Back in England

     Thursday we started the day by visiting Glastonbury and the historical Abby grounds.  The people of this little village believe Glastonbury to be the most spiritual place in the world.  Hm.  I would agree that it was what we call a “thin” place: a place where the divide between what is corporal and what is spiritual seems to thin a bit.  This felt especially true for David, but that is his story to tell.  The Abby grounds are where, according to the abby, King Arthur’s remains were found and reburied for a long time.  There were also some lovely gardeny areas on the grounds which were beautiful to see.

    Afterwards we went to Plymouth and went on a short “cruise” around the bay from whence Sir Francis Drake and later the Mayflower set forth.  I think that would have been more interesting if it hadn’t been pouring rain and so windy that the places the cruise director pointed out we were pretty much unable to see…

    In the evening we were in Devon and in Dartmoor in particular where we had the wonderful gift of hearing a story teller talk about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s inspiration for The Hound of the Baskervilles. We also heard about Pixies and witches and it was enrapturing just to hear this fantastic story teller weave her tales, sharing with us local legends.

    Friday then we spent along the coast of Cornwall.  We visited Looe and had a wonderful walk along the beach, then went on to Penzance (yes, as in the pirates of…) and finally to St. Ives where David and I found a number of beautiful garden areas as well as walked along another beach.  

    Today is Saturday and I’m having some tummy troubles: too much rich food.  Too much food, period.  My body has had enough.  Nonetheless I (probably foolishly) set off to go where we are led. We started the morning by going to Tintagel Castle where, supposedly, King Arthur was conceived…

    The hilly and aerobic walk greatly improved my mood.  After that we went to Padstow… Also beautiful. David and I, ever on the hunt for gardens, only briefly spent time on the wharf.  The rest of the time we found paths and discovered memorials, wildernesses, and incredible views.

    Then we went to Port Isaac, where Doc Martin was based and filmed. 

    My learning about my travel style deepens.  On this tour, we have been taken to specific places with specific things in mind for us to see, often having to do with shopping and visiting city-like places.   But my interests are off the beaten path.  So when given free time, we find our way out from where the rest of our tour is roaming.  It really works for me as I’m able to see what I came here to see: the wilds, the gardens. I’m also finding that many of the best “gardens” are in people’s small yards, or in the country landscapes of England.  The flowers that naturally grow here (many valerians, fox gloves, Queen Anne’s Lace, Elderflower, daisies, even mustard) are so beautiful!  They line the pathways and roads, creating a natural beauty we can only begin to duplicate in our yards.  I’m not saying the tour is un-valuable.  We learn a lot of history from the tour guide, and we go to places that were not necessarily on my radar at all: the talk with the forager was amazing, as was listening to the story-teller.  Not sure we could have found either of those on our own. But my favorite parts of this England/Wales part of my sabbatical have been the time I’ve had with David, walking at our own pace and in our own space: seeing what is often known only to the locals or others who are willing to venture out a little farther.  As the tour continues we are opting out of more of the dinner “optional events” to do our own thing.  The meals that these options provide are, as I said above, too rich and too big for me anyway.  I’d rather avoid the expensive overeating (for me: no judgment on others’ choices) and see what small mom and pop shops, cafes and restaurants are selling to those who live here.  

    The other advantages for me of these tours: first, I don’t have to drive, so I’m free to just look around at the scenery.  Secondly, they give a taste and inform us about what we might want to dig into more deeply if given the chance to come back someday.  I know I want to return to that history museum in Cardiff, for example.  I would like to explore more fully the national parks here for their beauty and connections to nature.  We didn’t really see the Cotswold other than driving through, and I would love to have a chance to really visit some of those small house gardens which I’ve heard are amazing.  

    All in all, I’m deeply aware of the gifts of this time.  I’m also tired, and I find myself missing the people who are normally such an important part of my daily life: my kids, my congregation, my lectionary group, my extended family, my friends…All of you are often in my thoughts and I hope you are all well.  I am halfway through my sabbatical as of today, which has both flown by, and at the same time drags on.  Time is weird that way.  I continue to look forward to the lessons of tomorrow.

Good places, Bad places?

