Drumming

Last night we did something I've always wanted to do – we attended a drumming circle. It's officially called the Shuunka Drumming Circle and it meets once a month at Oakwoods Nature Preserve.

It was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had.

There were about fifteen or so in attendance, both men and women, young and "more experienced." This group has been meeting in Findlay for 14 years and talk freely about the spirit of unity and diversity that they have helped birth into being in our community. We went there expecting just to watch and listen but they were so welcoming and embracing of newness that we were quickly handed drums, smudged with sage smoke to purify us and told that we could participate as much or as little as we felt comfortable with.

We participated fully. And it was amazing.

Not really knowing what to expect, it was equal parts meditation, music, spirituality, relaxation and energy-giving. We talked about sickness and healing, life and death, humanity and nature and open spirits of change. The words were significant but the actual drumming was transformational.

It's difficult to explain and I've been thinking about it all day. There is something about sitting in a circle, being in community and engaging in simultaneous activity that seems not only to send energy into the world – even more than that – it's like the reverberations of the drumming itself somehow send energy into your own body and soul and complete some kind of spiritual circuit. That doesn't really do the experience justice, but it's the best description I can come up with.

I didn't know much about Native American spirituality before I went there. I know a tiny bit more now and I imagine that there is probably no end to the depth of what there is to learn.

I wanted to take pictures but I didn't want to be disrespectful of what was going on around me. Most people in the room had drums of their own creation and they were truly works of art. Made from the skins of buffalo, horse and other animals, each has it's own specific power they believe can be given to the person playing the particular drum. I played one that the creator had painted with a tree of life containing a labyrinth of life painted inside of it.

I'm excited to attend again next month and see new friends who fully embrace life, in all it's complexities.

Anyone want to join me?

End of Summer

{Kenton, Ohio Farmer's Market • the last one of the season}

{beets}

{tomatoes}

{peppers}

{mums}

{small gourds}

Even More Excellent!

Here's what that telephone booth looked like in better days!

A friend in Colorado, who reads here most days, went to Scotland this summer and sent me this picture she took while she was there! Same crown at the top and everything!

Thanks Shelly!

I'll Have A Double Buttermilk Please

After having an incredibly bad week all I craved this weekend were comfort foods. These are foods that soothe my spirit and remind me of times when life was simple and all it took to heal a broken heart was cinnamon toast and someone to hug me.

My own personal comfort food list would have to include meatloaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chili along side peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and of course, pie. When I planned this week's menu and made my grocery list I was surprised to see that almost all those things were on tap for the next seven days.

And that sparked my imagination.

I don't know a whole lot about psychology. All I know is that when I am very upset I turn to eating food I used to eat as a little girl. Then I started thinking – it's too bad they don't serve it in bars. I could slam into some beer joint, collapse onto a barstool, slap some money onto the counter and bark, "Bring me a double buttermilk, garnished with some green onions and a side of cornbread.* And keep 'em comin'!"

If there were someplace like that, really. . .Who needs beer??

* When I was a very little girl my great-uncle Claiborn used to carry me around my Mamaw's yard in the Appalachian Mountains of Coeburn, Virginia. He caught butterflies for me. He also taught me to crumble leftover cornbread in a glass of buttermilk. We ate it using long, iced tea spoons, accompanied by green onions fresh from her garden. He was a sweet, loving man to that little girl.

A Most Excellent Find

{an old phone booth from Ireland • what would you give to hear the stories it could tell?}

{photographed behind an old gas station in Mt. Victory, Ohio}

Right Now

Right now:: I am feeling more rested than I have in the last seven days. I should. I went to bed at 7:30 last night and just got up.

Right now:: I am most of the way through my first cup of coffee. The first cup is one of my greatest pleasures every day. I try to savor it.

Right now:: I am listening to Delilah's clomping, tromping, romping running through the house. For a six pound puppy, she's not very light on her feet. She's taken to doing circuits – from the kitchen all the way to the front room where she skids to a halt, makes a U-turn and heads back.

Right now:: I am thinking of baking some honey whole wheat bread. And maybe making a pot of chili.

Right now:: I am almost chilly. It finally feels like fall this morning in Ohio with brisk air coming in all of our open windows. I may have to go find some socks and a sweatshirt!

Right now:: We are planning to take a little road trip in the country today to take some photographs and just spend some time reconnecting. That's a sure remedy for releasing a crappy week and all of it's misery.

Right now:: I am reflecting on these words from the New Zealand Prayer Book –

"What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be."

Right now:: I say, "Amen."

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Week in Review

The Good

:: We started the first week of our new small group meetings for church. Such interesting, funny, diverse people! Loved it.

