Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Eyes focus on the distant horizon. Muscles tense, at the ready. A wolf standing ready for the jackals to descend. Breathing is slow and even. Suddenly, a yell is heard from yonder hill. Eyes focus narrowly on the first ridge. The enemy spills over, running, weapons in the air. Your body reacts, drawing your shield in closer. You yell, running forward to meet your fate. The clash of metal hurts your ears. The ground becomes slippery with spilt blood. You stumble over bodies. The smell of iron from blood and metal fills your nostrils. Sweat runs down your body. You arc your ax in front of your body, shielding your body from attack. Tribesmen fall beside you. Still you fight on. The enemy retreats back over the ridge. Your body heaves upon your knees. You witness the carnage around you. Another day in retail.
Posted by: CJ / 1:00 AM
Thursday, December 11, 2003
My Mother, Keith (brother), and Mike (Keith's friend) spent Thanksgiving with us. We had a traditional dinner with Keith offering grace. We enjoyed having family around us although we had a small window of time to plan for; Jessica did not get home from work until 2:30 pm and Mom had a 5 pm train to catch back to Portland. But for an hour and a half we were all together.Thanksgiving has been shrinking over the years. Both of my parents come from families of six children. Thanksgiving always meant a large gathering, with children spilling over to the card tables. Even as a teenager, I shared the piano bench with my cousins at the big table. Now Thanksgiving has fewer attendees, much like my personal life. As I have aged, I have realized the value of a few deep friendships and have weeded out acquaintances that I would associate with because I "should.""Should" does not live with me anymore. Nor does "because." I try to spend each moment enhancing my life and other's opinions affect me less and less. I seek a solitary path with a few friendships to warm the way. I am not disappointed.
Posted by: CJ / 5:11 PM
Halloween came and went like the leaves of autumn. Slowly, I saw the approach on the horizon; costumes in the stores, pumpkins on the curb. Leaves, one by one, changed color on the trees. One day, while driving to work, the world seemed bathed in rust, orange, and brown. Just as suddenly, Halloween was two days away. Austin asked if we were having our usual feast. I realized I had neglected to ask for my favorite holiday off. I had to work on the day we honor our ancestors.We agreed to celebrate on October 30. This meant I would only miss the neighborhood children trick or treating the next evening. Brad and I cooked the beef, prepared the squash and potatoes, ensured we had apple pie for dessert - and mead for toasting. A fire was lit, we ate remembering what Halloween meant to our ancestors. This was the time when the fall harvest was put away, animals too weak to live through winter were killed, Relatives, long gone, were allowed to return.We started celebrating the Celtic New Year when our children were small. Americans so easily lose their cultural roots and replace it with saplings of technology and consumption. Brad and I wanted them to remember the values and traditions that our ancestors held.My heart warmed at Austin's insistence that we keep the tradition alive. The evening ended with each of us writing on a piece of paper. We write down a personal trait, habit, or value to let go of during the next year. We fold it, and one by one, we throw our papers into the fire. The new year has begun.
Posted by: CJ / 4:53 PM
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Sunday, November 30, 2003
11/1/2003 - 11/30/2003
Thursday, November 20, 2003
This week was spent at work. I do not remember home, I only slept there. Christmas is in full swing in the retail world. While the community decides what to buy, I have been pondering the future of religion.Religion evolves. Nothing stays the same; not our mores, ideals, science, or world view. As in nature, one is either growing or dying. Religion is no different. Our community expands beyond twenty miles. We live with other cultures, other beliefs. When we say we respect other's beliefs, do we mean we consider their beliefs equal to our own, or do we mean we respect their right to express their wrongness? I wonder.More to ponder before I can put my thoughts into words. They are darting about and refuse to connect right now. Our first snow arrived on Wednesday. I can enjoy the snow in Seattle, it rarely stays long enough to wear out its welcome. I watched the wonder of each snowflake drift onto the windshield. The quiet blanketing of the countryside. I am ready to start the Christmas season. I am early this year; the peacefulness of snow brings a quiet anticipation to mind. Brad just informed me snow is falling in West Seattle. We will be home together tomorrow. Maybe the snow and bunny slippers will help me ponder the universe. And do the laundry.
Posted by: CJ / 11:36 PM
Monday, November 17, 2003
My buddy Ben recommended the movie, Luther, to me. I rarely watch movies, and even rarer to watch them in a theatre. He mentioned it more than once which piqued my interest. This is the last week the movie plays in Seattle, so I twisted Brad's arm to go. We spent Thursday discovering the new toys Dr. Ben Frankenstein added to our computer and setting up our electronic filing cabinets. Ben is a remarkable man. A renaissance man. One of his many talents is taking a computer, adding and subtracting parts, rearranging bits and pieces, and handing you back a new machine. What that man can do with dead and decaying matter is amazing. I digress.Friday, we pried ourselves away from home (bunny slippers are hard to part with) and headed for the Broadway district on Capital Hill. We had lunch at a little Thai restaurant and walked to the Harvard Exit Theatre. This is an old community theatre, complete with a lobby filled with antique furniture and a fireplace. We walked up two flights of stairs to reach the second stage with a screen. The movie portrays Martin Luther's journey from dedicated priest to radical reformer. I resist historical portrayals as Hollywood, more times than not, plays footsie with historical facts. This movie was able to share the sense of confusion, disappointment, anger, betrayal that Luther experienced. The movie brought to mind how history repeats itself over and over again. Jesus tried to reform the Jewish faith and his followers started a new religion. The early Catholic Church splintered into the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox faiths.After Martin Luther started the protestant faith, more splinters occurred. We are not a people that agree well.I left the theatre with two impressions.One. Organized Religions have trouble heeding the call of prophets and reforming themselves. Prophets rarely want to start something new. They usually just want to improve and purify what already exists. Two. People tend to believe their religion is the only way to heaven. Why do we have trouble accepting that we are children to God? He does not expect us to know everything. We do not expect a child to have a degree in chemistry to bake cookies, yet somehow we think we should know everything where God is concerned. A good parent just wants their children to love, share their toys, and be grateful. The rest we will all find out soon enough.
Posted by: CJ / 12:13 AM
This week was spent at work. I do not remember home, I only slept there. Christmas is in full swing in the retail world. While the community decides what to buy, I have been pondering the future of religion.Religion evolves. Nothing stays the same; not our mores, ideals, science, or world view. As in nature, one is either growing or dying. Religion is no different. Our community expands beyond twenty miles. We live with other cultures, other beliefs. When we say we respect other's beliefs, do we mean we consider their beliefs equal to our own, or do we mean we respect their right to express their wrongness? I wonder.More to ponder before I can put my thoughts into words. They are darting about and refuse to connect right now. Our first snow arrived on Wednesday. I can enjoy the snow in Seattle, it rarely stays long enough to wear out its welcome. I watched the wonder of each snowflake drift onto the windshield. The quiet blanketing of the countryside. I am ready to start the Christmas season. I am early this year; the peacefulness of snow brings a quiet anticipation to mind. Brad just informed me snow is falling in West Seattle. We will be home together tomorrow. Maybe the snow and bunny slippers will help me ponder the universe. And do the laundry.
Posted by: CJ / 11:36 PM
Monday, November 17, 2003
My buddy Ben recommended the movie, Luther, to me. I rarely watch movies, and even rarer to watch them in a theatre. He mentioned it more than once which piqued my interest. This is the last week the movie plays in Seattle, so I twisted Brad's arm to go. We spent Thursday discovering the new toys Dr. Ben Frankenstein added to our computer and setting up our electronic filing cabinets. Ben is a remarkable man. A renaissance man. One of his many talents is taking a computer, adding and subtracting parts, rearranging bits and pieces, and handing you back a new machine. What that man can do with dead and decaying matter is amazing. I digress.Friday, we pried ourselves away from home (bunny slippers are hard to part with) and headed for the Broadway district on Capital Hill. We had lunch at a little Thai restaurant and walked to the Harvard Exit Theatre. This is an old community theatre, complete with a lobby filled with antique furniture and a fireplace. We walked up two flights of stairs to reach the second stage with a screen. The movie portrays Martin Luther's journey from dedicated priest to radical reformer. I resist historical portrayals as Hollywood, more times than not, plays footsie with historical facts. This movie was able to share the sense of confusion, disappointment, anger, betrayal that Luther experienced. The movie brought to mind how history repeats itself over and over again. Jesus tried to reform the Jewish faith and his followers started a new religion. The early Catholic Church splintered into the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox faiths.After Martin Luther started the protestant faith, more splinters occurred. We are not a people that agree well.I left the theatre with two impressions.One. Organized Religions have trouble heeding the call of prophets and reforming themselves. Prophets rarely want to start something new. They usually just want to improve and purify what already exists. Two. People tend to believe their religion is the only way to heaven. Why do we have trouble accepting that we are children to God? He does not expect us to know everything. We do not expect a child to have a degree in chemistry to bake cookies, yet somehow we think we should know everything where God is concerned. A good parent just wants their children to love, share their toys, and be grateful. The rest we will all find out soon enough.
Posted by: CJ / 12:13 AM
Friday, October 31, 2003
10/01/2003 - 10/31/2003
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
This week has passed quickly. Not much time for reflection, or meditation. I pray on the run. Today, I rested. Today, I read. I read until my eyes would not focus. A rare luxury. Usually time determines how long I have to read. But today, my only goal has been to read. I have two Sunday papers and “The Desire of the Everlasting Hills” to engage me. If I should finish these, I have a stack of near one hundred books to take their place. A migraine visited me at work yesterday. I stopped it as it gathered wind speed like a hurricane off of Florida’s coast. I doubled my meds. Unfortunately, I am left with a migraine hangover today. I ask myself why do I continually wait for an external force to make me slow down when simplicity is the goal of my life? I enjoyed and relished the pace of today. I let my mind wander freely. I remember when my children were small; I would let them ramble. Talking about whatever was on their minds. They took me to some interesting places. My mind ran barefoot today.
Posted by: CJ / 6:02 PM
Monday, October 20, 2003
I am weak. I sat down to meditate this morning. I had a rough go at it. My mind did not want to let go of my concerns and distractions. Whenever I am ill, going through hard times, going through joyful times; I find self-discipline a challenge. I am weak. My mind would not stay in one place. I was reminded of Rigel when we say "stay." At first he sits, rapt attention. Then his eyes starts to wander. Next his body starts to twitch. He starts to snort. His head moves from side to side. Now he has forgotten his command and resumes his normal activity of running around putting his nose up against people. My mind goes running up against every random thought.I surrender. After every random thought has passed through, I finally found stay. The utter silence when God shares his peace with me. He is a most patient Father.I wish I could be more self-disciplined and not let days, a week, pass between meditations. I am called to meditate, I look forward to it. Yet, I so easily let it slip past, like a whisper on the wind.
