Vanquish the Darkness

It takes more courage to dig deep into the abyss of one's own soul than it takes for a soldier to fight on the battlefield. ~~ William Butler Yeats

How many people really understand what Yeats is saying here, I wonder. Do I fully understand his meaning? I think so.

There is dark stuff in the abyss of every soul on Earth. Dark, nasty stuff. To face it head-on is frightening.

A wise person will face the abyss, though, piece by piece, horror by horror. If light isn't shed on the darkness, the evil unchecked alters us, holds us in its grip. We cannot progress into the Goodness that we desire until we address the darkness in battle and vanquish as much as we can.

God reveals our darkness to us through life situations. We react in ways that seem horrible to us, surprising ourselves with our ugliness. A proper response is to thank God for the hard moments. Then, evaluate evaluate evaluate.

Bravery is so necessary.

On the other side of each victory is the strength and bravery to go in again, win a bit more territory for Goodness, snatch it away from darkness.

Only an evaluated life is worth living.

Swimming with Mom

Treasured memories, pulled up and pondered, furrow my melancholy brow and wet my face with salty, sunny-morning tears. Priest Lake, Idaho, Grandma, Grandpa, summer days on the sand, sliding through the water, Mom swimming the cool lake's clearness in her rubbery white bathing cap an iridescent blue dragon-fly hitch-hiking on her head as she grins, reaching her tanned, toned arms forward in perfect free-style strokes, while I swim confidently right beside her.

Memories of ten-year old me at the lake with my dear mother ache my heart today.

I miss her most in the summer, particularly when I am swimming.

Yet, my heart shines in joy - through the ache - at my ebullient memories.

I hope there is swimming in Heaven. I want to swim beside my mom again.

Long Live the Printed Page!

"Recent scientific studies have shown that holding a book and reading it creates a richer experience for the brain than reading something that is online. So, in addition to reading, we should read printed, physical books. For in addition to writing being the greatest invention in human history, the book may be the greatest device ever invented."      ~~~Byron Tully

A certain satisfaction puffed this bibliophile's mind when I learned that the sales of e-books are declining while the sales of physical books are increasing.

Trinity College in Dublin - a magical place 

At last, science is proving what those of us who know the value of holding a real book in one's hand have known all along: devices do not come close to the experience of reading a paper book. The smell of the ink and pages and their feel under our fingers, the subconscious measuring of how much we've read and how much of the book remains simply by measuring the thickness of pages under left and right hands, the scraping, swooshing sound of the pages turning and the covers of a hardback thumping closed are pleasant, interactive sensations. The sight of our books on our shelves comforts us with the assurance that our old and new friends are always near, ready to help us escape or learn, to inspire or remind. These things matter, they make life better.

Aside from my obvious sentimentality, I have pragmatic reasons for preferring a printed book over an e-book. Science is proclaiming that it can be hard to absorb an e-book. The chronology of a story can be less fixed in the reader's mind, especially younger readers.  More is remembered about a text's timeline if it is read in print as opposed to on a device.

Studying is more efficient with the printed book as bookmarking, highlighting, and flipping forward and backward are easier, thus saving time and helping the reader's mind stay focused on content.

Also, e-books tire one's eyes and brain as they require a higher cognitive workload due to the dual-task of reading while using a computer.

And finally, most of us have either experienced or read about the fact that looking at a computer screen before bed contributes not only to disrupted sleep patterns but to increased tiredness the following day.

Granted, there is room in this world for both types of books. However, let's make it perfectly clear, the e-book has not dethroned the printed book.

Long live the printed book!

Death, Where is Your Sting?

He was in His early thirties.

Just a kid, by today's standards.

Yet, Jesus lived a sinless life, died a gruesome death, and most importantly, awakened to eternal life.

I imagine Jesus stirring to consciousness there on that cold slab. Remember, He was a young man, a human being like the rest of us. Have you ever awakened from a nightmare only to react like Ebenezer Scrooge, rejoicing to be alive? Jesus must have been rejoicing, too. His sacrifice was accepted by God! He conquered death! He knew full well what, in His obedience, He had done not only for Himself, but for those who believe in Him, those who are drawn to the Goodness of God.

The Prince of Peace sat up, and unwound the grave clothes from His body. Then, Jesus folded the small facial cloth and set it on the slab. An interesting note about that action, the folding of the facial cloth, is that in Hebrew custom, when a master was finished with his meal, he'd leave his napkin wadded up on his plate to signal his servant that he was finished eating and would be leaving the table. If the master left a folded napkin at his place, it meant he would return, so please, servant, leave his plate and silverware on the table. Was Jesus, in folding that piece of cloth, leaving a signal that He'd be returning for us? Perhaps. At last, the Messiah walked out of the dark tomb of a rich man into the fresh air of Jerusalem.

Think of it. Just think of His experience.

Death could not keep Him. He rose victorious over it. He is alive today.

