I don't like packing to go on a trip.
There's just too much to consider. The weather. The number of days. Our plans--where we are going, who we will see and what we will do. And what happens if I spill or get something dirty, as I am apt to do?
And then the accessories. The right shoes. Will we be doing lots of walking? Well, then comfort is the most important thing. I'm someone who likes variety, and I like what I wear to match--at least to some degree. And I don't like wrinkles. Oh, the wardrobe woes!
The bottom line is that I feel better, if I think I look ok, presentable.
So I stand in my closet and I pull out possible outfits. I sort and I toss. I fold and then I reconsider and rehang those pants and this top. Maybe this blouse would be better. And I can always wear my trusty jean jacket, if it gets cool.
And will I have enough toothpaste and shampoo? How often will I need to wash my hair? On a recent trip I forgot mascara. I look invisible without mascara, I think. Oh well, I survived. I usually forget at least one thing, but rarely does it matter. I know that, but still...
Do I want to stay home to avoid my packing phobia? No, of course, not, but a maid, like one in Downton Abbey, would be nice.
"Might I suggest the pink frock, Madam, and your
long strand of pearls? You'll look stunning at Lord and
Lady X's dinner."
And, of course, this imaginary maid would do the actual packing. Neatly and precisely.
I may not be a good packer, but I am excellent unpacker. We came home from a couple days away recently and within 45 minutes everything was unpacked--washer was swirling with dirty clothes, and unused or still clean were hanging in their assigned spots. I had emptied the cooler, read the mail, and made a grocery list. All was restored, for the art of resettlement is one of my gifts.
Of course, in-between the packing and the unpacking is what is most important. This is a month of short trips to spend time with friends and family. In fact, soon we will be on the road again for the next round of reconnecting with loved ones. My wardrobe woes will fade into the background, and I will quickly remember what makes my dreaded packing indecisiveness worth it.
A confession: writing this post has been a distraction. I have not finished packing and we leave in a few minutes.
"Madam," says my invisible maid, "don't forget
your pajamas."
An Invitation
What is your least favorite part of traveling? I would love to know.
NOTE: I am going to be away from the garret for awhile and more than likely won't be posting till early July.
Our sixteen year old granddaughter will be spending most of the summer at camp. Each summer she has spent a longer time at Camp Widjiwagan, and more and more of that time is canoeing in the Boundary Waters. This year she and other wilderness women will be on trail for twenty-one days.
My husband and I took her out for dinner the other night before she left for camp, and we so enjoyed the company of this wonderful young woman. We talked colleges and her interest in journalism and friends and Game of Thrones (I was silent during that part of the conversation!) It occurs to me I didn't ask her what she was reading or what books she will take with her to camp. How could I have missed that key question. Obviously, the evening was not long enough!
The next day I found myself thinking about something she said. She talked about the days and weeks of canoeing when she and her companions rarely, if ever, see anyone else, and they have no idea of what may be happening in the rest of the world. No idea. They paddle and portage and pitch their tents oblivious to any outside events. They know when the sun rises, and they watch the sun to know when it is time to find a place for the night. They listen to their bodies and watch the natural signs around them.
In other words, they live in the present. That certainly doesn't mean they don’t prepare for this journey. They carefully calculate what food and equipment to bring. They follow maps of the Boundary Waters as a guide and have the benefit of an experienced counsellor. And they have as a major goal--to return safely to camp on a specific day, and that takes planning, cooperation, and collaboration.
But hour by hour with each canoe stroke they live in the present.
Richard Rohr says, "To be a contemplative is to trust deep time." I don't know if any of these young women strive to be a contemplative, but I do think each of them at least brushes shoulders with deep time on those days untouched by outside perspectives, interferences, or distractions.
I think it is possible to experience moments of deep time, even in our everyday lives. The other day I was mixing the batter for strawberry shortcake. The kitchen was hot, and I was eager to cross this task off my list, but soon the stirring and blending of butter and sugar and beaten egg and the milk infused with minced lemon balm from the garden felt contemplative. Baking this cake became an entryway to deep time.
The original recipe was my grandmother's, and I thought about her picking the strawberries from her garden and baking this cake in her kitchen much hotter than mine. I thought about my personal touch, adding herbs, lavender or lemon balm or mint, to the batter. I remembered greeting the goats and llamas, as I walked to my large herb garden at Sweetwater Farm. Now I have a few pots of herbs on our patio, but the smells are the same. The pleasures of those days remain in my heart.
