SHELTERED AND SHATTERED - A REARVIEW LOOK - BROKEN AND WHOLE
Thirteen months ago, both an eternity and a nano-second, my pilgrimage of self-discovery, art exploration and quest for nature-nurture commenced on a sun-drenched June morning. As I sat in the captain's seat of my mobile shelter, Pedro(my Pleasureway RV) carried me across the threshhold of the backroads of rural southwestern Minnesota. California was my first destination - the first leg of my journey. Eager, calm and expectant, I enjoyed five days of uneventful travel before my first glitch - a near accident with resultant brake damage necessitating a 2-day repair job. An absence of clairvoyance is a good thing when one's future days hold a plethora of breakdown events to come. Some people label them character-building events, others call them pissy problems. Over the course of a year, I called them both!
Two months ago, near the end of my year-on-the-road, I lay in the Intensive Care Unit of a Minneapolis hospital, having been told by doctors that I had survived a CVA (cerebrovascular accident-commonly called a 'stroke') as I sat in my RV at a gas station in Nebraska, three days earlier. Herein lies a rather long story, much of which I will abbreviate in the interest of wordiness as I punctuate my pilgrimage with this, my last blog of my journey.
Twenty-one days passed between my last blog entry and my arrival at a high desert campground 8 miles northeast of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Three dreamlike weeks in Santa Fe were a fitting endcap to my previous 11 months. Artmaking on the picnic table of my juniper-peppered campsite, plentiful excursions for gallery hopping on Canyon Road, community concerts in town, contemplative worship experiences in the oldest protestant church building in New Mexico - my days ticked off the calendar with restfulness and purpose. Thoughts of re-entering 'normal everyday life' in my home state of Minnesota at months' end began invading my psyche.
Tucked safely in my New Mexico memories was a special Mother's Day weekend event - Passport to the Arts, a sputtering rainy day filled with plein-air artists showing 'their stuff' while engaged in a 1-1/2 hour 'paint-in'. Watching these 70 artists at work was pure delight! Such variety in media and subject matter! The evening art auction/wine reception under the shelter of a festive tent was a first for me. My indulgent moments after a special day often ends with a decadent chocolate dessert and a fine glass of wine at a cozy wine bar. That day was no exception to my tradition, thanks to the nifty makeover of a small historic spanish home into the iconic 315 Wine Bar - a little gem of French cruisine in an exquisite Southwestern city.
Three weeks into my Santa Fe hiatus, my night's sleep was shattered by a piercing stuccato alarm, jolting me from my cozy bed-nest. Upon investigation, the culprit turned out to be a malfunctioning carbon monoxide alarm. My attempted fix with a tiny screwdriver at floor level left me with an impaired shoulder and arm muscle, which over the ensuing two days turned into a major medical issue. Drained and weary from the pain and lack of blood flow to my hand, I quickly packed. Abbreviating my planned New Mexico sojourn, I pointed Pedro toward Minnesota and began my homeward trek, driving one-handed as my disabled arm lay in my lap. Unknown to me at the time, two major clots were lurking in my thoracic vessels, the result of skeletal traumas from the congenital extra cervical bones that I knew to be one of my birth-anomalies. The clots 'behaved' for the first 30 hours of my journey, then (thankfully) while parked to refuel (instead of while driving) they (the clots) moved - a resultant stroke, which unfolded slow enough for me to make a phone call to 911 - a call for help - before the onset of my disorientation. My Sioux City, IA hospital emergency room visit clarified the diagnosis. Deeming me stable enough for transit, a nighttime ambulance ride brought my pilgrimage to end back in MN, albeit in a broken state in a hospital ICU room.
In the abyss of the unknown, much of the meat of life passes through one's consiousness. My ICU days were a blur of pain, fragmented thoughts, whispered imaginary voices of anxiousness, drug induced periods of floating nothingness except for the nearness of the Spirit of God. As the haze cleared, clarity brought a degree of thankfulness and focus. My stroke left me with absolutely no deficits - paralysis - speech impairment - nothing! Such miraculous grace! The needed 'fix' for my hand and arm numbness and restricted blood flow turned out to be a required surgery to remove my thoracic bone anomalies and clot removal of one of the clots with thoracic vessel reconstructions.
A five day out-of-hospital wait before an opening in the surgery schedule provided me with nurture by dear ones in my life and days of deep reflection on my past year and the future that lay ahead of me.
Books have often served as the voice of God in my life. My year-long travels were inspired by the book: The Art of Pilgrimage: A Seeker's Guide to Making Travel Sacred. Though this book is not exclusively 'christian', the messages, suggestions and thoughts can easily be reinvented in christian terms if the reader desires. Another book that has been an inspiration to me, Let Your Life Speak, was written by a Quaker, Parker Palmer. The messages gleaned from the pen of Parker, have helped me over the past year to face some of the difficult truths about myself - my weaknesses and strengths. I have choices in my life - when ego and arrogance raises its ugly head, I can, instead, choose humility. As Parker says, "The concept of finding 'your voice' within your true self is a friendship that heals the soul." My pilgrimage has welcomed a healing to my soul as I have discovered my true self. The nature nurture I sought in my travels was realized in moments of quietness in God's nature all over the country, whether in flower-gilted ditches, or rocky beaches, sandy deserts or foothill grasses, creole waterways or midwest grassy plains. God spoke to me through it all.
The four seasons of my journey-year will be an ongoing life metaphor as I live and re-live my days on the road. The maturing and growth of 'Summer' - the fruitbearing of 'Autumn' - the soul-searching bleakness and hibernation of 'Winter' as well as the new growth of 'Spring' - all necessary parts of life that create a circle of wholeness when mixed with the direction of God's spirit. As I continue absorbing the lessons of the road, my hope is that the growth and insights realized will be easily shared with all who cross my path.
Though Pedro was my shelter, my sanctuary in both real and imagined storms in my life, 'he' also was the one who shattered me in the end. My return home with physical brokenness brought on by yet one more mechanical malfunction stretched me beyond my limits. Therein lies life's realities - much in life has the potential of bringing wholeness or brokenness to us. The good news is that wholeness can be restored, often through the hands or voices of God's servants. Physical, emotional, relational, mental - restoration comes in a variety of ways and time frames.
Personal choices are real players in the journey of life. This I know in a deeper way these days.
It is now two months post surgery for me. Wholeness has returned to my body. My spirit is filled with hope for my future. I know not what doors will open, but I trust the truth of yet one more of Parker Palmer's declarations from his book: "Each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up."
I look for the opening of my world as God brings it to me.
I wish for each of you, my blog readers, a nurturing shelter in the midst of your storms and opening doors to your life which will bring you a renewed wholeness. Peace to all!
Intothewind - Naturegirl
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Thursday, May 9, 2013
A PARTY - UNEXPECTED
Having never set foot on Louisiana soil before, the day I made my debut, it was a sunny Mississippi morning in Clinton, a suburb of Jackson. My self-guided tour of downtown Jackson, of the previous day, revealed a city far different than my misguided preconceived expectations. Isn't it interesting how we often make judgements based on fragments of information that come to us through the years - such an unfair notion we adopt about so much in life. The clean and well kept downtown I cruised through brought to mind the boiling stories of civil rights conflicts of the days of my preadolescence. And, of course, the American History lessons I dismissed as not-so-important, now flash boldly into my conscious mind - an abundance of southern history enfolds this city. My more mature mind, now a sponge, soaks in the public documented history I see on many a street corner in this creole section of the country.
Some enlightened person I met on this Jackson morning assured me that a ride down 'Natchez Trace' while in Mississippi, was a must. This new phrase - was it a residential enclave?... a river? ...a road? The answer - a road it IS, a long one at that, and one not to be missed! I arrived at 'the Trace' by way of Vicksburg, MS (a history lesson all it's own!). The 444 miles of the Natchez Trace is similar to the Blue Ridge Parkway - an meandering oasis of nature's bounty with no intersecting roads, only short exits here and there to connect to other highways. On May 18th 'The Trace' will celebrate 75 years of existence, however the 'path' has been used by Choctaw Indians and other natives for over 10,000 years. Today the roadside landscape shows a perfusion of flowers and fauna - an April delight. Few cars were traveling this road on this weekday morning. I stopped about a half-hour into my day's journey, parked in a small wayside rest, and walked into the meadow of flowers, surrounded by magnificent trees, the sound of a babbling brook over yonder. Standing there in near silence ....listening.... looking... smelling... a flood of senses like no other. The sounds of water, a gentle breeze, birds chirping - it could have been heaven as far as I was concerned. Without a doubt, the full-color sensuous moment of that day will last in my memory always!