     When Youngest and I were visiting colleges, we took some time in Oregon to look at one in particular.  I talked about it in another post at the time and don’t need to repeat what I wrote there: it wasn’t the right school for Youngest, which is fine: that’s why you do these tours, to find out what you like and don’t like, what fits and doesn’t fit.  What I do want to say is that it was also a mother-daughter vacation for us so we also drove up to and through Portland.  We left that city feeling that the city had rejected us at every turn.  We went to the zoo, only to discover you had to have tickets ahead of time and there were none available for that day.  We went to the international rose garden, and all the roses had been cut back to the ground that very week: there wasn’t a single rose to be seen.  We went to the Japanese Garden and it was closed that day for work. We went to Powell’s City of Books and were unable to find parking (a rarity for me) anywhere within a half mile of the store. We tried to go to the Portland Art Museum, but it’s closed Monday-Wednesday and so we could not go.  Finally, we just drove to our hotel.  But we were stuck in traffic that meant it took over an hour to drive the 6 miles to the hotel.  When we arrived, we found it was a dump of a hotel: not a place we even felt SAFE, let alone a place to get clean or to sleep soundly. When we left, we shook the dirt off our shoes and accepted that Portland did not want us and we were okay with that.

    David and I feel the same way about Cardiff where we stayed for the last 2 days.  We are with a tour that had difficulty even arriving at the hotel because apparently the first night we were there, so was P!NK, and so the city center where our hotel was located was packed with people all having come to party and see P!NK.  I don’t like dealing with that kind of huge crowds and David needed to work so we stayed in our hotel room that evening rather than braving dinner in town.  Our room looks over the train tracks and is almost on top of them.

  Additionally, while this was supposed to be a very nice hotel, our bathroom was dirty, there was a piece broken out of the bath, the fan doesn’t work, and the shower is so tight, as well as curved, that it’s hard to stand in it. But more than any of this, yesterday morning I woke up with three giant, very itchy and angry BITES on my face from something in the room. Additionally, we’ve been trying to wash our clothes by hand in our room, and that, too, has been a disaster because they aren’t drying fast enough in this humid room with no working fan, meaning smell sets in: ugh!

    Much of yesterday we had unscheduled time, so since I am here to see gardens, we googled the “best gardens in Cardiff” and set out.  The number one garden listed turned out to be a sports arena.  I have no idea why that came up as one of the best gardens since there was not one garden plant to be seen.  Another was torn up completely, fenced in, with piles of concrete and tractors.  

    A third was a small playground.  Giving up on the gardens, we then went looking for traditional food from Wales for lunch.  We’d been told by our tour guide to look in particular for Cornish pasties and Welsh cake, but we couldn’t find either.

    In the afternoon we went to St Fagan’s National Museum of History.  For my Cleveland friends, it is very similar to Hale Farm and Village.  For others, I’d say there are similarities to Williamsburg in that it is an old historic village.  It was awesome, really.  But our tour guide gave us only 80 minutes to go through the entire area which is over 100 acres of historic sites and buildings. I felt like David and I were zooming through to try to see as much of it as we could, and to my great surprise and disappointment, at the end I found an incredibly beautiful castle and garden area that we did not really have time to see.  I certainly didn’t have the time to truly enjoy it as I would have liked.

    Still, the day was not a complete loss.  Though we only saw the St. Fagan’s National Museum in a huge rush, what we did see was amazing.  In the morning we also visited Cardiff Castle, which was very interesting.  And in the evening we had a very nice dinner with our group that included being entertained by Welsh singers and a harpist.  That was truly lovely.  

    Returning to our hotel then, I was completely unable to sleep since the room was hot, the fan didn’t work, and there was no light sheet I could use but only a heavy comforter that meant I was either too hot, or had no covering. Despite what was positive and enjoyable, then, I felt the same sense of being rejected by a city that I felt when we were in Portland.  I also feel the same sense of “that’s fine” about it.  As I said in an earlier post, I’m not a city girl and this was definitely a city!  

    As I reflected on this, two thoughts came to mind.  First, it is easy to globalize one’s experience.  Obviously the time in Cardiff was really mixed: some wonderful things (the castle, the museum, the dinner), some not so wonderful.  But it would be easy for me to globalize and say it was not a good time.  Similarly it is easy to globalize a good experience, when the reality is that everything is mixed.  We absolutely loved Bath, for example.  But that doesn’t mean the time there was perfect.  One of the less ideal experiences we had in Bath was that our tour guide took us to a “very special English tea experience” where we were going to have “famous Sally Lum buns.”  Yes, we had tea: the same kind of tea I drink on a daily basis. And these famous buns, as far as we could tell, were large half hamburger buns. I love breads of all kinds, but I don’t even count hamburger buns as true bread: white flour, airy, with little taste, only good with something between them and even then, I often remove the top half of the bun because it’s just too much and is more utilitarian than edible.  It was an expensive yet disappointing “tea” experience.  But it was easy to ignore in light of all the wonderful things we saw and experienced in Bath.  I think, then, that it remains important to focus on gratitude and the things that are life giving and positive. I don’t need to waste energy on what was less than ideal.  But focusing on what is good brings me joy.  I choose.  And I don’t always choose for the best.

