Of Courage and Helplessness

I hate pit bulls.

For the past several days Tom and I visited a favored aunt and uncle in Arizona and did some touring. While sitting at the rim of the Grand Canyon at sunset my cell phone rang. On the other end was a near hysterical Cassie. She and Caroline had taken Sammy our beagle on his daily stroll 'round the park when out of a PARKED CAR raged a pit bull straight for my beloved trio. The murderous dog attacked Sam, chomped on his head and neck trying to kill him.

Cassie, screaming at the dog and its owner while pulling Sam away, managed to keep the other dog from succeeding in crushing Sam's head, though its cruel jaws were around Sam's noggin attempting to get a good grip. The dog's dagger-teeth remained on Sam's head and neck, chomping, the two dogs shrieking and snarling primal dog noises, piercing fear into the hearts of my two precious girls. Up and down the street Cassie dragged Sam while the owner-woman cussed a blue streak at her dog unable to restrain him. Children and adults from the park tried to get the wild-eyed pit bull away from Sam. Poor Caroline stood horrified at the unfolding scene.

The attacking dog was restrained enough at one point for Sam to collapse onto the street, vomiting and in shock. Cassie, loving owner that she is, scooped him up and ran for home. Sam weighs 32 pounds! Caroline helped. They ran nearly the entire two blocks before they had to set Sam down. So heavy. He seemed fine, walked okay, marked this and that.

It was upon their arrival safe at home that Tom and I received their phone call while at the Grand Canyon.

I nearly fell to pieces. So far away. No control. I felt like a bad parent but mostly I wanted to hold my children and assure them they would be okay and so would Sam. I sat there on the bench at the Canyon while Tom tried to find a parking space for the car - something we were in the process of doing when the girls called - and I wept. I stared at this gorgeous creation of God's while the lowering sun painted each strata and glowed on the peaks, and I muttered, "Yes, it's beautiful God. But it's a piece of crap compared to my children. I want to go home!"

We immediately changed our plane tickets from Thursday to the following afternoon, found lodging in the park, and knowing our friends and our son, Joe, were with the girls for the evening we decided to just sit at the Canyon and watch the stars come out, trying to enjoy the moment even as our hearts were with our kids. What else could we do?

Tom Crum tells a story about a little monk who is chased by a lion until he, the monk, is forced to jump over a cliff. On the way down he grabs a tiny tree, holding on for dear life. Six feet below his kicking feet is a bear, swiping giant paws and claws upward, drooling jaws ready to devour him when he falls. Lion above ready for his blood and bear below, the monk notices a huge, red, ripe strawberry growing out of the cliff within arm's reach. He looks at it and says delightedly, "Ah, a strawberry!" He plucks it and eats it, relishing the sweet, juicy flavor. The lion was the past, the bear the future, the peril very real. Still he enjoyed the strawberry fully in the moment.

Inside the majestic El Tovar lodge, in a wide, comfy, leather mission chair, huge old beams above, tall starry windows beside, I sat, a million miles away...worrying. Then, I remembered the strawberry. I pondered the parable for awhile. My tense, furrowed face eased a little. Just a little.

"Let's enjoy the strawberry, shall we, Tom?"

He knows the story, too. "Yes. Yes, let's"

Hand in hand we wandered outside, still very upset and concerned, but determined to see and experience what was right before us. We were greeted with a herd of elk grazing on the front circle of lawn. Two bulls and eight cows and calves. We watched for a long time. They bugled now and then. Awesome. A family protecting one another. Beautiful.

We walked to the rim of the canyon, looked up at the stars, saw the Milky Way, pointed out familiar constellations, and marveled.

Knowing that Tom and I were completely dependent on friends, Joe, God, and the kindness of strangers to nurture our traumatized daughters in our stead caused a change in me, the one who feels the need to be in control at all times. Uncertain of what to label this change I rest in the fact that it is something good.

We made it home safe and sound, traveling back to Phoenix via scenic Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona. Our flights were on-time, smooth, the skies clear, the late night drive home from Portland easy.

The hugs upon arrival were long and tight.

Home sweet home!

But I STILL hate pit bulls!! (And I'm not too fond of irresponsible owners, either!)

(The photo of the canyon is one I snapped from where I sat on the bench praying. It's what I was looking at when I said the canyon was crap. The second photo is Tom and my clasped hands as we flew home toward our very hearts.)