:: Fall is here! At least in theory. It's been so hot this week you really couldn't tell!

The Bad

:: I'm struggling to get my sea-legs with this new job and schedule. I've taken almost no pictures this week and done very little writing.

:: I've had several bad dreams this week - all of them having to do with death - my own. Yucky.

:: Yesterday, while in the "lunch room" at work I was eating and reading. I had the door closed but my boss came in and started talking work. I just wanted to take a break and eat in peace but he kept going. He said something about my being behind. I said that a lot of things were out for proof and that there wasn't all that much in my in-basket.

{direct quote here} "Well, we must be turning work away at the door then. There's no way you're caught up."

{my thoughts, which I did NOT say out loud} "If you're turning work away at the door because of me, then why did you hire Wonder Boy part time, and pay him TWICE what you're paying me??? Can't Wonder Boy get you caught up?"

{what I actually did - packed up my lunch after only about 12 minutes of break and went back to work; trying not to cry}

The Ugly

:: Delilah has learned to lick the dishes in the dishwasher. Remember how this turned out for Oliver? He still won't go near the dishwasher when it's open. . .

And, yes. I'm trying to distract us all with cute dog pictures.

Next week will be better. . . won't it?

The One That Isn't Staying

I jokingly say that we are gunning to be the first family on the as-yet-to-be filmed reality show "Animal Hoarders." It's kind of funny. And kind of not.

This little guy, however, is NOT staying!

I reached under the sink yesterday morning to put a new bag in the kitchen trash can and screamed like a little girl. . . I think he just startled me because he's adorable. But, he's not supposed to be in my trash can when I'm not paying attention! Ali thought I was dying and she quickly took him outside to set him free.

Looking at this picture brings a few thoughts to mind:

• Now that I'm closer to 50 than I am 40 I probably ought to minimize that kind of shock. I suppose at my age it could be fatal. . .

• I really need to clean out the bottom of that can. . . It's kind of embarrassing. . .please don't judge my character based on my kitchen trash can. . .

That's all the news from the Animal Ranch this morning. Over and out.

Third "Child" Syndrome

{so far there's no "third child" syndrome - we have plenty of Delilah pictures. . .}

Where Are You?

In the cool of the evenings God walks down my street and whispers

"Where are you?"

For a while I thought I could hide.

I thought I had disappeared.

My companion, my friends, could walk right through shadow me
on their way to the kitchen
for nothing more pressing than an apple to snack on.

I grew pale.

I practiced living all the questions inside me.
I shrugged them off when they didn’t fit.
They never did, not one.

Then, one evening at dusk I heard the question again,

"Where are you?"
and with it my pulse began to beat,
thin but steady.

I listened.

Eventually I answered – I'm still here.

In that moment I heard this in the spaces

between the heartbeats: Write.

Looking Up

I lift up my eyes to the hills—

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—

he who watches over you will not slumber.

~Psalm 121

{Perhaps when I cannot find the answers I seek, it's time to change my perspective.}

Stinking

This week I turned exactly 45 and 1/2. And, at exactly 45 1/2 I realized that I'm having a mini-crisis. Wanna know how I know it's really a crisis? I came to the realization that I'm tired of taking a shower every morning and I actually contemplated quitting.

I'm tired of the whole process of it – the getting all wet, the washing, the drying off, the endless polishing and primping; the hunt for something to wear; the drying of the hair; the plucking of the hair in places where it shouldn't be; the shaving; the moisturizing. . .

I've been doing it every day for 45 1/2 years and I've grown wearisome of the whole affair.

It's a crisis because I thought about giving up the routine and just stinking. I thought about letting my leg hair grow until it acts as insulation. I thought about choosing my clothes by blindly pointing into the closet and wearing whatever falls out. I thought about letting my hair go until it grows into dreadlocks and requires no further care. I actually thought about growing a beard and getting it over with.

And then I realized the crisis was bigger than just my personal grooming habits. I'm tired of a whole bunch of things. At 45 1/2 it feels like there is nothing new left in this world. Just a bunch of routines that get repeated ad nauseum: what's for dinner? should we mow the lawn? who's turn is it to let the dog out? why do we have to make the bed? if we didn't change our clothes we wouldn't have to do laundry. . .blah, blah, blah. . .

And then I realized it's gotten even bigger than that. Suddenly I'm back in the same job, sitting in the SAME CHAIR that I sat in twelve years ago. How. Did. This. Happen??

And then, as I am wont to do, I began to question everything. . .Why bother writing a blog? Who cares about my ridiculous life and thoughts anyway? Which, in turn, led to even more navel-gazing, excessive introspection, self-absorption and concentration on a single issue – whether or not to actually go take a shower. . .

