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
Sunday, December 9, 2012
FARMHOUSE PORCH TALKS
The late 1950's had it's moments of magic. My world as an grade-schooler living a farm-kid life in Iowa was about the size of a postage stamp when placed alongside my present life as a coast-to-coast traveler. I am not sure if the magic superceded the melancholy or not in those distant days. Life was hard - filled with labor-intensive chores, and few extras to bring on a sky-high moment. Ours was a household of verbal barage - more than I care to remember. Conversations today with 'old-timers' will often elicit a dream-like comment such as, "Those were the good ol' days!" In many ways they were. Media influence was far less prevalent; family dinners around the table a staple of everyday life back then. If, however, abuse and degrading words were the hidden secrets of families, the days of old were far from good. Intermingled with those realities of my youth are also enough funny moments and average evening-togetherness to suffice for a smile now and then when remembering those youthful days.
The 8 ft wide wooden porch steps were splintered and weathered, mostly like the rest of the big square white country house I called home. No fine chairs sat on this porch. There were a few small floor-board holes a kid could peer through to scout out the cat that was hiding there, or a mouse or two. Plenty of make-believe happened on this porch through the years. Occasional props included a wobbly doll buggy, or a tea party setup on a big cardboard box hauled up from the dank musty basement. A few important conversations about the important things of life took place on these steps - like, 'Do you think Suzy hates me?' or... 'Will I get picked first or last when we play "Red Rover, Red Rover, why don't you come over" at school tomorrow?' This porch is where I'd often come to sit when life was boring. This is where my 'wondering' began, and where I first thought about the meaning of my life on earth and what happened after my heart would stop one day. Kids DO think about these things. And - big kids (adults) think about it too. I remember feeling scared quite a lot. The flavor of spirituality I grew up with dished out plenty of fear with a small pill of 'love' stuck in there somewhere. My cousin Don, who lived a stone's throw away on the other side of the road, was often my 'fellow wonderer' about these things. It's funny - the things one remembers from their youth. Even as I contemplate life in my 6th decade, I still remember the day Don and I sat on those front porch steps and asked each other, "Just what is the center of our being here in this world. What is beyond this world?" And, I now have some answers, but still, questions linger.
My God-focus, through christianity, Jesus and the Spirit have been nurtured through the years and my faith still moves - two steps forward, one step back. Books have been escapes for me, as well as stepping stones in my life and faith journey. As a preteen I escaped into the mystery world of Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden, as their stories transfixed me on those front porch steps for hours. This past week, a book at the local bookstore jumped out at me. I bought it - then devoured it. Proof of Heaven is a book written just a few years ago by a neurosurgeon about his near-death experience as the result of bacterial meningitis. I am by nature, an open-minded questioner. This read was a soul-fascinating cluster of chapters. Eben, the highly intelligent, brain scientist (author) finds his life transformed, his mission changed, after his week-long coma. Today's science-oriented doubters will be challenged in their God/Heaven beliefs after reading this book. Happy am I, to have been found by it! Confidence and comfort was mine as I closed the cover of this book.
Porches as a housing feature tend to be found in regional clusters. When I was rolling down the roads of the Carolinas on the East coast last month, I was intrigued by the number of houses that sported a very large veranda/front porch. When I contemplate the lifestyle and culture of these southerns, it is no surprise to me. Passing time on the front porch with the neighbors or family with big glass of lemonade seems to be a staple of everyday living down south. Now, as I travel the streets of Orange County, California, seldom do I see a front porch. Go figure - no surprise here. I confess that I have never watched the TV program, "Housewives of Orange County", but I'm told their lifestyle has little to do with passing time on a front porch! I personally would advocate for more porches in this world!
Speaking of rolling down the road - i was delighted to answer my 'cell' this past week when a South Carolina # showed on my ID. My insurance adjuster had good news for me. My RV is going to be repaired! Resurrection time! I've got a smile plastered on my face! Come January I should be reunited with 'Pedro' and on the road again in this pilgrimage journey of mine. How appropriate that this is the season of Advent - a time of waiting. I have been waiting to hear the good news for 5 weeks now. My 'Pedro' is being (re)born! Hallelujah!
I suspect that my Minnesota friends will not be sitting on their front porches for a chit-chat in the next few months. News of a midwest snowstorm has blinked on my computer screen. My hope is that a rocking chair or two will be drawn up by a big cracklin' fireplace in the coming weeks of family Christmas celebrations. I bid you - share your deep thoughts - share your joy - share your hopes for a spirit of peace in this world of ours.
From my rocking chair to yours -comfort and peace to you!
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
The late 1950's had it's moments of magic. My world as an grade-schooler living a farm-kid life in Iowa was about the size of a postage stamp when placed alongside my present life as a coast-to-coast traveler. I am not sure if the magic superceded the melancholy or not in those distant days. Life was hard - filled with labor-intensive chores, and few extras to bring on a sky-high moment. Ours was a household of verbal barage - more than I care to remember. Conversations today with 'old-timers' will often elicit a dream-like comment such as, "Those were the good ol' days!" In many ways they were. Media influence was far less prevalent; family dinners around the table a staple of everyday life back then. If, however, abuse and degrading words were the hidden secrets of families, the days of old were far from good. Intermingled with those realities of my youth are also enough funny moments and average evening-togetherness to suffice for a smile now and then when remembering those youthful days.
The 8 ft wide wooden porch steps were splintered and weathered, mostly like the rest of the big square white country house I called home. No fine chairs sat on this porch. There were a few small floor-board holes a kid could peer through to scout out the cat that was hiding there, or a mouse or two. Plenty of make-believe happened on this porch through the years. Occasional props included a wobbly doll buggy, or a tea party setup on a big cardboard box hauled up from the dank musty basement. A few important conversations about the important things of life took place on these steps - like, 'Do you think Suzy hates me?' or... 'Will I get picked first or last when we play "Red Rover, Red Rover, why don't you come over" at school tomorrow?' This porch is where I'd often come to sit when life was boring. This is where my 'wondering' began, and where I first thought about the meaning of my life on earth and what happened after my heart would stop one day. Kids DO think about these things. And - big kids (adults) think about it too. I remember feeling scared quite a lot. The flavor of spirituality I grew up with dished out plenty of fear with a small pill of 'love' stuck in there somewhere. My cousin Don, who lived a stone's throw away on the other side of the road, was often my 'fellow wonderer' about these things. It's funny - the things one remembers from their youth. Even as I contemplate life in my 6th decade, I still remember the day Don and I sat on those front porch steps and asked each other, "Just what is the center of our being here in this world. What is beyond this world?" And, I now have some answers, but still, questions linger.
My God-focus, through christianity, Jesus and the Spirit have been nurtured through the years and my faith still moves - two steps forward, one step back. Books have been escapes for me, as well as stepping stones in my life and faith journey. As a preteen I escaped into the mystery world of Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden, as their stories transfixed me on those front porch steps for hours. This past week, a book at the local bookstore jumped out at me. I bought it - then devoured it. Proof of Heaven is a book written just a few years ago by a neurosurgeon about his near-death experience as the result of bacterial meningitis. I am by nature, an open-minded questioner. This read was a soul-fascinating cluster of chapters. Eben, the highly intelligent, brain scientist (author) finds his life transformed, his mission changed, after his week-long coma. Today's science-oriented doubters will be challenged in their God/Heaven beliefs after reading this book. Happy am I, to have been found by it! Confidence and comfort was mine as I closed the cover of this book.
Porches as a housing feature tend to be found in regional clusters. When I was rolling down the roads of the Carolinas on the East coast last month, I was intrigued by the number of houses that sported a very large veranda/front porch. When I contemplate the lifestyle and culture of these southerns, it is no surprise to me. Passing time on the front porch with the neighbors or family with big glass of lemonade seems to be a staple of everyday living down south. Now, as I travel the streets of Orange County, California, seldom do I see a front porch. Go figure - no surprise here. I confess that I have never watched the TV program, "Housewives of Orange County", but I'm told their lifestyle has little to do with passing time on a front porch! I personally would advocate for more porches in this world!
