One Thing at a Time, My Friends!

Today was mostly one of “those” days.  You know the kind…you hit the ground running, keep your chin barely above the water, and fix your eye firmly on your goal.  In my case, today’s goal was to get out of school at 3:00 sharp to drive to Post Falls in order and enjoy Chad’s and my Christmas present to each other: 90 minutes of a heavenly massage.   School is out at 2:45, and that would only give me 15 minutes to pack up my stuff, close up my classroom, and get out to my car.  This might sound easy, but trust me, it’s not.  Inevitably several students have questions or need something, or I get waylaid at the photocopier.  But today I managed to get everything tackled by 3:00 straight up.  Then I walked out to the snowy parking lot…that’s when the fun began. 

Our parking lot is a giant box.  Staff park their cars along the edges of the box, and the traffic moves in the narrow alley behind our cars.  I should mention that it snowed quite heavily all afternoon, and by the time I exited the glass doors I could see my little Subaru beneath a blanket of snow.  But I also saw gridlock.  Complete, total gridlock.  A string of cars trying to pick up students snaked the entire lot, and my car was inexorably stuck between the fence and the bumper-to-bumper cars.  I tried to keep a positive outlook.  After all, the appointment wasn’t until 3:30, and it usually only takes 15 minutes to drive there.  So, I grabbed my snow scraper and cleared off my car.  Then I cleared off my friend’s car next to mine.  Traffic had not budged in that time.  I was doomed.   

It was almost 3:20 when some kind soul allowed me to back into the traffic string.  I waved my hand gratefully out the window and proceeded to inch my way toward the exit.  My heart was jumping by this time.  I didn’t have a phone with me, and all I could think was:  Just keep positive.  You’ll get out of this in no time.  By 3:30 I finally emerged onto the roadway.  Yep, you’re late.  But it is what it is.   Traffic was slow-going, and rightfully so.  The roads were snow-covered and slippery.  I made my way onto the road and proceeded to sit through three green lights at two separate intersections.  By the time I merged onto the highway I had to practice deliberate breathing to calm my nerves.  I hate being late.  And I knew Chad would be worrying about me with the road conditions what they were. 

As I made my way to Post Falls I thought about two other bombshells we’ve been hit with this week:  My Subaru has a blown head gasket.  That will cost us right around $2,000.  On top of that, the axle and front brakes needed to be replaced, which we just shelled out $600 to pay for.  Oh, and our 16 year old cat will have radiation therapy for his thyroid in a few weeks.  That cost?  A cool $900.  The entire drive, as I watched someone spin off the roadway into the median, I sorted our savings and paychecks like that magic cup shuffling game.  And I was woefully late for our Christmas present. 

But I thought about something Chad and I discovered the other day.  He had called me from work; the railroad was a disaster and Chad had only one crew.  He was so frustrated he called me just to blow off some steam.  I told him, “Just do what you can.  That’s all you can do.  One thing at a time and you’ll kick its butt.”  He came home the next day feeling proud of himself for doing a great job at work despite the obstacles.  Two days later we found out about my Subaru’s repairs, and as we were driving to pick up the car to take it for the brake and axle work (and while I was worrying about money), Chad said, “Well, we will just fix what is necessary and leave the little stuff for later.  One thing at a time, right?”   And he’s absolutely right.  Trying to take all that in at once was creating overwhelmed panic inside of me.  But taking it in small doses really helped to keep me from feeling like life was trying to eat us for diner.

So today, as I made my way along the snowy Idaho roads trying to get to my appointment, I reminded myself just to take each moment as it comes.  It’s pointless to worry about the things that I can’t change or that don’t really matter, anyway.  I arrived 20 minutes late, but in the end I still enjoyed a fantastic Christmas massage.  After eating Chinese food and watching an episode of Love Boat in our warm, comfy bed, I feel ready to soak up the rest of the Christmas season.    

May you have a blessed Christmas filled with all the joy and wonder of the season!

Hitting the Reset Button....

It’s the Christmas season, one of my favorite times of the whole year.  It’s a time to get my thoughts sorted out and my perspective realigned.  There’s nothing better than crisp, winter air, a nativity scene and decorations around the house, a tree that my husband and I trekked through the woods to find, and multi-colored lights glowing on the branches to reset the brain and the heart.  Throw some Bing Crosby or Burl Ives in the CD player and some hot cocoa in a penguin-shaped mug (thanks, Ashleigh!), and you’ve pretty much put me on Cloud Nine.  And don’t even get me started on the candlelight service at church….it’s the proverbial cherry on top. 

I hope as Christmas approaches you can find your own sense of peace and calm.  It’s hard to come by these days, but it is so worth the effort to carve out time to quiet the world and focus on what really matters.  

To that end, here is a poem that captures a little slice of Heaven here on earth.  It’s called a “found poem.”  Take your favorite piece of writing (or a magazine article, news article, short story….), cut out your favorite words and phrases, and then “find” your poem by piecing the words and phrases into a poetic structure.  It is somewhat like those fun magnetic poetry kits you can buy, but it is your own prose repurposed.  This poem might feel familiar, and that’s because I “found” it in my essay I shared with you a few weeks back. 

