It's another Saturday and work calls me away from the kids and Jeff.

It is days like these that I wonder if I did the right thing in getting so involved in Habitat for Humanity and the Americorp VISTA program.

My Americorp pledge keeps me from saying 'no' to a lot of things that I might otherwise say no to. So I gather up my toolbelt, head to the office to pick up the necessary supplies of the day.

This Saturday is different though. We need cookies and punch, programs and prayers, free t-shirts, cups and plates.
Because today we are having a wall raising ceremony.

As I drive to the build site I run through the mental list of items I was supposed to grab with only Dave Matthews Band to keep me company.

I have never been to a wall raising ceremony and I certainly have never planned one... at least not until this week. And I feel a bit nervous.

I go through my mental list one last time, and doubt and question myself before setting it aside as I turn down Evergreen court and see the build site...

There is work to be done now....

It isn't long before people arrive. Maria arrives like she does every Saturday. She always has a smile to share as, together, we build her a home. But this week is different for her too. Her brothers and friends are here.

All goes well and the joy shared around the build site is contagious! Standing side by side raising the walls with Maria makes it all worthwhile.

I just wish Jeff and the kids would have decided to come and join me.

Sunset Service at Confirmation Retreat

Today we finished up the St. Edward's confirmation retreat in Newport, OR.
What a good group of young people. Only 16 youth and 3 adults.
Considerably smaller than what I am used to at St. James.
Some aspects of working with a smaller group I enjoyed,
and some aspects of not having a large group of 60 I missed.
But overall a wonderful retreat.

My favorite part was the sunset service on the beach with a nice roaring fire to keep away the evening chill.

Excitement in West Salem

A couple of days ago there was great excitement in Salem!

The whole city was abuzz with the weather.

We had Hail!

Not the golf ball size, not baseball sized hail, not even the grapefruit size devastating hail that we had in Kearney a few years ago that literally broke through roofs and landed in living rooms.

No this was different all right.
It was so light and so small and gathered on the ground and from a distance looked like snow!
And native Oregonias were excited!

After 10+ months of living here I have found the people to get very excited over high winds, temperatures over 90, and snow and now hail!

Where I come from high winds, extreme high and low temps, snow and hail are the norm! In fact there have been times when I experienced all the extremes in a span of three days.

Oregonias are spoiled! And I, for one, am glad to be living in such a mild climate!

Happy May Day!

May 1, 2007!


It's May Day.


For me, growing up in Kansas, May Day meant you went to your garden and cut flowers, put them in a small basket, like the old green plastic baskets that strawberries come in, or we would take a piece of construction paper and roll it like a cornucopia and slide the flowers down in.

Then we would take them to the neighbors home. Sometimes we would leave them on the step, ring the doorbell and run, sometimes we would hand our neighbors the bouquet of flowers.
It was partly a way to be neighborly and partly a way to brag about your garden and all the flowers you planted in the fall.

When we moved to Nebraska that tradition ended, mostly due to the longer winters and not having many flowers to cut and share. Instead, the kids traded bags of candy with the other neighbor kids and had fun trying to leave the candy, ring the doorbell and run without getting caught.
If my kids were writing this reflection, they would say it was more important for them to get candy and be able to catch the neighbors as they left it on our porch and had a long way to run to reach the end of our driveway.

Now we are here in Oregon, and I don't know what to expect. I told the kids Happy May Day this morning and they remembered... asking...
Do you think the neighbors will give us candy?

I think on the way home from work I should stop by the local hardware store and pick up some flowers for my neighbors, because I didn't plant very many last fall.

Maybe next year I will have flowers I can cut and share with my neighbors.

Baggins / Tookish

I often wonder what is wrong with me.
I can’t figure out how I end up doing the things I do.
I am puzzled as to how I get so intertwined and enmeshed with my work, that things at home get set aside.

What is it about me that can’t be content as a stay-at-home mom?
Why do I seem to need more?
Why isn’t ministering to my children enough for me?

