Ash Wednesday

Another Ash Wednesday.  Another Lent.  A time to slow down, to be present to the next 40 days.  A time to look inside and reflect on what you see.  This year it will be a time of quiet, of contemplation and of course, discernment.  I gave up the giving up several years ago.  The fact that I can go 40 days without chocolate or alcohol or cussing means nothing in the larger scheme of things.  It is a time to practice loving, giving, and praying.

My Spiritual Home

While at a recent visit back to San Jose, I made one of my usual stops.  It is the stop  that always reminds me that I am OK.  No matter where I am on my spiritual journey, a visit to mass at the Santa Clara Mission on the Santa Clara University campus brings me home.  This time I took the opportunity to ask why.  Many things go into that answer.  First and foremost, it was my introduction to Catholicism which I think defines my continued place in this complicated religion.  I was accepted with open arms completely and wholly with my Presbyterian background.  The liturgies are all led by university professors so they are always on the academic end of the spectrum.  The homilies are thought provoking and connected to our present reality.  They  make me think deeper, beyond my simple thoughts.  It's clearly the reason why my move to the northwest and subsequent search for church has been so difficult.

The welcome to this place did not end with my confirmation.  It was the only place that I believed welcomed me back following my divorce.  Divorce does not end Catholicism - technically it is only when you remarry.  But worshipping in my parish church was simply too uncomfortable for  me to continue seeing myself as a "good" Catholic.  I felt that everyone was looking at me, remembering that I was divorced, and then questioning how I could be there.  I knew it wasn't true and that it was all part of my regret or shame of my failed marriage but nonetheless, it was real.  Walking into the Mission was always one of welcome.  I felt safe.  I felt loved.  I felt Catholic.

This place mirrors the people you see in silicon valley neighborhoods.  They are young and old, black and white and brown and everything in between.  It is a such a simple exercise of answering the Jesuit call to  see God in all those we meet.  We share the peace of Christ with people who look nothing like the image in our mirror.  We smile and give thanks for this simple exercise of universal love.

The music is good.  As each song ends you are left with that reflection - that was good.  It enhances the worship.  Once again this is a product of being on the Santa Clara University campus.  The music department is a vital part of the picture.  The final song leaves you feeling complete and ready to once again face the real world.  You carry with you the love, the acceptance, and the new deeper understanding of the message of God's love.  This place will always be home.

The Mission

Always one of my favorite views during mass.

Leaving a Mark

A few weeks ago, my dear friend lost her brother.  In her eulogy she wrote about the indelible mark he left on everyone he met.  This theme has been on my mind.  Tonight as I watched "It's a Wonderful Life," my thoughts have once again returned to this notion of leaving a mark.  It is a valid topic upon which to reflect.  The world is a different place simply because of our presence in it.  No matter who we are or what we do,  this place called home has been changed by us.  The friends we have made, the work we have done, the children we have borne have all had an effect on the world at large.  We each leave an indelible mark.  Although I admit that some will leave a deeper mark than others though their boisterous personalities or the large shadow they cast because of their role in the world.  But each of us has that power of one to use for good.  As a teacher, I touched many lives and it was just part of the job.  I understood that power but did not dwell on it.  Now in retirement with my focus on time and contribution, I am keenly aware of my impact.  A smile at the grocery clerk or cashier can completely make or change someone's day.  They will carry that good feeling with them and into their homes that night.  The service work I do for food pantries and students is changing lives.  What I read and think and share is all part of the mark I am leaving.  My prayer life holds those I know and care about up to a source greater than I am or can be on my own.  Through my meditation and contemplation, I make room for deeper spirituality.  In that space, a home is burrowed out for goodness and the world becomes a better place because I am in it.  Because I chose to think good thoughts or do good things, the world becomes kinder, more loving and more accepting.  This is true of every single person on the planet.  In this season of Christmas and gift giving, I ponder the gifts I am leaving, the purposeful as well as the unintentional.  To become more mindful and intentional results in greater goodness for all.  We are all connected and what I choose to do with this minute, this moment has the power to change your view and experience of the world, We are, each of us better for having been here.  The mark we leave behind is indeed indelible. 

Putting God into Words

Retirement has led me to many things but the most important one has been my spiritual journey.  What looked like one closed door after another has revealed itself to be a grand revelation.  Six months ago I started working with a spiritual director.  She began by introducing me to Richard Rohr and Thomas Keating.  These two mystics are exactly what I had been searching for before I even knew I was searching.  Rohr's book, Falling Upward made perfect sense to me for my time of life.  Then came my introduction to centering prayer first shared with Christians by Father Keating.  From there began the search for other things that are out there that I have missed by sitting in church and thinking that was enough.  I started looking and listening.  I now receive several daily emails that are reflections from Catholicism, Christianity and Sufism.  I listen to weekly podcasts that are spiritual or thought provoking in nature and one that just reminds me of the importance of kindness in the world.  

As I grew in my understanding of my spiritual nature, I began to struggle with the words to explain it.  I am a great lover of words but language has always seemed too confining for God.  Once we name anything, we put it inside a box and that 's not possible with God.  My spiritual director challenged me to do exactly what I said that I couldn't.  Here was the assignment that we brainstormed together:

What is the image or symbol of God that works for you?

What are the qualities of your understanding of God?

How does that essence show itself to you?

How do you feel the presence of God?

How do you connect with it?

And here is the resulting work in progress:

God is my Source, the source of all; all things and all beings.  It is in this Source that I live and move and relate to the world around me. My own spirit, my true self is directly connected to the Source.  We were one before I was born and my true self will return to the Source after my death. While I am here on Earth my job is to learn to live in love, to be one with other beings in love.  All of the joys and challenges that I experience are a result of this one and only goal.

The symbol of God or Source or Creator, that works for me is breath.  As I stop to take in the breath and let it out I am reminded that the Holy Spirit is connected to that breath.  As I focus on the breath, I am one with the Source. I breathe in and out, I am reminded of my union with the Source. We are one when I acknowledge that presence. While the presence is always there, it waits for me to acknowledge our union. This for me, is the power of centering prayer. As I quiet my body and mind, I make room for our union together. The 20 minutes of silence is not the gift, it is what comes as a result of that quiet. I make a space for the Source and in that space I become deeply aware that the Source and I are at work together. Working in prayer, in love, and in service to others

I find that my closest connection to the Source is in the quiet.  When I make room for it, it is always there waiting for me to come to be one, once again.  I am learning to grow in love and allowing myself to become closer to the Source. This only happens in the stillness of my life.

