Author Archives: Kami

Sleepless in Phoenix, Or a Suburb Nearby

Posted on February 3, 2013 by Kami
Caffeine has a significant effect on spiders, ...

Caffeine has a significant effect on spiders, which is reflected in the construction of their webs. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Either the decaffeinated soda I had at the movie wasn’t, or my brain is being hotwired by miniature gangsters.  Little zingers of electricity keep pulsing through my head every twenty to fifty seconds, just enough to keep me from dropping into dreamland for some much-needed rest.

Today Yesterday was my first Saturday back at real life after my three-week attempt at turning my body inside out through the process of coughing. Luckily the experiment failed and I remain skin side out. I’m a bit tuckered. I think I might have overdone it with the weekend warrior thing so soon after recovery. Oh well.

It felt glorious to be out doing yard work, (remember I’m in Arizona, 75° F today, all the windows of the house open, sorry northerners.) I cleaned up most of the leaves that froze and fell when the temps dropped below freezing for our one week of winter, and I took care of the weeds that sprouted after last weekend’s glorious rain.

Equally satisfying was juicing oranges from our backyard tree, mopping up the mess afterwards and getting some household tasks done that I’d neglected for a month or two.  I also successfully avoided battling the Saturday grocery store crowd by simply not going. I didn’t dust, but I did open the windows and air the house out, which probably added a layer of dust.

So yes, a tiring but satisfying and productive Saturday.  You can insert whatever image of me you want to conjure, smiling happily, wiping the sweat from my brow, cheek smudged with dirt, hair sufficiently mussed. I’m inserting a lovely image of a caffeine molecule. Isn’t it pretty?

Caffeine mol2

Caffeine molecule model  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Luckily this sleepless night won’t turn me into a frog princess for the entire week.  I can sleep all afternoon on Sunday, since I won’t be watching the Superbowl or the overpriced commercials. I’m not actually anti-football. I’m really just anti-doing-what-everyone-else-feels-compelled-to-do.

Once the game starts all the great walking paths will be deserted and it’ll be like an early morning walk, without the cold and without the sun in my eyes. Nap or walk, walk or nap, oh the indecision. Oh, oh, I could do both! What an idea!

The other bonus of being sleepless is being able to catch up on my blog reading. I’d gotten spoiled having all day long and all night long to troll the blogosphere while I was sickly. I think I spent way too much time reading. Is that really possible?

Now that I’m back at work, back on a schedule, and plugged back in to my audio book listening binge, I’ve had to pace myself with the blog reading and tangible book reading. Sigh. There’s a stack of eight books on my desk just begging me to open them. I have a feeling I’ll be pressing the renew button on my library website a few times.

Phoenix, a Cray X1E at Oak Ridge National Lab

A Cray X1E at Oak Ridge National Lab (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Speaking of the internet. Do you ever get the feeling that your entire life revolves around or is dependent on computers? Think about it. From buying groceries, even with cash, to finding out movie times, to communicating with anyone in any way except face to face, requires a computer involved in the process. Unnerving isn’t it?

Most people are in shock on hearing of someone who doesn’t own a computer or a cell phone or who aren’t connected somehow to the internet. I only feel envious. How glorious to live at such a slow pace. It’d be like going back in time twenty years.

That’d be tough to go backwards though. Once you’ve been exposed it’s like you’re a technology junkie for life. There is no going back. Sigh.

I guess having my bankcard mysteriously duplicated, used in some other state and subsequently decommissioned by the fraud detection dudes has put me on edge and made me a bit jaded.

I should be grateful, and I really am, that someone is brilliant enough to write software that recognizes that I can’t possibly be buying groceries or books from a brick and mortar store in one state while buying gas and soda in another state on the other side of the continent. Lucky me. Lucky bank account. Not that they could have bought much with the funds that are in there; another tank of gas, maybe a movie, some popcorn and an extra-large caffeinated soda.

Okay, okay. I’m done being a cranky whiner.

In my defense, the caffeine is still playing games with my brain cells; Space Invaders or Tetris, or both at the same time I think. I’m probably not accountable for anything I’ve written in this entire post.

My pillow keeps calling my name. I wish it’d stop.

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“Shut the door”

Posted on February 2, 2013 by Kami
There's no place like home.