Posted by: CJ / 11:01 PM
Sunday, October 19, 2003
Family reunions, as a teenager, were a trial. My aunts seemed to talk of God, plants, and the weather. They didn't talk about current events, politics, or people. I used to sit, screaming inside, wondering how long they could discuss the differences between two rose species or what ladybugs like to eat. I loved them dearly, but I had no patience for what I thought was trivial.Each day I become more like them. I am reading the newspaper less and less. I do not even tune into my political blogs anymore. My children roll their eyes at me when I do not know the music groups they speak of, movies, actors, or current fashion. I ask Anne how her fish are doing, and I really care. Brad and I have favorite spots we visit in the North Cascades where we check on trees and plants we like. We like to see how they change with the seasons. We will sit and watch bugs go by. I am thrilled when a dragonfly goes by. Yes, I am my aunts. The change has brought contentment to my life.
Posted by: CJ / 3:46 PM
Friday, October 17, 2003
The Jesuits taught me the secrets of a grateful heart. I pray my thanks, not my needs. I still pray for others, but not for me. My life has increased tenfold. God, as it turns out, knows my needs better than I do. This past week I have been ill, which left me with down time to contemplate. Since thinking about being sick made me feel worse, I spent the time reflecting on my blessings. I have more than I will ever need for my lifetime. The obvious ones are ever present: Brad, family, friends, good health, Seattle. The blessing of work has usually been a double-edged sword. I am grateful for the income, but the frustrations have always made me dread going there. Muldoon was especially a challenge. Only my friends being there kept me showing up each day. When I was considering switching to a new position at Barnes & Noble, Brad told me something that has given me much to reflect on. He stated I seemed to enjoy going to work, so I might as well make a long-term commitment. I realized that even in my best jobs, a part of me felt weighted down. I didn’t feel joy in leaving home to report to work. Brad is correct; I enjoy leaving for work. I made the right decision. Or, I should say, God knew my needs better than I. In the back of my mind I thought I would return to academia and stay with B & N part time. Retail was a foreign world to me. Brad is correct; I have too much fun at work. I am amazed each day when I enter the building that I am getting paid to be there.The satisfaction I feel from work is not just from the customers, the books, or the job description. My joy comes from my fellow workers. They rock. I always knew they were wonderful, I just didn’t know they were awesome. They have all encouraged me in my new endeavor, supported me, helped me, and forgiven my mistakes. I am the best that I can be because of them. To them I give thanks. I am a better person because they are in my life.
Posted by: CJ / 4:11 PM
Thursday, October 16, 2003
I lived in Tucson when Barnes & Noble headed west. The town had not seen such a bookstore before; large selection, knowledgeable staff, classy interior, and a cafe. One could lounge while shopping. At first, the store had few customers, but word spread about the new bookstore in town. Brad and I used to stop in just to see what new books were in. Jessica felt grown up as the young reader selection was on bookshelves just like the adult section. She loved picking out a treasure to take home. We then moved to Alaska and, alas, no Barnes & Noble. We had to settle for cafe shops and department stores. One bright day, a Barnes & Noble store opened in mid town. A rush of adrenalin. Many of my acquaintances said, "What's the big deal?"I replied, "What and see."They soon understood. In a town with few indoor activities in winter, Barnes & Noble was an instant success. One could get a hot drink, meander the isles, run into friends, and watch the traffic bump along the icy street outside. Many groups held their meetings there because of the location and great customer service. Very quickly, B & N was the place to be. At Muldoon Elementary, I arranged book fairs for the parents. I worked with Cameron, the community guru guy at B & N. At the time, I thought he had a great job. He supported literacy and reading as I did. But he didn't have the ton of documentation that I had to do for grant funding. He only had the fun portion. At the time, I wondered how do I get a job like that?I also spent time taking students, one at a time, to B & N as a reward. They selected any book they wanted. Then we had drinks and treats in the cafe while we talked about books. Most of the children had never been to a bookstore before, even though B & N was only a few miles from the school. The look of awe on their faces was infectious.The look on one particular child's face has always stayed with me. She opened her book slowly, carefully; waiting for the fantasy to fly out and engulf her. She ceased to be with me. Her serence smile said it all.My principal, program director, and I spent time designing a reading foundation. Both the principal and I knew how to set up non-profits. We both were hooked on the thrill of putting books into children's hands. Books that could belong to them. They could touch the magic anytime they wanted. I moved to Seattle before I could do the background work. I still have the notes. I could say, maybe, someday, I might dust them off. I don't need them anymore. I put books in children's hands on a regular basis. I can promote reading for eight hours a day. Yes, somehow, I got my dream job.
Posted by: CJ / 11:35 PM
Friday, October 10, 2003
Young children live in the moment. I remember sitting on the floor, playing with blocks. Suddenly, my mother enters the room, kneels down beside me and grabs an arm. She stuffs my arm through the sleeve of a jacket and repeats the process with the other arm. She stands me up and buttons the front of the jacket. She picks me up and carries me out of the house. I hear her voice, but she is speaking to rapidly to understand. I look back at my blocks wishing for the enjoyment they were providing. I blink in the brightness of the outside. My mother is opening the car door to the backseat. She places me there, along with my little brother, and gets into the front seat. I hear the motor start and I feel the vibrations of the seat under my hand. I know we are moving because in the past when I have heard and felt these things I will sometimes get up onto my knees and look out the window and the car is moving along our street. Sometimes when I have been sitting for ages, I will peek out and see a street I have never seen before. Once I peeked out and the road was riding on water. I was hoping the wind did not blow the street away, as we would fall into the water. I always held my breath when riding on water. Other times, I saw busy streets filled with grown-ups rushing past each other. I knew we were very far from home.When the hum and vibrations from the motor stopped, my mother would get outside and let my little brother and I out of the car. She was very wise, as the door always opened for her, but not for me. She would briskly walk us into worlds unknown. Later I grew to know them as Pike Street market, Chinatown, now called the International District, and rest homes, where we visited people who talked as slowly as I did and liked to pat me on the head.My days at Barnes and Noble remind me of my childhood. I show up for work, never knowing what my schedule is or what I will be doing. I clock in, look at the schedule, and begin my day. Only then do I know if I will be manning the information booth, cashiering, covering music or café, or doing zone maintenance. This past year has been a good exercise in letting go of control. At my previous jobs, I set the goals and the action plan to achieving those goals. I knew what my daily schedule would be for weeks, even months in advance. I went home each night already planning the next day.I could not do this at Barnes & Noble. Someone else set my schedule and my goals. At first I had trouble coping with the unknown. But after a year, I have finally learned how to let go and have enjoyed not bringing my job home every night.Alas, this is about to change. I am switching jobs at Barnes & Noble. I am excited about learning new aspects of the company and I like the members of the team I will be working with. I want to contribute to the support they give the staff. I will be doing more homework, but I believe in the product. That story is for another day.
Posted by: CJ / 6:38 PM
This week has passed quickly. Not much time for reflection, or meditation. I pray on the run. Today, I rested. Today, I read. I read until my eyes would not focus. A rare luxury. Usually time determines how long I have to read. But today, my only goal has been to read. I have two Sunday papers and “The Desire of the Everlasting Hills” to engage me. If I should finish these, I have a stack of near one hundred books to take their place. A migraine visited me at work yesterday. I stopped it as it gathered wind speed like a hurricane off of Florida’s coast. I doubled my meds. Unfortunately, I am left with a migraine hangover today. I ask myself why do I continually wait for an external force to make me slow down when simplicity is the goal of my life? I enjoyed and relished the pace of today. I let my mind wander freely. I remember when my children were small; I would let them ramble. Talking about whatever was on their minds. They took me to some interesting places. My mind ran barefoot today.
Posted by: CJ / 6:02 PM
Monday, October 20, 2003
I am weak. I sat down to meditate this morning. I had a rough go at it. My mind did not want to let go of my concerns and distractions. Whenever I am ill, going through hard times, going through joyful times; I find self-discipline a challenge. I am weak. My mind would not stay in one place. I was reminded of Rigel when we say "stay." At first he sits, rapt attention. Then his eyes starts to wander. Next his body starts to twitch. He starts to snort. His head moves from side to side. Now he has forgotten his command and resumes his normal activity of running around putting his nose up against people. My mind goes running up against every random thought.I surrender. After every random thought has passed through, I finally found stay. The utter silence when God shares his peace with me. He is a most patient Father.I wish I could be more self-disciplined and not let days, a week, pass between meditations. I am called to meditate, I look forward to it. Yet, I so easily let it slip past, like a whisper on the wind.
Posted by: CJ / 11:01 PM
Sunday, October 19, 2003
Family reunions, as a teenager, were a trial. My aunts seemed to talk of God, plants, and the weather. They didn't talk about current events, politics, or people. I used to sit, screaming inside, wondering how long they could discuss the differences between two rose species or what ladybugs like to eat. I loved them dearly, but I had no patience for what I thought was trivial.Each day I become more like them. I am reading the newspaper less and less. I do not even tune into my political blogs anymore. My children roll their eyes at me when I do not know the music groups they speak of, movies, actors, or current fashion. I ask Anne how her fish are doing, and I really care. Brad and I have favorite spots we visit in the North Cascades where we check on trees and plants we like. We like to see how they change with the seasons. We will sit and watch bugs go by. I am thrilled when a dragonfly goes by. Yes, I am my aunts. The change has brought contentment to my life.