Because He lives, we have the choice to follow Him to another Age, which we call Heaven. It is there He prepares a place for us so that where He is, we may be also. He waits for us, his younger brothers and sisters. It is glorious, and so humbling.

To you, gentle reader, I wish an Easter Observation full of love, joy, meaning, refreshment, and the realization that Easter marks the most Important Event in World History. The resurrection of Jesus.

I hope He has your attention...and your love.

Happy Easter!

SJW's and Social Media

A young man I know proudly considers himself a social justice warrior, also known by its acronym SJW. A socially awkward chin-on-chest mumbler who, in person, cannot string together a coherent sentence, hides behind his computer screen. He is one of the many who spends inordinate amounts of time on social media stabbing his harshly written opinion, coupled with links to obscure oddball websites, into the comment streams of anyone with whom he disagrees about social issues. Like a pit bull terrier with a hunk of raw meat, he never lets go, viciously hurling insults, coarse terms, and demeaning epithets. You know the type. You may even be the victim of a shocking, hurtful SJW diatribe.

Generally speaking, if an SJW realizes he cannot turn you, he or she immediately begins a campaign of humiliation, vilification, and isolation the aim of which is to utterly destroy credibility. He wants you to tremble at his words and back down. Then, he'll kick you again. Twice.

I've been giving this phenomenon some thought. Though I immediately discovered the uselessness of engaging an SJW - just don't! - still, the behavior mystifies me and, to be quite honest, brings out a personal reaction I'm not okay with. To become distractedly frustrated - or even angered - enough to wreck a day or two is not acceptable. Really not acceptable at all.

Rather than stoop to the uncivilized level of these misguided superhero wannabes by clashing with them on social media, might merely ignoring them be a perfect response? Imagine willingly allowing their hostile, condescending remarks to sit unanswered in comment streams? Who cares if these snarky scribes consider it a win? Simply walking away into the sunshine of our self-discipline and freedom clears the air of the effects of the SJW's vitriolic verbosity.

Yes, this is the advice of parents everywhere, "Ignore them and they'll stop," but sometimes, in some cases, it actually works. At the very least refusing to engage will save us unnecessary aggravation.

If revenge is a life well lived, and the best defense is a good offense, then, perhaps the most productive and efficient way to deal with the unpleasant SJW is to not become the anti-SJW. Instead of pandering to the irrationality by mimicking the pointless arguing, how about we simply reject the bait, walk away, model graciousness and poise?

During the 16th through early 20th centuries, Parisians (and others) hosted salons in their homes. A salon was a hand-picked gathering of people from various walks of life who held diverse world views and contrasting interests. These salons could be lively, but they were civil. The intellectual pushing and pulling of vigorous discussions on a number of topics created opportunities for people to grapple with new ideas and evaluate their own perspectives. Illumination occurred.

Compare the cultured salon approach with the blanket bombing method of communication wielded by the SJW. Where a salon offers permission to fervently disagree, then, cordially shake hands at leave taking, the overbearing, intolerance of the SJW method leaves a clenching restriction on free-thought and connection. It creates alienation. Courteous intellectual discussions nurture the mind, create bridges of understanding. Malicious, hastily scribbled venom turns an opponent into an enemy.  What good can possibly come from such behavior? Salons grow deep friendships, nurture community cohesion. SJW's rarely make disciples of those who challenge them. Instead, they foster division.

Here is a place where a small change in procedure can make a difference. Not only will courteously countering the social media boorishness of the SJW crowd be a blow to its anarchic mentality, but it will be a boon to the ideal of dignified living.

Like a detained child creeping to his bedroom door contritely asking Mommy if he can come out now, the young social justice warrior I previously mentioned has been known to, when a vitriolic comment of his is left alone smelling up a comment stream, meekly inquire if he has offended his target. He has even apologized.

Travel the high road. It's better.

An ounce of restraint is worth a pound of exasperation.

A Day of Rest, Meant for You

A man I admire suggested something that resonates with me.

He suggested that I reclaim Sunday as the special day it was meant to be.

"How exactly?" I asked, curiosity piqued. "I already attend church on Sunday and make a family dinner for my loved ones."

"Unplug from technology," he answered. "Experience the moment, the important real-life moment that surrounds you."

I thought to myself, "Sunday as lived in my childhood. Sounds heavenly."

The following weekend I unplugged. My family wasn't quite ready to join me, but they sure supported my effort.

No television. No texting. No iPod. No email. No Facebook, no computer screen at all.

Instead, I rested. I looked out the window. I walked through the front door, down the street, and to the park. I sat on a park bench and watched people play tennis, and basketball, push their tots in swings. I greeted dog-walkers and children, even the occasional, bent-necked phone-staring adolescent. I watched the treetops sway gently in the breeze. For a long time I watched those treetops. Cares melted away. Just like that.

Just like that.

Back home a book beckoned. I opened its front cover and read. And read and read and read until a peaceful twenty-minute nap overtook me.