There’s no place like home.

“Shut the door. Not that it lets in the cold but that it lets out the cozyness.” – Mark Twain

Twain always had something to say about nearly every topic known to man. This one surprised me. It seems to indicate he wasn’t always a curmudgeon and a scalawag.

Is there anything as cozy as being able to stay indoors on a blustery day? Or as wonderful as finally throwing open windows when the warmth of spring arrives? There must be something about the flexibility of doors, allowing whatever we want in, or keeping whatever we want out.

Home, whatever its size or style, is the best place to be. It’s what we immediately think of when a catastrophe strikes. It’s where we ought to feel safest. It’s where comfort and joy can reside most abundantly.

I know I’m happiest at home. I love making the nest cozy, fluffing and straightening, baking and shining, making others feel at home and welcome.

Like Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home.”

There’s no place I’d rather be.

Categories: Joy | Tags: , , , , | 4 Comments

To Keep or Not to Keep, That is the Real Question

Posted on February 1, 2013 by Kami

On nearly every women’s magazine cover I’ve ever seen, there is one blurb about decluttering.  That topic seems more compelling than the latest celebrity gossip, weight-loss plan, menu calendar or scheme to get a raise.

From that fact alone, I would surmise that everyone is a packrat, everyone has too much stuff,  or they aren’t very organized about the stuff they have. (If you aren’t even a bit of a packrat, you can stop reading now.) You can read my own confession of “packratness”  in my Seven Steps to Organizing Your Garage or Losing Your Sanity post.

SURELY THERE’S MORE TO IT THAN TOO MUCH STUFF

For me personally, what I’m really looking for when I read an article on organization or dejunking, is control over my life.  I just want to feel I have a little bit of a hand on the steering wheel of my life.  Mostly what I experience on a daily basis is the sensation of being in the passenger seat of a first time student driver.

Model Homes This Way

(Photo credit: sdpitbull)

I’ve known minimalists whose homes were pristine, perfect specimens of the uncluttered life.  Were they happier?  Did they seem more in control of their lives?  Honestly, I have no idea.  It seemed kind of barren, like stepping into the pages of a magazine model home photo shoot.  Dry, flat, empty. That’s not the look or feel I’m aiming for either.

ALL OR NOTHING

We once moved into a home a week ahead of our possessions.  We had a couple of foam mats, some sheets and pillows, bath towels, camp chairs, our suitcases.  We ate take-out or deli food on paper plates, drank from paper cups.  The house echoed a bit. But we both agreed it was oddly pleasant not to have so much stuff around us.  Even the garage was empty but for the solitary car we parked inside of it.  (Now there’s an idea, huh?)

I almost felt like I was on vacation; camping without the bugs, dirt and latrine. A couple of friends dropped by to see the new place.  When we said we liked it empty you’d have thought we said, we’re thinking of installing a torture chamber in the spare bedroom. People really like their stuff.

Moving boxes

Moving boxes (Photo credit: Andrea_R)

We weren’t all that thrilled when the boxes and furniture arrived and filled every room to overflowing. (Did I mention we had downsized?) Suddenly there was life demanding attention, a to-do list miles long and months out.  And with it all, an ongoing list of maintenance, dusting, cleaning, polishing, filing, cooking, washing, and sorting.

LET’S GO SOMEWHERE

Maybe that’s why I like traveling.  My stuff is all that fits in one carry-on suitcase, a backpack and a personal item.  Travel is life simplified, life in control. I’ve got my own hands firmly on that steering wheel.

MSH once suggested living in a motor home. (That’s traveling, I suppose.) You know, those bus sized houses on wheels that snowbirds drive into Arizona on their yearly migration from Minnesota and Canada? I couldn’t picture us that way. For one thing, we aren’t nearly old enough. Besides, where would I put all my books? The thought of downsizing THAT much made me breathless with anxiety. That is certainly not what I meant when I said I wanted to have my hand on the steering wheel of life.

Steering Wheel

(Photo credit: Marie Carter)

Still, there was that one week we had of minimal stuff.  It was relaxing. But, it was also temporary.

I wonder if I could find a happy medium between almost no stuff and way too much stuff.

Guess I’d better look up some articles on decluttering.

