More Gardening Lessons

     I continue to be amazed by what my garden has to teach me.  Here are some of the lessons I've been especially focused on recently:

    1.  When I am pulling weeds, if I tug them too hard, they simply break off.  When I am gentle at pulling out each weed, I am often able to pull long and intact roots along with the weed, insuring that at least that particular weed will not grow back. I think the same is true in life.  When we try to fight or force solutions, tugging out our problems or issues, it might look for a time like we have solved the issue.  But we've just broken it off at the soil.  The root of the problem remains and as a result, it will come back, grow back, often stronger and with more force since the roots have had time to continue to grow and strengthen.  I think the current divisions in our country, the strong stance of opposition that each side takes reflects this intractability of the issues.  We have not worked with each other, we have not tried to dig down to understand the different values and beliefs that form each other's viewpoints and choices.  As a result, the roots of each side have continued to grow and develop, unbeknownst to the other side.  The fights, the issues, might be cut off at the base for a time.  But the issues themselves will come back unless there is a deeper dig into what is causing our divide, truly, underneath what we see.  Until we listen, are gentle with each other, and dig down deep into understanding, there can be no movement, no healing, and no solutions to this divide.

    2.  On Saturday, I was sheet mulching under a large tree in our front yard.  I stood up too fast and hit my head, hard, on the tree. Several things had happened: first I was so focused on what was right in front of me that I forgot to take in the bigger picture of what was around me.  I forgot to notice the tree and that failure to see ended up causing me pain. This too is mirrored in our culture.  We get caught up in the little things and sometimes forget to see the big picture.  When that happens, we can again, head down paths that may suit us or serve us for a time, but will not serve us in the long run.  Our need for instant gratification, for wealth, for comfort has caused us to become blind to the damage we are doing to other cultures and to the earth, for example. We stop seeing. We stop feeling.  And in the end, it may kill us all.  

    3. The second thing I learned from the tree incident was that I need to avoid pushing so hard that I become too tired to function properly.  I wanted to get the sheet mulching done.  I'm not comfortable having a load of mulch in my driveway and wanted to move it all to where it would finally be in its place.  But after a couple hours of loading mulch into the wheelbarrow, moving it and then scooping it out and spreading it, I was so tired that I fell twice before finally hitting my head on the tree.  I had been trying to get the mulching done too quickly and that insistence on continuing to work when it was obvious that I was spent just slowed me down in the end.  It also meant that my gardening project stopped being fun and life-giving for me that day.  It became something I was dreading and resenting.  And I'm now angry at the tree that I have loved, despite knowing that actually it was my own fault. Yes, there is value in pushing ourselves farther. But recognizing when we've reached the limit is also important.  We won't reach the finish line if we fall off the track completely in utter exhaustion.  Knowing when to pause, to stop, to rest: these are lessons I should have learned during sabbatical, but apparently need to learn again in a different, and hopefully deeper way. 

    4.  I mentioned this before, but some plants live and others don't.  I'm not ultimately in charge of that.  I can do my best to help them grow, but in the end, all I can do is what is in front of me to do.  The results of my work, the results of the plants growing or dying: that is not in my control. The results are up to so many things that are beyond my control: the plants themselves, the weather, the soil, God. I have to give up the reigns of power when it comes to what thrives in the garden and what does not.  And this applies to all I do.  I can only do what is in front of me to be done.  If it leads to something positive in the world, great.  But even if it doesn't, that's all I can do.  The results are not mine to dictate.

    5.  Gardens take time, and they take intention.  Now that I'm back to working full time, finding the space needed to garden is harder.  Also, as the days get shorter, the options of going out in the early morning hours or the late evening hours are diminishing.  I am needing to be intentional about the things that matter to me.  And this applies not only to my garden but to other areas of my life.  David and I have had a hard time finding time together lately.  My day off is Friday.  His is Saturday. During the week, my evenings are packed with meetings more often than not.  At this point we have to schedule time together, and that needs to be okay.  Marking off those times for us, and marking off those times for my gardening: these are things I need to do.  As I had mentioned in my "lessons from sabbatical", I also need to be intentional about making time for friends, for walking, and for writing.  This is the time of life I am in.  I cannot afford to just hope that time will be available for what I need and want to do.  I have to work at it, and that has to be okay.  If I want my garden to be beautiful, I need to find the time that it needs to become so and to stay so.  I have to prioritize, and be serious in that commitment.