There are aspects of my work that I don’t even like, tasks that require me do things I would never volunteer to do. I would never volunteer to stand before a church congregation or an entire school assembly and make a presentation. Yet I have done both in the past two weeks. I feel nervous, challenged, and uncomfortable a lot of the time with this new job. I could quit, but I can’t. There is something deep inside me that likes this uncomfortable feeling, that wants to be challenged and needs to feel nervous and uncertain.

Maybe I am like Bilbo Baggins in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Perhaps if I were to cross paths with the magician Gandalf he would tell me, “There is more to you than you know.” Gandalf knew that there was more to Bilbo’s sedentary Baggins side. Bilbo was also from the swashbuckling Took side. His blood was a mingling of both Baggins and Took.

The best comparison I have would be the knowledge that I am made in God’s image; both human and divine, both of this earth and of heaven. This mysterious union is one that seems to always lead me down odd paths, around curves and into places I would not go of my own choosing. But much like the Took side of Bilbo that made him trade in his walking stick for a sword and sent him on many adventures, something “Tookish” calls to me, awakes the divine in me and leads me on challenging adventures.

Sometimes I think about how much easier it would be to stay comfortably at home taking care of the ordinary activities of day to day life. I seem to live in this constant tension between human and divine, earth and heaven. Yet just as I start to settle down into a mindset that has me snug, at home, and feeling comfortable, I am once again called out. I am called out of the comfortable, called out to see more, to experience more, to help more, to minister more.

There is a scripture somewhere in the bible ( I don’t know exactly where) that talks about “my soul thirsts for you, my God”.
Perhaps there is nothing wrong with me at all.
Maybe I am just thirsty.
Maybe I should quit being puzzled.
I should stop wondering why.
I should accept that, just by chance (or by the grace of God) that I am okay.

Some days I will pick up my “Baggin’s”walking stick and some days I will strap on the “Tookish” sword. But every day I will try to live as God made me, in His likeness.

Ten months

Ten months ago today I took a good friend to the airport.

It was a difficult good-bye for me. Not the most difficult good-bye I have ever had to say, but it is one that remains vivid in my memory.

I mostly remember the conversation intermingled with the unspoken words, followed by the attempt to make light of having to let go. It was difficult because it felt like he was my last link to a life I loved, a life I didn’t want to leave.
But that is my memory.

For my friend, this good-bye was probably welcomed, not too difficult because he was heading back home. He was going back to a place he was from and a place he wanted to be.

I was the one staying someplace new, someplace unfamiliar, someplace I didn’t want to be. But I needed to make this place my new home.

He said, “Give it time. You can do this. We’ll be praying for you”
And I knew he meant all the family and friends that were now a part of my past.

As I drove away and the reflection of him in my rear view mirror got smaller, my tears fell.

But here I am, ten months later, giving it time, feeling confident in the fact the I can do this and feeling prayed for, supported, and loved by so many.

Matt was right.

I can do this.

Late night Ramblings

It is late...
Almost 1:00am here in Salem.
I am tired. I am worn out, washed up, wrung out and hung out to dry.

So why am I still on the computer?
Part of it is
I have just finished a quarterly report that has to go out tomorrow for my VISTA Volunteer position.
But some of it is that I am too tired to climb the stairs to get to my bed.

And mostly it is that I have missed the solitude, the quiet, the personal reflection time that allows me the time to think, the time to write, the time to pray, and the time to just be.

But I should go because the contacts in my eyes are dry and I can't quite focus on the words I have written.
Oh wait....
perhaps that is the rum.

Good Night!

To be understood as to understand...

Prayer of St. Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
Where there is hatred,let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

This was one of the first prayers I learned at St. Patricks school when I started there my fourth grade year. All the other kids had memorized the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Act of Faith, Act of Hope, and whatever other Act prayers there are.
So in fourth grade Sr. Mary John set out to teach us all the Prayer of St. Francis.

And although I have never been very good at memorizing or remembering things in my head, this prayer is one that I have remembered and held in my heart.

I especially have tried to live the last part of the prayer. The part that says...

O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand; To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive; It is in pardoning that
we are pardoned; And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I don't know what about these lines called to me so strongly as a young 9 or 10 year old, but something about these words grabbed ahold of me and have settled into my being and my heart.