I have fixed this shortcake many times, served it to many people, brought it as a dessert for many gatherings. I thought about the stories shared, the laughter lifted into the air, while eating this shortcake. Soon I would serve this to other loved ones. More connections, more memories would be made. I mixed gratitude and love into the batter before placing the pan into the oven.
A moment of deep time. A moment of being awake to the presence of Spirit. A moment of separation from the pull of cares and crisis and the need to know the latest and the bleakest.
How glorious that our granddaughter recognizes the gift of those moments. She may not know it yet as deep time, but someday she will. With every stroke of the canoe paddle, she is carving a place in her heart for moments of deep time.
An Invitation
When have you experienced deep time. I would love to know.
Years ago when we visited England we bought two mugs at one of the country estates with gorgeous gardens. Printed on one mug was "Head Gardener" and on the other "Undergardener."
In our house my husband is the head gardener, and these days, because our gardening yard space is small, I am not even the undergardener. I had that title when we lived at Sweetwater Farm, and I was the primary weeder. I even enjoyed that ongoing task, for I could see immediate results, and it resembled cleaning, which most of the time I enjoy.
Now, my main role is to enjoy the fruits of my husband's labor and talents. Most days now you can find him "playing" in the garden.
Did you ever meet a gardener, who, however, fair
his ground was absolutely content and pleased?...
Is there not always a tree to be felled or a bed to be
turfed?...Is there not ever some grand mistake to be
remedied next summer?
The Rev. Samuel Hole (1819-1904)
This quotation from Charles Dickens' Sketches by Boz also describes my husband the gardener.
In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly in the garden; and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out of the window at it by the hour together. He has always something to do there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, with manifest
delight...; and in the evening when the sun has gone down, the perseverance with which he lugs a
great watering-pot about is perfectly astonishing.
The beauty is inspiring and pleasing, but gardens also represent hope at a time when that feels in short supply and we need reminders to lift our hearts.
Of all human activities, apart from the procreation
of children, gardening is the most optimistic and
hopeful. The gardener is by definition one who
plans for and believes and trusts in a future, whether
in the short or the longer term. To sow seeds and
plant out, to graft and propagate, whether it be
peas and beans, apples and plums, roses and peonies,
is to make one's own positive stake in that future, a
gesture, declaring that there will be weeks, months,
years ahead. ...
Those who constantly think of war and dread its
prospect, who see an end to mankind and his
planet, whose spirits are shriveled and hearts bowed
down by the troubles and threats of the age, who
refuse to have any hope, take any comfort, see the
glimmer of any new dawn, should be gardeners. The
gardener learns to be by turns daring and adventurous,
tender and ruthless, meticulous and haphazard, gentle
and patient. But above all, he learns to revel in today,
while being ever hopeful of tomorrow.
from Through the Garden Gate
Susan Hill
If you are a gardener, I thank you. If you aren't a gardener, why not thank someone who is and take a cue from the gardens around you and live with a hope filled heart.
An Invitation
What gives you hope? I would love to know.
How good it feels to open the windows in the house.
We had a couple warm days and too hot to sleep comfortably nights when gratefully we turned on our central air-conditioning. Now, however, the weather is cool again. A summer coolness with fresh breezes filling each room.
I must admit the first few days of open windows I grumbled a bit Maybe more than a bit. Our block has become quite noisy, as new families with young children have moved in. It seems as if someone is always crying, and one child in particular is a screamer.
"I love my peace and quiet," says the cranky old lady. (That would be me!) On these lovely spring into summer days, I relish sitting and reading in my Paris garden when I have lunch, but along with the usual birds chirping, the air is filled with squeals of delight and squeals of anguish. The block has become filled with toddler and kindergarten drama!
With the windows open I hear it all.
Life, that's what I hear.
The slamming of car doors when friends arrive. The greetings as neighbors pass each other on the sidewalk. The dog that barks at the sight of another dog. A brief conversation with the letter carrier and the chattering of teenage girls as they flip flop along their way. The thunk of a ball in a catcher's mitt. The splash splash in a wading pool. The tinkle of the ice cream truck and music I don't recognize as cars pass by. The high pitched sounds of a lawn mower or of construction tools at a nearby home. I even hear my husband working his garden magic.
Yes, there are tears, but there is also laughter and happy conversations.
I open the windows and let it all in.