We the People

We voted.

Sure hope you'll get out and vote this election, too!

Worth 1,000 Words

Where've I Been?

My favorite place in autumn - home.

Looking up at beauty.


Slurping juicy apples fresh off the limb.


Contentedly reflecting on the jack-o'-lanternesque Hunter's Moon.


Laughing at the antics of our frisky fall pup.

Relishing my existence here in this home, my nest, comforted by these gifts of life.

(When the going gets tough the tough find solutions! Waste not, want not. See how I went bananas by clicking here!)

Paul Newman Revisited

My SIL sent this to me.

I don't know if it's true or not, but it could be. And it's funny.

Enjoy.

Only women of a certain era will fully appreciate this.... True story. (If you don't understand this, tell your mother, she'll get it!)

A Michigan woman and her family were vacationing in a small New England town where Paul Newman and his family often visited.

One Sunday morning, the woman got up early to take a long walk. After a brisk five-mile hike, she decided to treat herself to a double-dip chocolate ice cream cone.

She hopped in the car, drove to the center of the village, and went straight to the combination bakery/ice cream parlor.

There was only one other patron in the store: Paul Newman, sitting at the counter having a doughnut and coffee.

The woman's heart skipped a beat as her eyes made contact with those famous baby-blue eyes.

The actor nodded graciously and the star-struck woman smiled demurely.

"Pull yourself together!" she chided herself."You're a happily married woman with three children; you're forty-five years old, not a teenager!"

The clerk filled her order and she took the double-dip chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and her change in the other. Then she went out the door, avoiding even a glance in Paul Newman's direction.

When she reached her car, she realized that she had a handful of change but her other hand was empty.

"Where's my ice cream cone? Did I leave it in the store?" Back into the shop she went, expecting to see the cone still in the clerk's hand or in a holder on the counter or something! No ice cream cone was in sight.

With that, she happened to look over at Paul Newman.

His face broke into his familiar, warm, friendly grin and he said to the woman, "You put it in your purse."

Gold at Last

Ever since Tom and I camped at Glacier National Park in Montana under autumn aspen trees where we awakened each morning to heart-shaped silhouettes of golden leaves on our tent top, I've longed for trees that would grace our own land with such treasure.

At last...it's happened.

Not aspen, but birch.

I grin..and grin..and grin.

Simple things.

Simple woman.

Simply fulfilling.

Autumn Baking

When the mood strikes it's best to get out of the way and let 'er rip!

The baking mood, that is.

Some crisp apples made their way into my kitchen just begging to be pied. Obligingly, I consented.

And made two pies.

This one I took to Joe. He smiled.

The other apple pie is long gone, devoured, er, I mean humbly savored, in two sittings by the four of us.

That was on Saturday in between morning Mexican Hot Cocoa at Allann Bros. Coffee with my daughters, finding a good sale at Down to Earth, making another batch of vichyssoise, and watching the Ducks get slaughtered in football.

I found myself smiling all through the day, giggling at the rain sizzling on the roof, peeking out at black-clouded skies, clearly sensing inward warmth radiating out toward family and community, relieved that a two-week source of stress was over and with a happy ending. I stopped in my spirit and thanked God for the moments, for it was one of those really special, feel-good sort of days.

Sunday? Well, since you asked, the mood lingered and produced these little gems.

Control Freak

Letting go is hard for me.

Quotes on my sidebar remind me to keep working on it, that it's worth the struggle.

Sometimes it seems my breath is held more than it's released, held in an attempt to will people, events, nature to do it my way. My way. Because, of course, I know best.

No I don't. I just know how life's events have gone before. Safety in familiarity, I guess. Control a situation and the outcome will be right. Hmm...

But there are other ways. There are ways my infinitesimal buffet of experience knows not.

And I want to know them. I want more, I want different, I want...I want...I want...

...to relax.

To let my breath have its way. Deep. Long. Free.

Yes, free to discover new orders, new responses, and new people in new places. To allow life to come to me in its fullness, good and bad, to teach a willing heart. My heart.

I'll get there.

If I just let go and...breathe.

(Seasons change - and I am flowing with them. It's a start. CSA produce declares - fall is here. Oh yeah.)

Paul Newman

I've long looked to Paul Newman as a role model. I mean, come on! Racing cars in his 80's. Giving all the profits from his natural food line to charities - to the tune of hundreds of millions over the years. And he was married to his second wife, Joanne Woodward, for over 50 years.

