You never know how great the sunshine is....

I should just call myself a sun-ometer or something. A barometer measures the air pressure. And a sun-ometer measures the effects of the sun. This week was a confirmation- I cannot possibly live in Seattle in the winter. Just one day of sunshine- and even spending a good deal of it indoors and my  life feels transformed.  Does that make Jesus sad?  Should His presence be enough to keep the blues at bay? Or does He walk through the blues with me and rejoices also when the sun returns?  I always think I've come to grips with my tendency toward depression but it still surprises me when it creeps up on me.  But it's more like a shadow now and less like the bogey man hiding under the bed; which is even better than the axe murderer in the closet. This is progress.

I write this and I wonder if anyone will ever read it. So far I have a loyal following of one. Of course, I'm not telling anyone I'm doing this.  After seeing the delightful movie "Julie and Julia" ( which ever order is correct..),  I'm wary of blogs. In the movie, Julie decides to cook all the recipes in Julia Child's famous cookbook. But a large part of the movie plot is her funny but completely self absorbed blogging. "Am I self centered?," she plaintively whines.  And we all want to shout- YES!  So here I am. hmmm

I think people with somewhat melancholy personalities can certainly drift toward self-centeredness very easily. Actually without the active presence of the Holy Spirit we all rush toward self. But we melancholics drift that way- it takes a strong hand on the rudder of my mind to keep me from ending up stranded on the sandbank of "woe is me".  I'm getting better. I take captive those vain and sometimes stupid thoughts. I worship. I drink warm milk so I can sleep.  Sometimes I make myself do something.

Which leads me, finally, to the point of today's uplifting blog. :)  I did something fun!  I ended up cramming a week's worth of fun into one crazy Sunday afternoon but that seems to be the case. The feast or famine of my social life.

I co-hosted a lovely afternoon with my writer's group and a very helpful literary agent. Tamela Murray came to our group and enlightened us on the whole process of agents and publishing houses. Two more events suddenly crowded my social calendar, so while I was scheduled to speak to her at 4,  she graciously offered to meet me at Panera's sometime. Turns out she lives her in Manassas and was just as nice as you can imagine.  I also met another writer with a book on women and finances- when I figure out how to link, I'll add his website.www.yourfinancialguidinglight.com  Disclaimer- you're on your own with this one!

Back to my Sunday....after my meeting, I hustled downtown. For us suburbanite victims of metro Washington- downtown means DC, the District;  the Mall means the space between the Capital and the Lincoln Memorial.  You don't shop there, you wander and ponder.  It's much lovelier than a shopping mall, in my opinion.  I live a scant 45 miles from downtown- I tell people it takes 45 minutes in the middle of the night or up to five hours on a holiday weekend.  I have been so discouraged in the whole traffic nightmare that I rarely go in.  But my son is living there now and I called to invite him to a concert and he invited me to church.  So armed with my trusty GPS, I'm off on my adventure.

Sunday afternoon is clearly a prime time to drive into the District. I wonder how long it will take for my brain to forget WTOP "Traffic and weather on the 8's". I watch the clock and switch from WETA classic music to the traffic reports each 10 minutes. How do they program everything so we who so hang on their every word are never disappointed at 3:08 and 3:18?  am or pm.  Faithful as faithful can be.  Like it ever makes that big of a difference except to remind you of delays. There are only so many ways to enter and exit a city that is on water, especially from the Virginia side. But I can see the map in my head as they list off the usual suspects- Father Hurley Boulevard in Maryland, Nutley Street in Vienna, some part of the inner or outer loop and of course, always I95. It's either a parking lot north or south, sometimes both, "Slowing off and on from...." basically from wherever you are to wherever you want to be. I've learned some great alternatives- again, I have to cross another river so even all back roads go to a bridge.

But I found Drew's church- a lovely stone edifice on a leafy corner within a short walk of Eastern Market. Now that I know that- I'm coming back and spending all Sunday afternoon here. Very cool urban street market.  Late afternoon church. Church is great- good worship, old wood lined sanctuary with stained glass and four people over 30.  Including the Bishop of Rwanda, here for the ordination of their newest deacon.  DC is a young person's city.  Let me hobble back over to the museum where I belong. :)

But the highlight of my day, my week is a interview/ concert with Ashley Cleveland and Kenny Greenburg at the Newseum. She was the worship leader at a women's retreat a year ago in the Texas Hill Country. I look back and see that as a watershed event in my life (and another blog) and it was great fun to hear her perform, especially with her husband, Kenny. I invited the most musically sophisticated friends I have to join me and it was very gratifying to have them turn to me mid-concert and say, "Wow'.  Ashley has three Grammy's for  Rock Gospel albums so clearly the music world knows her but I'm a complete amateur when it comes to much outside classic music, and I'm pretty much a novice there.  But she had touched my heart in Texas and her music is just amazing and fun.  If she ever reads this, apologies up front but my first impression of Ashley was Janis Joplin meets Jesus.  Wild woman but so infused with Jesus that you want to be wild with her.  And it was great fun to have her recognize me and ask about my kids, hug my neck, pose for a picture all while being directed to go sign CDs.