As a young child I wanted to "seek to understand others" so that I could be understood. I always thought that if I worked really hard to understand others, to love others, to pardon others, to console, then maybe I would be understood, I would be loved, I would be pardoned, and consoled.
But I haven't found this to be true. At least not ALWAYS true.
At times, I feel misunderstood, unloved, condemned (or at least criticized) and hurt. I have wondered if it was because I wasn't understanding enough, wasn't loving enough, wasn't 'something' enough.

But reading this now as an adult I hear it differently. The prayer is supposed to be more of a plea to my Divine master to help me with not seeking more than I give. There is no promise of what I will receive in return. But my child's mind thought there would be some reward in the end for all this giving.

I am realizing now my reward is in the giving.

All this is becoming more clear to me as I read Windows of the Soul by Ken Gire.

Gire gives reference to a line from the movie a River Runs Through It... "You can love completely without complete understanding." Gire goes on to say "It was not required of me to understand. It was required of me to love, and go on loving, completely."

So as I approach Holy Week and the end of my Lenten journey I am changing my focus from understanding in the hope of being understood, to loving completely without understanding. And I hope to approach this knowing that my reward will simply be in the loving completely.

Its spring!
I love this season.
It brings about so much new life, so much new growth. So it seems very appropriate to be experiencing new changes and new opportunites at work and at home during this season as well.

For nearly the past 5 months I have been working at Habitat for Humanity of the Mid-Willamette Valley in the area of resource development. I have learned quite a lot and have just begun to feel more comfortable in my job. I have grown to even like my small workspace in spite of the openness and lack of privacy. But most of all the past 5 months have helped me learn that I am not meant to work in resource development. This is not an area that suits me well.


So I am eagerly awaiting getting back to work after I return from spring break to move into a new work space and more importantly a new job. I will be working as the Program Manager.

This I am very excited about!

Unfortunatley I acquire the new work space, new title and new responsibilites because I have lost a good friend who is moving on and will have her own new adventures ahead.

Jeanne.... It has been my pleasure and an honor to work with you, drink with you, and share an all to brief slice of life with you. I wish you all the best!

Complimentary umbrella ... anyone?

Before I moved to Oregon I diligently watched the weather channel to see if it rained as much as I heard it did.

What I found was that nearly every day weather.com indicated rain, rain and clouds, clouds and rain.

I was discouraged by this.


But after moving I haven't found it to be nearly as rainy as weather.com indicated. In fact this morning the internet predicted yet another cloudy day with a chance of rain, however the skies are clear and the complimentary umbrella stands are going unused.

Remembering and Memories

Today is Caroline's birthday. She is 14 years old. Caroline was the last of our kids to be born in Kansas. We moved to Kearney when she was about 8 months old. She doesn't remember much about Kansas other than it was a long way to drive to visit grandparents and cousins. I think she considers herself a Nebraskan.

It was a year ago today that Jeff arrived in Oregon. It is strange to think it has already been a year. 12 months! When I look ahead to events knowing that it won't arrive for a year it seems like such a long time to wait. Yet when I look back on a year that has past it seems to have gone by so fast. Why is that?

I know there were a lot of things that happened last spring as I was single parenting and getting the house ready to sell that I wanted to commit to memory. Things that I wanted to always hold in my heart. There were feelings shared with friends and family that I swore I would never forget. Yet the memories are fading or at least blending in with all the other years past. I hate that.

But life continues on. Life is constantly filled with new things to remember, to experience, to hold onto.

This morning the phone rang... early! My heart jumped when I saw it was my dad calling. I was afraid that something was wrong, someone was sick or hurt.

But he was calling to sing Happy Birthday to Caroline, a tradition dad has lived out since I was a kid. It just doesn't seem like your birthday until you get sung to by my dad.

Then the news alerted us to a 2 hour delay to the school day, a true birthday gift in Caroline's eyes! A ridiculous decision in Jeff and my eyes.

But the school delay allowed us some time to laugh and cry this morning that we wouldn't have had otherwise. The crying came with the realization that Spike passed away sometime in the night.