Awakening refreshed, I sought family members. We talked. We laughed. We played badminton and gardened. Then, we sat quietly together amidst our colorfully budding and blooming verdant backyard as our exuberance and sharings softly settled into our hearts and minds in that gentle evening. Preparing an easy supper together bonded us, the eating of it soothed our now receptive, relaxed souls. Sweet connection! Fuel for the week ahead.

Life is precious. People more so. It's difficult to meaningfully connect via technology. Lack of human in-the-flesh experiences with others takes its toll, making us hedgy, unnaturally introverted, anxious, suspicious, and often just plain wrong about situations and people. Misunderstandings abound, conclusions are jumped upon. It's a problem.

Please allow me to be the amen corner for my friend's advice. Unplug at least once a week, preferably on Sunday when the rest of the world tends to run a little slower. See if your experiences match mine: the meeting of life in its natural state, the infusion of fresh thoughts, restfulness, vibrant experiences, and the warmth of genuine human interaction.

"The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." ~~ Jesus (Mark 2:27)

 Best Society is not a fellowship of the wealthy, nor does it seek to exclude those who are not of exalted birth; but it is an association of gentlefolk, of which good form in speech, charm of manner, knowledge of the social amenities, and instinctive consideration for the feelings of others, are the credentials by which society the world over recognizes its chosen members. ~~ Emily Post

Embrace Sacrifice

Visualize the moment.

How do I see myself there?

What thrills me?

What contents me?

What is important to me?

In that moment in time toward which I am daily progressing how do I look, feel, and think?

Have I made myself proud? Am I pleased with the way I spent my time each day from the moment I started working toward my dream until I reached that moment of destiny?

Now, what can I do today to ensure that moment is how I desire it to be?

What action can I take today?

What thoughts need I have?

What changes can I make?

What plan can I make for tomorrow - and the week after - to propel me to my goal?

My future begins this very moment.

In every happy moment, in every dream-come-true sacrifices were made along the path. It's the way of things, the balance of things. Nothing joyous comes without something difficult being involved. Every celebration requires time given up, money surrendered, sometimes sweat, and even disagreement. The joy of a child coming into the world requires labor pain. Dream travel requires money surrendered, plans made, time arranged, packing, paperwork, patience, and more.

Everything has a price.

To expect a dream to magically appear is wrong-headed. Dreams don't come about that way.

Somewhere something is sacrificed.

Sacrifice and deprivation are not always bad. In the case of making dreams come true they are essential. They are the means to the end. They are good. They are required. They are friendly.

Embrace sacrifice. Embrace deprivation.

They are the paths down which lies the stuff of imagination and delight.

~~ I wrote this out in late summer of 2017, after buying my plane ticket for Europe. It pleases me to know that the moment in my life for which I embraced sacrifice and deprivation played out even more beautifully and magically in reality than I even dreamed. This is very good advice, this post. ~~ Cherie

My Word for 2018

Some lovely women I know inspire themselves with self-chosen words to lead them into a new year.

In deciding to join them, I ran into a mental wall. Hmmm. What would be an apt word for me, for my hopes, my challenges, my growth?

The ladies suggested I let the word just come to me rather than trying to sort it out myself.

So I did.

And guess what? A word came to me in all its gloriousness. That word is serendipity.

Why? Because during the past year in which both of my daughters were married with all the planning that entailed, plus the enjoyment of a month long European vacation, with all the planning that, too, entailed, plus the actual carrying out of these weddings and the joyous living of the trip, I discovered a phenomenon only slightly experienced until now: serendipity.

The Mediterranean and Me - At Last

See, planning weddings and trips have one thing in common, they will not be entirely controlled. Many aspects are out of our hands, left to others such as florists, bakers, churches, attendants, salons, photographers, Airbnb hosts, airline schedules, rental cars, cab drivers, Venice water busses, and the Eiffel Tower. People don't have the same priorities we do, much of the time. People move at difference speeds than we do. People don't understand the vision we try to convey. Snags and hitches occur outside the control of all of us, leaving delays, inferior services and products, frustrations, the need to search elsewhere, increased security checks (so many security checks!) and the definite requirement of patience. Lots of patience.

Once the realization sunk in that I could control only my own role, my own self, once I fully grasped the truth that others would, indeed, let me down, that things would go wrong, that delays were inevitable, and that I did not have enough fingers to stick into all the leaky holes in the dam, then, and only then, did I decide to quit flailing around and, instead, embrace serendipity. Again, why? Because once I gave up and let things go the way they'd go, I discovered that often things went better than I imagined. New ideas surfaced. New places appeared. New people entered the picture. Beauty arose, noticed.