Speaking of rolling down the road - i was delighted to answer my 'cell' this past week when a South Carolina # showed on my ID. My insurance adjuster had good news for me. My RV is going to be repaired! Resurrection time! I've got a smile plastered on my face! Come January I should be reunited with 'Pedro' and on the road again in this pilgrimage journey of mine. How appropriate that this is the season of Advent - a time of waiting. I have been waiting to hear the good news for 5 weeks now. My 'Pedro' is being (re)born! Hallelujah!
I suspect that my Minnesota friends will not be sitting on their front porches for a chit-chat in the next few months. News of a midwest snowstorm has blinked on my computer screen. My hope is that a rocking chair or two will be drawn up by a big cracklin' fireplace in the coming weeks of family Christmas celebrations. I bid you - share your deep thoughts - share your joy - share your hopes for a spirit of peace in this world of ours.
From my rocking chair to yours -comfort and peace to you!
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Friday, November 30, 2012
WALL-STREET-PANDEMONIUM
Waiting for my Knarly Head to arrive, my elbows lean on my hightop, hands clasped in, 'here's the church - here's the steeple' kidplay mode. I stare wondrously at the massive glittering wall in front of me. It is beautiful. Hidden fluorescents illuminate the great expanse of mirror and glass shelves, artistically arranged with hundreds of bottled spirits, and a few brightly colored art-glass artifacts. Only a handful of patrons surround me at T.L. Schmit, a new establshment to me. The music is soft, but spunky. A multitude of glaring screens that portray a variety of sporting events in progress hang suspended in space around the perimeter, volume off. So pleasant. I smile, masking the turmoil alive and well in my gray matter. Closing my eyes, I soak in the calm, but nurturing atmosphere, hoping for clarity to arrive. As my server boldy places the stemware of deep velvet red in front of me, I return to the moment. Lifting the goblet, I swirl briskly, forcing the liquid up in waves close to the rim. Embedded in my cerebral moments my eyes fixate on the rolling of the fruit of the vine. I think - I wonder -things I'm good at. Finally I try out 'the nose' of it. Oh yes....hmmm, nice spice, smoky but fruited - perhaps blackberry and apricot. A smooth palate of flavors. Quite a nice 'Zin' for this evaluating and thoughtful moment..
It is a rather delightful game to engage in - "I wonder what..." - when enjoying an evening's happy-hour, solo. A look around displays a handful of occupied tables. Three suited and neck-tied gents, intense in discussion lean into their conversations, sometimes frowning, and then a gentle 'yes' - shake' of the head - a firm affirmation of their proposed business plan. In the far corner, four 20-something couples laugh, poke at each other, animated in their pleasure moments of friendship. A single finely-aged woman brushes past my table, perching herself confidently barside, her motions lively, a certain flair about her. With lively engagement she places her order with the bartender. From an obscure angle, I subtly read her ambience. I will call her Vanessa - carefully coiffed, white-haired classic boufant-headed Vanessa. Intuition tells me she is in town on business, a briefcase at her feet. Her chardonnay arrives. She reaches purposefully and with a gentle grasp, no swirls, she sips at the buttery spirits. Both she and I peruse our shared-wall view. She wears finer dress on this evening than I, but I wonder how 'fine' are her inner thoughts. Have you ever observed the hand movements of a person, alone, waiting barside for their meal or just speculating in their private world? One can learn plenty from silent observation.. Vanessa sits stoically upright on her stool, hands folded as in prayer, resting on her counter. She stares into space, perhaps evaluating her business of the day. I continue my reading and notetaking of the current book of interest in my life, glancing occasionally at Vanessa. One moment she rests her chin on her cupped hands, ring-bling glaring at me. The next moment her arms fold on the counter edge before her, waiting. My velvet Zin slinks over my palate in microns, warming my spirit, assisting my focus on the decisions I must make in the coming week, evaluating the options to come. Vanessa's meal arrives and she delicately cuts, spears and savours her fish and vegetables. No fine food for me this night, only my Zin and a few almonds from my jean pocket (frugal female that I am). Vanessa makes her graceful exit a few minutes after her meal has disappeared. No eye contact has passed between us. The thoughts of our day, the roadways of our lives held captive and inward.
Turmoil and confusion enter us all at one time or another, uninvited. Some souls live in a virtual state of turmoil, perhaps self-imposed by bad decisions, some as a result of no fault of their own. The confusion that is presently occupying my thoughts is the result of my RV accident of a few weeks ago. It would seem that though the damages were what I considered minor, the repairs required add up to a much larger sum of money than imagined. Amazing how that happens! My dear Pedro is almost 13 years old, and therein lies the problem. Insurance companies that declare vehicles a 'total loss' use current vehicle value as a primary indicator. If the percentage of cost of repair is at a certain level in relation to the vehicle value, the result is: a total loss declaration. Pedro's damages are riding on a thin line for resurrection or death. This is the reason for the pandemonium in my brain. How to approach the new direction of the pilgrimage I am on is the decision that lies before me. Options for a new vehicle - RV or otherwise - more stationery art-time in specific locations, or more time in California with family all occupy my thoughts. Prayers for the right doors to open flow freely. Walls have a way of turning us in a '180' oh so quickly.
The urban freeways of many a great city now erect great walls at the perimeter of the multi-stripped concrete roadways. Noise pollution has become a popular discussion in city council chambers nationwide. Environmental design engineers are having a hay-day as they strive to out-do each other in their creative ways of planning these massive functional walls. Some of these walls I have seen on my travels have scored an A+. Esthetics aside, these dividing barriers have created more than a little confusion in many a driver, myself included! I would surmise that you may have a story or two for sharing as well!
The imaginary walls that I have begun to contemplate this week as a result of my 'accident diddy' have left me feeling like a critter in one of those fancy Halloween hay-bale mazes created at countryside orchard stands for October kid-entertainment. 'How do I get out of this crazy jigsaw of walls that I'm running into!" You've seen a 5-year-old's temper tantrum when told they can't have that cookie? Well, I'm stampin' my feet, folding my arms over my chest, jutting out my chin and sayin' "Really?,...come on now!!!" (We all revert to kid-dom at times, don't we?!) I'll let you know when my tantrum is over.
By the time I'd drained my glass of Zin at T. L Schmit I had a notecard of options before me. Carefully tucking it into my bag for later reference, I floated out, past a few patron tables, feeling lighter. I'd sent my turmoil packing into never-never land - at least for now. Walking purposefully to my car (well, OK, Michelle's car) I pass the line-up of newpaper dispensers. The Wall Street Journal stared at me. I imagined the pandemonium that is a constant on their trading floor, and I breathed a prayer of thankfulness that I am not one of them. I will delight in the relatively peace-filled retired life I now life - though minor turmoil does show up as an appetizer on occasion. By the time desserts arrive, I will be a happy girl. (Note: try spelling 'desserts' backwards! ... a bit of humor. The moral of this: Eat more dessert!!)
