Rain, rain, go away...

This has been the hardest September for thirteen years. Well, maybe the first anniversaray of Bill's September death was the worst DAY. Then I had decided to not stay home and be alone. So I went out into an indifferent world and almost had an accident in a parking lot, locked my keys in my car THREE times in that one day and cried in public.  Why didn't I find a friend to share the day? Still acting independent while falling apart.

So it's been thirteen years and I'm totally about sharing life and burdens. But some burdens, even shared ones, just weigh heavy.  The month started with the "train wreck into my chest" of the death of unborn grandbaby, Teresa Irene. Our precious litle girl, so anticpated, so longed for, went straight into the arms of Jesus and left us straining to hold her alive. Aching to hold life. Devasted at loss.
I held my grief for her death as well as the pain of my own beloved children as they mourned.



The waters of sorrow felt high and threatening, from the skies the rain was unrelenting.  We buried Teresa on a hilltop in Bismarck, ND as the wind whipped umbrellas inside out and I wrapped a grieving grandchild in a blanket to keep her as dry as possible. The heavens wept.



I returned home and prepared for company, beloved old friends. But their life is sad, a mother is passing and in that wake, the family cracks are splitting wide open. We hold our arks together as long as we can but life's waters can batter and stress and pull apart a frail craft.   Our visit was full of long discussions and urgent phone calls. I'm glad to be a sounding board but it just keeps raining on my soul.

Then a much, much beloved child, another grandmother's biological child but a child of my heart held his sore belly and it's not a virus, it's not stress- it's a fast growing, agressive tumor. Cancer.. invading his little tummy and filling their world with horror, confusion, terror and great resolve. It's a deluge of pain and helplessness. I'm so far way. I have more guests and obligations. Others respond and the wagons circle around the child but I can only pray from afar and encourage without eye contact or arms. I'm out in the rain and lost my umbrella.

Meanwhile, life happens. I have committments from months ago. I host wonderful, life giving artists for a art workshop and we all try to ignore yet more rain- this late in September it's cold and rain threatens to become our first snow. It's just wet and dark.

 I also have to oversee the construction on my long drawn out "she shed/ guest quarters" project to get it enclosed for the winter. I shop for doors, find lumber- which ends up involving unexpected drives to neighboring towns. I return with a load and the stress hits- I lose my mind and back my big 3/4 ton dually pick-up truck right through the newly constructed wall and patio door. No one is hurt but I am shocked. I'm embarassed. I'm horrified. I wonder, "Could I have a brain tumor- why didn't my foot obey my brain?"

All the rain of water and sorrow flowing mingled down. I've had enough. Will this month ever end? Will I live through the gloom and the heavy skies?

Turns out I take very few pictures of gray gloom and rainy days.
And the rain has given us a magnificent green summer and fall. 

Yes, of course, I will live. Baby Teresa is fully herself and alive with Jesus and her grandfather. The elderly will pass and in their wake, families will be redefined and go on, cracks and all.  All the children with cancer and their families will continue their battle and doctors will do their best. Soon I'll be able to go visit and lend my piece of support in person. My small project will be completed and guests will enjoy the exposed beams and rebuilt patio door.  Life will go on.  But September may always remind me of the storms that buffet our lives and leave us bruised and sore. So many people struggle with sorrow and pain. This is part of the human condition in a broken world.

Today is overcast and we expect snow tomorrow. Winter is coming and I intend to hibernate and sleep. But today I have time with a friend and there's dinner tonight with my prayer sisters. We will gather and hug and support one another. We need each other, we need to know we are not alone in the rain.

Find your people. Love them. Lift up the dying and the "can't die yet" with prayers and blessings and words of life and healing.  Find a hand and hold on tight. Don't let the rain of one season define the year, or a life.

Water, water everywhere...on the Camino and home

I loved the water in Spain. All along the Camino de Santiago, small town and large cities had fountains, most with drinkable water. It gushed from dragons and pipes, ran through the cities in rivers and drainage ditches and dribbled along mountain paths. I took a picture of water every single day!

Stone sink at a hostel.

Just pipes this time, no dragon heads.

It's water so it counts.

I even created my own water site!

I'm home and it has rained and rained here in the Black Hills. We are lush and green and the wildflowers continue to amaze me. I'm perched at my kitchen counter and looking out at a verdant prairie- this never happens in August. 

So this morning, I took some water pictures.

Life is full of water and green is beautiful. I'm so grateful to live in this lovely place and be able to soak it all in.