    My second thought was that there are places that resonate with a person and places that don’t.  I’m not actually sure that the reasons can always be accurately named.  Sometimes it is just the day that one is having, sometimes it is an experience, and sometimes it just comes down to something intangible: a sense, a smell, a sound that leads to one feeling good or not so good about a space.  First impressions, maybe.  For myself, I’ve learned that my first impressions are usually wrong, especially when those impressions are less than positive.  Just as it is unfair to people to judge them based on first impressions, perhaps my first impressions of places are equally to be viewed with suspicion.

    So, while I felt, like I did in Portland, like we were dismissed by the city, I’m not ready to pass judgement (and perhaps similarly for Portland).  And instead of labeling our time there as a bad time, perhaps I can just say, more truthfully, that our time there was mixed.  Even as I write this, I remember that while the gardens we were aiming to view were not the gardens we wanted to see, the walk to those “gardens” was actually quite lovely: we walked along the River Taff, in a lovely green belt of trees and grass, apart from the streets of the city.  Maybe my naming of the day as a “bad day” might have caused me to forget the beautiful part of the walk in favor of remembering the disappointment.  It was a different experience than we had expected, but not, on the whole a bad one.  

    So my lessons for today are to be cautious in my judgments and to focus on the good.  Not such bad lessons.

Traveling

         My sabbatical (according to the extensive grant application I wrote) is focused on healing time and towards that I said there were several activities that were healing for me: gardening, hiking, and writing being three of those.  Towards that end, I divided the three months into different sections:

1. Rest and work on my own garden

2. Travel through California with my girls to see and visit gardens throughout the state to learn and gain more ideas for continued work on my own garden.

3. Visit Iona to hike, pray, write.

4. Go on a garden tour of England and Wales with David

5. Walk the Camino with my son.

6.  Continue to work on my garden at home.

Yesterday I finished part 3.  In a reverse of how we began our time in the UK:

 We walked to the ferry,

Took the ferry from Iona to Mull.

Took the bus across the Island of Mull.

Took the ferry to Oban.

Took the train back to Glasgow.

Walked to our hotel.

We had nothing else scheduled for the day, which turned out to be a good thing.  I mentioned in another blog post that there would undoubtedly be challenges but I would strive to see them as adventures.  Yesterday was our day of “challenges”.  First, the water was extremely choppy because the high winds continued.  As a result, the ferry arrived on Mull a bit late: it just couldn’t go the speed it usually does.  That meant the bus left late, though it had waited for the ferry to arrive.  Then, as we were on the drive around Mull, the bus actually broke down.  By the time they were able to do a “bandaid repair” on the bus to get us the rest of the way around Mull to the repair hub (which was only about .2 miles from the ferry terminal), the ferry had left.  That meant we all waited for the next ferry, two hours later. This set a number of people back, but we had actually sort of prepared… we’d bought a late train ticket to get back to Glasgow, just with a sense that we didn’t want things to be rushed “just in case” there were problems.  so we caught the train just fine, but apparently one of the train lines had had a fire, which meant the train we took was re-routed a different way to get back to Glasgow.  What was supposed to be a three hour train ride actually took SIX!!  AND, the train terminal where we were supposed to exit was closed, so that added a short extension to our walk at the end.  It all worked out fine: again, we had nothing else scheduled for the day and we had more interesting conversations with locals.  One man in particular wanted to talk politics with us (which I’m happy to share with anyone interested) but also wanted to give us some of his Scottish snacks, which were interesting. Another family talked about what they had done in Scotland and where they were headed, and another couple shared with us what they thought we ought to see while in London.  What continued to be interesting to me is that many of these folk also shared about recent losses they’ve experienced: one woman sharing that her brother had just died, another that his wife died nine months ago.  I don’t know what I carry that invites this, but I’m always happy to be a support and to listen.  It just continues to feel like an unbelievable privilege to me when folk go deep with me: and to have these strangers choose to do so was another unexpected gift.  When we finally arrived in Glasgow it was fairly late. We ate our Scotland-required fish and chips for dinner and then went to bed.