Holy Mackeral! Look at all these articles!!! Guess I’d better get reading!
Categories: Humor, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Writer and Reader: A Work of Heart

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Kami
English: Picture of an open book, that does no...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“I have come through this many of my allotted days, watched the passing of life on earth, made something of it and nailed it to the page. Having written, I find I’m often willing to send it on, in case someone else also needs this kind of reassurance. Art is entertainment but it’s also celebration, condolence, exploration, duty, and communion. The artistic consummation of a novel is created by the author and reader together, in an act of joint imagination, and that’s not to be taken lightly.” – Barbara Kingsolver, from “Careful What You Let in the Door” in her book of essays High Tide in Tucson

I love hearing that an author has respect for and interest in her readers. Maybe that’s why all the books I’ve read by Barbara Kingsolver resonate me with, regardless of the topic. She trusts her readers to bring thought, wisdom and intelligence with them when they open her book.

There are many authors whose works I’ve read that left me with a similar sense of collaboration. Surely that’s where the sentiment of “the book is always better than the movie” comes from. No movie maker can duplicate the combined imagination and interface of writer and individual reader. What happens in the space called reading is uniquely personal and potentially magical.

As solitary as reading appears to be on from the outside, surprisingly, it’s actually a relationship and an alliance. Thanks to authors like Kingsolver and many, many others, there are countless opportunities to be part of of such creative adventures.

Long live the written word!

Categories: Books, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Crazy Going Slowly Am I

Posted on January 30, 2013 by Kami

I think I have all the makings for becoming a crazy cat lady.

I used to love cats! As a kid I almost always owned a stray cat of one stripe or another.  Zorro had a black mask around his eyes that made him seem mysterious and sneaky.  He’s the only one whose name I remember of six or eight little fur balls that I loved.

A photograph of a stray cat I have adopted.

A stray cat. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There was this Tom cat with bald patches, a short crooked tail, huge clumps of white matted fur and two different eye colors. That was on a good day.  He would disappear for weeks at a time and return with injuries, sores, greasy fur and skinnier than when I’d last seen him.

I’d get him washed up, fed and snuggled into a blanket on my bed and then rub his ears to reassure him that all was well.  He’d stick around for a month or two and then disappear again for a few weeks.  On his return we’d repeat the cleaning ritual. After a few years he simply never returned from one of his forays. I like to think that scraggly Tom went out with a wild cat fight that matched his obviously wild life.

We adopted another scruffy stray when I had a toddler at home.  This one I didn’t let in the house, but it got fed and watered and loved by my toddler.  She was the one who came up with a name for it, “Suffer.”  Seemed like a really appropriate name for a mangy stray who attacked the birds from my feeder and looked like he lived a rough life.  Years later that toddler told me she got the name from cat in the Disney movie “Cinderella.” That cat’s name: “Lucifer.”  Apparently to a toddler’s ears the name sounded like “Suffer.”

We don’t own or feed any cats anymore. MSH is allergic to the critters and I don’t have time or patience for one. Lately I just chase cats away from the yard.  The overfed orange tabby I refer to is usually lying in wait for some hapless bird to get complacent and comfortable.

English: Orange tabby cat

English: Orange tabby cat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So why do I think I’m ripe for becoming a crazy cat lady?  Maybe the emphasis needs to focus more on the “crazy” and less on the “cat.”

Cats are only predictable in their unpredictability. You can’t count on them to snuggle you when you need snuggling, not like a dog, who senses a need and fills it. No cats are all about spontaneity and whimsy and fluffiness.

I’m unpredictable, spontaneous, whimsical and all too often focused on the fluffiness.  I’m a dreamer with little follow through, a planner lacking energy. Stacks of papers fill surfaces like a litter box and things sit around half-finished, waiting for inspiration or desire to strike, like a cat waiting for motivation.  It isn’t gonna happen.

At this stage in my life am I capable of scaling back or ramping up or finding balance, chi, inner peace, feng shui, enlightenment, reason, order or balance? Or am I one quickly becoming of those people everyone will want to avoid for her eccentricities?

“Crazy  Aunt Kami, man was she ever weird, let me tell you about the time she…” they’ll say and I’ll roll over in my grave to listen to yet another story of my non-exploits.

Maybe if I got a cat, I’d be a little less “Crazy” and more “cat.”  Sassy and content, carefree and clueless, living in the moment. Oh, and lots and lots of naps.

