A Glimpse of Monastery Life

Recently, my husband and I spent a couple days at a Bed and Breakfast run by nuns at a Benedictine monastery.  This was a gift from friends and provided some much needed reflective time.  This inn has only four rooms/suites and since we were the only guests, we got lots of attention.

In the morning we had the choice of eating in the inn or going over to the monastery dining room.  We chose the dining room.  Since the sisters eat in silence during breakfast on weekdays, the sister took us to another small dining room where we could talk.  The nice part about it was that she joined us.  In the evening delicious desserts were brought over to us and once again the sister stayed and chatted with us.

The first morning we joined the sisters for morning prayer at 8:30 a.m. in their beautiful chapel.  This was a serene way to begin our day.  We could have also joined them for mass later in the morning, but opted instead to do our own reading in our suite.  In the early afternoon there was a special concert given by 98 junior high students who were traveling north—what a delightful surprise they were.  After the concert we decided to explore the monastery’s nature trails, beginning with the 14 Stations of the Cross which led to their cemetery.  Even though there was a light rain and the uphill sections were a bit steep, we enjoyed our hike through the forest and meadows.

During our conversations with the two sisters who hosted us, we learned a lot about their lives.  They grew up in the area and joined the community as teenagers—that was 58 years ago for one of them.  However, these women have not been separated from the world.  Looking at them, you would not guess that they are nuns since they no longer wear a habit or veil.  Both of these women have advanced degrees; they had to leave the monastery’s rural community to accomplish this.  One worked as an RN then as a chaplain; she lived away from the community for 14 years.  The other nun taught and travelled all over the country either studying or working for the church; she’s had an interesting life.

Currently 43 sisters live at the monastery and another dozen live outside the community.  The majority of them are senior citizens.  Years ago they were totally self-sufficient.  They still have their gardens but now hire cooks.  In the past when a skill was needed in the community, one of them would go out and learn it.  For example, when they stopped wearing habits and veils, they needed to pay attention to their hair so one of the sisters went out and got training in cosmetology.

This Benedictine community is based on prayer, faith, justice, peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  They embrace hospitality as one of their core values.  We felt their love and hospitality during our visit and left refreshed and rested.

Summer Days in the Country

“Red rover, red rover, send Davy right over.”  We gripped each other’s hands as tightly as possible, but being older and bigger, my cousin, Davy, almost always broke through our line.  It was a million years ago. . . or maybe just yesterday that my three cousins, my brother, sister, and I would play in the grass in front of our grandparents’ home.  The summer heat would only slow us down for a moment, and then we’d be off doing something else.  Cops and robbers (or cowboys and Indians) was always exciting—you never knew when the other side would jump out at you.  My grandparents lived in the country and there were so many places to run and hide.  I looked forward to our week at my grandparents’ place—the warm sun on my back; running around with the cousins (although we were never barefoot like them); picking blackberries for my grandma’s pies; cats everywhere; chasing the geese and the geese chasing us; my grandpa calling his cows; watching the pigs; feeding the (somewhat) tame raccoon M&Ms; fishing in the pond with my dad; presenting our plays on the front porch for family; the shed with old clothes, antiques, and lots of spiders; sharing a big bed with my sister and several dogs and cats; the family gathered on the front lawn on July 4^th watching my uncle set off small fireworks. . . Ah, such great memories!  It almost makes me want to head outside and run barefoot through the grass. . . but maybe I’ll just wait until I can make a blackberry pie instead.

Shadows of Redemptive Violence

Redemptive violence

Myth of Christianity

Entwined in teachings

Myth that eclipses

Jesus’ loving example

A nonviolent life

Is peace through war right?

And security through strength?

What would Jesus do?

We kill those who kill

Hit children to teach it’s wrong

Where is compassion?

Did a loving God

Require a blood sacrifice

To pay for our sins?

Jesus taught God’s love

Face of God in human form

A new covenant

Daffodils and Sunshine

There are daffodils blooming in my front yard.  They were there to greet me when I arrived home from Florida—the first flowers that I saw.  When I awoke the next morning and looked out my window, I noticed that the forsythia and quince were also blooming, a sure sign that spring had arrived in Boise.  Finally.  However, after enjoying the warm Florida weather, the temperatures in Boise were not quite what I wanted.  Yes, we did have a few days that passed 70 degrees, but mostly it was much colder and cloudy.

Somehow spring seemed to blossom on Easter morning.  Oh, it started out cold, 35 degrees Fahrenheit, but it was sunny and the temperature eventually reached high 70s.  A beautiful day.  Was it just the weather that affected my spring mood?  The end of the week was especially gloomy.  On Thursday, a church friend, somebody I had prayed with, died unexpectedly.  Sadness overwhelmed me—such a loss.  On Good Friday I participated in the service at my church.  Stories were told from the perspective of the people who loved Jesus—powerful and moving.  Three other women and I were the friends of Mary who went to the cross.  We moved to music—no words.  “Mary” was grief-stricken and collapsed at the foot of the cross—we supported her.  This was so emotional, affecting both us and the people gathered in the sanctuary.

What a contrast Easter Sunday was!  Joy filled our sanctuary; the Spirit moved among us.  I think we carried it out the doors with us (which is the way it should be).  Easter gives us hope, just as spring does.  It’s a time of rebirth.  I look at my yard, just beginning to come to life and I see possibilities.  Color punctuates the once gray landscape.  In the sunshine and color, I find renewed energy.  Now, if I can just apply this new hope to my life, I too can begin to blossom.

Random Haiku

Random thoughts abound

So many things cloud my mind

How to write my blog?

Statehouse is quiet

Thank God they have all gone home

Prepare for next year

Florida was fun

Big party for Uncle Ray

At ninety years young

Dipped toes in ocean

Ron Jon Surf Shop, Cocoa Beach

Cool new sunglasses

Bob’s mom in wheelchair

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

Sunshine and photos

Coughing continues

Seek relief from my doctor

Antibiotics

Supreme Court ponders

Will my daughter have healthcare?

What if she doesn’t?

Back to the job search

The pickings are slim these days

What am I to do?

Holy Week begins

And Lenten reflections end

What do I believe?

Jesus, executed

For his radical beliefs

Can I follow him?

Jesus, example

Of how God wants me to live

Lord, give me courage

Darkness descended

But God’s love reigns over all

Easter gives me hope

Childhood Girl Scout Memories

This past week, on March 12, Girl Scouts celebrated their 100^th birthday.  In honor of this special day, I posted some old Girl Scout photos on my Facebook page which elicited plenty of comments from old friends.  Such wonderful memories we all have!  I became a Brownie Girl Scout in 2^nd grade, at that time the youngest age that a girl could join.  I continued in Girl Scouting through my senior year in high school.  In fact, I rejoined Girl Scouts as an adult to be a leader for my own girls, and then later I also took on the role of Service Unit Director.  However, the childhood memories are the ones that returned this week. 