So I encourage you to grab a hot mug of tea, turn on those Christmas lights and music, and enjoy the peace of the season!

“December 12, Kidd Island Bay”

Lights from houses along Kidd Island shore

reflect on the smooth winter black water.
I’ve seen these soft expectant clouds before;
this gray December sky is pregnant with snow.

As noise in my mind fades, small snowflakes fall.

In a few hours fat flakes pile up,
the world outside my window becomes calm,
and I am astonished at the silence.

Snow continues to fall.  Tree branches bend

toward the ground, and white ribbons drape in waves
on the splintered rungs of the split-rail fence.
This silence I hadn’t noticed in some time.

Sound seems to settle into mounds of snow
and become lost.  Ice slides from the metal roof
of the blue cabin down the road, and though
dark, on this night my eyes can finally see.

Final Words...

I saw a news headline a few weeks ago about a Russian plane that went down after some technical troubles.  According to the report, the last word the pilot said was “circle.”  Beyond the obvious tragedy, I was surprised that this story stuck with me for several days.  The thing that intrigued me the most was the concept of a person’s last words.  What will my own last words be?  Will they be eloquent?  Ordinary?  Filled with meaning?  Filled with humor?  I really hope it’s something worth repeating. 

I became curious about other last words, and found some good ones.  Here they are:

·         “We are running on line north and south.”  Amelia Earhart made this final statement during her fateful flight over the Pacific Ocean. 

·         “It's very beautiful over there.”  Thomas Edison reportedly said this to his wife just before his death.  It is apparently unclear if he was speaking about a vision he was having of Heaven, or if he was referring to the view from his window.

·         “Goodnight my kitten.” Ernest Hemingway’s final words to his wife.  Sweet words spoken by a man who wrote one of my favorite books:  The Old Man and the Sea.  Sadly, he committed suicide, which makes these words bittersweet.

·         “This is funny.”  According to history, Doc Holliday spoke these words in reaction to irony.  He had expected to die a manly death, but instead died of tuberculosis.  His boots were taken off and he was reportedly examining his bootless feet.

·         “Well, I've had a happy life.”  English writer and literary critic William Hazlitt said these simple, yet profound words.  I rather like them.

·         “What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”  Crowfoot, 1890.  This chief of the Blackfoot First Nation tribe in Canada said these words.  They are poetic, poignant, and profound.  Man’s life is fleeting, but it is also beautiful.

·         “Happy.”  Italian painter and architect Raphael seems to have summed it all up in one, single word. 

·         “The best of all is: God is with us.” Methodist founder and English preacher John Wesley said these very true words.

·         “Jesus, I love you. Jesus, I love you.”  The final words of Mother Teresa speak to what was first in her life as seen through her actions.

This little sampling of final words has me pondering…what shall I say?  I want my final words to be reflective of what is most important and meaningful in my life.  I think I should start planning now.  I’m not a very pithy or humorous person, so I’m going to have to lean towards poetic words filled with imagery and symbolism.  All week I’ve tried to figure out what my final word (singular) would be, but let’s face it, I’m a girl of many words.  So, like any good teacher, I plan to craft a final sentence.  I may have to edit it several times over the years, polish up the diction and punctuation, but if I start now, I might have something pretty profound when the time comes.

What might your imagined final words reveal about you?

The Calisthenics of Grace

I hate to admit it, but I am a slow learner.  I have to spend a lot of time chewing over an issue, considering all sides, pondering the pros and cons, weighing the options.  I am a painfully slow learner.  But I keep telling myself that it’s okay that it takes me a long time to come to conclusions as long as I am willing to keep trying.  “The victory is in the struggle!” I say to myself, especially when I feel bad for being so doggedly deliberate.  I think too much, my husband says, and sometimes that gets in my way.  When Chad taught me to waterski, he said he could see me out there, bobbing like a cork with thoughts churning away…so he said, “I just decided to outsmart you and yank you out of the water.”  He did.  Thanks to him I finally learned to ski.  Never mind that it took me something like 5 years to learn to cross the wake.  I get stuck in my head a lot.

Last summer I endeavored to quit with the slow, painful, inch-by-inch submersion into the lake.  Of course, my friends think it’s hysterical to watch me creep down our boat’s ladder into Coeur d’Alene Lake…feet….knees…(insert mild whining)…waist…bellybutton…(insert squealing)…torso…(insert giant pause followed by lots of “encouragement” from my friends to “just get in already!”)…then the final drop into the water (punctuated by lots and lots of whining).  Well, last summer the water was perpetually cold, and so I decided to stop with the nonsense and just stand on the platform and jump.  (Admittedly, I stand on the platform for an inordinate amount of time, imitating that scene from “National Lampoon’s Vacation” when Clark W. Griswold prepares to jump into the pool with the ever-beautiful Christy Brinkley.  “This is crazy, this is crazy,” he states as he claps his hands together before taking the plunge).  This summer I jumped in every time.

Taking that plunge is both terrifying and exhilarating.  And might I add empowering? 