Arriving in the town of Natchez, I was greeted with street after street of 'vintage' homes, many with signposts listing it's date of origin in precise lettering. This would be the town best suited to sign up for a historic architecture class! The impressive Vistor's Center tells a complete and rather discomforting story of the often ruthless days of slavery and emotion-ladened events of the civil rights emergent years. So much to learn - to absorb.
A glance out the window revealed the morning sun giving way to the threatening look of gathering clouds. Heeding the warning, it was time to move on if I was to arrive in Shreveport by nightfall. The Mississippi River separates Natchez from the Louisiana state line. If I were to play Huck Finn, I'd hop a river raft and follow the snaking path of the mighty Mississippi about 200 miles south of here to the great city of New Orleans. My yearning to explore the capital of southern Jazz was placed on hold for a future time, when I can 'do the town' - perhaps with a companion. Crossing over the Natchez bridge, I am now traveling Louisiana Hwy 425. The inevitable rainstorm hit with a fury, but this determined 'Iowegian' hunkered down at a 15 mph pace, taking the winds and hail in full alert, following the tail-lights ahead of me. As you may expect, my itinerary was modified because of the storm. Shreveport would have to wait until tomorrow. Always -flexibility. The post-rain twilight hours usher in an ethereal relaxing drive into Monroe. The bayou signs and swamp grasses have given way to more agricultural land. A tractor here and there, cows grazing, and an occasional grain field reveal a changing terrain - always a traveler's delight.
At the dawning of a new day, my hour's drive into Shreveport seemed almost Minnesota-like. Spring's green vibrance enlivening my inner spirit, and following me all the way to the door of my next art museum perusal - H.R. Horton Gallery in Shreveport. I am continually amazed to find art museums all unique in one way or another. H.R. Horton was no exception. Though the exterior shouted - 'old high school building' - the inner sanctum was nothing of the sort! As museums go, it was rather small, but packed a wonderful punch! The collection of American and European art - inspiring; the antique doll collection - artfully presented and the gallery of antique guns - well, I passed through quickly - not really my thing!
My short early afternoon drive-through of Shreveport was satisfying/interesting, but my eagerness to be on my way to Dallas spurred me out of town, and onto State Hwy 80 for the 2-1/2 hour drive to Preston Hollow, of north Dallas notariety. The east Texas tree-ladened roadsides seemed to sandwich-up to my ribbon of highway, a toothpaste squeeze of a journey through ten-gallon hat towns, full of Spanish flavor, and with flea market tables lining the community streets like a spring festival of 'has-been merchandise' extravaganza. Had I been a flea-market guru, that day would have been eutopia! The reality is, my life in recent months has been all about 'simplifying', a natural result of living in 90 sq. ft. of mobile living space! On this day, the has-been markets flew by my window with not a thought of braking for a look-see.
Dallas, Texas is BIG - rather like the state it is situated in. It was apparent that I could have spent more than a week visiting museums, gardens and the like, had I wanted. Two days exploring this bigger-than-life place sufficed, a rather enjoyable time, but a descending 'vacant-soul' aura was beginning to invade my psyche. This can happen when traveling solo and living in a rather introverted shell of personal being. My cerebral knowledge of 'Immauel' (God with us) is a constant companion, but streams of consciousness take we humans in unhealthy detours now and then - a natural part of life, I believe. Seeking to fill the 'vacancy', a voice came quietly to my awareness ...'Go to Santa Fe'! Cutting short my prior roughly constructed itinerary, I hit the open road once more, toward the western Texas plains with their ranches, cattle and scraggly, aged juniper shrubs on the vast horizons.
Lying west and loosely connected to Dallas is the equally vibrant, almost-twin, city of Fort Worth. My Wipedia search had informed me of an Art Center in the suburb of Irving, close to my route. One last hurrah before the open road - I'll stop for a quick visit. I'm told there are wonderful outdoor sculptures in the gardens surrounding this relatively small Center for the Arts. Always thankful for my GPS, I easily find my way to a rather unassuming neighborhood and find the school-like setting quickly, filled with cars in the parking lot. For a Sunday afternoon, on a lovely sunny day, this seemed a bit of a surprise. The quiet expanse of man-made geometric ponds and large metal sculptures that lies adjacent to the Center's entrance was soothing to my soul as I meandered the carefully contoured walkways, listening to the flowing waters, admiring the sparkling twisted metal sculptures standing proudly in the hot Texas sun. I smile, nurtured once more by the essence of earth's sounds, albeit manipulated by the hands of God's human creators of art. Ambling slowing into the building, I follow the signs down a hallway and hear in the distance the sounds of a crowd. What's this? Rounding the corner I enter a room filled with party-goers in various manners of dress. Tables are ladened with artfully arranged platters of tasty eats. Numerous large and small floral arrangements flank various art pieces here and there in this fine gallery. What -- did they throw me a party??? Well, it would seem so --I'll just pretend to be the 'invisible guest' and fit in as 'one of the crowd'. It is soon apparent that this is a yearly regional art contest, entered by perhaps a hundred artists who's artistic media range from oils to pastels, to mixed media, watercolor, acrylic and more. What a true serendipitous moment!
I choose to believe that God leads us to healing places when we find ourselves 'empty', in need of encouragement. In the latter part of this day, my spirit is uplifted. I float around the room for an hour or so, studying the beautiful art, enjoy a strawberry or two, or three and listening to the announcement of the contest winners. Such a mixture of personas - art always seems to draw out the unique in people. Walking to my RV in the late afternoon sun, there is a new bounce in my step.
"Thanks for the party, God", I say, as I slide into my captain's chair and turn over Pedro's engine. New Mexico, Land of Enchantment, here I come!
Intothewind-
NATUREGIRL
Having never set foot on Louisiana soil before, the day I made my debut, it was a sunny Mississippi morning in Clinton, a suburb of Jackson. My self-guided tour of downtown Jackson, of the previous day, revealed a city far different than my misguided preconceived expectations. Isn't it interesting how we often make judgements based on fragments of information that come to us through the years - such an unfair notion we adopt about so much in life. The clean and well kept downtown I cruised through brought to mind the boiling stories of civil rights conflicts of the days of my preadolescence. And, of course, the American History lessons I dismissed as not-so-important, now flash boldly into my conscious mind - an abundance of southern history enfolds this city. My more mature mind, now a sponge, soaks in the public documented history I see on many a street corner in this creole section of the country.
Some enlightened person I met on this Jackson morning assured me that a ride down 'Natchez Trace' while in Mississippi, was a must. This new phrase - was it a residential enclave?... a river? ...a road? The answer - a road it IS, a long one at that, and one not to be missed! I arrived at 'the Trace' by way of Vicksburg, MS (a history lesson all it's own!). The 444 miles of the Natchez Trace is similar to the Blue Ridge Parkway - an meandering oasis of nature's bounty with no intersecting roads, only short exits here and there to connect to other highways. On May 18th 'The Trace' will celebrate 75 years of existence, however the 'path' has been used by Choctaw Indians and other natives for over 10,000 years. Today the roadside landscape shows a perfusion of flowers and fauna - an April delight. Few cars were traveling this road on this weekday morning. I stopped about a half-hour into my day's journey, parked in a small wayside rest, and walked into the meadow of flowers, surrounded by magnificent trees, the sound of a babbling brook over yonder. Standing there in near silence ....listening.... looking... smelling... a flood of senses like no other. The sounds of water, a gentle breeze, birds chirping - it could have been heaven as far as I was concerned. Without a doubt, the full-color sensuous moment of that day will last in my memory always!
Arriving in the town of Natchez, I was greeted with street after street of 'vintage' homes, many with signposts listing it's date of origin in precise lettering. This would be the town best suited to sign up for a historic architecture class! The impressive Vistor's Center tells a complete and rather discomforting story of the often ruthless days of slavery and emotion-ladened events of the civil rights emergent years. So much to learn - to absorb.