In those days our troops were big; my photo of our Junior troop shows 32 girls in 4^th-6^th grade and I’m sure some girls were missing (and I thought I had a big troop as a leader with 22 girls).  Nearly everybody wore a Girl Scout uniform, complete with accessories, to school for our after school meetings.  We were proud to wear them.  Girl Scout cookies could not be preordered.  We would go out in pairs, ringing doorbells in our neighborhoods.  We carried cookie boxes in a cardboard box with handles.  I remember that I could never get enough thin mints to sell.  I have wonderful memories of taking a bus to day camp and doing fun activities like making crafts out of eucalyptus bark and pods.  I attended week-long Girl Scout camps and had wonderful adventures.  We learned to canoe and I acquired an appreciation for backpacking which carried into my adult life.  One year as a young teenager, a friend and I went on a burro pack trip into a wilderness area.  We learned how to pack and handle our burros, very stubborn animals.  This turned out to be more of an adventure than we expected—an unusual summer snowstorm forced us to hike out a week early. 

My biggest Girl Scout adventure was our trip to Europe.  When my friends and I were in 8^th grade we were talking about how some of their older sisters had gone to Our Cabana, the Girl Scout/Girl Guide house in Mexico.  We decided that we could do better than that—we should visit Our Chalet, the Girl Guide house in Adelboden, Switzerland.  This discussion led to the formation of a travel group from girls in our Cadette troop, in grades 7-9.  We worked hard for 3 years to earn money by doing newspaper collections, a spaghetti feed, a fashion show, and many other fundraisers.  There was plenty of time to decide where we would go—the final itinerary included not only Switzerland, but the Netherlands, England, France, Italy, and Austria plus a split with us going in different directions (my group went to Ireland).  The big day came after my junior year in high school.  Our families all went to see us off at the airport—it was the first airplane flight for many of us.  There were 17 of us plus four mother chaperones.  We were so excited.  If I remember correctly, our trip was only 21 days, so we never spent more than 2-3 days in one place, with the exception of Switzerland.  Oh the Alps, how beautiful they were.  I felt like Heidi, walking through the wildflowers with the snow covered peaks always in view.  We met girls from different countries at Our Chalet, but we were surprised at how many were from our own country.  I could go on and on with stories about our travels (and my friends could add more), but I would have to say that my favorite country was Italy because the people were so friendly.  Now 17 girls did attract a lot of attention, especially from men (and Italian men are notorious).  I especially remember a group of Italian nurses who tried to communicate with us—they didn’t know English and we didn’t know Italian.  However, they managed to tell us they were nurses by pantomiming a hypodermic needle.  And when we indicated we were from San Francisco (the closest large city to us), they broke into a chorus of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”  Such delightful memories. 

As I look back on these memories as an adult, I realize how much Girl Scouting influenced my life.  At the time, I was just having fun with my friends.  I learned valuable leadership skills and how to make plans and organize.  I learned how to live, work, and play with others.  I developed a love for the outdoors which sustains me today.  My appreciation for other cultures was nurtured through folk dances, music, programs celebrating the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts, and of course, my trip to Europe.  I am not afraid to try new things, to be adventurous, and to be curious about the world around me.  Through Girl Scouting I gained confidence in myself.  I thank Juliette Gordon Low for that first troop she started in Savannah, Georgia, 100 years ago.

Writing Exercises

Today I attended a writers’ workshop, my very first one.  We tried a variety of exercises and prompts, learning how to summon ideas to write about from the deep recesses of our minds and hearts.  I truly found this helpful and will be using these suggestions to assist me in writing this blog.  I would like to share one below, not because I think it is particularly good, but because it is a stretch for me.  I am not a poet, probably having been damaged in my early years with requirements of rhyming and meter.  This exercise is a run-on poem asking “what if?” and was completed in just a few minutes.

What If?

What if all people

lived as if in a musical

when something made them happy

they would burst into song

and sing at the top of their lungs

and people nearby would join in

singing and dancing with joy

all the people in love

would express their feelings

without playing games

without keeping them inside

but shared honestly with their love

all the people in anguish

would cry out with songs of melancholy

letting tears flow unchecked

and people nearby would join in

or run to comfort with tissues and hugs

all the people’s stories

would have happy endings

just like my favorite musicals

and people would move on with their lives

with smiles on their faces

Well, I have a long way to go, but it’s a start.

What Happened to Dreaming?

A couple of days ago I attended a leadership conference where the speaker suggested that people have stopped dreaming.  That caused me to think.  What happened to dreaming?  When was the last time I dreamed about my future?  The sad thing is that I can’t remember.  Oh, like most little girls of my generation, I dreamed of finding my Prince Charming, getting married, and having a family.  I also dreamed of going off to college and having a career.  I had some interesting jobs after college, but it wasn’t easy.  However, there were possibilities.  That all ended when we moved to Idaho.  I went from career options to jobs—or no job.  Other dreams?  I seem to have forgotten those along the way, too.  I realize that I have lived in the present for a long time.  I look at our young adults, my two daughters included.  In these current economic times, do they still dream?  So many people simply concentrate on getting by, day by day.  Dreaming is a luxury.  Somehow I want to be like a child and be able to dream again.

Celebrating Motherhood

Twenty-seven years ago yesterday, I became a mother for the first time.  In some ways it feels like a very long time ago—so much has happened since then.  On the other hand, it seems like only yesterday.  Where did the years go?  I remember arriving at the hospital, the realization that this baby was in a hurry to be born—they tossed the scrubs to my husband and told him to meet us in the delivery room.  I remember holding my brand new baby.  There is nothing so precious.  Suddenly my life changed.  With the first baby, everything is new and you really aren’t sure if you’re doing it right.  Time teaches that the details don’t matter.  Love, and lots of it, gets you through.  There were so many new experiences along the way: first tooth, solid food, first step, preschool, friends, dance lessons and performances, getting on that school bus for kindergarten, learning to ride a bike, dancing in the Nutcracker, Brownie meeting (with mom as leader) then Junior and Cadette Girl Scouts, braces, camp, surgeries, crushes, high school, dates, dance team, dance trophies, stress fracture, college far away from home, marriage, a job.  I watched my cute little blonde girl blossom into a lovely young woman.  Along with the joys there have been plenty of bumps along the way; it has been an adventure.  Today I give thanks for my beautiful daughter who has been a blessing in my life.

Bipolar Weather

March most definitely came in like a lion this year.  On Thursday, March 1, it snowed all morning.  Not what you want to see at the beginning of March.  By the afternoon it was sunny.  This Sunday morning when we woke up it was sunny, but it was a chilly 30 degrees.  However, by afternoon the thermometer hit 63 degrees.  People were out bicycling; we took our dogs for a pleasant walk along the river.  Tomorrow it is supposed to be even warmer, a balmy 65 degrees.  Just so we don’t get too used to spring weather, Mother Nature decided to mix things up—weather forecasters are predicting snow on Tuesday.  Again.  This is so confusing.  I don’t know what to wear when I get up in the morning.  Do I take a variety of clothes with me if I go somewhere?  Like a T-shirt and snow boots?  Definitely bipolar weather.  How many more weeks until spring?