Posted by: CJ / 3:46 PM
Friday, October 17, 2003
The Jesuits taught me the secrets of a grateful heart. I pray my thanks, not my needs. I still pray for others, but not for me. My life has increased tenfold. God, as it turns out, knows my needs better than I do. This past week I have been ill, which left me with down time to contemplate. Since thinking about being sick made me feel worse, I spent the time reflecting on my blessings. I have more than I will ever need for my lifetime. The obvious ones are ever present: Brad, family, friends, good health, Seattle. The blessing of work has usually been a double-edged sword. I am grateful for the income, but the frustrations have always made me dread going there. Muldoon was especially a challenge. Only my friends being there kept me showing up each day. When I was considering switching to a new position at Barnes & Noble, Brad told me something that has given me much to reflect on. He stated I seemed to enjoy going to work, so I might as well make a long-term commitment. I realized that even in my best jobs, a part of me felt weighted down. I didn’t feel joy in leaving home to report to work. Brad is correct; I enjoy leaving for work. I made the right decision. Or, I should say, God knew my needs better than I. In the back of my mind I thought I would return to academia and stay with B & N part time. Retail was a foreign world to me. Brad is correct; I have too much fun at work. I am amazed each day when I enter the building that I am getting paid to be there.The satisfaction I feel from work is not just from the customers, the books, or the job description. My joy comes from my fellow workers. They rock. I always knew they were wonderful, I just didn’t know they were awesome. They have all encouraged me in my new endeavor, supported me, helped me, and forgiven my mistakes. I am the best that I can be because of them. To them I give thanks. I am a better person because they are in my life.
Posted by: CJ / 4:11 PM
Thursday, October 16, 2003
I lived in Tucson when Barnes & Noble headed west. The town had not seen such a bookstore before; large selection, knowledgeable staff, classy interior, and a cafe. One could lounge while shopping. At first, the store had few customers, but word spread about the new bookstore in town. Brad and I used to stop in just to see what new books were in. Jessica felt grown up as the young reader selection was on bookshelves just like the adult section. She loved picking out a treasure to take home. We then moved to Alaska and, alas, no Barnes & Noble. We had to settle for cafe shops and department stores. One bright day, a Barnes & Noble store opened in mid town. A rush of adrenalin. Many of my acquaintances said, "What's the big deal?"I replied, "What and see."They soon understood. In a town with few indoor activities in winter, Barnes & Noble was an instant success. One could get a hot drink, meander the isles, run into friends, and watch the traffic bump along the icy street outside. Many groups held their meetings there because of the location and great customer service. Very quickly, B & N was the place to be. At Muldoon Elementary, I arranged book fairs for the parents. I worked with Cameron, the community guru guy at B & N. At the time, I thought he had a great job. He supported literacy and reading as I did. But he didn't have the ton of documentation that I had to do for grant funding. He only had the fun portion. At the time, I wondered how do I get a job like that?I also spent time taking students, one at a time, to B & N as a reward. They selected any book they wanted. Then we had drinks and treats in the cafe while we talked about books. Most of the children had never been to a bookstore before, even though B & N was only a few miles from the school. The look of awe on their faces was infectious.The look on one particular child's face has always stayed with me. She opened her book slowly, carefully; waiting for the fantasy to fly out and engulf her. She ceased to be with me. Her serence smile said it all.My principal, program director, and I spent time designing a reading foundation. Both the principal and I knew how to set up non-profits. We both were hooked on the thrill of putting books into children's hands. Books that could belong to them. They could touch the magic anytime they wanted. I moved to Seattle before I could do the background work. I still have the notes. I could say, maybe, someday, I might dust them off. I don't need them anymore. I put books in children's hands on a regular basis. I can promote reading for eight hours a day. Yes, somehow, I got my dream job.
Posted by: CJ / 11:35 PM
Friday, October 10, 2003
Young children live in the moment. I remember sitting on the floor, playing with blocks. Suddenly, my mother enters the room, kneels down beside me and grabs an arm. She stuffs my arm through the sleeve of a jacket and repeats the process with the other arm. She stands me up and buttons the front of the jacket. She picks me up and carries me out of the house. I hear her voice, but she is speaking to rapidly to understand. I look back at my blocks wishing for the enjoyment they were providing. I blink in the brightness of the outside. My mother is opening the car door to the backseat. She places me there, along with my little brother, and gets into the front seat. I hear the motor start and I feel the vibrations of the seat under my hand. I know we are moving because in the past when I have heard and felt these things I will sometimes get up onto my knees and look out the window and the car is moving along our street. Sometimes when I have been sitting for ages, I will peek out and see a street I have never seen before. Once I peeked out and the road was riding on water. I was hoping the wind did not blow the street away, as we would fall into the water. I always held my breath when riding on water. Other times, I saw busy streets filled with grown-ups rushing past each other. I knew we were very far from home.When the hum and vibrations from the motor stopped, my mother would get outside and let my little brother and I out of the car. She was very wise, as the door always opened for her, but not for me. She would briskly walk us into worlds unknown. Later I grew to know them as Pike Street market, Chinatown, now called the International District, and rest homes, where we visited people who talked as slowly as I did and liked to pat me on the head.My days at Barnes and Noble remind me of my childhood. I show up for work, never knowing what my schedule is or what I will be doing. I clock in, look at the schedule, and begin my day. Only then do I know if I will be manning the information booth, cashiering, covering music or café, or doing zone maintenance. This past year has been a good exercise in letting go of control. At my previous jobs, I set the goals and the action plan to achieving those goals. I knew what my daily schedule would be for weeks, even months in advance. I went home each night already planning the next day.I could not do this at Barnes & Noble. Someone else set my schedule and my goals. At first I had trouble coping with the unknown. But after a year, I have finally learned how to let go and have enjoyed not bringing my job home every night.Alas, this is about to change. I am switching jobs at Barnes & Noble. I am excited about learning new aspects of the company and I like the members of the team I will be working with. I want to contribute to the support they give the staff. I will be doing more homework, but I believe in the product. That story is for another day.
Posted by: CJ / 6:38 PM
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
9/01/2003 - 9/30/2003
Thursday, September 25, 2003
As I look out the car, I see leaves turning color. Some are already falling, swirling past the windshield. The cool crispness of early morning air fills my lungs. Autumn is here. It is safe to go out. Bears come out after winter, CJ comes out after summer. Summer means people outside, shouting, playing loud music, darting past. Summer means little cloud cover, incessant sun. A high buzz of energy rushes around, no place to land.Autumn is my time. A deeper, quieter energy is in the air. People begin to go indoors. The pathways hold the promise of solitude. The light no longer hurts my eyes. Colorful walks, hot coffee-warming hands, Halloween. Autumn is the time of preparation. Time to prepare for winter, the test. I spend my time practicing the art of constant prayer. Constant is not what I would call my prayer practice yet, but awareness is increasing. Each moment holds a new promise. As many Christians remember “what would Jesus do?” for each action, I try to be ever present of “what matters for eternity?” for each moment of consciousness. Each moment can be held for God: grateful, adoring, loving. Or each thought can be held for remembering petty slights, practicing ego defense, and forming harsh words that hurt. With each breath I try to remember what I am breathing for.
Posted by: CJ / 7:13 PM
Friday, September 19, 2003
A young reader writes to the Job Advice columnist in the local paper. She asks how much income do artists receive as she is considering entering the field but doesn’t want to starve. The columnist responds, if you have to ask, then it is not for you. Artists create because they have to; they have a calling deep within. I have known and read about artists earning a meager wage, living in humble dwellings, eating Top Ramen, just to have time for that which calls from within. The world’s opinion does not matter; they swim against the current. I am blessed to know two such people.Laura is a writer. The written word compels her, enchants her, and gives her breath. She has a life within bursting to be set free. She accepts the sacrifice that accompanies the gift of creativity. She recently stepped down from a managerial position to a bookseller at work, with less pay and hours, to ensure she has time for her greatest loves; her husband and her science fiction writing. She is shaking off security like a coat that is too heavy with rain. She needs to be light enough to walk the high wire, to breath rarefied air, to touch the clouds. Joshua is an artist of the mind. He is leaving the Barnes & Noble family to pursue a dream. He needs to be alone, totally alone, to reign in his mind and experience higher planes of consciousness. At the end of September he will be taking only his backpack into southern California to live in the wild, alone. He wants no interruptions, distractions, anything that can interfere with perfecting the martial and meditation arts. He is challenged to live a monk’s existence, to be free from the confines of a society. He is not aware that what he pursues, others would call a sacrifice, a loss. The voice within, that the rest of us cannot hear, draws him near.Their courage inspires.
Posted by: CJ / 8:21 PM
Posted by: CJ / 5:32 PM
Friday, September 12, 2003
I am what I am and that’s all that I am.PopeyeA father kneels down beside an angry, hurt child. He patiently waits until the child has stamped her feet, cried her tears. She quiets down, becomes aware of the world around her. She looks up at her father and is quiet. The father gathers her near and whispers in her ear. “I love you just the way you are. I love you when you are angry. I love you when you are sad. When you are ready to listen, hear I am.” The child heaves a big sigh and falls into his arms, ready.As a teenager, my prayers pleaded to be shown what my mission, purpose, reason for being was. How do I serve God? Was I to be a prophet, move mountains, save the world? Through quiet listening, meditation, I have heard . . . whispered . . . that I am loved the way I am. I am asked only to love others with a grateful heart. To be a reflection of his love.
Posted by: CJ / 11:06 PM
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Austin asked me the other day how I was doing on my goal in life. To be truthful, I had not thought about it since we moved to Seattle. When he was younger and became aware that everyone has a job and that a job usually defines a person in our culture, he would pester me about my goal in life. Now, I have never had a job title as my goal in life. I thought about his question and decided the best description of my life's goal, passion, was the following: To be that ancient looking woman that lives just outside of town in an old shack. She wears faded, patched clothing, her hair is rarely combed, her needs are few. At first, one thinks she is crazy, but upon conversation one realizes she is very wise, the kind of wisdom that comes from a lifetime lived. My mother knows this woman as Dirty Sally, from an old western. Others know this woman as the shaman, witch, in every tribe or the quiet ancient one who sits in the back pew of the Church that the minister fears will comment. She is my end goal. A sage, a mystic, a fool for God.Austin's question whizzed through me like a lightening bolt, searing me wide awake. The past two years should be used to fuel my passion, to help me on my path. I choose the overgrown path, the one with boulders blocking the way. This boulder required two years to climb over. I am ready to resume my walk towards my shack, my cave, my briar patch.Jesuits believe God talks to us in coincidences. I believe Austin's question was no accident. God is done waiting for me to pick myself up, dust off, and get moving again.As a result of Austin's question, I have spent much time journaling about the past two years, writing down lessons learned, focusing on my spiritual needs. I miss Father Paul, my spiritual advisor in Anchorage. Going alone is hard work.