Spike was a good fish. Spike could perhaps be the only Beta fish to ever travel from Nebraska all the way to Oregon in water jug in the back of a Jetta. Spike was Laura's fish, a birthday gift from the oldest sister to the youngest sister nearly two years ago.

We took some time and talked about Spike and his travels and adventures. We talked about how she wanted to 'dispose' of Spike. After Laura made a decision and dried her tears she went to find her journal and a pen. She asked me what the date was and she began writing.

I am guessing that a part of her wanted to always remember this morning. She wanted to remember Spike, so she was writing it down.

I suppose that is what I should do more of.... write things down.

So today I am thankful for the snow flurries and a late school start that turned out to be great blessing.

February 26, 2006 - February 26, 2007

It was one year ago today that Jeff, along with all the possessions he anticipated needing for four months, could be found somewhere between Kearney Nebraska and Salem Oregon.




Today Mike and Aimee are in the same bug somewhere between Salem Oregon and Kearney Nebraska heading to Omaha.

And Jeff is driving a new Honda Civic HyBrid.



Maybe next year I will have a new car.
Maybe a red hot convertable!
Maybe a truck with a decent towing capacity.
Or maybe it will be Alex with a vehicle and me still in the Jetta.

The only thing I am certain of any more is that things are in constant motion and always changing.

It a good day when...

It is a good day for me when things get real.
When things get 'down and dirty', or 'down to the nitty gritty'.
When life is honest and raw.

Today was a day like that for me.

You never know what will be asked of you on a Habitat build site.
And I never go with expectations. It just is what it is.
My morning consisted of digging, shoveling,
wheeling and moving dirt. Then leveling and spreading out
topsoil. All done in pouring rain.
It was wet, messy, muddy and difficult.
And tonight my muscles are reminding me of the work that was accomplished. But that is okay because today was a good day.

I suppose what I consider a good day is different than what others might expect.
And what made today a good day wasn't so much the labor involved as much as it was the people that I labored with.

The conversation was just as real, just as honest, just as 'down to the nitty gritty' as was the work.

I need that.
I need that at work and I need that at home.
And today I had both.

One of my adult daughters is here for just a short couple of days and we had a chance to talk. Just a good ole mother / daughter conversation. No interruptions, no sports in the background, just a real, honest, raw conversation about life and the current issues we are facing.

I feel so lucky, so blessed, so graced by moments like these.

Today was a good day.

If life is like a River, I must be in the rapids!

Life has been so busy and it feels like I am body surfing my way through just barely keeping my head above the surface. Sometimes it is fun, sometimes exhilarating, and sometimes frightening.
And then there are times like this morning that I look back up river and don't see anything familiar. I don't recognize where I am or where I have been and have no clue where I am going. I am just on this fast flowing river and I can't seem to get out of it. I am not sure I should get out of it.
Maybe the river is taking me someplace I will be glad to arrive at.
But right now, this morning, I feel scared, and confused.
I would run if I knew which direction to run.
But I don't, So I stay.
I stay because this is where Jeff is.
I stay because this is where the kids are.
But even with that said, life with the kids isn't the same any more.

Lindsey is moving out this week.
Mike and Aimee are preparing to move to Kansas City.
Melissa is having Cale baptized when we go back to Kearney in March, in the Methodist church.

So much is happening and I haven't had time to get a handle on things,
I haven't had time to process all this change.
I need some quiet time to pray.

But Life is busy and I am being swept downstream and it is taking all I have to concentrate,keep my head up, and stay afloat until I reach calmer waters.

February Flowers

It is February here in Oregon. Actually it is February everywhere. But it feels like I am experiencing February in a different way than most everyone else I know. I suppose because it is my first February here and most people I know live in Nebraska or Kansas.


The past six months or so I seem to approach most everything in my life from a place of explanation. I explain to people I am new and need directions, I explain to new people about my eight kids (see previous blog), I explain to people about my accent (which I didn't know I had), and I explain to native Oregonians what winter weather really is.

But I am getting off track.... I wanted to talk about flowers....