The Interview

On Thursday night I went to a second interview for a job that interests me; the first interview was the previous night.  While I still get nervous for interviews, I think I’m getting to be a bit of a pro at them.  In fact, I think I could give the interviewers some advice.  Nearly all job interviews that I’ve had in the past year have been conducted by a team of at least three people.  This is what they call the stress interview.  While I understand why employers want to bring a number of interested parties in to meet the applicants, I am not convinced that this is the best way to assess a person.  It requires the applicant to constantly look around the room, not maintaining eye contact with any one person.  It is more stressful and some people handle it better than others.  Depending on the job, the employer may not be catching what they want to know about the person.  

And the questions.  Many of the places I’ve applied to do not have HR departments; I’m convinced that they Google “good questions to ask job applicants.”  It does seem important that the questions match the job and tell the employer something about the applicant’s ability to do the job.  Twice now, in an interview for an administrative assistant, I’ve been asked to tell them about a project where I was successful, and one where the project failed and how I handled it.  Since I couldn’t use work experience, I had to pull up a volunteer project which really has little relation to the duties of the job for which I was applying.  I have been asked about my career goals.  Now I know that I look a bit younger than my actual age, but they must be able to figure out that I am over 50.  I talked about a job.  What do they want me to say?  My goal is to be retired in less than 10 years?  Sometimes you have to adjust the questions to the applicant.  Last night I did get some good specific skill-related questions, but you’d be amazed at the number times I’ve been asked the “name a time when. . .” sort of questions.  

Right now I am waiting to hear from my references, wondering if they have been contacted.  If I were doing the interviewing, I would check references for the top three candidates.  References could change the equation.  I have great references, but I am not a salesperson.  I have learned to get through an interview fairly well, but I know that there are others who can talk up a storm and sell themselves better than I can.  However, that does not mean that they can do the job better than me.  I would be a great employee; just give me a chance.

Remembering Pixi

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the death of a very dear family member, our cat, Pixi-Paws.  Pixi was actually our daughter, Laura’s fifteenth birthday present.  We drove to our local Humane Society so Laura could make the choice herself.  She even had the name picked out before we got there, although Pixi ended up being anything but small.  Pixi was around 6 months old when we adopted her and soon grew to be a very round girl.  Although Pixi was definitely Laura’s baby, she became beloved by all of us.  When Laura went off to college and then was unable to take her afterwards, she remained with us.

Pixi was not your normal cat.  She was very talkative and tended to squeak or chirp rather than meow.  And she would come when we called which almost never happens with a cat. Perhaps it was because she thought food was involved.  Pixi lived to eat and would spend long periods of time waiting for her next meal.  Although she was a lot to hold, she loved to be cuddled and would often lick our faces.  She didn’t discriminate either.  Dogs were okay with her.  She would hang out with our dogs if allowed.  Late in her life, I observed her licking our dog, Piper’s head several times; Piper seemed to like it.

Pixi tried to hunt with little success.  It was comical to watch her run with her fat swinging from side to side.   Our other cat, Mandy, was an excellent hunter, but didn’t care to eat her prey so ended up supplementing Pixi’s diet.  As Mandy aged and stopped hunting, somehow Pixi began catching things.  Amazingly, one day she managed to catch a squirrel—and immediately ate it.  (I am so glad I didn’t witness that one.)

Pixi had her share of adventures.  She may have been loveable, but she was certainly not the brightest cat I’ve ever had.  There was the time she disappeared for 3 days.  We looked all over, called her name, asked our neighbors.  Our yard is an acre and we combed every inch.  I had to call Laura, in college at the time, and tell her Pixi was missing—she was heartbroken.  One afternoon, I began yelling her name from our deck.  I thought I heard something so I kept yelling, following the noise, getting closer and closer to a very plaintive meow.  I ended up standing next to our neighbor’s house and there was Pixi.  She had fallen into the well of the house’s crawl space.  I needed to jump down to grab her.  I had one happy cat and a very relieved daughter.  Pixi ended up stuck in a crawl space one time after that, only that time it was under our own house.  We figured out that both times she had probably been startled by fireworks and had tried to hide.

Pixi could be very territorial.  It took us a while to figure out that it was our sweet cat starting the fights with neighbor cats, resulting in visits to the vet.  Then there was the time I spotted her running to the back of our yard after a raccoon; you can bet I retrieved her very quickly.  One day I was gazing out the back door and I noticed a fox running around our large evergreen tree, running from something.  To my astonishment, Pixi appeared—the fox was running from Pixi!  Suddenly the fox stopped and turned around, a sort of “wait a minute” moment.  Now, the next minute might have been immensely entertaining, but envisioning another trip to the vet, I quickly opened the door and yelled, scaring the fox away.

Although Pixi was generally sweet and cuddly, she became a tiger when we tried to put medicine down her.  We would roll her in a towel, Bob would straddle her and hold her, yet she would still somehow manage to scratch or bite me or spit out her medicine (the pink stuff was the most delightful).

Pixi’s weight became a concern in the latter part of her life, requiring a special diet.  Mandy’s food was put up on the counter since Pixi could not jump up well due to her size.  However, she was always looking for ways to sneak food.  She could pry open cabinets with her paws; we had to tie them closed. She would get up on the small bookcase in the next room and peer around the doorway longingly.  When we weren’t watching, she would jump onto a kitchen chair, next to the table and somehow (it should not have been aerodynamically possible) she would jump across to the kitchen counter and run around to Mandy’s food.  It took a concerted effort to get this cat’s weight down.

By the fall before her death at age 11, Pixi began to have kidney problems.  She seemed to improve, then became very ill in January of last year.  The vets did what they could.  She mostly stopped eating, totally uncharacteristic for her; my encouragement did little to persuade her to eat.  I was stuffing special veterinary food down her throat and sometimes injecting fluids.  As we approached the end of February, it became clear that there was no hope.  It was difficult to watch her fade away.  Bob flew out of town on February 25 (my last day on my job).  Before he left, he dug a hole for me.  By this time Pixi was so weak that I moved her from place to place.  On Saturday night, February 26, I put her in her favorite spot on the couch, then sat next to her and spent the evening there.  Periodically I talked to her, petted her, and told her I loved her.  At one point she picked up her paw and placed it on my hand which was next to her, sort of an acknowledgement of me, I think.  It is hard to express what this little cat gesture meant to me—I will never forget it.

That night I placed Pixi in her cat bed.  In the morning she was very limp but still alive.  I put her back in her favorite spot; she was so cold that I covered her with a blanket.  I left for church and when I returned she was gone.  Tears flowed.  Laura called me before I could call her.  I broke the sad news to the rest of the family.  It was tough, but I managed to bury her before dark.  Her grave is now marked by a headstone from Laura and a bright bunch of artificial daffodils.

I can’t believe an entire year has passed, my dear Pixi.  I still miss you and will never forget you.

An Interfaith Gathering

So much of what we see in the news today is negative.  It seems that this nation and our world are more divided than ever.  The cause of much of this strife is religion, especially religion of the fundamentalist variety.  Many people simple cannot accept anyone whose beliefs are different from their own.  At the extreme, the “non-believers” become “they” and are demonized.