Today then was another travel day.  We took the train to London from Glasgow: a beautiful ride that again took a large part of the day.  More interesting conversations: one with a nurse whose daughter is getting married this weekend and another who works to provide supported housing for the mentally ill.  That was an amazing conversation, and we had a lot in common to talk through.  We arrived here at 2PM which gave us enough time to be regular tourists for the afternoon: seeing Buckingham Palace, the Elizabeth Tower (Big Ben), Trafalgar Square as well as several beautiful parks: St. James Park, Parliament Square Garden, the Queen’s Gardens, and ending it all with high tea at the English Rose. This evening we have the great treat of going to see The Mouse Trap live in London’s west end!  I can’t wait!!  It’s the longest running show in the world and as a big Agatha Christie fan, I couldn’t NOT see it!  Tomorrow we return to focusing more on Gardens and Parks.  We are planning to go to the Kew in the morning and then I will walk Hyde park while David works.  

The main thing I learned from all of this was that I really don’t care to be a regular tourist most of the time. I’m glad to say that I’ve actually seen Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. But we didn’t go inside either: Neither of us were interested.  What I really value is talking with people, experiencing a bit of the culture and walking in the gardens, parks and natural landscapes of the areas.  When we arrived at the train station here and disembarked into huge crowds of people rushing, pushing, trying to get to wherever each was going, I felt overwhelmed and like I just wanted to hide. We had to take a subway (or the “underground”) after the train and it was even more crowded, loud and overwhelming. On the one hand, I appreciate not paying for taxis or cars but actually traveling the way most people travel.  But I found myself texting the kids with the phrase, “Once again, I’ve been reminded that I am NOT a city girl!”  That is definitely part of it.  But also, I feel like the tourist traps, or the things that people usually come to see keep those who visit them at a surface level of interaction with a different place and people.  I’m not so interested in that surface level interaction.  I want to know how people think and feel, I want to get to know the landscape and the land itself, I want to see the animals and watch them in their home places.  

I find myself increasingly grateful for the few days we had on Iona that were just mine to walk, to write, to attend services, to talk to folk, and to just be.  I’m glad we began our European time there, and I’m aware that I could easily have spent much more time there.  It was a centering gift; and a time that I will reflect on often for the gifts it gave. I’m going to end this for now as we need to take the underground to see our play this evening.

I hope all of you are well. While I miss you, I feel connected to you all still through my writing: it feels like I’m writing letters to a friend.  So thank you for reading these my letters to you.

 

Becoming

We’ve only been on this journey 3 and days.  But so far the number of interesting conversations I’ve had with strangers has been beyond my expectations. Below I name just a few of those interactions:

On the bus bridge between BART stations I had a conversation with a woman who had just come back from walking the Porto-Santiago part of the Camino: the same path Middle and I will be walking. We had a wonderful conversation about knee problems and how to make the walk pleasant and possible.  We talked about our sons (she walked with her adult son as I will be walking with mine).  It was truly a delightful and unexpected conversation.

While waiting for the ferry to Mull, I ended up in a conversation with a stranger who worked on Iona for 24 years.  She shared with me about her life, her time on Iona, her little house on Fionnphort, and then she also shared that her husband had died 9 months ago, what happened, what that has been like for her and how she is surviving it.  While that part of the conversation was not necessarily “fun,” it was valuable and deep.

In my blog post yesterday I shared about the conversation I had with the young man studying to become a Jesuit priest.  That conversation about our lives, faith, trust, spirituality, continues to cause reflection and learning for me.

This morning at breakfast I ended up in a conversation with a couple at the table next to us.  The man worked as a head librarian for the highlands while his wife owned a book store.  Now retired, they are active in the Church of Scotland as elders and we spent an hour discussing all of our connections and what Iona has meant to each of us.

At lunch today, I ended up talking with a large group of folk who are here on pilgrimage from the US.  Many are pastors, some Presbyterian, and some from the Bay Area! They encouraged me to join a group called “clergy with cats” on FaceBook so we can stay connected.

These are a few of the conversations I’ve had so far.  I’m sure there will be more conversations like this: we have only been on the road since late Saturday, and much of that time involved confined travel situations.

But what I have learned from reflecting on these is a couple things: First, almost always there are ways we can connect with those around us: there are things we share in common, and opportunities to learn from the differences.  Each of these connections with strangers included gifts.  Each conversation provided chances for me to learn more deeply about the world and about others, to restore some faith for me in humanity in general, in the kindness of the world, and in the deeper connections and similarities we all share. 