Well today I took a different sort of plunge. I am typically a peace-seeking individual.  I don’t like to cause people hard feelings, and I don’t like confrontation.  I am an acrobat when it comes to avoiding conflict.  And generally speaking I think this is a good thing.  Far better to avoid hurting feelings than to inadvertently step all over someone.  Plus, as I already admitted, it takes me a while to formulate my thoughts, and I don’t like doing or saying things I might regret later.  So when someone did a tap dance on my feelings the other day at work (not to mention the feelings of a dear friend/colleague in the process), I realized that my old status quo approach was insufficient. 

But I must pause for a second.  Another thing you need to know about me is that I have been in a very interesting, year-long struggle with the concept of grace.  The question I am wrestling with is this:  “What does God’s grace look like in the everyday world?”  I know what it looks like in the grand scheme (take a look at the cross and you will see all you need on that subject), but what does everyday, grocery store grace look like?  Another question that plagues me is this:  Where does grace run up against the boundaries of injustice?  How does one balance grace with its imposter cousin the doormat?  I know a thing or two about doormats…in the past I willingly threw myself on the threshold of many a relationship, and I rather dislike the taste of shoe soles in my mouth.   So I’ve been on a quest to understand the difference between the two, and to see what genuine day-to-day grace looks like. 

Today I was given the opportunity to practice plunging into the practice of grace.  Without getting into the details (believe me, the details aren’t that interesting, anyway), a fellow colleague inadvertently insulted me and my teacher friend.  He insulted our intelligence, relevance, and our hard work.  Because I view this colleague as a friend, the blow hit hard and deep.  I carried a knot in my stomach for the rest of the day.  But I knew that I needed to talk with him about it because I didn’t want the static to corrupt our working relationship.  So I asked if we could meet up at lunch.  My primary goal was to let him know that what he did was hurtful and unprofessional.  And with my heart banging in my chest (and a Chevy Chase voice saying, “This is crazy, this is crazy…”) I entered the classroom for our lunchtime conversation. 

Where did grace come into the picture?  It came with my other primary goal:  To preserve our friendship and find resolution.  So I swallowed the frog in my throat and opened up the conversation and, after listening to his opinions and giving him time to say his piece, I told him that I appreciated our open dialogue, but hated the way he handled the situation the day before.  I told him, as I desperately controlled the quiver in my voice, that what he had done was incredibly hurtful. 

He was genuinely mortified that he had caused hurt feelings.  And I absolutely believe him.  He said he thought he was being funny, but realized that it came across on paper with a completely different tone.  We finished our meeting with the utmost professionalism, a dinged friendship polished and repaired, a knot in my stomach unraveled. 

For some, this little victory might not seem like much, but for me this was akin to David facing Goliath.  My Goliath is clothed in fear.  My Goliath wields a very mighty club called self-doubt.  Today I overcame this tyrant with a little rock called faith.  A few hours before our meeting, while my stomach was still churning, a thought took shape in my mind.  I am certain that this thought was a gift directly from the Holy Spirit Himself.  I now offer that gift to you. I realize that I tend to see the world through black-and-white lenses.  Success.  Failure.  Good.  Bad.  Instead of these absolutes, this morning a thought came to light:  I need to see each of these challenges not as a success or failure, but as exercise.   Today God offered me some calisthenics in the form of a dreaded meeting that I faced head-on and with a heart bent on restoration.  The calisthenics of grace.

If this is what grace feels like, I guess I should look forward to the next time I get to slap on my headband and leotard and work it out. 

Snowfall....

The November air felt dense and thick; sound moved slowly as if in syrup.  Street lamps feebly penetrated the gray light of evening, and waning daylight bleared in that way that suggests the sky is pregnant with snow.   I drove home with a thousand thoughts running through my mind and music playing from the radio.  This day, as most days, was filled with voices. 

Trees and cars moved in a blur during the twenty-minute drive home.  Winter usually arrives after a long build-up here; frost sparkles sometime in October on our deck and on the road.  By Halloween we all say, “It’ll snow soon.  It usually does around this time.” And then we wait.  Watch the sky, check the weather reports, and peer out the windows to see it happen.  During this time the clouds move in, stretch across the mountains, and become thick with moisture.  On clear nights a blurred ring surrounds the moon, and I say, “Look at that.  It’s going to snow any day now.” 

By the time I turned onto Kidd Island Road I was thinking about snow plows and ice.  The road winds along Kidd Island Creek and descends slightly toward the lake all the way.  Trees that create a cooling shade in the summer create treacherous patches of black ice in the winter.  Early morning construction workers careen around the curves pulling tractors or bulldozers or loads of lumber.  In the evening the road is swallowed up by wide trucks loaded with excavation equipment, and drivers hug the road and hold their breath, hoping to avoid the ditch.  I began to mentally prepare for winter driving adjustments:  Add at least ten minutes to the morning commute, slow to 30 mph, slow even more on the curves, watch ahead for deer crossing the road.  Mica Grade loomed darkly in my imagination.  The steep portion of Highway 95 that descends toward the city adds extra apprehension to the commute because the black ice is coupled with vehicles traveling 60 mph.  A man was killed there once when a truck veered into his lane, slamming into his car so forcibly that it hung from the barrier and nearly rolled 100 feet down the embankment.  My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. 

