Gee whiz!!!!   I was supposed to grow up?  Then I would have to figure out what to be and get all serious all the time.  :-) 

Kidding aside, my parents moved us to my dad's hometown of Junction City, Kansas the summer I celebrated my sixth birthday.  That is probably as close as I will come to a place to have grown up since we moved to Missouri eleven years later.  Most of those years we lived with my Grandpa, previously described in an earlier post.  I have returned only three times in the last many years and do not plan to go there again.  The first was to see my grandfather and have him meet the two children I had then.  Amanda was 2 and Bill was almost 1.  The next time was two years later as Grandpa passed from this life.  I was able to be with him in the last week and to honor him by playing the organ for his services. 

My last visit was at the end of September, 2003, following a visit with my older brother a few days before he passed from this life in Wichita, Kansas.  In the more than 40 years since I had lived in Junction City, a military town between the western edge of the Flint Hills and the eastern beginnings of the Great Plains, the trees had grown much taller and everything else seemed to have become much smaller.  The house Grandpa and Grandma built in 1908 or so, where they lived all their married lives and where I spent many happy years, was still there, painted light grey and with no big, covered front porch.  The gigantic mulberry tree, messy as it was, had disappeared along with all the beautiful iris Grandma had planted.  It is amazing how we keep the memory of a place in our hearts and usually are somewhat surprised how our memories are the only things staying the same. 

The visit in 1972 had been marked by the frequent encounters with older folks who had known my grandparents, dad and uncles and who knew who I was on sight.  The last visit was only to see my best friend, Betty Jo and to share our grief at the reality my brother was passing.  My dad's cousin, Francis Sanders, had passed two or three years earlier, and I had no way of knowing if any of his children were still around.  Some of my dad's other cousins were still living in town but the brief visit of a few hours before heading back West did not afford the time to find any of them. 

I am not a person who holds on to the past just to be doing it.  I treasure a few memories and value what I have brought with me through my life, but there is so much promise in NOW.  There is no reason to return again and again to what no longer exists except in my memories. 

After a very busy stretch of getting ready to move my office, preparing my work to be completed or covered while away for a week and then gone to Hawaii for that week.... then..... back to work, unpack in the new office, get things set up caught up...... whew!!!!!   I'm finally checking in with this great place.  I've included the only picture I have handy at the moment from the trip - for my youngest daughter's wedding on the Big Island at the Waikoloa Hilton.  I'm still half in vacation/Hawaii mode and looking forward to another mini-vacation later this month to celebrate my birthday up at Lake Tahoe, a little lake somewhere in the West that a few folks may have heard about one time or another.  (I live about 60 miles southwest of that gorgeous place.)

I get tired just looking at the schedule I've had the last few weeks!!!

We drove to Oakland on Tuesday, August 7 and stayed overnight near the airport.  I found a reasonable internet special that included a place to park my car for the week I was gone and spent less for both hotel and parking than I would have for a cheaper hotel and parking at the airport.  We flew out the next morning, landed in Honolulu about half an hour early and caught an earlier than expected flight to Hilo.  Talk about GREAT. 

The picture is a mini-version of the one my partner took just outside the wedding chapel after Maggie & Olin's ceremony.  He was the photographer and got hundreds of pictures of the trip and wedding.  We have yet to go through all of them.  This was the first and it clearly is very special.  More to come...

Can a day beginning with such a sight be anything but wonderful all day?  This was the sight greeting me on Thursday, August 9, at my friends' home south of Hilo, Hawaii.  We flew in the afternoon before and enjoyed dinner at a little locally popular place (grilled mahi mahi and fresh tomatoes... and those totally glorious Hawaiian sweet rolls made with taro).  After a not very restful night listening to all the frogs singing (little imports from Puerto Rico that have no natural predators) and crickets chirping, it was off to a very busy day.

August 9 was my paternal grandmother's birthday.   My daughter Maggie is named for her and this was her wedding day at the Waikoloa Hilton on the Kona side of the Big Island.  I could not think of a more propitious greeting for her day than a rainbow at sunrise.  Rainbows are promise and hope and everything positive.  I wonder if Grandma had a hand in making the rainbow a gift for the day.  Maggie seemed to think so.

After a delightful breakfast that included papaya with fresh white pineapple and bananas out of Sandy and Fred's yard beside the house, it was off to Hilo to pick up the rental car and head for the west side of the island.  Of course, we left early enough to take a long detour to see Star of the Sea church (painted by the first priest who built it) and drive beside the coast to see a tropical paradise in all its beauty.  We stopped also to see some of the lava flow from one of Madame Pele's many eruptions out of Kiluea, this one that caused the road around the southeast side of the island to be closed and the Painted Church to be moved to its current location near Pahoa.  (There is another Painted Church on the Kona side, but I think the Pahoa church is more interesting and prettier.) 