Each morning I begin my day by writing for 30 minutes. It is a stream of consciousness that allows me to come face to face with my true self. It brings clarity to my life and to my relationships. It helps me understand who I am, what I really think, and identify my place in the world. But above all, it is prayer..  Prayer becomes simply a conversation between my true self and my Source. It is no longer asking for things for others, it is just an invitation to be present with me.  Sit with me, be with me and in the time together, I will learn.

I need quiet in my life. This is the reason that I feel the essence of the Source in the woods. Living in the northwest has made it possible for me to journey into the woods at a moment's notice. As I enter the quiet, I am aware that I am in a sacred place. This is my church. I am surrounded by beauty, by the awesomeness of creation, by this all-encompassing feeling that I am deeply loved I breathe in this beauty that surrounds me and in the stillness, I am at peace. I am one with my creator, my Source.

God is ever-present in my life.  The once a week church service is not enough to feed my spirit everything that it is yearning for.  It needs the academics of the knowledge of the mystics. It needs the experience of quiet and the stillness to be united with the Source. It needs the sacredness of the walk in the woods. So I journey forth, deeply aware of my relationship with the Source as I continue the work of courage, compassion, and connection.

Tick Tick Tick

I knew that I hadn't written a post in while but I was still a little surprised to see that 3 weeks had gone by without having taken the time to sit and think for just a moment.  I say it all the time but I will document it here.  I am busy, very very busy (insert sarcastic tone).  I honestly do not know where the time goes.  And sometimes I wonder how I was ever able to get myself to work and think about nothing but work for 8-12 hours a day.  In retirement my mind is constantly whirling and the best part of that whirl is that when I question something, I can take the time to figure it out right then and there before moving on to some other thought or wondering.  I think that is where most of the time goes.

Recent ponderings and doings over the last few weeks in no particular order:

• Spending time with my kids - Lucia's birthday and Spring Break
• Planting flowers and shrubs here and there with no particular plan in mind
• Following through on my art plan - I have registered for a drawing class and met up with a friend to do some actual learning to figure out where this will lead
• A short trip to Ridgefield and Woodland to visit some nurseries
• I have joined First Presbyterian Church, a book club and Bible study
• Enjoyed a weekend trip to my cousin's for some wine tasting and laughs

I like seeing this list and realizing that a lot goes on in the quiet of this new life.  I am making friends and meeting up for coffees and lunches keeping the socialization genes in tact.  I am continuing my journey of life long learning in new areas.  I am giving back by volunteering with the poor and the environment.  I am reading, (sometimes) writing, baking, and gardening.  And no, I never ever wonder what I will do with  my time.  It just seems to take care of itself as I follow along for the ride.  

My Search for Church, Continued...

Dear followers of my search for church,

As most of you know, for me, the most difficult transition to the Pacific northwest has been looking for my church home.  Many people tried to warn me that Catholic in northern California is not Catholic in Oregon and Washington but I didn't truly understand that until recently.  I have tried out almost every parish in Vancouver and northeast Portland.  In the process I  have learned things about Catholicism that have come as a bit of a surprise.  While on  this search, many factors came into play that I never had to consider in San Jose.  How far am I willing to drive for a good homily?  How do I become part of a community that is 15-20 miles away?  Can I become part of a community living out the letter of the law vs the spirit of the law? I thought I had come to terms with all of this at Christmas and joined my local parish.  That did not work out as I had predicted.  I almost joined another parish before I started looking outside the Catholic church.  That move didn't fare very well either.  All the while this was going on, I was attending a few events and services at my sister's Presbyterian church and meeting some pretty admirable people.  I'm sure you now know where this story is going...  This week I swore to deny evil and serve Jesus back in the religion in which I was baptized and confirmed many decades ago.  On Easter Sunday, I will be publicly introduced as a member of the community.  I know that in my heart, part of me will remain Catholic but First Presbyterian definitely meets my current needs of spiritual formation and serving the poor.  I have learned not to say this is the end of my religion quandary here in the northwest but it is where the Holy Spirit has led me thus far.  I deeply appreciate all your prayers and conversations about this topic.  Now, on with the journey...

Baking Bread

Retirement has become synonymous with finding my creativity.  I have never thought of myself as creative, in fact quite the opposite.  But it seems that all the things I love to do result in a product that I can touch and feel and say, "I did that.  I made that.  I grew that.  I wrote that."  Baking bread has become one of my all time favorite things to do.  I always liked making bread when the kids were young.  It was simply the right thing to do for my family.  No preservatives.  I controlled everything that went into it.  Then the kids got older and life got faster and I could buy "good" bread and tell myself that it was almost the same thing as homemade.  But now that life has taken on a slower pace, I can appreciate the other things that are wonderful about baking bread.  The smell, and I don't mean the baking part, I mean the yeast.  It is alive and once you add the warm water there is no doubt.  The musky, bitter odor tells you it is here and must be dealt with.  You are required to be a part of the bread.  You touch it, feel it, knead it and gently put it to rest.  This is not a platonic relationship.  You are involved from beginning to end.  You begin to know it by its texture.  Is it too sticky, too dry?  I am grateful for the years of watching my mom make bread.  It is the only way I would recognize the proper elasticity of bread dough and when I'm finally done kneading.  Bread is on its own time table.  It is affected by temperature and humidity just as we are; it is a living thing and what you do or fail to do will determine its quality of life.  Be mindful of this precious time you are given together.  As it bakes, it shares its gifts with the entire house.  There is never a doubt when bread is in the oven.  The aroma lasts for hours as a reminder of what has gone on here. 

Happy Birthday, Grandpa

March 2nd; this day for me will always be equivalent with love and putting feelings to paper.  Four years ago I wrote my last letter to my grandfather.  It was his final birthday on this earth.  The letters started innocently enough.  What could you buy an 80 year old for his birthday or a 90 year old for that matter; you get the picture.  The letters became a beautiful tradition and an integral part of his birthday celebration.  For me, it was the rare opportunity to somehow give a small token back to one of your elders for all that he had given to you. 