The road stretched in front of me with Ponderosa pines and naked tamaracks flanking both sides.  Somewhere in the gully, Kidd Island Creek trickled.  It wouldn’t be until spring that the creek would become so engorged with snowmelt that it would spill over its banks and in some places right over the road.  Clouds – not full, buoyant clouds, but the thick wisps that streak across the entire sky and obliterate any stars from view –settled  heavily, seeming to graze the tops of the trees.  My thoughts shifted towards work.  I recalled deadlines and determined what I needed to work on that night, and suddenly felt that time was slipping away from me in small trickles I could not hold back.  The radio continued its chatter in the back of my mind.

By the time I ran through my list of chores, the view opened up to the lake; lights from the city and houses along the shore reflected on black water.  The road ascended and our loop road was in sight.  The sound of gravel under tires was music.  I was home. 

Pine trees surrounding the house and yard seemed to lean in close, and the whole countenance of the evening held expectance.  I walked from the garage and descended the wooden stairs to our house, which sits tucked against a small hill below our garage.   My footsteps echoed into the now dark night.   Small snowflakes began to fall.

As the night progressed I would peer through the windows to watch the accumulation of snow.  The snowfall grew within an hour to fat flakes that piled up one on the other.  By nine o’clock nearly four inches of snow lay over everything, brightening the once dark evening considerably.  Light came from the ground up, and the sky over the city glowed orange with city lights reflecting from the gray.   As my husband prepared to leave for work (he works for the railroad), I implored him to be careful, watch out for ice and other vehicles, and call me when he arrived at work.  For the next hour my imagination was filled with fear of the what-ifs.  And the snow continued to fall.

At ten o’clock he called.  The grade wasn’t plowed yet, but it would be by morning.  The forty-five minute trip to Spokane was relatively uneventful, and drivers seemed to be adjusting to the change in weather.  I was relieved that my early-winter imaginings were again proven wrong.  Each year the change from fall to winter brings with it concerns over road conditions and the potential for disaster.  Within two weeks of winter driving the fears dissipate and my mind can churn over other issues. 

Like the driveway. 

Our house is situated on a sloping hillside looking over Kidd Island Bay on Coeur d’Alene Lake.  Our half-acre property has three level plains, divided by slopes about fifty feet long.  The configuration is one of a three-step staircase:  driveway and garage, house and small lawn, grassy beach to water.  The driveway causes great fear in new visitors; in fact the first several months of turning into the driveway caused me to hold my breath since, for a moment, the nose of the car appears to be heading straight over the embankment and down the slope into which we’ve carved a “meandering” switchback pathway.  After my step-father climbed the driveway in the dark, stepped right off the edge, and rolled a good ten feet into the forest, we installed a split-rail fence to add both peace of mind and a rustic aesthetic to the gravel drive.

After I hung up the phone with my husband, I peered out the front door window and noticed that the heavy fall had lightened enough to warrant a good shoveling.   I pulled on a sweatshirt and jacket, jammed my hands into gloves, and pulled a hat on my head.  Mandy, our Welsh corgi, joined me and we walked out the door to a transformed world.  A hush greeted us…a silence I hadn’t noticed in some time. 

My reaction to the snow contrasted greatly with Mandy’s.  I was imagining thirty to forty-five minutes of work that was stealing away time for sleep; Mandy raced up the stairs, kicking snow behind her and wheeling around to see if I was playing along.  She then dropped to the ground and rolled in it, grunting and snorting with pleasure.  I hadn’t thought of reacting to the snow the way Mandy did, but I laughed at her excitement as I grabbed the shovel from the garage and climbed to the top of the driveway. 

I am certain that other evenings held the same stillness, though I had not taken the time to notice.  But on this night I was astonished at the silence.  Only one car drove on the main road above our loop, the noise was muffled by the thick, white blanket that covered everything.  Sound seemed to settle into the banks of snow and become lost, unable to reverberate from anything. 

For the first time in what seemed like a long time, I stopped.  I stopped thinking, planning, and moving altogether.  Our land resonated with newness.  It seemed to me that I hadn’t been paying very close attention to my life lately. 

On this night my eyes could see. 

The sky had a glow that radiated all around the bowl of hills that surrounds the three sides of the bay.  I saw the trees, their branches pressed toward the ground with a deep load of snow.  The forest seemed closer somehow, as if everything had moved together in a great huddle.  Ribbons of snow draped on the rungs of the split-rail fence and seemed to glow a bluish-white under the night sky.  Snow slid from the metal-roofed cabin down the road, hitting the ground with a soft thud.  With my senses so heightened, I felt like a child again, during those years when the mental white-noise hasn’t yet kicked in.  The world opened itself up to me during that soft night, and I just stood there, shovel in hand, mouth agape, gasping at the notion that I could have missed something so fantastic and simple.  When I finished shoveling the driveway, I just stood there, tired, but wanting to memorize every detail of such a silent, tranquil night.  I think I even made a snow-angel.  If I didn’t, I sure thought about it.