Secondly, with each conversation, as I looked over at David, he was laughing and shaking his head.  I asked him if it bothered him that I was having all these conversations with strangers, and his response was, “No, of course not!  This is just YOU!”  But what I realized is that I don’t, or at least I haven’t, seen myself this way.  What I mean is that I generally self define as shy, as introverted, as socially awkward and as withdrawn.  I see myself as a person on the outside of what is happening around me much of the time. But seeing myself through David’s eyes, I have come to realize that maybe the shy, withdrawn version of myself was more about my own sense of insecurity than anything real about who I truly am.  I’m growing past those insecurities, and as a result I feel more able to be who I really am.  I’m moving more into a place of not caring as much about other people’s judgements of me.  I am more willing to take the risk of being disliked and feel less intimidated into trying to be the person I believe other people want me to be.  I’ve seen this in other parts of my life as well. My eldest child has much of my social awkwardness, but they also are not afraid to be who they want to be.  They wear clothing that doesn’t necessarily fit into current styles, and they still (at the ripe old age of 24) are willing to grab my hand in public.  They burst into singing in places like grocery stores and while walking.  It’s not that they are unaware that others find these behaviors odd: they simply don’t care.  And I’m finding that I don’t either.  Eldest gets to be who Eldest chooses to be, and I feel nothing but pride at their decisions to live as they want, even when that means others around them don’t or won’t understand or appreciate their choices.  Being around Eldest has also given me some courage to choose for myself as well.  When they start to sing, sometimes I will join them, just because I want to, for example. 

Moving past other people’s judgments also encourages me to move beyond my own self-judgments.  Today, for example, we are on the incredible Island of Iona.  As I planned my time here, I saw it mostly involving walking, hiking, meditating, praying, and attending services.  I did walk this morning and it was wonderful and lovely.  But currently it is raining, it is extremely windy with a bitter gale that I simply don’t enjoy.  So, I am sitting in a beautiful conservatory in the inn and writing.  I am listening to the wind and the rain, but within the confines of a dry and comfortable space.  My inclination in making this choice was self-condemnation, “Barbara Ellen, you SHOULD be taking advantage of your time here to walk, to hike!  You will regret it if you don’t!”  Maybe… or maybe I will appreciate that this is my time, and I am doing what is making me happy in this moment, looking out at the ocean while sitting surrounded by geraniums and listening to the sounds of nature around me. Life doesn’t always happen in the ways we expect.  And that is more than okay. 

The conversations I’ve been having with strangers are just one part of moving into being who I want and choose to be.  Sitting and writing instead of walking in the rain and wind is another piece of that as well.  I am so grateful for today and for this time.

Help

 Travel today/yesterday presented many opportunities to care for those around us.  While we were on BART a woman made an impassioned plea for monetary help.  Usually I will give in those moments, but the only currency I was carrying was Euros… not very helpful. I did think about talking with her about sources of help, but she was at the other end of the train and I was trapped by our carry-ons from getting up to help. Undoubtedly those are both poor excuses, and I find myself reflecting on that today. Then later, a man was trying to pick up a woman on the BART train.  She was clearly uncomfortable with it, and he kept pushing: kept inviting her to leave her plans and go do something with him. At one point I considered stepping in to help, though she seemed to handle it on her own.  Sometimes in situations like that I wonder if it is more helpful or disempowering for others to step in.  Does it take away her sense of self-agency if someone needs to rescue her?  Or does it help her to feel supported?  Sometimes I honestly don’t know. Then at the airport in London, I was standing near an elevator and heard a woman inside yelling for help.  She was crying and saying, “please help me!”  I pushed the elevator button and found her alone in the elevator, huddled down in the corner.  I asked her if she needed help but she stood up, ran out of the elevator and up the escalator nearby, crying the whole time.  Then today we were on the bus to go around the island of Mull on our way to catching the second ferry to get to Iona (complicated, I know), when the bus driver made the decision to stop and ask a young man walking the road if he wanted a ride as well.  He said he did.  He ended up sitting across the isle from us and so we started talking.  He said that he and a friend have been traveling the Scottish highlands with absolutely nothing but what they can carry.  No food, no money, no phones. Interesting.  We gave him 10 pounds, not because he asked for it (he didn’t), but because it seemed the right thing to do. Interestingly, this opened the door to conversation and it turns out he is studying to be a Jesuit priest and part of what their class is doing is spending time seeing if they can live on the kindness of strangers. It led into further and deeper conversation when I shared that I was actually a Presbyterian pastor.  And I found myself deeply grateful that this time the kindness came back to me in such an amazing way.