It is February here and there are flowers everywhere. The grocery stores, the garden centers, the hardware stores, even the gas station has flowers to sell. I was walking along the storefront shops downtown and found a cart of flowers for sale.

Pansies seem to be the flower to plant in February and they can be found everywhere.

This is vastly different than life in Nebraska or Kansas at this time of the year.

Back home you would be challenged to get through the snow to even consider planting right now. And no one would plant flowers this time of year.
Potatos perhaps, but not pansies.

So life here is different. But this is a difference that I embrace!

Fitting in.

In this new life in Oregon I have been trying to fit in, trying to make friends, trying to find a place where I belong. Some times I feel comfortable, sometimes okay, but awkward, and other times I feel utterly displaced.

But I guess if I am to be honest with myself finding my place in this world has been a search of mine all my life. In my family, in school, in junior high, high school, young adulthood, in Kansas, in Nebraska, and now as a middle age mother of 8, grandmother of 1 in the middle of Salem, Oregon. My search continues.

Maybe I am never meant to fit in comfortably anywhere. Maybe it is in the searching that I am drawn to different places and different people. Maybe the search is the adventure I am meant to live.

Last night my adventure continued as I joined 7 other women whom I had never met. I was invited to attend a cooking class at an upscale restaurant with a group of ladies who were all friends. I was invited to fill an open spot. The invitation came my way from a mom of one of my daughter's friends. When she called with the invitation she said, "I heard you are a mom of 8 and I've never met anyone with that many kids. I think it would be fun to get to know you."

I usually prefer someone get to know me before I share how many children I have, but that is not always possible.

I was nervous about going. How to you go somewhere already knowing that you are the outsider, the novelty new person? But I braved the unknown and ventured out.
The evening was more than just interesting.
I'm not sure how to tell it in a blog so I will try to sum it up...

I arrived at my 'new friend's' home to find she had completely forgotten her invitation to me. And...
She was drunk as a skunk!
She asked if I minded driving... "absolutely not", I said.
When she landed on the floor trying to sit, I helped her back onto her stool pretending not to notice her intoxication.
I endured the stares and sideways glances from the prim and proper group. I can only imagine what they thought of me, this stange newcomer, who they never bothered to ask my name or how I came to be here with the drunken friend.
I tolerated the gasps and questions that came as I was introduced with, "She is new to town and oh, can you believe she has 8 kids!"
Then they proceeded to talk about me as if I wasn't there, all of them wondering aloud what it must be like to have eight kids.
I politely thanked them and left, taking my drunken host with me.

And I wonder why I don't fit in.
I am simply not meant to fit in and after last night I am glad I don't fit in, at least not with this group of ladies.

A Gorgeous day!

There are days like yesterday that linger on long after the sun has set.
A day that brings with it a serenity, a peacefulness, that settles into your heart and lingers in your soul.
I had a day like that yesterday. The sun was shining, the wind was calm, and the ocean waves were turning and crashing with brilliant white foam.
We explored tides pools, hiked the big sand hill, rolled back down the big sand hill, and found sand dollars.

Then we splurged on a great dinner at the Pelican Brewery and watched the remainder of the sun turn from yellow, to orange, to red, then pink, until the final shades of purple disappeared into night.

It was a gorgeous, glorious day.

Sunrise on my Cell Phone

Each new day begins with a sunrise. Some days I am lucky enough to see the beginnings of the new day and all the vibrant colors as they permeate the sky. Some days I don't.
Whether I get to witness the sun rising or not I know that a new day awaits.

Our household wakes and greets one another with the usual words,'good morning'. Most often those two words are uttered, mumbled, or grunted. But sometimes they are proclaimed cheerfully.

The same two words are shared at work as people arrive and settle in at their desks. 'Good Morning' can sometimes be heard clearly and with energy. Sometimes it is barely audible and filled with fatigue.

It interesting for me to guess how someone's night went by how they express their 'good morning'.

I suppose when I wish someone 'good morning', I am wishing people a good start to their day. I don't think to tell them 'good afternoon' or 'good evening' as the days wears on. I just assume the 'good morning' applies to the whole day from start to finish.