The next evening as I drove home, trying not to let my first official drive in the snow fray my nerves, I looked up at the trees instead of driving in a tunnel of white.  Most of the snow had slid from the branches, but the tips of the pine needles were silver.  In the moonlight I couldn’t take my eyes off of all the trees with silver edges shining like snow. 

A Wealth of Wisdom from My Current Self to My Naive Past Self....

Dearest Past Me,

I want you to know, first and foremost, that I love you.  I think you are witty and creative and helpful and kind….with that said, I think you’ve got a lot of learning to do.  No disrespect, but you’ve found some awfully creative ways to do some awfully dumb things.  Although I don’t have a super-cool time machine DeLorean that will allow me to go back and visit you, I am putting this letter in a bottle, releasing it on the Coeur d’Alene River, and hoping that it will somehow make its way back to you.  Because frankly, my dear, you need my help.

My goal is to offer you words of wisdom in the hopes that you will avoid some of the awkward positions and conundrums I know you will find yourself in.  I know you mean well, but honestly, I think my experience (as your future self) is incredibly valuable to you.  Read this letter over and over again (because we all know what kind of terrible memory you have).  Soak up the wisdom and avoid those pitfalls I know are awaiting you.  Please, for the love of Pete, take my advice.  I offer it with great earnestness. 

Tip #1:  Don’t be in such a hurry.  Really, Me, you are always rushing around.  You need to learn to chill out.  It would be helpful if you would stop hitting the “snooze” button on your alarm clock so much.  You will find that your day is much better when you are not racing from one place to the next.  When you turn 23 you are going to get pulled over because you were speeding to your summer job.  You could avoid that situation altogether (but, since you are not yet aware, I can tell you that the police officer will take pity on you because you are very cute and charming, plus you were trying to get to your job with the Boy Scouts – no lie, you will work a summer at Boy Scout Camp – and you had proof of this because you were wearing your Scout uniform.  Apparently even police officers can’t resist a person in uniform).  Listen, you will do yourself the greatest kindness to give yourself time to relax, wake up, and start the day on the right foot.  Maybe have a mug of tea (if you don’t already, you will find that you have a particular affinity for Earl Grey).

Tip #2:  Savor the little moments.  They are often better than the big flashy events.  Do you know what you will remember when you are older?  You will recall going to the 3D version of “Brave” with your 90 year old gramma, your cousin, and her daughter.  You will think fondly about wearing your 3D glasses and watching a cartoon heroine fight for what she wants out of her life.  You will think about how you went to get frozen yogurt afterwards, and what a simple, special day that was.  Obviously, you will enjoy reminiscing about how your boyfriend (and first kiss when you were 16) proposed to you (spoiler alert!) at Wolf Lodge on the anniversary of your first date.  Trust me, that memory will give you smiles.  But you will also get great pleasure in recalling that hot July day you and your hubby will spend laying in the bow of the boat reading magazines and eating fried chicken.  The little things matter, Past Me. 

Tip #3:  Talk, I mean really talk, with your family members.  You have your sister-in-law to thank for this life lesson.  She lost her mother too early, and she will implore you to value the relationships in your life.  She will encourage you to ask lots of questions and get lots of opinions about everything.  Find out what your treasured people value in life, and why.  Ask what they think about things.  Lots of things.  Don’t just talk about Survivor and The Bachelor (FYI, these are really mindless television shows that you will be embarrassed to admit you watch, but secretly you will find them addictive and fun.  This is the cotton candy of the nutritional world of entertainment.  Empty calories, but oh-so delicious.  Just embrace this).   The mundane conversation can be fun, but really digging into important topics will teach you how to be a better person. 

Tip #4:  Be honest!  This one will be hard for you, Past Me.  You don’t like to hurt peoples’ feelings.  You squirm when the conversation gets too difficult.  Listen, you need to get over this.  Being honest – even if that means you are talking about uncomfortable things – makes your relationships deeper and more real.  Your lovely, beautiful cousin Allison really impressed this truth upon you this past year (Ha! Get it?  Truth? Be honest -- your love of bad puns is alive and well, Past Me).  That girl is both hilarious AND honest.  Bluntly so.  And she doesn’t cower about it, either.  She just says what she thinks.  And you are going to find that is the most refreshing thing in the world.  So, give your cousin a hug when you see her, because she taught you how to be a better person and live a more truthful life.  What a gal. 

Tip #5:  Go ahead and make mistakes.  You’ll be fine.  Trust me.  Dear, you’ve always been a perfectionist.  You take life way too seriously, and when you fail, even on the smallest level, it kills you.  Crushes you.  Levels you.  Take it from me, Kid, life is all about making mistakes.  Your problem has always been that you think making mistakes means you are a failure as a person.  Not so….making mistakes and screwing up, this is what we human beings do well.  And frequently!   So listen carefully while I tell you the secret to a happy life:  Don’t let mistakes break your spirit.  Just pick yourself up, have a good laugh (or cry, if necessary), and then (here’s the kicker) learn from your error.  Mistakes are inevitable.  Learning from them is the proverbial icing on the delicious cake of life.  The lessons make you a better person, but are not reflective of who you are at your core.  So don’t get freaked out by these things, dear.  For instance, because you will think it is a good idea to eat an entire wheel of brie, you will learn that it’s not good for your digestive system to process 16 ounces of delicious, high-fat cheese.  Yes, your husband will be at work and you apparently won’t feel like cooking, but you should probably not do that, okay?  Even if it sounds like a great idea at the time.  Mistake made, lesson learned.  See how easy that is?