Once I took care of what I could do, and left the rest to God, I found that He revealed to me His wise, intelligent, guiding hand in absolutely everything. He took gentle care of me. He guided me through fearful situations. He fed me, literally, when I was hungry. He provided water when I was thirsty. He provided kind faces when I was anxious. He introduced me to the immense joy of a Venetian water taxi merrily speeding my weary family and me along the Grand Canal when my exhausted legs and feet could tread no more. He showed me wonders I never knew existed. My curiosity grew and I saw things that before I would miss as I was struggling with all those fingers in the dam. God allowed others to help me, but more importantly, He gave me the grace to let them.

Soon, I was awakening each morning with the question, "I wonder what serendipity God will provide today? Maybe nothing. But, oh! maybe something!" More and more the days held something.

2018 now has a word for me: serendipity.

I'm excited!

It Needs a Frame

Traveling friends and children have bestowed upon me several fascinating pieces of art from various exotic places.

My son, a professional photographer, gave me a large, matted photograph he took of the Pacific Ocean at sunset from the vantage point of a large sailboat floating somewhere in between Hawaii and Seattle, a vessel on which he crewed. Right smack dab in the middle of the sea. It's the kind of photo you sort of get lost in. It's both haunting and soothing. I love it! But it needs to be framed.

A little Italian man paints Italian scenes on paper and sells them in front of the Coliseum in Rome. A friend bought one of the Coliseum lit up at night and gave it to my family as a souvenir. Bright primary colors draw me in and make me smile. I can almost feel Italy's warmth and laid-back energy. This painting needs a frame to protect it.

A long-time dear friend hunted through the stores of Florence, Italy, for a gift for me. Finally, she came upon a below-ground-level, cave-like shop full of souvenir-type items. In this dark, musty, cluttered little hide-away she found a selection of prints. My generous and kind friend purchased a lovely print for me, a sketched and subtly-colored scene of Old Florence. Gazing at this artwork stirs my imagination. It needs a frame to bring out its glory.

While shuffling through the Andy Warhol exhibit at the Portland Art Museum this spring, I accidentally took an amazingly surreal photo of my husband and son as they studied some of Warhol's artwork. I have no idea what I did, but the effect in my photo thrills me! Weird stripes of light and color envelope the two figures while a sort of mist swirls around them. An enlargement sits right here on my desk. It needs a frame.

A daughter visited Claude Monet's home in Giverny, France, last autumn. Knowing he is my favorite painter of all time, she bought a large print of Poppy Field, painted in 1873. I adore this gift especially knowing it came from inside Monet's famous home, carried with pleasure through his enchanting gardens by my beloved daughter. It needs a glittering gold frame.

Always keeping an eye on expenses, I have been negligent in protecting my artwork. No more! I bit the bullet and forked out the dough to purchase perfect frames for each piece. They are to arrive next week.

Noble is the task of keeping art alive. Glorious is the participation in recording and preserving one's times and experiences, however humble the endeavor.

Soul-stirring artwork displayed in average homes inspires the curiosity of ordinary people, sets imagination a-flight, replaces fustiness with aspiration. Creating a moment of newness, of otherness, of far-away dreams stumbled upon, an expression simply hanging on a wall can draw our hearts into unknown delight, speaking to us of things not yet encountered but somehow yearned for. This is the stuff of personal growth, of stretched horizons, of ordinary becoming extraordinary.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of displayed art in my home is the remembrance of the occasion when the art was received, and of the love for those who gave it to me.

Possessing It All

I know four families who are moving this summer. Three are downsizing. Sorting ensues upon mountains of collected this-and-that.

Surprisingly, these families report astonishment at the number of items they possess that they forgot they owned, and haven't seen in decades. This mass of belongings has to be dealt with as there is no room for it in the new lodgings.

Sales abound. Give-aways to friends and families. Stress, labor, and money go into finding ways to dispose of material possessions, most of which probably should never have been procured in the first place. The money wasted in buying and then discarding the goods, whether sold for a fraction of the cost or given away, floors me.

Let me be clear, I understand acquiring useful things. Art, tools, furniture, clothing, and other things that have a place in day-to-day living. Even souvenirs. No, I'm referring, in this post, to things which cause a near obsessive urge to obtain but which quickly lose their sparkle, only to be relegated to deep, dark spaces for storage. Not sold or given away, kept. Possessed.

As one who is not into possessing things for the sake of possessing them, and as one who prefers clutter-free living, I am a bit mystified and amused by the degree of overwhelm these families face.

"We have so much stuff we haven't used in years!"

"Why are they stupefied?" I ask myself. Don't they see this stuff kicking around their home? Where is it kept that they aren't aware of it? Do they really have a black hole somewhere where useless-to-them items are stored out of sight?

My mindset differs dramatically. Because I have a pack-rat husband and four children, I regularly clean out and tidy closets, the storage shed, my attic, drawers, and cabinets. Before I buy anything I ask myself where will I store it? If I can't find a good answer, I rethink the purchase. I don't understand the possess-and-store mindset at all. Is it compulsive shopping? Is it keeping up with the Joneses? Is it a desperate need to be trendy, fashionable, ahead-of-the-crowd? Is it an insecure show of wealth or power? Is it a deep-seated fear that someday the obscure item may be needed so you'd better keep it or you'll be in big trouble, as if you couldn't go buy one if that day ever came? Or, is it perhaps, the sheer joy in acquiring a shiny new object? The hormonal rush?