And between starting this blog post and  sending it, I helped my brother-in-law and his wife clean out his sister's storage unit. Years of stuff and more stuff-moldy boxes of linens from their family- books and old checks, correspondence and kitchen stuff.  JoAnne is differently abled as we say- she is also tenacious, stubborn, independent and yet now she needs to be in a nursing care facitily. As I sorted her papers and numerous afghans, I found reminders of a rich and productive life.  Her candy business, metals for special Olympics and letters from organizations, a governor and even a president commenting on her contribution to the disabled community.  The stream of her life ran broad but invisible to many people.

As I finished up that week, my daughter-in-law called and spoke in a broken voice, "The baby died."  In an instant, our world turned unside down and our dreams for this unborn child flowed away.  She never took a breath, we never heard her cry but her time with us was a flood- of love and pain, sweetness and bitterness, sorrow and joy for her eternal life.

Water is life, life is water- flowing and carving its mark on the world.  JoAnne's life is rich and I am grateful  Teresa Irene's life is in heaven, my tears water the earth beneath my feet. 

Bridge over troubled water

I drove the six hours to Bismarck, North Dakota this week.  The landscape was lush and unseasonably green, the summer that we never thought would come is stretching into fall. But an occasional yellow leaf reminds me- the seasons turn,  winter always comes, life goes on.

We want life to look like this.

Wide, well marked with easy curves. Yes, there is a horizon but it stretches comfortably in the distance.

Instead the journey of life dips and disappears and our stomach lurches with the rough ride.  We hit potholes that threaten our comfort and suspension. The curves come fast and we can find outselves smashed at the side of the road. Alone.

This week, the spirit of my much prayed for and eagerly anticipated sixth grandchild, Teresa Irene, returned to the full presence of her Heavenly Father.  I love the image of her holding hands with her grandfather who loved babies but has yet to meet any of his grandchildren.  For us left on earth, we still deal with the reality of her lifeless body delivered by a grieving mother into the hands of a distraught father.  The hospital has been wonderful, the community outpour of prayers and help has be comforting...

but this grandmother just wants to breathe life into that tiny, perfect body and into this sad and broken family.

Her life on this earth was short and distant and not in our hands.



This tiny bridge is not easily accessible. It's not on a wide path. I'm not even sure of its purpose.  But it caught my eye, it spoke to my soul's longing for beauty, it is there.  A tiny bridge to nowhere must have a function I don't know. Someone carefully constructed posts and railing and added sturdy metal roofing. They placed it in this quiet spot and they know why.

Ducks paddle on this calm water and find food for their ducklings.  Life  happens here in the quiet, off the busy road.

Teresa is our bridge- inaccesible to our hands but forever perfect and complete in our hearts. Her brief life reminds us of the brevity of our days and heaven awaiting us- she is our bridge to eternity.  But I don't want to leave this little, fragile structure out here in the elements; winter is coming. The ducks will fly and she'll be alone.  But this  earth is all merely a shell, a structure with a function I don't fully realize.  Teresa has shed her fragile  body and is rejoicing in timeless heaven where we are already together. I am left to remember her rosebud lips, to hug the sad children and parents, to pray for comfort and... to anticipate life on earth as it continues on, waiting for the renewal of an inevitable spring.

Derailed! with flowers

Ever have one of those months?  I'm going to rant a bit- for the last six weeks since I returned to my home, it's been one thing after another.  Mom is in a rehab/nursing home 45 minutes away, fortunately I have a nice place to stay when I'm there. Unfortunately that means my acres are left on their own. Mother nature has not helped- it has rained almost every day, which is either climate change or some new pattern that disrupts the normal weather. Oh, that IS the definition of climate CHANGE.  Not exactly sure of all the causes but one result in the Black Hills is three foot tall brome grass, hundres of dandelions in my "I don't need a ground barrier" wood chip path and michaelmas daisies taking over my flower beds.  I know that last whine is overkill. The daisies are aggressive and beautiful at the same time.  Still.... stay in your place!

Crum... out of focus but I'm out of time so it'll do! 

My newly installed dishwasher trips the new GFI outlet and turns out wiring those things are harder than it looks. No dishwasher but water in other places...  My toilet overfloweth and the adjoining rooms, including the guest bedroom closet, soaked up more than I thought. So it's lots of vinegar and fans because the carpet cleaner is at mom's so I can do her floors before she comes home the first of August.  After my company leaves and my quick trip out of town.

Columbines love the rain!

At least there's warm air to dry things out.  Too warm.  When I bought my Acura in California, I didn't think the AC was great but they assured me it was fine. I rarely used it because it's not that hot here. Now, eighteen months later, my compressor is definitely shot and that will be thousands of dollars, thank you very much.  So much for certified pre-owned.  I'll start that fight after the kids leave.

