Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Today I held a piece a paper with a list on it. The list contained five items. One of those items was a three in one - laundry, groceries, cleaning. At 10 am, I had returned from my 7:30 am meeting at work and now at 1:30 pm Brad had just left for work. Oh, and today is my day off.Jessica and Ashley were leaving for Everett. List in one hand. The effervescence of youth tugging on the other. My left hand hurt from shutting the car door on it last Thursday night. Hmmm, it held the list. Definitely drop the list. The hand needed the rest; into the car I went. Car ride in the sunshine. I know why dogs smile in the backseat. A day spent listening to good tuneage, giggling, Frapps, and not looking at my watch. I want every day to feel this free and every day to hold me with joy.
Posted by: CJ / 12:05 AM
Thursday, March 04, 2004
John English had a dream. Rest would not find him. With a shaman's eye, John knew he had to write it down, to share his dream. The Shift: An Awakening is his dream http://www.dtpublications.com/. I met him at an author's event. I enjoyed my conversation with him and noted the energy surrounding him. I am familiar with this quiet peace, quiet strength, from Jesuit priests and Buddhist monks I have known. John quietly possess it also.I read his book out of curiosity. Many truths appear in dreams. I would be arrogant to think I could not learn from his. John is not an author by trade, nor inclination. Yet, he does well for a first novel. The message comes across. We all need reminders, markers, on our pathways. John's book was a babbling brook beside my path. I drew renewed commitment and inspiration from it. I have changed from it, which is the true mark of growth and learning.The images left behind from meeting him have had more impact than my talk with him. Spiritual people have that habit. Nothing remarkable happens while talking, but the aftermath will not leave you alone. I liken the experience to a new song you hear but do not pay attention to. Later, the melody plays in your head bringing you energy and joy.If you get a chance to read his book, read without judgment. Let the words, thoughts, and images swirl and ferment before commenting. John has committed to starting a blog to share his experiences as a shaman. I am a loner by nature and do not wish much contact with people, but I cherish sharing the journey, the struggles, the epiphanies of people's lives. Blogs allow me to be touched, to be taught, while preserving my private life, my aloneness. I patiently wait.
Posted by: CJ / 4:10 PM
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
A baby chick pecks at the cardboard beneath her feet. The sound is distinctive. The pitch, the tone; the memory indelible. One Easter, in childhood, my mother brought baby chicks home and made their nest out of a cardboard box. Strips of flannel hanging down to comfort them, a lamp from above to warm them. They lived in our home until they outgrew their cardboard boxes. The ones that survived neighborhood dogs and passing cars were taken to my grandparents ranch. I remember their constant pecking, and peeping. I hear the sound every time I draw. The sound of graphite pencil touching the page. The same pitch, the same tone; only longer in length. All other sounds disappear, fade into distant, only the scratching of graphite against paper remains. Rough paper allows the pencil to follow an uneven path. The effect is brought into the final drawing. I like the feel of the uneven grain upon my fingers. I hold the pencil loosely, it rolls in uneven rhythm across the page. Shadows and unexpected edges appear adding depth.The scent of old hay permeates the air as the paper is touched. I am careful to rest my hand against the dowel as only the pencil may touch the drawing.I slowly put graphite to paper in a cross hatch pattern. The rhythm slows my heartbeat, my breathing. The world fades from consciousness. This drawing is slow in birthing. A gargoyle resting on a post. Many strokes have created a personality. He seems more real than the sculpture I held in my hand. The gray paper adds to the appearance of stone. The color supporting the darker tones of the graphite. He waits patiently for me to complete his being.Drawing: an hour is gone. Drawing: the wrist aches from holding the pencil. Drawing: I feel so alive even though the world has disappeared from my senses.