Actually, I think I’m already doing that, and that’s the problem.  What circular thinking I have.

Maybe I’ll just be crazy. I think it’s unavoidable.

Categories: Humor, Mental Health | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Singing and Dancing in the Rain

Posted on January 26, 2013 by Kami

rainy dayIt’s Raining!  Hooray!  It’s rained so much that the park across the street, which is really a water retention basin in disguise, is filling up and almost ready for a few canoes or inflatable boats. 

Here in the desert, nothing brings out the smiles faster the sound of rain.  There’s no smell here more delicious than rain scented desert air. Nothing brings out the child in people around here faster than the steady drip and splatter of raindrops. It’s a joyful, snow day kind of excitement. We all become puddle jumpers, splashing with abandon, leaving the umbrella’s closed and getting drenched.  

The three girls under umbrellas who let me take their photo fifteen minutes ago, are now at the park running along the edges of the newly minted “pond,” no umbrellas in sight.  

Is there any movie scene more charming than Gene Kelly dancing in the rain?

“I’m singin’ in the rain

“Just singin’ in the rain

What a glorious feelin’

I’m happy again.

I’m laughing at clouds.

So dark up above

The sun’s in my heart

And I’m ready for love.”

Something about cloud cover and water falling from the sky puts sunshine smack dab in the middle of my heart, just like those lyrics say. 

I suppose if it rained often here, it’d be less delightful.

When we lived in the Seattle area the clouds were a constant companion, rain was as common as blackberries growing on the side of the road, and humidity was the norm.  Summertime occasionally let the sun peak through, and it didn’t get much warmer than the 70’s.  80’s was a heatwave there. 

Having spent 15 years in this desert now I’ve learned to cherish the few rainy days we have. We open the windows and doors and let the freshness waft through the house.  Here, rain is like a gem and we cherish the intermittent, the atypical, and the rare.

Let the stromy clouds chase.

Everyone from the place

Come on with the rain

I’ve a smile on my face

I walk down the lane

With a happy refrain

just singin’

singin’ in the rain… dancin’ in the rain…I’m happy again…

I’m singin’ and dancin’ in the rain…”

I suppose learning to sing or dance in stormy weather requires that we suspend reality or access the inner child in ourselves. Dancing in the rain means we’ve set aside worries and negativity, at least momentarily, in order to just enjoy that short moment. We’re not concerned about what anyone thinks about us.

It’s not always easy to do that, that’s for sure.  Sometimes the emotional or psychological climate we’re in just sucks the life right out of us. Singing and dancing are the last things we feel like doing.

It’s possible that’s exactly what we need to do.  

Whatever the weather is bringing you today, I hope you can find joy in it, see the beauty in it’s variety, cherish the changeableness in it. Maybe you don’t feel like dancing about it.  I hope you can find that sunshine hiding out in your heart and dance anyway.

 

 

 

 

Categories: Joy, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Little House in the Big World: It’s Not Laura’s Prairie Anymore

Posted on January 24, 2013 by Kami

We moved when I was in second grade, over Christmas break.  This meant starting at a new elementary school in the middle of the year.  My world suddenly got bigger.  Instead of walking to school, I rode the bus. Instead of a traditional classroom I was in a shared classroom with multiple second grade classes sharing space barely divided by moveable walls, and small reading nooks.  The classes were on a staggered schedule, with different start and end times for various groups in the same grade.

I was one overwhelmed kid in that arena. I nearly missed the bus home the first day at that new school. Too much noise, too much input, too many kids, too much to keep track of.

Add in the fact that we hadn’t yet discovered that I needed eye glasses.  That made this new noisy world fuzzy at about five feet away in any direction.

Charles & Caroline Ingalls

Charles & Caroline Ingalls (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The one thing I remember focusing in on very clearly was story time.  The teacher was reading “Little House in the Big Woods,” by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Mesmerized within the first paragraph or two, I sat entranced, absorbing every word. I lived for those few precious pages our teacher read to us each day.  I was so spellbound that I started reading these fourth grade level books as soon as I could talk the librarian into letting me check one out.

I loved the world Laura inhabited. Even the difficult things she dealt with didn’t deter my desire to live her life in the wild countryside.  It was a small, manageable world with daily adventures and the perils of nature and society ever-present.