Still, this all felt like a LOT.  Why were there so many opportunities to help others?  Why were there so many people in need in the airports and BART trains and buses?  Is it that there are more people in need these days?  Is it that I’m more aware of it now?  I feel like humans are becoming more and more isolated from one another, and frankly more callous in our response to the needs of others. Maybe this is even more the case because it seems the needs around us are growing exponentially and we feel overwhelmed by the amount of help required. But all of these people are FAMILY: they are all siblings to us, all valuable as part of the human family, as part of creation.  And I do believe we have a responsibility to help one another, to support one another, to connect to one another, despite the growing distance of people around us.  We are called to choose something different, to remember our connections and our responsibility to care for one another.  So I will be keeping my eyes open, and trying in each moment to choose kindness, compassion and help.

On the other side of this, today (our third travel day) we, too, ended up relying on the kindness of strangers.  We walked from our hotel in Glasgow to the train station, took the train to Oban, where we caught the ferry to Mull, as I mentioned above.  But everything was running late.  The train kept needing to stop, the ferry started late, the bus across Mull ran into some problems on the road.  Our second ferry, then, the one that took us to Iona was supposed to run at 6:15: the last ferry crossing of the day.  But at every step of the way others were kind, and others waited.  The bus across Mull did not leave at the time it was scheduled to do so because the ferry from Oban had not arrived.  The ferry to Iona did not leave because the bus around Mull had not arrived.  It waited over a half hour.  There weren’t very many of us, maybe a dozen, who were crossing to Iona.  And I know that in all these cases the drivers, the crew on the boat… that all were late ending their day because they were helping strangers. But they did it anyway, for the few of us traveling this way.  And while it caused a bit of inconvenience for them, for us it was a great gift.  We made it here, we are settled in now to our little room where we will be for the next 3 nights, we are happy and content and for myself I feel a bit more hopeful about the kindness possible from humanity.  

Kindness makes a difference.  Every time.

Waiting

 In the last 24 hours we have driven to BART, taken BART to Mission street where BART is closed for repair work, taken a bus then to the Daly City BART station, taken BART again to SFO, flown to London, then flown to Glasgow, then took a bus downtown where we walked to our hotel.  All of it has involved a great deal of waiting. We waited at the Concord BART station for the train.  Then we exited the train at Mission, we waited for the bridge bus.  Then we waited for the next BART train.  We waited at the airport for our flight. Then we waited as we flew the 9 ½ hours to London.  We waited in the London airport for a couple hours, then once we were on the plane, we sat and waited another hour for our turn to take off.  We waited for the bus downtown, and the list goes on.

As we spent the day waiting for each thing, one or both of us could be found saying, “I just want to get to…”, an expression of that waiting, but more, a phrase that shows we are not living in the moment, but living in wait, and in anticipation, of what will come next.

I was reminded of the movie “Click.”  For those unfamiliar with it, Adam Sandler’s character was given a universal remote for his life.  He could forward through the parts that he didn’t want to experience, or that involved “waiting” to get to the things he enjoyed.  But he found that more and more of his life disappeared in the fast forward mode. While it is a story, I wonder if it isn’t also an accurate reflection of how many of us live our lives: waiting for what we look forward to, waiting for what we enjoy, and finding ways to “fast forward” (or really, tune out) those parts of our lives that aren’t exactly what we want, sometimes by playing on our electronics, sometimes by zoning.  Other times we simply experience impatience or even anger at those times of waiting. 

Surely there are other, healthier choices.  I am taking this moment of “waiting” to write, to think, to reflect.  I’ve been thinking that maybe I should keep a stack of thank you cards with me, and use those moments of waiting to write notes of appreciation to loved ones. At this moment I could be talking to David or resting my eyes. I could be meditating.  I could be praying.  But mostly, I could take this moment to look around me in gratitude at what this time and space has to offer. 

The only time we really have is now, this moment. Living in either the past or the future is failing to live at all. Since we can’t change the past, and don’t know what the future really holds, working to stay present in the now and appreciate the gifts of each moment is the only way to truly live this beautiful life we’ve been given. It is short, and fleeting.  And at least for me, this challenge of learning to just BE in the now is a lesson worth the attention it requires.