Tonight I attended an interfaith event for prayer and reflection on peace.  Nine different faith communities shared.  The evening began with a reading and a song led by the Unitarian Universalist pastor followed by a contemporary song led by a rabbi on a guitar.  The prayer of St. Francis of Assisi was offered by my pastor, and then the Ilowan’s Children shared their Metta prayer.  We all sang together:

“May all beings have fresh, clean water; may all beings have food to eat.

May all beings share love with someone; may all beings have a home.

May all beings know their true purpose, be well and happy and free from strife.

May all beings be free from suffering, to this cause I give my life.”

This was simple and sweet, reflecting universal desires—sung by 100+ people of different faiths.  The next participant was from the Muslim community; he shared an ancient writing about “your mission of peace,” meaningful and apropos for our times.

After each piece we sat in silence then a bell was rung and the next participant(s) rose.  During the first times we sat in silence, I noticed a restlessness among the crowd, perhaps people uncomfortable with the long period of quiet.  However, by the time we got to the meditation, I noticed a distinct difference.  A woman from the Eckankar community led us in the Hu song, sort of a long hum—I found it centered me.  The silence that followed was easy, peaceful.  A Sufi master led us in a guided meditation, again very introspective, yet connecting us to the earth and all life.

We sang together “Faith Is Being Open,” a song written by a member of the Metropolitan Community Church, a congregation that specifically welcomes GLBT people.  Our evening concluded with a meaningful world religions candle lighting and beautiful music.

This was a special evening for those present, one I wish I could have shared with more people.  There were open hearts, acceptance.  In the quiet I could feel the Spirit moving among us.  In truth we worship the same God; we just experience God in different ways.  Tonight we came together and shared.  There was no “they,” only “we.”  Love reigned.  We will do this again.

Sick Days

I am not sick very often. When I catch a cold, I tend to keep on going—perhaps I’ll go to bed earlier, take Vitamin C, etc., but I try to keep up with my normal daily activities. Not this time. My husband has been coughing for nearly 2 weeks. He gave it to me. I didn’t feel bad so I kept on going. Two days ago I was feeling achy, so I went to the YMCA to loosen up my stiff joints. Not a good idea. By early evening I was running a low grade fever and had to cancel my plans for the evening. Yesterday, I convinced my husband to go on a “date” to the doctor; we came out with matching antibiotics. (It’s so nice to share.) By evening I had a high fever. I vegetated in an easy chair in front of the TV (which I never do). Today I woke up with a headache so I stayed home. I realize that I don’t play the sick role very well. I never nap but today I did. I don’t feel like doing anything, can’t think clearly, yet I’m bored. Clearly I’m spoiled. That’s not to say I don’t have my aches and pains, but I do manage to muddle through with those problems most of the time. How would I handle a serious illness that affected my ability to function both physically and mentally? I honestly don’t know. I suppose I take for granted the ability to be doing something constantly. I tend to be driven by the need to be productive—that old Puritan work ethic. Now I need to take a break from that for a few days and just get well. And I am reminded to be grateful for my usual good health.

It Is Still Winter

I knew this would happen. And of course it would be TODAY when I had an early morning medical appointment. I cracked open the front door to see if it was raining and to my surprise snow blanketed the ground. Snow? Two days ago it felt like spring. It was sunny, 50 degrees, and my neighbor was working in her yard. People shed their winter coats. I knew it was too good to last--it IS still winter. I started the car, and then returned a bit later, planning to brush off the snow. But no, the snow was frozen to the windshield. I should have suspected as much when I nearly fell after slipping on ice while walking to the car. After some scraping and grumbling, I was off to my appointment. How many more weeks of winter? I am so ready for spring.

Lawmakers Affirm Discrimination in Idaho

Discrimination. Bigotry. Will it ever end? If you live in Idaho, it is easy to believe that it will not. Today, fellow church members and I sat through a print hearing for a bill to add the words “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” to the Idaho Human Rights Act. So many people were there to support this bill that they had to move the hearing to another room. Didn’t make a difference. The senator who presented the bill was emotional but stated his case well. Didn’t make a difference. No questions. No discussion. The motion to print the bill was voted down on a strict party-line vote—two Democrats voted for it and seven Republicans voted against it. They said absolutely nothing to the approximately 250 people who sat there in support. Gutless. There were gasps of disbelief. Tears. This is an issue that deeply affects the lives of many people in this state. These senators did not care. They did not want to listen. “Idaho is too great for hate.” Maybe someday that will become the truth in this state. In the meantime, discrimination is alive and well in Idaho.

Waiting for Spring

When winter overwhelms me, I remind myself to think of spring. Waiting is hard. I picture a butterfly suspended in its cocoon. To a casual observer, there doesn’t seem to be much happening. However, inside that protective cover an amazing transformation is taking place, a process not even the butterfly understands. When the time is right, and only then, a beautiful creature emerges, ready to spread its wings. Not everyone makes it through this change. But there is hope for a new beginning. It takes a bit of faith.

Does God Have the Right Job for Me?

After suffering through two job losses this past year, friends and family have tried to comfort and encourage me by saying that God has just the right job for me. And when I didn’t get the job I wanted, it was that God has something else in mind. Of course there’s the often quoted phrase, “when God closes one door, He opens another.” I did respond that I didn’t want to blame God for my job loss. I would love to believe that God has that perfect job for me, and at the right time God will simply hand it to me. However, I don’t really think that’s how God operates. Oh, it would be SO much easier if God had a plan for me, if God would simply tap me on the shoulder and say, “Do this!” It would be much simpler. But life doesn’t seem to work that way—it is more complex than that. God gave us brains and free will. I think we were intended to exercise them. It seems that God works in much more subtle ways, perhaps with gentle nudges. It is up to us to listen and to make choices for ourselves.

Contrasts

Lifeless trees punctuated by blue sky—the whole world seems to be lit up on this cold winter day. Squirrels scurry through the bare branches of the cottonwoods, going about their business. The sound of distant traffic and honking geese provide a kind of white noise. Contrasts. I am struck by how bright the sunlight is today and yet how dead the trees appear. And here I sit. Caught between the two. Motivation escapes me today. In fact, I think if it weren’t for the sunshine, I wouldn’t have gotten up today. I stare up at the branches outside my window—so stark right now, but in a few months the life within will become obvious as green leaves appear. Let’s see what the spring brings.

Add the Words, Idaho

Yesterday, I attended a rally at our state capitol building for Add the Words, Idaho. This is a movement to get our state legislature to add the words “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” to Idaho’s Human Rights Act. Nearly 1,000 were in attendance, plus there were other rallies across the state. In Idaho, gay and transgender people live in fear of losing their jobs, losing their housing, or being denied services or education simply because of who they are. These Idaho citizens are being denied basic human rights. For six years now activists have tried to get protection for these people, only to be denied a public hearing by those who control the legislature in this very conservative state. This year, the strategy has been to leave sticky notes on doors inside the capitol building, asking our representatives to “add the words.” Messages have come from all over the state and have been stuck to the doors. Yesterday, all of us attending were asked to write a message on a sticky note. At the end of the rally we all silently filed into the capitol, walked upstairs to the house and senate chambers, and stuck our messages to the glass doors. One big hurdle has been met—a print hearing will be held this coming week. Hopefully they will listen to us.