Yesterday the long-awaited crew arrived and my little "she-shed/ art shack/ overflow bedroom" was lowered onto the foundation. It's been sitting on precarious wood jenga piles for almost two years and it looks much worse for the wear and weather. But it's down and I can start to figure out what to do- mostly replace the back wall that had to be demolished in the process.  And see if there are in swallow eggs in the nests- the birds are going nuts with the destruction. A condo in town looks pretty

Except I wouldn't have these!
The random board appears to be holding up my shed... hmm

 good right now.

So in the middle of rain and more rain, weeds and more weeds, I've had the blessing of several rounds of company and today, two of my sons and two grandkids are arriving!   The new toiled it sitting in the garage and the caulking to repair the leak from the exterior sill is on the washing machine. The location is to remind me to have them pull that out and check the water line for the crazy lint build-up in my laundry.  Whew... the list is much longer but you have to prioritize when you'd rather play with your sons than use them as handymen.  I do hope putting the Christmas tree box away happens...

So that's my rant and why my Camino blog is so delayed. Add a few days of inertia, meetings, public library book sale, multiple weekly trips to Rapid City and, I confess, more than a few summer escape reading days and my brain is working at summer speed

 But the flowers are looking fine!

Well, those photos were a bust and I don't have time to retake them. Sometimes done is better than perfect!  I can't see what I'm shooting until I load it on the computer. Clearly my auto-focus doesn't!  These are art shots- fuzzy and impressionistic.  Enjoy.

Getting up and doing it

This is a popped blister under a toenail.
Yep, it was gross. 

A primary lesson for me from the Camino was the reward of routine. Every day I got up and went through the pilgrim ritual- find the available potty, check the feet,



put the bandaids and protective tubing on my injured toes. Our feet as our foundation is a whole other blog!  After the feet, you put on the same pants from yesterday, the sox you washed out the night before (hoping they are dry) and the various layers for the torso. You pack up the backpack, remember your treking poles and head out. Every day.

This night was in a bedroom, not on a bunkbed. It was a luxury
to empty and reorganize my pack in space and light.
I hated packing up in the dark of a hostel. 

I don't do the same thing every day. In my wholw life, I rarely have. I married young and followed a Marine around the world. I raised four children in seven homes and homeschooled for twenty years.  Days were similar but not routine. I tried. I read the books ( most of my young adult life was before the internet or I'd still be looking for answers!) and watched the others who followed charts and timetables. I After my husband's death and during the flight from the nest of the children, I worked part-time. Then I upened my life and moved from DC suburbs to a cabin ten miles from a town of 900 in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  I like change!

But I want to write. I want to tell stories and I have a half finished book in childhood wounding. I love words and connecting to people with images fleshed out by words. I want to figure out how to have a flexible life and the discipline of a writer.

Turns out life goas are like the Camino- you just get up and do it. Day after day. And slowly, you move toward your goal. Over hills,

through in bare forests,

and past cropland waiting for planting.

The path was to the right, I was fascinated with all the ways they directed irrigation water, like this cement trough.

Some of the Camino has distance markers- the most areonce you reach the western region of Galicia. There they've erected stone markers with the kilometers left to Santiago and you can see your remaining kms to walk.

This is a glimpse of the rugged condition of the path.

Only 100 km left! 

It was reassuring to see another marker and know the goal was closer.



It reminds me to make some small goals.  On the pathwe were always aware of the yellow arrows and the shell symbol.  It wasn't usually this distinct but they were always there as we looked.

 I don't often take the time to assess my goals for writing, to see if I'm on the path I set for myself. The Camino taught me the value of keeping on the path.  

Join me in getting up and doing it!

Dirty boots and a lovely brass shell pointing the Way.

Walking the Camino

 In April and May, I walked across most of Spain.

In the moments and weeks of the walk, walking was normal. Everyone around me was walking the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. We all got up early each morning and tended out feet, put on our boots, pulled on our packs and went looking for coffee and yellow arrows.  We all pulled off our boots and examined our blistered feet in public and offered sympathy and bandaids to perfect strangers. That's what life was.


The Camino was harder than I expected and more rewarding than I thought it would be. My life has not been fundamentaly changed by this experience. Instead, my soul was deeply enriched and my spirit stirred and soothed all at the same time.

And now I'm home. Back to another nornal.  It took hours on a plane, several days in a car and two more beds other than my own to return to my cabin in the hills.  I'm exhausted and my last souvenir was a nasty cold.  My 91 year old mother had several falls while I was gone and has diminished so much it was a jolt to my heart when she greeted me. One of the falls dislodged her hip and, in the two months since they determined she needed a total hip replacement, the stump of damaged ball wore a hole through the socket.  Her pain has been intense and debilitating.  Welcome home to me.

But Mom had surgery Monday and she felt good enough to have soup and yogurt the same night. She's brave and strong and completely ready to risk death as to not live in pain.  I appreciate her independence now as much as I resented it as a young adult. She is a force to be reckoned with and ignored Death to live her life. She said she'd either live without pain or she go home to Jesus, win-win.