How I wish I had all the effective words to express the rest of the day.  How does one talk about a daughter who has such beauty of spirit, maturity, self-honesty and integrity, depth and passion and still be only 26?  I sound almost maudlin and exaggerated, but others seem to agree with all that assessment, so I don't think I am overstating Maggie.  Perhaps, I am not doing her justice.  Without bothering with all the details, the best I can say is that she always has been a treasure to me, a reward for circumstances before she was born that I will not describe for many reasons.  I value each of those to whom I gave birth and see the value and worthwhile characters and achievements of all of them, but Maggie has a unique place.  Of course, Maggie is also a worry-wart, a perfectionist much like her mother was at the same age, over-zealous about planning everything out, not perfect any more than anyone else.  But she is Maggie.  That is what matters most.  I wonder what she will be like in another 40 years.....powerful beyond my comprehension, I think.

The rainbow seemed to be the harbinger and the sunset a blessing on what could not have been a better beginning for Maggie and Olin.  I know Maggie missed her father's presence and Olin missed his mother's.  Neither wanted to make the trip from Houston for their individual reasons, and I am so sorry about that.  Yet, oldest brother Bill (and his beautiful wife Rosario) was there to walk his baby sister down the aisle.  Brendan (and his partner Andy) gave the entire trip to Maggie and Olin, thanks to the fact his profession has him traveling almost constantly and he has miles and hotel nights to last through at least 2 lifetimes.  The love surrounding this couple was so powerful that no one could miss it.  Their own path together has been challenging, eight years since they first decided to be together; and it has had many bumps and inflicted a few bruises on both of them.

How I wish I could write of what moves me so deeply even as I think about that evening ten days ago.  I am certain Maggie's great-grandma spirit was there blessing them, along with her father's mother's spirit.  Perhaps even Grandmother, whom Maggie resembles so strongly both physically and in her strength, was present in spirit.  The beautiful Hawaiian symbols used in the ceremony, the gentle spirit of the minister performing the ceremony, all the love...I have been to many weddings but this tiny gathering has been one of the most gentle and powerful of my life.  How can I not hope and believe for Maggie and Olin.

Blessings, dear children.  Walk in beauty.

...when the moment is ready for whomever will find meaning in recognizing me...if at all. 

The idea of gaining recognition is something I have considered off and on.  It may seem odd to those who have known me for any length time to see me write that recognition has no appeal for me.  I began performing at the ancient age of four years old when I sang my first solo - "Away in the Manger" dressed as an angel for a church Christmas pageant.  I continued to sing and to perform on various instruments until I decided I had enough about three years ago.  Yet, through all the years of singing, playing instruments, public speaking and leadership, along with many other forms of being before the public, I never did it as a means to gain recognition.  There was something to be accomplished, usually at the request of someone else, so I did it.  I do not miss performing now, and I am happy to be obscure, even invisible.

The catalyst to me finding joy in not being easily visible, rather than simply accepting the unobstrusive place where I walk now, came from the closing of a publishing business.  The publisher had accepted my first book and the process of type-setting was underway, along with all the variety of things that go with being published.  Then, for valid reasons of her own, she closed her business.  The odd effect on me was there was no effect.  I was not upset or disappointed.  Somehow, having written that book was the purpose in writing it.  I realized it was more important to make the book available on my website than to seek an audience through the print media.  Even now, ten years later, the book is not often found, nor do I care.  Those who will find value in it find it.

While I do not seek the spotlight nor recognition, if I speak or write, my words get noticed.  It is enough for me to share what comes to me to be shared and let the words go into the universe to find their way to whomever has need of them.  It is not important whether anyone knows I said or wrote those words.  I understood this many years ago when a dear friend in Missouri told me about a poem she found in a small magazine.  I listened to her read the "anonymous" poet's words and realized I had written the poetry as a college student.  She found something of value, as had others.  That was enough.

In other blogs here and there on Zaadz I have read a few comments from those who seem to share my attitude.  Sharing the gifts is the point.  Whether or not any recognition from the wider world comes as a result of that sharing is not of particular concern, nor is it part of the process for me personally. 

The song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" long has been a very special one to me.  I sang it to each of my children as I rocked them in an old rocking chair.  So many times I know my spirit soars far over and beyond the most beautiful of rainbows.  Sometimes my dreams really do come true in the most unexpected of ways.  I listen to a hauntingly lovely arrangement sung by Eva Cassidy and feel the gentle power of always believing, always trusting in the good and the beautiful and the hopeful.

As a young adult I wrote a poem with the final line "God is something you find alone."  Today I would probably write many of the same thoughts, although the first word of that final line might look more like "Living my truest spirit is living alone."   What I have come to think is that each of us discovers the Sacred Reality most clearly when we discover and welcome our own beings in all our glory, all our faultiness, all our beauty and majesty, as well as all the shadows and anguishes we seek to avoid.