Go to a window in your home right now. Take a deep breath and gently, but firmly, open that window. Before moving away, look through the window. What do you see? Look as if you have never looked out that window before. What do you hear? Smell? Feel?
How does this open window change the inside of your home? Does the room feel more spacious? How is the internal light different with the window open? Is there a window you rarely open? Go open that one right now. What does that feel like?
Opening the windows I remind myself to open my heart. To be present to all of life. To make compassionate space for it all.
I suspect each of us has a closed window in our lives. Perhaps today is the day to open it.
An Invitation
In what way would you like to be more open. I would love to know.
Recently, I read Gloria Steinem's 2015 memoir, My Life on the Road. I should say I FINALLY read this book, for it has been on my list for a long time. I borrowed it from the library, but I quickly discovered, as early as the introduction, I wanted to underline something on every page. I decided, therefore, to buy a copy with the intention of re-reading it.
I suggest you read it yourself and then pass it on to your daughters and granddaughters and other young women in your life. This is a woman we must not forget. And while you are at it, read Michelle Obama's Becoming and make sure your loved ones read that, too.
One of her purposes in this book is to encourage each of us to "spend some time on the road, too."
By that I mean traveling--or even living for
a few days where you are--in an on-the-road
state of mind, not seeking out the familiar
but staying open to whatever comes along.
It can begin the moment you leave your door.
p. xxi
Traveling is a privilege, and I am grateful for the traveling I have been able to do in my life, but traveling to new and exciting places is not a priority for me now. However, I think it is possible to maintain an "on-the-road state of mind, even without walking beyond your threshold.
Imagine yourself standing in the middle of a circle. You can see the perimeter of that circle and maybe you can even see beyond it, but let's start with what you can see within the circle. What do you see?What is in the circle with you? What or who enters the circle routinely or perhaps just occasionally? What do you make time for in the circle of your day? Room for?
Now start rotating so you see other parts of the circle. What is behind you? What is on either side of you? Are there any gaps in the circle? Keep turning, but pay attention to what interests you, surprises you, perhaps even disturbs you. Are you tempted to stop and linger at any point? Would you like to get closer to the circumference and if you do that, how does that change the circle?
Although certainly metaphorical, I think these are interesting questions, because they challenge our way of receiving information and new perspectives. An on-the-road state of mind is an open state of mind, a curious approach, a state in which one's ears and eyes are bigger than one's mouth. A reflective heart keeps expanding, it seems to me.
What do I do to encourage an on-the-road state of mind? Well, first of all, I am not always successful doing that. Sometimes I just want comfort and my easy status quo, but if that becomes my normal way of functioning, I will no longer write this blog.
This blog is a key way for me to expand my circle, to keep it alive and vibrant. In order to write posts twice a week, I need to stay alert and awake. I need to be an observer, a listener, a questioner. I need to be in community and to challenge myself to go deeper within myself and to pay attention to the movement of God in my life--and what that means for how I live my life.
Gloria Steinem says, "More reliably than anything else on earth, the road will force you to live in the present." After all, anything can happen on the road, and I don't want to miss it.
An Invitation
What does the phrase "on-the-road state of mind" mean to you? I would love to know.
When our children were little, I remember occasionally declaring, "You need a time out," as I sent one or both of them to their rooms.
It didn't take much for me to understand that I was often the one who needed the time out. Their punishment in that moment was my preservation.
Now that I am in my 70's, however, a time out is totally unconnected to punishment.
Nor is it necessarily a reward for doing hard work or accomplishing something major or being productive, although that may be the case. I admit I am a slow learner in this department, however, for I have always been someone who rewards herself with a time out when I've completed my list for the day. Not before. I have viewed time outs as a treat, like a cookie or a piece of chocolate. I have not understood that time outs are worthy in themselves. They don't need a reason. Or permission. They don't need to lead to something else, although they often do--like a new perspective or idea or renewed energy or a restored spirit.
My idea of a time out for myself hasn't changed much over the years. Generally it means immersing myself in a book. Or two or three, as was the case over Memorial Day weekend when we spent glorious days on Lake Superior's North Shore. Of course, there are many other things I love to do, other ways I relax, but reading is my favorite form for a time out. More and more I recognize that I can stop whatever I am doing, whenever I want to and pick up a book.
A self-directed, self-authorized time out is a choice.
"Nancy, you need a time out. Go to your reading chair. NOW."
An Invitation
What is your favorite form of a time out? I would love to know.