Posted by: CJ / 7:11 PM
As I look out the car, I see leaves turning color. Some are already falling, swirling past the windshield. The cool crispness of early morning air fills my lungs. Autumn is here. It is safe to go out. Bears come out after winter, CJ comes out after summer. Summer means people outside, shouting, playing loud music, darting past. Summer means little cloud cover, incessant sun. A high buzz of energy rushes around, no place to land.Autumn is my time. A deeper, quieter energy is in the air. People begin to go indoors. The pathways hold the promise of solitude. The light no longer hurts my eyes. Colorful walks, hot coffee-warming hands, Halloween. Autumn is the time of preparation. Time to prepare for winter, the test. I spend my time practicing the art of constant prayer. Constant is not what I would call my prayer practice yet, but awareness is increasing. Each moment holds a new promise. As many Christians remember “what would Jesus do?” for each action, I try to be ever present of “what matters for eternity?” for each moment of consciousness. Each moment can be held for God: grateful, adoring, loving. Or each thought can be held for remembering petty slights, practicing ego defense, and forming harsh words that hurt. With each breath I try to remember what I am breathing for.
Posted by: CJ / 7:13 PM
Friday, September 19, 2003
A young reader writes to the Job Advice columnist in the local paper. She asks how much income do artists receive as she is considering entering the field but doesn’t want to starve. The columnist responds, if you have to ask, then it is not for you. Artists create because they have to; they have a calling deep within. I have known and read about artists earning a meager wage, living in humble dwellings, eating Top Ramen, just to have time for that which calls from within. The world’s opinion does not matter; they swim against the current. I am blessed to know two such people.Laura is a writer. The written word compels her, enchants her, and gives her breath. She has a life within bursting to be set free. She accepts the sacrifice that accompanies the gift of creativity. She recently stepped down from a managerial position to a bookseller at work, with less pay and hours, to ensure she has time for her greatest loves; her husband and her science fiction writing. She is shaking off security like a coat that is too heavy with rain. She needs to be light enough to walk the high wire, to breath rarefied air, to touch the clouds. Joshua is an artist of the mind. He is leaving the Barnes & Noble family to pursue a dream. He needs to be alone, totally alone, to reign in his mind and experience higher planes of consciousness. At the end of September he will be taking only his backpack into southern California to live in the wild, alone. He wants no interruptions, distractions, anything that can interfere with perfecting the martial and meditation arts. He is challenged to live a monk’s existence, to be free from the confines of a society. He is not aware that what he pursues, others would call a sacrifice, a loss. The voice within, that the rest of us cannot hear, draws him near.Their courage inspires.
Posted by: CJ / 8:21 PM
Posted by: CJ / 5:32 PM
Friday, September 12, 2003
I am what I am and that’s all that I am.PopeyeA father kneels down beside an angry, hurt child. He patiently waits until the child has stamped her feet, cried her tears. She quiets down, becomes aware of the world around her. She looks up at her father and is quiet. The father gathers her near and whispers in her ear. “I love you just the way you are. I love you when you are angry. I love you when you are sad. When you are ready to listen, hear I am.” The child heaves a big sigh and falls into his arms, ready.As a teenager, my prayers pleaded to be shown what my mission, purpose, reason for being was. How do I serve God? Was I to be a prophet, move mountains, save the world? Through quiet listening, meditation, I have heard . . . whispered . . . that I am loved the way I am. I am asked only to love others with a grateful heart. To be a reflection of his love.
Posted by: CJ / 11:06 PM
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Austin asked me the other day how I was doing on my goal in life. To be truthful, I had not thought about it since we moved to Seattle. When he was younger and became aware that everyone has a job and that a job usually defines a person in our culture, he would pester me about my goal in life. Now, I have never had a job title as my goal in life. I thought about his question and decided the best description of my life's goal, passion, was the following: To be that ancient looking woman that lives just outside of town in an old shack. She wears faded, patched clothing, her hair is rarely combed, her needs are few. At first, one thinks she is crazy, but upon conversation one realizes she is very wise, the kind of wisdom that comes from a lifetime lived. My mother knows this woman as Dirty Sally, from an old western. Others know this woman as the shaman, witch, in every tribe or the quiet ancient one who sits in the back pew of the Church that the minister fears will comment. She is my end goal. A sage, a mystic, a fool for God.Austin's question whizzed through me like a lightening bolt, searing me wide awake. The past two years should be used to fuel my passion, to help me on my path. I choose the overgrown path, the one with boulders blocking the way. This boulder required two years to climb over. I am ready to resume my walk towards my shack, my cave, my briar patch.Jesuits believe God talks to us in coincidences. I believe Austin's question was no accident. God is done waiting for me to pick myself up, dust off, and get moving again.As a result of Austin's question, I have spent much time journaling about the past two years, writing down lessons learned, focusing on my spiritual needs. I miss Father Paul, my spiritual advisor in Anchorage. Going alone is hard work.
Posted by: CJ / 7:11 PM
Sunday, August 31, 2003
8/01/2003 - 8/31/2003
Sunday, August 31, 2003
This week has found me standing still while a dust devil swirls around me. I had a full to-do list in my hand when both Jessica and Austin whipped it out of my hand and inserted one of their own. It had a single word on it - car. Yes, both of my lovely children have cars now. Soon I will have absolute freedom from chauvering and loaning my car out. I have not had this much freedom since November 5, 1982; Jessica's birth day. Jessica passed her driver's test on thursday. She was able to buy the Lumina and start her own car insurance policy. Austin bought a LeBaron through a friend. His car had not been driven for two years and needed a new altenator, tires, etc. We spent family time at the Licensing agency together for title transfers and new tags. We spent family time at DOL for Jessica's driving test and my new photo ID. I have had my ID challenged twice recently questioning whether the photo looks like me. I was not amused as I was at the bank during one of those times and needed a money transaction.We spent family time at the insurance agency. That went more like an Abbott and Costello skit as our agent figured out who was driving which car and which car was the recent addition.We spent family time repairing and cleaning the vehicles. Actually, I spent more time with my rum and coke than joining in with the rest of the family. But, hey, someone had to keep a look out for dragons in the sky.Brad was totally exhausted and covered in oil and grease after the three day affair. I was left knee deep in receipts and paperwork. The effort was worthwhile.Jessica has finally fulfilled a rite of passage, driving her own car. She can now look for work outside of the Monroe-Sultan area. She now joins the rest of us with monthly bills and a car with an open mouth for money.Austin has finally accepted dirt on his person as Brad insisted he learn how to repair vehicles and change tires. He accepted his fate bravely. He will use the LeBaron, renamed Bebop, for commuting to Everett Community College this year. On September 13, his driver's license probation ends and he will be able to drive his friends around. In Washington state, if under 18 years of age when you pass your driver's test, the first six months you are not allowed to have anyone in the car besides family. On September 13, I will have freedom from my children. Hmmm. A celebration will be in order.
Posted by: CJ / 10:12 AM
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
My mother and aunts taught me about volunteerism at an early age. They never spoke about it. They just included it in their everyday routine. When caught, they just said they were being neighborly. This was before the 1980's. Before you listed your volunteer work on a resume, before charity organizations were part of your identity, before the IRS labeled charity a tax deduction . . . before it was politically correct.The women in my family taught by example. Volunteer work was not something you bragged about, nor patted yourself on the back for. One was "neighborly" because it was natural, like laughing or visiting.The women in my family never taught me how to help people around me. They just did it. Helping was so natural to them, I doubt they even realized they could talk about it. I reflect on this gift they gave me as I feel called to a life of solitude and reflection. In Tucson and Anchorage I spent much time, energy, and talent filling in where I could. Brad, Dr. Burke, and Father Paul told me to slow down. Father Paul pointed out to me that I could not be the face of God if I was stressed or neglecting my family. Dr. Burke stated I would not be around in five years if changes were not made. Brad just wanted me.Upon arriving in Gold Bar, I have found myself praying more than volunteering. In the Catholic faith this is deemed equal to volunteering or working towards social justice. I am trying to follow my heart, but at times I feel the pull to get out there and help the runaway kids on Broadway or join the Catholic group that is fighting for changes in Olympia. At times, the women in my life appear on my shoulders, turn their heads and look at me quizzingly. I try to explain that I am being neighborly by praying for world peace and prosperity, but I don't think they are buying it. I don't think this sabbatical from being neighborly will last. I miss being humbled. For now, I concentrate on family, becoming whole for God to use me, and to practice stretching . . . reaching up to touch the toes of the great mystics.
Posted by: CJ / 2:22 AM
Thursday, August 21, 2003
As a child, I rode the train. I sat entranced as the train rumbled through small towns. I saw every back yard to every town on the way to Portland. The train went through industrial areas, stockyards, and junkyards. In college, I took long drives by myself through industrial and marine areas. The working part of a town has always fascinated me more than the contrived pretty areas. They have a unique beauty. Beauty that is shaped by years of use and allowed to form its own character. Much like the face of an elderly person. I was reminded of my youthful preferences today. Jessica and I took the Luminia to Monroe for club salads, motor oil, and mead. We offered Ashley a ride home from Jack in the Box. As we prepared to leave, the Lumina would not turn over to start. No whirr, no put put, just silence. Jessica's friend, Larry, tried to jump start the car. But again, total silence. I inform Jessica that she, her friend Ashley, and I will be taking the bus home. Jessica is a little bent about the unexpectedness of the car's failure. "We" should have had the car in for a diagnostic to prevent this sort of thing, and oh, my, gosh, she has to take the bus. She looks me in the eye and says, "You're not bothered by this are you?" I respond that one should always expect the unexpected, especially when it involves an older, pre-loved car. I am grateful the car is in a parking lot, we are only twelve miles from home, and the buses are still running on Highway 2.Jessica, Ashley, and I board the bus. We sit in the back. My feet do not touch the ground. Now this is not unusual as I am 4' 11". What I notice about my feet is that if you allow them to swing naturally, and not purposefully hitting the back of the seat in front of you, they swing to the relaxed rythym of the bus. I felt like a toddler again, totally relaxed, in concert with the motions of the bus: totally unaware of the passage of time - no tomorrow or yesterday - just this moment in time.Jessica and Ashley are laughing at me, stating I look like a little girl. I felt like a little girl, my legs swinging freely, the chair wide enough to fit two of me. The affect was complete by the time we reached Sultan. The bus weaved around the outskirts of town, much like the train did as a child. Jessica looks over at me at says, "You're really enjoying this, arn't you?" Yes, I am. I had the opportunity to feel free today. I got to ride in a big bus that took me around the backside of town. All this with a backdrop of a sunset just beginning. These unexpected moments are gifts.