    I love what my garden is teaching me.  And I am working hard to internalize these important life lessons.

Parenting Part III

     The last two days I've written about the parenting challenges I've been having with my son and my youngest child.  Now we come to the eldest.  At 24, Eldest (they/them pronouns) really is an adult.  Sort of. Regardless of their status, I find Eldest the hardest to write about and yet for the last couple years Eldest has been the one I've been most concerned about.  They are the hardest to write about because it is not as easy to write about parenting them without betraying personal information that they would not be comfortable with my sharing in this format.  With Youngest, I wrote about a situation she is in that I have found challenging.  With Middle, I wrote about our relationship from my perspective.  But with Eldest?  My concerns about Eldest have much more to do with personal factors.  So I will do my best not to be "revealing" while still sharing the challenges of being a parent to my first child.

     Eldest is currently living at home.  They are attending an on-line graduate school.  That is their "work" for now and it made sense, then, for them to save money by living at home while attending school.  But this has been challenging for both of us.  

    In many ways parenting adults is harder than parenting kids in that we can step in when our kids are young, we can "take control" when we see that things are not right, we can insist on doing things a certain way.  When they are adults, it is not as easy.  I still weigh in, I can't help but do so.  However, that is as far as I can take it, especially with my 24-year-old. So when they make decisions that I think are unhealthy, even hurtful for themselves or others, I can say my piece but then I have to let it go.  That is hard. In some ways we've worked this through. The first year Eldest was home was really tough.  I had a hard time letting go of expectations for their involvement in certain activities that I felt were family activities and family commitments, for example.  But we did work that through.  I've been able to adjust my expectations so that now, if they decide to accompany us on something that I previously would have said was a "family event" I am very pleasantly surprised.  If they don't, that's their choice. It took work on my part to step back, but I've done it and so that part feels better.  

    But there remain these areas where I have a much harder time letting alone.  I have wishes for all of my children that I don't think are outrageous: I want them to interact with their world in ways that are positive and helpful.  I want them to find work that is, ideally, meaningful, but even if it isn't meaningful, I hope that it will be satisfying work for them.  I want them to have dreams and visions and to work towards those ends. I want them to have friends and positive, healthy relationships with others. I want them to have a spirituality that is life-giving and meaningful to them. I want them to pursue positive and healthy activities with their free time. But more than all of these, or maybe as a sum of all of these, what I really hope for them is that they are functional and have joy in their lives.  

    What happens, then, when they aren't?  When all of my hopes for them are not being fulfilled and when I cannot help them because they don't want my help, don't want to hear what I have to say, don't want to take my advice, don't want my interference, and don't want to do any of the things that I "know" would help?  I've tried so many different approaches: sharing articles, my own struggles, stories I've heard. Mostly I've just been direct.  But I can't fix this.  I cannot make my adult children make better choices, and I cannot help fix things or improve situations that they don't want me to fix.  And wow, is it hard to let that go!

    As I've said many times before, their pain is my pain.  When they hurt, I hurt.  So my job here is two-fold.  First, I need to learn to be okay with hurting for my kids and not trying to fix it.  I need to learn to sit in the pain and not try to move it out for my own sake.  

    Secondly, I have to learn how to love from a distance: to figure out how to live my own life and how to find my own sense of wholeness and joy, even when I see them struggling.  This second one is really tough.  

    There is a song that I first heard a few year ago now that used to remind me of my son, but now reminds me of number one child.  It's called "little flower" and some of the words that move me so deeply include: 

                                                            "I won't walk beside you. 

I won't take you home.  