What is the psychology behind the need to posses things? There seems to be some sort of gratification in acquiring and holding onto certain items. Does it make people feel superior? "I have [fill in the blank] taking up space and gathering dust in my [fill in the blank] and you don't. Ha!"

It isn't uncommon for family members to aggressively battle over estates of the recently deceased. These disagreeable tussles make me think there must be a perceived power in grabbing things from others' hands, and then, just having them forevermore. But how is that power? Unless the item is somehow useful and needed, what is the gain in storing it? In having it? People hoodwink others out of clothing, vehicles, trinkets, heirlooms, tools, furniture, sports equipment, photo albums, and other memorabilia. They store these things. These things collect dust, take up space. One day, they will have to be jettisoned as excess baggage.

Where is the sense, the logic in possessing unneeded, unused, unimportant things?

I stroke my chin in wonder.

In case you are wondering about the fourth family, yes, they are upsizing.  A larger house awaits them, its spaces filling up with.....stuff.

Hush, You Lying Voices

I'm off track. Backtracking a bit to find the place and time I stepped away.

So many voices screaming at me to ACHIEVE, to be SUCCESSFUL, to WORK HARD, to DO DO DO. Those voices give me anxiety. Big time.

I find myself confused between what I know and what is screamed at me.

Today, I am remembering the quiet, wise voices which whisper to me of humility, kindness, calmness, self-evaluation, compassion, relationship, struggling and striving to know what is True. I am aware of the eyes of my heart which beckon me to BE BE BE.

My purpose as a follower of Jesus is not to achieve greatness in the eyes of this world, but to pursue goodness for this and the next world. Goodness comes from God. Its pursuit takes a lifetime and is only fully realized in the Age to Come. No trophies in this realm. No accolades.

Looking back, I think I see where I strayed. Yes. There is the place where I lost my focus, where I turned and followed the lie.

And now, to walk aright, as best I can.

I live for God, not for the screamers.

It is well with my soul.

Ben and Anna

Twice this week the idea of a particular habit of successful people has been put before me. My mind has been ruminating on it ever since.

The habit? Going to bed early and rising early.

In an old book I ran across Benjamin Franklin's famous adage, "Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." I've heard Ben's 18th century adage so often that it's lost some of its punch, I'm afraid.

Along comes Anna Wintour, Editor-in-Chief of Vogue magazine, speaking in a documentary, stating that she goes to bed around 10:15 each evening and arises at 5:45 in the morning. Religiously. She believes this habit contributes to her success.

There is definitely something to this early/early bedtime regimen.

I'm going to try this routine for awhile and see what happens. More structure would be good. Better sleep. I read somewhere that the hours before midnight are when a body receives the most from its sleep, more healing, more rest. That would be great!

I'd also like to peacefully accomplish more in a day. When I arise after the rest of the world, I feel like I'm behind. All day. The day begins not in calm reflection and the freedom to control my time, not in caring for myself through a good breakfast and a bit of stretching, and not in the leisure to enjoy the garden and breathe the fresh air. Rather than allowing the morning to tickle me awake, I am at the mercy of whatever and whomever needs me right then and right there. Instant fast track in pajamas! I hate it.

On the days when I do arise earlier, I am stunned at how much I get done before lunch. Refreshed, energized, and in control, I feel like I am more useful to myself and others, less grumpy, too. When I retire to bed after an early morning day, the accomplishments rock me to sleep with a smile on my face.

Right now my computer clock reads 10:20 at night. Rather than stay up until the wee hours of the morning as I've been doing, I shall have a quick shower and settle into bed. Lights out by 10:45.

Sounds heavenly!

Empty Nest Perk

There are perks to kids leaving home for nests of their own.

One I reveled in today? Deleting all the movies the kids put on various streaming queues.

Oh, the smug smirk on my face as I deleted things my husband and I will never watch.

There's something magical in having a list of your own, after having to share with various aged kids.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my child-rearing years.

But I'm tired.

I'm tired of sharing my toys.

To have a refuge of my own again, with complete control of the toys and such, after nearly 40 years, well, it's like reuniting with an old friend.

Today, with the last sweet birdie on the cusp of flying away, in a quiet moment here at home, all alone, it felt good to have a little of that control back, to do some tiny reuniting.

A whole new world.

(It's gonna be bad when all the kids are gone, isn't it. This is just me, trying to make an upcoming tidal wave of emotion into a little splish splash kiddie pool. I know it. But let me pretend just a little longer that that lump that's trying to form in my throat is just, oh, I don't know, allergies?)

Stirrings - Both Literally and Figuratively

I baked a cake today.

I cannot even remember the last time I baked a cake.

With two daughters at home, the cake baking seemed to do itself.