Posted by: CJ / 10:42 PM
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Sunday, February 29, 2004
2/01/2004 - 2/29/2004
Monday, February 23, 2004
Another day, another author's talk to facilitate. David Hawkins, a Christian psychologist, wrote "Men just don't get it." During the question and answer period he asked me a question about my future plans. I answered Brad and I are hoping to forsake normalcy to pursue our values. To live simply. He was intrigued. He wanted details. I had trouble getting him to refocus on his audience. Dr. Hawkins thought our ideas bold. I think our ideas have waited in silence too long. To live simply, to minimize over consumption (books are exempt), to live off grid, to find joy in the everyday. To take time to listen. Brad and I agreed to wait until our children left home before we pursued our goals. Two years and counting.John English, "The Shift An Awakening," had a dream that demanded to be written. He was a normal engineer. The dream would not let go until he wrote it down. These ideas seem normal to me. The life I have led seems the one out of calibration. The little girl awakens from a lifetime slumber, dreams waiting to unfold.
Posted by: CJ / 10:23 PM
Sunday, February 15, 2004
A little girl looks up into an azure sky. Stars large enough to hold, if small arms could reach up past her mother's shoulder. Stars hold us quietly instead. Gaze, still the body, the breathing. Stars become larger than earth. The calling has begun. My dreams, my passions, formed under the sky's watchful eye. I was reminded this week of those dreams that were put aside in exchange for a normal life. It didn't quench the small voice waiting to be heard.I met an author this week that reminded me that only in listening to the inner call and forsaking normal life will the little girl's dreams be as bright as the glistening stars.
Posted by: CJ / 12:02 PM
Another day, another author's talk to facilitate. David Hawkins, a Christian psychologist, wrote "Men just don't get it." During the question and answer period he asked me a question about my future plans. I answered Brad and I are hoping to forsake normalcy to pursue our values. To live simply. He was intrigued. He wanted details. I had trouble getting him to refocus on his audience. Dr. Hawkins thought our ideas bold. I think our ideas have waited in silence too long. To live simply, to minimize over consumption (books are exempt), to live off grid, to find joy in the everyday. To take time to listen. Brad and I agreed to wait until our children left home before we pursued our goals. Two years and counting.John English, "The Shift An Awakening," had a dream that demanded to be written. He was a normal engineer. The dream would not let go until he wrote it down. These ideas seem normal to me. The life I have led seems the one out of calibration. The little girl awakens from a lifetime slumber, dreams waiting to unfold.
Posted by: CJ / 10:23 PM
Sunday, February 15, 2004
A little girl looks up into an azure sky. Stars large enough to hold, if small arms could reach up past her mother's shoulder. Stars hold us quietly instead. Gaze, still the body, the breathing. Stars become larger than earth. The calling has begun. My dreams, my passions, formed under the sky's watchful eye. I was reminded this week of those dreams that were put aside in exchange for a normal life. It didn't quench the small voice waiting to be heard.I met an author this week that reminded me that only in listening to the inner call and forsaking normal life will the little girl's dreams be as bright as the glistening stars.
Posted by: CJ / 12:02 PM
Friday, January 30, 2004
1/01/2004 -1/30/2004
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
I drove the long route today. The one that goes past Cherry Valley to Duvall. Then across Snoqualmie Valley, up the hill to Woodinville. I pass dairies, rock quarries, and nurseries. The rockery with rocks stacked on top of each other in Dr. Suess towers is my favorite. Whimsy always feeds the soul.The cows don't stir. The birds don't sing. A faint promise of dawn turns the eastern sky from black to deep purple. On the other side of Cherry Mountain the sky must already be a deep shade of blue. The only signs of life are the overgrown fireflies flying down an asphalt path.As the car climbs the winding path, twisting among the trees . . . my heartbeat slows . . . my thoughts gather to disappear. The trees are old, gnarled, enveloped in moss. Sunlight rarely penetrates. This is my hidden pleasure.This tangled, untouched patch of forgotten vale speaks of age, speaks of nature molding beauty by its own eye, not man's. The trees call out to the elfin ones who live here. No mortal man could easily walk these roots entwined on a bed of deep compost. Only the elfin can maneuver. I choose the long way on Monday mornings. The trees give me strength. The elves give me silent passage. Perspective is regained. My life is lived for the spiritual calmness, the creative vibrancy. The forest unexplored.