Posted by: CJ / 2:21 AM
Monday, August 18, 2003
Old Growth Forests are rare. They stood the ravishes of time, but not man. One reason they stood for ages was due to fire. Fires would periodically flow through the forest, burning all the underbrush away. The trees were huge, solid, made hard by the passage of time. They did not burn. This process strengthened the forest, allowing the trees to grow even bigger.Monday, August 11 marked our return to Seattle. Our family experienced a "fire" in Anchorage several years ago. We thought we would suffocate from the lack of oxygen. Brad and I wanted to come home. Jessica and Austin voted to leave. Like a fox in a trap, we were willing to chew our leg off to get out. Sacrifices were made. We arrived home, Seattle, two years ago. The first year we were in shock, healing from the fire. The second year we started to come out of hibernation, surprised at our survival. The world was beautiful around us. We looked at each other and found the fire has made us stronger, deeper: grateful. 4 am. I light two candles on each of our almond toffee bars. We blow our candles out in unison. Each of us reflects on what we have found in our new forest that makes us grow, excited to be alive. What we don't miss about Anchorage. Snow and ice for seven, yes, seven months of the year.Each member of our clan is finding their path. Rigel, ever faithful, is just happy we are still standing, together.
Posted by: CJ / 10:45 AM
Monday, August 11, 2003
Ira Progoff, "At a Journal Workshop," asks the question, what if all the Bibles of all the religions disappear one day? What would we use for guidance? He states we would recreate them. Knowledge and truth are freely given to us. Some of us would record what we have learned. Thereby, recreating our books of knowledge. I ponder his words as I read Elaine Pagels, "Beyond Belief." She states many different Christian groups arose after Jesus died. Many picked a specific apostle to follow. Irenaeus wanted to unite these groups under one catholic (universal) church. The Gospel according to Thomas was excluded from his four pillars, the four gospels, of the new church. The gospel of St. Thomas states we all are a part of God and it is our duty to bring that spirit, or spirituality, to fulfillment. Jesus was a special human who was blessed by God. Irenaeus felt St. John declared Jesus was the son of God and our saviour. Through this belief we are blessed with the spirit.Ms. Pagels states."When I found that I no longer believed everything I thought Christians were supposed to believe, I asked myself, Why not just leave Christianity - and religion - behind, as so many others have done? Yet I sometimes encountered, in churches and elsewhere - in the presence of a venerable Buddhist monk, in the cantor's singing at a bar mitzvah, and on mountain hikes - something compelling, powerful, even terrifying that I could not ignore, and I had come to see that, besides belief, Christianity involves practice - and paths toward transformation." This is an important point to ponder. Are we a part of God because we declare Jesus our saviour, our belief; or, are we already a part of God and he speaks in many languages, or pathways, to us?I had an invigorating conversation with Joshua, a co-worker, last Saturday. We have both tried many types of prayer and meditation. We agree that some knowledge cannot be obtained in a book, one has to have it given to them. A case in point. After practice in meditation one reaches a state of non-identity. The ego disappears. One is left understanding we are a speck of God, not our individual selves. One experiences that connection, that knowledge. One cannot truly explain the feeling to another human being. Many mystics have tried. It is akin to an alien trying to explain what the end of the universe looks like. We will not be able to understand until he takes us there.I have met many Christians, Buddhists, etc. who could recite the beliefs of their faith, but were not transformed. Conversely, many reqular people have been transformed by practicing a pathway to growth. This can be in the form of reflective journaling, prayer, meditation, charity, etc. I can see the spark of God in them flicker and my life is richer for being near them.I cast my vote with Ms. Pagel; belief alone does not help me transform, only practice brings me closer to being the face of God. This is why I follow the Jesuits.
Posted by: CJ / 7:02 PM
Sunday morning found me on the front porch with a steaming cup of coffee warming my hands. I stood four feet from the leaves of a tree in the front yard. I could hear the wind rustle through them. I looked up and saw the dragon's breath winding around the mountains. The smell of wet earth from the night's rain filling my lungs. The distant rumble of thunder echoing through the pass. A perfect moment in time.Perfect moments in time are that, just a moment. A piercing sound filled the air: a wind chime in the neighborhood. The sound breaking the spell that Mother Earth had cast. I have yet to appreciate why people have them. The wind and thunder were doing a wonderful job of accompanying the sun and clouds on a morning tapestry, why ruin it with high pitched tinkles? Yes, I dislike wind chimes. I have trouble hearing the silence with their loud voices interrupting.I wonder if people have them for the same reason they seem to have stereos blasting or the TV going; to drown out their lives. Some people appear to use noise as a drug, to take them away from the feelings of their lives. I wish people would consider how far their noise travels and respect those of us who thrive in the silence.Another neighbor has parrots.
Posted by: CJ / 11:07 AM
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Mt. Index rises in front of me on an early morning as I guide the Durango through the fog shrouded Skykomish Valley, a sight that always gives me pause. One must be constantly on guard for the occasional dragon that will suddenly swoop down from Mt. Index's rocky crags. I live 30 miles north of Seattle, just out of suburb range. Three passes cut through the rugged North Cascade Mountains. White Pass to the North, Stevens Pass in the middle and Snoqualmie Pass to the south. I live just west of Steven's Pass. It has taken eons for the Snohomish River to cut a narrow valley all the way down to the Puget Sound. Small towns are scattered along the banks. Gold Bar is the last town before you start to climb towards the Pass. The town is north of the river. The Burlington Northern Railroad tracks are between the town and the Shohomish. The town is small, you can walk from the east end of town to the west in less than 20 minutes. This is the last stop for the local bus service from Everett. I take Rigel, ever faithful, for walks by cows, horses, deer and the occasional Sasquatch. Mountain vistas surround us on three sides. In the winter, I enjoy watching the snowline as it creeps down. This region is legendary for its abundance of rain and fog, and I can attest to the authenticity of these legends. Frequently the Dragon's breath obscures the valley floor and thin whisps invade the upper treeline as well. At such times it is easy to see forest elves peering silently through the mist from the safety of the huge oak trees. Gold Bar is my very own Brigadoon.
Posted by: CJ / 6:58 PM
This week has found me standing still while a dust devil swirls around me. I had a full to-do list in my hand when both Jessica and Austin whipped it out of my hand and inserted one of their own. It had a single word on it - car. Yes, both of my lovely children have cars now. Soon I will have absolute freedom from chauvering and loaning my car out. I have not had this much freedom since November 5, 1982; Jessica's birth day. Jessica passed her driver's test on thursday. She was able to buy the Lumina and start her own car insurance policy. Austin bought a LeBaron through a friend. His car had not been driven for two years and needed a new altenator, tires, etc. We spent family time at the Licensing agency together for title transfers and new tags. We spent family time at DOL for Jessica's driving test and my new photo ID. I have had my ID challenged twice recently questioning whether the photo looks like me. I was not amused as I was at the bank during one of those times and needed a money transaction.We spent family time at the insurance agency. That went more like an Abbott and Costello skit as our agent figured out who was driving which car and which car was the recent addition.We spent family time repairing and cleaning the vehicles. Actually, I spent more time with my rum and coke than joining in with the rest of the family. But, hey, someone had to keep a look out for dragons in the sky.Brad was totally exhausted and covered in oil and grease after the three day affair. I was left knee deep in receipts and paperwork. The effort was worthwhile.Jessica has finally fulfilled a rite of passage, driving her own car. She can now look for work outside of the Monroe-Sultan area. She now joins the rest of us with monthly bills and a car with an open mouth for money.Austin has finally accepted dirt on his person as Brad insisted he learn how to repair vehicles and change tires. He accepted his fate bravely. He will use the LeBaron, renamed Bebop, for commuting to Everett Community College this year. On September 13, his driver's license probation ends and he will be able to drive his friends around. In Washington state, if under 18 years of age when you pass your driver's test, the first six months you are not allowed to have anyone in the car besides family. On September 13, I will have freedom from my children. Hmmm. A celebration will be in order.
Posted by: CJ / 10:12 AM
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
My mother and aunts taught me about volunteerism at an early age. They never spoke about it. They just included it in their everyday routine. When caught, they just said they were being neighborly. This was before the 1980's. Before you listed your volunteer work on a resume, before charity organizations were part of your identity, before the IRS labeled charity a tax deduction . . . before it was politically correct.The women in my family taught by example. Volunteer work was not something you bragged about, nor patted yourself on the back for. One was "neighborly" because it was natural, like laughing or visiting.The women in my family never taught me how to help people around me. They just did it. Helping was so natural to them, I doubt they even realized they could talk about it. I reflect on this gift they gave me as I feel called to a life of solitude and reflection. In Tucson and Anchorage I spent much time, energy, and talent filling in where I could. Brad, Dr. Burke, and Father Paul told me to slow down. Father Paul pointed out to me that I could not be the face of God if I was stressed or neglecting my family. Dr. Burke stated I would not be around in five years if changes were not made. Brad just wanted me.Upon arriving in Gold Bar, I have found myself praying more than volunteering. In the Catholic faith this is deemed equal to volunteering or working towards social justice. I am trying to follow my heart, but at times I feel the pull to get out there and help the runaway kids on Broadway or join the Catholic group that is fighting for changes in Olympia. At times, the women in my life appear on my shoulders, turn their heads and look at me quizzingly. I try to explain that I am being neighborly by praying for world peace and prosperity, but I don't think they are buying it. I don't think this sabbatical from being neighborly will last. I miss being humbled. For now, I concentrate on family, becoming whole for God to use me, and to practice stretching . . . reaching up to touch the toes of the great mystics.