But I'll hold your heart from a distance 

as all your blossoms come and go....

And when you wake all alone in the darkness

As the autumn winds are blowing cold

You might hear a voice in the distance

A love that never let you go"

    Eldest is with me, but in so many ways, Eldest is no longer with me.  This first child who used to be my shadow, my mirror, and in many ways my best friend, has gone in a different direction, even while home.  Eldest still lets me in, but it is very different now: there is a distance, a way of keeping me separate and apart, that is difficult when I want their life to be better, more full, happier and I am no longer allowed to help.  To love from a distance, while physically close together, is a new experience for me.  And it calls from me everything I have to give as a person and as a parent.     

    Parenting is both the most rewarding and the hardest work I've ever done.  I think I may be closer to the kids than I otherwise might have been because of the traumas we've experienced together.  But this particular stage of parenting, this one of letting go of each of them in different ways and to different degrees calls me to pull from resources deep within to learn to love from that distance. That kind of love feels even deeper than when I loved them up close as young children.  It is a more independent, respectful, and equal love.  But it also requires an ability to trust and to be okay with a distance that is new for me. 

    As I said when I wrote about Middle, that first day, I imagine God must feel the same as we ebb and flow in our relationships with our creator-parent. 

Parenting, Part II

     Yesterday I wrote about my son.  Today I write about my youngest daughter. Youngest left for school a couple weeks ago because she volunteered to help with school orientation.  She had gotten into a four-bedroom apartment on campus, but the process of getting in and being assigned an apartment was a little odd.  She clicked on an apartment she wanted.  She was the first one.  Later, three others clicked on that same apartment, and hence it came to be that she had three flat mates whom she'd never met.  All of them were friends.  All of them were male.  All of them were serious party-animals: inviting their friends over to join them in heavy drinking and smoking and using weed and other substances.  NOT GOOD.  Can I say that again?  NOT GOOD.  

    She was there alone for the first week because she was helping with orientation for the first years.  But soon the other apartment mates began to arrive.  One has been fairly nice: asking her if there were rules for the apartment that mattered to her.  She told him she didn't want smoking in the common areas and wanted to know if guests were over.  But the other two won't talk to her, didn't introduce themselves, started smoking and inviting folk over right away, and thus it began.  While Youngest has her own room with a lock, the doors are thin and the noise and smoke from the others has been intense and problematic.  Add to that that Youngest starts each school day with 8am classes while they are up late with their "activities" and it has really been a nightmare.  Youngest told me that these boys are not even that nice to each other.  One asked for a ride somewhere and the other two refused saying he just used them all the time.

    After only a couple days of this Youngest was clear she needed to move out.  I was clear that it was a dangerous situation.  A group of 19 year old boys, drunk and high with only one female there, one they don't like and don't even care about enough to greet?  She applied to housing to move out, and I moved into a state of not-sleeping.  I kept worrying about what was going to happen.  

    While Youngest is not prone to drama or exaggeration, the few things she did share convinced me more and more that this was not a good situation.  Her stuff was moved (like dishes and food), then her stuff started disappearing (again, like dishes and food).  No one asked if they could have her loaf of bread, or her fruit, or her cup, they just took it. They still refused to acknowledge her existence and refused to tell her when they were bringing other friends over. Then the ants showed up.  Youngest is very clean: but not everyone is.  So we ordered her ant traps because she was the only one who cared that the ants were there.  

    Today marks two weeks since all of this began.  From the beginning I've been asking if I could call the resident life people and push on them to get her moved.  But Youngest was very clear: she is a 19-year-old adult now, trying to live as an adult.  She wanted to take care of it herself.  She knew who to contact, she had contacted them. She took my advice about what to say, and they said they were working on it and we just needed to wait.  But it felt more and more unsafe to me and I was not seeing the movement that I felt was essential in getting Youngest out.  As a parent, how do you know at what point you need to step in?  I kept worrying that my choice not to step in was setting her up for a disaster.  But I also worried that if I forced my way in, Youngest would feel I had crossed a line and would shut down, something that had happened before. I also worried she would feel disempowered that she had somehow not been able to do it on her own, and that I had not trusted that she could.  But I struggled to not interfere.  The best I could do was to just check in with her again and again throughout each day, making sure she was still safe, still okay.