A glance out the window revealed the morning sun giving way to the threatening look of gathering clouds. Heeding the warning, it was time to move on if I was to arrive in Shreveport by nightfall. The Mississippi River separates Natchez from the Louisiana state line. If I were to play Huck Finn, I'd hop a river raft and follow the snaking path of the mighty Mississippi about 200 miles south of here to the great city of New Orleans. My yearning to explore the capital of southern Jazz was placed on hold for a future time, when I can 'do the town' - perhaps with a companion. Crossing over the Natchez bridge, I am now traveling Louisiana Hwy 425. The inevitable rainstorm hit with a fury, but this determined 'Iowegian' hunkered down at a 15 mph pace, taking the winds and hail in full alert, following the tail-lights ahead of me. As you may expect, my itinerary was modified because of the storm. Shreveport would have to wait until tomorrow. Always -flexibility. The post-rain twilight hours usher in an ethereal relaxing drive into Monroe. The bayou signs and swamp grasses have given way to more agricultural land. A tractor here and there, cows grazing, and an occasional grain field reveal a changing terrain - always a traveler's delight.
At the dawning of a new day, my hour's drive into Shreveport seemed almost Minnesota-like. Spring's green vibrance enlivening my inner spirit, and following me all the way to the door of my next art museum perusal - H.R. Horton Gallery in Shreveport. I am continually amazed to find art museums all unique in one way or another. H.R. Horton was no exception. Though the exterior shouted - 'old high school building' - the inner sanctum was nothing of the sort! As museums go, it was rather small, but packed a wonderful punch! The collection of American and European art - inspiring; the antique doll collection - artfully presented and the gallery of antique guns - well, I passed through quickly - not really my thing!
My short early afternoon drive-through of Shreveport was satisfying/interesting, but my eagerness to be on my way to Dallas spurred me out of town, and onto State Hwy 80 for the 2-1/2 hour drive to Preston Hollow, of north Dallas notariety. The east Texas tree-ladened roadsides seemed to sandwich-up to my ribbon of highway, a toothpaste squeeze of a journey through ten-gallon hat towns, full of Spanish flavor, and with flea market tables lining the community streets like a spring festival of 'has-been merchandise' extravaganza. Had I been a flea-market guru, that day would have been eutopia! The reality is, my life in recent months has been all about 'simplifying', a natural result of living in 90 sq. ft. of mobile living space! On this day, the has-been markets flew by my window with not a thought of braking for a look-see.
Dallas, Texas is BIG - rather like the state it is situated in. It was apparent that I could have spent more than a week visiting museums, gardens and the like, had I wanted. Two days exploring this bigger-than-life place sufficed, a rather enjoyable time, but a descending 'vacant-soul' aura was beginning to invade my psyche. This can happen when traveling solo and living in a rather introverted shell of personal being. My cerebral knowledge of 'Immauel' (God with us) is a constant companion, but streams of consciousness take we humans in unhealthy detours now and then - a natural part of life, I believe. Seeking to fill the 'vacancy', a voice came quietly to my awareness ...'Go to Santa Fe'! Cutting short my prior roughly constructed itinerary, I hit the open road once more, toward the western Texas plains with their ranches, cattle and scraggly, aged juniper shrubs on the vast horizons.
Lying west and loosely connected to Dallas is the equally vibrant, almost-twin, city of Fort Worth. My Wipedia search had informed me of an Art Center in the suburb of Irving, close to my route. One last hurrah before the open road - I'll stop for a quick visit. I'm told there are wonderful outdoor sculptures in the gardens surrounding this relatively small Center for the Arts. Always thankful for my GPS, I easily find my way to a rather unassuming neighborhood and find the school-like setting quickly, filled with cars in the parking lot. For a Sunday afternoon, on a lovely sunny day, this seemed a bit of a surprise. The quiet expanse of man-made geometric ponds and large metal sculptures that lies adjacent to the Center's entrance was soothing to my soul as I meandered the carefully contoured walkways, listening to the flowing waters, admiring the sparkling twisted metal sculptures standing proudly in the hot Texas sun. I smile, nurtured once more by the essence of earth's sounds, albeit manipulated by the hands of God's human creators of art. Ambling slowing into the building, I follow the signs down a hallway and hear in the distance the sounds of a crowd. What's this? Rounding the corner I enter a room filled with party-goers in various manners of dress. Tables are ladened with artfully arranged platters of tasty eats. Numerous large and small floral arrangements flank various art pieces here and there in this fine gallery. What -- did they throw me a party??? Well, it would seem so --I'll just pretend to be the 'invisible guest' and fit in as 'one of the crowd'. It is soon apparent that this is a yearly regional art contest, entered by perhaps a hundred artists who's artistic media range from oils to pastels, to mixed media, watercolor, acrylic and more. What a true serendipitous moment!
I choose to believe that God leads us to healing places when we find ourselves 'empty', in need of encouragement. In the latter part of this day, my spirit is uplifted. I float around the room for an hour or so, studying the beautiful art, enjoy a strawberry or two, or three and listening to the announcement of the contest winners. Such a mixture of personas - art always seems to draw out the unique in people. Walking to my RV in the late afternoon sun, there is a new bounce in my step.
"Thanks for the party, God", I say, as I slide into my captain's chair and turn over Pedro's engine. New Mexico, Land of Enchantment, here I come!
Intothewind-
NATUREGIRL
Thursday, April 18, 2013
OBSERVANT INTIMACIES
The things closest to us, to our hearts, are the very intimacies we guard with passion and intent.
We all have our personal 'buttons'. We push these quickly, without thinking, moving into their realm effortlessly. One of my personal buttons - my earth-woman tendencies. Traveling in new territories the past few days (Alabama and Mississippi) has me pushing button after button on my imaginary keyboard of: enter/fast forward/page up/page down/replay/pause......and on it goes.
When I drive through the country roads of my journey I find so much inner intimacy with the world around me - bringing pleasure upon pleasure. Of course, a lovely sunny day always helps! My quick observations of roadside ditches and houses, churches, small town mainstreets, trees, rivers, needy people, helpful people, well dressed people, and so much more --registering overloads of information. The following is a rambling 'word/phrase' story of my travels on the past 2 days:
***white clouds, babbling brook, carpets of sweet red clover bordering my road-mile upon mile, soft pink poppy-like blooms in spotty pockets of nearby ditches.
*** lady needing dental services at the gas station register, helpful Pilot employee with info for my trip, red sequined top on girl staring at flowers, new black sport shoes on propane-filling attendant/clean as a whistle, 'yes ma'am-no ma'am southerners-always proper, except for one- having a bad day - service employee.
***wisteria-draped trees of softest lavender, black bamboo groves-an unmatched mystique, discarded size 48-maybe- jeans lying roadside at my photo-op-stop of groundcoverflowers, grazing goats and burros intermingled, pampass grass and azaleas of deepest pink and white profusions, wild white phlox and lavender ones too!
***Bojangles, The Waffle House, Bi-Lo and Ingles - where to find food in the south, turnip greens and grits - who knew they were so good with blackened catfish on top!!!, and Cheesecake Factory wine and chocolate, ..oh yes, and fried okra plus fried green tomatoes- yum!,
***Big churches, small churches, even some Episcopal churches, and one that says-"The Fresh Annointing House of Worship", steeples and no steeples, white ones, brick ones, and books in the stores about churches and people in churches and those who have been saved and those who have been banished and 'dissolved from membership' for questions of extreme pronouncements, bible belt complexities.
***Blooming dogwoods of spring and brilliant lavender redbud trees, trillium in the botanical garden and koi fish in the japanese garden with the red bridge, camelia bushes with dessert-plate blooms, miniature boxwoods and medium sized ones too, lizards on garden walls, walls of arbovitae, and climbing ivy on walls.
***Art galleries and art museums, European and African, preColumbian and regionalistic americana art, Chinese vessels, Japanese plates, Native American pipes and textiles, glass and paper and metal and wood and clay, ornate and plain, tiny and 'mahungous'! What!!... no art from Norway!!! Uffda!
The bookends to my day - Starbucks comfort - early morning caffeine in my tea and late night -no caffeine in my tea. My cafefully observed intimate palatal pleasures - not to be missed!
THREE SEEDS TO THE WIND.. with morning prayers for safety and inspiration - evening prayers in 'Pedro' with thanks for another 'day on the road' with safety and ENLIGHTENMENT FOR THE SOUL!
Intothewind-Naturegirl
The things closest to us, to our hearts, are the very intimacies we guard with passion and intent.
We all have our personal 'buttons'. We push these quickly, without thinking, moving into their realm effortlessly. One of my personal buttons - my earth-woman tendencies. Traveling in new territories the past few days (Alabama and Mississippi) has me pushing button after button on my imaginary keyboard of: enter/fast forward/page up/page down/replay/pause......and on it goes.