As I finish this blog, listening to my Pandora selections through my earbuds at my local tea-hangout, the words from Yanni's relaxing music is the encouragement I need for today. "Let your arms enfold me, through the dark of night. Let your angels surround me until I see the light." I will cleave to this prayer as I wait for the apparent walls to be removed and the new doors to be opened.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Waiting for my Knarly Head to arrive, my elbows lean on my hightop, hands clasped in, 'here's the church - here's the steeple' kidplay mode. I stare wondrously at the massive glittering wall in front of me. It is beautiful. Hidden fluorescents illuminate the great expanse of mirror and glass shelves, artistically arranged with hundreds of bottled spirits, and a few brightly colored art-glass artifacts. Only a handful of patrons surround me at T.L. Schmit, a new establshment to me. The music is soft, but spunky. A multitude of glaring screens that portray a variety of sporting events in progress hang suspended in space around the perimeter, volume off. So pleasant. I smile, masking the turmoil alive and well in my gray matter. Closing my eyes, I soak in the calm, but nurturing atmosphere, hoping for clarity to arrive. As my server boldy places the stemware of deep velvet red in front of me, I return to the moment. Lifting the goblet, I swirl briskly, forcing the liquid up in waves close to the rim. Embedded in my cerebral moments my eyes fixate on the rolling of the fruit of the vine. I think - I wonder -things I'm good at. Finally I try out 'the nose' of it. Oh yes....hmmm, nice spice, smoky but fruited - perhaps blackberry and apricot. A smooth palate of flavors. Quite a nice 'Zin' for this evaluating and thoughtful moment..
It is a rather delightful game to engage in - "I wonder what..." - when enjoying an evening's happy-hour, solo. A look around displays a handful of occupied tables. Three suited and neck-tied gents, intense in discussion lean into their conversations, sometimes frowning, and then a gentle 'yes' - shake' of the head - a firm affirmation of their proposed business plan. In the far corner, four 20-something couples laugh, poke at each other, animated in their pleasure moments of friendship. A single finely-aged woman brushes past my table, perching herself confidently barside, her motions lively, a certain flair about her. With lively engagement she places her order with the bartender. From an obscure angle, I subtly read her ambience. I will call her Vanessa - carefully coiffed, white-haired classic boufant-headed Vanessa. Intuition tells me she is in town on business, a briefcase at her feet. Her chardonnay arrives. She reaches purposefully and with a gentle grasp, no swirls, she sips at the buttery spirits. Both she and I peruse our shared-wall view. She wears finer dress on this evening than I, but I wonder how 'fine' are her inner thoughts. Have you ever observed the hand movements of a person, alone, waiting barside for their meal or just speculating in their private world? One can learn plenty from silent observation.. Vanessa sits stoically upright on her stool, hands folded as in prayer, resting on her counter. She stares into space, perhaps evaluating her business of the day. I continue my reading and notetaking of the current book of interest in my life, glancing occasionally at Vanessa. One moment she rests her chin on her cupped hands, ring-bling glaring at me. The next moment her arms fold on the counter edge before her, waiting. My velvet Zin slinks over my palate in microns, warming my spirit, assisting my focus on the decisions I must make in the coming week, evaluating the options to come. Vanessa's meal arrives and she delicately cuts, spears and savours her fish and vegetables. No fine food for me this night, only my Zin and a few almonds from my jean pocket (frugal female that I am). Vanessa makes her graceful exit a few minutes after her meal has disappeared. No eye contact has passed between us. The thoughts of our day, the roadways of our lives held captive and inward.
Turmoil and confusion enter us all at one time or another, uninvited. Some souls live in a virtual state of turmoil, perhaps self-imposed by bad decisions, some as a result of no fault of their own. The confusion that is presently occupying my thoughts is the result of my RV accident of a few weeks ago. It would seem that though the damages were what I considered minor, the repairs required add up to a much larger sum of money than imagined. Amazing how that happens! My dear Pedro is almost 13 years old, and therein lies the problem. Insurance companies that declare vehicles a 'total loss' use current vehicle value as a primary indicator. If the percentage of cost of repair is at a certain level in relation to the vehicle value, the result is: a total loss declaration. Pedro's damages are riding on a thin line for resurrection or death. This is the reason for the pandemonium in my brain. How to approach the new direction of the pilgrimage I am on is the decision that lies before me. Options for a new vehicle - RV or otherwise - more stationery art-time in specific locations, or more time in California with family all occupy my thoughts. Prayers for the right doors to open flow freely. Walls have a way of turning us in a '180' oh so quickly.
The urban freeways of many a great city now erect great walls at the perimeter of the multi-stripped concrete roadways. Noise pollution has become a popular discussion in city council chambers nationwide. Environmental design engineers are having a hay-day as they strive to out-do each other in their creative ways of planning these massive functional walls. Some of these walls I have seen on my travels have scored an A+. Esthetics aside, these dividing barriers have created more than a little confusion in many a driver, myself included! I would surmise that you may have a story or two for sharing as well!
The imaginary walls that I have begun to contemplate this week as a result of my 'accident diddy' have left me feeling like a critter in one of those fancy Halloween hay-bale mazes created at countryside orchard stands for October kid-entertainment. 'How do I get out of this crazy jigsaw of walls that I'm running into!" You've seen a 5-year-old's temper tantrum when told they can't have that cookie? Well, I'm stampin' my feet, folding my arms over my chest, jutting out my chin and sayin' "Really?,...come on now!!!" (We all revert to kid-dom at times, don't we?!) I'll let you know when my tantrum is over.
By the time I'd drained my glass of Zin at T. L Schmit I had a notecard of options before me. Carefully tucking it into my bag for later reference, I floated out, past a few patron tables, feeling lighter. I'd sent my turmoil packing into never-never land - at least for now. Walking purposefully to my car (well, OK, Michelle's car) I pass the line-up of newpaper dispensers. The Wall Street Journal stared at me. I imagined the pandemonium that is a constant on their trading floor, and I breathed a prayer of thankfulness that I am not one of them. I will delight in the relatively peace-filled retired life I now life - though minor turmoil does show up as an appetizer on occasion. By the time desserts arrive, I will be a happy girl. (Note: try spelling 'desserts' backwards! ... a bit of humor. The moral of this: Eat more dessert!!)
As I finish this blog, listening to my Pandora selections through my earbuds at my local tea-hangout, the words from Yanni's relaxing music is the encouragement I need for today. "Let your arms enfold me, through the dark of night. Let your angels surround me until I see the light." I will cleave to this prayer as I wait for the apparent walls to be removed and the new doors to be opened.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
A GENTLE TETHER
This partially completed life of mine has seen it's share of greatness and grit. You have, no doubt, learned from my writing that the almighty tree is my favored metaphor in life. When I feel fragile, I see myself hanging on a thin limb -oh so close to breaking- falling into the abyss below. When I am filled with confidence and strength, my core is a great and massive trunk, upholding a million branches of living, breathing organic matter. The wind of life's trials blow - sometimes gently - sometimes with great power. Such a mystery, it is. The great flow of inner strength and alternate disconnect. The connecting cord - the tethering to the Life-Source of renewal for body, mind and spirit can be so fragile - strength, only a dream away.
Riding a wave of forgotten reservation, the young girl's dreams catapulted her into a sphere of brave advance. She was rising, rising - to the stage of no return, captive to her inner strength. Determination and confidence etching her face, she launched her charge down the carpeted runway to the vaulting table whose menace was sure to be defeated. Airborne for the vault, her position perfect, her hands sure she twists and spins midair, sticking the perfect landing. Triumphant in her smile, she exits her stage. A heart throb like no other. But then - bolting upright in her bed, she awakens from her dream of magic. Today was her chance. The dream - was it a sign? Would today be the day she became the confident gymnast of her dreams. Would she break through her ceiling of fragile brokenness?
This naturegirl's days of rolling down the highways and byways of the great U.S. have been interrupted by the great invader - called, 'accident'. Pedro is broken - I am not. Or, am I? I seem to be hanging on a thin limb on this day.
Today is Sunday. I attended church this morning, not far down the carefully manicured boulevard from my temporary home with my dear family in California. Isn't it funny how sermons sometimes have a way of burroughing into the heart and breaking it wide open. I am here today, as a result of today's churchgoing, to be R-E-A-L. My great admission - today's declaration -- for the last 24+ hours, I have been feeling B-R-O-K-E-N, rather defective - at the bottom of my game. There - I said it. I don't like saying it. Why? Because - does anyone ever really reach out and embrace a fractured vessel? Not usually. Humankind gravitates to the 'best of show'. And, who doesn't want to be the winner?!!!
