While We Were Waiting

At the library this week, someone was charged with the duty of standing outside to encourage the use of a certain piece of equipment. From this vantage point, waiting for the next unsuspecting patron to meander up, she enjoyed the view. Mount Rainier peeks over the freeway on clear days. Jets leave ribbony vapor trails high above. Crows warn one another from their perches high in the firs. And right there in front of the doors, there is functional sculpture that begs a photo.

I like to call this one, "Between the Lines".

 

And this is "Tree Rings".

It was a nice week at the library.

A New Way to Walk

 

Rufus and I tried out a new trail this week. I had Monday off, but my second son had to go to work. He had told me about a riverside trail near his place of business, so I offered him a ride to work and brought Ruf along. Halfway there, even though I hadn't used the word "walk", Ruf had his chin on my shoulder. It was doggah-speak for, "AREN'T WE THERE YET?" (Emphasis his.)
 

This trail is in a more urban neighborhood, but there are a number of bird-friendly adaptations. Across the river is a nesting platform for hawks or eagles (it appears to be unoccupied, if anyone's interested.) There were three shelters from which to observe the avian public bathing area. (Who knew that crows like to play in the water?)

The one portion of the trail that Ruf did not like was when we passed under eight lanes of interstate freeway. Every time a tire hit a seam in the pavement, it echoed down to us and he would give a little jump. It was hard for his doggah brain to deal with phantom noise like that. Further on, the route is next to a retaining wall that keeps the traffic thirty feet above the walkers.
 

Overall, I still prefer my regular trail, but this one was very nice. We'll go back and walk the other direction sometime. That way parallels a different freeway, sans retaining wall. Should be interesting.

Amazing! I Like Endorphins -- and They Like Me!

It's finally happened. A couple of years ago, my eldest (and very buff) son told me that part of the fun of exercising is the endorphins that kick in and make you want to keep going. "Ha!" I snorted. "I've never met an endorphin in my entire life. Maybe I'm immune. Exercise is NOT fun."

Last fall, I loaded some of my favorite CDs onto my cute little MP3 player and decided to take Rufus for a walk around the block. Once around our block, side trip to the wetlands included, is about a half mile. Ten minutes. Three songs. Okay, maybe two laps, just to listen to a little more music. Hmmm... That was kind of nice, actually. After a few days of that, I decided to check out some new construction, a little subdivision that was half built before the market tanked. See that patch of weedy, rocky ground over there, with the cement foundation? The flyer says they can finish that house for you in five months, and maybe you could negotiate to get the price below $300,000. And then I had to walk a little farther to visit the new man-made wetlands next to another new development.

After a good month of walking three or four days a week, I developed foot and ankle problems. Ugh. I went to see the podiatrist, who told me to stretch and ice and stretch and ice and get a new pair of shoes. Eventually I eased back into walking, this time on a paved trail through wetlands and woods and neighborhoods. It's GREAT! Last week, I didn't want to stop, and the Ruf and I made a record-setting 4.5 miles in 70 minutes! We saw new territory, chatted with the owner of a gorgeous black-eared Dalmatian, sniffed countless sniffs, and took a few nice photos. (Unfortunately, I still haven't diagnosed my photo-transfer problem, so nothing to post yet. Grrrrr.)

It's just like Andy told me -- now I'm at the point where the endorphins kick in when I start planning my next excursion, and I can't wait to go! Before I even got out of bed this morning, I realized that if I drive Pete to work, Rufus and I can walk on a different trail today. Yee haw!

Hey, son, wanna get to work early? Do ya? Can we go now? I've got my shoes!

Nightmares, Bad Feelings, and an Impossible Compulsion

The Internet doesn't like me. For several days I was unable to post comments to any blogs. I can't figure out why my photos from my phone aren't showing up on my computer. But, in spite of these technical difficulties, I've had several visitors stopping by the blog each day. (Yay!) The bad news is, many of them are from places such as Spain or France. One person left a lengthy comment... in Chinese. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some. At least I can comment again.

Do you remember your dreams? I've heard that if you wake up right after a dream, it'll stick in your conscious memory for a while. In my experience, it's the emotions that stick hardest. There have been a few dreams that stayed in my mind for a long time.