Do me a favor, will you? Schedule an intervention if I start to stink.

Izzy Can Stay

OK. . .ok. . .I give in. Izzy can stay. . .

Setting: our kitchen – We have a big Kitchen Aid stand mixer on the counter with a large silver bowl. I was packing my lunch and Izzy was annoying me, trying to get into my lunch bag and just generally being a pain in the ass, as is her customary modus operandi.

Me:: "Izzy, get the *&%?! off the counter. . ."

Izzy:: (Ignoring me as usual, going about her business. Suddenly she puts the top half of her body into the mixing bowl.)

Me:: "What the *&%?! are you doing? Get out of here!"

Izzy:: (frantically digging around in the bowl)

Me:: (getting more annoyed) Suddenly I notice that lots and lots of little somethings are flying out of the mixing bowl. These things are landing on the counter like long grey snowflakes and Izzy is becoming increasingly more agitated. I lean in closer and realize the "snowflakes" are, in all actuality, centipede legs.

Me:: (screaming and running from the kitchen*) "Al. . .please come down here. . .NOW!"

She comes to the rescue, half dressed, only emitting a few muffled screams of her own as she quickly dispenses of the intruder. We made a quick pact that I would dispense with the spider web by the back door in exchange for her centipede bravery. As she went back upstairs to finish dressing she tossed this little gem over her shoulder –

"See. . . Izzy does have a reason to live here!"

* In case you've forgotten, I have centipede issues.

Nothing New Under the Sun

4:00 AM – Wake up to caterwauling, wailing, yowling, screeching and screaming coming from the downstairs bathroom where Delilah is "sleeping."

4:01 AM – Pretend I don't hear it. Ali usually gets up and turns the fan on high to make more noise.

4:04 AM – Realize that the bathroom window is open and faces the next door neighbor's bedroom.

4:05 AM – Get my ass out of bed and out in the backyard with Delilah.

4:25 AM – She finally does her business.

4:26 AM – Sammy and Oliver realize that if they whine they can go outside too.

4:30 AM – I come to terms with the fact that I am up for the day and make a pot of coffee.

The rest of the day:

:: clean puppy pee off the bathroom floor on my hands and knees with Clorox Clean-Up.

:: dishes

:: laundry

:: clean puppy pee off the living room floor

:: referee Delilah and Sammy wrestling matches (Sam has no idea how big he is!)

:: clean puppy pee off Sammy

:: fold clothes and put them away while keeping one eye out for puppy pee

:: pack my lunch

:: take a shower while having Delilah locked in the bathroom with me because it's easier to clean puppy pee off of tile than off of hardwood

:: clean puppy pee off the bathroom floor

:: go to work, where I've started a new job and am completely stressed out. It seems as though it's perfectly acceptable to do everything but make a mistake. I come home so keyed up it's not funny.

:: clean the warehouse, where I clean human pee off the men's room floor

:: make dinner

:: don't do the dishes. Since I'll be up at 4:00 tomorrow morning, why don't I just leave them until then??? Besides that, I'll need something to do while I'm waiting for her to manufacture more pee. . .

Sense a theme here? Oh well, I know that this too shall pass. I feel kind of like that cranky old writer of Ecclestiastes:

"What has been will be again,

what has been done will be done again;

there is nothing new under the sun."

The only thing new in my life is a little more pee under the kitchen table.

Samson and Delilah

{everything Samson does, Delilah has to try too}

GoD and DoG

Some gratuitous photos of our very cute puppy Delilah and an exceedingly sweet video. If this doesn't make you smile on a Monday morning perhaps you need to check your vitals! ;) (And maybe I need to check mine, because she got me up at 4:05 this morning. Today, cute is keeping her alive. . .)

Let Us Pray

{this row of sunflowers caught my eye – they appeared to be bowed, as if in prayer}

There are days when I whine,

and days when I say words that would be better swallowed whole –

even if they did make me choke.

There are days when the world tastes bitter

and the thousand choices I am faced with seem every one a mistake.

But the thing I love best about this capricious, untamed life is that

even in the midst of my fear,

I can bow my hand, join with all creation and say –

It is good.

Signs That Fall Is On the Horizon

:: The writing spiders have returned. That's what I grew up calling them anyway. I don't know what they are really called.

:: I had to turn the heat on in the car for the first time on my way to work yesterday morning.

:: The morning sky is a brilliant blue because all the humidity is gone.

:: There are frequent evening trips to Archie's for vanilla/orange twist ice cream in a cup. They will be closing for the year soon.

:: The pile of blankets in the living room has returned for evening snuggling.

