Help from Higher Up

I've been trying to sell the big, brown house in the 'hood for quite some time now. "Quite some time" meaning along the lines of three years. We've almost gotten to the closing table three times. Each time something happens and that brings me dangerously close to having to hurt someone out of frustration and disappointment.

The latest blow came just last week. The two comments to that post came from my aunt and uncle - Sharon and Greg. Their advice was to bury a St. Joseph statue. It worked for them on several occasions. I might have been skeptical, but who am I to pretend I know anything about selling a house? Obviously. . .

Greg said that within TEN MINUTES of burying one at my cousin Carrie's house they were contacted by the person who would eventually buy her house. Ten minutes?? I am so there.

Saturday found me going to the Catholic bookstore in Toledo. The nice man asked if he could help me and when I said I needed a St. Joseph he took me to the display of no less than four different "St. Joseph Home Selling Kits." He assured me that the house would be off the market in two weeks. And he didn't even ask if I was Catholic!

My kit cost $8.50. (I didn't want to buy the cheapest one - would it still work if St. Joe thought I was a tightwad??) A worthy investment I assured myself. We took it to the front yard of the big, brown house in the 'hood and I dug the hole. Under the pine tree because it's prettier there. (If you've ever seen the big, brown house in the 'hood you're laughing right along with me right now!)

He's supposed to go in upside down, although the "kit" didn't explain why. 

In he went. I was a little worried about all the blood rushing to his head, but when it comes to religion I do what I'm told. Yeah. . .right. . . (I was also a little worried that some of the homeless winos who were watching me dig a hole in the front yard of an empty house were going to think I was burying something they might want, but that's another issue I'll just have to turn over to St. Joe. But, I digress.)

After covering him over you're supposed to pray. The "kit" comes with a prayer card.

I made Ali pray it out loud with me. She was thrilled – as you might expect.

I marked the spot with a stick so that when the house sells tomorrow I will be able to dig him up and place him in a spot of honor in the house. Although, I'm expecting not to forget where he is since it will only be another TEN MINUTES or so until I go dig him up!

If it seems like I'm making light of St. Joe and his house selling abilities, I kind of am. But, who knows? There is an awful lot of the Catholic faith that I admire and wish were part of my faith tradition. The beauty of Mass. The monastic influences. The Saints and all their faithfulness.

A little St. Joe mixed with some prayer and faith can't hurt a thing.

Now, where is my phone? And has it been ten minutes yet?

Ruined for the Average

I heard a sermon this week in which the preacher used the phrase "ruined for the average." He talked about a time in his life in which his eyes were opened to an injustice in the world and how it so deeply affected him that he could never look at the situation the same way again. He was ruined for the average life of innocent oblivion to someone else's struggles.

That phrase has been stuck in my head since then. 

I fully appreciate and understand what he was trying to get at. And, I think there are lots of pivotal moments in our lives in which we are ruined for the average. The first time a baby takes a drink of Mountain Dew instead of milk - sugar has ruined her for the average. The first car you ever bought that had air conditioning, power steering or satellite radio ruined you. There's no going back to a car with crank windows or an eight track cassette player! 

Another ruined for the average example came to mind this week - one I'm certain that preacher didn't anticipate, nor would he approve of. My first girl kiss.

I had been kissed by a few boys by the time I was 17. I'd had boyfriends, gone to school dances, made out on the band bus and fooled around fairly innocently in some back seats by my 16th birthday. It was all ok – not earth shattering, but it was alright. I was happy.

And then she kissed me. (There's actually a bit of debate about that. She says I kissed her. I clearly remember that moment - and she kissed me. But I wanted her to.) In that moment it all changed. I wasn't just happy. I was home – it was the truest and most honest expression of myself that I'd ever felt.

I don't hate boys. I never have. I could probably marry one tomorrow and be reasonably happy. But I wouldn't be at home. I'm ruined for the boy average.

When I think about it now, I still feel the butterflies in my stomach. I still feel the deep joy. In all honesty, I still feel the terror as I looked up at the ceiling of my bedroom and literally waited for lightening to strike me dead. 