So Far Away

At this point, I am accustomed to being an empty nester. What’s difficult is being so far away from my girls—I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with that. Tonight I had a nice long talk with my older daughter. She had complained earlier today, while we were chatting via instant message, that I never call her. That’s not quite true, but I have found that she either doesn’t answer her phone or is busy when I call so I wait for her to call me. However, tonight I called her. We talked about our weekend plans and we talked about God. We discussed her friends and their children. She told me about her job, her frustrations, her new supervisory responsibilities and how much she loves her company. She and her husband plan to visit her grandmother in Florida in September and she suggested maybe we can join them. Perhaps we can fly out to see them in North Carolina. We want to see each other but money and jobs (or my lack of one) get in the way. I am so pleased to see how her life is taking shape despite her personal challenges. I am so very proud of her and I’ve told her so. I would just like to be able to tell her in person and give her a hug. A big hug.

Reflecting on Socks

Recently, I needed to shop for socks. The cold January weather required me to replace the knee socks with the holes in the heels. I browsed through the hosiery section of a local store, ignoring the cheap (foreign) brands that don’t last and finally chose an American brand which was more expensive, but on sale. What surprised me was how excited I was about my new socks. I mean, when I was younger, I really didn’t think much about socks. Today I truly enjoyed putting on a pair of new socks, admiring the pattern. What does this say about me? I’m getting old and boring? That I really need to find a job? Oh well, I’m off to stare at my socks some more. . .

A Time to Slow Down

We just returned from an enjoyable couple days with friends in Sun Valley. I was struck how our time there has changed over the years. Our friends bought their condo 25 years ago and have invited us to join them there since the beginning. In those early days they had a baby and we had a toddler, so we took turns going out to cross country ski or shop, etc. Soon the second children came along and as soon as they were able, we strapped children’s cross country skis onto their snow boots and encouraged them to move. Needless to say, we didn’t go far and the adults didn’t get much skiing in. Before long the children were all using actual cross country skis and they were able to go farther. Our days would also include ice skating at the Sun Valley rink, sledding behind the condo, shopping or visiting galleries in Ketchum, and dinner in town. Their kids learned to downhill ski so sometimes we would go our separate ways, and then meet for lunch. Sometimes lunch would be at the Galena Lodge at Galena Summit, after which we would all go cross country skiing together. We did eat and rest at the condo a bit, but it seems like we were always on the go.

Gradually, the kids got older and their activities prevented us from meeting in Sun Valley every year. In the past we had discussed how there would be a time when we would be together there without the kids. That time has come; all four of our children have graduated from college. One is married and another is engaged. We see our friends sporadically, not nearly often enough. I think we especially noticed a distinct change this time. When we arrived late Saturday afternoon, we were content to sit and catch up with each other. We headed out early the next morning to go snowshoeing with a bird group at a nature preserve. We didn’t find the bird group, but enjoyed following the trail on our own, losing the trail, crawling through brush, laughing, taking photos, and looking for birds. By the time we were back to the condo for a late lunch, we realized that we had all had enough for the day and cancelled our plans to go out cross country skiing. Instead we sat and talked-- for hours, later heading to a local Italian restaurant where the conversation continued. We’re all getting older and our bodies are slowing us down. We can’t go out and do everything we used to do. However, in the process, we have found something else, something more precious. We did get our cross country skiing in; we simply went the next morning, took our time on the trail, and by the time we needed to quit, my aging body was ready. I will be looking at my trips to Sun Valley from a different perspective from now on.

Looking for a Job

This past year was not the best year for me; I lost my job—twice. I am currently receiving unemployment, but I only qualify for 10 weeks (another story) and that ends soon. I search for work daily online (which is how you must do it these days) and try to apply for at least two jobs a week—an unemployment requirement—but that is tough. There are just not many jobs out there. I hear criticism of the unemployed, adjectives such as lazy, unskilled, and uneducated. That is not true in my case and I don’t believe it is true of the majority of unemployed.

We moved to Idaho from California over 28 years ago. At that time I was making the equivalent of $10 per hour (I was salaried) working for a not-for-profit and that was not considered to be a great wage. All these years later, I see many jobs offered for $8-10 per hour, and many of these are not entry level jobs. A living wage is more than that. The sad truth in Idaho is that more than half of all jobs do not pay a living wage. I have a college degree and over 10 years of paid administrative experience, not to mention loads of volunteer experience. (I also have years of research experience which is useless in Idaho.) I have great references. I am ready and willing to work for a living wage. While I have come close to being hired, close isn’t good enough. So I continue to look and look and look. . .

Let it Snow

The snow finally arrived yesterday. And what a storm it was—it snowed for hours. (And this is a desert.) Roads got slick, cars slid off the road, people arrived late to wherever they were heading, and events were cancelled. With all the mess and inconvenience, there were few complaints. Normally that would not be true towards the end of January. However, this was the first real snow we have received all season. The west has been dry, and the ski resorts empty. We have missed, longed for the snow. People were posting photos on Facebook, showing yards, streets, and cars covered with the white stuff. It was beautiful during the storm. I think the long delay made us all appreciate something we take for granted, and frequently grumble about when we have to drive in it or shovel it. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. . .

The Hunger Issue

Tonight I attended a meeting on hunger where we learned about a couple of exciting new projects in Idaho. One is a “train the trainer” software program designed to educate people trying to help others with the SNAP (food stamp) program. The other program walks small communities through a process of figuring out how to set up programs specific to their own needs. And since the legislature is now in session, there was discussion on what is coming up next.

I have been interested in the hunger issue for a long time. In fact, years ago I served as a VISTA volunteer and helped to set up our state’s surplus food warehouse. As time has passed, it is apparent to me that while we need to feed hungry people, we need to work more on the root causes. This is a justice issue. There is no reason for anybody to be hungry in this country—there is plenty of food. Why are working people receiving food stamps? Shouldn’t they be paid a living wage? (Less than half of workers in this state actually receive a living wage.) The divide between the wealthy and everybody else is growing wider and wider. Greed rules in this country. Something needs to change.

Remembering Dr. King

I am resuming my long neglected blog on the day that we honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Today I have been posting my favorite quotes from him on my Facebook page. At noon I joined others at our statehouse in a ceremony honoring Dr. King and human rights. It’s hard to believe that if he had lived, he would be 83 years old. The keynote address was entitled “Have We Gotten There Yet?” (Marilyn Schuler). Idaho has come a long way but we are not there yet. Our nation is not there yet.

We have made great strides in civil rights. Attitudes have changed significantly; we even have a (half) black president. However, we continue to hear racist comments directed at him and his family, even by some of our leaders. Women have made great gains over the last century, but as a woman, I can tell you we are not equal yet. Perhaps one day we will have a woman president; it was depressing to listen to the sexist comments from both Republicans and Democrats while Hillary Clinton was running for president. It is illegal to discriminate against people because of their religion or disabilities. We have a long way to go in the fight for GLBT rights.