Asked the secret of his marriage, Newman once said: "I know this is going to sound corny but there's no reason to roam. I have steak at home. Why should I go out for a hamburger?"

That's one way to look at it, a good way, a positive way.


He has passed away, lung cancer got the better of him.

In a statement, his daughters said, "Always and to the end, Dad was incredibly grateful for his good fortune. In his own words: 'It's been a privilege to be here.'"


And it's been a privilege to inhabit this earth with you for a little while, sir.

I'll miss you.

Drips and Drops

Rain.

It pattered. It released earth scents. It awakened me this fine Sunday morning.

I lazed in bed, breathed deeply, and grinned. From ear to ear. Long long weeks have I waited.

It's temporary. But it's good.

In honor of rain coziness we made this.

Note to Self

It arrives next week and the party is getting started...

...autumn!!

Tis the Season

Sunrise enhanced by smoke.

Weeks of dry dry dry weather has left our area a tinder box. Oregon fires rage here and there, filling our skies with smoke that serves as a constant reminder to pray for the forests, the creatures, the people, and their homes.

More photos here.

Moments Insisted

Home alone. My family chased entertainment miles from home giving me the gift of solitude for a day. "Thank you!"

Hours into my breather I found myself relaxing deeply, feeling responsibility float away. Watering my little garden from the patio felt like an offering instead of a chore. Time was mine to closely examine under leaves for ripe fruit, to notice delicate flower colors and scents, to feel the warmth of sun-heated concrete under my feet, then its coolness as hose-water ran and spread.

A light, outdoor meal of eggs seasoned with freshly plucked basil and chopped roma tomatoes, still warm from the mid-day vine, was intimately relished. I relaxed, scooted up to a round, tiled table under a bright turquoise umbrella surrounded by the very garden that fed me. Tensions lessened. Though the neighborhood bubbled with human voices chattering, distant lawn-mowers trimming grass, and birds cheeeing from the trees, still I experienced deep peace.

A silhouetted hawk flew confidently overhead, soaring, dipping, teasing. Freedom!

In this state it was easy to forgive. To forgive the dog and the cat for annoying me, the bugs that threatened my flowers, the persistently crabby neighbor lady, and the solicitor who refuses to 'please take my name off the list.'

Then it went deeper. In a moment I found it easy to forgive unfortunate, life-disturbing drama. To forgive all who have wronged me, causing hurt and tears. Lingering aches dissipated as if the sun were reaching down to take them from me, to obliterate them. No longer was I holding onto remembrances of ancient things unrepented. They just didn't matter anymore.

In the expanse I noticed that I had even forgiven myself. My self. Holding onto personal regrets, shames, and disappointments as well as vengeful cravings proved to be a huge, slimy, black parasite eating away at my soul. Now it was gone. The brightness of the sun, the moments of tranquility, the touch of God on a heart kneeling before him untangled and lifted the monster out of my mind, off my shoulders.

The taut umbrella swayed a bit, creaking like a sail, the red-tailed hawk reappeared as if blessing the moment, the scent of purple, pink, and white petunias tickled my nose, and a breeze caressed shade-cooled skin. Thoughts blossomed - "Perhaps forgiveness needs space to come to fruition, space and silence, and cessation from busyness. Perhaps dark, shadowy tentacles of harbored pain thrive in reflection's neglect, hold tighter when allowed freedom to exist unchecked. Perhaps I should remember Jesus' solitude, his moments insisted, not awaited but taken away from soul-thirsty crowds, from apparent opportunity where 'a difference could be made' - he made time for quiet amidst the pressure."

Because it matters.

"We do not really know how to forgive until we know what it is to be forgiven. Therefore we should be glad that we can be forgiven by our brothers. It is our forgiveness of one another that makes the love of Jesus for us manifest in our lives, for in forgiving one another we act towards one another as He has acted towards us." ~~ Thomas Merton

Thought for Autumn

"Living is not thinking. Thought is formed and guided by objective reality outside us. Living is the constant adjustment of thought to life and life to thought in such a way that we are always growing, always experiencing new things in the old and old things in the new. Thus life is always new." ~~ Thomas Merton

The normally pacific Pacific roared in obscurity as gale force North Winds lifted sand into the air, blowing its needle stabs against soft flesh, the invisible shoving the visible, at times obliterating an entire ocean from view along with seaside dwellings. Like grief overtaking a once jolly heart, like greed steamrolling consideration, like unrestrained sin leading a mortal to certain tragedy, the inspiration of a boundless, sun speckled sea lay hidden from sight by the tyrant wind. Yet the sea remained - to be experienced another day, once the storm...has passed.