Getting ready to go...

      The few days that we've been home have been... well, they've been a lot.  Not only did it take the eight hours to move pictures from my phone to my computer, but my computer eventually crashed and David had to reformat and rebuild it, meaning I've needed to then put everything back on it. The transferring of photos, this side of the rebuild, continues to be a problem, but the rest seems better, at least for now. Then, on David's car (the I3), the door stopped latching and would not close. We took it in and were told that, though the car itself is now only worth about 6K because of age, it would cost us 5K to have it fixed.  Obviously, makes no sense.  So we are now a two car family for the five of us. It's ironic: we have had every expectation for a while now that the Mazda and/or the Camry would die.  Both are quite old and truly on their last legs.  The I3?  It's a 2016, which for us is a "new" car.  It never occurred to us that it would have an issue which would make it no longer worth fixing.  I think being down to two cars will be fine: Middle and Youngest are usually in school, David works from home, Eldest is in on-line grad school and my work is close enough to home that we probably don't need more than two cars. Still, taking the car in, having it assessed, cleaning it out, selling it back to BMW (for a pittance, since it is broken, after all) took time. Then both Youngest and Eldest had doctor's appointments for various issues, which meant blood needed to be taken from young adults who have serious needle phobias and for whom the taking of blood is very traumatic. They needed me with them, therefore, something I wanted to do anyway.  My own issues with my knee and toe have also meant doctor's visits, more X-rays, filling of prescriptions, and more. The cat who has thyroid issues also needed rechecking and obtaining more medication. We are needing to take out a loan, and the paperwork has yet to be signed, though we leave tomorrow.  This has involved many phone calls and trying to push things forward.  I've realized I need a couple important items for our trip: the Camino part of it, in particular, and have been running around to different stores trying to obtain them.  All of this is in addition to packing, trying to figure out how to take the needed things for various different parts of the trip while still having room for David to bring home some of Middle's things from Norway so Middle and I can walk the Camino with minimal "stuff."  There is more... some of which is very personal to family members that I cannot share, as well as the normal living activities of grocery shopping, paying bills, showing the kids what will need to be done around the house while we are gone...  Needless to say, it's been exhausting and overwhelming.  

       I have found myself wondering how we usually get everything done when I am working full time. I suppose everything would be spread out more. We wouldn't be as rushed in terms of the loan or emptying and selling the car, or getting all of us through our doctors appointments, for example.  But in a weird way I'm looking forward to the trip just so things can slow down.  

      Still, add to this that I am an anxious traveler.  My mind fills with the possible problems: what if a flight is delayed so we can't catch the connection?  What if there's an accident and we are unable to get where we need to be for each part of the trip?

    Once again, I'm being pushed to look at and stay with what really matters. Time with the kids matters. Space to just be matters. Being in the garden with the plants matters. Mostly, just being in the moment matters. If problems happen during our travels (and no doubt they will: nothing ever goes completely as planned), then we will have an adventure. We will figure it out and no doubt learn some things. If we end up in Europe without something we need, we will probably be able to buy it there, or if not, we will learn to live for a time without it. We will be on a journey.  And in the meantime, I need to just breathe deeply and be present with my beautiful young adult children before we leave. 

And just because...

    

Days 17-18

     We did a short trip up to Mendocino for a couple days.  That was wonderful!  All of us who are home (so not Middle, but the other four of us) went up to see the Botanical gardens and to just BE in Mendocino.  We'd been there before, though none of us had remembered having done so until we saw the gardens.  Just incredible.  The front looks like a small garden store.  Nothing to give away the reality of the huge gardens that go all the way to the ocean which are hiding behind it.  Totally worth the 3 1/2 hour drive each way!  We then spent most of the next day just walking around Mendocino, walking along the beach, visiting the cute little shops, eating good food and just being family together.  Eldest loved it so much, they picked up a job application for the local book store.  We will see... but if they get the job, what an incredible excuse to visit more regularly!

    Pics below:  

    Today, the 20th of May, eldest turns 24... where has the time gone?  I'm so glad we have this time together before they permanently spread their wings and fly!

Day 6, A Deeper Dive

     There are certain things that must be done that I find difficult to do. These are "normal" things that most people have to do at one point or another. But for all the persona I put forth that shows me to be capable, strong, hard working and always on the move; this hides the reality that there are certain basic, normal activities that are very hard for me. I have to psyche myself up for these, as well as do every other activity I can think of postponing the inevitability of getting these simple activities done. 