    Then today she woke up sick. It was not just a little cold.  Her throat hurt, she was exhausted and running a fever, she felt she'd been run over by a truck.  She went to eat breakfast and her food was gone, so there was nothing for her to eat.  And she was certain that her illness was caused by a mixture of stress and filth from her flat mates.  

    Mama bear here had had enough!

    "Youngest, I am asking for your permission to contact resident life on my own.  There are many reasons why I might be able to move what you have not been able to move.  It is time, and I need this from you."  She gave me permission, though honestly, if she hadn't, I would have contacted them anyway.  

    I left them two messages.  The first one using the terms "dangerous situation for my daughter" and "illness caused by the stress of a scary and unsafe environment", and the second, despite promising Youngest I would be "nice" using phrases suggested by my professor sister like, "I will be contacting the title 9 coordinator since this is a hostile and unsafe living environment if this is not dealt with today" and "I will also be contacting the authorities since illegal activities such as underage drinking and drug use are part of the issue unless this is dealt with in the next 24 hours."

    Within a half hour Youngest had been offered a different apartment. While she cannot move in until Saturday, she has a contract now for a two bedroom apartment with a female flat mate, whom she has contacted by email. Still a stranger, but this HAS to be better! The process is moving and she can now try to sleep off her illness and pack.  I may be flying back to CO on Friday to help her move just to ensure that there is no unpleasantness with her old flat mates.   

    So many thoughts about this.  First, I will still not sleep until she is out of there, though she does have a couple friends who have invited her to sleep on their couch if necessary.  

    Second, I still feel that it was right to allow Youngest to try her best to resolve the issue on her own since that is what she insisted on doing. She feels empowered by her own abilities to make the phone calls, send the emails, and to do what needs to be done for herself.  While my help was necessary in the end, Youngest got the ball rolling.  She could not have continued what she was doing on her own behalf now that she is ill.  And she feels good about what she was able to do.

    Third, I trusted my own instincts in this, and at the point at which it became clear to me that residence life employees were not going to help in a timely way without some pressure, I added the necessary pressure.  Youngest does an amazing job of adulting in general.  But she is still naive about the dangers in the world or what it takes sometimes to motivate busy and perhaps overworked people to help you. I don't like threatening.  But I will do what I can, whatever that is, if I feel it will not make the situation worse.  

    Fourth, I had a number of folk in my life second guessing my choices in this. Some said I was not standing up for my kid with enough strength or insistence. I understand why they felt that way, but when we judge others, we never see the complete picture. If I had interfered sooner, Youngest would not have felt that I trusted her, and she would not have felt capable of dealing with it as much as she did.  I had constant contact with her and kept offering to step in, to fly out, to write, to call.  Youngest was very clear until this morning that she did not want my interference in this but wanted to handle it herself.  And as I mentioned yesterday, there is huge value in trusting your kid to try to work through their problems on their own.  We may not agree with their choices, but trusting them to make those choices is important to their growth, their independence and their ability to adult on their own.  More, it is important to their sense of self-worth as people who are no longer seen as just "children" in need to being defended and protected, but as capable adults-in-the-making.  For this reason, I may have to let her move on her own, as much as I want to help.  She is again saying she has friends who can help and she'd rather feel she could do it without my help.  I may not like all her choices, but I have to respect them.  And still, there were others who said I was being too much of a helicopter parent, but I stepped in when I felt it was necessary.

    And the lessons for me?  Several.  I need to continue to trust my own instincts while still listening to the wisdom around me. I need to let go and trust that I've raised capable, amazing children, and yet, even as I let go, I still need to be ready to step in when needed. Third, as I said yesterday, we are so connected to our children that they truly suffer nothing alone.  When things are bad for them, they are bad for us too.  I'm looking forward to Youngest being out of her current apartment, not only for her own sake but so that I can sleep again!  And finally, once again, all things come to an end: good, bad, indifferent: they all move.  This has been a true challenge, but it is almost over, and for that I am grateful!  