Fast forward a few decades or more.

I am not naïve and brainless. I don’t spend my time watching reality TV or sitcoms. I consider myself informed, well-read, educated, literate, book smart, experienced in the school of hard knocks. I’ve lived through more than a few things, survived a few close calls, I know what real life dishes out. I’m no second grader, not any more.

Since I started blogging, my reading and learning has expanded.  It’s as if, once again, I’ve been transported to a new school, with a new curriculum, in a world that never sleeps. I’ve read blogs from all over the world, learned about things I never dreamed existed, followed the rants and responses to topics that amaze and fascinate me. CNN, BBC, NBC, PBS et al have nothing on bloggers and writers and their ability to inform, entertain, enlighten and share and touch raw nerves.

Here’s the thing.  Instead of a lovely, manageable novel or two of a tiny world, I’ve stumbled upon the entire planet. At least it seems like it.  Suddenly I am feeling guilty for the life of ease I live as I realize someone in Pakistan or Ghana or Croatia is reading my words, my life, my wonderland.  I marvel at the audacity of Americans to think they are the center of the Universe and somehow qualified to make decisions for the rest of the planet. I am breathless as I learn of tiny countries and the families and people that live day-to-day, hand to mouth, oblivious to the worries I think are important. The foundational ideas that make me who I am have developed a few hairline fissures as I’ve tried to balance other world views on the same ground.  The ridiculous and the sublime compete for my time and brainpower.

Superman logo

Superman logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I hover between two desires. I want to go back to having no eyeglasses, the world a vague and fuzzy place like it was four months ago. And I want to miraculously have laser vision, a flying cape and super powers, endless resources, time and energy to save, help, lift, care for and make an impact.

There I am thinking I have something to contribute having barely skimmed the surface of information.  Silly me.

I want to go back to focusing on my tiny family of six, or my expanded family of sisters and brothers and parents, or even my extended family with cousins and aunts and uncles. I want the ease of worrying over people in my small community and trying to find time for a few friends who need a listening ear or a friendly face.

I barely manage to work, fix dinner, do laundry and keep the house clean. Occasionally I’m able to help out a friend, call a sibling, touch base with someone I feel a responsibility toward.  If I gave up sleep I still couldn’t care for all the people in my life I want to care for, love, share with and spend time around.  How can I possibly do anything with all this new information, this new sense of weight, responsibility and worry I have for the rest of the world?

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The genie can’t be stuffed back into the bottle.  And, unfortunately, I can’t make a wish and have phenomenal cosmic powers.

Here is one itty bitty woman with tiny resources, 24 hours in my day, with a new weight trying to settle in on my shoulders.

Part of me wants to disconnect from the internet, move to a distant, isolated tract of land and simply live a small quiet life.  But I can’t.  Even if I could, I couldn’t.

I’ve heard the stories, I know they’re out there. Reality is too real. I am lost and probably about to miss the bus again.

A good book isn’t going to give me a grip on anything at this point.  Maybe I just need to step back, clean off my glasses and try to pull things in to focus.

Categories: The World, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

A Mess of Mixed Metaphors

Posted on January 23, 2013 by Kami

“I am the captain of my soul, I am the master of my….” whatever…

Whoever said that, whenever they said it, didn’t have the eternal cough of the blue plague of 2013.

Sure you can pick your attitude but that’s about it.  You can’t pick up an extra packet of actual physical energy at the corner drugstore when the survival of your basic vital organs has taken precedent over, oh, lets say, walking and sleeping and eating.

When breathing in becomes akin to sucking air through a soggy wet sponge and exhaling is more like a ’55 chevy truck trying to get started on a subzero morning, attitude counts for zilch.

Bad Hair Day

Bad Hair Day (Photo credit: simon_redwood)

No amount of perkiness is going to hide that hair sculpted uniquely by the pillow you molded, wrestled, cursed, punched and eventually drooled all over. The lovely color coördinated pajamas you carefully picked out to show stalwart resilience, sooner than later give over to a kind of Harry-Potter-got-dressed-with-some-things-from-Hermoine’s-bottomless-purse-look that should never be purposely duplicated.

