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
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