Tip #6:  In your worst moments you will probably do your best growing.  You have a thick skull.  (Look at me, practicing my truthfulness!  Woo hooo!).  You do not seem to learn your lessons the easy way.  Your first break up (devastating!), that big fight you will have with a friend (so uncomfortable), switching jobs (can you say “fish out of water”?), having to learn all kinds of technological mumbo jumbo and completely revamp your classes and teaching style (unpleasant is putting it mildly)…all those painful moments will really refine you as a person.  They will make you better in the long run.  Your first break up will teach you to stand on your own two feet.  It will help you figure out who you are as a person.  That fight will teach you to argue lovingly and patiently.   Switching jobs will teach you how to take risks and see that stepping out into the unknown can pay off in big ways.  And all the technological junk?  It will increase your tolerance for change, it will stretch you as a teacher, and it will cause you to lean on your (very smart, very kind) colleagues when you need help.  So maybe you should stop squirming when things get uncomfortable and get excited for all the ways you will bloom under that pressure. 

And some last minute quick tips just for good measure:  You’ve got a lot to think about, Past Me, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.  So ponder all these thoughts and wait for my next message in a bottle, where I will share more sage wisdom from my many experiences.  Here’s a few for the road…Cookie dough really isn’t a nutritious dinner.  Don’t go out on that one date (you’ll know what I mean when you get there.  You’ll have that little warning, and this time, for Heaven’s sake, listen to the warning.  Use that four hours for something more enjoyable…like scrubbing your kitchen floor).  Mice are perfectly okay with breeding with their siblings…Check the mouse’s gender before you adopt a roommate for Patch.  Have Pook double-check Cory’s saddle before getting on.  Don’t put glassware on the floor because you’ll step on it and try to cut off your toe.  Trust your instincts…they’re frighteningly accurate.    And, on second thought, who says cookie dough isn’t a good dinner?   Go for it.  Life’s too short to miss the fun stuff.

Messages of Love Shower All Around Us....Just Keep Looking Up!

Did you know that autumn leaves sound like raindrops when they’re falling from trees?  Today I discovered this, and it made my heart sing.  I decided to take the time to appreciate the shades of color in our fiery-red Maple tree and to soak in the scent of wood smoke and wet earth and leaves.  I walked through a scattering of crisp, yellow leaves and felt the child in me leap up with joy as I kicked my feet through the little mound.  I remembered raking birch leaves into a large pile in my gramma and grappa’s yard and diving in.  Grappa would give me and my neighbor friend a few dollars to walk up to the Circle K after our “work” was finished so we could buy candy. 

This world is a crazy place.  I can hardly look at news headlines these days without regretting it.  But today I was reminded that there is far more beauty than all that negativity.  It just depends on how we direct our eyes and our hearts.  I am making conscious choices to direct my attention to the things that remind me of the vast amounts of good in the world.  And there is an awful lot of good in the world. 

Here’s what my eyes and heart took in today:  A mama deer with her two babies standing in a grove of trees.  A husband who loves me and showers me with affection and affirmation.  Fog settling over the lake where dozens of ducks were quietly floating.  My cat Boy’s face peering into mine when I woke up this morning.  A forested mountainside dotted with all the yellows and reds of fall.  A former student walking hand-in-hand with her boyfriend down a sidewalk.  Our orange cat Tippy happily tucked into his kitty bed on the porch, enjoying the afternoon in a patch of sun.  The sound of a chipmunk bickering from a pine branch.  An email from a dear friend.  A spontaneous hug from my hubby right in the middle of the Safeway meat department.  The prospect of spending time with family tomorrow at Greenbluff and looking for the perfect pumpkins to carve.  A heron perched on top of our neighbor’s dock piling, ensconced in morning fog.  A chili feed, pumpkin carving fandango with friends tomorrow night.  Really good dark chocolate.  Memories of my mom’s and my trip to Israel.  The smell of laundry drying with a sheet of fabric softener.  Leftover chicken fried steak and potatoes for dinner.  Trying to recite Psalm 23 from memory.  My husband brushing our 16 year old cat, Boy, with his favorite boar-bristle brush.  A warm bed, soft pillow, and a weekend ahead.

Listen, friends:  There is a lot of negativity out there in the world.  There are people who will try to put you down, look down on you, or blame you for their own mistakes.  There are unpleasant headlines, unfriendly Facebook posts, and more worries than we can shake a stick at.  All this pessimism can paralyze you.  It can fool you into thinking that there’s no hope and little joy.  But here’s the thing:  God is bigger than all that.  His love is bigger and it’s all around us.  He speaks His love to us through the people we love, the Bible passages that we read, and through the sound of leaves falling from trees. 