Yes, I AM traveling, cross country - alone - a woman - and, I hear it often.... "Wow! That is brave!" , or, "I could never do that," or, "Seriously, you are joking, right?" I admit, the commentary pumps-up my inner 'feel-good' monitor. My admission - today's declaration - however, is not about courage or doing the unusual. My declaration is about, liking and accepting the real core of 'who I am' - my daily activity preferences and avoidances, my personality strengths and weaknesses, my caring and my indifferences - the natural flow of how I choose to fill my day when living with little to nonexistent external directives in my current life. Part of this pilgrimage journey of mine is 'inward.' Finding my way forward in my new single life requires a new awakening to 'the core of me'. Identifying the core is no easy task. Why is it so tempting to observe others who are a source of inspiration, and wanting to 'be like them' - to be someone else. I am pretty sure I am not the only one in this camp, though I am not condoning it. I am beginning (with a capital 'B') to 'know', who I really am. The past few days has enlightened my 'knowing'. I am still chewing and digesting. I am praying for a new freedom of acceptance in 'being me'.
I have loved my days on the road. This past 10 days I have missed the new landscapes that fly by me as I venture into territories unknown. I miss the funny roadside signage, the amazing (and sometimes not so amazing) architecture, the new cultural dialects I hear in the coffeeshops and grocery stores along the way. I miss the movement. I miss the wide open spaces. I am learning just how much of an earth-woman I am. That would explain why I am forever picking up leaves, and twigs and feeling flower petals. Perhaps the change in my daily routines have upset my equilibrium - my rhythm. I am untethered from my mobile living quarters - my dear Pedro - cantankerous mobile home that he is!!
Tethering is all about connectedness. Our connections help us feel grounded - anchored in familiarity. As I have studied the botanical worlds of the many regions of the country, I am most fascinated with the moisture-laden subclimates where greenery flourishes without man's hoses tethered to the faucets of city water systems. The profuse branching of ivy as it climbs the tree trunks and overruns the ground in a covering of lush green. What is unique about all this ferocious fauna is that it's connections can easily be loosened, removed, or altered. Tethering is different from the technique of tying - an element not easily removed. I love the though of being 'gently' tethered - to our loved ones, to our rituals, or to our natural instinctive choices. It is a softer connection, flexible, more readily negotiated. When I contemplate 'who I am', I wish to think in terms of a more flexible being, a bendable connection. I wish to remove the rigid knots that tie me to a 'prison of being'. Knowing that I am movable, but connected to a core gives me comfort, and comfort is something that is easy to live with.
The stuff of dreams and longing, of realtime challenges and hopes, and the regrets of unresolved conflict live in every human soul, at one time or another. We all navigate our days in varying degrees of wanderlust. The timeless question, 'Who Am I' has been queried daily by the masses, looking for the perfect formula of how to live out a life of peace and honesty, while maintaining intimate, equal, and bendable relationships with those we call dear.
Soul work is difficult. Finding balance between one's discipline to become 'more' or making choices for the sake of relationship compromise, and one's choice to rest in the comfort of living with our natural inclinations will forever be the stuff of daily life. This much I know - giving V-O-I-C-E to issues of the heart and soul is a requirement if one is to sift through the jumble of tomorrow's choices and arrive at the coveted prize of inner peace.
Riding on the wind of change, I am comforted in my tethering to the Source of all life, the great I AM - God the Father, Son and Eternal Spirit. Even when I occasionally lose touch with 'Who I am', I am confident of 'Whose I am'.
In this I find today's peace - buoyed by life's sometimes wild, sometimes gentle wind currents - carried to a new place with each new day.
Intothewind -
Naturegirl
This partially completed life of mine has seen it's share of greatness and grit. You have, no doubt, learned from my writing that the almighty tree is my favored metaphor in life. When I feel fragile, I see myself hanging on a thin limb -oh so close to breaking- falling into the abyss below. When I am filled with confidence and strength, my core is a great and massive trunk, upholding a million branches of living, breathing organic matter. The wind of life's trials blow - sometimes gently - sometimes with great power. Such a mystery, it is. The great flow of inner strength and alternate disconnect. The connecting cord - the tethering to the Life-Source of renewal for body, mind and spirit can be so fragile - strength, only a dream away.
Riding a wave of forgotten reservation, the young girl's dreams catapulted her into a sphere of brave advance. She was rising, rising - to the stage of no return, captive to her inner strength. Determination and confidence etching her face, she launched her charge down the carpeted runway to the vaulting table whose menace was sure to be defeated. Airborne for the vault, her position perfect, her hands sure she twists and spins midair, sticking the perfect landing. Triumphant in her smile, she exits her stage. A heart throb like no other. But then - bolting upright in her bed, she awakens from her dream of magic. Today was her chance. The dream - was it a sign? Would today be the day she became the confident gymnast of her dreams. Would she break through her ceiling of fragile brokenness?
This naturegirl's days of rolling down the highways and byways of the great U.S. have been interrupted by the great invader - called, 'accident'. Pedro is broken - I am not. Or, am I? I seem to be hanging on a thin limb on this day.
Today is Sunday. I attended church this morning, not far down the carefully manicured boulevard from my temporary home with my dear family in California. Isn't it funny how sermons sometimes have a way of burroughing into the heart and breaking it wide open. I am here today, as a result of today's churchgoing, to be R-E-A-L. My great admission - today's declaration -- for the last 24+ hours, I have been feeling B-R-O-K-E-N, rather defective - at the bottom of my game. There - I said it. I don't like saying it. Why? Because - does anyone ever really reach out and embrace a fractured vessel? Not usually. Humankind gravitates to the 'best of show'. And, who doesn't want to be the winner?!!!
Yes, I AM traveling, cross country - alone - a woman - and, I hear it often.... "Wow! That is brave!" , or, "I could never do that," or, "Seriously, you are joking, right?" I admit, the commentary pumps-up my inner 'feel-good' monitor. My admission - today's declaration - however, is not about courage or doing the unusual. My declaration is about, liking and accepting the real core of 'who I am' - my daily activity preferences and avoidances, my personality strengths and weaknesses, my caring and my indifferences - the natural flow of how I choose to fill my day when living with little to nonexistent external directives in my current life. Part of this pilgrimage journey of mine is 'inward.' Finding my way forward in my new single life requires a new awakening to 'the core of me'. Identifying the core is no easy task. Why is it so tempting to observe others who are a source of inspiration, and wanting to 'be like them' - to be someone else. I am pretty sure I am not the only one in this camp, though I am not condoning it. I am beginning (with a capital 'B') to 'know', who I really am. The past few days has enlightened my 'knowing'. I am still chewing and digesting. I am praying for a new freedom of acceptance in 'being me'.
I have loved my days on the road. This past 10 days I have missed the new landscapes that fly by me as I venture into territories unknown. I miss the funny roadside signage, the amazing (and sometimes not so amazing) architecture, the new cultural dialects I hear in the coffeeshops and grocery stores along the way. I miss the movement. I miss the wide open spaces. I am learning just how much of an earth-woman I am. That would explain why I am forever picking up leaves, and twigs and feeling flower petals. Perhaps the change in my daily routines have upset my equilibrium - my rhythm. I am untethered from my mobile living quarters - my dear Pedro - cantankerous mobile home that he is!!