When I drive through the country roads of my journey I find so much inner intimacy with the world around me - bringing pleasure upon pleasure. Of course, a lovely sunny day always helps! My quick observations of roadside ditches and houses, churches, small town mainstreets, trees, rivers, needy people, helpful people, well dressed people, and so much more --registering overloads of information. The following is a rambling 'word/phrase' story of my travels on the past 2 days:
***white clouds, babbling brook, carpets of sweet red clover bordering my road-mile upon mile, soft pink poppy-like blooms in spotty pockets of nearby ditches.
*** lady needing dental services at the gas station register, helpful Pilot employee with info for my trip, red sequined top on girl staring at flowers, new black sport shoes on propane-filling attendant/clean as a whistle, 'yes ma'am-no ma'am southerners-always proper, except for one- having a bad day - service employee.
***wisteria-draped trees of softest lavender, black bamboo groves-an unmatched mystique, discarded size 48-maybe- jeans lying roadside at my photo-op-stop of groundcoverflowers, grazing goats and burros intermingled, pampass grass and azaleas of deepest pink and white profusions, wild white phlox and lavender ones too!
***Bojangles, The Waffle House, Bi-Lo and Ingles - where to find food in the south, turnip greens and grits - who knew they were so good with blackened catfish on top!!!, and Cheesecake Factory wine and chocolate, ..oh yes, and fried okra plus fried green tomatoes- yum!,
***Big churches, small churches, even some Episcopal churches, and one that says-"The Fresh Annointing House of Worship", steeples and no steeples, white ones, brick ones, and books in the stores about churches and people in churches and those who have been saved and those who have been banished and 'dissolved from membership' for questions of extreme pronouncements, bible belt complexities.
***Blooming dogwoods of spring and brilliant lavender redbud trees, trillium in the botanical garden and koi fish in the japanese garden with the red bridge, camelia bushes with dessert-plate blooms, miniature boxwoods and medium sized ones too, lizards on garden walls, walls of arbovitae, and climbing ivy on walls.
***Art galleries and art museums, European and African, preColumbian and regionalistic americana art, Chinese vessels, Japanese plates, Native American pipes and textiles, glass and paper and metal and wood and clay, ornate and plain, tiny and 'mahungous'! What!!... no art from Norway!!! Uffda!
The bookends to my day - Starbucks comfort - early morning caffeine in my tea and late night -no caffeine in my tea. My cafefully observed intimate palatal pleasures - not to be missed!
THREE SEEDS TO THE WIND.. with morning prayers for safety and inspiration - evening prayers in 'Pedro' with thanks for another 'day on the road' with safety and ENLIGHTENMENT FOR THE SOUL!
Intothewind-Naturegirl
Monday, March 4, 2013
TRIPLE HITTER
On a misty, chilled-to the bone late morning ten days ago I left Atlanta after an inspiring week of art instruction with two talented artists. My spirits were a bit numb on this day. Gray skies and squeaky windshield wipers can do that. A triplet of days on the road lay before me, though the planned distance was not so impressive. This, of course made for an opportunity to dilly-dally a bit in the backroad communities I cruised through. Normally I would be pumped up, ready to roll, grin on my face. Not so on this day. Not all days in our life are stellar - though all are informational, to be sure. Lumbering spirits aside, I rolled out of town on the Interstate - big mistake! Must have been an accident ahead, as the line-up of creeping cars I encountered about 10 minutes into my journey was daunting. It was not soon enough that I reached the exit to my hill and vale road of intention. "Ahhh, now this is better," said I, as the cows in the field, abandoned tractors and broken down barns of rural northern Georgia greeted me. My destination was Greenville, South Carolina. That would be 'Green-vul', as pronounced in this neck of the woods. My Atlanta artist friends had informed me of a wonderful public gallery in Greenville with the largest collection of Andrew Wyeth paintings in the U.S. I intended a thorough perusal of this fine art venue.
I settled in to my 'eyes wide open' mode of checking out the landscape as I rolled off the miles. Most are 'in the know' about the Bible Belt. I would say its colors showed well in the naming of roads - way back when. Gum Springs Church Rd - Ebenezer Church Rd - Galilee Church Rd - just a few of the identifiers that brought the corners of my mouth upward. It was soon apparent that Spring had 'sprung' in these parts. The new lime grass that edged last seasons bronzed sienna prairie grasses drew a strong color line in the earth - so vibrant and exciting! Giant pampas grasses were clumped in plentiful spots on the edges of many a farmyard, where algae covered tree trunks were telltale signs of the abundance of moisture through the seasons. Creeping purple phlox and daffodils were beginning their bloom, as I rolled in and out of the small towns of northern Georgia and then 'upstate' South Carolina. The small pink house with the hot pink front door on the outskirts of Winder (that is 'wine'-der) brought forth a chuckle, as did the the Picky Peddler Country Store and the Red Barn Mattress Store. It was Arbor Day weekend in Jefferson, Georgia as identified by the town banners, but not by the any bustling downtown crowd. Wipedia tells me that Dr. Crawford Long put this fine city 'on the map' in 1842 when he first used ether anesthesia for surgery. Holy Ground Baptist church with it's 2 foot white cross over the front door of the miniature white clapboard building stood as a pious bookend to this picturesque southern town as I moved on to the next village over yonder. I was surprised by the frequency of small cluster forests of bamboo, here and there in the countryside. The pines were easily identifiable, though a variety different than those found in Minnesota. My curiousity with regional flora and fauna demands a further online search on occasion. Today's tea-break investigation tells me that camellias, hostas, hydrangea, hollies and magnolias are prevalent in these southern states. I suspect I would see these in bloom if I hang around this area for another month or two.
The Greenville County Museum of Art was a two-hour pleasure-part on the 2nd day of my triple-hitter. A great diversion to the again-rainy day that greeted my morning. As public galleries go, this was small in size, but the central winding staircase architecture was a beauty to behold. I knew little of Andrew Wyeth, an artist born in Pennsylvania. His artist-father mentored him in his early years, and subsequently Andrew's son, Jamie, also followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. Andrew's realistic art work, finely textured in neutral tones drew me in. Becoming easily contemplative as I studied each painting I wondered about the stories of his 'subjects' and the gentle landscape settings he painted. If you are a 'Gallery Guru', add this gem to your list of 'must visit's!
My afternoon journey west into the Cherokee Forest region did not disappoint. After an brief attempt at a northward route into the Nantahala Mtns of North Carolina, I made a quick turn-around when I met a brick wall of dense fog on the small winding highway I'd planned for my afternoon journey. Lower elevations were the better choice on this day. Floating past the 'Three and Twenty Independent Baptist Church' and the Ugly Mug Cafe, (seriously folks, I'm not making this up!!), I cruised into a region of northern Georgia near the North Carolina and Tennesee border that is known for its resorts and water recreation areas. Passing through the tiny college town of Young Harris, I made a mental note to return someday for further exploring - so quaint. The small Methodist College here obviously has added pizzazz to this community through the years - it's been around since the late 1800's!
Grateful for the new route with no fog, I leisurely made my way along the river-bottom road with the rushing whitewater stream providing bend after bend of nostalgic views to tuck in my memory. It was dusk before long and the occasional view of the pink-tinged sky turning to azure violet seen through the blackening mountain peaks teased my photo-op senses on more than one occasion. Roadside parking being the problem at hand, I resorted to a few quick snapshots through the front windshield with my cell phone. Hardly quality enough, but a record of the moment. I arrived in eastern Chattenooga, Tennesee after nightfall. My traveling favored-hangout, Applebees' provided some 'hoop action' on the bar TV as I savored my evening meal. Such a pleasant day, in spite of the 'drippies'.
Sunday morning sensibilities - tea at Starbucks - a bit of local newspaper reading, gmail updates, facebook fancies and 'reading' the faces of the locals as they saunter in for their morning caffeine fix. This was the preface to my short trip up the freeway to attend worship in a Knoxville church. On this day, the Presbyterians were my pew-mates - albeit with the 'Bible Belt Banter' of rather boistrous preaching, above average decibel levels and uninhibited arm exercises. I have learned that no matter the denomination listed on the church sign, one can never predict the 'flavor' of the emotional tone of a church service. Different strokes for different folks. All good, but more meaningful when the suit fits well to the shape of my personal preferences. Same God, different clothes. Isn't it good we have so many choices in this day and age!