Posted by: CJ / 12:13 AM
Friday, January 16, 2004
Call me Barista Queen! I float upon the zen of a java sea. Yesterday one of our baristas called out sick. Besides finding elusive St. Valentine's Day merchandise, I now had the privilege of covering Chris' lunch and breaks.I arrive before Chris' lunch begins and we agree I need a crash course before he leaves, as I have only made coffee during training - months ago. He said not to worry as I would be just backing up Jana. I said no, Jana wasn't here. He said then I would be backing up Ben. I said, nooo, Ben wasn't here either. I was it. I was the only other person in the store who knew how to pull a shot. His face blanched. I received one serious, fast-paced course. I thought he was preparing me for the Java Olympics. His training paid off. At one point in the evening I had five drinks lined up and I didn't panic. I stayed steady at the helm. What a rush.I actually made stuff that people consumed. This from someone who considers a kitchen a torture chamber. I didn't leave cafe until 8:30 PM as we kept getting slammed. One wave after another.Northwest coffee drinkers are a unique breed. They are veerry specific about their coffee, and they want it faster than a meal at McDonald's. One could mistake java for caviar in the Northwest.I went home satisfied that I can still pull a learning curve out of my hat.And I am still trying to get coffee grinds out from under my fingernails.
Posted by: CJ / 12:02 AM
Saturday, January 10, 2004
The bookstore has returned to its normal pace. The shelvers are busy restocking bare shelves, customers are buying books for themselves, and booksellers have time to laugh with each other.Each of us is responsible for different "zones" in the store. Before, I had zone 5 which included crafts, house and home, art, architecture, gardening, photography, and travel. I loved spending quiet time in the winter getting to know my charges. I likened zone 5 to an orphanage. I took care of the books until they could be adopted and enjoyed by someone. My job was to match books to the right owners. I spent time with customers, listening to their needs, making recommendations. Now I have bargain and gift. Bargain is to zone 5 as a New York subway station is to a rural bus station. Customers breeze through looking for bargains, not a perfect fit. They push, jostle, and have no need for your opinion.Today I finished resetting bargain after the Christmas rush. I spent ten hours reaching around legs, errant children, and patiently answering the question, "Does 50% off mean off the sticker price?"My muscles ache. I did not work out. I took a nap when I arrived home. The only interaction I want is with a book.Hark. I hear one calling me now.
Posted by: CJ / 10:08 PM
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Christmas is tucked away in boxes. To sit another year. Every year I pledge to have everything done by Thanksgiving. I failed. Quite well, I might add. This year almost did me in. A new position at work, Brad working overtime. Austin starting college. Jessica's errant work schedule. Christmas occurred in one day. We made it a good day. Jessica did not get home until after 4 pm. Austin, Brad, and I spent the day sipping coffee, listening to Christmas music, and watching the lights on the tree. I even snuck in some reading as Brad cooked.Each year I vow to get the decorations out of storage, and each year I don't find all of them. Our tree usually has lights with Star Trek ornaments on it. This year, okay, every year for the past three, I can't find the lights. Every year I end up buying lights at the last minute. Last minute means buying whatever is left on the shelf at Fred Meyer's. This year that meant blue and purple outside lights. Only the purple lights look pink when on. No one got around to putting the Star Trek battle up.I asked everyone who had time, whether they enjoyed Christmas or not. Everyone who had a family said no. The majority of people said stress took the fun away. Customers expressed more anger than good cheer.This coming year will be different. I am reclaiming Christmas. I want more time to talk to loved ones. I want to see the boat parade. I want to attend midnight mass. I want being instead of buying. I want to light a candle for loved ones who warm my soul.
Posted by: CJ / 10:47 PM
Wind whirls the snow around me. Difficulty keeping my eyes open. No horizon, only white. Seattle is in the midst of a snowstorm. Gold Bar may have snow falling or the wind is only redistributing what the sky already gave, I can't tell. I sweep the front steps. A dragon could be flying towards me right now and I wouldn't know. With the wind stretching powerfully, I imagine they are sleeping on Mt. Index, one eye open to the beauty below. Watching the top of a snow globe just turned.