And when it didn't, I leaned in for another one. 

I'm still ruined. . .

One Gallon of Milk Away

I got a shock this morning as I was pouring myself a bowl of Special K. (I like the kind with the strawberries by the way.)

I looked down at the gallon of milk that was sitting on the counter and saw this:

We are officially one gallon of milk away from summer being gone.

I don't know why I was suddenly so surprised. We were in Hobby Lobby last Saturday. They have two aisles of Halloween and Thanksgiving displayed. Dismayed, we saw at least ten aisles of Christmas. . .

Grace in the Small Things

Because life is short. Because life is loud and sometimes demands too much of my attention. Because love matters.

1. The way my little friend Anderson only wants to come to softball games if I'm going to be there. He calls me his "wady fwiend." He's three. And adorable. He slept on my lap for an hour after crying himself to sleep a couple of weeks ago.

2. The slanty, yellow light that only seems to be this beautiful in late summer/early fall.

3. The taste of fresh spinach in quiche last night at dinner.

4. The face that Ali makes when she's concentrating.

5. The way Sammy snuggles up with me in bed at night. He makes his long, skinny body mimic the curves of mine.

6. Tickets to a Mud Hens game this weekend.

7. The smell of cooler night air.

8. Rediscovering the peace I find in knitting.

9. Finally feeling better after two weeks of some kind of low-grade, viral crud. Naps helped. I'm sure that not cleaning the house did too. . .

10. Flip flops. At least for a few more weeks.

Just A Little Grace for Today

my favorite definition of grace: undeserved kindness

May the grace of the love


          of the stars be mine.

May the grace of the love


          of the winds be mine.


May the grace of the love


          of the waters be mine.

In the name of the Word
of all life.


- J. Philip Newell, Celtic Prayers from Iona

Set That DVR!

Set your DVR for Saturday night at 10:00 to the Travel Channel! It's the episode of Samantha Brown's Great Weekends that features A Walk In The Woods - the fabulous company that we just hiked with!

And don't forget to watch for that famous sleeping bag!

Mantra

I recently read about a mom who practices the following mantra with her kids. When they are close to having a meltdown they say this together:

Take a deep breath.

Say what you feel.

Walk away.

Ask for help if you need it.

I filed it away in my far too overcrowded brain, thinking it to be a wonderful way to teach kids the basics of good mental health. But it is one of those little tidbits of life that just won't go away. Kind of like a meditation stone in my pocket, I keep tossing this little mantra from hand to hand and allowing it to slowly work on me.

This morning I feel dangerously close to a grown up meltdown.

The deal on the house in Toledo fell through. Again. This latest offer was for cash. Less than we paid for it, but cash covers up a multitude of sin. And after having this thing on the market for more than three years, I was counting my blessings for the good fortune of getting it gone.

Hence the impending meltdown on my part.

Then, I remembered the mantra.

Take a deep breath. (I've patiently waited three years. What's a little longer?)

Say how you feel. (I'm angry. I'm impatient. I want out of that fucking house. I hate my no-good, lazy, never-returns-my-phone-calls realtor. I secretly pray every day that lightening will strike that house and burn it to a blackened crater in the ground. See? I'm not a very nice or good person after all, am I?)

Walk away. (Not sure how to actually do this one. Maybe I will make myself a spa weekend at home since I can't afford a real spa weekend since the FUCKING HOUSE DIDN'T SELL! Oh, wait. I was supposed to get all that feeling stuff done in the second step. Sorry. I'll try harder. Deep breath. Again.)

Ask for help if you need it. (The help I need is obviously getting over my anger and impatience. That doesn't come easily so here's what I tried.)

I cut myself a little bouquet of miniature Black Eyed Susans and put them on my desk at work. When I see them I'm supposed to take a deep breath and relax. 

Only God can make flowers. Apparently only God can sell a big, brown house in the 'hood in Toledo as well.