Parenting, Part I

         I jumped back in to work and life with both feet once the sabbatical ended, which means finding time to actually write has been difficult.  I need to make it a priority, just as I have made gardening a priority.  Writing is therapeutic for me and hopefully helpful for those who read what I write as well.  While my list of things I've wanted to write about is extensive, today I feel it necessary to write about parenting.  And specifically the focus will be on my son.

     Middle flew back to Alaska yesterday for his fourth year in college (notice, I didn't say his "senior" year... the program he is in is a five year program and he wants to do a couple minors as well, so probably more like a six year program for him).  As I sat in church preparing for the service, someone asked me if it was going to be hard now that Middle had left.  My first reaction was, "I will miss him greatly, but at the same time, I'm ready for life to return to normal."  I felt his leaving marked the end of an extraordinary summer that encompassed my sabbatical, as well as time with Youngest and then time with Middle before they both went back to school.  I love my son so very deeply, but he and I have always been a bit like oil and water.  Now that he is an adult, we do better, mostly.  But it takes a great deal of energy for us to navigate how to talk to and interact with one another well.  It takes work, on both our parts, to be careful about how we say things and to ask for clarity when we need help understanding the other point of view.  During the couple weeks he was home, we were not without conflict and it was deeply painful conflict at that.  Even the middle of the night before he left at 4am Sunday morning for the airport, we found ourselves in an argument.  When each of us gets stressed, we have been in the habit of "poking the bear" and we relate to one another as that bear.  The stress then of his leaving sent us into a last round of arguments.  It's exhausting, for both of us.  And at times it is very hurtful, no doubt for both of us as well.  As a result, I thought I was looking forward to at least having things be not quite so exhausting once he was gone.  

    But I've found myself wondering if part of the reason we fight so much and so deeply isn't the level of love we have for one another.  Middle is my only son.  I didn't know what it could be to raise a son for many reasons, not the least of which is that I am one of two girls in my family of origin.  But the bond I have with him runs so incredibly deep that sometimes I feel I may be too enmeshed with him.  I mean several things by that.  First, it has been a challenge for me to let him go and choose to do things that I believe to be dangerous or other than what I think is best for him.  He's a 21-year-old young adult, but it's been difficult for me to accept that. So when he decided he wanted to go ski-packing in the arctic circle in the middle of winter, I was concerned, upset and and I tried to talk him out of it.  But he survived it fine and seems to have had a wonderful experience.  Now he wants to rent a dry cabin in Fairbanks to live in next semester.  Again, not what I would want for him: a dry cabin is exactly what it sounds like it would be: a place without running water and many are also without electricity.  We have the conversations: "How, then, will you keep yourself warm during the month or so that it's -40 degrees?"  "How will you even START a fire at that temperature?  Or sleep through it without freezing off parts of your face?"  "Where will you bathe?"  "How will you pay for the car that you will need to get to and from school?"  "Where will you plug in the car in those temperatures when you don't have electricity?"  "What if the generator goes?  Then what will you do?"  And the questions go on.  It is hard for me to let him be the adult he is trying to be, but I'm working on it. 

    Secondly, his opinions that differ from my own can be hard for me to take.  I'm working on that as well.  He has his own worldview and ideas, and sometimes they upset me, especially when I can't understand how he sees the world the way he does. Still, I believe I've done more growing through my relationship with my son than I could have expected.  He challenges me to be better, to be open to seeing the world differently and to accepting the differences between us more fully.  He challenges me to let him be the adult he is, and by extension to let others be who they fully are.