Posted by: CJ / 3:08 PM
Sunday, January 04, 2004
I stand outside as snow falls quietly around. All noise is muzzled to silence. I can hear my heart. Each beat reminds me of the ones I love, the ones who will always have a place. Thank you.
Posted by: CJ / 12:26 AM
Friday, January 02, 2004
You notice his eyes. Blue, green, yellow, and brown all mixed together. I am reminded of a brook where the water eddies slowly. Moss covered rocks cover the bottom with sunshine piercing from above. Blue water swirling around. His eyes are unusual as a light appears to shine from behind. The lines around his eyes accentuate them like a frame, drawing your vision to them. They remind me of my father's eyes. His always appeared to have a light shining out also. Next, I notice his smile. From ear to ear. The easy smile of someone who lives life without grudges, without judgment. His hair is cut close and what shows is speckled with white. His face shows someone who has been outdoors much of the time.Before me is a man who is middle-aged and has lived a hard life, but all I see is a small boy who loves life and considers everyone he meets a friend.We embrace. After all these years I still find it odd that he is taller than me. Most of the time that I spent with him, he was quite smaller than me.This man is my littler brother. Out of nowhere he appeared at the store last Tuesday night, 9:40 pm. He has stopped in before, but never when I was there.We sit and talk. I can't stop looking at his eyes. The light from his eyes is radiant. I let him know I have to start closing the store in a few minutes, but we can chat for ten minutes. We hastily compare schedules and tentatively make plans to have dinner on a Monday evening, just Keith and I.We catch up on the usual. Then I mention his daughter wrote about the Christmas trees from her childhood. They were unusual as my brother hung them from the ceiling and walls to keep small children safe. He immediately started explaining how he cut a hole in the ceiling, hung the tree, and watered it from above. I am totally uninterested in the how, only the effect of my statement.At the mere mention of his daughter's name, his face lights up, no - glows. Every muscle in his body stands taller, the weariness gone. He does not have to tell me he loves his daughter, his body confesses all. His love reminds me he has always loved freely. Truly, unconditionally. If my brother loves you, he does not need reminders, letters, contact. He loves you. Period. Many years ago, I requested a meeting with Keith with the expressed desire to meet more often, for our young families to spend more time together. He told me he didn't want to. That we met as often as he felt he needed. I went home to Brad, crestfallen, but not wanting to push myself on anyone, I let it be. Shortly afterward, we moved to Tucson and then to Anchorage. In essence, we have not had regular contact for over ten years.In the interim, I have learned to live in the moment, without everything planned out in advance. I am content to have my brother, who owns no phone, suddenly appear and just as quickly, disappear.I can accept his sudden appearance without judgment, without feeling slighted at his absence. His appearance brings joy, delight, a reminder to enjoy the ones you love, without conditions, without strings attached. A young boy and girl enter a room filled with adults. The boy runs up to everyone talking. They laugh and remark how delightful he is. The girl holds back, shy, watching the boy light up the room. She is not jealous, just wishing she were not so shy, wishing she had the easy way of delighting adults as her little brother does.I am filled with warmth and love when Keith comes running into my life. He still retains the heart of his childhood. For that he is blessed.
Posted by: CJ / 5:17 PM
I drove the long route today. The one that goes past Cherry Valley to Duvall. Then across Snoqualmie Valley, up the hill to Woodinville. I pass dairies, rock quarries, and nurseries. The rockery with rocks stacked on top of each other in Dr. Suess towers is my favorite. Whimsy always feeds the soul.The cows don't stir. The birds don't sing. A faint promise of dawn turns the eastern sky from black to deep purple. On the other side of Cherry Mountain the sky must already be a deep shade of blue. The only signs of life are the overgrown fireflies flying down an asphalt path.As the car climbs the winding path, twisting among the trees . . . my heartbeat slows . . . my thoughts gather to disappear. The trees are old, gnarled, enveloped in moss. Sunlight rarely penetrates. This is my hidden pleasure.This tangled, untouched patch of forgotten vale speaks of age, speaks of nature molding beauty by its own eye, not man's. The trees call out to the elfin ones who live here. No mortal man could easily walk these roots entwined on a bed of deep compost. Only the elfin can maneuver. I choose the long way on Monday mornings. The trees give me strength. The elves give me silent passage. Perspective is regained. My life is lived for the spiritual calmness, the creative vibrancy. The forest unexplored.