Tethering is all about connectedness. Our connections help us feel grounded - anchored in familiarity. As I have studied the botanical worlds of the many regions of the country, I am most fascinated with the moisture-laden subclimates where greenery flourishes without man's hoses tethered to the faucets of city water systems. The profuse branching of ivy as it climbs the tree trunks and overruns the ground in a covering of lush green. What is unique about all this ferocious fauna is that it's connections can easily be loosened, removed, or altered. Tethering is different from the technique of tying - an element not easily removed. I love the though of being 'gently' tethered - to our loved ones, to our rituals, or to our natural instinctive choices. It is a softer connection, flexible, more readily negotiated. When I contemplate 'who I am', I wish to think in terms of a more flexible being, a bendable connection. I wish to remove the rigid knots that tie me to a 'prison of being'. Knowing that I am movable, but connected to a core gives me comfort, and comfort is something that is easy to live with.
The stuff of dreams and longing, of realtime challenges and hopes, and the regrets of unresolved conflict live in every human soul, at one time or another. We all navigate our days in varying degrees of wanderlust. The timeless question, 'Who Am I' has been queried daily by the masses, looking for the perfect formula of how to live out a life of peace and honesty, while maintaining intimate, equal, and bendable relationships with those we call dear.
Soul work is difficult. Finding balance between one's discipline to become 'more' or making choices for the sake of relationship compromise, and one's choice to rest in the comfort of living with our natural inclinations will forever be the stuff of daily life. This much I know - giving V-O-I-C-E to issues of the heart and soul is a requirement if one is to sift through the jumble of tomorrow's choices and arrive at the coveted prize of inner peace.
Riding on the wind of change, I am comforted in my tethering to the Source of all life, the great I AM - God the Father, Son and Eternal Spirit. Even when I occasionally lose touch with 'Who I am', I am confident of 'Whose I am'.
In this I find today's peace - buoyed by life's sometimes wild, sometimes gentle wind currents - carried to a new place with each new day.
Intothewind -
Naturegirl
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY
LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY
A Minnesota gal, I am. Conversation with many a friend of mine, back home, may sound a bit like this - "So, what plans do you have for the weekend?" -a response - "I think we're headin' up north to the cabin." In Low Country, the replay is likely to be, "We are goin' down south to our sea place!" What may be a cabin in MN with a deer and pine tree motif of earthen browns, moss green and brick red would be rewritten in Low Country with white pillared porches and rocking chairs, surrounded by clusters of waving sea grass, bowls of shells and sky blue cushions trimmed in coral or lemon. The beach hats hang neatly on the porch hooks, beckoning a beachcomber to a stroll in the sand.
Low Country was something I'd read of in a few previous novels, but really had very little idea what the 'lay of the land' might look like, or even where it was. A bit of education was called for after seeing a few 'Low Country' road signs as I rolled down a South Carolina highway. My research told me it is a section of the east cost surrounding Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia. Sea level is an operative word, when thinking 'Low Country'. Salt marshes pepper the landscape of this slow-goes-it part of the U.S. On a sparkling sunny day, the waving marsh grasses move in shades of celery, emerald and toast, outlining the puzzle-shaped patches of crystalline ocean waters. These saline swamps are teaming with all manner of sea life. A visit to the local supermarket is testament to this. The deli cases are lined with bowls of fresh crab cakes, mussels, shrimp and clam chowder.
The harbors along the fingerling-shaped coastline dock a multitude of shrimp trawling boats and seaworthy vessels loaded with the day's catch. Having never lived in this culture, my curiosity pushes me to peek around a corner here, a narrow street there, and a drive around the bend in the road reveals a line of pillared historic old south houses. A seaside bench beckons me for a few contemplative moments. Sun shining warm on my face, I recall the clip-clop of the horse-drawn carriages of Charleston, and the open door of the centuries old Catholic church within the historic downtown sprawl of ornate iron-gated walls. Organ music spilled out the doors of the church. Drawn into the sacred space of the empty sanctuary, I sit a few moments on a pew, listening – music and voices - of yesteryear - of what was - of what is to come. A wondering – what will a year - or two - or ten bring to my life. Always within me, the tree-climbing girl that swayed in the wind, wondering about my tomorrows. A cessation of the music jolted me back to real-time. Unseating myself, I left the sacred space of my wondering. And, once more ….I snap back to the present, as I sit on the bench of the dock of the bay. Rising, I walk to Pedro, and the next Low Country stop.
Octopus arms - that's what they look like! Giant trees of the costal Low Country frame the road with their magical limbs. These angel oak trees are like no other oaks I have seen. A light-strewn roadway tunnel formed by their canopy mesmerized me on the drive to Kiawah Island - one of 20+ Low Country sea islands. There was a tugging at my heart - "Stop! Go climb them!" Then good sense took over - no longer am I the 'small fry' on my Iowa farm with nimble knees. Instead I stop and stare up through the maze, thick with hanging 'beards' of Spanish moss. The mystery of this moment consumes my being. Squinting and turning circles, diamonds of light swirl above me. I breathe in the moist Low Country air, feeling the goosebumps on my arms. And on I go, to the local Java-Java haven, and my morning tea.
Brookgreen Gardens lies about an hour north of Charleston. It is 9,000 acres of pristine nature at its best! As I drive the short distance to Hilton Head on a cloudy misting day, I rehearse the delights of my visit there. This oasis is home to a multitude of winged creatures, creepy crawlers and of course, an occasional alligator. The many life-sized bronze sculptures scattered on the grounds awakened plenty of artsy inspiration for me. Grinning to myself, I recall the humor of the moment as the great blue heron stared at me, lifting and retracting his thick S-shaped cordlike neck, like a child and his slinky. A stone’s throw away, 2 turtles sit, head-to-head in some turtleland conversation, a seemingly romantic turtle-moment. The tupelo trees and great palmettos drip on this dewey day and I find shelter for the moment under the angel limbs of a monstrous oak. The short-lived shower allows me to roam for another hour, listening to many a fountain singing its water-song and walking the secret wooded winding paths to charming green corners and a child’s fairyland of nature’s magic. I welcome the tsunami of new world images that settle in and fill my soul, floating down ‘the 17’ on my way to the next bridge and island paradise.
Most everyone, at one moment or another in their life, find themselves facing a trial, a trauma – a few seconds can change everything. My journey has had it’s share of trials – a time here and there where I ‘lost my grounding’, feeling a little low in spirit. I’ve ridden the wave out and landed on solid ground again, in time. Sporadic times of ‘the terrific’ have also been a part of this pilgrim journey – euphoric minutes of pure pleasure and joy. It all comes with the territory. This, my friend, is life! Giving and receiving remains central to my purpose as I roll off the miles. The solitude of letting both God and my heart speak has allowed me to find healing and wholeness.
On my morning’s drive to the Hilton Head library last week, it was my great misfortune to face one of life’s little traumas. The stop light hidden around a bend in the road was red – a stationary car in front me. Squealing brakes and …CRASH… then silence. I feel only a twinge in my ankle – no other pain. The car in front drives through the intersection and parks. 9-1-1 – time elapse – emergency squad – police – tears – confusion. As I pace on the roadside, answering questions for the report, I am filled with regret. Why, did I choose that moment to glance out my side window. Everything has changed. Pedro’s engine will not start. It is time for Plan B.
My accident - terrible but not tragic. Inconvenient, but not the end. I am amazed that with my dear daughter’s help, I am sitting on an airplane in Savannah 6 hours later bound for California. Pedro has been towed to a collision center. From the west coast, I will navigate the repair to my RV on the east coast. My journey is delayed, but still I will write. There is always an inner journey – and there will I go. Perhaps come January I will reunite with Pedro for the remaining 5 months of my pilgrimage.
A low moment – feeling down, but not out in Low Country. Through life’s highs and lows I go on, confident of God’s presence, always.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Friday, November 2, 2012
ALL HAIL THE HORIZON - THE GREAT DIVIDE
The design element of 'line' has always been a big deal to me. As an artist, the importance of line has been drilled home time after time. Fat ones, skinny ones, curved, broken, short and long. Lines are snakey, sleek, interrupted and oft-times solid. These relaxing days on the ocean have, for me, heightened my love of line.