    Perhaps because of all of this, though, I was looking forward to a short break from the intensity that is our relationship.  But, no surprise, now that he is gone, I just find myself heartbroken all over again.  We raise our kids to leave us.  And I keep expecting that each time they go it will be easier, but it isn't.  I look for him when I look out my office window, hoping he will show up for lunch or to go for a walk.  I listen for him at home, wondering what he will say about what I just heard or saw.  I am trying to let him have a little space to start his classes (which began today) and to settle into his new room at school.  But he is on my mind and in my heart to the point where little else can hold my attention today.

    What is this strange part of life in which we are part of creating beings who break our hearts constantly but also fill us with so much love it defines who we are and who we want to be?  What is this strange activity called parenting that takes over our beings and makes us see more clearly our own flaws and shortcomings while calling us constantly to do better and be better for those who are moving on anyway?  Why were we created to love with such ferocity those who will return that love not to us but to their own offspring?  

    For me, it connects me to God as parent.  And I find myself wondering if God also loves us with an intensity that is so beyond what we can imagine that we can only return the very smallest measure of that love to God.  And I wonder, because for me faith has never been "heaven insurance" but has always been about relationships, if God also feels that same loss and pain when any of God's children choose other than relationship with God.  Maybe.  We don't know.  

    For today, my thoughts are with my son.  I am so proud of the young man he has become.  And I am so grateful that we stay connected, even across the miles.  

      

Walking in the Garden

    I've finished all the planting for the moment.  I've laid all the mulch for now.  I've dealt with sprinkler issues and arranged to have the rock ring in the front replaced with crushed granite.  I'm waiting to hear back from Contra Costa County's "Lawn to Garden Rebate Program" about replacing the one area of my yard that is still grass (well, dead grass).  At this point, then, all there is to do is maintenance: checking on the new plants to make sure they are not needing more or less water or just a little attention, looking for those weeds that are persistent and are trying to push through my weed barriers, trimming the trees a bit so they don't make walking on the path difficult. I add seeds to the bird feeders, I clean and refill the hummingbird feeder. I still get up every morning early and walk through the garden as I do this maintenance. I do the same in the afternoon when it is cool enough and often in the evening as well.

    Today I found myself thinking of these verses from Genesis 2:8-9 "During that day's cool evening breeze, they heard the sound of God walking in the garden... God called to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" 

    There is something incredible about walking among the plants (and animals) in the gardens that one has planted. I check in with each new plant that has not established itself yet, looking at its leaves, checking on its size and on the ground around it to see if it is settling in.  I talk to the plants, encouraging them, asking them if there is anything else they are needing. I talk to the birds and scold the squirrels trying to eat my tomatoes.  I love doing this.  It brings me a sense of calm, but also a strong feeling of wonder.  They are each their own self, which means that I ultimately do not control if they thrive or wither.  A friend passed on plants to me that he had propagated from his own yard, some of which have established and are thriving, a few that are struggling that I'm nurturing and hope will pull through, and some which died almost before I got them into the ground. There was nothing I could do about those plants. They weren't happy with having been moved from the cooler, closer-to-the-bay climate to the hot, smokey, dry summer of the Bay Area east of the Oakland hills.  Still, even those that have died are part of the wonder for me.  What likes my yard?  What seems happy to establish here?  What doesn't like it and just won't thrive here no matter what I do?  Who is each plant as the individual it is, even within its own species?  What does it need?  

    And again, I found myself thinking about this passage from Genesis.  In this story, God planted a garden, created animals and people, but once they were created, God no longer had control over how they would do or what they would do. They were creations, not puppets, each with its own thoughts and feelings and choices. The story of Adam and Eve is a story of making choices that were other than what God wanted. Despite this, God still chose relationship with them: they were part of God's garden, an important part, and even when they made choices God didn't like, God still nurtured and planted them where they would best thrive: no longer in that garden, but in the greater world.  That is the risk in creating (or planting, in the gardener's world) beings that are other, that are separate, that are themselves.  