Mostly it was brownies, though.

I like cake better.

So, today, I baked one.

Why is this momentous? Because it marks a returning of me to me, that's why.

My husband and I have had 10 months of childless marriage in 37 years. You no doubt deduced that our firstborn came along right at the start. So, look at it this way, my husband and I have had one month of childless marriage in 37 years. The rest of the time I was either expecting a precious bundle - and all four were so very very precious to us, still are - or I was an active parent.

No complaints from me. None. At all. My kids make me so happy. Most of the time. Hey, I'm just being honest here.

As usual, I digress.

I baked a cake. But the important thing is that I felt like baking a cake. Normally such an endeavor would be required; birthday, anniversary, special occasion of some sort. But today, the kitchen called to me just as it did when I was a single girl living on my own.

I have to tell you, this feels really great, if unexpected.

My youngest child is getting married this fall. She's the last birdie in the nest. Her sister was married only one month ago. It's all rather sudden, this second wedding, even though I could see it coming. Daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law are very much in love and perfectly suited. They need to be together, walking through life as husband and wife.

Everything is as it should be. And, happily, I'm fine with it. I've been told that the empty nest is a killer. I do not think it will be for me. My little growing family gets along really well, and we keep in close touch. So, there shouldn't be any drastic missings on my part. Plus, my husband and I are 60 now. Our kids came spaced apart by 14 years between the oldest and the youngest. We are ready to lighten our load. It feels awesome!

My kitchen feels like it's mine again. Mine as in Cherie's, as opposed to Mom's or Wife's or Daughter's.

I like this!

Creativity stirs in me. I feel like I'm gingerly stepping out from the shadows, squinting at the sun, testing the stability of the earth beneath my cautious feet. I've done a good job as parent and daughter, and will continue to do a good job as a wife. I'm looking forward to being able to focus all my daily energy on my husband and myself. He's been awfully patient sharing the spotlight with the kids all these years. Oh, who am I kidding. Tom was even further back in the shadows than was I, faithfully supporting us, going without, hanging in there right along with me. Yes, we are both coming out from the shadows.

Tom and I have decided upon a new motto for our life in the sunshine: Put our health first. Yes, I know, it's not really new, but it is to us. We've been very sacrificial parents, and it's paid off. The kids are awesome. Our life is lined up for a happy future, Lord willing and the creek don't rise. But now, we know if we don't take care of our health, what good is free time?

I shall use this blog as my place to chronicle the returning of me to me. While the future is not at all certain, I am eager to take the first few steps.

Like baking a cake.

Unexpected Freedom

Freedom comes my way. A certain freedom I've never known in all my life.

This may sound really horrible, but since both my parents have passed away quietly in their old age - and I do miss them because I loved them with all my heart - a new freedom smoothes over me like cool water sliding along a sticky body diving into a delicious lake on a hot summer's day. It feels really good, this freedom.

Before you conclude that I'm an uncaring daughter, let me explain that the family home of my childhood was a very competitive place, a dangerous place for a highly sensitive person such as I, a happiness destroying, identity crushing environment due to sibling jealousy, manipulation, and dysfunction. It formed in me traits I have hated - and successfully battled - all my life.

On the day we buried my dad, my spirit knew before my mind did, that the weight of hierarchy and competition had given way to immense freedom.

My parents are safe with Jesus now, and I am free. While I miss my parents, I am free from the sibling dysfunction that robbed me of happiness and serenity for six decades. No longer is it big sister/little sister, big brother/little sister, or big sister/little brother battling for parental favoritism (for that is what it looked like to me). Nope. Now we are equals. There is no one to tattle to. There is no mountain to be king of. There are no parents to seek favor from. We are four people, with a shared childhood, some shared adult moments, and the rest of our lives to make our own choices.

I've always known how much Mom and Dad loved me. They told me so. As the last child to leave the nest I had a few extra years with Mom and Dad while they were relaxed and invigorated in their early retirement years. We had a blast! We became very close and more friends than parents and child. Each of my parents shared things with me in confidence about their lives before they'd met each other, things I have only told my husband and kids in strictest confidence. Special moments, for sure.

Mom and Dad repeatedly let me know they respected me, respected my decisions, loved my choice of a husband, were crazy about my kids. They were proud of the financial choices my husband and I made. They were pleased with our lifestyle and bragged about us to their friends and family. I always loved how candid I could be with my parents, how they would open up to me in ways they didn't with anyone else. The last time I saw my dad he told me he enjoys visits from my little family because, "you enliven me." And that we did. And that we had been doing for decades. The last time I saw each of my parents their parting words were that they loved me. "I love you, kiddo," Mom said with a lovely smile and a kiss.

And now that love is free to flow all through me, unpolluted, unquestioned. It cannot be twisted or stolen. It is safe. Just as it's always been. I don't have to defend it against intruders ever again.

The truth soothes. Memories embrace.

