Tidbits

• Willie came home about 24 hours after he left; he's fine.
• Tessa is scratching and scratching because of allergies. Thank goodness for Benedryl.
• The writing seems to be in a stalled position, as I prepare for leading a retreat at Ghost Ranch, but I feel confident it will come--in time.
• Today I have an endoscopy--upper GI scope. I'm fasting just now, but the procedure is easy to take. I've had several before. The greater concern for me, what with acid reflux and a small hiatal hernia, is what he might find. Sitting in prayer this morning, however, I felt a great sense of peace. And I love this doctor, so it will be good to see him again, even through the haze of good drugs. I am grateful to my daughter for her protective care today. And to God, through her and all those who will "work" on me.
• The picture at the top of the blog is one Norris took at Lake of the Clouds in western Upper Michigan. Have you ever been there? It is spectacular. Much closer to Wisconsin and Minnesota than to this part of Michigan. Surrounded by forests and hiking trails, it is well worth the long trip.
  
• A dear friend and her father are touring the Upper Peninsula. Their itinerary reminded me of places Norris and I visited many times. I haven't had the courage to face the U.P. without him, but I do want to return to those wild, lonely places--the beaches, the falls, the sand dunes, the lighthouses, the spacious beauty. Michigan's upper peninsula is one of our best kept secrets. Maybe that's why it's still possible to find solitude there.
• I've been watching Ken Burns' National Parks documentary and gaining deeper appreciation for the struggles people went through to preserve these great wilderness landscapes. Of the ones I have visited, my favorite would be Grand Tetons in Wyoming, followed by Olympia in Washington. But the National Shorelines at Sleeping Bear and Pictured Rocks here in Michigan are deep in my heart and my bones. We are a part of each other.
• And so another blog post, another day of life, another chance to live and love and breathe free. Please join me in a moment of rejoicing!
  

Why I love what I do!

For as long as I can remember, people have talked to me. Of course, I've always talked to them, too, but sometimes I'm just amazed that no matter where I am, my ear must have a blinking neon sign that says "You can tell me." How many times have I heard "I've never told anyone this before, but..." Or, "this is just between us..."

But the best time is when someone comes to my home for spiritual guidance/companionship/direction/friendship. Use whatever term you wish, the idea is someone to talk to who will listen, care, and be there for you. Sometimes we pray aloud; sometimes we sit in silence; sometimes we don't do either. Sometimes we laugh a lot; sometimes we cry. But always it is sacred.

Yesterday a person told me that when she comes here, it is "home"--peaceful, prayerful, impossible to put a finger on, but home. This, in spite of the worn out, cat-clawed couch, the noisy little dog, and a woman who often feels totally inadequate to be anyone's spiritual "helper". I was awe-struck, speechless. "Love Divine, all loves excelling..." How could I be so graced? And yet, how could I not if I believe what I say I believe?

Yes, sometimes the stories are heavy or convoluted or tiresome. And it takes a lot of energy to focus on another and set myself aside. I don't always succeed, of course. But the Grace is always there, somehow. When each one says goodbye, I pray for their well-being, and I am thoroughly grateful for the blessing of their presence!

Oh, by the way, the cat came home and we did find our great-grandparents' graves. Thanks for asking. :)

Here kitty, kitty, kitty

Today I'm suffering as a result of my own stupidity. That ever happen to you? No? I don't believe you! Anyway, my cats, Willie and Nellie, have a habit of meowing at the back door, loudly, steadily, in the evening, wanting to go outside. Do I know they shouldn't go out? Yes, of course I do. They don't even have collars or tags. Do I let them out, anyway? Of course I do. And they always come back, at least by early morning. Except today. Nellie came in, but Willie didn't. So I'm worried, sad, guilty, because I'm responsible for everything that goes on in this home. Feeling sorry for myself because I AM the only one. Wondering if I will ever get used to being a widow.

I've let this book writing thing overwhelm me. I receive good advice; kind and encouraging words. They are all well meant and I appreciate them. I'm grateful to have friends and relatives who care. But in the end, I know I'm alone with God in this and "we" have to work it out together. I have no doubt of God's presence and desire to help, but I sometimes doubt my ability or even willingness to allow that. No matter what we "know" in our heads, the gut thing is still extremely potent. And, whatever "the devil" is, I do believe that when something good is offered, there is often a struggle, right within the person,(in this case, me) between those good and evil forces. I trust the good will win in the end. I really do. But I'm not enjoying this battle one bit!

May your "better angels" prevail today, along with mine. Especially on this day of Prayer for Peace, I long for all to be well in this troubled world. And for Willie to come home where he belongs!

Ah, Mary!

Here is a quote from Mary Travers' obituary in today's NYTimes: In 1970, after releasing the greatest-hits album “Ten Years Together,” the group disbanded. Ms. Travers embarked on a solo career, with limited success, releasing five albums in the 1970s. The first, “Mary” (1971), was the most successful, followed by “Morning Glory” (1972), “All My Choices” (1973), “Circles” (1974) and “It’s in Everyone of Us” (1978).

Did you know that Mary had a solo career? I can't find one Youtube clip of her wonderful single work. Songs such as "It's in Every One of Us", "Flying on a Single Wing", and many other songs of social justice and the struggle of women are on these albums. I'm grateful to have CDs of them all and I salute Mary Travers as a woman who could stand alone. Though we all loved Peter, Paul and Mary, I honor her as a solid solo voice whose work touched my heart and head over many years.

The sorrow those in my generation feel today is partly, I feel sure, because we are again reminded that we are near the end of our days of contributing to this world. And we are reminded, too, and rejoice in the hope, that what we've tried to do in a positive way, will be carried on by the next and the next and the next. May it be so!