Oh heart, stay true.


For photos of shifting sand sculptures click here.

Retreat

Long weekend hide-away.




With two of my favorite people.




Transitioning into a new schedule.

Feels good.

Sweet Sunshine

Sweet, juicy, fresh corn! Labor Day was devoted to the preservation of bunches of this favorite garden vegetable.

Photos of the process here.

This week is our last week before school begins and we are savoring every moment. Looking forward to the school year, looking back at a refreshing summer. It's a good in-between we are living these days.

They're Baaaack

Mom and Dad are back in their home.

Four months almost to the day since Mom was rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night.

Next week the folks celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary.

Together.

(Photo taken at restaurant where we had our celebratory homecoming party. Yes, Dad's hair's afright - open car windows do that sometimes. ;)

Melted Snow and Huckleberries

Today Tom, Cassie, Caroline, Sam, and I spent several hours here:





Fed by melted snow, this lake is C O L D, but when one boldly jumps in, vigorously flails limbs, and shouts, "Melted snow! Melted snow! Melted snow!!" one gets used to it pretty quickly.


We were happy to find ripe huckleberries. Not many. Most of the little gems were either picked already or unripe. But persistence pays off. We'll have huckleberry muffins tonight!



Synchronized swimming is easy when performed singly.



This mountain lake is my favorite place in the whole world! As I floated and splashed, played and contemplated I realized that I was smiling. Smiling contentedly.

Repeatedly throwing water high above my head to watch it separate into a million sun-infused jewels, kicking my feet hard to see the clear water turn white and then catch the sun again, diving underneath the surface, pulling hard with my arms to glide through the lake I feel as though this water and I are one. For just a moment...or two.

As Cassie said, "I'd love to live here! I'd love it!"

While we can't live there, we can visit again and again, the way we visit good friends. Eagerly. Joyfully. And always wanting more.

(Check out my latest culinary experiment here.)

Drug Abuse

"You are an inspiration!" I told a friend of my mom's.

T. has had shoulder surgery which required painful, determined therapy for half a year. She has curvature of the spine which keeps her in various degrees of discomfort or downright pain. But she tackles her physical problems head-on. Swimming twice a week at the local gym has strengthened her arms, back, and legs.

'Look, I've got big biceps!" she proudly grins as she pushes up the sleeves of her stylish blouse. She's not kidding. Hard as rocks. Best of all, her mindful activities manage her pain.

She told me, after my gushing praise, "You know, Cherie, the doctors just want to keep us older folks drugged all the time. When we visit them at their offices for ailments they hand out expensive drugs. Nursing homes and rehabs are full of people who could get well but are drugged into inactivity. It really bothers me. I'm not going to let them do that to me."

Like I said, she's an inspiration, and she's preaching to the choir.

It saddens me, frustrates me, sometimes infuriates me, this drugging of America.

I know a woman younger than I who has been told, via annual physicals, that she has "elevated numbers." Leaving the doctor's office with a handful of prescriptions she's left the world of freedom and entered the world of 'patient.' Prescription drugs require routine blood tests which require regular doctor visits. Ka-ching!

"Have you tried eating better and moving more?" I ask.

"Oh, no. I don't want to feel deprived. And I don't like getting all sweaty."

Enjoy the pills, lady, and the expense, and the side effects. I've noticed that since she's been on the pills she's lost a good portion of her personality. The spunk and spontaneity are gone, the imagination. She's just blaaaa these days. In fact, that's how I learned she was on the pills in the first place. I asked her husband if she was feeling all right as I'd noticed a marked difference. He smiled and told me the new pills keep her in a constant state of calm. Didn't seem to bother him. He admitted that he's on them as well. Oh, and did I mention they both have memory problems? Every day? "Just can't remember a thing, so be sure to remind me!" "We've become so forgetful in our old age."

They are younger than I am and I've never had the memory problems they have! It's not age. It's the pills.