The start of a new day is like my chance for me to start over. It is my chance to do this day better than I did the previous day. It is my chance to not make as many mistakes, or at least to learn from the ones I made yesterday. It is my chance to listen better, to parent better, to be a better partner for my husband.

But most of all when I get up in the morning in time to see the sunrise in all its glory I am reminded to tell God 'good morning'. I am reminded to talk to God more in the afternoon, to listen to God more in the evening, and to pray from start to finish.


Sunsets .... I'll save for another time.

It's not fair!

Life's not fair!
It's not fair!
That's not fair!
You're not Fair!
Something's not fair!

I think most all of us have said one of those statements at one time in our lives. Or Perhaps we've said it many times.

When I was a kid I probably said it quite a bit more than I do as an adult. My parent's comment was always, "who ever told you that it would be fair?"

Now as a parent myself with many children who are always complaining to me that 'something' isn't fair, I have had to use my parents line quite often.
And I even have several lines of my own to respond with depending on the child and the situation.
But at this stage in my life I am not much of one to say or feel that 'something's' not fair.

At least until this morning.

I am getting older. And I am thankful to be getting older because it means I am still here.
But I never thought that I would have to look at myself every morning in the mirror and have to face both wrinkles and acne.

This is not fair!

I am a grandma now for pete's sake!

I shouldn't have to be sharing acne cream with my 13 year old daughter!
I never thought I'd be yelling at my teenage son trying to locate the astringent to clean my face.
And I certainly don't think that using acne cream followed by the old-age cream to moisturize and soften all the fine lines and wrinkles is fair!


But I suppose the only positive spin on this whole bizarre blog is that I now have another line to use on my kids the next time one of them wants something and I say, "no" and they shout, "It's not fair!"

A New Year

2007
The new year came in without a bang. It came in without fanfare. It came in without trumpets, or song, or fireworks or an evening with friends playing How to Host a Murder.

It just came in the quiet of the night with part of the family watching television and part of the family playing computer games and someone saying, "hey! Its midnight!"
It isn't that our New Year was bad, but it was different from the past 7 years.

It is funny (funny-odd, not funny-haha) how attached one gets to routine. The past 7 years we have gathered on New Years Eve with some close friends for an evening of fun. We plan ahead, choose a How to Host a Murder Theme, assign characters, work on costumes, and on New Years Eve gather for great food and beverages, and lots of laughter. It never mattered so much who won the game, or who was the murderer. What seemed to matter most was who had the best costume, or at least who looked the most ridiculous in their outfit.



Just 6 couples getting together to act silly. Most people would run from this sort of evening not wanting to embarrass themselves. But we embraced it wholeheartedly.

Early morning feedings

It has been a lot of years since I had to get up in the middle of the night for a 'feeding'.
I enjoyed my early mornings with Cale, my grandson. He always seemed so alert for 3:00 am.


Being an infant, Cale has no regard for time of day. If he is awake feeling rested and alert, then that is exactly how he is, rested and alert. In just a few short days, 3:00 am became 'my time' with him.
There were no distractions, no chores to be done, no television or radio, no other grandmas, aunts, uncles, or vistors to share the time with. Simply time together feeding each other. Me feeding Cale a bottle and Cale feeding my need to get to know my grandson.

It was a time I will treasure deep in my heart.

Oh Christmas Tree

Growing up I have vague memories of having a 'real' Christmas tree. Most of my life, from 4th grade and every year since, I have always had a 'fake' Christmas tree.
I am not sure why my parents decided to change from 'real' to 'fake' but as kids we didn't care.
A 'fake' tree meant we could put the tree up earlier in Advent and leave the lights on longer without worry or concern for the tree drying out and catching fire. As a child my main worry was if the tree caught fire then so would the presents underneath.

In my mind 'fake' was just fine.

When I got married and our family began our own traditions we went with the 'fake' tree as well because of allergic concerns for my husband.

So for the past 36 or so years it has been 'fake' all the way.

Until this year!

For the first time in our family tradition and my first time in nearly 4 decades we have a REAL Christmas tree in the house.