My grandfather was then and will forever be a living embodiment of love.  He loved me deeply through all my faults, all my mistakes of the teen years, and those that came after.  I knew that I could tell him anything and there was no judgment and that he would never bring it up again.  What a beautiful model of understanding and forgiveness that I could only hope to emulate with my own grandchildren. 

Although, he has been gone for several years, I still feel his presence in ways I cannot understand or explain.  I hear his voice, I see his gentle smile and I feel him walking beside me on the journey.  He will always be the reminder of integrity and honesty that the rest of the world is so sadly lacking.  I "do the right thing" because I was taught by the master.  He lived at a time when your word was a promise and what you said and did mattered to the future of your family.  I make the most of every day because I watched him do that, up to and including his last.   Even in his final years, he got up every day and did what needed to be done.  If something was broken he fixed it, if it was dirty, he cleaned it.  He  took care of himself, his family, his house and his garden to the very best of his ability all the days of his life. 

This picture remains my personal favorite of all that have been taken.  His face says it all -  that smile without pretense, he hasn't a care in the world.  He is happy and content with who he is and his place in the world.  For me, memories, sights, and sounds come swirling back with a simple glance at it.  Father's Day with Paul and Arma Jo, and Grandpa.  Dinner at Joe Tess's place in Omaha, Nebraska because when asked what he wanted for dinner, he said catfish.  I can smell the fish, feel his arms around me, and hear that little laugh of his.  It is one of the many memories that I carry forward from a lifetime spent with this amazing man.  I have been blessed, truly blessed, to have had a grandfather so wise and wonderful, so loving and understanding.  I continue to give thanks that he was with us for so long and that my memories of him remain so vivid.  Lucky me!

The Slowness of Time

On several occasions I have said how much I enjoy the length of the seasons here in the northwest.  Today as I was hiking through the woods, noticing the tiniest of buds and blooms, I realized that it's not the length of the season, it's the pace.  In California spring approaches and then you are drenched in it.  Here it is all in slow motion.  The season approaches, enters slowly, decides it can stay for a while and then slowly, ever so slowly takes it leave.  

As we begin our farewell to winter, we see spring in the doorway and we open the door a little wider.  The extra light from sunrise to sunset warms the earth and the greening moves from the bottom up.  The mosses and grasses fill in the brown patches of the ground and the trees burst forth in color first and then leaf out.  And as if by some miracle, we wake up and shout out, "It's spring."  

The Fight for Spring

The temperatures had warmed and spring was in the air.  Up sprang the crocus, followed in suit by the daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips.  The trees were budding as the sunlight hours gradually increased.  Everyone felt lighter and there was a new-found energy in the smallest of things.  But winter was not giving up so easily.  The mid-February chill descended on the valley and the snow fell.  This last burst of winter will soon give way to spring.  The journey cannot be changed.  The days will grow longer and the temperatures will rise.  Our spring flowers will soon reign over the earth.  All in due time...

My Blessing

There are so many blessings in my life but these people top the list.  I was blessed to have my grandfather on this earth for 60 of my years.  We laughed together in ways that I never did with anyone else.  I learned incredible things from his example.  But here I am, weighing in at my 64th year and am lucky enough to have both of my parents still with me.  I have never lost sight of how unusual that is and the older I get, the more deeper I feel this gratitude for them just being here.  This year has been a hard one for them both but they continue to greet each day with all that it may hold, good or bad, and find joy in the smallest of gifts.  In the stories they tell, my life takes on a deeper meaning.  I stand on their shoulders and see more clearly how I am connected to my elders as well as the earth.  I give thanks for every minute that I can spend in their presence.  I know that those minutes are now finite and that every time I say good-bye to them could very well be the last.  I honor the lives they have lived and give thanks for the life they have given to me.  I am truly blessed.

The Cons and Pros or Raising Hens

We went from one day having the challenge of a hen on the roof to the next day receiving our first egg.  This is the thing I like best about raising these crazy birds.  You never know what will happen next.  They are fun to watch, frustrating to manage but they make some delicious food!

The Gift of Nice

I knew before I moved to the Pacific Northwest that there is a nice factor in the people that live here.  I have been coming to the Portland area for almost 40 years and the little acts of friendliness would always take me by surprise.  Part of that could be said about any place outside of Silicon Valley.  San Jose and its inhabitants are just simply to busy to take time to say Hi.  The Safeway clerks would always ask "How's your day going?" but you knew that was in their job description.  Everyone there is in a hurry.  A hurry to get to work, to do the work, to get home from work.  There was rarely a moment for eye contact or a nod, let alone a conversation.  But here it is the complete opposite.  The hello and how are you doing is authentic and built into the work.  At first it was a conscience effort for me to engage in it.  I did it as a call/response.  When someone started a conversation, I felt obliged to join in.  But the longer I am  here, the more I feel it becoming part of my being.  Every encounter is an opportunity to slow down, to be nice to one another.  There is a gentleness, a feeling of kindness that pervades the environment here.  The relaxed nature that people have stems from the genuine concern they have for one another.  At this time of upheaval in the rest of society, the gift of nice is such a soft place to land.

Grey, the Light Neutral

As I left mass this morning, I was taken with the sky.  Yes, it was grey (and yes, it was raining) but there was a brightness to it that struck me in a new way.  As my transition to the northwest continues, I do not tire of the rain and see beauty around me in ways which the natives do not.  This morning I was struck with the neutrality of the sky and I am a big fan of neutrals.  The clouds come and go and with their movement, the color palette changes.  As the white clouds come in, the sky brightens and with the darker ones, it simply deepens the tones.  I have never been a lover of grey or attracted to it in any way.  But as I move through my first winter, the challenge for me is the absence of light.  These grey skies bring light in ways that the blue skies of California do not.  They are broad and expansive and ever changing.  They encompass the land from east to west across the entire horizon.  As your eyes move about, you realize that there is so much to discover within the grey.  