This country is more sharply divided than perhaps any other time in our history. Presidential campaigns seem to bring out the worst in people. The far right is pushing hard for their agenda, which includes discrimination against people who are not like them, especially GLBT people. The ads are nasty; some of the comments I see posted online are venomous, just simply awful. We have elected officials who refuse to compromise. Their rhetoric only serves to fan the hatred among the faithful.

What can one person do in light of this toxic political environment? It is overwhelming but we must move forward. History proves that one person can make a difference. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable ... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”

As a follower of Jesus, my desire is to reach out in love to my fellow human beings. Christians should be leading the call for justice and reflect God’s love for all people. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” (Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Control Is Just an Illusion

I’m a person who likes my ducks in a row. I am a planner, an organizer, and very much a worrier. I try to do the right things. I am responsible. I am careful in what I say and do. I like to be in control of my life. Usually I am. Then something happens that reminds me that it is all just an illusion. Something beyond my control. I know that I am not the only one experiencing this. Somehow that is not comforting.

Like many people in this country, I am losing my job. I found out that my position is being terminated in a little over a month. While I knew I could have my hours cut, I was not expecting this. There are not many jobs out there right now and I’m not so young anymore. We need my income. Our youngest daughter is unemployed in New York City and we have been helping her, or should I say mostly supporting her. She needs help for anxiety and depression. She’s in a difficult point in her life and I’m trying to be supportive. Now our cat is sick again. Hundreds of dollars later, she is still not better—we are giving her antibiotics, fluids and sticking food down her. I’m also dealing with some medical issues of my own, including a blood test result that the doctor says she’ll be watching—another weight hanging over me. I have no control over any of it.

I guess this is where faith comes in. I’m working on that. . .

What Can We Learn from the Tragedy in Tucson?

It seems difficult to escape the fallout from the tragedy that occurred in Tucson a week ago. While in some ways this horrible event has brought people together, in other ways it has sparked even more controversy. I need to stop reading the online comments to various news stories; many of them make me lose all hope for the future of this country.

The far right is claiming that they share no blame for this violence because no clear motive can be determined. I think it is ridiculous to try to assess a motive from someone who is clearly irrational. Somebody who is off balance mentally can possibly be led to violence by incendiary language while a more rational person may not be influenced at all. Words do matter. If they didn’t, why would our politicians spend so much time talking? Isn’t it possible to be civil to each other while disagreeing? The hate and vitriol spewed by politicians and loudmouth talk show hosts have contributed to the divisiveness in our country. How we speak to and about each other matters. If we truly love this country, we must all work to tone down the rhetoric and learn to talk to each other.

I am so tired of hearing “guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” Give me a break. Nobody needs an automatic or semi-automatic weapon. They are meant for one thing and one thing only—to kill as many people as quickly as possible. AND people who have known mental health problems, like the shooter in Tucson, can go out and buy these weapons. Now that is totally crazy. This guy would not have been able to kill and maim so many people if had been wielding something like a knife. These weapons allow a disturbed person to inflict a lot of damage. I actually heard a guy being interviewed the other day who said that it was too bad that there wasn’t another person with a gun present. Then that person could have taken out the shooter. The interviewer somewhat incredulously asked if he meant a shootout. This guy was convinced this would have been a good thing. Incredible. I don’t even know what to say to somebody with that kind of mentality. Maybe he’s been watching too many cowboy movies.

I hope and pray that we can take away some lessons from this tragedy. I understand that for the President’s State of the Union address, members of Congress will not be separated by party this year but will sit together, Democrats and Republicans as one. Maybe that’s a start.

Hope for the New Year

On this New Year’s Day, I am reflecting on the past year and looking forward to 2011. Our celebrations are always quiet. As I search my Facebook news feed, I see the parties, the expressions of good riddance to the past year (difficult for many), and the excitement for new opportunities. The hope. I think that is what New Year celebrations are all about. No matter how bad the previous year was, this is a new chance. In reality it’s just another day. However, once a year we put away the old calendar, put away the past, and look ahead. We can dare to hope for something better.

What do I hope for in 2011? I would like to see an end to the divisiveness in our country. Isn’t it possible to disagree but still show respect for our fellow citizens? Can we research issues and think for ourselves instead of jumping onto a sound bite bandwagon? Many try to claim that this is a Christian nation but show no love for their fellow human beings. Can we try to accept each other and love each other for who we are or in spite of who we are? I hope that we can tackle the greed, selfishness, and ignorance in this great country of ours and move ahead together. I hope for peace at home and across this world. I try to be hopeful.

Personally, I hope that my young adult daughters can support themselves in work that they enjoy, have access to health care, and find meaningful relationships with other people. In these times, those things are not a given and they and other young adults struggle. I hope that my retired husband and I can afford to enjoy a few simple trips, and purchase things we need and want—not easy as we support an unemployed daughter. I hope that I can move forward and stretch myself in many ways—in meaningful work (paid or not), in my faith, in my relationships with my family and friends, in care of my mind and body, as a citizen of this country and this planet. I have great hope in all of this. I am an optimist by nature.

May hope, faith, and love carry us through whatever this new year of 2011 brings.

Meaning

We search for meaning in this life--in the midst of our busyness. Hurrying around from this to that. We lose ourselves. A few moments of silence. Tears flow. Why? So many mysteries in life. . . Beauty. Pain. Joy. Suffering. Love. . . How do they all connect? God flows through all of it, through us. Intensely. Trying to figure it out. Probably always will be. . .

Women on Retreat

Today I returned from a weekend retreat with seven other women from my church. I’m finding it a bit difficult to come back down from this experience. We have been going on these retreats for over 20 years. I haven’t missed a single one--this is something that I do for myself. Every year is different depending on who goes, the location, and the program. As always, this weekend I enjoyed the company, the lovely spot, the food, the inspiring program, and, of course, the chocolate (there is always chocolate). This year our group was a bit smaller than usual. The youngest was 28, pregnant, and the daughter of one of the other women. The oldest was 84 and a retired pastor. The rest of us were all in our 50s and 60s. We all have known each other for a number of years and we're comfortable with each other. I am always amazed what comes out of our retreats. There is power in a group of women who share their lives and their faiths. We always have quiet time where we work alone on our journals, read, or pray. Then we come back together for worship and singing (hopefully on key). However, we’re not serious all of the time. Perhaps one of my favorite parts is the laughter we share about anything and everything. Not something men would probably understand (well, sometimes it’s about them). This is such a special time together. I will be back next year.

Inadvertent Pet Training

I’ve noticed that we can do the simplest things only a few times, and our pets will pick up on them very quickly. Suddenly that simple thing is an indication of something that will happen or should happen.

The most obvious and common example of this would be dogs and walks. My husband cannot put on his shoes or a hat without our dogs going absolutely nuts. To them this indicates a walk. Of course, there are times when this is not what he intended. However, once the dogs are excited, he often hates to disappoint them so off they go on a walk. Somehow we’ve managed to teach our cats to beg whenever we barbeque. Whenever they smell something on the grill, especially salmon, they hang out on the patio. It started when we gave little samples to the older, skinny cat, and then had to include the other cat to be fair. Now they expect some of our dinner; they meow and put their paws on our chairs. Sigh.

