I didn't even mention my 56th birthday (Thursday), which included a flat-on-my-face, spread-eagled, face-down fall in the parking lot of the retirement community where I do a monthly communion service.  The row of little old ladies who saw me fall, with their faces wrinkled with concern, was solace enough (my Greek chorus to the parking lot tragedy) -- and they patched up my skinned knee and leg in the on-site clinic.  A parishioner buddy bought me lunch, which was absolutely lovely -- and then I went off to a dentist appointment (broke a tooth last Monday) that went from a simple $100 repair to a $1175 root canal and crown in the blink of an eye.  Happy birthday to me, and thank God for dental insurance, even if the coverage is only partial!

So Friday, Saturday, and Sunday really were more like a birthday, with the pleasant day off from work, when I could engage in home (well, porch) making, and the arrival of gorgeous Roman glass earrings (from an archaeological dig in Israel, where I also obtained Roman glass nearly 10 years ago) from my best friend Cheryl.  I put all my cards from friends, family, and parishioners on the mantel, put on my earrings, and began to feel like queen for a day!

And now my family!  I spent almost the whole day cooking for them (tabbouli, hummus, curry-rice salad, real brewed iced tea), just enjoying every minute of preparation and anticipating their arrival.  And now they're here, and I feel so blessed to have them!  Today I feel like a domestic goddess.  It was lovely to watch them eating and enjoying some of the goodies that I made for them!  Tomorrow I will also enjoy them (even though I have a couple of mandatory meetings), and then they will be off on Tuesday to Disney World in Orlando to watch darling Maddie dance.