I am presently cocooned in a lovely condo on the edge of the Atlantic ocean - Myrtle Beach style. "Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were living in a micro mobile RV these days", you might say. Well, compliments of a generous brother who owns this 'pad', I am being graced with a week of expansive living. An indulgent pleasure, it is! The fact that I am suspended about 90 feet above ground, but surrounded by every creature comfort a person might expect, does not fully explain the euphoria I have been privy to over the past few days. There's not much in life, more magical than witnessing the sunrise and sunset high above the pounding surf from the balcony that sits on the eastward side of this resort-style living space.
My first evening on the beach graced me with a splendid sunset display, capping off an enjoyable travelers' birthday! Sunsets from my present perch are not the California type. One needs to be facing west to witness the dropping off of the great 'sun-orb' at day's end. However, sunsets when facing east at the Atlantic ocean are more about the horizon's great color divide as seen in the southern sky. Cloud formations have everything to do with the striated display of color as the light of day withers. The peachy slivered dagger of reflected sun that was my birthday sunset was a delight beyond measure. A large cloud cover left only this narrow-arrow of light with a few needle-like clouds casting a shadowed display of blues, oranges, pinks and mineral grays. Oh the glory of it!
As I have lingered over many-a-cup of tea, contemplating the great expanse of water and wave, of foam and seagulls, of the flip-flopping of light and dark at the horizon, I realize the great powers that are held in the atmosphere and movement of the ocean. This is the week that Hurricane Sandy hit the eastern seaboard. Though the outer bands left only a day's worth of rain in this locale, the day before I arrived, good fortune was not to be realized in the states north of here. As I have listened to the media's portrayal of the devastation in the New Jersey and New York areas, I moan in sorrow for the gross loss that lies to my north. How can it be? Somehow, the pleasant view I enjoy today, looking oceanward, brings to mind the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast". How appropriate, the analogy - incomprehensible beauty when admiring a calm sea, and the most ferocious of beasts when 100 mph winds gobble up homes, neighborhoods and business districts, too close to water's edge.
Why is it that the ragged edge of human experience is seen most easily in giant-sized discrepancies -polar opposites. A new love begins for someone, and a long love ends for another. A lucrative new job offer comes to one, and a job termination arrives at the doorstep of another. A new life comes to one family, and a loved one leaves this earthly life for another family. Nature has its vast differences as well. I have witnessed for days now, the light changes where the line draws a horizon - one moment the sky is light, the ocean is dark, and 10 hours later, I behold a darkened sky and a shimmering moonlit ocean. Two nights ago a large hovering cloud-mass hung overhead, long after sunset. I stepped onto the balcony for a last look before I snuggled-in for the night. There I beheld - a grace moment. A small circular 'hole' in the clouds allowed the moon's rays to plunge downward, casting a small circular spotlight on the ocean's surface, halfway to horizon's edge. To me, it spoke of the Almighty, a sign of God's presence. The site held me captive for a good long while before I padded off to bed with the words of Amazing Grace ringing in my soul - a song most poignant with memory for me. I recalled with wonder and warmth a moment in my life when visiting Peter Island - of Sir Francis Drake Channel-Caribbean fame. On that evening, forever etched in my mind, I stood at midnite on a secluded mountaintop with 6 dear ones, listening to a native-of-the-island lift his voice to the heaven in song - the same song - as a full moon sent a million diamonds scattering across the ocean and a gentle wind blew my hair, face lifted to the great Creator. I need say no more.
About 10 weeks ago, I stood at a spot in Wyoming where an invisible line was drawn in the earth. On one side of the line, all water drained eastward, and on the other all water seeped away in a westerly direction. This line is called, 'The Great Divide' on geography maps. It was a rather profound thing to contemplate as i stood there. There was nothing totally captivating in the 'picture' of this area, but the spot held a great significance. The great divide has taken on a new meaning this week as I have gazed relentlessly out my condo window. Asians are well versed in the ying and yang of life. The word 'balance' comes to mind. This concept has fixated me for many a year. Some do the 'balance thing' better than others. Usually there is a consequence to 'out of balance' life issues. This, I will let you ponder on your own. For me, I will declare that this is among the more important of my daily life goals. How successful I am, I must say, fluctuates more than I would wish, but a goal has a boatload of worth! The balance I am most intuned to on this pilgrimage has to do with 'giving and receiving'. Art gift and outward-in hospitality, my common denominators for this traveler.
Tonight I have a fisherman and 'his line' in sight. So carefully he baits the hook, wades into the surf, pauses, pulling back his rod and with a gentle swing, out flies the line, a gesture of intention - a hope to reel in 'the gift - the catch'. Down the line of beach a young gent has reeled in his catch - a warm embrace for the lucky lady. Together they face the horizon, an evening of closeness. Ahhhh. Perhaps the same should be for me, again, some day. For now, the nurture of nature warms my soul - the knowledge of God's embrace is enough.
So slowly the sky grows darker, the horizon fainter. The south sky turns from baby-butt pink to cherry blossom to brandywine. A fading, fading and a return to blueberry skin and pewter until nothingness - a perfect balance - the horizon is lost to blackness. The moon is in hiding, until later, when once more, the reflected light will give birth to the glittered nighttime striation of waves. And God divided the day and the night. And another day.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
The design element of 'line' has always been a big deal to me. As an artist, the importance of line has been drilled home time after time. Fat ones, skinny ones, curved, broken, short and long. Lines are snakey, sleek, interrupted and oft-times solid. These relaxing days on the ocean have, for me, heightened my love of line.
I am presently cocooned in a lovely condo on the edge of the Atlantic ocean - Myrtle Beach style. "Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were living in a micro mobile RV these days", you might say. Well, compliments of a generous brother who owns this 'pad', I am being graced with a week of expansive living. An indulgent pleasure, it is! The fact that I am suspended about 90 feet above ground, but surrounded by every creature comfort a person might expect, does not fully explain the euphoria I have been privy to over the past few days. There's not much in life, more magical than witnessing the sunrise and sunset high above the pounding surf from the balcony that sits on the eastward side of this resort-style living space.
My first evening on the beach graced me with a splendid sunset display, capping off an enjoyable travelers' birthday! Sunsets from my present perch are not the California type. One needs to be facing west to witness the dropping off of the great 'sun-orb' at day's end. However, sunsets when facing east at the Atlantic ocean are more about the horizon's great color divide as seen in the southern sky. Cloud formations have everything to do with the striated display of color as the light of day withers. The peachy slivered dagger of reflected sun that was my birthday sunset was a delight beyond measure. A large cloud cover left only this narrow-arrow of light with a few needle-like clouds casting a shadowed display of blues, oranges, pinks and mineral grays. Oh the glory of it!
As I have lingered over many-a-cup of tea, contemplating the great expanse of water and wave, of foam and seagulls, of the flip-flopping of light and dark at the horizon, I realize the great powers that are held in the atmosphere and movement of the ocean. This is the week that Hurricane Sandy hit the eastern seaboard. Though the outer bands left only a day's worth of rain in this locale, the day before I arrived, good fortune was not to be realized in the states north of here. As I have listened to the media's portrayal of the devastation in the New Jersey and New York areas, I moan in sorrow for the gross loss that lies to my north. How can it be? Somehow, the pleasant view I enjoy today, looking oceanward, brings to mind the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast". How appropriate, the analogy - incomprehensible beauty when admiring a calm sea, and the most ferocious of beasts when 100 mph winds gobble up homes, neighborhoods and business districts, too close to water's edge.