Speaking of this older cat, apparently I have also taught her the joys of dinner in bed. Mandy is 17 years old and has hyperthyroidism. She is on medication and has trouble keeping the weight on. It all started when I became concerned about the amount of leftover food in her bowl. At night we lock the cats into the guest bathroom to prevent them from waking us up in the wee hours of the morning. The bathroom has a cat box, cat beds, and water bowls. I decided to place Mandy’s food bowl on the counter next to her bed. She gobbled up the remaining food that night and every other night that I did this. In fact, she thought that this was such a great idea that she began going into the bathroom earlier in the evening, meowing at me. It became quite clear that I was supposed to bring her dinner and put her in her bed. Actually, this cat has us trained quite well. Over the years she has developed a very loud and annoying meow. She uses this when she wants to go out, or come in, or go out again. I guess it’s true that dogs have owners and cats have staff.

NOT WHAT WE PLANNED

I REALLY wanted to go camping! My husband wanted to wait a week but I was itching to get out of town and into the mountains. I put together what I could on Thursday night then Bob went shopping, found a pet sitter, and straightened up the house on Friday while I worked. We were on the road shortly before 6 p.m. Not too bad.

After about 2 ½ hours we approached the small town of Stanley. In the distance clouds stretched across the sky, some looking very ominous. We took a left turn onto Highway 75 and pressed on another half hour to our favorite campground, located across the highway on the Salmon River. To our delight, the campground wasn’t full at all. We managed to claim a lovely campsite right next to the river, a site that I had eyed on previous trips. Now, we are masters of late, just-before-dark camp setups and this was no exception. A few drops of rain fell as we attached the rain fly. Next, we managed to get the shelter assembled over the picnic table just before the real rain fell. I cooked our mac and cheese under the cover in my raincoat, but it worked out. Dinner about 10 p.m. and we were mostly dry. And, of course, everything tastes better when you’re camping.

By the time we were ready to go to bed, the clouds had moved on and there were stars, lots of stars. When you live in a city you can forget what stars look like. There was no moon so the thousands of stars sparkled like tiny jewels against the coal black sky. Breathtaking. It would have been lovely to have removed the rain fly and gazed through the netting at the top of our tent but we’re not that crazy. Storms can move in quickly. We compromised by partially opening the door and window of the tent. We fell asleep looking at the stars and listening to the sound of the Salmon River rushing by.

I awoke to sun streaming through the tent but it didn’t last long. When I began cooking our scrambled eggs over the camp stove it was raining. By the time we had washed our dishes, the clouds were gone and the sun was once again shining. We looked over area maps, our chairs facing the river. Periodically groups of matching rafts floated by with smiling occupants, wearing matching life vests, who waved at us. We waved back from our perfect campsite.

Shortly after noon we headed off in our van for an afternoon adventure (little did we know). Not too far down the road we crossed a bridge construction area. Bob turned around and pulled over, frustrated that he could not find Slate Creek Road. He got out, walked through the construction and found the small dirt road. He hopped back in the van and we headed down a rather bumpy road. We had been down much worse roads but not in our Quest with its low clearance. Bob used to have a ’69 VW van which he took everywhere. Our current van is not really made for back roads so he drove very slowly. We hit one bad bump and kept going. Up ahead the snow capped White Cloud Mountains came into view. Absolutely beautiful! As we drove I looked for good photo angles; the green grass and trees provided great framing. There was no place to pull over easily so I thought I’d wait until later. We passed a couple of ranches, and waved at a guy camped near the road, then headed to the top.

I hopped out to check out the trailhead. I turned around to find Bob checking the ground instead. There was a trail of fluid coming from our car. To our dismay we found out it was transmission fluid. Bob started up the car but the transmission had already failed. We rolled down the road about ¼ mile to the campsite we had seen and met Mike. He was a very friendly guy and eager to help us. We tried to maneuver to van to where they could actually get under it (very low clearance). Mike pulled out his collection of tools and tubes with the hope of repairing the damaged pan. Lots of discussion. We learned that his camper actually had a dead battery. Make that two dead batteries; he was charging one with a solar panel but since it was cloudy (again) the process was slow. Mike said that he was camped in that location for a couple of weeks. He helped keep the nearby hot springs tub clean, and enjoyed hiking to the local lakes. It was finally decided that he would ride his motorcycle to the nearest town. The driver of a passing car (headed to the hot springs) recognized Mike. She gave him the name and number of the tow truck driver in Challis (over 40 miles away). Mike headed out to find a phone in Clayton, the nearest town, to call this guy in Challis. Bob and I headed up the trail to check out the hot springs.

Before we returned to the camp, Mike was back. He offered us a beer while we waited and visited. The tow truck arrived. Eddie hooked up our van with the skill that comes from lots of experience. Mike declined our offer of gas money but asked for our phone number so he could hear the rest of the story. Eddie drove very slowly down the 7-mile road, sharing his knowledge of the area. While Bob and Eddie chatted, I went over in my mind what we could do next. Once we got to the highway, Eddie checked underneath the van and determined that the damage to the pan was too great for him to repair. He could have taken us back to our campsite but there was no cell phone service and no way to contact anyone. There was no way to get back to Boise or to Challis from there. We opted to go to Challis. As we drove into town we spotted my goddaughter’s bright blue car parked in front of a trailer in the Forest Service compound. (She works as a seasonal.) We stopped at the repair shop. Eddie said we might be able to ride back to Boise with his daughter, if he got her car fixed, either the next day or Monday. He could not even order the part until Monday so the van would not be repaired at least until Tuesday. Stuck in Challis!

We walked over to the trailer where Maritza’s (my goddaughter) car was parked. Bob knocked. A short time later a young woman answered the door, Maritza’s roommate. She was able to find out for us that Maritza was in the field until Tuesday evening. She welcomed us in to rest while we figured out what to do. Called our pet sitter (at least Challis has cell service). We chatted a while with Maya and learned that she was an archeologist. Her car was in the shop but she offered to find a car to drive us to our campsite. Maya walked over to Maritza’s boss’s place, borrowed his station wagon, and then drove us 40+ miles to the campground. We broke camp in record time, just as the sun was setting. It just killed me to have to give up such a great campsite! Maya drove us back to our van in Challis where we unloaded our stuff, then drove us to a motel room, where we dropped off our clothes, and then drove us back to her place where we cooked our hamburgers at about 10 p.m. She wouldn’t take any money either!