Posted by: CJ / 12:13 AM
Friday, January 16, 2004
Call me Barista Queen! I float upon the zen of a java sea. Yesterday one of our baristas called out sick. Besides finding elusive St. Valentine's Day merchandise, I now had the privilege of covering Chris' lunch and breaks.I arrive before Chris' lunch begins and we agree I need a crash course before he leaves, as I have only made coffee during training - months ago. He said not to worry as I would be just backing up Jana. I said no, Jana wasn't here. He said then I would be backing up Ben. I said, nooo, Ben wasn't here either. I was it. I was the only other person in the store who knew how to pull a shot. His face blanched. I received one serious, fast-paced course. I thought he was preparing me for the Java Olympics. His training paid off. At one point in the evening I had five drinks lined up and I didn't panic. I stayed steady at the helm. What a rush.I actually made stuff that people consumed. This from someone who considers a kitchen a torture chamber. I didn't leave cafe until 8:30 PM as we kept getting slammed. One wave after another.Northwest coffee drinkers are a unique breed. They are veerry specific about their coffee, and they want it faster than a meal at McDonald's. One could mistake java for caviar in the Northwest.I went home satisfied that I can still pull a learning curve out of my hat.And I am still trying to get coffee grinds out from under my fingernails.
Posted by: CJ / 12:02 AM
Saturday, January 10, 2004
The bookstore has returned to its normal pace. The shelvers are busy restocking bare shelves, customers are buying books for themselves, and booksellers have time to laugh with each other.Each of us is responsible for different "zones" in the store. Before, I had zone 5 which included crafts, house and home, art, architecture, gardening, photography, and travel. I loved spending quiet time in the winter getting to know my charges. I likened zone 5 to an orphanage. I took care of the books until they could be adopted and enjoyed by someone. My job was to match books to the right owners. I spent time with customers, listening to their needs, making recommendations. Now I have bargain and gift. Bargain is to zone 5 as a New York subway station is to a rural bus station. Customers breeze through looking for bargains, not a perfect fit. They push, jostle, and have no need for your opinion.Today I finished resetting bargain after the Christmas rush. I spent ten hours reaching around legs, errant children, and patiently answering the question, "Does 50% off mean off the sticker price?"My muscles ache. I did not work out. I took a nap when I arrived home. The only interaction I want is with a book.Hark. I hear one calling me now.
Posted by: CJ / 10:08 PM
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Christmas is tucked away in boxes. To sit another year. Every year I pledge to have everything done by Thanksgiving. I failed. Quite well, I might add. This year almost did me in. A new position at work, Brad working overtime. Austin starting college. Jessica's errant work schedule. Christmas occurred in one day. We made it a good day. Jessica did not get home until after 4 pm. Austin, Brad, and I spent the day sipping coffee, listening to Christmas music, and watching the lights on the tree. I even snuck in some reading as Brad cooked.Each year I vow to get the decorations out of storage, and each year I don't find all of them. Our tree usually has lights with Star Trek ornaments on it. This year, okay, every year for the past three, I can't find the lights. Every year I end up buying lights at the last minute. Last minute means buying whatever is left on the shelf at Fred Meyer's. This year that meant blue and purple outside lights. Only the purple lights look pink when on. No one got around to putting the Star Trek battle up.I asked everyone who had time, whether they enjoyed Christmas or not. Everyone who had a family said no. The majority of people said stress took the fun away. Customers expressed more anger than good cheer.This coming year will be different. I am reclaiming Christmas. I want more time to talk to loved ones. I want to see the boat parade. I want to attend midnight mass. I want being instead of buying. I want to light a candle for loved ones who warm my soul.