Live music just feeds something you didn't know was hungry. Seeing it being made in front of you. Watching the fun of the interactions- two amazing guitar players back and forth.  Being a part of an evening that will never be repeated.  Sharing it all with good friends. Living in the moment.
 And it was a good one.

Rainy days and Mondays

OK- it is Sunday but if Monday is the blue day, it's been a week of Mondays.

 My obsession for all things western has led me to an unexpected place. The last three weeks have been all about mortgages, negotiations, realtors, etc- yes, I've put an offer in on a house in South Dakota. I can't quite wrap my brain around it either. In early September, I told my family and a friendly realtor I met to start looking.  That I'd be ready in a year or so.  And the operative word was START.  Not really find.

The realtor was fine- sent a few, looked a couple that my mom found but then, my brother went across the street and asked his neighbor if she was interested in selling. Long, involved story- short point. She was in financial turmoil and ready to leave; knew she needed to sell or lose the house. But not really ready to sell.  It has been a roller coaster of weirdness.  She showed my family the house and the dog bit my mother. The same dog that bit her and her vet.... do you see a pattern here?  She was incensed by my low offer and refused to talk to my realtor or hire her own.  My sweet brother in law, Ken, jumped at the chance to buy into a house in his home area.  There were questions with insurance, vicious dogs, back taxes and the ultimate question.  What on earth am I doing?

In the middle of all of this, I had two specialty appointments at Bethesda. Lovely hospital. Treats the president of the US.  Wonderful people.   And it makes my blood pressure soar, my throat ache, my soul sore for days after.  It was practically a second home for Bill in those last months and I need to stop going there.  One more follow-up at the GI clinic and I'm sure I'll be told to stay on the little purple pill for the rest of my life and come back when I'm really sick.  That will be a whole other blog.

And... in the middle of remembering the past and fearing the future, it has rained and rained. It's dark. It's dreary. It's dismal. This is why I need to leave Virginia- it has four seasons.  And I don't care for two of them!  This is a early dose of the winter here. ugh. Give me snow.

But.... there always needs to be a "but" to remind myself that I am in such a good place in my life.  I have applied for a mortgage- all by myself (sounds like a three year old... about right). I marched fully equipped with a folder of paperwork into the same credit union that has been quite awful to me since Bill's death (same credit union- different branch, different city-I'm the mouse who roared) and told them what I needed. No- what I wanted.    I'm actually excited about the possibility of having a house across the street from my brother- that is a miracle in itself.   I've communicated with a realtor who doesn't know me and  who I don't know but have decided to trust. I negotiated a broker fee- in all fairness, Shawn has been exceedingly generous.  God bless him.  If you're in Rapid City,  I heartily recommend Shawn Wood.  I have found a tree's worth of paperwork, created some more and faxed offers and counter offers And even if this whole deal falls through, it has been a great lesson. An education in what I can do, who I can be, the possibilities of the future.

And... a lesson on the faithfulness of God.  I have decided that praying for something is not how you receive  it. When you pray for patience, you don't get patient dust sprinkled down from above. You get four kids and a dog and a overflowing toilet.  You get opportunities to practice being patient.  Repeatedly. In the aforementioned case, you can practice kindness and self control at the same time. Sort of a 'pray one, get two free' deal.

So I have prayed and prayed and prayed for wisdom, for direction, for guidance for the last three years. And He has been faithful to send me wise counselors, timely retreats to listen to Him, and now... a house?  Well, you don't get much bigger than that for needing divine guidance.  So I whispered my prayer, "I'll step out in faith and when the doors open, I'll go.  Just please make it obvious when you are closing them."  I prayed for a price to offer and have remained firm- again, God bless Shawn. He told me to stop at my comfort zone and if it's meant to be, it'll happen.  That's a realtor who is looking out for his client.  And for me that's God confirming to me that I had heard His voice. I'm excited and nervous and having some anticipatory buyer's  remorse. I pray for the seller that she'll see this as a blessing in the long run. I pray that He provide a future for her.  I've wandered around this house and thought someday soon, I'll sell it and it will break my heart.  I love it so. It's full of my memories and my kids' lives. It looks great- finally.     And I wait.

I do a lot of that. I wait. And I wonder. What else is He going to teach me?
 Just let me hear your voice,  Lord.

More musing on Wyoming

I savored this trip, pulling off repeatedly for  a photo I couldn't resist; the ever present windmill spinning against the vast blue sky, cattle grazing in the sagebrush covered hills, elegant horses swishing through their days as they graze knee deep in the late summer grasses- a summer of abundant rain produced a rare green September .  I passed  ranchers harvesting hay for the winter, bundling the sun dried winnows of alfalfa into giant rolls of green. Other hay was bound in traditional bales and stacked in a checkerboard of tidy squares, the geometric pattern  reflecting the gold of the early afternoon sun. The timeless beauty of a land that has remained so constant in my memories was a strange ache, but at the same time a sweet balm to my soul.