Some things just can't be rushed.

Hot, Hot and More Hot

It's been reeeeaallly hot here. This is about all we're good for.

This – and making homemade ice cream. Whatever it takes!

Called To Be A Trekking Pole

When we got our packing list for our hike there was a lot of stuff on it. Some of it looked to be completely necessary and some of it kinda seemed optional. Good hiking shoes, necessary. Hat, optional. One of the things that seemed discretionary was trekking poles. In fact, the list said something like, "Set of trekking poles - you can bring your own, or we have a limited number available for rental." We looked at them in the store and it seemed that they might be a pain to have to carry all the time and that they would make taking pictures tough. So, we skipped them. I think only one person in our group showed up with any.

Andrea wasn't having any of that. We were all given a set and told to get used to them.

Our hike started on the incline leading to Clingman's Dome. It's a steep, half mile walk up a paved trail. The trekking poles were a pain in the ass. They were just one more thing to get used to. Frankly, I couldn't see their usefulness at all. Neither could the rest of the group. One person in particular was pretty vocal in her complaints about having to haul them up that hill.

Andrea just smiled.

After reaching the peak, taking pictures and eating a snack we left the paved trail and stepped out into the wilderness on the Appalachian Trail. It wasn't long until I realized what those trekking poles were all about.

Having an extra 40 pounds strapped to your back makes balance a little more challenging. When the trail in front of you is full of rocks and moss, your feet aren't planted quite as firmly as you think they are. When the trail in front of you descends very quickly it's desirable to have a way to slow yourself down. When crossing a stream with fast moving water you need a way to test the rocks just ahead of you for stability.

Trekking poles do all this and more.

Towards the end of the second day of hiking I was starting to struggle. I had twisted my ankle and it was uncomfortable. I was tired from not getting much sleep the night before. We had several miles to go before reaching our campsite and my mind was wrestling with my body to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

It was in that moment I let go and learned to let the trekking poles do the work. I let them take the pressure off my ankle. Instead of thinking about putting my feet down I changed my mind-focus to the swing of the poles from my wrists in a forward motion. That meditation became almost magical. The light swing of the poles suddenly became light steps that floated me onward. Those last couple of miles flew by.

On the third day Ali began to struggle. It was the longest of all the days in terms of mileage. The trail began to flatten out and widen as we neared civilization again. The trekking poles weren't as necessary. Andrea had us put some distance between us and we spent several miles hiking nearly alone.

Ali was ahead of me on the trail and I knew she was giving it her best shot but that she was having a hard time. There wasn't much I could do, knowing that we had at least five miles left to go. So, I decided to be her trekking poles.

I could see her in the distance on the trail ahead of me and as I watched and walked, I prayed. I began by giving thanks for every quality and trait about her - the ones I love and the ones I lovingly tolerate. After listing my gratitudes I worked at surrounding her with strength and peace. We walked, and I prayed, for a long time.

She reached the river long before I did. By the time I arrived, she already had her shoes off and was soaking her feet and eating her lunch. She was sitting on a rock and butterflies were dancing all around her. I took off my pack and shoes and sat down with her. We ate and talked about why she was having a difficult time. By the time lunch was over she was feeling much better.

Ali named this spot Butterfly Island.

Was it the prayer? Was it the cold river water on her feet? The butterflies twinkling all around? The talking? Maybe it was the lunch. Who knows. I like to think that it was my decision to be her trekking poles – to give her unconditional support when she felt like she might slip, to be a bit of stability when things felt a little too shaky, to have something to lean on even for just a minute or two until she felt capable to lean on herself again.

The number of times she's done that very same thing for me are immeasurable.

Maybe we're all called to be trekking poles for other people on the life journey. 

Quietly, couldn't we just surround others with a little bit of compassion and peace? They never even have to know. Instead of maintaining our focus on other's shortcomings maybe we could give support when they slip. When someone we know seems kind of shaky maybe we can prop them up for just a little while.