Keep your eyes on these good things.  Let these messages of love fill your soul and energize you for each day you’ve been given.  Life is too short to miss all the gifts God is giving you right now. 

Practicing the Fine Art of Quietude...

I have a very noisy brain.  If I am not repeating a litany of lists or concerns, I am having conversations with myself and even listening to songs playing in the “background” of my mind.  Does anyone else have this kind of static playing in the brain 24/7, or am I going nuts? 

Robert Louis Stevenson saw the value in a quiet mind.  He said this:  “Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm."  I must say, this sounds beyond lovely.  Ah for a mind that is not tossed about like a ship on a stormy sea!  Doesn’t it sound completely blissful?  Well, this summer I endeavored to quiet my brain.  I slowed down the pace of life, took walks along peaceful wooded trails, and lounged in the summer sun on a hammock.  Then school resumed and the noise swelled to a crescendo all over again.  Sigh….

My husband and I enjoy getting occasional massages at a local massage therapy school.  Last Saturday we gleefully drove out to the school for a true luxury…90 minutes of blissful quiet while having all the tension and stress rubbed out of our muscles.  We were practically giddy with happiness as we waited in the lobby, awash in the scent of lavender candles and mint lotions.  We were greeted by our lovely therapists-in-training and led to our curtained cubicles of quiet.  I tucked myself beneath the blankets, placed my face in the cradle, and prepared to silence a week’s worth of static that was buzzing through my brain….

“Please let me know if the pressure is not right,” said my twenty-something angel of mercy in a soft, relaxing voice.

“I will,” I said, and then I prepared my body and mind for 90 minutes of quietude.

5 minutes later…

I caught myself thinking about school and listing all the things I needed to accomplish before the weekend was over.  Alright, I told myself, hush up and just relax.  Think about nothing… I tried focusing on the massage.  She was working on my shoulders where I carry most of my tension, so I began to direct my attention to how good it felt to have my knots smoothed out.  Then I heard a door open and close, and a man was brought to the curtained cubicle adjacent to mine.  I listened to the instructions he was given, the rustling of shoes, their conversations about undressing to a “comfortable level” and the initial consultation.  Okay Solsvik, (yes, I refer to myself by my last name…rather like a football coach barking orders at his players), get back to relaxing…just quiet your mind.  You’ve got 80 more minutes of bliss…

3 minutes later…

The woman behind the curtain on the other side of me began talking to her therapist about her shoulder knots.  “I tried to work on that myself,” she said, “but I couldn’t reach it.”  Her therapist replied that he could feel a large knot there.  I missed some of the woman’s reply, but I picked up that she was under great stress because her daughter was sick.  I began to wonder about the daughter.  How old was she?  What was she sick with?  Cancer?  Oh, I hope it’s not cancer.  How terrible it must be to watch a family member suffer with cancer.  I then began to wonder about this woman, my massage neighbor.  What did she look like?  Based on her voice, I tried to conjure up an image.  Hey, Solsvik, you’re supposed to be relaxing.  I tried to regain my quietude, but couldn’t shake that woman from my thoughts.  Poor thing.  So I said a prayer for her:  Lord, please be with that woman and her daughter.  She sounds so nice, and I have no idea what her days are like, but please hold her up and help her daughter to heal.  After my Amen, I resumed my efforts at stillness…

10 minutes later…

The lilting spa music was playing, and I was actually doing a pretty good job of finding peace. Clearly the man next door was not having the mental gymnastics problem I was having because I heard a faint snore drift through the curtain.  Then another, a bit louder, and then a third.  He was really relaxed, and I was all I could do to not giggle.  I began to wonder if my husband had fallen asleep yet (he usually does, at least for a minute).  Hey, Solsvik, shush your mind.  Live in the now.  Enjoy this massage and stop thinking!

Perhaps 10 minutes later…

The therapist working on my female neighbor gently whispered that he could bring her a hot towel for her face.  Immediately my mind snapped back to a trip that my husband and I took to Hawaii, where our airline went bankrupt on the fourth day we were there.  We had to race to the airport, abandon the remainder of our trip, and buy flights off the island before we became stuck there for days.  The place was jammed.  Ticket prices were climbing each hour like stocks at the exchange.  We finally broke down and bought two first class seats when the ticket attendant told us that the prices were only going to get worse.  “Do it,” she said, “or you might have to wait until next week.  We don’t have extra planes to manage all travelers who have been stranded.”  Once we were in the air heading for LAX, a flight attendant came by offering us hot towels for our faces.  It was my first introduction to the sheer and utter joy of a hot towel.  Who knew that something so simple could be so relaxing and just plain nice?  “How much did we have to pay for these seats?” I asked my husband.  Upon hearing his reply I said, “We’re taking everything they offer us.  And I mean everything.”  Two hot towels, a dinner (complete with actual silverware), a cookie, two glasses of wine (real glasses in first class, people, not those plastic things), a movie, and a pillow and blanket later, we arrived in LAX, broke, tired, but fairly relaxed.  As my stroll down memory lane began to lead me to the hipster couple having a fight in the baggage claim at 5:00 a.m., I remembered where I was.  Hello….Solsvik….this is quiet time….shhhh….