Posted by: CJ / 2:22 AM
Thursday, August 21, 2003
As a child, I rode the train. I sat entranced as the train rumbled through small towns. I saw every back yard to every town on the way to Portland. The train went through industrial areas, stockyards, and junkyards. In college, I took long drives by myself through industrial and marine areas. The working part of a town has always fascinated me more than the contrived pretty areas. They have a unique beauty. Beauty that is shaped by years of use and allowed to form its own character. Much like the face of an elderly person. I was reminded of my youthful preferences today. Jessica and I took the Luminia to Monroe for club salads, motor oil, and mead. We offered Ashley a ride home from Jack in the Box. As we prepared to leave, the Lumina would not turn over to start. No whirr, no put put, just silence. Jessica's friend, Larry, tried to jump start the car. But again, total silence. I inform Jessica that she, her friend Ashley, and I will be taking the bus home. Jessica is a little bent about the unexpectedness of the car's failure. "We" should have had the car in for a diagnostic to prevent this sort of thing, and oh, my, gosh, she has to take the bus. She looks me in the eye and says, "You're not bothered by this are you?" I respond that one should always expect the unexpected, especially when it involves an older, pre-loved car. I am grateful the car is in a parking lot, we are only twelve miles from home, and the buses are still running on Highway 2.Jessica, Ashley, and I board the bus. We sit in the back. My feet do not touch the ground. Now this is not unusual as I am 4' 11". What I notice about my feet is that if you allow them to swing naturally, and not purposefully hitting the back of the seat in front of you, they swing to the relaxed rythym of the bus. I felt like a toddler again, totally relaxed, in concert with the motions of the bus: totally unaware of the passage of time - no tomorrow or yesterday - just this moment in time.Jessica and Ashley are laughing at me, stating I look like a little girl. I felt like a little girl, my legs swinging freely, the chair wide enough to fit two of me. The affect was complete by the time we reached Sultan. The bus weaved around the outskirts of town, much like the train did as a child. Jessica looks over at me at says, "You're really enjoying this, arn't you?" Yes, I am. I had the opportunity to feel free today. I got to ride in a big bus that took me around the backside of town. All this with a backdrop of a sunset just beginning. These unexpected moments are gifts.
Posted by: CJ / 2:21 AM
Monday, August 18, 2003
Old Growth Forests are rare. They stood the ravishes of time, but not man. One reason they stood for ages was due to fire. Fires would periodically flow through the forest, burning all the underbrush away. The trees were huge, solid, made hard by the passage of time. They did not burn. This process strengthened the forest, allowing the trees to grow even bigger.Monday, August 11 marked our return to Seattle. Our family experienced a "fire" in Anchorage several years ago. We thought we would suffocate from the lack of oxygen. Brad and I wanted to come home. Jessica and Austin voted to leave. Like a fox in a trap, we were willing to chew our leg off to get out. Sacrifices were made. We arrived home, Seattle, two years ago. The first year we were in shock, healing from the fire. The second year we started to come out of hibernation, surprised at our survival. The world was beautiful around us. We looked at each other and found the fire has made us stronger, deeper: grateful. 4 am. I light two candles on each of our almond toffee bars. We blow our candles out in unison. Each of us reflects on what we have found in our new forest that makes us grow, excited to be alive. What we don't miss about Anchorage. Snow and ice for seven, yes, seven months of the year.Each member of our clan is finding their path. Rigel, ever faithful, is just happy we are still standing, together.
Posted by: CJ / 10:45 AM
Monday, August 11, 2003
Ira Progoff, "At a Journal Workshop," asks the question, what if all the Bibles of all the religions disappear one day? What would we use for guidance? He states we would recreate them. Knowledge and truth are freely given to us. Some of us would record what we have learned. Thereby, recreating our books of knowledge. I ponder his words as I read Elaine Pagels, "Beyond Belief." She states many different Christian groups arose after Jesus died. Many picked a specific apostle to follow. Irenaeus wanted to unite these groups under one catholic (universal) church. The Gospel according to Thomas was excluded from his four pillars, the four gospels, of the new church. The gospel of St. Thomas states we all are a part of God and it is our duty to bring that spirit, or spirituality, to fulfillment. Jesus was a special human who was blessed by God. Irenaeus felt St. John declared Jesus was the son of God and our saviour. Through this belief we are blessed with the spirit.Ms. Pagels states."When I found that I no longer believed everything I thought Christians were supposed to believe, I asked myself, Why not just leave Christianity - and religion - behind, as so many others have done? Yet I sometimes encountered, in churches and elsewhere - in the presence of a venerable Buddhist monk, in the cantor's singing at a bar mitzvah, and on mountain hikes - something compelling, powerful, even terrifying that I could not ignore, and I had come to see that, besides belief, Christianity involves practice - and paths toward transformation." This is an important point to ponder. Are we a part of God because we declare Jesus our saviour, our belief; or, are we already a part of God and he speaks in many languages, or pathways, to us?I had an invigorating conversation with Joshua, a co-worker, last Saturday. We have both tried many types of prayer and meditation. We agree that some knowledge cannot be obtained in a book, one has to have it given to them. A case in point. After practice in meditation one reaches a state of non-identity. The ego disappears. One is left understanding we are a speck of God, not our individual selves. One experiences that connection, that knowledge. One cannot truly explain the feeling to another human being. Many mystics have tried. It is akin to an alien trying to explain what the end of the universe looks like. We will not be able to understand until he takes us there.I have met many Christians, Buddhists, etc. who could recite the beliefs of their faith, but were not transformed. Conversely, many reqular people have been transformed by practicing a pathway to growth. This can be in the form of reflective journaling, prayer, meditation, charity, etc. I can see the spark of God in them flicker and my life is richer for being near them.I cast my vote with Ms. Pagel; belief alone does not help me transform, only practice brings me closer to being the face of God. This is why I follow the Jesuits.
Posted by: CJ / 7:02 PM
Sunday morning found me on the front porch with a steaming cup of coffee warming my hands. I stood four feet from the leaves of a tree in the front yard. I could hear the wind rustle through them. I looked up and saw the dragon's breath winding around the mountains. The smell of wet earth from the night's rain filling my lungs. The distant rumble of thunder echoing through the pass. A perfect moment in time.Perfect moments in time are that, just a moment. A piercing sound filled the air: a wind chime in the neighborhood. The sound breaking the spell that Mother Earth had cast. I have yet to appreciate why people have them. The wind and thunder were doing a wonderful job of accompanying the sun and clouds on a morning tapestry, why ruin it with high pitched tinkles? Yes, I dislike wind chimes. I have trouble hearing the silence with their loud voices interrupting.I wonder if people have them for the same reason they seem to have stereos blasting or the TV going; to drown out their lives. Some people appear to use noise as a drug, to take them away from the feelings of their lives. I wish people would consider how far their noise travels and respect those of us who thrive in the silence.Another neighbor has parrots.
Posted by: CJ / 11:07 AM
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Mt. Index rises in front of me on an early morning as I guide the Durango through the fog shrouded Skykomish Valley, a sight that always gives me pause. One must be constantly on guard for the occasional dragon that will suddenly swoop down from Mt. Index's rocky crags. I live 30 miles north of Seattle, just out of suburb range. Three passes cut through the rugged North Cascade Mountains. White Pass to the North, Stevens Pass in the middle and Snoqualmie Pass to the south. I live just west of Steven's Pass. It has taken eons for the Snohomish River to cut a narrow valley all the way down to the Puget Sound. Small towns are scattered along the banks. Gold Bar is the last town before you start to climb towards the Pass. The town is north of the river. The Burlington Northern Railroad tracks are between the town and the Shohomish. The town is small, you can walk from the east end of town to the west in less than 20 minutes. This is the last stop for the local bus service from Everett. I take Rigel, ever faithful, for walks by cows, horses, deer and the occasional Sasquatch. Mountain vistas surround us on three sides. In the winter, I enjoy watching the snowline as it creeps down. This region is legendary for its abundance of rain and fog, and I can attest to the authenticity of these legends. Frequently the Dragon's breath obscures the valley floor and thin whisps invade the upper treeline as well. At such times it is easy to see forest elves peering silently through the mist from the safety of the huge oak trees. Gold Bar is my very own Brigadoon.
Posted by: CJ / 6:58 PM
Thursday, July 31, 2003
7/01/2003 - 7/31/2003
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
This week has seen my life return to a normal rythm. Brad, Jessica, and I visited with Brad's Mother's cousin, Kathleen, and her son, Matthew last thursday. Matthew has a new apartment, behind Dick's, on Broadway (think Haight-Ashbury). Needless to say, the street scene was never boring. I rarely have one on one time with Kathleen and we had the rare treat of a whole afternoon together.As you know, I am not one for chit chat and Kathleen indulged me. She shared with me the important parts of her life, not just her activities. We discussed our spiritual and life journeys. I have known her for over 15 years and never knew she converted to Catholicism as a young women, and a fellow Jesuit at that. She attended Seattle U (a local Jesuit college) as a young women. Presently, she is searching for a church to attend in her small community.Jesuits are known for their work in social justice and Kathleen definetely "walks the talk." She is a grade school teacher on a Pueblo reservation near Santa Fe, NM. She shared with us the trials and joys of teaching children who are taught not to trust her. They are told not to share Pueblo information with outsiders. The Pueblo has "doings" which involve everyone. Children miss school and men miss work. No lights are allowed. Kathleen stated on these days the children are not allowed to do their homework. On one occassion a student did her homework during a doing. Her grandfather covered the window so she could have a light on. Tribal members found out and came to their home and used a switch on her and her grandfather. The children report Kachinas are very much alive in the pueblos. Children are told they will come and get them if they misbehave. A monster lives in the Rio Grande and will get them if they go swimming in it.I admire Kathleen's inner strength and compassion. She is able to teach her students while respecting their culture and remaining non-judgmental. I have met few people who can actually accomplish this. She truly does not try to force change, but uses listening and caring to allow God's love to flow through.We met Matthew for dinner at the locks (the kind boats go in and out). He finished a triathlon the previous weekend, that he had been training six weeks for. Needless to say, he looked good. I did not talk with Matthew much. He and Jessica have an unusual spark between them. They are instant friends and the rest of us can't keep up. Only at dinner, when he was captured in his seat did Brad and I get a chance to visit with him. Jessica and Matthew are third cousins, once removed. I usually feel a hunger after visiting with people. I have spent much time listening but don't feel I know them, just their outside shells. I went home that evening full.