:: The crockpot has come out of hiding and is being put back to work.

:: We can hear the marching band on Friday nights from Donnell Stadium.

:: I've only worn flip-flops once this week.

:: Honeycrisp apples are back!

:: Sweatshirts worn with shorts. . .the preeminent fall style!

What would you add to the list?

Old Car

{left to decay alongside the road • Bigelow Avenue • Findlay, Ohio}

Delilah

On my way home from work tonight I found this little sweetheart wandering down the middle of our street. She was hungry, thirsty and covered in fleas. After some debate, one call to the Humane Society, one trip to the pet store, two hours of bathing, grooming and picking fleas with tweezers and two big handfuls of dog food we have one tired puppy sleeping in our bathroom.

We would really like to find her a good home with someone we know and trust. She's a really laid back little girl. We just don't have the resources to take in another animal.

If we did, we'd really like to name her Delilah.

You know. . .it would go so perfectly with her "brother" Samson. . .

{I did offer to Ali that if we could get rid of Izzy we might be able to keep Delilah. I'm just sayin'.}

God Wants To Use You

Setting: Our living room. Ali was working on a jigsaw puzzle and I was watching reruns of Without A Trace on television. We had been discussing that we both wanted a snack. My craving was specific - caramel popcorn, which we didn't have. Ali's was banana ice cream - recipe here. I wasn't interested in making it because it dirties the food processor and I didn't feel like washing it.

A: I want some 'naner ice cream.

T: Go make yourself some.

{silence}

T: What are you doing?

A: I'm praying to my God.

T: What are you praying for?

A: That God will use you to make my prayer come true. I want YOU to make me 'naner ice cream!

T: Are you kidding me?

A: No. I'm not kidding you. God wants to use you!

{laughter}

T: What are you laughing about?

A: I'm funny. I like that about me. . .

Yeah. I like that about you too. . .

In The Shadow

Someone recently commented that I don't hesitate to "put it all out there." It was in reference to the blog. I guess I think that's one the best compliments I could imagine receiving. I assume that anyone who has ever been forced to live in the murkiness of not quite telling the whole truth would understand why I take those words to heart and they made me smile so broadly.

However, I also know that there's a fine line between being honest and forthcoming about yourself and vomiting your personal junk all over people, all the time. And I don't want this space to be my personal vomitorium.

No doubt there are some for whom reading this space is a bit tiresome. {Here she goes again, whining about _________. Insert your tired theme of choice: family, hurt, God, religion, whatever.} In my defense, every time I write about some tired old theme it doesn't necessarily mean I'm reliving it. It just means it has crossed my path again and I recognize it for what it is.

I've recently begun reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. While I balk at applying the title of artist to myself, I do believe that I am a creative being and that engaging in creativity makes me a more whole and a happier person. One of the principles that she spends a good deal of time talking about is the concept of a shadow artist. It's that person who knows deep down they have something creative to give, but their gift remains hidden because someone has told them that they aren't very good or they refuse to try because they are afraid of failure.

That concept speaks to me.

Personally, I think many of us have a shadow person living with us – kind of the opposite of the shadow artist. The shadow person is who we trot out whenever we are too afraid to reveal our true selves. It's the one that we hide behind when things feel a bit too personal or something overly difficult is asked of us. The shadow person doesn't really exist. It's just a projection we put out there to keep the truth at bay.

I know that I can get very comfortable living with and in that shadow. But, somewhere along the line – I don't really know how or why – but I just got tired of her.

Now I try and trot out the "real" me and hope that I don't get too tiresome or annoying.

Last week, after writing about my feelings about winning a blue ribbon at the fair, the post gave birth to an interesting conversation with a friend about the difficulties in coming out to your religiously fundamentalist family. The person I talked with is out to everyone but her family. My choices are not the right choices for her. And that's the way it should be. There is no one size fits all approach to living. We just do the best with what we have.

That same post probably elicited a few groans in those who read it as they thought to themselves, "Here we go again. . ." So be it. I just want to tell the truth and pray, that in the process, someone else realizes that they are not alone.

The key, for me, is simply not to let the shadows win.

And So, It Begins Again

{blue bench, Findlay Reservoir}

And so, it begins again. . .the search for the next blue ribbon winner for next year's fair!

I went last night to help dismantle and alphabetize a thousand photos so they could be picked up by their owners. It was a gentle, colorful, laughing madhouse.

I won five dollars, spent seven on my entries and have to say it was the most fun I've ever had for two bucks!

Frank Wilson is to be commended for his abilities to herd this group of photographers into a recognizable mess. He did it with humor, tireless energy and grace under pressure. And, he's a top-notch photographer to boot! I think the best part of the whole experience was meeting other shutterbugs in the area and seeing their extremely creative and thoughtful work.