Arriving early afternoon at the family home of another dear nephew I will stay with for a few weeks, I flash through the prior triple hitter days on the road, and the triple hitter states passed through - Georgia, North Carolina and Tennesee. Though this journey was mostly atmospheric-gray, still my exploring delighted. The Pearly Gates Cafe and Frank's Furniture and Variety Store, a couple down-home establishments I passed on my journey-way, stand in contrast to the rather 'high-falutin' Lake Benton Resort Club of northern Georgia. Feeling a deeper security these days in the 'who of me', I've discovered a shifting focus to the outer world. The diversity of peoples of different regions of the country feeds my fascination.
Soft jazz fills the room I sit in just now. The sun is shining. My half-finished canvas and brushes in my makeshift studio await me. I have found an 'art zone' for this rather large work in progress. Let's see what clever creativity I can add to it on this day!
Intothewind-naturegirl
On a misty, chilled-to the bone late morning ten days ago I left Atlanta after an inspiring week of art instruction with two talented artists. My spirits were a bit numb on this day. Gray skies and squeaky windshield wipers can do that. A triplet of days on the road lay before me, though the planned distance was not so impressive. This, of course made for an opportunity to dilly-dally a bit in the backroad communities I cruised through. Normally I would be pumped up, ready to roll, grin on my face. Not so on this day. Not all days in our life are stellar - though all are informational, to be sure. Lumbering spirits aside, I rolled out of town on the Interstate - big mistake! Must have been an accident ahead, as the line-up of creeping cars I encountered about 10 minutes into my journey was daunting. It was not soon enough that I reached the exit to my hill and vale road of intention. "Ahhh, now this is better," said I, as the cows in the field, abandoned tractors and broken down barns of rural northern Georgia greeted me. My destination was Greenville, South Carolina. That would be 'Green-vul', as pronounced in this neck of the woods. My Atlanta artist friends had informed me of a wonderful public gallery in Greenville with the largest collection of Andrew Wyeth paintings in the U.S. I intended a thorough perusal of this fine art venue.
I settled in to my 'eyes wide open' mode of checking out the landscape as I rolled off the miles. Most are 'in the know' about the Bible Belt. I would say its colors showed well in the naming of roads - way back when. Gum Springs Church Rd - Ebenezer Church Rd - Galilee Church Rd - just a few of the identifiers that brought the corners of my mouth upward. It was soon apparent that Spring had 'sprung' in these parts. The new lime grass that edged last seasons bronzed sienna prairie grasses drew a strong color line in the earth - so vibrant and exciting! Giant pampas grasses were clumped in plentiful spots on the edges of many a farmyard, where algae covered tree trunks were telltale signs of the abundance of moisture through the seasons. Creeping purple phlox and daffodils were beginning their bloom, as I rolled in and out of the small towns of northern Georgia and then 'upstate' South Carolina. The small pink house with the hot pink front door on the outskirts of Winder (that is 'wine'-der) brought forth a chuckle, as did the the Picky Peddler Country Store and the Red Barn Mattress Store. It was Arbor Day weekend in Jefferson, Georgia as identified by the town banners, but not by the any bustling downtown crowd. Wipedia tells me that Dr. Crawford Long put this fine city 'on the map' in 1842 when he first used ether anesthesia for surgery. Holy Ground Baptist church with it's 2 foot white cross over the front door of the miniature white clapboard building stood as a pious bookend to this picturesque southern town as I moved on to the next village over yonder. I was surprised by the frequency of small cluster forests of bamboo, here and there in the countryside. The pines were easily identifiable, though a variety different than those found in Minnesota. My curiousity with regional flora and fauna demands a further online search on occasion. Today's tea-break investigation tells me that camellias, hostas, hydrangea, hollies and magnolias are prevalent in these southern states. I suspect I would see these in bloom if I hang around this area for another month or two.
The Greenville County Museum of Art was a two-hour pleasure-part on the 2nd day of my triple-hitter. A great diversion to the again-rainy day that greeted my morning. As public galleries go, this was small in size, but the central winding staircase architecture was a beauty to behold. I knew little of Andrew Wyeth, an artist born in Pennsylvania. His artist-father mentored him in his early years, and subsequently Andrew's son, Jamie, also followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. Andrew's realistic art work, finely textured in neutral tones drew me in. Becoming easily contemplative as I studied each painting I wondered about the stories of his 'subjects' and the gentle landscape settings he painted. If you are a 'Gallery Guru', add this gem to your list of 'must visit's!
My afternoon journey west into the Cherokee Forest region did not disappoint. After an brief attempt at a northward route into the Nantahala Mtns of North Carolina, I made a quick turn-around when I met a brick wall of dense fog on the small winding highway I'd planned for my afternoon journey. Lower elevations were the better choice on this day. Floating past the 'Three and Twenty Independent Baptist Church' and the Ugly Mug Cafe, (seriously folks, I'm not making this up!!), I cruised into a region of northern Georgia near the North Carolina and Tennesee border that is known for its resorts and water recreation areas. Passing through the tiny college town of Young Harris, I made a mental note to return someday for further exploring - so quaint. The small Methodist College here obviously has added pizzazz to this community through the years - it's been around since the late 1800's!
Grateful for the new route with no fog, I leisurely made my way along the river-bottom road with the rushing whitewater stream providing bend after bend of nostalgic views to tuck in my memory. It was dusk before long and the occasional view of the pink-tinged sky turning to azure violet seen through the blackening mountain peaks teased my photo-op senses on more than one occasion. Roadside parking being the problem at hand, I resorted to a few quick snapshots through the front windshield with my cell phone. Hardly quality enough, but a record of the moment. I arrived in eastern Chattenooga, Tennesee after nightfall. My traveling favored-hangout, Applebees' provided some 'hoop action' on the bar TV as I savored my evening meal. Such a pleasant day, in spite of the 'drippies'.
Sunday morning sensibilities - tea at Starbucks - a bit of local newspaper reading, gmail updates, facebook fancies and 'reading' the faces of the locals as they saunter in for their morning caffeine fix. This was the preface to my short trip up the freeway to attend worship in a Knoxville church. On this day, the Presbyterians were my pew-mates - albeit with the 'Bible Belt Banter' of rather boistrous preaching, above average decibel levels and uninhibited arm exercises. I have learned that no matter the denomination listed on the church sign, one can never predict the 'flavor' of the emotional tone of a church service. Different strokes for different folks. All good, but more meaningful when the suit fits well to the shape of my personal preferences. Same God, different clothes. Isn't it good we have so many choices in this day and age!
Arriving early afternoon at the family home of another dear nephew I will stay with for a few weeks, I flash through the prior triple hitter days on the road, and the triple hitter states passed through - Georgia, North Carolina and Tennesee. Though this journey was mostly atmospheric-gray, still my exploring delighted. The Pearly Gates Cafe and Frank's Furniture and Variety Store, a couple down-home establishments I passed on my journey-way, stand in contrast to the rather 'high-falutin' Lake Benton Resort Club of northern Georgia. Feeling a deeper security these days in the 'who of me', I've discovered a shifting focus to the outer world. The diversity of peoples of different regions of the country feeds my fascination.
Soft jazz fills the room I sit in just now. The sun is shining. My half-finished canvas and brushes in my makeshift studio await me. I have found an 'art zone' for this rather large work in progress. Let's see what clever creativity I can add to it on this day!
Intothewind-naturegirl
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
FINGERLING FREEDOMS
Stretching across the grayish expanse of atmosphere the striations of ghostly white floated past the window of the US Airways airbus I was finally happily aboard. Floating through the misty skies toward the southeastern seaboard, I found myself nestled into the last row of seats. Closing my eyes, I remember slightly more than 3 months prior, my leaving Savannah on a plane to California, post-vehicular 'mishap'. My long awaited return to life on-the-road was actually happening. So many lessons learned, so many moments of confusion ...and joy - the paradox of everyday life. Descending through the clouds the ocean below comes into view and with it the fingerling coastline of Georgia and Florida, peppered with the Golden Isle islands, salt marsh inlets and outlets. My heart beats a little more quickly, my stomach doing a flip-flop or two. How will it be to set foot in my humble little RV again? Hoping, praying that all is well, safe and ready for the road again.