It works with lovers and friends. It works on family. It even works on the ignorant driver in the lane in front of you and on the annoying woman in the grocery line. And the funny thing is, it has unintended consequences for me. When I'm busy being thankful for someone's individuality and looking for their special quirks I'm far too busy to think about their faults.

My only prayer is that others will be as gentle and supportive with me.

What I Learned On Our Walk

We got home last night from our walk in the woods. It was the longest walk I've ever taken. It lasted three days. We walked from the second highest point on the east coast – Clingman's Dome in Tennessee – across several miles of the Appalachian Trail that skirted the line between Tennessee and North Carolina, through miles of forest land, over the Goshen Prong river where we stopped to swim in the chilly stream and back down the Elkmont Trail.

Here are some things I learned on our walk.

:: Human beings can be selfish and stupid. Someone thoughtlessly (and dangerously) left an empty sardine can in the fire ring outside our first shelter. Because of some idiot's poor choice we were visited by a black bear three times on our first night of camping. I don't blame the bear. It's the human that needs to be shot.

In the interest of full disclosure here, the above picture was not taken on our first night in the woods. I was far too busy fearing that I was about to die to worry about where the camera was. . .this was taken a few days later while we were touring Cade's Cove. However, it is a bear and I saw it with my own two eyes!

:: The choices for potty breaks in the wilderness are slim. It was a self-composting privy the first night or a shovel in the woods the rest of the time. Personally, I quickly came to prefer the shovel in the woods. Ali, on the other hand, appears to love the privy!

:: After you've encountered a bear three times by moonlight, a rattlesnake on the trail in the middle of the afternoon is really no big deal.

:: I learned that there's a TV show called Great Weekends hosted by Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel. Why did I learn that while walking in the woods? See the sleeping bag in this picture? She and I both slept in it!

You have to look hard – it's the sleeping bag on the right. . .and, yeah. . .We attempted to sleep in those "bunks" even with the midnight bear scare!

:: I learned that there is nothing quite as refreshing as mountain river water on your tired body in the late afternoon after a long day of walking. It also does wonders to get rid of the incredible b.o. that one develops after three days on the trail! Possibly the only thing more surprisingly good was the mini Babybel cheese which was in our snack packs! Those little red cheese circles became the currency of trade for the rest of the trip.

:: It wasn't until about half way through that I realized how incredibly gifted our guide Andrea was. She was a combination teacher/motivational speaker/counselor/nurse/bear influencer/chef and architect of our little moving village. She was funny, unflappable in the face of what we feared might be our end at the hands of a hungry bear and most importantly, respectful of each one of us. I want to be like Andrea when I grow up!

That's our fearless leader in the middle!

:: I was reminded that no matter how big I think my life, my worries, my joys or my problems are there are so many things that can put it all in perspective. This tree has been on this earth for more than 300 years. Think of all stories it could tell.

:: As is becoming more and more common for me, I found myself to be the oldest one in our group. I was worried that I would struggle or that I would lag behind, perhaps even slowing everyone else down. At the beginning of the trip Andrea asked each of us what we wanted to take away from our time in the woods. My answer was that I wanted to be proud of my accomplishment and have a sense of confidence about my body.

As the days wore on I slowly began to be proud of my strength. I wasn't always last. I wasn't always slowest. And, I realized that it wouldn't have mattered if I had been. That wasn't what it was about.

Another woman in the group was about my age. I thought that she was nervous about the trip as well. She had told us that she had lost 140 pounds in the last few years but that there were still a lot of people who probably thought she was fat. I sensed that we had a lot of the same reservations about ourselves and our bodies. On the second day out we were walking next to each other on the trail. I said, "I don't know about you, but I'm starting to feel kind of proud of myself! How 'bout you?" Her answer summed up the trip – "Proud?? You're kidding me right?I'm fuckin' proud!!!"

Me too Kris. Me too.

Resting

We are leaving in the morning for a much needed rest. Three days of hiking in the Appalachian Mountains, followed by four days of whatever we feel like! Assuming black bears don't get us we will be back in a week!