Posted by: CJ / 10:47 PM
Wind whirls the snow around me. Difficulty keeping my eyes open. No horizon, only white. Seattle is in the midst of a snowstorm. Gold Bar may have snow falling or the wind is only redistributing what the sky already gave, I can't tell. I sweep the front steps. A dragon could be flying towards me right now and I wouldn't know. With the wind stretching powerfully, I imagine they are sleeping on Mt. Index, one eye open to the beauty below. Watching the top of a snow globe just turned.
Posted by: CJ / 3:08 PM
Sunday, January 04, 2004
I stand outside as snow falls quietly around. All noise is muzzled to silence. I can hear my heart. Each beat reminds me of the ones I love, the ones who will always have a place. Thank you.
Posted by: CJ / 12:26 AM
Friday, January 02, 2004
You notice his eyes. Blue, green, yellow, and brown all mixed together. I am reminded of a brook where the water eddies slowly. Moss covered rocks cover the bottom with sunshine piercing from above. Blue water swirling around. His eyes are unusual as a light appears to shine from behind. The lines around his eyes accentuate them like a frame, drawing your vision to them. They remind me of my father's eyes. His always appeared to have a light shining out also. Next, I notice his smile. From ear to ear. The easy smile of someone who lives life without grudges, without judgment. His hair is cut close and what shows is speckled with white. His face shows someone who has been outdoors much of the time.Before me is a man who is middle-aged and has lived a hard life, but all I see is a small boy who loves life and considers everyone he meets a friend.We embrace. After all these years I still find it odd that he is taller than me. Most of the time that I spent with him, he was quite smaller than me.This man is my littler brother. Out of nowhere he appeared at the store last Tuesday night, 9:40 pm. He has stopped in before, but never when I was there.We sit and talk. I can't stop looking at his eyes. The light from his eyes is radiant. I let him know I have to start closing the store in a few minutes, but we can chat for ten minutes. We hastily compare schedules and tentatively make plans to have dinner on a Monday evening, just Keith and I.We catch up on the usual. Then I mention his daughter wrote about the Christmas trees from her childhood. They were unusual as my brother hung them from the ceiling and walls to keep small children safe. He immediately started explaining how he cut a hole in the ceiling, hung the tree, and watered it from above. I am totally uninterested in the how, only the effect of my statement.At the mere mention of his daughter's name, his face lights up, no - glows. Every muscle in his body stands taller, the weariness gone. He does not have to tell me he loves his daughter, his body confesses all. His love reminds me he has always loved freely. Truly, unconditionally. If my brother loves you, he does not need reminders, letters, contact. He loves you. Period. Many years ago, I requested a meeting with Keith with the expressed desire to meet more often, for our young families to spend more time together. He told me he didn't want to. That we met as often as he felt he needed. I went home to Brad, crestfallen, but not wanting to push myself on anyone, I let it be. Shortly afterward, we moved to Tucson and then to Anchorage. In essence, we have not had regular contact for over ten years.In the interim, I have learned to live in the moment, without everything planned out in advance. I am content to have my brother, who owns no phone, suddenly appear and just as quickly, disappear.I can accept his sudden appearance without judgment, without feeling slighted at his absence. His appearance brings joy, delight, a reminder to enjoy the ones you love, without conditions, without strings attached. A young boy and girl enter a room filled with adults. The boy runs up to everyone talking. They laugh and remark how delightful he is. The girl holds back, shy, watching the boy light up the room. She is not jealous, just wishing she were not so shy, wishing she had the easy way of delighting adults as her little brother does.I am filled with warmth and love when Keith comes running into my life. He still retains the heart of his childhood. For that he is blessed.
Posted by: CJ / 5:17 PM
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
12/01/2003 - 12/31/2003
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
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
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
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