My arrival in Jacksonville, Florida was only slightly late. The weather, though slightly drizzly, was a good 50 degrees warmer than my morning wake-up in MN 6 hours earlier. Nice! The rental car was waiting and ready to go. I was off on the 2-hour drive north to Savannah. The routine of my journeying has mostly been on the off-roads of America. This day was no exception. My GPS navigating quickly became routine again. The swampish countryside on this drive provided yet another peek, for me, into the cultural differences from the life that was mine on the the flat coal-black soil of the Iowa farmlife I knew as a kid. Crawfish festivals, sweet potato pie, shrimp and grits were no more familiar to me in my young days as a midwestern Scandinavian than was my lifestyle to the emancipated slaves and their subsequent generations of families and their white immigrant European owners of the 17th and 18th Centuries. Cruising down the bayou roads, the road signage once more delighted me. Preserved plantation homes, old slave cabins, shrimp shacks, and old weathered house boats were the points of interest that awaited me around each bend in the road. My mind floated back to the movie, "Beasts of the Southern Wild", which I had seen a short 2 weeks prior. The movie could have been filmed on one of the waterway inlets I passed, crowded with the shodden shacky boathouses of some southern soul or family. Wondering aloud, I mused, "Well, look at that... who, dear God, lives in that water-world home over there?" The reality of the needs of people in such diverse life situations all over this country stares me in the face and begs to be pondered. Lord, give me the courage to be more understanding of people in this vast country.
Arriving around dinnertime in the beautiful city of Savannah, I wrapped my fingers a bit tighter around my steering wheel. I was feeling a bit of anxiety about finding the Collision Center where Pedro was being mended over the past months. My GPS was telling me that there was 'no match' for the address I was given for this "vehicle-healing business." Widening my street search, I find the desired road and begin my search. Voila, 15 minutes later, the lost is found and.... there sits my gleeming white Pedro with a shiny new front end. Yes! Home! I climb in, smile, then frown at the musty smell of a vehicle that's been closed up for months. Throwing all the doors open, I begin my quick clean-up job, replacing the artifacts that littered the floor at the 'time of impact' months earlier. Bed made, clothes transferred, I find a friendly cafe to celebrate and enjoy a nice dinner. A few hours later, sliding into Pedro's cozy bed parked by the Collision Center's front door, I breath a prayer of thanks and fall quickly into dreamland.
Just what are fingerlings? I once made a dessert,(the name of which escapes me at the moment)that had fingerlings of sponge cake lining the vertical edge of the whipped cream-filled layers of cake -- a gastronomical delight. I've often heard lakes referred to as fingerling in shape. Of course, the term comes from the shape of our hands.
The concept of freedom has been much on my mind as I have explored the southeastern U.S., an area rich in history, and the center of the story of freedom from slavery in the 1700's. Of course, the movie "Lincoln" has added a great deal of interest to this period of America's history. I have been reflecting on my pilgrimage journey as the 'Freedom Fingerlings' of my current free-to-do-all lifestyle that I am currently living. I have been, up, down and all-around.... in, out, and all-about in the past 8 months. I have 3 months left on my declared journey. It is re-making me, helping me to 'cross over' into the new life of singlehood, once more. I am richer, more content, stronger and smarter than I was 8 months ago. I am blessed beyond measure with old friends, new friends and dear ones who walk beside me in life's journey. I do not have enough fingers to count the blessings of my life. My fingers are busy these days, making countless creative elements - art pieces that layer piece upon piece into a whole, a collage, a thing of beauty. I am enjoying at this present moment, days of art instruction in Atlanta, here and there in the art venues of this amazing city.
I no longer cross my fingers and hope for the best... I open my hands to the heavens, to my God, and give thanks for each day, a gift from above.
It has been a month since I have blogged, and it feels good to get in the groove again. I strive to be more focused in my future months, now that my Pedro is back! As I drive down the fingerling roads of the southern states, please say a prayer for me. It is a warm feeling to know I am lifted up.
I once more cast my 3 seeds to the wind, 4 days ago as I left Savannah, knowing that Father-Son-Holy Spirit direct my days.
Peace to you, my blog-readers!
Intothewind-Naturegirl
Stretching across the grayish expanse of atmosphere the striations of ghostly white floated past the window of the US Airways airbus I was finally happily aboard. Floating through the misty skies toward the southeastern seaboard, I found myself nestled into the last row of seats. Closing my eyes, I remember slightly more than 3 months prior, my leaving Savannah on a plane to California, post-vehicular 'mishap'. My long awaited return to life on-the-road was actually happening. So many lessons learned, so many moments of confusion ...and joy - the paradox of everyday life. Descending through the clouds the ocean below comes into view and with it the fingerling coastline of Georgia and Florida, peppered with the Golden Isle islands, salt marsh inlets and outlets. My heart beats a little more quickly, my stomach doing a flip-flop or two. How will it be to set foot in my humble little RV again? Hoping, praying that all is well, safe and ready for the road again.
My arrival in Jacksonville, Florida was only slightly late. The weather, though slightly drizzly, was a good 50 degrees warmer than my morning wake-up in MN 6 hours earlier. Nice! The rental car was waiting and ready to go. I was off on the 2-hour drive north to Savannah. The routine of my journeying has mostly been on the off-roads of America. This day was no exception. My GPS navigating quickly became routine again. The swampish countryside on this drive provided yet another peek, for me, into the cultural differences from the life that was mine on the the flat coal-black soil of the Iowa farmlife I knew as a kid. Crawfish festivals, sweet potato pie, shrimp and grits were no more familiar to me in my young days as a midwestern Scandinavian than was my lifestyle to the emancipated slaves and their subsequent generations of families and their white immigrant European owners of the 17th and 18th Centuries. Cruising down the bayou roads, the road signage once more delighted me. Preserved plantation homes, old slave cabins, shrimp shacks, and old weathered house boats were the points of interest that awaited me around each bend in the road. My mind floated back to the movie, "Beasts of the Southern Wild", which I had seen a short 2 weeks prior. The movie could have been filmed on one of the waterway inlets I passed, crowded with the shodden shacky boathouses of some southern soul or family. Wondering aloud, I mused, "Well, look at that... who, dear God, lives in that water-world home over there?" The reality of the needs of people in such diverse life situations all over this country stares me in the face and begs to be pondered. Lord, give me the courage to be more understanding of people in this vast country.
Arriving around dinnertime in the beautiful city of Savannah, I wrapped my fingers a bit tighter around my steering wheel. I was feeling a bit of anxiety about finding the Collision Center where Pedro was being mended over the past months. My GPS was telling me that there was 'no match' for the address I was given for this "vehicle-healing business." Widening my street search, I find the desired road and begin my search. Voila, 15 minutes later, the lost is found and.... there sits my gleeming white Pedro with a shiny new front end. Yes! Home! I climb in, smile, then frown at the musty smell of a vehicle that's been closed up for months. Throwing all the doors open, I begin my quick clean-up job, replacing the artifacts that littered the floor at the 'time of impact' months earlier. Bed made, clothes transferred, I find a friendly cafe to celebrate and enjoy a nice dinner. A few hours later, sliding into Pedro's cozy bed parked by the Collision Center's front door, I breath a prayer of thanks and fall quickly into dreamland.
Just what are fingerlings? I once made a dessert,(the name of which escapes me at the moment)that had fingerlings of sponge cake lining the vertical edge of the whipped cream-filled layers of cake -- a gastronomical delight. I've often heard lakes referred to as fingerling in shape. Of course, the term comes from the shape of our hands.
The concept of freedom has been much on my mind as I have explored the southeastern U.S., an area rich in history, and the center of the story of freedom from slavery in the 1700's. Of course, the movie "Lincoln" has added a great deal of interest to this period of America's history. I have been reflecting on my pilgrimage journey as the 'Freedom Fingerlings' of my current free-to-do-all lifestyle that I am currently living. I have been, up, down and all-around.... in, out, and all-about in the past 8 months. I have 3 months left on my declared journey. It is re-making me, helping me to 'cross over' into the new life of singlehood, once more. I am richer, more content, stronger and smarter than I was 8 months ago. I am blessed beyond measure with old friends, new friends and dear ones who walk beside me in life's journey. I do not have enough fingers to count the blessings of my life. My fingers are busy these days, making countless creative elements - art pieces that layer piece upon piece into a whole, a collage, a thing of beauty. I am enjoying at this present moment, days of art instruction in Atlanta, here and there in the art venues of this amazing city.
I no longer cross my fingers and hope for the best... I open my hands to the heavens, to my God, and give thanks for each day, a gift from above.
It has been a month since I have blogged, and it feels good to get in the groove again. I strive to be more focused in my future months, now that my Pedro is back! As I drive down the fingerling roads of the southern states, please say a prayer for me. It is a warm feeling to know I am lifted up.
I once more cast my 3 seeds to the wind, 4 days ago as I left Savannah, knowing that Father-Son-Holy Spirit direct my days.