A Final (for now) Update on Finding a Spiritual Home

I have done it.  I have finally registered at a Catholic Church.  It feels like the great compromise.  But it is also the Holy Spirit at work.  It is not in Portland.  It is not Jesuit.  But it is right.  I have deliberated over this for the entire 6 months I have lived here.  The parishes in Portland felt like a much better fit in terms of diversity, liberal/conservative spectrum, and adult formation.  But I knew that making the 30-40 minute drive every week would keep me from becoming a fully participating member of the community.  And today, in this moment, what I need more than anything else is the sense of community.  I made several visits to the finalists - Holy Redeemer and St. Joseph's in Vancouver and St. Andrew's and St. Ignatius in Portland.  I prayed and prayed and prayed about it.  I talked to anyone who would listen.  I even went to Reconciliation to repent my sin of pride.  And that was probably the final straw.  The priest told me everything I already knew - just do it!  So with the new year came my signature on the dotted line for Holy Redeemer - close enough to walk to which I did this morning.  Yesterday came the affirmation of that decision.  I attended an orientation for St. Vincent de Paul volunteers and was surrounded by my new friends from HR.  They were open and welcoming and even suggested a few groups for me to try out.  So for everyone who told me that I wouldn't find here what I had in San Jose, I say you were right.  There is no SC Mission or St. Martin's or Sacred Heart of Jesus.  But there is a place for me to renew my faith and to continue growing in the love of Jesus.  I open the door to the dawn of what is to be and say Welcome!

A Look Inside

If you could look inside my brain, I fear for what you might see.  I have gone from an extremely organized person to one who just seems to do whatever comes across her mind.  I still struggle to find a methodical path through my days.  While I am aware that a few pieces are in place, I am not where I thought I would be as I approach the six month mark of this new life.  As I anticipated retirement, I saw it as an opportunity to renew my hobbies - reading, gardening, writing, and sewing.  I thought I would be subbing because I really did not think I was ready to leave the classroom.  SURPRISE!   It seems that I was more than ready.  Subbing is the last thing on my mind.

Reading
I feel like the reading is in place.  I set aside about an hour a day to read fiction balanced with the newspaper and whatever comes my way on the internet. 

Gardening
I did do a little gardening until this season of fall/winter set in.  Now, it would be the last thing to cross my mind.  But spring will come and reawaken that desire for dirt again. 

Writing
This is one that I have had the most difficulty with (as I can plainly see from the list of postings on this blog).  The struggle has been over whether I want to write about my teaching career and if I do what will I do with it.  Last week, I finally came to the decision to write and then figure out as I go along.  I got as far as researching some apps to use in the process.  The app is still open on my computer but I haven't made the move to purchase it.  Completing one step of the process appears to be such a challenge. 

Sewing
A few weeks ago, I remembered about sewing and finally had an idea of what to do.  A week ago, I bought the fabric and it took me another week before I thought about it again.  I finally washed it today and laid it out.  And there it lays. 

I have no idea if any of this is "normal."  No one I know has been in a position to plan out a retirement the way I am attempting to do.  But I do know that it doesn't feel very normal for me.  As I observe my thought process, I feel very much like someone who is ADD.  There is no follow through on any thoughts that cross my mind.  It is more like, "Hey, you know what.  I think I will do blank tomorrow."  And that is exactly what happens.  My brain is bombarded by questions and thoughts throughout the day and I address each one of them as it occurs to me. 

I have put some things in place:
Daily reading of the paper
Daily crossword puzzle
Daily walk
Weekly volunteering at Nativity and a second day to volunteer at St. Vincent de Paul on the horizon
So I am hopeful that somehow in the next six months some questions about retirement will be answered. 

Will this brain ever return to some form of structure?
How much sewing do I really want to do?  Is it really still a hobby of mine?
Where will this writing take me?
How long can I really be content with all this puttering?  Forever?
Do I actually have to have a plan?

Thankful

I am constantly giving thanks on my daily walks. Here is today’s list.

My continued good health
My family everywhere
My home
Sunshine
Songbirds
New friends
My inquisitive mind - when a creek or river freezes, what happens to the fish? Do they die or do they know it’s coming and find deeper water?
Advent and the feeling of hope it brings

Losing Home

In the process of creating this new home in the beautiful northwest I never considered the opposite side of the coin of losing the definition of home in San Jose.  During my last visit, it was clear that the past vision of home is slowing fading into distant memories.  As we flew from Cancun to SFO, we cruised right over SJC.  It was an odd feeling to see the place I called home for 40 years as such a small thing.  The high rises seemed odd pinnacles lying between two sets of hills.  The streets I walked in downtown for the last two years of my life there were simply dashes in the distance. Later in the week, I realized I had lost my sense of direction in the valley.  The streets I could negotiate mindlessly have now become a great puzzle.  With each visit back, I lose a bit more of that comfort that I once had in the bay area.  Home in Vancouver and the need to be here has now taken over what was home in San Jose.

The Passage of Time

Tick Tock.  Time goes by and we are completely unaware without something to mark it.  As a mother, it was in the accomplishments of my children, when she/he walked, talked, rode a bike or a roller coaster.  We become aware of it by major events - graduations, retirements, or cultural life changing ordeals - JFK, 9/11, and now too numerous to recall.  In San Jose it was droughts, rains, or earthquakes.  I was well aware during my 41 years in the south bay of the perfection of my living conditions.  Beautiful blue skies with only slight fluctuations in the temperature as time passes from January to April to June to September.  So there was no awareness of it.  You just slowly floated from one week, month, year to the next without stopping to look up.  Now that I am in my winter of life, I want to notice everything, especially the passage of time.  There seems no better place to do that than here in the northwest.  I arrived with summer and green trees, blooming flowers and heat.  The September transition made me aware of a change in the air but everything was still beautiful.  Little did I know that those green trees would soon become florescent in the weeks of October.  And now there is no mistaking fall as the leaves make their departure for winter.  Yesterday I returned from 6 days in San Jose and in that time the tree I walk under each morning went from its glorious red to bare and the view out my window has gone from green to yellow and tinges of brown.  It is the reminder that everything has a finite lifespan - flowers, trees, pets and people too.  In this glorious time of slowing down I enjoy the view of each day.  I appreciate everything it has to offer and especially the change it provides. 