Why is it that the ragged edge of human experience is seen most easily in giant-sized discrepancies -polar opposites. A new love begins for someone, and a long love ends for another. A lucrative new job offer comes to one, and a job termination arrives at the doorstep of another. A new life comes to one family, and a loved one leaves this earthly life for another family. Nature has its vast differences as well. I have witnessed for days now, the light changes where the line draws a horizon - one moment the sky is light, the ocean is dark, and 10 hours later, I behold a darkened sky and a shimmering moonlit ocean. Two nights ago a large hovering cloud-mass hung overhead, long after sunset. I stepped onto the balcony for a last look before I snuggled-in for the night. There I beheld - a grace moment. A small circular 'hole' in the clouds allowed the moon's rays to plunge downward, casting a small circular spotlight on the ocean's surface, halfway to horizon's edge. To me, it spoke of the Almighty, a sign of God's presence. The site held me captive for a good long while before I padded off to bed with the words of Amazing Grace ringing in my soul - a song most poignant with memory for me. I recalled with wonder and warmth a moment in my life when visiting Peter Island - of Sir Francis Drake Channel-Caribbean fame. On that evening, forever etched in my mind, I stood at midnite on a secluded mountaintop with 6 dear ones, listening to a native-of-the-island lift his voice to the heaven in song - the same song - as a full moon sent a million diamonds scattering across the ocean and a gentle wind blew my hair, face lifted to the great Creator. I need say no more.
About 10 weeks ago, I stood at a spot in Wyoming where an invisible line was drawn in the earth. On one side of the line, all water drained eastward, and on the other all water seeped away in a westerly direction. This line is called, 'The Great Divide' on geography maps. It was a rather profound thing to contemplate as i stood there. There was nothing totally captivating in the 'picture' of this area, but the spot held a great significance. The great divide has taken on a new meaning this week as I have gazed relentlessly out my condo window. Asians are well versed in the ying and yang of life. The word 'balance' comes to mind. This concept has fixated me for many a year. Some do the 'balance thing' better than others. Usually there is a consequence to 'out of balance' life issues. This, I will let you ponder on your own. For me, I will declare that this is among the more important of my daily life goals. How successful I am, I must say, fluctuates more than I would wish, but a goal has a boatload of worth! The balance I am most intuned to on this pilgrimage has to do with 'giving and receiving'. Art gift and outward-in hospitality, my common denominators for this traveler.
Tonight I have a fisherman and 'his line' in sight. So carefully he baits the hook, wades into the surf, pauses, pulling back his rod and with a gentle swing, out flies the line, a gesture of intention - a hope to reel in 'the gift - the catch'. Down the line of beach a young gent has reeled in his catch - a warm embrace for the lucky lady. Together they face the horizon, an evening of closeness. Ahhhh. Perhaps the same should be for me, again, some day. For now, the nurture of nature warms my soul - the knowledge of God's embrace is enough.
So slowly the sky grows darker, the horizon fainter. The south sky turns from baby-butt pink to cherry blossom to brandywine. A fading, fading and a return to blueberry skin and pewter until nothingness - a perfect balance - the horizon is lost to blackness. The moon is in hiding, until later, when once more, the reflected light will give birth to the glittered nighttime striation of waves. And God divided the day and the night. And another day.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
BUMPS, PATCHES AND CRACKS
A ride down the back roads of West Virginia in October is a year-end bonus with a capital 'B'. The rolling hills show a bounty of confetti popcorn - verde, crimson and amber - weaving their foothills into a lattice valley of emerald green grass, a lime river carpet. As one might imagine, the road is not of particular pristine smoothness. Pedro gives no claim to a Cadillac ride. I feel the bumps. I notice a truckload of patched road cracks on my Saturday morning drive. However, the nostalgia of appalachian culture I witness roadside, distracts me. I am, at the same time, acutely aware of a squealing noise every time I steer to the right. Towns with a population of over 500 are scarce in the neck of the woods I'm traveling. My atlas tells me that I should arrive at a college town in an hour or two. Before my descent into collegetown USA, I am stopped on the winding mountain road by a long line of cars. The flashing red lights ahead speak of an accident. I see the ambulance. In a moment, I see 2 smashed cars. I pray. I wonder. I am reminded - life is precious. After the chainsaw splits the air, a time lapse - the ambulance drives off, siren-on. The road is cleared. I proceed, praying for the victim(s). God, ever-present - be my protector. Soon, my college town is in sight.
The bumps in 'my road' have landed in my lap. My left front wheel/brake issue from earlier this summer has resurfaced. I'll not list the number of 'check-up's I've had related to this issue. My wheel problem peaked with an on-the-tollway 'bang-thump-rattle-knock' event, shortly after my college town check-up, where a loose wheel was 'diagnosed' (a not-so-small safety issue) and Pedro was given a 'patch job' to get me to my nephew's home in North Carolina. The patch did not work. A two-hour delay for towing landed me at a repair shop that would 'reopen' on Monday morning. As per a book I am reading, I have decided to "Take refuge in the present moment", aka - Hampton Inn (INSIDE). That is - relax - unwind - read - soak in a real tub - be inspired - and let 'the fix' come to me. Thus, I have taken some hours to think of the soul messages meant for just now.
The people I have encountered as a part of this event are numerous, and represent a full spectrum of personalities and stations-in- life. I might preface this expo of events by reminding you that the language of West Virginia is considerably different from 'talking Minnesotan'. Did you ever see the movie - "Coal Miner's Daughter' starring Sissy Spacek? Well, 'that thar' would indicate all manner of speech, 'raught here-raught naow'! Don't get me wrong - there is not a thing wrong with this picture- the people I've met in the last 3 days of my motel hiatus have peppered me with 'sweetie' and 'honey' and - 'enytheng aelse I can dyuh fer ya, m'am' and 'teak care dear!'. It's all rather endearing, I must say.
The big burly man who rescued me from my roadside perch (tow truck guy) was a quiet but kind-faced gent, intent on his work of hooking up Pedro to all the gadgets required for a safe tow. In the half-hour commute with him I learned of a smattering of the challenges in his life. He was 1-week into this new job - a paramedic turned tow-truck guy. At last count, the deaths he'd witnessed in his line of work was 246. The nightmares were eroding his life. His fall-out with a relative who had a perfect 'God-fix' for him was troublesome. Did I have the perfect words - I think not, but I offered the best I had - a listening ear and my care. In private, I pray... for healing to come to his soul.
The two 'lube-shop-boys' who applied the temporary lock-washer patch (45 minutes pre-roadside breakdown) were a genuine 'south of the Mason-Dixon line' duo who tell it like it is, straight up and with a bit of colorful language (complete with .. 'scuze me m'am' after explicatives). After their half-hour work to tighten up my wobbly tire, I asked for the bill... to which one responded -' don't worry 'bout it m'am... my good deed for the day.' I wish I had time to 'detail' each of these do-gooder-boys, it could be a fine moment!
I could elaborate on the tire-shop stop, 5 minutes prior to the do-gooders stop, but the bruskness of Mr. Tire-shop guy would only be good for a quick roll of the eyes.
The young-dude at Sheets Dodge who shuttled me to my Hampton Inn hangout was another of the quiet, gentle ones, who'd just lost his job, elsewhere, 2 months prior. I sensed he was grateful for his new job. He wore his kindness well.
I contemplate these, and a bundle more of those I've been rubbing shoulders with during this 'bump-in-the-road' event. My prayers cover them. God intercedes in sighs, too deep for words. He knows them all. This pilgrm is poised to listen.
The book that inspired my pilgrimage tells me that a pilgrim progresses - across time and space. For me, the time now ticks off just over 4 months. My odometer tells me I have traveled 15,000 miles. I have visited 10 extended family members. Hospitality offered by hosts along the way contributes immeasurably to personal delights and gratitudes. We wandering-folk experience the world in a new way. The customary vernacular of others rings new in our ears, firing new thoughts-new questions in the pilgrim's mind. Paying attention to the lives of 'the small ones', rather than the grandeur of the famous, or of relics of notoriety paves the way for the inner journey to life's deeper meaning. Let me explain - As I travel, there are many historical monuments of significance along my pathway. I have, on occasion, taken time to have a quick 'look-see'. However, the inward journey of the soul, both of mine and of those who cross my path holds greater meaning to me. The works of artists, whose paintings I have observed in a multitude of galleries/museums are, to be sure, part of that journey. Contemplating the lives of the artist-folks, the met-along-the road folks, and the next-of-kin folks has illuminated for me both the pain and the exhileration of life.