Posted by: CJ / 10:15 AM
Friday, July 25, 2003
Children collect rocks and put them in a shoebox in their room. They know the box is there, under their bed, and they can open the lid and look anytime they want. At first they reach under the bed often to lift the box up and overturn the contents onto their bed. They admire each piece; the color, the irregular shape, the unique beauty. Each rock is held, caressed, and admired. The child studies the rock and learns about minerals, the vastness of time, the power of volcanoes, the beauty of nature. As the child grows older, she looks into the box less and less. She takes the lessons for granted; calls them common knowledge. Other people talk about diamonds and emeralds, shiny objects that she should want instead of her rocks. She starts to want that which she does not need. After many years of fruitless searching for one diamond, cut and shined by man, the truth she began with is finally remembered. The rocks teach us the lessons of life, not the diamonds. What we take for common knowledge is very special indeed.My family reminded me of this hard lesson last Saturday. I have always had my family and known they love me. I also am blessed with a family that loves me unconditionally. That is, no matter how many times I stub my toe, they are at the end of the path, with open arms. My Mother comes from a family of six sisters. As a child I learned how to scoot around them as they did not distinguish you from their own children. If you were doing something wrong or they needed a chore done, they treated you as their own. At family gatherings, I felt like I had six mothers, not one. As a teenager, I wanted an identity seperate from them; one that fit into the rest of the world. What a mistake that was! I have spent many years re-learning the lessons they offered. I have been gone from them for ten years, not from choice. Brad and I have lived in Tucson and Anchorage and were unable to return home for visits. How I missed them. I had much time to reflect on what they have meant to me. As I hugged each one, I held dear the lessons they so freely gave. They are my rocks, they are my foundation, they are why I can love. You would not be able to pick them out from other women in a crowd, but I can. They each shine from within, brighter than any diamond. I held them close to me again last Saturday and admired their beauty and wisdom. Where ever Life takes me, they will be with me.
Posted by: CJ / 10:27 PM
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Talented people appear to perform magic effortlessly. They don't seem to be exerting much effort. It all looks so easy. Watch any good athlete, musician, or artist. Then I try it and, bang, I fall flat on my face. Today I am thinking about jugglers. They juggle many balls in the air without even looking at them. Me, I have trouble juggling two. I actually catch the balls as they are coming down. Don't even talk to me about attempting three balls. Lamps would pay the price. Last week Life asked me to juggle more than three balls. I did better than I thought I could. I ended up only dropping two of them. Well, one kinda just wobbled; I did a nice recovery. The week started off with two balls. No problem, normal life. Noel's memorial service was on Tuesday afternoon and Austin was to leave Tuesday evening for Maryland. Brad, Jessica, and I were scheduled to leave for Portland Thursday morning to spend time with my mother. Then attend a family reunion on Saturday. As it turns out, I booked Austin's flight for what I thought was Tuesday evening, but airlines label July 15, 1 am as Tuesday. Which I would have called Monday evening. I did not realize the miscommunication (so much easier to swallow than the words, my blunder) until Monday morning when Austin and I were on the way to my two hours of birthday. He tells me he is leaving that evening (morning according to the airlines). We meet Brad for Coffee and poor Brad is left picking up my ball. I work the evening shift and can't take Austin. Brad has to go without sleep, again, to take Austin to the airport. I owe that Man, he never even batted an eye nor gave me the look. You know, the "You just screwed up" look.Okay, I continue juggling and Brad tries to recover from picking up my ball. Jessica and I are leaving for Noel's service on Tuesday when Brad's sister calls to report Beth, Brad's mother, was taken to the hospital Monday morning for chest pains. She was undergoing tests. Upon returning from the service I send flowers and a note. I didn't drop that ball. Brad decides not to go to Portland to be close to the phone regarding his mother.Next, the ball I wobbled. I get chewed out by my mother because I was not taking my little brother to the reunion. I erroneously assumed he would call if he needed a ride. I called said brother who states he cannot go Thursday or Friday, but can attend the reunion on Saturday. My Mother states she would rather not have us come down on Thursday and Friday if it means Keith, my brother, can attend the reunion. Fine with me, I wanted to be in town for Brad if bad news was on the way.Thursday and Friday were calm. Beth had a mild heart attack due to a blocked artery. A stent was installed. She is home and doing fine.Saturday we did the reunion thing. It was the last ball in the air. Another entry will be reserved for that day.Sunday found me back at work reflecting on the concept of mindfullnes, or for me a lifestyle. I try to do only one thing at a time in order to truly experience it. This past week did not allow me to do that. It reminded me of my life in Tucson where my planner was coded in five colors to keep everything straight. Now I have a little calendar that I just write my work schedule on. I don't miss multi-tasking. I hope I get the next 51 weeks at a mindfullness pace. I am too old to do the "everything is happening at once" thing.
Posted by: CJ / 10:16 AM
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Death brings many gifts. In our sorrow we are given seeds. We can hold them in our hands, close to our heart and let them grow. Or, we can drop them to the ground and trample over them. Jessica has chosen to hold her seeds of truth and strength close to her heart, her tears providing nourishment. I see the change in her eyes. Something deep dwells there that was not present before.Monday, July 7, Noel was driving Jessica and Scott home from an evening of D & D. Noel's eyes rolled back into his head, his hands shook at the wheel, and his foot stepped on the brake. Jessica and Scott finished stopping the car. Scott called 911 on a cell phone. Scott then turned the phone over to Jessica as he ran up the road 500 yards to enlist the help of his mother. Scott lives way out on Cedar Pond Road. If you don't know the road system, you will get lost. Scott's mother was posted to direct the aid car at the triangle in the road system. While Scott was gone, the 911 operator directed Jessica in CPR. Scott took over upon his return and they worked together. The aid car transported Noel to the hospital where he was pronounced dead at 12:45 am. Noel's parents, Scott, and Jessica were allowed to view the body and say goodbye. I picked Jessica up at the hospital at 1:50 am. The next few days were rough, but Jessica was surrounded by friends and family. The outpouring from the community of Sultan was tremendous. We received calls from people I had not known before. I was deeply touched by their kindness. The memorial service was last Wednesday and again I experienced a small community come together in grief. Jessica has found a home here in Sultan that she has never really had anywhere else. I may have found a home also. Jessica has gained a quiet spirit through this and a gratefulness for life. She is thankful to have known Noel and to share his last moments with him. A part of him will live on in her. Jessica eyes tell me she has learned one of life's hard lessons - only in trial and grief do we learn and gain spirit. Thank you Noel for leaving your best with us.
Posted by: CJ / 4:58 AM
Monday, July 14, 2003
I woke up this morning to Dawn's voice wishing me a happy birthday. Every day should start with a phone call from her. She always makes me giggle inside. Brad called next, from work. I am impressed they both remembered my birthday as I didn't until I read Justin's blog and saw the date. Whoa. Where did the year go. I am not even going to think about that today. I need to call my mother and give her my yearly condolences for the pain and agony she went through 48 years ago. Brad stated I have to celebrate my day (me and the French). I will have two hours between when Brad arrives home and I depart for work. What mischief can I demand in two hours time?
Posted by: CJ / 11:06 AM
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Today is my quiet time before the whirlwind. Next week is booked solid, but today I reflect, write, and breath. I found myself circling around a conversation I had with Austin two days ago. We were discussing the changing definition of family. Many americans are picking their families, choosing to concentrate on a close circle of friends, instead of family members that are far away or difficult beings. Austin stated he liked the idea of choosing a family of friends. After all, we have moved four times in his life, leaving no place feeling like home. Some family members require an herculean effort to be near. Some grizzlies are easier to wake from hibernation than some family members are to talk with. He has found himself holding on to his Anchorage and Sultan friends as his confidantes, his anchors, and his joy. I, too, have found myself holding on to my friends from Anchorage and missing my friends from Tucson. I have even found myself missing some co-workers who have moved on. In the past I have always made a clean break when moving to a new town. No contact with the past. This time is different, I made friends that are too dear to part with and have found I do not need to be near them to feel their presence in my life. This blog marks a change in attitude with me, I am not an island unto myself. Don't think I am isolating myself from family, though. Family reminds one of their roots; generations of struggle and growth. Most of all, family teaches us how we can love someone even if we do not like them and they are God's gift to learning how to get along. Without family, we would just ignore anyone that we did not agree with. Family keeps us humble. These thoughts pass through my mind as I look forward to my family reunion this Saturday. I have known these people my whole life, my relationship with them has passed through many stages. Some I am close to, some I am not. Ironically, some I didn't like as a child, I adore and admire them now that I am grown. I have missed them and wish I took the time and effort to visit more. For today, I am going to reach out and grab hold of one person I don't want to lose contact with.
Posted by: CJ / 5:41 PM
The Briar Patch is a frame of heart, not just mind. An attitude about living that is not the norm. The calm beneath the storm. So many of us are the fox, always hunting, always looking for the brass ring, the comfortable life. I want to be the hare. The hare knows the answer is in the briar patch. The briar patch looks awful, full of thorns, more work than what it is worth. The hare knows the true value inside and it is well worth the effort, the tears, the journey. That briar patch for me is my walk with God. Walking with God is a tough path, full of stones, and at times boulders; lots of stubbed toes. But this is my home, my way of life, my sanctuary. My dear friends ask how I am, really am. This is my attempt to share my journey, not just a listing of events in my life, but how events help me reach the briar patch. I follow the Black Robes, the Jesuits. They have been called the Spiritual Marines of the Catholics. They earn their reputation. Their way requires one to examine each thought, each action, each feeling as bringing you closer in your relationship with God or further away. You can see why I have so many stubbed toes. God has given me many catalysts for growth; my family, my job, my distance from Church, my distance from friends, and most of all - me.
Posted by: CJ / 5:40 PM
This week has seen my life return to a normal rythm. Brad, Jessica, and I visited with Brad's Mother's cousin, Kathleen, and her son, Matthew last thursday. Matthew has a new apartment, behind Dick's, on Broadway (think Haight-Ashbury). Needless to say, the street scene was never boring. I rarely have one on one time with Kathleen and we had the rare treat of a whole afternoon together.As you know, I am not one for chit chat and Kathleen indulged me. She shared with me the important parts of her life, not just her activities. We discussed our spiritual and life journeys. I have known her for over 15 years and never knew she converted to Catholicism as a young women, and a fellow Jesuit at that. She attended Seattle U (a local Jesuit college) as a young women. Presently, she is searching for a church to attend in her small community.Jesuits are known for their work in social justice and Kathleen definetely "walks the talk." She is a grade school teacher on a Pueblo reservation near Santa Fe, NM. She shared with us the trials and joys of teaching children who are taught not to trust her. They are told not to share Pueblo information with outsiders. The Pueblo has "doings" which involve everyone. Children miss school and men miss work. No lights are allowed. Kathleen stated on these days the children are not allowed to do their homework. On one occassion a student did her homework during a doing. Her grandfather covered the window so she could have a light on. Tribal members found out and came to their home and used a switch on her and her grandfather. The children report Kachinas are very much alive in the pueblos. Children are told they will come and get them if they misbehave. A monster lives in the Rio Grande and will get them if they go swimming in it.I admire Kathleen's inner strength and compassion. She is able to teach her students while respecting their culture and remaining non-judgmental. I have met few people who can actually accomplish this. She truly does not try to force change, but uses listening and caring to allow God's love to flow through.We met Matthew for dinner at the locks (the kind boats go in and out). He finished a triathlon the previous weekend, that he had been training six weeks for. Needless to say, he looked good. I did not talk with Matthew much. He and Jessica have an unusual spark between them. They are instant friends and the rest of us can't keep up. Only at dinner, when he was captured in his seat did Brad and I get a chance to visit with him. Jessica and Matthew are third cousins, once removed. I usually feel a hunger after visiting with people. I have spent much time listening but don't feel I know them, just their outside shells. I went home that evening full.