Wednesday Wandering Through the Gorge

 

 

There is such beauty in all things and it is easy for us to define it in bright colors alone.  The fall foliage here in Washington is something that I knew would astound me but the biggest surprise is that it happens every day - day after day after day.  I know that soon the fading will begin and that I will work to hold on to what is left, but for now, I am simply astonished.  I have put off driving the Columbia Gorge because I just didn't think I was ready to take in the devastation from this summer's fire.  But I didn't want to deny myself this gift of the Gorge in the fall for fear of hurting or being sad.  The leaves may be challenged to hold on through the storm that's coming so it could be now or never.  The rain had already begun so I knew I wouldn't see much beyond the colored leaves and I was fine with that.  So I headed down the Washington side of the Gorge and was not disappointed.  There were amazing sights but you won't see them here because there was just no place to pull over and take the pictures.  But I was surprised by the beauty I also found in the gray of the clouds.  With their movement it could reveal and hide the size and stature of the mountains behind them.  I was mesmerized by the beauty in what was hidden.  How many things in life do we only allow ourselves to see what is revealed or on the surface and forget about what may be buried and behind the clouds.  I also found some new hiking spots to put on my Adventure List.  I made a few stops along the way and noted where I wanted to return.  It was time to head over to the Oregon side.   The only thing better than the Washington side of the Gorge is the Oregon side.   I made a stop in Hood River and promised myself to come back when there was more time.  As I continued westward the signs of the fire came into view and the sadness overtook me.  The damage to entire cliffs were difficult to take in and the tears came.  But this too shall pass.  The moss will come this winter and through its depth and volume with help the rocks hold on until the undergrowth begins to rebuild the forest.  Time is all it needs.  In our rush to get through life, we often the forget the importance of long stretches of time.  All things come to those who wait.  

Where Am I Going?

Where does the time go?  This is a refrain from the aging and elderly.   But I am beginning to understand it.  There is a rhythm to my days but there is also freedom.  The weekends are as they have always been.  It is the time to spend with family who are entrenched in the work world schedule and the social calendar of the community.  Things happen on Saturdays and Sundays.  At times they can be exhausting because I have adjusted so quickly to this slower pace of life.  As the week begins, I tend to plot out a few things I want to do or goals I have for the week.  From there it just flows.  I really don't know what I may plan to do or accomplish in any given day.  But by the end of the week, the goals and plans are met and my agenda is once again clear.  And I am free to once again think and read and putter.  For the first time in my life I am not overthinking what I'm doing or where I am going.  I am just letting it be.  I know that God is guiding me through this part of the journey because I am not invested in any one particular thing.

As I let go, I feel myself being swept away from education.  Subbing is not teaching so I am able to look at the system with new eyes.  The more I see, the less I envision myself in the midst of it.  It is no longer feeding my spirit, it is just something to be done.  Conversely, as I get more connected to the land and waterways of this place, the more I feel drawn in.  I have no idea what I will be doing a month from now, a year from now or 5 years from now.  And I'm letting that be.  The world will claim me for what it needs.  It will take my gifts of teaching and use them in this new version of who I am becoming.  

Defining Retirement

I am now well into my 3rd month of retirement and things are beginning to sort themselves out. I had a general idea when I tossed in the towel what this might look like but the vision is becoming more clear with each passing week. I have moved through the feeling of being completely untethered and the need to create a schedule. I still find myself thinking my way through each day as in, first I will do this, then I will do that, etc. It has been a bit of a mind shift to go from my highly scheduled work day of 7AM to 6PM to this void of commitments. There is nothing bad or hard about it, it is just a big change.

In my plans, I figured I would be subbing a couple days a week, volunteering a day at Nativity and spending the other 3 days on me; running errands and traveling around the area. Surprise. There have been no sub jobs so I began to think about what I had to offer and how I wanted to spend this time. The longer I'm here the more taken I am with the beauty and feel somewhat called to that piece of life. I have long been a proponent of preserving our natural resources and now find myself in a place where I can act on it.

So here is the result of this time and thought process up to this point. When given the opportunity, I will sub as I want to stay active and keep a little income to pay for my travels. In the meantime, I will volunteer at my local elementary school. It's been too long since I had the pleasure of working with the 6 and 7 year old crowd and I have missed that unbounded joy of life and love of learning. I also want to volunteer at St. Andrew's, the Nativity school in Portland. The mission is so important!

I have signed up to become a Stream Steward for Clark County. I'm excited to go back to the other side of the desk and learn more about my home. This will be 7 weeks of classes twice a week and then I will be able to volunteer on water and plant projects in the area.

The final piece is recreational. I have begun a short introductory golf class. I never ever thought about playing golf before. But what could be better than being outside and walking the trails of beauty in the Pacific Northwest?

So, here is where I find myself at this point in time. Happy, thrilled to be able to make decisions about my future, and looking forward to what comes next.

Everything is Relative

This phrase has been on  my mind in the last few weeks.  Life has plodded along on this thing called retirement.  Each day is this gift that I unwrap with love and remain present to everything it holds in store for me.  As I recover from the stress of my work life and struggle to fight off the guilt of all this freedom, I find joy in the smallest of things.  Flowers and time with them take on this amazing beauty.  I open myself up to answer the question of what I want to be now.  I love spending time with my northwest family and friends despite the pain of missing my California loves.  I work to make connections in this new home and fight off the pangs of missing "my people."  And then suddenly my world tips on its head.  My internal vision is deadened as I worry about my family in Houston while they endure Hurricane Harvey.  I mourn the beauty that I missed as the Columbia Gorge is lit on fire.  I struggle with my parents' decision to remain during Hurricane Irma.  As I hung up the phone on Monday, I thought once again, this could be the last time I hear my fathers voice.  And just like that, my life and questions about life come to a halt.  All I can think of is the danger that my family and first responders are in.  Everything, every thing is relative.  You go through your day to day life without a thought of dangers that may lurk out there.  And suddenly you are face to face with them.  Again and again and again.  Slowly, ever so slowly you relax back into the normalcy of life.  You don't forget the dangers, but you find a place to keep them so that you can once again function without watching the news or the weather 24/7.  And once again you return to the questions that lie in front of you.  Who are you?  Who do you want to be now that the time to be is yours?  But all the while you keep your family and friends uppermost in your heart and mind.  Everything is relative.