It would have been nice to have lived in a kinder home as a child, but I didn't. The consolation is that now I get to live in the balm of freedom that was denied to me then. God is kind that way. Even as He took my parents away, He gave relief from a burden.

Mom told me to just consider the source and be patient when I bemoaned the sibling dysfunction, even as a young adult. "In time, Cherie, in time," she'd say.

Dad told me the entire story hasn't been written yet, to wait and things would get better. "Trust the Lord and wait."

This was their advice to me, their highly sensitive child, who had a hard time in that competitive environment, because I didn't like the way I acted there. I didn't like my behavior when the others competed with me.

Thanks for consoling me all those times, Mom and Dad. You were right. It just took time. I'm glad it took as long as it did. I wouldn't have wanted to miss all the wonderful years with you. You had to go. But you left freedom behind for me. I appreciate it.

See you soon!

An Uncommon Life

Donald Conway Blankenbaker, 89, passed away peacefully in his sleep due to age-related causes on December 17, 2016, in Rogue River, Oregon. He was born July 7, 1927 in Gentry, Arkansas to Arthur and Lennie Blankenbaker.

Don was raised during the Depression in the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma, migrating as a child with most of his family to Los Gatos, California, where a new life awaited them all. Don attended Los Gatos High School, served in the U.S. Navy, and worked his way from grocery store box boy at Safeway, to a Regional Manager for Lee Brothers, a large grocery store chain in the Bay Area. He married the love of his life, Carolyn Allen, in 1948, a marriage that lasted almost 67 years. The couple raised four children together, were founding members of Calvary Baptist Church in Los Gatos, and moved to Myrtle Creek, Oregon, in 1969 where Don worked with his brother Floyd as a salesman/broker for Village Realty.

Don was known for his ever-present sense of humor, deep Christian faith, steadfast work ethic, devotion to his family, and his unquenchable curiosity. He worked hard, provided well, and enjoyed life. He studied his Bible not out of duty, but because he wanted to know God who sent His Son, Jesus, to save him. He lived his life knowing that God reveals Himself not only through the Bible, but throughout life in everyday details and experiences. Don quietly shared his love for his Savior with anyone who was interested.

Moose-hunting in Canada, traveling to Israel, Alaska, Hawaii, and St. Thomas with Carolyn, caring for his home and property, and inviting people to enjoy his large swimming pool were some of Don's favorite activities. He also enjoyed helping at church, photography, puttering in his shop, beekeeping, playing pinochle, and hosting Bible studies. His favorite way to spend time, however, was playing with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Don is preceded in death by his wife, Carolyn Blankenbaker, his parents, Arthur and Lennie Blankenbaker, his sisters Irene Frye and Marie Hill, and his brothers, Charles Blankenbaker, Roy Blankenbaker, and Floyd Blankenbaker.

He is survived by his two brothers, Gene Blankenbaker and Robert Blankenbaker, plus four children, Susan Alexander (Frank) of Othello, WA, Russell Blankenbaker (Hannah) of Gold Hill, OR, Cheryl Klusman (Thomas) of Springfield, OR, and Janet Perkins (Daniel) of Grants Pass, OR. Don is also survived by his grandchildren Joshua Blankenbaker, Betsy Whittaker, Hannah Green, Karen Drouhard, Benjamin Klusman, Sarah Cooke, Joseph Klusman, Andrew Perkins, Cassandra Klusman, and Caroline Klusman, plus 16 great-grandchildren, all of these people the love and passion of his life.

Henri Matisse Gets It Right

Rosemary Blossoms

"What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter - a soothing, calming influence on the mind, rather like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue." ~~Henri Matisse

This Easter Thing

From as far back as I can remember I've always known heavy sadness when thinking of Jesus' torture and crucifixion. How much sympathy can a six year old experience? A lot. And a fifty-three year old? Even more. Yet, I only sense a whisper of his suffering.

Those Romans knew how to exact pain and humiliation. Crosses? I still cringe when I see that instrument of torture around the necks of people as jewelry or inked into their skin. Would they sport a guillotine or hypodermic needle should Jesus have died in another century? As a child I used to imagine Jesus walking down a busy street only to see crosses displayed as beauty on the people He loves. I imagined him recoiling from the assault, the reminder. I saw him violently shudder, run away, ask why.

Today I realize many people wear crosses for remembrance. It's important not to forget that Jesus did, in fact, die in a plea for mercy from God the Father. The Father accepted the sacrifice. Three days later He breathed new life into the son of His love. In that moment of amazing grace Abraham's spiritual seed likewise triumphed over death. Good to know! Just as grave markers engraved with crosses express resurrection to come so do empty crosses here and there symbolize the same.  

In that regard, for me, the most joyful reminder of that pivotal point in history is the empty tomb. Jesus the Resurrected walked away from death to life eternal, the first human to do so. His victory leads the way for the rest of us. It is a non-disappointing hope, a promise for those who are compelled by its truth.