When I was in seventh grade, Mrs. Cox taught a unit on short-story writing. I think the weekly assignment was something ridiculously short, like 100 words, but we had to come up with something original every Friday. One time, I wrote what I recalled of a vivid dream. I was at home, going between my bedroom and our back yard, and other people were there to wish me well. I was preparing for a secret mission (spying or smuggling) and wasn't certain I'd make it back in one piece. The emotions in the dream were very strong, and it made for a good story except for one little thing. I couldn't write an ending. The dream ended before I left home, and nothing I could imagine matched the anxious drama of my virtual experience.

Just this week, I had another momentous dream. In real life, there's a person who has caused tremendous grief to a family member. Unfortunately, there isn't anything that can be done to resolve the situation at this time. But this dream... ugh! For some reason, my whole family had to go to that person's home and share a meal with them. I was on edge from the moment we set foot in her house. But then, as I finished my lunch, I saw my hand reach down to a ceramic vase at my side. I used a spoon to gouge a hole in the vase! What a horrible thing to do, and I was unable to stop my destructive action. How could we repair it, or where would we find a replacement?

I woke up in a sweat, scared and tremendously upset. What kind of an awful thing had I done, and why? This is the kind of emotional upheaval that could have kept me awake the rest of the night, but I'm happy to report that I was able to deal with it somewhat logically. In reality, I know that I did nothing to cause this person's bad behavior toward my family member. I cannot cure her, nor can I exert any control over her. Beyond all this, I have not done anything to contribute to the pain. Thank goodness!

A clean conscience makes for a good night's sleep, eventually.

Walking and Looking

My phone isn't sending the photos I've taken on recent walks, so I'll just have to tell you about them. Sigh. The wonders of modern technology.

For two weeks now, I've been seeing new catkins on the trees. I thought it was too early for that, but there they are. The old ones are brown and shriveled and dead, but the new ones are a very light green and, well, new. Earlier this week, I saw buds starting to pop out on some of the bushes on the trail. Although I tried to get a photo of them, it was too dark in that part of the woods so my camera phone wasn't effective.

Today, the water in the wetlands has receded enough to reveal sprouts of skunk cabbage. I didn't know they start out reddish-brown and only turn bright green when they're up out of the ground. There were three pairs of ducks a-courting as Rufus and I sprinted along. One couple was quite close to the trail, and I was able to snap a quick photo of Mr. Mallard.

The wetlands looked quite different today, and it took me a while to figure out why. The tall grasses and reeds have stayed upright all winter, but now they're clumped on the ground. When the new shoots grow, they'll poke right up through the old dead stuff and the wetlands will look like green meadows. But what made the dead grasses collapse? Ahhh... Now I remember. About three weeks ago, the water level was almost up to the trail. Everything was covered. As the wetland drained, the weakened stalks were left laying on the ground. That's how the grasses get a fresh start, and that's how the scenery looks clean and green and pure.

I love fall and winter. I love quieter days, cooler temperatures, FOOTBALL, and the way that distance softens bare tree branches to look all heathery. I don't mind the rain and the damp and the interesting weather. But as I've been watching the wetlands change, I'm beginning to think I might enjoy this transformation to spring and green and brighter colors. There are good things about spring and summer. Maybe this year I can let myself enjoy those seasons more. I'm definitely loving these quiet walks with my dog friend.



And football starts in seven months.

There's More to Life Than Coffee?

I made a tongue-in-cheek status update on Facebook this week:

Since I started drinking coffee most mornings, my kids have gotten older and more responsible, I drive a nicer car, and my overall quality of life is good. I love my well-creamed coffee!

My FB friends know me well enough to see my humorous intention. But this got me thinking about what really has brought growth over the last six or seven years (the amount of time I've been a coffee drinker.) Here, in no particular order, are my thoughts.

Experience Oh, man, have I had experiences! The ones I've learned from, the ones that eventually brought some added quality to my life, were the tough ones. I've had plenty of those. It may have been Albert Einstein who said, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Okay, so I've learned to try different responses to yukky stuff, and it's helped.