We walked over to a very basic motel room with cheap wood paneling, and mattresses with springs poking through. Our heads hit the pillows after midnight. Beginning about 5 a.m. the big truck diesel engines, belonging to the miners staying next to us, began to roar. Their owners yelled to each other, in order to be heard over the noise of the engines. We tried to go back to sleep for a while. Breakfast was cereal and milk, pulled from the cooler in our van. We walked to a quick stop/gas station to get a cup of coffee. We hung out there for a while looking for 1A cars (our county designation) with space in them, hoping to hitch a ride to Boise. No luck. Walked to another gas station then to the city park. Bob made a call to a church friend, Judy, to let her know that he might not be there to help with Vacation Bible School; he talked to her husband, Ron, a bit. I left messages for a couple of my coworkers. We finally decided to get some lunch stuff out of our car plus any items we would be taking back to Boise (just in case we suddenly found a ride). Maya had offered her place as a hangout so we trudged over there with our stuff. While visiting with Maya, Ron called us and offered to pick us up. “Are you sure?” I asked. He decided to take our Honda instead of his little truck, so another call was made to the pet sitter to let him into our house to find car keys. More calls (luckily the batteries held out).

Bob and I sat and read our books in front of Maya’s trailer while Ron filled our gas tank and drove nearly 4 hours to pick us up. What a welcome sight! We loaded up the car, thanked Maya and we were on our way with Bob driving. By the time we reached Lower Stanley we were ready for dinner. We enjoyed good food, good company and a fantastic view of the Salmon River and the Sawtooth Mountains from the deck of a restaurant. From there we headed home, arriving about 11:30 p.m. and very grateful to be there.

Although it certainly wasn’t the weekend we had planned, we definitely had an interesting time. We experienced the kindness and generosity of complete strangers. And our friend, Ron, was our hero! I got back for work and Bob made it to Vacation Bible School. And we get to go back to Challis soon to retrieve our van. . .but no more back roads for it. I think Bob needs a jeep!

Truly an Empty Nester Now

I can’t believe it’s been an entire year since I’ve recorded my thoughts. What a long dry spell! I guess I need to be inspired again.

Returning to the focus of this blog, I can now say I am truly an empty nester. My baby graduated from college in May. Unlike many of her classmates, she did not return home. Since she attended school across the country and there are no jobs for her here, she elected to find a summer sublet while job hunting. Of course, since she is unemployed she is not totally self sufficient; we have been helping her out. I don’t know who is more anxious, her or us, about finding that permanent job.

Although we have seen our daughters several times in the past year, the last time they were actually at home was last August. That makes for a quiet house. I confess that I miss having them here. There are certainly nice aspects to being back to just the two of us. Now we can do what we want without having to worry about the girls’ schedules. We’ve kind of forgotten what that is like. At times we see some event in the paper and say, hey, let’s do that. However, I do miss the kid activities sometimes—all those dance performances and competitions. I’m adjusting though. I am rediscovering the kid within.

Take Time to Play

I like to break up my work day by eating my lunch away from my desk (unlike my coworkers). This is also my opportunity to read for about a half an hour, something I really look forward to. Recently, I finished a book called BREAKFAST EPIPHANIES by David Anderson. The author is a pastor and each chapter is a short inspirational story. Several of his stories really struck me.

David Anderson attended the funeral of a man who was a mentor to him, a fellow pastor. One of the attendees shared a story about how she had arrived at church early one Sunday and found the pastor (a man in his sixties) on a swing in the church playground, swinging away and not the least bit embarrassed about it. After the funeral the author visited the nearest playground and followed his mentor's lead. He realized that there was a message there for him. In another chapter he discusses sabbaticals; he believes that everyone needs one. We should not work all the time.

These stories caught my attention because I have realized lately that my life is way too serious. I work about 35 hours a week. I volunteer at my own church. My yard is an acre so there are always things to do. There is laundry. Plants to water. A house to clean. Mail piles up. E-mails need to be read and answered. I go to bed and it starts all over again.

We all need to play. I've tried do more fun things lately. We went for a long bike ride on Memorial Day. Last weekend we went to a Greek food festival and to a local event called Art & Roses. We went to see the movie "Up". The stormy weather this weekend has put a damper on outdoor activities but I'll find something tomorrow. I've got to work at playing!

Thinking of Nancy

This past week the Living the Questions group at our church finished a study on the Bible and homosexuality. It had been 20 years since we last did a study on this issue. Several people in the group have family members who are gay or lesbian and a number of us have gay friends. After our first meeting, one of the group members brought a friend who belongs to another church but often attends one of our women's groups. Halfway through our session this friend, I'll call her Nancy, felt comfortable enough with us to share that she is a lesbian. She told us that she was approached by some fellow church members about becoming a deacon in their church. She felt she had to turn this down because her church does not allow homosexuals to be deacons. Nancy said that she hadn't done anything but that she is not considered good enough simply because of who she is. This is very painful for her since she feels called to serve and would very much like to serve her church. Over the weeks, this painful subject came up over and over. Nancy's input gave our discussions a whole new perspective and we appreciated her candor. She related a meeting with a GLBT group (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender) where a woman exclaimed with tears of joy, "God loves me!" Nancy realized that this was the first time in this woman's 50+ years of life that she had felt this way. How sad. Perhaps those of us who profess to be followers of Jesus need to work a bit harder at emulating his love rather than trying to judge our fellow human beings.

If the Shoe Fits. . .

I am not a shoe person. I do have members of my family who could be described this way, including my oldest daughter. On her Christmas list was a sparkly pair of green shoes that could be purchased online. I bought them for her. They are a lot of fun and look great on her. However, that is not me.

My approach to shoes is to buy what I need and that’s it. I will keep shoes for years. In fact, I own shoes and boots that are older than my daughters. That doesn’t mean that I don’t care how they look. I appreciate a stylish pair of shoes—I just don’t get terribly excited about them. Now, as I’m getting older, I appreciate a well fitting pair of shoes, especially ones with good arch supports. Comfort is everything. Pretty shoes are no good if they hurt your feet.

It seems that I have been forced to focus on shoes these past couple of months. My shoes all seem to be dying at once. The dances we’re learning in my tap class seem to be getting faster and faster and my shoes were inadequate. I had looked around at the few dance shops in town about a year ago but didn’t find anything suitable. The steps requiring us to go up on our heels hurt my feet. However, when I realized that something was beginning to poke into the ball of my foot, that was it. I bought new tap shoes.

Next was the hiking boots. I bought my good old leather hiking boots at REI in Berkeley over 25 years ago. Good quality boots. The only problem was that they were never fully broken in, even after all those years of use. Still hard as a rock, instead of the boot giving, my foot did. If I didn’t get a blister, I would at least have red spots on my feet. After two summers of saying that I was never wearing those boots again, I finally did something about it. Bob was looking at sandals at REI and suggested that I try on boots. It took me a week to decide but after climbing on their little rock with the handrail to truly try them out, I selected a great pair of boots made with synthetic materials. Now, if those boots will last 25 years, I’ll be set!

Last night I went square dancing with shoes that are probably 30 years old. Something was beginning to poke through the heel, so I couldn’t really put my entire weight on it. Old, white, dirty square dance shoes. What was I thinking? Why was I still wearing them? Today, I found the little square dance shop that is located in someone’s home (the only place available in Boise) and I bought a pair of black dance shoes. They were even on sale!

I’m not done yet. I have been trying to replace the brown shoes I wear to work. They are to the point where I hesitate to wear them when it rains. Still looking. However, I have found some great casual shoes on sale during my search. Who knows? I might actually begin to enjoy shoe shopping. But probably not.