    So today, after pulling more weeds, pruning a few rose bushes, cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming the house, changing the filters in our air purifiers, going through the clothing that we need to donate, collecting old prescription medications to turn in, and making some necessary phone calls, I finally was able to push myself to get the car smog checked and then, to deal with our insurance company about certain claims that they've been trying not to pay. Even harder for me, I waited until David was done with work so he could sit next to me while I called several hotels to adjust a few of our reservations for travel in the next few weeks. Anything having to do with making trip arrangements is overwhelming for me. While I love traveling and being on vacation, the amount of stress the planning and arranging cause for me is absurdly ridiculous. 

    Once these three daunting tasks were done, I did not feel relieved. Instead, other activities that I have also put off came to mind. I need to stain the closet doors that are sitting in my garage waiting for me. I need to call a mess of different physical therapy offices to try to find one that actually has openings before we leave for Europe. These are just two of a list of about 25 "things that need to be done."  Each one feels unreasonably difficult, daunting, large, and overwhelming. Some of these will take an hour, most will take about a day, others will take months to accomplish. But as I look at my list, I'm filled with dread, depression and an almost irresistible urge to run away.  

    So, what do I need to do with this list? Some tasks need to be postponed. For example, I have had the project of converting my photos into digital versions. This is a huge project. My reasons for doing so are numerous: I don't want to have so many albums taking up room, I worry about fire (especially where we currently live) and want them in a format that is easy to grab should we have to go. But honestly, this may have to be a project for retirement, whenever that might occur. I don't have the bandwidth for this right now, and I think that needs to be okay.

    Others I may need to pay someone else to do. It's possible that this is the case with the closet door situation, as well as some other house projects such as digging the tanbark away from the side of the house (to prevent termites) and fixing the retaining wall in our back yard. 

    Still others I may need to break into small pieces. I need to put our important documents on a flash drive to put in our emergency kit (again this is a fire preparedness necessity). I can break this up: scan the most important ones one day. Make a pile of the second most important ones and take a few each day.  Even taking one paper a day would eventually get me through the pile of important papers. All I need to do is to START.  

    Some I may be able to pass on to David. While he is still working right now, this sabbatical time was supposed to be sabbath for me: not just getting done everything I've put off. We can divide some of these jobs up.  

    But I think the deeper dive is to look at why some of these particular tasks are overwhelming.  What is it about calling insurance people, for example, that I find so difficult? I'm not a fan of conflict. I don't like running up against walls of "no," I don't like feeling dismissed, unheard, or misunderstood, and I really don't like needing to duplicate or redo forms. But these things are just part of life in this country at this time. And they give me opportunities to practice being calm in the face of difficult scenarios.

    What is it about making travel plans that utterly overwhelms me? After all, for many the planning of these trips is half the fun. I fear spending money for things that never take place. Honestly, I prefer some spontaneity, but as I plan for the garden tours I'm finding that most places require that you have your tickets ahead of time with exact days and often exact times of entry.  We may not be able to find a place to stay if we don't have reservations ahead of time. But I'm all too aware that things happen, and I worry that I will have paid for tickets or hotels and then not be able to use them because something has interfered: illness, car problems, or some other unforeseen problem. I think about the trip I took with Middle to Yosemite. We paid for entry, we paid for a hotel room, and then the car broke down and we had to be towed back home. I think about our trip to Norway and our plans to visit the large group of museums in the center of Bergen. Everything we could find said the museums would be open, but the day we went, our last day in Bergen, they were all unexpectedly closed. I think about David's "quick trip" to Michigan to see his family.  He only had a four day weekend, but after he landed in Chicago following the first leg of his journey, he was informed that the second flight had been canceled, and he would not be able to get another flight for another couple days. There have been so many things that have gone wrong with our vacation plans in the past, soooo many, that I have little doubt some of the arrangements I've made will involve throwing money and time away. That waste is deeply upsetting to me. So much so that making the arrangements and putting money down for travel causes great anxiety. 

    I need to remember that what is important is not the destination but the journey. I will be with my family, whatever happens. And while there will be unexpected events, if we keep our eyes open, even if we miss what was planned, there will be something else to see, to learn, to experience. The money will be spent, but it will be what it will be. So this is my lesson for today: to trust that while there will no doubt be issues, still, in the big picture it will all be worth while.  

(sigh). Some lessons are easier to learn than others.