And when you think you’ve cheerfully hit that magical spot in the illness where improvement feels imminent, you’ll overdo it by, oh I don’t know, sweeping off the front porch rug and running a load of laundry. And suddenly you’re back to desperately whispering sweet nothings to your lungs in hopes of pacifying them into a quiet stasis.

Days and nights run into each other, not even bothering to say excuse me, in a kind of manic rush of boring nothingness. Where is optimism now? In the trash can with the overflowing used Kleenex and saltine wrappers.

The formerly comfy couch and I have become too well acquainted. It’s not a healthy relationship anymore. I’m thinking of cutting back to visiting once or twice a week.  I’d like to renew my friendships with my boss and her neurotic dog, my car, the grocery store, my gardening and the laundry.  It’d be wondrous to see real live people again, too!

Highclere Castle

Too much Netflix, too many books, too much internet combine into a perfect storm of fevered sleepless weirdness involving Downton Abbey, White Collar and Sherlock Holmes which, oddly, seem to go together ever so well.  At least they did. In the haze of cheerful coughing everything is lovely, loverly, lovely!! Cue the soundtrack to “My Fair Lady.”

But now, ah yes, now I am on the upswing.  No, nix that.  I did not say that.  I don’t want the virus/bacteria/evil dark Sith to know that I think my body is winning.  After all, Attitude is Everything and Pride goeth before a Fall and all that. Rest, rest, rest, rest and more rest is about all I am capable of or should try to do.

Han Solo and Chewbacca

Until the rebel forces prevail and the planets all align, I will continue to sip herbal tea, Russian Tea, hot ginger honey and lemon, hot chocolate, mulled cider, broth, powerade and NON-diet coke. Once Han Solo shows up with Chewbacca, then and only then, will I stop slurping Ramen noodles, yogurt, Chicken Soup and saltine crackers.

Do I seem a little lost in fantasy land? Yup, I probably am. I’m teetering on the edge of a not so optimistic attitude, thinking this cough really will never end.

I can’t imagine keeping my sanity intact for an illness of any real magnitude.  As it is, this nineteen-day (so far) cough has pushed me to my perkiness limits.

Don’t worry.  I’m working on it.  I’ll get there.  In the meantime, I’ll just rest and try to stay off the internet as much as possible.

Where’s my book?

Categories: Humor, Mental Health | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Weeds and Wildflowers

Posted on January 22, 2013 by Kami

It’s Gratituesday! Today I’m thankful for the tiny green shoots of wildflowers I have popping out all over my front yard.  There’s a promise in those sprouting weed-like growths. I know even though they look like weeds, and grow like weeds, they aren’t weeds. They’re going to produce masses of yellow and orange African Daisies and bunches of satiny orange California Poppies in another four to six weeks.

To appease the HOA I set out a couple of signs that say, “Wildflowers Under Construction.” I don’t really want to pay a fine for my “weeds” or get out some mean weed killing chemical.  I want to see the yard burst into golden waves of color.

wildflowers under constructionI find the symbolism of these flowers particularly appropriate for the challenges I face in my life, large or small.  What appears as something terrible, something troublesome, with time, often, not always, but often, in the long run becomes something positive and memorable.  I’m not about to proclaim gratitude for trials, oh no, not me. But I am willing to concede that I learn from going through hard times.

There’s a beautiful song, written by Stephen Foster, which I found particularly moving a few years back when the tides of trouble breached all levees and inundated my life.  It became an anthem for me of sorts, or a prayer, which I still hum often and think out loud and verbalize while on my knees.

“Let us pause in life’s pleasures to count its many tears,

While we all sup sorrow with the poor;

There’s a song that will linger forever in our ears;

Oh hard times come again no more.

Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,

Hard times, hard times, come again no more.

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;

Oh hard times, come again no more.”

For me, as for many, if not all, hard times are not a one time event.  Hard things press in on us and weigh us down with a weight that is unfathomable. Finding a small thing like the shoots of wildflowers pushing through the weight of rocky soil can bring hope and send a song through the air that lifts the weight ever so slightly.

Looking For Signs

I look for signs of hope all around me. Not just in springtime harbingers, but in everyday life.  A newborn’s mewling cry. A teen’s energetic laughter. An older couple holding hands. Help being offered when a need presents itself. Kindness extended, smiles proffered, handshakes offered. Birds chirping. A toddler’s rowdy chaos. Blue skies.