Peace to you, my blog-readers!
Intothewind-Naturegirl
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
ADRIFT
The journey I embarked on 7 months ago has wound its way through many a hill and vale both emotionally and literally, as I have traversed the highways and byways coast to coast. I have crept down curvy roads in a blanket of fog with only the fogline as my guide. Maneuvering hairpin-curves on the mountainside at night have kept me in full-alert, knowing a missed turn could be the end of me. The euphoria of the redwood forest fragrance in morning sunlight exudes warm memories in my soul. The disturbing sounds of nighttime mountain creatures capturing and consuming their smaller animal kingdom 'meals' outside my 'home on wheels' bring to mind a sleep-deprived night on a California mountain top. The majesty of a full moon on ocean waves and the sound of the surf mesmerizes me still, though I sit at this moment in time adrift in the uncertainty of when my journey will resume. As I rest and reflect during my mid-journey hiatus in snowy Minnesota, I contemplate the true weightiness of a giant-sized 'pause' - awaiting my return to a fully repaired RV and the open road.
This week marks 2 months of uncertainty after my road accident in South Carolina. It seems to me, that a resolution to Pedro's needed repairs has become an endless road of ruts and roadblocks. There have been other times in my life, where I have not known how to hope. It is a floundering place to be - striving for optimism, but preparing for yet more disappointments. Though the focus of my year on the road is blurry at this present moment, I am mindful of the blessings of loved ones who have embraced me, offering shelter, support, delightful conversations and times of laughter. I am, at present, enjoying the gift of welcoming spaces and warm hospitality. It is true - even in the unexpected there are important life lessons. There are grace moments to be treasured.
If you have had the good fortune of seeing the movie, "The Life of Pi", you have a good sense of the meaning of the word - 'adrift'. Survival, resourcefulness, courage, hope, focus, determination, faith - a few words that come to mind in defining Pi's experience adrift at sea. Surrender is a word that oft-times brings to mind negative connotations. Surrender = lose..... or, so some think. When there is no ability to control an outcome, I cautiously believe that surrender can equal 'gain'. Finding a firm footing amidst the shiftiness of uncertainty - my present challenge.
One fine week some 20 years past, I recall an adventure of 'drifting' - in the most positive sense of the word. As one of a sextet of seasoned and a few not-so-seasoned sailors, I was learning the 'ropes' -so to speak- of bareboat sailing in the beautiful waters of the Caribbean. The sights, the sounds, the smells of this excursion are forever embedded in my memory. As the wind carried us across the ocean waters i was not overly concerned with where our 'drifting' would take us. Our captain had our course fully charted and navigated it skillfully. I relished the moments of wind in my face and the hours of soaking in the sun's rays. My days were relaxing and joyful with little responsibility. You see, I was along for the ride. The planning and skills of sailing rested on the shoulders of another. Today I have a greater appreciation for the captain of our crew and the responsibility he bore in the completion of a successful journey. My current personal journey is so very different. I am the captain of this journey, at least in the earthly sense of things. As a storm on the high seas will change the course of a sailing adventure, so too, has the 'broken vessel' (my RV) changed the course of my road trip pilgrimage. Not until the call comes that my 'Pedro' is whole again, will I know how to rechart my course. I suspect more adventures will be mine again - hopefully sooner rather than later!
This much I know at this moment in time - I miss 'the road'. I miss the hum of the tires and the new sights at every turn in the road. I miss the sun coming up over the mountain or ocean. I miss the humor of funny roadside signage. i miss talking to myself and laughing to myself in the comfort of my mobile home. And yes, I long for renewed purpose in my giving and receiving with the dear ones I plan to visit along my journey. Be gone! - you evasive auto-parts missing in action. I want to be rolling down the roads of Georgia and Tennessee and westward once more!
The Minnesota sky on this winter morning hangs blank and gray above the leafless woods outside the window. The windowshield of my borrowed car is thick with crusted ice. 'Tis a good day to bring out the new art supplies purchased this week and collage the wooded scene in my mind onto the empty canvas. Drifting into the never-neverland of creativity - a delightful way to fill my days as I wait. Cloth, paper, scissors, paint....here come I!
Intothewind....
Naturegirl
The journey I embarked on 7 months ago has wound its way through many a hill and vale both emotionally and literally, as I have traversed the highways and byways coast to coast. I have crept down curvy roads in a blanket of fog with only the fogline as my guide. Maneuvering hairpin-curves on the mountainside at night have kept me in full-alert, knowing a missed turn could be the end of me. The euphoria of the redwood forest fragrance in morning sunlight exudes warm memories in my soul. The disturbing sounds of nighttime mountain creatures capturing and consuming their smaller animal kingdom 'meals' outside my 'home on wheels' bring to mind a sleep-deprived night on a California mountain top. The majesty of a full moon on ocean waves and the sound of the surf mesmerizes me still, though I sit at this moment in time adrift in the uncertainty of when my journey will resume. As I rest and reflect during my mid-journey hiatus in snowy Minnesota, I contemplate the true weightiness of a giant-sized 'pause' - awaiting my return to a fully repaired RV and the open road.
This week marks 2 months of uncertainty after my road accident in South Carolina. It seems to me, that a resolution to Pedro's needed repairs has become an endless road of ruts and roadblocks. There have been other times in my life, where I have not known how to hope. It is a floundering place to be - striving for optimism, but preparing for yet more disappointments. Though the focus of my year on the road is blurry at this present moment, I am mindful of the blessings of loved ones who have embraced me, offering shelter, support, delightful conversations and times of laughter. I am, at present, enjoying the gift of welcoming spaces and warm hospitality. It is true - even in the unexpected there are important life lessons. There are grace moments to be treasured.
If you have had the good fortune of seeing the movie, "The Life of Pi", you have a good sense of the meaning of the word - 'adrift'. Survival, resourcefulness, courage, hope, focus, determination, faith - a few words that come to mind in defining Pi's experience adrift at sea. Surrender is a word that oft-times brings to mind negative connotations. Surrender = lose..... or, so some think. When there is no ability to control an outcome, I cautiously believe that surrender can equal 'gain'. Finding a firm footing amidst the shiftiness of uncertainty - my present challenge.
One fine week some 20 years past, I recall an adventure of 'drifting' - in the most positive sense of the word. As one of a sextet of seasoned and a few not-so-seasoned sailors, I was learning the 'ropes' -so to speak- of bareboat sailing in the beautiful waters of the Caribbean. The sights, the sounds, the smells of this excursion are forever embedded in my memory. As the wind carried us across the ocean waters i was not overly concerned with where our 'drifting' would take us. Our captain had our course fully charted and navigated it skillfully. I relished the moments of wind in my face and the hours of soaking in the sun's rays. My days were relaxing and joyful with little responsibility. You see, I was along for the ride. The planning and skills of sailing rested on the shoulders of another. Today I have a greater appreciation for the captain of our crew and the responsibility he bore in the completion of a successful journey. My current personal journey is so very different. I am the captain of this journey, at least in the earthly sense of things. As a storm on the high seas will change the course of a sailing adventure, so too, has the 'broken vessel' (my RV) changed the course of my road trip pilgrimage. Not until the call comes that my 'Pedro' is whole again, will I know how to rechart my course. I suspect more adventures will be mine again - hopefully sooner rather than later!
This much I know at this moment in time - I miss 'the road'. I miss the hum of the tires and the new sights at every turn in the road. I miss the sun coming up over the mountain or ocean. I miss the humor of funny roadside signage. i miss talking to myself and laughing to myself in the comfort of my mobile home. And yes, I long for renewed purpose in my giving and receiving with the dear ones I plan to visit along my journey. Be gone! - you evasive auto-parts missing in action. I want to be rolling down the roads of Georgia and Tennessee and westward once more!
The Minnesota sky on this winter morning hangs blank and gray above the leafless woods outside the window. The windowshield of my borrowed car is thick with crusted ice. 'Tis a good day to bring out the new art supplies purchased this week and collage the wooded scene in my mind onto the empty canvas. Drifting into the never-neverland of creativity - a delightful way to fill my days as I wait. Cloth, paper, scissors, paint....here come I!
Intothewind....