    I found myself wondering if God also had that feeling of awe and wonder as God's creations made their own choices, even when they chose not to thrive well in the garden into which God placed them.  Does God delight in us just as we delight in the plants we put in our own gardens? I can't imagine God feels otherwise... when you create a garden: when you plan, when you dig, plant and nurture their lives, when you spend time and energy pulling the weeds that would hurt or kill the the plants you want, and when you touch the ground and plants and place them into the ground, deciding where they should go, it is automatic and normal to form attachments to those plants, to those beings. 

    And so, part of my delight in walking through my own garden is to walk with the God who delights in God's own gardens as well.  We are a part of those, an important part.  And our own gardens are joint efforts, not only with the plants and birds, but also with the God who created each and every plant, animal and person.  

    I return to work tomorrow.  But I have committed to walking in my garden each day before leaving for work.  It centers me, it brings me joy, it connects me with all life, and it connects me with God.    

Little Lamb

     I'm in the last week before returning from sabbatical and have been visiting with friends, working in the garden, resting, spending time with my family.  I've also done much reflection, both on life in general, but on the sabbatical in particular as well.  

    There was one event from this time that keeps coming back to me.  I was hiking on Iona and was in an area with a herd of sheep.  As I walked I heard this young lamb bleat for its mother.  A second later, the mother responded.  She was a long way away, but as I looked out over the meadow, I could see the little lamb running towards the sound.  Then the little lamb stopped, bleated again, waited for the mother to respond and then took off running again towards the sound.  Because they were quite a distance apart, this call and answer routine went on for a good five minutes.  But I found it both intriguing and compelling.  I couldn't stop watching and listening to this very normal, very beautiful drama playing out between this ovine mother and child. 

    It is a familiar situation with so many species of animals.  Babies go exploring, trying the world out on their own.  But eventually they become a little uneasy or a little hungry or a little tired, and then they need the reassurance of the parent that the parent is still there, still loving them, still available for them to come home to.  Even now, with young adult children I see this play out with my own kids.  Middle is still in Europe, exploring with his friend from college.  They have travelled from Norway through Portugal, Spain, France, Slovakia, Poland, Austria, Italy and more.  Middle is very independent.  Most of the time he travels on his own or with his friend and seems very competent and confident in finding his own way.  But every once in a while he reaches out.  "Just checking in" he says.  Usually he doesn't need anything, though he does drop hints about money running low (which I send over) or he mentions missing something (that I make sure I'll have on hand when he comes home in a couple weeks).  He values his independence, but there is still that need for reassurance and safe connection as well.

    Middle might argue with my assessment.  He might say he just values the relationship and that is why he calls.  He might say he's calling to reassure me that he is okay.  But this morning when he called, I still found myself remembering the sheep.  

        As a parent, I have found the independence of my children difficult at times.  I have and continue to love being a mother.  I enjoy hearing their stories, their thoughts, their feelings.  At this point I learn from them and have at times asked them for information about new technology, new or slang terms, or about information specific to what they each are learning or have learned at school.  I love spending time with each of them, and I love how specific the things I do with each are.  With Eldest, we go to Heather Farms park to walk, we get sandwiches at Sweet Affair across from Heather Farms.  If we have more time, we go down to Monterey together and have our routines there that include the aquarium, walks along the beach front, eating clam chowder in sour dough bowls and getting ice cream at Ghirardelli.  We sing together in harmony in the car as we go to these places.  And that is what Eldest and I do.  

    Middle and I talk philosophy, politics, theology.  I love these conversations with him and I always learn a great deal from him.  We love to hike together, to travel together to new places.  With Eldest it is the familiar, with Middle it is almost always the unknown and unfamiliar.  

    Youngest and I work puzzles together, including the ROKR puzzles that are permanent additions to our house.

    While Eldest and I sing together, Youngest and I dance together: putting in music and just moving to the beat.  Youngest has less intensity than the other two, so our relationship involves more teasing and playing.  There's an easiness there that allows us to do simple things like go to the grocery store together to just enjoy each other's company.  