As contemplation leads to the deeply embedded values that run the motor of daily living for all of us - the 'How' of it - the 'Why' of it - I find myself in conversation with God. Sometimes I think I have it right - sometimes I'm sure I must have it wrong. One day is sweet - on another day its a mountain to climb. On occasion I think I hear God's voice - on another I can see and hear only a big white, empty space - But, I KNOW the Spirit remains - I BELIEVE in the promises of God, and so - I hang on, for the sweetness and 'The Voice' to return. The scriptural Proverbs are a virtual storehouse of Godly advice on 'how to live'. On a prior visit I had this summer with a nephew on the west coast, he shared with me a poem that helps him in his daily choices. He granted me permission to post the poem on my blog. To me, it is profound. I am certain that every principle in this poem could be found in Proverbs.
I share with you.... "IF" by Rudyard Kipling:
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
..... (and, may I add my 'take' to the last line... '..which is more - you'll soar, my earthling traveler!")
As I meander, I learn from others - I observe with open-mindedness - I learn from the bumps. God willing, I give from the heart - I am becoming - MORE than I was - at least, for today.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
A ride down the back roads of West Virginia in October is a year-end bonus with a capital 'B'. The rolling hills show a bounty of confetti popcorn - verde, crimson and amber - weaving their foothills into a lattice valley of emerald green grass, a lime river carpet. As one might imagine, the road is not of particular pristine smoothness. Pedro gives no claim to a Cadillac ride. I feel the bumps. I notice a truckload of patched road cracks on my Saturday morning drive. However, the nostalgia of appalachian culture I witness roadside, distracts me. I am, at the same time, acutely aware of a squealing noise every time I steer to the right. Towns with a population of over 500 are scarce in the neck of the woods I'm traveling. My atlas tells me that I should arrive at a college town in an hour or two. Before my descent into collegetown USA, I am stopped on the winding mountain road by a long line of cars. The flashing red lights ahead speak of an accident. I see the ambulance. In a moment, I see 2 smashed cars. I pray. I wonder. I am reminded - life is precious. After the chainsaw splits the air, a time lapse - the ambulance drives off, siren-on. The road is cleared. I proceed, praying for the victim(s). God, ever-present - be my protector. Soon, my college town is in sight.
The bumps in 'my road' have landed in my lap. My left front wheel/brake issue from earlier this summer has resurfaced. I'll not list the number of 'check-up's I've had related to this issue. My wheel problem peaked with an on-the-tollway 'bang-thump-rattle-knock' event, shortly after my college town check-up, where a loose wheel was 'diagnosed' (a not-so-small safety issue) and Pedro was given a 'patch job' to get me to my nephew's home in North Carolina. The patch did not work. A two-hour delay for towing landed me at a repair shop that would 'reopen' on Monday morning. As per a book I am reading, I have decided to "Take refuge in the present moment", aka - Hampton Inn (INSIDE). That is - relax - unwind - read - soak in a real tub - be inspired - and let 'the fix' come to me. Thus, I have taken some hours to think of the soul messages meant for just now.
The people I have encountered as a part of this event are numerous, and represent a full spectrum of personalities and stations-in- life. I might preface this expo of events by reminding you that the language of West Virginia is considerably different from 'talking Minnesotan'. Did you ever see the movie - "Coal Miner's Daughter' starring Sissy Spacek? Well, 'that thar' would indicate all manner of speech, 'raught here-raught naow'! Don't get me wrong - there is not a thing wrong with this picture- the people I've met in the last 3 days of my motel hiatus have peppered me with 'sweetie' and 'honey' and - 'enytheng aelse I can dyuh fer ya, m'am' and 'teak care dear!'. It's all rather endearing, I must say.
The big burly man who rescued me from my roadside perch (tow truck guy) was a quiet but kind-faced gent, intent on his work of hooking up Pedro to all the gadgets required for a safe tow. In the half-hour commute with him I learned of a smattering of the challenges in his life. He was 1-week into this new job - a paramedic turned tow-truck guy. At last count, the deaths he'd witnessed in his line of work was 246. The nightmares were eroding his life. His fall-out with a relative who had a perfect 'God-fix' for him was troublesome. Did I have the perfect words - I think not, but I offered the best I had - a listening ear and my care. In private, I pray... for healing to come to his soul.
The two 'lube-shop-boys' who applied the temporary lock-washer patch (45 minutes pre-roadside breakdown) were a genuine 'south of the Mason-Dixon line' duo who tell it like it is, straight up and with a bit of colorful language (complete with .. 'scuze me m'am' after explicatives). After their half-hour work to tighten up my wobbly tire, I asked for the bill... to which one responded -' don't worry 'bout it m'am... my good deed for the day.' I wish I had time to 'detail' each of these do-gooder-boys, it could be a fine moment!
I could elaborate on the tire-shop stop, 5 minutes prior to the do-gooders stop, but the bruskness of Mr. Tire-shop guy would only be good for a quick roll of the eyes.
The young-dude at Sheets Dodge who shuttled me to my Hampton Inn hangout was another of the quiet, gentle ones, who'd just lost his job, elsewhere, 2 months prior. I sensed he was grateful for his new job. He wore his kindness well.
I contemplate these, and a bundle more of those I've been rubbing shoulders with during this 'bump-in-the-road' event. My prayers cover them. God intercedes in sighs, too deep for words. He knows them all. This pilgrm is poised to listen.
The book that inspired my pilgrimage tells me that a pilgrim progresses - across time and space. For me, the time now ticks off just over 4 months. My odometer tells me I have traveled 15,000 miles. I have visited 10 extended family members. Hospitality offered by hosts along the way contributes immeasurably to personal delights and gratitudes. We wandering-folk experience the world in a new way. The customary vernacular of others rings new in our ears, firing new thoughts-new questions in the pilgrim's mind. Paying attention to the lives of 'the small ones', rather than the grandeur of the famous, or of relics of notoriety paves the way for the inner journey to life's deeper meaning. Let me explain - As I travel, there are many historical monuments of significance along my pathway. I have, on occasion, taken time to have a quick 'look-see'. However, the inward journey of the soul, both of mine and of those who cross my path holds greater meaning to me. The works of artists, whose paintings I have observed in a multitude of galleries/museums are, to be sure, part of that journey. Contemplating the lives of the artist-folks, the met-along-the road folks, and the next-of-kin folks has illuminated for me both the pain and the exhileration of life.
As contemplation leads to the deeply embedded values that run the motor of daily living for all of us - the 'How' of it - the 'Why' of it - I find myself in conversation with God. Sometimes I think I have it right - sometimes I'm sure I must have it wrong. One day is sweet - on another day its a mountain to climb. On occasion I think I hear God's voice - on another I can see and hear only a big white, empty space - But, I KNOW the Spirit remains - I BELIEVE in the promises of God, and so - I hang on, for the sweetness and 'The Voice' to return. The scriptural Proverbs are a virtual storehouse of Godly advice on 'how to live'. On a prior visit I had this summer with a nephew on the west coast, he shared with me a poem that helps him in his daily choices. He granted me permission to post the poem on my blog. To me, it is profound. I am certain that every principle in this poem could be found in Proverbs.
I share with you.... "IF" by Rudyard Kipling:
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
..... (and, may I add my 'take' to the last line... '..which is more - you'll soar, my earthling traveler!")
As I meander, I learn from others - I observe with open-mindedness - I learn from the bumps. God willing, I give from the heart - I am becoming - MORE than I was - at least, for today.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
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