The Search For Church

This has been on my mind for weeks and soon to be months.  I've shared the struggle with several people.  I've prayed about it.  But there appear to be no answers on the horizon.  Here is the dilemma.

I want more than anything to connect with my community - as in neighborhood or town - but my belief system or perhaps my experience with the Catholic church does not mesh with that of Vancouver's.

I go to mass to deepen my relationship with each person of the Holy Trinity.  I want to get closer to Jesus, God and let the Holy Spirit guide me.  I go to mass to learn from the priest.  It's all about the homily and the Eucharist for me.

As I made the rounds of the Catholic churches in Vancouver, I struggled to find evidence that we are a "risen people.  In my  mind I go back to the risen Christ that takes center stage at St. Martin's.  There is still a lot of bell ringing, kneeling and head covering here.  In some parishes the old responses are still in effect.  I struggled long and hard over those changes and do not want to go back and have to relearn the old ones.

So I finally admitted defeat with Vancouver and their desire to save souls and stop abortions and made my way south to Portland.  What I have found is something different in every parish.  While I'm there, I'm trying with all my heart and soul to make it work for me because I know it's so much better than what I have found at home.  As I enter each church I step outside of my head and sometimes almost laugh out loud at the conversation that is going on.  I start off pretty negative or extremely positive depending on the location, and by the time the hour is up, I've gone from No to Yes to Maybe or from Yes to No to Maybe.  The end result remains the same.  I am still without a church home.

Here are my reflections
St. Edwards - Connected to Nativity School.  I like that.  Traditional setting, still doing the old responses.  I like seeing middle school art in the church.  Very friendly group, so friendly that no one noticed I was visiting.  I don't want to be fussed over but if your parish is doing the work of Christ, you would know that a visitor was in your midst.
St. Francis - Doing the mission work of downtown Portland but I felt a little unsafe.  Once again, the photos in the church reflect the mission they are about.  The responses are updated but they have added their own touch of St. Francis to the mix.  It is also a church in transition.  There is no real leader of the parish and there is a lot on their plate.  It may be one that I want to wait and see...
St. Ignatius - I like the Jesuit feel.  This was definitely in a better part of town than the rest.  Is that what I want - comfort?  But the missing pieces were there.  It was the first time that I could relax into the liturgy because I knew what was coming.  I guess if there was a negative, it was that the community seemed a little disconnected from each other.  It had the colder (proper) feel of a Silicon Valley parish.
St. Charles - a recommendation from my sister's boss.  I actually didn't even know there was a St. Charles.  Evidently he dedicated his life to Christ at the age of 12 and his mother was in the Medici family.  How did I miss this guy?  Anyway.  St. Charles was an OK fit - except that the priest didn't do the gospel or the homily.  It was done by the parish administrator.  Good homily but unsettling.   I've come away with a question of what role does the priest play in the Northwest?

So as I reflect on all of this, it seems that these 4 parishes combined are taking the place of my previous work and worship.  St. Francis and St. Edwards together take the place of my 10-11 hour a day work life at Nativity.  The school of St. Edwards and soup kitchen of St. Francis combined fulfill that sense of mission of feeding and educating the poor.  St. Ignatius is that comfortable place that I had at mass in Mission Santa Clara.  It definitely does not have the beauty of the mission but other pieces are there.  And maybe St. Charles is the community that I am searching for.  Part of me wants to make the rounds again just to see what the second viewing brings into focus.  But I am desperate to find "home."  I want to once again be fed by my faith.  I want to walk out of church feeling the joy that was everywhere in San Jose.  I want to leave a little bit wiser and more compassionate than when I walked in.

While some pieces of my transition to Washington have been so much easier than expected, this one still stymies me.  And this is a piece that really matters to that definition of HOME.  I know that it will come in time and that the time put into this will be worth it in the end.  The Spirit tells me to be patient and that it will come.

September 3, 2017
Just a quick addendum.  I returned to St. Ignatius this week and confirmed that this is home.  Jesuits and I have always been a match.  The homilies are good.  The music is comfortable.  It is all familiar and for now that is what I need in my spiritual life.

The Calendar

As summer transitions to back-to-school and then to fall, the events on my social calendar are slowing to a trickle.  I am now in a position of creating where and how I spend my time.  When I retired I said that I wanted to read and walk and they have both become a priority.  I joined a walking group on Saturday and a library book club on Monday.  Next on the list is a membership at the community center to get in some physical fitness goals.  My Google calendar has gone from a weekly view to a monthly format.  If there is any concrete symbol of going from administration to this more restful stage of life, it is that.  Two months ago, just looking at my calendar on a Monday morning would raise my heart rate.  And now I can see the ebbs and flows of life.  This is a much better perspective.

Defining Home

As I transition from my home in San Jose to create home in Vancouver, I'm constantly made aware of how we use the pronouns we, they and the plural you.  When I first arrived in Vancouver, I was constantly saying we, as in we in San Jose and the opposite, the plural you in Vancouver.  In the six weeks that I have been here in Vancouver, there has been a gradual shift in the use of those words.  More and more often I catch myself saying we in place of you for the community of Vancouver and the opposite for San Jose.

This week I made my first trip back to San Jose to celebrate Lucia's first day of kindergarten.  And once again I became very aware of those pronouns. When I encountered sales people and drivers and airline attendants the question of home kept coming up.  Is this home?  Are you going home?  Home is this little house that I love and come back to everyday in Vancouver, Washington.  When I flew into my "home" airport of Portland for the first time last night, it was very clear to me that this beauty is now home to me.