    But while we have grown into these ways of being together as adults, they are still also doing the age appropriate stepping into independence.  While I am incredibly grateful that they still enjoy and seek out time with me, I miss them needing me as they used to. But the gift of the sheep Marco-Polo routine is the reminder that no matter how far they go, there will be times when they call my name just for that tiny reassurance that I am still here for them, something I will always and forever be.  

More Reflections On This Time

    I've had some time to reflect more on my sabbatical time, and what I found, once again, was that the parts I enjoyed the most were the unplanned and unscheduled surprises.

    Starting with my time with eldest and youngest as we toured the gardens in CA, the two gardens that we enjoyed the most were the unexpectedly large gardens of Davis, and Descanso garden in LA.  Neither were on the list of gardens we planned to see, neither made it into my sabbatical grant application, and yet, these two gardens were by far the most interesting, most beautiful, most serene gardens we saw.  Our time in both was the best we had of any of the gardens, and I find myself looking at the pictures I took from those two especially.  

    Then when David and I were on Iona, the hikes I took to parts of Iona that I didn't even know existed were an amazing gift.  The view from our room as well as the view from the hotel conservatory were also unexpected gifts.  The conversations I had with strangers were an amazing addition to my time there, and even the extended train trip back to Glasgow was a gift of scenery and time to just rest and be with David. The little hotel we stayed at in Glasgow was also a gift.  From the street it looked like a dive, a hole in the wall, difficult even to spot.  But when we went into the building and ascended to the 6th floor where the actual hotel was, we found a truly lovely place that had set out free homemade cakes and tea for its guests.  I ate an amazing mocha cake with my tea, that was a very unexpected surprise.

    On our UK tour, too, while there were scheduled visits I really enjoyed (such as listening to the story teller and the time with the forager), most of the times that I reflect on and enjoyed the most were the unexpected and unscheduled times.  I loved that the day David and I arrived in London, we learned that the Mousetrap was running that evening, tickets were available and we had time to go see it! What a gift for this Agatha Christie fan!  I also had time to hike out to Hyde park on my own and spend time really enjoying that garden.  The Kew garden in London as well as the gardens I found in Bath, in Weymouth and at St Fagan's National Museum of History that weren't on the tour, but that I took the time to find, stepping out of the scheduled events to do so... these were by far the best gardens we saw!  While others went shopping in Windsor, David and I found a garden with a Ferris wheel that allowed us an incredible view of the river and of Windsor Castle.  The hikes I took by myself in Lulworth and Lynton, also while others were shopping, were incredible!

    Even coming to Porto to begin the Camino was filled with unexpected and wonderful gifts: I loved walking around Porto with David, even though it was in pursuit of a dentist to look at my tooth.  With Middle, I loved walking around Porto to try to get him a better backpack.  As I mentioned before, we didn't find one for him, but instead, we found this amazing garden that overlooked the river.  This was completely off my radar, and yet, it was beautiful, serene, and to just walk around it with my son incredible!  Even needing to go home early had its gifts.  My friend who helped me set up my time and stays for the Camino kept in constant contact with both Middle and I as he finished out his pilgrimage.  Having that extra support and connection with someone I value so very deeply was also an unexpected but deeply appreciated gift. 

    Now I'm back and trying to garden in the mornings.  Here, too, I've found some unexpected gifts.  For example, last night I dreamed that one particular plant in my garden was crying for help and was sagging and not doing well.  This morning I went out to look at it.  I have planted over 30 plants this summer, but this was a very particular plant that I dreamed about.  Sure enough when I went out to look over all the plants, it was this very plant that needed a little extra TLC: it was wilty and struggling.  None of the others were.  I don't know what you might make of that, but I have my own interpretation.  It is wonderful to feel so connected to this life that I've been surrounding myself with.  

    As I mentioned in other posts, I can focus on what went wrong and was a disappointment, or I can take the space to focus on the unexpected and lovely gifts that come my way every day.  Today I am remembering and enjoying what was unplanned but beautiful.  I am grateful that for me, there are by far more unexpected wonders than unexpected disappointments.