This is a blog entry I have debated and hesitated over and resisted for a long time.  Because the very nature of blogging is public and open to whomever discovers one's words, I have been reluctant to share the thoughts I plan to write here.  Yet, something drives me and cries to me for such openness and honesty, regardless of whose eyes bore into a sensitive place in my spirit.  Perhaps in sharing my vulnerabilities, doubts, concerns, questions and thoughts someone else may realize something very real. 

While each of us must make the solitary voyage of self-revelation, all of us make that voyage in our own ways.  Some of us consider things more deeply and apply our observations more personally than others.  Some have no desire to delve through the layers and levels and heaps of "stuff" from years of living to discover all there is to find, all the treasures and some trash, as well.  Yet, each of us shares the same desire.  Each of us wants to know absolute love and acceptance.  Some know it without question and have little need to sort through the questions and doubts others of us seem never to lose.

Not long ago Maggie and I had one of our usual deeply honest and far-reaching conversations.  This one concerned why each of us makes the choices in life companions that we have made.  It is often very difficult to remember Maggie is a 26 soon to be 27 year old young woman to whom I gave birth.  She has depth and integrity of spirit, far more wisdom and understanding than many young women her age, and she is my best friend.  We were discussing the similarities between her father from whom I have been divorced well over twenty years and the man who is my current partner.  The question for which I still have no answer is "Why have I chosen again to be with someone who does not seem to accept and respect me for who I am?"

I use the word "seem" because I have only daily actions on which to base my observations.  This question is not one any of us really can expect to be answered with anything truly satisfactory.  It is one of those questions, when put to another person, when an answer is wrong, no matter what, most of the time.  Nor do I expect any answer.  The question this raises for me to answer is what keeps me from accepting and respecting myself for who I truly am.  This is a question only I can answer and only I know that answer.  I do know the answer.

The result of my feeling of separation from whole relationship in my current living situation is such a deep sense of being alone.  The analogy of feeling as though I have a tiny splinter in my foot may be somewhat odd, but it seems to be such a splinter that I cannot work out.  My feet get rather tough from wearing sandals for several months every year and splinters can get buried underneath that sometimes hard outer skin.  And splinters, no matter how small, hurt and irritate as long as they are under the skin.

My path is usually that solitary trail in the sky where the eagle flies.  It is an unmarked trail not even I can see.  Yet, I know the way as I soar along that pathway.  There is much about the eagle that is very true of me.  One of the most telling is the fact that only the great eagle flies into storms deliberately.  How else does the eagle's wings become so strong?  I have been flying my own path in the sky most of my life, beginning before I was even in my teens.  Perhaps a large part of my choices in life companions revolves around the fact each has left me alone to fly my pathway.  The first tried to cage me and eventually learned I would not stay caged. 

Even with my free flying spirit, I long for deep companionship and the warmth of loving acceptance in relationship.  Perhaps the biggest challenge to this is the fact I believe loving truly is characterized by respecting and celebrating individual freedom together without desire to control and impinge upon that freedom.  I know only to love with open arms, with outspread wings.  I do not believe anyone should have to earn love and acceptance.  It is not love then, at least not a kind of relating I would call love.  My choice, then is simply to live and to love as I do, to maintain the integrity of my own spirit and respect those others in my life without seeking to place expectations or conditions on them.  If it continues to mean I am, at the very center of my life, alone, so be it.  

Somehow, I really think, just as each of us is born alone and we usually die alone, we find our truest selves and who we are with the Sacred still alone.  We can and must share ourselves and whatever we have to share, but each of us only can live our own truths and be our own beings.  There are other facets to my thoughts, some I prefer not to share openly, but these will suffice for now.

Crawfish Bisque. Of course, there is a story behind those two words. 

The first time I met my first mother-in-law was somewhere around seven months after I married her son.  We had decided to move to Louisiana with a job transfer he requested, since Louisiana is home.  With a very short time we were off to Baton Rouge from our new home in Lake Charles to see his parents and siblings, none of whom I had met at the time.  Due to an ill-advised sharing of a letter from his mother to his sister I was very much aware our marriage was not welcome, and I was petrified, to say the least.  She wasn't an ogre, more a stately, southern lady.

Over the next ten years, with the birth of three children and many trips to see his parents, his mother and I grew close.  Yet, every dinner at her table included some sort of cooked greens.  While I despise the taste of turnip and collard greens more than I can describe, I always took some and ate it without complaint and without making faces.  Then, one trip everything changed. 

Helen knew I loved anything that swam in water, with very few exceptions.  She also knew I really hated greens and had a sly sense of humor about deliberately baiting me by cooking them to see what I would do.  She also knew her oldest son was not as interested in seafood. 

We arrived with children, walked in the back door and I think I arrived in heaven at that moment.  Now, making crawfish bisque is a time-consuming, sometimes hard-on-the-hands project.  Yet, there, on the stove was a huge pot of crawfish bisque simmering away.  There were no greens served at dinner that evening, nor ever again in the remaining years I visited her.