Looking Back

I really thought that in the process of deciding to retire that I had spent adequate time looking back at my career - where I had started, the stops along the way, where I ended, all the "what ifs."  Today's task proved me wrong.  My to do list had one thing one it - apply for a job.  My plan is to do some subbing to keep my finances afloat and perhaps give me some travel money.  The experience I have had with subbing in California led me to believe that I would prance into the HR office, wave my sub credential under their noses, they would write down my phone number and email address and I'd be on my way.  Well that was not to be.  I am still waiting for that elusive Washington Teaching Certificate to magically appear so I decided to stop by a job fair.  Once again, I thought that I would walk in and they would be overjoyed to see me; I would give them my number; problem solved.  Once again the answer was NO.  I am applying at two districts so I walked out of that job fair with two business cards bearing the website address of the district HR.  "Just apply on line," they said.  OK.  What I didn't know is that these application would be the most extensive I've ever had to complete.  The Baby Boom generation was all about face to face interviews - not my favorite either - but I didn't really have to go back through the annals of contracts, salary scales or names and numbers of supervisors to complete a job application.  Today's end result was a walk back through time, all the way back to 1989 when I got my credential followed by the salary scale of my first year of $19,000.  But the clincher was to recall the lead teacher and placements for my student teaching!  It has been a while since I had to think about the connections between my university classes, student teaching, the jobs, the salaries and those who led me to where I am now.  I am grateful for all those amazing leaders, for the money I was able to make and save to get me here, and for the years of experience that are absolutely the greatest thing I have to offer as a substitute.  And the best part of  this is that as everyone else is preparing their classrooms for the upcoming year, I feel absolutely no twinge of wistfulness.  I am very happy to be where I am and to be able to find value in work without losing myself in the process.  It's been a good run and I am hopeful that the subbing gig will be just the right fit to keep me alert and productive.  And hopefully that Washington certificate will show up sometime soon!

The Impact of Population

Throughout the years as the population would ebb and flow in Santa Clara, it was clear to me that my quality of life was directly impacted by the number of people who resided in the area.  It had its greatest effect on the commute traffic of which I always refused to become a part.  But it was impossible to completely avoid.  On weekends, it would alter the entire experience of where you might go - the movies, art and wine festivals, or just going to dinner.  Depending on where you were going and how many other people would be attending, you would either shorten the visit or make plans in advance as to when you would leave and when you would return.  I knew this was an issue because at various times, I would shout out, "There are just too many  people here!"  It was always a part of your consciousness - If I go "there" when do I need to leave, how crowded will it be, what will be the line in the sand on when I will leave.  It's one of those things that I knew was impacting my life but I had no idea how much.  Now that I am living in a much lighter density area I find myself constantly being tripped up by it and always pleasantly surprised.  So  I am not only adjusting to the slower pace of life here but also retraining my brain to eliminate all that self talk of "it will be too crowded, maybe I won't go..."  It is a great reminder for me to just enjoy the moment.  So no matter what time it is or what day it is, give it a shot.  However, that being said, if there's an accident on the freeways in Portland, all bets are off.  Stay home or go north!

Stunned by Beauty

The word beauty keeps coming up for me here in the Pacific Northwest.  I'm struck by it.  I'm surrounded by it.  It constantly takes my by surprise.  It's one thing to drive somewhere and know that when you get there, you're going to see something beautiful, that you're going to be awestruck.   It is quite something else to be driving along on a Portland freeway and glance to your left or right and be taken, absolutely taken by what you see.  It can be a stand of fir trees, a view of  a river or  lake or just a creek but it's a view that if seen in the Silicon Valley, you would have driven there to see it.  This is new.  Up until now, I thought that I had lived in a beautiful place.  I lived in what at  one time, I lovingly called paradise.  It was beautiful in weather.  It was beautiful in access to the beach.  It was beautiful in proximity to trails that led to forests, mountains and lakes, rivers, and even creeks.  There was nothing I loved better than walking the Los Gatos Creek Trail or taking the short drive to Santa Cruz.  Enroute, I would see and smell the redwoods of the  Santa Cruz Mountains and at the end be rewarded with the amazing views of Highway 1 and  the Pacific Ocean.  There was nothing like it.  I told myself over and over again how lucky I was to live in this amazing place.  And I truly believed it.  But access to beauty and being surrounded by beauty are two distinct things.  Here, there is a respect for the beauty of nature for nature's sake.  There is not the allocation of nature that California executes by setting aside beautiful land for parks and preserves.  Here, nature is everywhere.  It is respected.  Houses and neighborhoods are built around nature and parks are added to that.  So,  honestly, you can be driving the freeways of Portland and look to the side and see amazing vistas that you would have driven to see in California.  This is beauty.  This is paradise.

Changes in This New Lifestyle

Although I know this feeling of an empty calendar in retirement won't last, I am definitely aware of changes.

The first is sleep.  I'm still struggling in that department because of the early sunrises here in Vancouver.  But I finally wake with little on my mind.  The worry and anxiety of the upcoming day is gone.  It is a welcome relief.

It has been a long time since I have had the availability to read the paper.  I am enjoying it.  Many retired people have recommended doing the daily crossword puzzle to keep the brain functioning so I am also doing that.  As a result my days have a very late start.

I've discovered some joy in drinking beer.  I'm sure it's just summer in the air and the wide variety and availability here.  But I'm fascinated by the notion of growlers and "take out" beer.  And if you can really make a beer that tastes like Peanut Butter Latte,  I'm interested.

The daily walk has gone from an hour to 2 hours.  There are so many trails here to try out.  And they are all so incredibly beautiful.  It is green, all kinds of green and they all have water.  A  Californian in the midst of green and WATER is something to behold.

Time.  Time to follow up on home maintenance phone calls.  Time to schedule Dr. appointments.  Time to sit and enjoy conversations over a glass of wine.  Time to sit in the park and listen to music.  Time to converse with cashiers.  Time to just be.  There are many times when an hour or 2 has passed and I have no idea what I've been doing.

The return to hobbies - gardening, reading, exploring (my new word for travel).  I am the director of my healing.  I know what I need each day when I wake up and I have the availability and power to do it.  It is what reminds me on a daily basis that this is right.  This was the right thing to do and the right time to do it.

Thoughts on Retirement

It has been almost exactly a year now that I first had the realization that I was ready to retire.  I had joked about retirement for a couple years and knew that it was close but I didn't know how close.  Last August I took a trip to San Juan Islands (one from my Life List) and everything became crystal clear.  It was here and now.  I was going to retire and move to Washington.  I gave myself a couple months to "get over" it.  But this was it.  Despite the anxiety that these two things brought with them, I knew it was right.  I was being led away from my home in San Jose into an unfamiliar journey to Vancouver, Washington.  This is the second time in my recent life that I have been totally led by the Spirit.  It seems that this would be a challenge for a control freak but it is actually a very relaxing experience.  You just ride along.  Your trust is in the Beloved so there is no need for concern.  When people question your decisions, the words that come out of your mouth are formed far beyond your brain.  What will you do?  Have you ever been to  Washington?  What about the rain... and the snow?  What about Maria and the girls... how can you leave them?  All of these question were meant to clarify the confusion caused or perhaps to stop the runaway train had very sensible answers and somehow they flowed out of me without a second's hesitation.