Posted by: CJ / 10:15 AM
Friday, July 25, 2003
Children collect rocks and put them in a shoebox in their room. They know the box is there, under their bed, and they can open the lid and look anytime they want. At first they reach under the bed often to lift the box up and overturn the contents onto their bed. They admire each piece; the color, the irregular shape, the unique beauty. Each rock is held, caressed, and admired. The child studies the rock and learns about minerals, the vastness of time, the power of volcanoes, the beauty of nature. As the child grows older, she looks into the box less and less. She takes the lessons for granted; calls them common knowledge. Other people talk about diamonds and emeralds, shiny objects that she should want instead of her rocks. She starts to want that which she does not need. After many years of fruitless searching for one diamond, cut and shined by man, the truth she began with is finally remembered. The rocks teach us the lessons of life, not the diamonds. What we take for common knowledge is very special indeed.My family reminded me of this hard lesson last Saturday. I have always had my family and known they love me. I also am blessed with a family that loves me unconditionally. That is, no matter how many times I stub my toe, they are at the end of the path, with open arms. My Mother comes from a family of six sisters. As a child I learned how to scoot around them as they did not distinguish you from their own children. If you were doing something wrong or they needed a chore done, they treated you as their own. At family gatherings, I felt like I had six mothers, not one. As a teenager, I wanted an identity seperate from them; one that fit into the rest of the world. What a mistake that was! I have spent many years re-learning the lessons they offered. I have been gone from them for ten years, not from choice. Brad and I have lived in Tucson and Anchorage and were unable to return home for visits. How I missed them. I had much time to reflect on what they have meant to me. As I hugged each one, I held dear the lessons they so freely gave. They are my rocks, they are my foundation, they are why I can love. You would not be able to pick them out from other women in a crowd, but I can. They each shine from within, brighter than any diamond. I held them close to me again last Saturday and admired their beauty and wisdom. Where ever Life takes me, they will be with me.
Posted by: CJ / 10:27 PM
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Talented people appear to perform magic effortlessly. They don't seem to be exerting much effort. It all looks so easy. Watch any good athlete, musician, or artist. Then I try it and, bang, I fall flat on my face. Today I am thinking about jugglers. They juggle many balls in the air without even looking at them. Me, I have trouble juggling two. I actually catch the balls as they are coming down. Don't even talk to me about attempting three balls. Lamps would pay the price. Last week Life asked me to juggle more than three balls. I did better than I thought I could. I ended up only dropping two of them. Well, one kinda just wobbled; I did a nice recovery. The week started off with two balls. No problem, normal life. Noel's memorial service was on Tuesday afternoon and Austin was to leave Tuesday evening for Maryland. Brad, Jessica, and I were scheduled to leave for Portland Thursday morning to spend time with my mother. Then attend a family reunion on Saturday. As it turns out, I booked Austin's flight for what I thought was Tuesday evening, but airlines label July 15, 1 am as Tuesday. Which I would have called Monday evening. I did not realize the miscommunication (so much easier to swallow than the words, my blunder) until Monday morning when Austin and I were on the way to my two hours of birthday. He tells me he is leaving that evening (morning according to the airlines). We meet Brad for Coffee and poor Brad is left picking up my ball. I work the evening shift and can't take Austin. Brad has to go without sleep, again, to take Austin to the airport. I owe that Man, he never even batted an eye nor gave me the look. You know, the "You just screwed up" look.Okay, I continue juggling and Brad tries to recover from picking up my ball. Jessica and I are leaving for Noel's service on Tuesday when Brad's sister calls to report Beth, Brad's mother, was taken to the hospital Monday morning for chest pains. She was undergoing tests. Upon returning from the service I send flowers and a note. I didn't drop that ball. Brad decides not to go to Portland to be close to the phone regarding his mother.Next, the ball I wobbled. I get chewed out by my mother because I was not taking my little brother to the reunion. I erroneously assumed he would call if he needed a ride. I called said brother who states he cannot go Thursday or Friday, but can attend the reunion on Saturday. My Mother states she would rather not have us come down on Thursday and Friday if it means Keith, my brother, can attend the reunion. Fine with me, I wanted to be in town for Brad if bad news was on the way.Thursday and Friday were calm. Beth had a mild heart attack due to a blocked artery. A stent was installed. She is home and doing fine.Saturday we did the reunion thing. It was the last ball in the air. Another entry will be reserved for that day.Sunday found me back at work reflecting on the concept of mindfullnes, or for me a lifestyle. I try to do only one thing at a time in order to truly experience it. This past week did not allow me to do that. It reminded me of my life in Tucson where my planner was coded in five colors to keep everything straight. Now I have a little calendar that I just write my work schedule on. I don't miss multi-tasking. I hope I get the next 51 weeks at a mindfullness pace. I am too old to do the "everything is happening at once" thing.
Posted by: CJ / 10:16 AM
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Death brings many gifts. In our sorrow we are given seeds. We can hold them in our hands, close to our heart and let them grow. Or, we can drop them to the ground and trample over them. Jessica has chosen to hold her seeds of truth and strength close to her heart, her tears providing nourishment. I see the change in her eyes. Something deep dwells there that was not present before.Monday, July 7, Noel was driving Jessica and Scott home from an evening of D & D. Noel's eyes rolled back into his head, his hands shook at the wheel, and his foot stepped on the brake. Jessica and Scott finished stopping the car. Scott called 911 on a cell phone. Scott then turned the phone over to Jessica as he ran up the road 500 yards to enlist the help of his mother. Scott lives way out on Cedar Pond Road. If you don't know the road system, you will get lost. Scott's mother was posted to direct the aid car at the triangle in the road system. While Scott was gone, the 911 operator directed Jessica in CPR. Scott took over upon his return and they worked together. The aid car transported Noel to the hospital where he was pronounced dead at 12:45 am. Noel's parents, Scott, and Jessica were allowed to view the body and say goodbye. I picked Jessica up at the hospital at 1:50 am. The next few days were rough, but Jessica was surrounded by friends and family. The outpouring from the community of Sultan was tremendous. We received calls from people I had not known before. I was deeply touched by their kindness. The memorial service was last Wednesday and again I experienced a small community come together in grief. Jessica has found a home here in Sultan that she has never really had anywhere else. I may have found a home also. Jessica has gained a quiet spirit through this and a gratefulness for life. She is thankful to have known Noel and to share his last moments with him. A part of him will live on in her. Jessica eyes tell me she has learned one of life's hard lessons - only in trial and grief do we learn and gain spirit. Thank you Noel for leaving your best with us.
Posted by: CJ / 4:58 AM
Monday, July 14, 2003
I woke up this morning to Dawn's voice wishing me a happy birthday. Every day should start with a phone call from her. She always makes me giggle inside. Brad called next, from work. I am impressed they both remembered my birthday as I didn't until I read Justin's blog and saw the date. Whoa. Where did the year go. I am not even going to think about that today. I need to call my mother and give her my yearly condolences for the pain and agony she went through 48 years ago. Brad stated I have to celebrate my day (me and the French). I will have two hours between when Brad arrives home and I depart for work. What mischief can I demand in two hours time?
Posted by: CJ / 11:06 AM
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Today is my quiet time before the whirlwind. Next week is booked solid, but today I reflect, write, and breath. I found myself circling around a conversation I had with Austin two days ago. We were discussing the changing definition of family. Many americans are picking their families, choosing to concentrate on a close circle of friends, instead of family members that are far away or difficult beings. Austin stated he liked the idea of choosing a family of friends. After all, we have moved four times in his life, leaving no place feeling like home. Some family members require an herculean effort to be near. Some grizzlies are easier to wake from hibernation than some family members are to talk with. He has found himself holding on to his Anchorage and Sultan friends as his confidantes, his anchors, and his joy. I, too, have found myself holding on to my friends from Anchorage and missing my friends from Tucson. I have even found myself missing some co-workers who have moved on. In the past I have always made a clean break when moving to a new town. No contact with the past. This time is different, I made friends that are too dear to part with and have found I do not need to be near them to feel their presence in my life. This blog marks a change in attitude with me, I am not an island unto myself. Don't think I am isolating myself from family, though. Family reminds one of their roots; generations of struggle and growth. Most of all, family teaches us how we can love someone even if we do not like them and they are God's gift to learning how to get along. Without family, we would just ignore anyone that we did not agree with. Family keeps us humble. These thoughts pass through my mind as I look forward to my family reunion this Saturday. I have known these people my whole life, my relationship with them has passed through many stages. Some I am close to, some I am not. Ironically, some I didn't like as a child, I adore and admire them now that I am grown. I have missed them and wish I took the time and effort to visit more. For today, I am going to reach out and grab hold of one person I don't want to lose contact with.
Posted by: CJ / 5:41 PM
The Briar Patch is a frame of heart, not just mind. An attitude about living that is not the norm. The calm beneath the storm. So many of us are the fox, always hunting, always looking for the brass ring, the comfortable life. I want to be the hare. The hare knows the answer is in the briar patch. The briar patch looks awful, full of thorns, more work than what it is worth. The hare knows the true value inside and it is well worth the effort, the tears, the journey. That briar patch for me is my walk with God. Walking with God is a tough path, full of stones, and at times boulders; lots of stubbed toes. But this is my home, my way of life, my sanctuary. My dear friends ask how I am, really am. This is my attempt to share my journey, not just a listing of events in my life, but how events help me reach the briar patch. I follow the Black Robes, the Jesuits. They have been called the Spiritual Marines of the Catholics. They earn their reputation. Their way requires one to examine each thought, each action, each feeling as bringing you closer in your relationship with God or further away. You can see why I have so many stubbed toes. God has given me many catalysts for growth; my family, my job, my distance from Church, my distance from friends, and most of all - me.
Posted by: CJ / 5:40 PM
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