Now, now, Cherie, what do you know. Not much I admit. But I do know of several cases where friends of mine have been prescribed statins, beta blockers, and other powerful drugs which moderate bodily functions only to find incredible side-effects the most common of which is memory fuzziness, forgetfulness. Once the pills are stopped, the mind returns. (A quick search on the internet yielded a great article by Sally Fallon and Mary G. Enig, PhD. which details the use and misuse of statins.) One elderly lady, a personal friend, was told, after she'd been on statins for a month, that she'd had a stroke when she became unable to speak due to paralysis of her entire left side. The tests showed no stroke, however. It was the pills! Once off of them her body returned in time, but not to its previous condition.

Tom's doctor told him his 'LDL cholesterol' was too high. Out came the prescription pad. "I'd rather try to lower the numbers myself, naturally," Tom quickly interjected.

The doctor sighed, set down his pad, ran the back of his hand over his brow and said, "I wish all my patients felt that way. I had one lady in here just this morning who has high blood pressure, high cholesterol, high glucose levels and she's obese. She asked me what I suggested then said quickly, 'Exercise is NOT an option!'"

Exercise would not only help her condition but cost less and have no side effects except for increased vitality.

I know a woman who takes seventeen prescription drugs a day. One she takes at two in the morning. More than one of these pills are drugs that counteract the side effects of other pills. She is the perfect picture of the 'apple' body type. Perfectly round, hugely so. She would not exercise or eat right if her life depended on it. Literally. "It's not my fault I eat the way I do. It's how I was raised!" Yet she complains about the cost of her drugs. "Hundreds of dollars a month! It's an outrage. And Medicaid doesn't pay all of the cost!"

The outrage is the total lack of personal responsibility.

The advances made in the area of helpful drugs is phenomenal. There is a place for treatments that restore life, quality of life, and vitality. But there must be a balance between aid and abuse and I fear that balance is off. Way off.

My dad has a lifelong, weird heart condition and has had a stroke or two. He pays attention to his health, eats good food, exercises a bit, and keeps his weight down. His doctor has him on all sorts of drugs. Dad sleeps a lot. He told me, "You know, sometimes I think it's not worth it to take all these drugs that make me so tired all the time. I think it'd be better to take my chances and feel good."

My sister-in-law has been monitoring both Mom and Dad as she continues to care for them during Mom's recovery. She noticed dangerous dips in Dad's blood pressure after he swallowed his 'noon pill', a medication he's taken for years. She notified Dad's beloved doctor who was alarmed. He took him off the pill. Dad's blood pressure is fine.

This lackadaisical attitude frustrates me. (Maybe I need to take a pill!) What do doctors do once they've created pill-popping patients? Don't they monitor them? Don't they review? Seems they only look at numbers from blood tests. It's not enough, I tell you. What if my sister-in-law hadn't been so astute? What if....

I'd better calm down or I'll have a stroke.

Then they'll put ME on pills.

And I'll lose my personality.

And that would be a shame.

Squall

A blustery storm passed through our region this week. In preparation the patio table's umbrella was lifted for storage in a dry corner. Outdoor chairs were neatly slid under eaves for protection from splattering rain drops, potted plants gently shoved against the house to protect heavy laden branches from disorderly winds, saving flowers and fruit.

My efforts paid off, no damage.

The storm, while fully enjoyed for its wild and wet, passed. Furniture is restored to useful places, flowers fully cleansed and watered reach robustly for the sun once again.

It was a gentle storm, not a hurricane.

Violent storms, however, require more than mere rearrangement of precious things, they require full-on defense or evacuation.

To know the difference is to understand which procedure to follow. Rearrangement or boarding up windows, evacuating important possessions to safety. Eave protection or hunkering down.

For lack of attention and maintenance unnecessary destruction occurs.

In patio decor.

In homes.

In families.

While a storm brews on the horizon no weatherman tells me which way the wind blows, advises no procedure. Discernment is up to me, my experience, my knowledge, my feeble wisdom.

God help me make the right choice for it seems my eyes alone scan the horizon. Others, oblivious, foolishly rush toward damage or destruction.

This storm oppresses - the chance for mere rearrangement has passed. Too ferocious. Will I escape in time, my precious ones safe, or will I linger too long sacrificing my all to save a straw house?

Here comes the huff. Here comes the puff. Will it blow the house down?

Eventually, yes.

Will I survive the loss intact? I hope so.

I hope so.