So how do I, how do we continue to live in our "normal" while longing for the particular event that was so soul enriching, something that connected us to a community we didn't even know existed?



Perhaps my big Camino lesson was- "Get up and do it again."  For me it was walking- everyday. Rain or shine. Cold or hot. I walkded with sore muscles, sleep deprivation, and a bad attitude.  I didn't walk because I'm strong or commited or love to form new blisters. I walked because I wanted to finish this goal I had set and...  I had a plane to catch on the other side of the country.  And in that discipline, I was so blessed.  Blessed with friends, renewed confidence in my body and a resevoir of stories and images.

This blog will concentrate on the Camino until we're all tired of it. I want my story to resonate with you, even if you've never walked 500 miles to catch an airline flight! I want to share lessons and muses, some pictures of Spain and stories of people. And I do this as much for myself as anyone. I don't want to forget.  I want to integrate my two normals and walk my journey forward, regularly reminded of my amazing walk into the heart of a country and into my own.

Buen Camino


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camino_de_Santiago

Through the Heart of Texas

I drive a lot. 

I drive through big cities and small towns. I drive by a big city’s downtown, like Denver, or right through smaller places like Rapid City. And I drive around a lot of places. I drove around Indianapolis twice before I had time to go downtown and discover their fabulous river walk, wonderful arboretum and the museum with the granite of Washington, DC monuments.  Now I love Indianapolis.

I’m on the road again- one of my marathon wanders from the Black Hills throughColorado, off to Texas and more of Texas, then west to Tucson and San Diego. My winter goal is to prepare for walking across much of Spain in April so I left the snow and headed south. I have grandchildren at the end of this rainbow trail but I also have treasures to find along the way.  

Ahhh! 

 I enjoyed visits with friends in Colorado and I stuck my weary feet in a small hot springs in Montezuma, Colorado after three days of walking four to nine miles each day.  

5 miles in Palo Dura State Park.
What a great hike in the second largest canyon in the US.
And much more accessible hiking than the BIG canyon. 

At my exquisite lodging at Dyess Air Force Base (that’s the branch of service that knows how to pamper guests!), I read all about cool things to do and see in west Texas. 

So off to the National Center for Illustrated Children’s Literature and the storybook capital of the US-Abilene, Texas. Bet you didn’t know that! It was wonderful and if you buy three books, you get a free bag-  “this is Texas and we know how to do a nice tote bag”.  So, of course, I had to buy three books, well four actually.  All the best children’s literature illustrators wait for invitations to have their illustrations and books displayed there in Abilene.  In June the city hosts the children’s book festival and has a really fun storybook park fill of lovely bronze depictions of classic illustrations!  Like the three naughty kittens that lost their mittens complete with a very stern mama cat almost as big as me and a life size Wilbur staring up at Charlotte in her steel web. Who knew? I want to take my grandkids now.  https://www.nccil.org

From there I was off to one of “America’s Best Small Art Towns” according to a book I picked up somewhere along the way. And sure enough- Albany, TX, population 2,000 has an exceptional art collection including some very fine bronze sculptures. http://theojac.org

Finally, I rested my head at Goodfellow AFB. San Angelo would definitely be a town I’d drive around. It’s flat and brown in Feb with non-stop wind. Nothing distinguishing. But I was there and I wanted to get in my walking miles so off I went and...

San Angelo, Texas has a fabulous river walk!  Not THE San Antonio River Walk but this walk has few people, no skaters or cafe chairs ready to bump you into the water.  Just lovely Hill Country limestone slabs cantilevered over the Concho River in stacks and piles. Water runs from fountains, under the walkway and into the river. Statues of sheep, resplendent in design and colors, line the walk and remind walkers of  the town’s history in the wool industry.  Anglo and Hispanic cultures are celebrated with mosaics on underpasses, pickups and even a VW beetle.  One mosaic interweaves classic art masterpieces to interpret the city- Van Gogh’s sky and Henry Moore’s people combine to celebrate all that is fine in a town that has worked hard to bring beauty and fun to a riverfront that probably wasn’t always so attractive and accessible. 

http://www.artinuncommonplaces.org/

https://rippedjeansandbifocals.com/reasons-to-visit-san-angelo-texasdo-in-san-angelo-texas/

What else have I missed on my hurry to get from point A to point B?  I’m in a fine season of life- I have time to dawdle but so do many people. Few chose to get off the main road and explore the less known. Maybe because I live in the “fly over” zone of America, I know what people could miss.  

All places where people take pride and create beauty are winsome, are places you remember and talk about.  Places you want to share- so get out there and explore that place you might have been tempted to drive around. Drive right through life and savor all the unexpected!