Bible reading and pondering A few years ago, my pastor encouraged the congregation to read the whole Bible in a year. "Dude," I thought, "I'm an abstract-random perfectionist. I could never!" Instead, I began reading at Genesis and making an entry in my private journal for every chapter I read. I'm slogging through the prophets now, but I loved the life stories in the historical books. Hmmm... come to think of it, I could relate to the people very well, but now I'm learning more about the nature of God. When I finish this read-through (in a few more years), I plan to start over but read in a different order. Abstract-randomness rocks!

My sons ARE older Different situations, different daily routines, different expectations. I've learned that I should not treat them the same way I did when they were much younger. Duh! One of my personal philosophies comes into play here. I believe that everyone does things for a reason. People don't intend to be dumb -- maybe they're working on a faulty foundation, but they're doing the best they can. Therefore, it's okay to let them make mistakes... and hope they learn from them. Of course, MY sons are wonderful and bright and witty and fascinating and insightful. But if they make mistakes, they're old enough to accept the consequences and begin to work them out.

Counseling, 12-step groups, and good friends These have all contributed tremendously to my continued growth and maturity and sanity. At times, each has met a specific need in my life, and I am eternally grateful for their influence. I can't say enough about the people who have impacted me, and I attribute these blessings to God. He has provided a host of folks who encourage, exhort, pray for, and affirm me when I need it.

God Himself I used to pray -- plead, really -- for God to fix whatever was causing me pain. I cried and cried, but the changes that came were never as complete as I had planned and hoped. Finally, over a long time, I realized I could either abandon all hope or accept what He had allowed into my life. I didn't want to become bitter, and knew I couldn't afford to relinquish what little faith I had, so I chose to hold more tightly to the loving God. He does love me, intimately, incredibly, impossibly. Although He wants what's best for me, that doesn't mean I'll get what's comfortable for me. It'll all work out in the end, and I'm okay for the here and now.

Humor The most important component of sanity, in my opinion. The person who can't laugh at himself has more issues than... well, you know what I mean. Introspection is my middle name, but there's so much about life that is downright laughable. Even though I trust that everyone has a reason for the dumb things they do, I still find it funny sometimes. In fact, the way I know I'm in a safe, healthy place is when I can laugh the hardest at myself. Folks, I do the silliest things! I should write a book. Oh, wait -- I am!


So there you have it. In addition to coffee with sugar and cream, here are the top six building blocks in my personal growth. Blackie would be proud, but Rufus says it's time to GOFORAWALKMOMNOWLETSGORIGHTTHISMINUTE!

Vague Comments on Liturgy and Rings

Do you ever wonder about... stuff? Inconsequential, unimportant, details of life, things that don't really matter, but are you curious about why this habit or how that mannerism came into being? Sometimes I notice things and ponder them for a while.

Recently, I spent time with a friend who is blind. We were chatting, and somehow I started commenting about men's jewelry. A Lutheran pastor whom we both know happens to wear four rings on his fingers. Four! I said that I can't think of any Baptist pastors who wear anything beyond a wedding band. Come to think of it, the male clergy with whom I've been acquainted seem to fall into two groups. The "liturgical" ones are likely to wear jewelry and show a little more style in haircut and clothing than the "fundamentalist" pastors.

Am I getting myself into hot water yet? I don't mean to insinuate anything negative or positive; I'm just writing about what I think I've noticed. These comments are subjective and are based on my personal observations in a limited geographic region.

The liturgical pastors may take a liberal or a conservative view of Scripture and theology. Either way, they are still more stylish than their fundamentalist counterparts. Around the Pacific Northwest, the fundamentalists are currently leaning toward more casual attire. Blue jeans and open collars are proudly worn at Sunday services, without hiding behind a pulpit. (Pulpits and other churchy furniture are passe, as well.) Liturgical pastors might wear an extra ring or two, as well as a gold chain on the wrist or neck.

Fundamentalists, in my limited experience, do not own man-chains.

So, what do you think? Have you ever noticed pastors wearing or not wearing bling? Oh -- that brings up another point. The men I've been referring to would generally be white Americans. I'm not trying to be exclusionary, just trying to simplify my little study. How come it's okay for some clergymen to wear jewelry and have interesting hair styles, but not okay for others? What else defines these micro-sub-cultures? Any ideas?