At the beginning, I believed that I really was retiring and that I was ready to sit but as I got closer, the meaning of the word kept changing.
I am retiring - that means, I'm not going to work any more.
I am retiring - that means maybe I'll volunteer.
I am retiring - that means maybe I'll sub a couple days a week.
I am retiring - that means I quit my job.
I am retiring - that means I can do whatever I want.

At this point in the journey, I still don't exactly know what it means but I am enjoying the ride.  I have put things in place so that whatever retirement becomes, I will be ready.  I'll be able to sub with a Washington credential.  I can volunteer at the public schools, the Nativity school in Portland, or the community gardens.  Or I can just sit.

For now retirement  is simply a state of exploration.  I am learning my way around the cities in the area.  I am gardening and puttering around the house again.  I am hiking.  I am breathing.  I am reading.  I am writing.  And it all feels just right.

Back to My Writing Life

I have been away from this blog for a very long time.  In my absence there has been a great deal of growing going on.  In my absence I endured the most difficult times of my professional life.  I lost friends but gained better ones to take their place.  I found the path back to my spirituality.  I sold a house, bought a condo, sold a house, bought a house and retired.  I have said final good-byes to people I love and greeted brand new ones who are fresh to the world.  It is the cycle of life and I am finally at a place where I can see it turning and enjoy the view.  I am happy to be in this place at this time.  I have always loved writing and I'm thrilled to be back at the keyboard.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

As February turns into March, it is time for the annual letter to celebrate Grandpa's birthday.  This year it has taken on more importance.  Grandpa has endured a few physical challenges in recent weeks and will be home from the skilled nursing facility within a few days of his birthday.  I will be heading to Iowa this weekend and I can't wait to feel those loving arms around me one more time!  Happy 106th, Grandpa. 

Dear Grandpa,

Happy birthday to a guy who must surely be the most powerful man on the planet.  You have the strength of a super magnet that is somehow able to draw this family from our respective corners of the country that we each call home, to the place that gave birth to the Allen family as we know it.  Why do we come?  Iowa is not on very many tourist maps, yet we take vacation days from work, board planes and cars and trucks just to be in your presence.  The 2nd of March is still very much winter in Council Bluffs but for some reason we leave the warmth of Florida, California, or Texas to be with you.  I don't know if you know how this annual game is played but here is a quick synopsis.  The grandkids and great grandkids start talking about "Grandpa's birthday" around Christmas time.  The "kids" tell us to hold on because your approval hasn't been given.  Once there is a green light, the computers iPads, and cell phones light up across the country as we make our plane, hotel, and car rental reservations.  And then, POOF!, somewhere around your birthday we all descend upon you.  But the question bears repeating, why do we come?

We come for your wisdom.  We yearn for your stories, the stories of days gone by when life was different, when the value of a person's character mattered.  We know your stories are our fathers' stories and our own stories.  The life lessons of floods, tornadoes and hard times that reveal the underlying strength of a man lead to great wisdom.  Our generations have yet to face the trials that bring real wisdom so we come to learn from you.  And we are never disappointed.  We always return home much wiser than we left.  

We come because you re-instill in us the values of honesty, integrity and perseverance.  You taught your sons these valuable lessons and they in turn passed them on to us.  They are what brings us to the true understanding of being an Allen.  You have lived your life with these guiding principals as your north star.  Everyone knows that the word of Don Allen is true.  Today these virtues are almost non-existent in the world and yet, we Allens continue to abide by them.  We share their value with our children and anyone else who will listen.  In your presence we are once again reminded that we must carry forth the legacy and hold high the banner of truth.  Your example gives us the strength to continue on, living our lives with you as our model. 

We come to be near you.  This year, that has taken on more importance than any other.  But the truth is, we come for ourselves.  We need to see this great man who we all must acknowledge will not live forever.  The day is going to come when we must take your place.  We, your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren and your great-great-grandchildren will stand in your stead and profess to the world the meaning of being an Allen.  You have taught each of us well but we yearn to sit at the feet of the master for a few final lessons.  

We come so you know how deeply you are loved.  There is no better time than your birthday to show that love.  Grandpa, there is no one on this planet that I have loved and respected more than you.  Your arms have always been my safe haven.  You have shown me how to laugh when I stumble and reminded me that I am never alone.  The gifts that you have given me are immeasurable.  In like manner my love can never be quantified.  I am unable to name it, describe it, or compare it to anything else on earth.  It is all in that first hug, in that moment when our two spirits melt into one and I know once again who I am.  

Why do we come?  It is simple.  You make us better than we were or we ever dreamed we could be.  We leave your presence wiser, stronger and more loving.  We come to say thank you and celebrate this great life of yours.  Happy Birthday, Grandpa.  May there be many more!

Another Fall

Those of you who know me as a runner know that my greatest fear is of falling.  It's not about the fall, it's the fear of hurting myself, really hurting myself and bringing an end to this wonderful little hobby I have discovered.  As the title implies there has been a second fall.  This one has only left me with irritation and frustration.  I was running with the Running Club at school and one of the kids cut in front of me.  From then on there was no stopping what happened next.  Once everyone (including me) recovered from the shock of seeing Ms. Allen on the ground, we all tried to carry on.  Had I known what was going to be the end result, I might have made a different decision and called for a replacement or just headed back to school.  4 miles and a very sore foot later I headed right for the freezer and an ice bag.  I have diagnosed myself with a stress fracture.  The top of my foot remains swollen so I am off running, walking and most of my shoes are also off limits.  I'm not that good at forgiving but I am slowly giving up the blame game and just dealing with the situation as it is.  I am sad that I will not be able to fulfill my Wounded Warrior February goal of 100 miles.  I made the 80 mile mark with still a week to go.  Everyone thought it was a done deal.  But it just wasn't to be.  Maybe next year…  In the meantime, I will ice and rest and take a little ibuprofen now and then waiting for the day that I can walk evenly balanced on both feet again.