Naturegirl
Saturday, December 22, 2012
PEELING BACK THE LAYERS
I like onions. Thanks to my wonderful latino son-in-law I have also discovered the wonders of leeks. Venezuelans love flavorful foods. Hidden in many of their specialty dishes are a variety of pureed veggies which greatly enhance the robust explosion of tastiness. Dicing/slicing vegetables welcomes a 'Zen-like' warm hummmm in my bones - which my dear daughter is quite puzzled about. She has decided to capitalize on this as we have been hangin' out together for weeks. On a regular basis she will say, "Hey Mom, how about making me a yummy salad?". Of course I gladly oblige! A wedge of red onion, a thinly sliced leek, a lengthwise section of tender green onion, red cabbage, orange sweet peper - all beautifully revealing layer upon layer of nutrient-rich goodness. Voila' - salad extraordinare. This past week the layers of our life, the layers of our 'mind-works' have been front and center for most of us. The tragedy at the Sandy Hook School in Connecticut continues to unfold and with it, a great many online posts about mental illness. It is so very tempting to just shove all the news of this atrosity under the rug and forget that it happened. But we must not. Finding the middle ground on needful awareness and unhealthy fixation is a decision individually that we must make. God-talk and prayer are heard from the lips of many. In the midst of questions, God's presence is the salve that nurtures our spirits.
This past Sunday it was my delight to visit yet another new church. This has been a very enriching part of my yearly sojourn across the U.S. I have been to a variety of worship centers - some mega-churches, some micro-churches, some rock-the-rafters-type churches and some quietly cadence-oriented churches. Reading online reviews of churches before attending can always be an insightful moment. Most people (I believe) come to a particular church with expectations for what 'they need' for their worship to be meaningful. "I get that." - it's important to feel your spirit challenged, and to give God heartfelt thanks and praise. Worship, however, I understand to be - 'the work of the people'. In all the churches I have worhipped, I have been able to shut my eyes and reach out to God within my thoughts, prayers, and thankfulness - some places more easily than others.
As one may expect, Sunday was a day where pastors across the world addressed the tragic losses of Newtown. Together we are examining the eternal 'whys' of this monstrously sad event. I have found myself thinking often of the mental health part of questioning. For me, mental challenges are highly personal. I have read a great deal on the subject. My past struggles with panic and anxiety have led me there. I am one of the lucky (or blessed) ones. A new life was born in me 20 years ago, thanks to the gift of a pharmaceutical compound found in a miniscule pink pill that regulates my brain chemistry imbalance. Millions of people are not so fortunate - for as many reasons as one can conjure up. This past week I viewed the movie, "Silver Linings" - a story of the impact mental illness had on two families. It was an extremely insightful movie. When I look back on this week, I have so many feelings - profound gratitude for the help I have received and the life I now have, free of my past mental bondage.. Conversely, I have profound sadness for those who still live within the grip of this bondage - many who do not even realize the cages of their life. The pastor I listened to this past Sunday reminded us of this scripture verse - "Whatsoever is pure, whatsoever is lovely - think on these things." I have been attempting this all week - with 'some' success.
Thinking about 'lovely things' brings to mind the pleasure that was mine this week when I visited the J. Paul Getty Art Museum in north LosAngeles. It was a sunny but brisk day, as California weather goes. I really had no expectations of my adventure as I drove up 'the 405' mid-morning. I listened to the beautiful Christmas carols of the season on the car radio as I crept along in the famous LA traffic I'd often heard about. As art museums go, I would rate 'The Getty' in the - 'Creme-de-la-Creme' category. Not only does it have a great variety of art, but the building architecture and garden architecture are nothing less than stunning, as it sits impressively on a hilltop overlooking LA, with a view of the ocean in the distance. It was built in 1997 and is a contemporary, white stone geometric marvel to behold. The 3 hours I spent there were hardly enough. A highlight of my day were the illuminated 14th and 15th century biblical manuscripts in Latin. Couple this with the special presentation of Renissance Devotional Art that was currently on display, I was greatly enlightened in my spirit. It was a God-moment I will cherish when I look back on my pilgrimage journey in years to come!
When the rush of this weeks' Christmas celebrations, worship experiences and foodie festivities is past, I hope you, my blog readers, find some private moments to peel through the layers of your life and find the life-lessons and life-missions that bring new meaning to you.
As a new year approaches, together, I pray that we all can journey into our unknown futures with hope - still - for peace and healing in our world and for the souls who walk upon it.
Intothewind with Naturegirl
I like onions. Thanks to my wonderful latino son-in-law I have also discovered the wonders of leeks. Venezuelans love flavorful foods. Hidden in many of their specialty dishes are a variety of pureed veggies which greatly enhance the robust explosion of tastiness. Dicing/slicing vegetables welcomes a 'Zen-like' warm hummmm in my bones - which my dear daughter is quite puzzled about. She has decided to capitalize on this as we have been hangin' out together for weeks. On a regular basis she will say, "Hey Mom, how about making me a yummy salad?". Of course I gladly oblige! A wedge of red onion, a thinly sliced leek, a lengthwise section of tender green onion, red cabbage, orange sweet peper - all beautifully revealing layer upon layer of nutrient-rich goodness. Voila' - salad extraordinare. This past week the layers of our life, the layers of our 'mind-works' have been front and center for most of us. The tragedy at the Sandy Hook School in Connecticut continues to unfold and with it, a great many online posts about mental illness. It is so very tempting to just shove all the news of this atrosity under the rug and forget that it happened. But we must not. Finding the middle ground on needful awareness and unhealthy fixation is a decision individually that we must make. God-talk and prayer are heard from the lips of many. In the midst of questions, God's presence is the salve that nurtures our spirits.
This past Sunday it was my delight to visit yet another new church. This has been a very enriching part of my yearly sojourn across the U.S. I have been to a variety of worship centers - some mega-churches, some micro-churches, some rock-the-rafters-type churches and some quietly cadence-oriented churches. Reading online reviews of churches before attending can always be an insightful moment. Most people (I believe) come to a particular church with expectations for what 'they need' for their worship to be meaningful. "I get that." - it's important to feel your spirit challenged, and to give God heartfelt thanks and praise. Worship, however, I understand to be - 'the work of the people'. In all the churches I have worhipped, I have been able to shut my eyes and reach out to God within my thoughts, prayers, and thankfulness - some places more easily than others.
As one may expect, Sunday was a day where pastors across the world addressed the tragic losses of Newtown. Together we are examining the eternal 'whys' of this monstrously sad event. I have found myself thinking often of the mental health part of questioning. For me, mental challenges are highly personal. I have read a great deal on the subject. My past struggles with panic and anxiety have led me there. I am one of the lucky (or blessed) ones. A new life was born in me 20 years ago, thanks to the gift of a pharmaceutical compound found in a miniscule pink pill that regulates my brain chemistry imbalance. Millions of people are not so fortunate - for as many reasons as one can conjure up. This past week I viewed the movie, "Silver Linings" - a story of the impact mental illness had on two families. It was an extremely insightful movie. When I look back on this week, I have so many feelings - profound gratitude for the help I have received and the life I now have, free of my past mental bondage.. Conversely, I have profound sadness for those who still live within the grip of this bondage - many who do not even realize the cages of their life. The pastor I listened to this past Sunday reminded us of this scripture verse - "Whatsoever is pure, whatsoever is lovely - think on these things." I have been attempting this all week - with 'some' success.
Thinking about 'lovely things' brings to mind the pleasure that was mine this week when I visited the J. Paul Getty Art Museum in north LosAngeles. It was a sunny but brisk day, as California weather goes. I really had no expectations of my adventure as I drove up 'the 405' mid-morning. I listened to the beautiful Christmas carols of the season on the car radio as I crept along in the famous LA traffic I'd often heard about. As art museums go, I would rate 'The Getty' in the - 'Creme-de-la-Creme' category. Not only does it have a great variety of art, but the building architecture and garden architecture are nothing less than stunning, as it sits impressively on a hilltop overlooking LA, with a view of the ocean in the distance. It was built in 1997 and is a contemporary, white stone geometric marvel to behold. The 3 hours I spent there were hardly enough. A highlight of my day were the illuminated 14th and 15th century biblical manuscripts in Latin. Couple this with the special presentation of Renissance Devotional Art that was currently on display, I was greatly enlightened in my spirit. It was a God-moment I will cherish when I look back on my pilgrimage journey in years to come!
When the rush of this weeks' Christmas celebrations, worship experiences and foodie festivities is past, I hope you, my blog readers, find some private moments to peel through the layers of your life and find the life-lessons and life-missions that bring new meaning to you.
As a new year approaches, together, I pray that we all can journey into our unknown futures with hope - still - for peace and healing in our world and for the souls who walk upon it.
Intothewind with Naturegirl
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