Laughing (at myself) All the Way

Mma Ramotswe was scrupulously honest, but this did not mean she was above self-deception.
And thus are we all!

I read The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith when my husband went to Namibia. Botswana, the homeland of Precious Ramotswe and her friends, borders Namibia and shares some climatic and cultural distinctives. It was wonderful to be immersed in a slower, gentler pace of life and introspection.

When I saw a recorded copy of Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, I decided to give it a listen. I wanted to know if my imagined pronunciations were anything close to the real thing. After all, how do you say Mma?

Tea Time has proven to be another delightful escape into a quieter time. I love the simplicity of thought and action, the lack of frenzied busy-ness, as Mma Ramotswe goes about her days. Although my audio-book selection had been mostly spy/adventure action stories, I'm now looking forward to the lyrical accents of African gentlepeople as I drive my car to work and back.

The quote at the top of this post, regarding Mma Ramotswe's honesty, made me laugh out loud and kept me smiling through a meeting. Yes, Mma, I am victim to the same condition of the heart. Honest? Of course... except perhaps when it comes to my own motives and shortcomings. Oh, well.


Oh, and about Mma. It's pronounced just as it looks, sitting on the double m's for an extra beat. Try it!

Aaaacccckkk! Happy New Year!

Hello, faithful reader(s). I'm back! Here's the rundown: busy with work, busy with family, nothing significant to write, and intense drama of the realistic kind. No energy to write more than a Facebook status update. My resolution for 2010? Ha! I'm way too abstract-random/perfectionist to make resolutions. But I do want to write.

This week, my friend and mentor is in town to discuss opening outreach centers for Lutheran Blind Mission. I've been able to sit in on two meetings already, with one more tomorrow, and have some good conversation and Q&A in between. One of the things I find interesting is to see how different churches handle their decision-making and action steps. Regardless of their official structure, every church has a personality or culture of its own. I appreciate being able to observe this, and to see how the individuals handle themselves within that culture.

It's good to have something big to ponder that's outside of me. As I mentioned, there's been significant personal drama over the last couple of months, and I'm a little tired of it. But again, it's interesting to watch how we are reacting to these things. I'm nowhere near able to objectively describe my family's culture, but I'm working on understanding me. It's all good, in the long run.

Thank you for your perseverance to check back here. Now that I've broken the ice with the first post of the New Year, I'll be writing again. I hope to get serious work done on novel #2, but that's a big project for which I'll need more energy and concentration. For now, just blogging and journalling are good. Oh -- and this particular post is brought to you courtesy of my middle son, who's letting me borrow his Mac when he's at work!

I hope you had a terrific Christmas and are enjoying a Happy New Year!

Memory Stones, Indeed!

Erin, you nailed it. The item I purchased in bulk at the dollar store was a bag of semi-polished rocks. They're small, they come in different shapes and colors, they're pretty, and it's unlikely that anyone would already have one in his/her pocket.

The convention was excellent. The highlight for me (aside from doling out rocks and talking with lots of people) is the business meeting on Saturday. The democratic process is alive and well in the American Council of the Blind, and it's cool to experience it. I'm blessed with an abstract-random learning style, so it amazes me that there are folks who know Robert's Rules of Order inside and out. I was relieved to hear that, at the national conventions, ACB hires a parliamentarian consultant to keep things in order.

At the business meeting, the really cool thing is the voting method. Accessible ballots at their finest! Each member is given a few slips of paper and a nail. When a vote is to be taken, the names of candidates are announced in alphabetical order. A vote for the first candidate is noted by punching a single hole through a piece of paper. The second name would require two holes, and so on. All you have to do is use the nail to make visible, tactile holes in your ballot. Sighted guests (not voting members) are designated to collect and count the votes and report to the president. Even though this is a beautifully simple process, there were still a number of invalid ballots. Hanging chads are okay, however!

In the photo above, I displayed my notebook (anti-dozing aid), reading glasses, a few of my rocks, and the voting materials. Mementos of a weekend well spent.

In another post, I'll tell you about the perils of making plans for other people, and how close we were to having a stampede and riot to get off the bus.