The lyrics of this haunting song continue:

“While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,

There are frail forms fainting at the door;

Their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say

Oh hard times come again no more.

Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,

Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore

Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave

Oh hard times come again no more.”

I want to put a “Wildflowers Under Construction” sign on the doors of certain houses that I know.  I wish them vision to see the shoots of green that are pushing tentatively up through the rocky ground they’re walking on.  I want them to hear the song of hope, however quietly it may lilt in the air. I pray they feel a gentle tug of hope encircle and lift when all seems lost.

I watch for hope, for signs of life and laughter and good things to come.  Being small, they aren’t always easy to see. You have to look closely. They’re everywhere, can you see them?

Mark O’Connor, James Taylor, Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer – performing “Hard Times Come Again No More”

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

That Way, This Way, My Way, Some Way

Posted on January 21, 2013 by Kami
English: camino de santiago

camino de santiago (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s more than a movie recommendation for you; “The Way” starring Emilio Estevez and Martin Sheen.

I hadn’t heard of this movie until I stumbled on it last week.  Apparently it never got the usual blingy press and advertising.  That’s probably for the best.  Created with care, reverence, and respect, its clarity and thoughtful, natural pacing create a feel for what it must be to experience such a thing. Not a single part of it felt gratuitous or forced. It’s not a movie for the masses.

Here’s a summary quote about it from Netflix:

“When his son dies while hiking the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in the Pyrenees, a grieving father decides to complete the 500-mile trek to Spain.”

The Camino de Santiago is basically “the pilgrimage route to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the  apostle Saint James are buried. “

Fascinated by this depiction of a modern-day pilgrimage, I let myself absorb the beauty of this film.  The scenery was pretty,  the trail looked user-friendly, the characters real. The story line was poignant and sincere. Something about this movie clicked in me and got me thinking.

So what is a pilgrimage and why do people do it? Dictionary.com defines it as

 “any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or to pay homage”

Certainly a pilgrimage isn’t something every person needs or wants.  But then, I wondered if life itself isn’t its own kind of pilgrimage for some, for many.

Hiker

(Photo credit: VagabondTravels)

I know some who are on a long journey as a single parent, others who are traveling a difficult path through the daily trial of depression. Still others know their long road is shorter than they’d like and will end early at death’s shore.  Providing long-term care for an ill family member must count as a journey worthy of honor or blessing.

I wonder if joining the military isn’t a kind of pilgrimage, certainly it’s self-sacrificing, serves a higher purpose and surely leads to deep introspection.

Service of a religious or charitable nature can take on the qualities of pilgrimage.

I’ve also wondered, since watching this movie, about my life.  Do I need a pilgrimage? Have I been through any kind of refiner’s fire? Sometimes I think the answer is yes, to both questions.

Then the question becomes; do I want to take on a pilgrimage by choice instead of by default?

There is an ocean and a continent or two between myself and any beginning point on that trail across Spain.  I would need a very substantial reason to walk such a path, to invest that much time and that many resources into such a quest.  I’m not catholic, so a traditional religious reason doesn’t exist for taking this on. I’m sure, at this point in my life, I haven’t got the reason, the time or the resources, or the physical ability to take on something as big as the Camino de Santiago.

Grand Canyon, from South Rim near Visitor Center

Grand Canyon, from South Rim near Visitor Center (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I set a goal some years back to hike the Grand Canyon. It seemed a reasonable quest, with a realistic time to prepare, to plan, to follow through.  The goal date came and went long ago and I had done nothing to move myself toward it.  Did I not really want to do it?  Was it worthy of my time and attention?  Or did life simply have other paths for me to take?

I feel compelled to find a reason, a justification perhaps, to take on such a quest as the Camino de Santiago. And yet, I find excuses at the ready, and know it’s something that will never happen for me.  To think otherwise is to be a dreamer of the silliest sort.

Maybe all I need to do is treat my life more like the pilgrimage that it is. What’s my quest?  What am I hoping to pay homage to? Where am I going? What am I hoping to achieve on this journey I’m on.  What are the milestones and how will I honor them? All good questions I ought to know the answers to.

Have you been on a pilgrimage? Any experience with something like this? Any desire to do such a thing?

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