I don't wear crosses. I don't have them in my home. They make me weep. In their place I carry a Savior in my heart, a triumphant elder brother who could and did save my soul from darkness. In His honor and in gratitude I live my life as best I can because I believe Him.

And more importantly because I love Him

(A repost from this blog, April 2010)

Technological Coup d'état

     "From the beginning of what we used to call the industrial revolution - what we see today more clearly as a sort of technological coup d'état - men and women, particularly men and women of imaginative sensibility, have seen that something was happening to the human role in the shaping of civilization.

     'A curious automatism, human in origin but not human in action, seemed to be taking over. Cities were being built and rebuilt not with human purposes in mind but with technological means at hand. It was no longer the neighborhood which fixed the shape and limits of the town but the communications system, the power grid. Technology, our grandfathers said, 'advanced' and it was literally true: it was technology which was beating the tambours, leading the march. Buildings crowded into the air not because their occupants had any particular desire to lift them there, but because the invention of electric elevators and new methods of steel and glass construction made these ziggaruts possible and the possibility presented itself as economic compulsion.

     'Wildness and silence disappeared from the countryside, sweetness fell from the air, not because anyone wished them to vanish or fall but because throughways had to floor the meadows with cement to carry the automobiles which advancing technology produced first by the thousands and then by the thousand thousands. Tropical beaches turned into high-priced slums where thousand-room hotels elbowed each other for glimpses of once-famous surf not because those who loved the beaches wanted them there but because enormous jets could bring a million tourists every year - and therefore did.

     'The result, seen in a glimpse here, a perception there, was a gradual change in our attitude toward ourselves as men, toward the part we play as men in the direction of our lives. It was a confused change. We were proud - in England, and even more in America, raucously proud - of our technological achievements, but we were aware also, even from the beginning, that these achievements were not altogether ours or, more precisely, not altogether ours to direct, to control - that the process had somehow taken over leaving the purpose to shift for itself so that we, the ostensible managers of the process, were merely its beneficiaries."

~~ All quotes in this post are from Archibald MacLeish, Master or Man, an essay found in Riders on the Earth, published 1978.

I do wonder what Mr. MacLeish would think of today's technological advances? 

DRU - Road to the Future?

In the news today I read a story about DRU (Domino's Robotic Unit), a 'cheeky and endearing robot' that Domino's is 'confident' will one day become an integral part of the Domino's family as a pizza home delivery system. "He's a road to the future and one that we are very excited about exploring further," gushes the chain's New Zealand general manager Scott Bush. I wonder just how the presence of DRU will play out in everyday life? Robots on freeways, avenues, and sidewalks cruising beside intimately conversing couples quietly strolling arm-in-arm, more DRU's passing relaxed children in strollers or squirrelly kids on bicycles, navigating rush-hour round-abouts, tempting runners with pizza as it putts along beside them, or simply gliding next to our cars in our rainy, dark neighborhoods as we drive home from work?

Carl's Jr., the fast-food chain, is also in the news this morning because its CEO, Andy Puzder, wants to create fully automated restaurants, where 'you never see a person.' Kiosks would take and deliver orders. These kiosks would eliminate Andy's worry over increasing minimum wages, absenteeism due to illness, race/sex/age issues, and besides, "Millenials don't like seeing people." Well, there you go!

Skye Aero, advertising drone

Over in Switzerland we are told that flying drone billboards are the future we deserve! Yes, lighter-than-air 10-foot helium-filled balloons with small propellers offer increased safety for flying over crowds. Blocking out the sun, this drone junk mail would advertise who knows what, pummeling our collective consumerist mind-set with assaults on our outdoor freedom, in the very places in which we seek personal renewal - solace - from the ever-tightening throat-grip of manipulation.

"The freedom of science to follow the laws of absolute possibility to whatever conclusions had been established, or so we thought, as the unchallengeable fixed assumption of our age, and the freedom of technology to invent whatever world it happened to invent was taken as the underlying law of modern life. It was enough for a manufacturer of automobiles to announce on television that he had a better idea - any better idea: pop-open gas-tank covers or headlights that hide by day. No one thought any longer of asking whether his new idea matched a human purpose. 

'...we were ceasing to think of ourselves as men, as self-governing men, as proudly self-governing makers of a new nation, and were becoming instead a society of consumers: recipients - grateful recipients - of the blessings of a technological civilization. We no longer talked in the old way of the American Proposition, either at home or abroad - particularly abroad. We talked instead of the American Way of Life. It never crossed our minds apparently - or if it did we turned our minds away - that a population of consumers, though it may constitute an affluent society, can never compose a nation in the great, the human, sense." 

Though Mr. MacLeish addresses a condition which began forming in the 19th century, his adroit observations follow their logical conclusions into this 21st century. These conclusions now leave us with a Gordian Knot question: Where do we go from here?

"The frustration - and it is a real and debasing frustration - will not leave us until we believe in ourselves again, assume again the mastery of our lives, the management of our means."