I drove on toward my next destination and determined that I need a year to live in the prairie!   I've always thought about living a year in New York City or Italy- suddenly my heart longed to reconnect with this vast, wild land. I want to learn my desert lessons, to reflect on my journey and on the woman I've become in all the years since those first trips across the Wyoming countryside.

Sabbath blessings and a backpedal

OK- enough is enough.  Time to get ready for church and a Sunday pancake and then a neighborhood "Art on the Front Porch" event!  Cool.  http://www.cprv.org/artwalk2009.htm

But I also looked at my last post on my subdued and calm blog page  (designed or templated by my lovely daughter).  and my Lingle post seemed.... incongruous.  So this is a calm image to sooth your day.  Read on later. When we've both repented and enjoyed a Sunday worship service.  At least I hope your sabbath has some sacred worship time- He created us, let's thank Him.

Blessings

Lingle Jingle

Water rules the west. I've traveled miles through scrubby sage  and suddenly there's a meandering line of green trees on one side and one side only. Out here cottonwood trees mark water- they grow abundantly along creeks and can tower 100 feet tall along larger rivers.   In this brief  valley, horses and cattle graze in lush  bottomlands that are supported by the water of Rawhide Creek. Ranch buildings cluster under the welcome shade of the cottonwood trees. 




The towns of Lingle and Torrington were my pitstops- once for gas and coffee, once for photos.  Sorry Lingle- but I couldn't resist the photos. 

Blogging is hard

OK- enough poetic musings. Now this will be first thing you read- argh.  I guess you really do have to either write blogs in the present moment or think through the process and blog backward. I am so not a systematic person. sigh  I had a short night (nothing unusual- sleep is for wimps)  and started this process at 430 this morning.  OK_adding the photos is an excruciating process. If I'm doing it wrong- I need to learn the better way. Always teachable is my motto- or should be.  hmmm- can you remove your own posts and repost them in a coherent order.  So little time, so much to learn.

Why Wyoming

Thoughts on driving six hours through empty space.

I tell people that my trip west was my much needed western fix. My husband grew up in the Black Hills and we met in college in Colorado. My parents even built their retirement home in South Dakota, confident that we would return there when Bill retired. And now both he and my dad rest in the windswept veteren's cemetary between the dark hills and the golden prairie. My mother thrives in South Dakota and my brother and his new bride have made their home there. And for me, the trip to South Dakota was a trip home in more ways than I expected. I enjoyed my family but I reveled the Black Hills. The Lokota Indians hold the hills sacred and the pine covered slopes do feel reverent, even nurturing to me. More than ever before, I felt like I was coming home to the place where I am most myself. I even decided to start the search for a place of my own in those familiar mountains. But my wanderings around Rapid City came to an end and I started the long drive back to Denver. 

On that drive between Denver and Rapid City, Wyoming is usually regarded as the desert to cross to get to the promise land but this trip felt different. Anyway- all deserts have lessons to teach. In this case, as I drove in the vast empty spaces I was reminded of pioneer perseverance, of modern self reliance but also the stalwart, western community of like minded people. People who understand the vulnerability of living in a harsh land. People who proudly wear mucky boots and sweated stained cowboy hats. People who are ready to help the distant neighbor but who are also willing to leave a soul alone when solitude is wanted.

There were a million images that tugged at my heart as I crossed the miles. My nieces dread the six hours to the Black Hills- equipping themselves with ipods and books to distract them from the miles of boredom. I had often travelled this route twenty, even thirty years ago and on those treks I would put my bare feet up on the dashboard, absorbing the vast emptiness around me as Bill drove. On this trip that same emptiness felt full of the promise of lessons to be learned and images to be captured. I found myself longing for a rv so I could park in a friendly rancher's driveway and wait for the afternoon light to change, to wait for the wispy morning clouds to accumulate themselves into the afternoon piles of white, to wait for the sunset that so often erupts and sillouttes the backdrop of the buttes and bluffs. My heart ached from the beauty I saw and I wondered about the beauty I've likely missed as I've dashed across the miles of my life- getting to my destination without savoring the trip! What a difference it makes to choose to watch, to be deliberate and see the details that speak to my heart along the way.

OK- I am going to do this. One thing I forgot in my profile is that I am a recovering perfectionist. Obviously not recovered or I would have had this blog up and running a couple of years ago. I do enjoy writing and some days, I think I have something to say. And Abby and Bek have promised to follow me- so that's enough for now.

Abby is my favorite daughter and Bek is her good friend. I can say that because both are true statements and I only have one daughter. I do have a favorite daughter in law AND a favorite son in law also, but no favorite son. So that the favorite spot is open- chocolate is a good bribe.

One reason I am finally blogging is my trip to South Dakota for my brother's wedding. And I was so overwhelmed with my love for the West and I photographed and wrote and had something to say! So I'm starting with Why Wyoming. And as with all things in life, who knows where this will go.