5 minutes later…

Time ran out for the neighbors on either side of me, and after hearing them leave I thought, Okay, now you have no distractions.  You have 30 minutes left.  Make the most of it…But, of course, my brain is like a wild mustang with no fences, and within mere minutes I realized that I had just enjoyed 60 minutes of glorious massage.  Are my poor therapist’s hands getting tired?  I wonder if she has had to give other massages today?  Maybe she works a job on top of this.  I wonder if her hands are sore at the end of the day…

            “Okay,” my soft-voiced Samaritan whispered, “I will have you move onto your back now.”  I flipped over and the light, though dim, seared through my eyelids.  “Would you like a pillowcase for over your eyes?” she asked. 

“Yes, please.  That would be great,” I replied. I felt rather like a chick that had just hatched from its cozy, dark egg.  Okay, focus on the music, Solsvik.  Get back to your quiet place.

2 minutes later….

A new neighbor moved into the curtained cubicle to my right.  More consultation questions, rustling of curtains.  I began to wonder who had moved in over there.  The sound of unzipping boots.  Must be a girl…or a motorcyclist….Shuffling noises.  The therapist asked what kind of pressure to use during the massage.  “I carry my tension in my shoulders,” said the female voice.  I wonder what kind of boots she is wearing.  I began to thumb through an imaginary boot catalogue, mentally dog-earing the page of a cute pair of black equestrian boots I had seen at the mall, but I lost my train of thought when the therapist asked the new neighbor if she worked at a computer all day.  “New job,” she replied.  “It’s really stressful because I’m an investigator in a new office.  I really needed this massage today.”  Investigator?  Like a crime investigator?  Do we actually have crime that requires an office for investigating?  Jeeze.  I wonder what kind of crime she investigates…I halted my revelry mid-stream, largely because thinking about whatever crime in our area requires investigators was not conducive to relaxing, said a prayer for this poor soul and her new, very stressful job, and tried to resume my “quiet mind practice.” 

            “Okay,” said my soft-voiced therapeutic angel of mercy, “would you like a hot towel for your face?”

            “Yes, please.  That would be great,” I replied.

After a final shoulder rub, I emerged from beneath my hot towel, stretched, and donned my clothes.  I don’t know if I mastered the fine art of quietude, but I did feel a lot better and more tranquil.  I walked slowly to “preserve the squish” as my husband and I like to call it, and met him out in the lobby.

            “How was your massage?” asked my husband, who looked quite relaxed and sleepy. 

            “It was great,“ I replied.  “How about you?”

Dear Past Me...Don't be a Jerk.

Ever have those moments where you think about something you did years and years ago, and you have an ache in your stomach because of how guilty you still feel?  I definitely do.  The one that makes me feel like the biggest jerk in the world is from 6^th grade at Hayden Elementary.  How old are kids in the 6^th grade?  11?  It’s amazing that even at that age I had the potential to be a cruel, heartless person.  And I was a really good kid back then.  I obeyed rules, played well with others, and felt empathy for the kids on the fringe…except for one.  One boy stood out for all the wrong reasons.  He must have come from a fairly chaotic family.  He often came to school in need of a bath, sporting tattered clothes and messed up hair.  But worse than all that was the fact that he was known for picking his nose... and consuming the contents.  I know…pretty gross.  But remember, he was 11.  Yet, even as a kid I not only recognized this boy’s differences, but did something about it that to this day I regret.  Valentine’s Day was approaching, and I dragged my mom off to the store to purchase pre-made Valentine’s Day cards in preparation for our annual party and valentine distribution.  For an art project we decorated paper bags, taped the bags to our desks, and on the big day, after filling up on sweets and baked goods we delivered our valentines to each of our classmates.  Except I intentionally did not make one for the nose-picker.  I walked right past his desk with nothing to deliver into his sack.  Yeah, that was a real jerk thing to do.

I knew this was wrong even as I was doing it, but I was too young and immature to fight against that inner nature that said, “Ostracize the weird kid.”  It pains me to this day to admit that I not only had that kind of cruelty within me even at the tender age of 11, but that I could not (would not?) fight against such a thing. 

Of course, I’ve learned a lot since my days as a Hayden Hawk in Ms. Wright’s class, and I guess one victory is that I at least feel awful about my past actions.  Far better that than being indifferent to my past sins, I suppose.  If I could go back 30 years and keep my current brain and point of view, I wonder what would change both in my life and in the lives of those around me?  I wish I could write the past me a letter, offering that knobby-kneed tomboy some advice for how to navigate this rough world.  I think I will start composing that letter, and will perhaps post it to this blog when I am finished.  While I wouldn’t want to go back and be a kid (who wants to slog through all those darn math classes again?  And let’s not even talk about those awkward middle school years), it would be so great to send myself a few words of wisdom and encouragement.  Maybe I’d be way ahead of my now 40-year-old self.  At the very least I could have invested in my mutual funds earlier (hiding cash behind picture frames isn’t the most sound financial savings plan), purchased some Microsoft stock when it was cheap,  and maybe spent more time practicing my violin.  Who knows?  I could have been the next great early-retired, fiddle-playing, technology mogul.