I can't wait for next year! That's what. . .about 359 days/photos to go??

Toward Home

Her hospice bed journeys toward home.

{A six word story from Sunday, September 5, 2010. If you are the praying sort, Ali's grandmother is in her final transition toward home. Much appreciated. . .}

God's Laughter

Someone once asked me if I thought God ever laughed. He and I grew up in the Baptist tradition, both taught to conjure up images of God with lightening in one fist and a big stick in the other. It was not a breezy, carefree question he was asking. It was one that was intrinsically responsible for the underpinning of the rest of his faith.

I said that I do think God laughs. All the time. Every day. Little kid giggles. Deep belly laughs – you know the kind that make you struggle to breathe? God has smiles that communicate knowledge of our situation, smiles of an assured love that cause a shake of his head as he watches us struggle.

I believe that God cackles, guffaws, titters, snickers and maybe even snorts. Wouldn't you if you were somewhere, watching this motley crew?

Mostly, I think God laughs when he sees my pious, outward struggle for holiness, mostly because all he really wants is my heart.

I think God might be a little prejudiced.

For once He asked me to join Him on a walk

through this world,

and we gazed into every heart on this earth,

and I noticed He lingered a bit longer

before any face that was

weeping,

and before any eyes that were

laughing.

And sometimes when we passed

a soul in worship

God too would kneel down.

I have come to learn: God

adores His

creation.

~ St. Francis of Asissi

How Is This Helpful To Anyone?

I struggled mightily to come up with a title for this photograph. I was so outraged when I saw it I nearly caused a wreck trying to pull over so I could take the picture.

Some contenders for the title:

"Are You F*ing Kidding Me?"

"Seriously?!"

"The Reason People Make Fun of Christians"

"Why I Struggle To Stay"

Feel free to play along in the comments!

Forget To Remember

I've come to realize that my life is a lot like that thin layer of earth that sits atop an underground stream of moving water. I spend my day wandering along, whistling a tune to the sky, all the while assuming that the ground is solid and substantial, mostly forgetting that there can be potholes and sinkholes when and where I least expect them.

Wednesday night I nearly tripped and fell right into one. All because of a silly little blue ribbon.

I was so excited when we arrived at the fair. My friend Frank was assisting the judge for the photography contest and when he saw me he whispered, "Tanya! Look!" I was trying to be cool, 'cause ya know, that's how I am and all. . . but my face gave me away. Ali was behind me and when I turned to show her what I saw, I could see my joy reflected in her eyes.

I know it's silly to be excited about a ribbon on a photo. Intellectually, I know that it's just a fun little exercise for late summer amusement in Ohio, but still. . . I just can't help myself.

And that's when I came close to falling through that little layer of solid ground and ending up head-first in the cold, rushing water below.

It happens when I forget to remember.

When I forget to remember that I don't have the luxury of measuring my self-worth against accomplishments to be shared with my family. When I forget to remember that while Ali is calling her Mom to share the good news, that I can't call mine. When I forget to remember that my parents are missing out knowing a really funny, interesting, thoughtful person – and now photographer! – in me.

And one would think, that by now, I wouldn't forget to remember such things. But sometimes I still do.

I doesn't really diminish the fact that winning a silly ribbon makes me proud. It just still makes me sad that this is what it still is. It makes me wonder – do you ever get over wanting to make your parents proud? Do you ever quit wishing that something you did might make them smile? And do you ever stop looking for even the smallest approval in their eyes?

Everywhere we went around the fairgrounds the rest of the night, Ali bragged on me. She called her mom. She called her step-dad. Their joy made me smile and I am so very, very thankful that they have taken me into their lives and made me feel so much like a part of their family.

But I was still kind of sad, at least for a little bit.

I got over it. Ali, dancing around the kitchen just before bedtime singing, "Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!" certainly helped.

{I don't ever, even for a second, have any misgivings about living my life with honesty and integrity. I would not change my decision to tell the truth in order to be in a relationship with people who require lies to make me appear to be acceptable in their eyes. It just still occasionally makes me sad.}

I Won! I Won! I Won!

Finishing Touches

The Hancock County Fair starts today. We wandered around the grounds for a little bit last night, watching workers put the finishing touches on the attractions. Here's my favorite photo:

I would not want that guys job!

We volunteered to help put up the display for the photo contest. There are more than a thousand entries this year. I entered seven. I'm not holding my breath. We met nice people last night, got to see a lot of interesting photographs and laughed in the face of the heat and humidity. I'll let you know how the judging turns out!