Since we have moved to Oregon, the Chritmas tree capital of the world (or at least it seems to be), it would be a shame to not get a 'real' tree this year. We talked about going out and cutting down our own tree. We learned all the important details such as, the appropriate tools to take to the Christmas tree farm, how to 'carry' your tree out of the field and not 'drag' it out so it doesn't get muddy, and even how to shake your tree out to free it from critters such as spiders, bugs and even bats.

Learning all this didn't scare me off from cutting my own tree, but I was happy to learn that my husband was content to purchase a tree from the young family down at the corner lot.

It isn't that I wasn't in the Christmas spirit. Nor was it that I didn't want to create great new family memories. It is just that I know my family.

I think cutting down our own tree appealed to my husband because it had a wonderful Norman Rockwell feel to it. This Rockwell vision of acquiring a Christmas tree was the experience my husband was hoping we could have as a family. I envisioned more of a Griswalds Christmas experience.

If you haven't seen Chevy Chase and the Griswald family then you won't understand. But if you know my husband and kids you are most likely laughing already.

Perhaps next year we will be up to the challenge of cutting our own tree and hauling it home, but for this year we are all very happy to have our first ever 'real' live tree!

Five days and a wake up

I am counting down the days.
It is five days and a wake up until I get to hold my grandson for the first time.
I have seen him on the iSight, and while this helps, it isn't the same. I can't smell the new baby smell or feel the soft new skin, or feel him snuggle up against my neck.
I need to be there in the flesh to experience the full wonder and joy of new life.

I found out I was a grandma while in Las Vegas. I left in the middle of a conference session to take the call.
I sat alone in hallway with tears of joy, excitement, and relief falling down my cheek. It was such a relief to hear my daughter had come through the C-section just fine and my new grandson was healthy.

I was longing to share the news with someone, but not just anyone.
I needed to share this kind of news with someone who would understand,
someone who knew me and my feelings of becoming a grandparent.
And at just that moment a dear friend found me. It could not have been better timing.

I don't believe it was a coincidence. It was meant to happen this way.

All this took place eight days ago. It feels as though more time has passed than eight days, but the calendar doesn't lie.
So looking ahead I have just five days and a wake up until I can travel back home to see, and touch, and smell all the joy surrounding the new life in our family.

Where did my life go?

Have you ever been in a place where nothing was familiar?
Have you ever found yourself questioning most everything around you?
Have you ever asked yourself Where in the hell did my life go?

A few times over my lifetime I have had days like this.
Yesterday was one of those days.

Thank God these kind of days don't come often, but when they do I feel confused, disoriented, frazzled and uncertain.
The kind of uncertain that makes me question, makes me wonder. And even leaves me wandering around as if in a fog and I can't find my way.

It is the kind of feeling that makes me want to go back to what is familiar, to what I know, to a place of confidence instead of confusion. To a place of familiarity instead of disorientation. To a place of determination instead of uncertainty. But I can't leave. This is where I am supposed to be now. This is my life and I have to learn to negotiate my way through it.

The last time I remember having a day like this was many years ago. Probably 14 years or so. And I negotiated my way through, learned much, and found myself in a great place.

So I can only proceed with the same assumption. I will negotiate my way through this. I will learn much. And I will find myself in a great place.

I just wish I knew how long it is going to take to get there.

Late night ramblings

I just couldn't sleep last night. I couldn't seem to put my mind to rest. I felt wide awake even after midnight which is unusual for me lately. I used the time to just reflect and pray.

Yesterday was a long day at my new job and at my old job. I tried to do my current work amongst many phone calls from my past work and friends who needing help or advice. Most of the day I felt torn between two lives. One I left and still miss and a new one I am beginning and feel uncertain of.

I arrived home in the evening, listened to the kids share (all at once and all together) about their day. Each one seemed to talk louder than the next in their effort to be heard over another sibling until it felt as if the whole house was yelling.

Whatever happened to waiting for your turn? I don't think I listened very well to any of the kids, but they all had their say.

I made dinner, minus dessert, while sorting through the school papers and mail. I did some dishes and picked up the house.
Just about the time I began feeling sorry for myself and the lack of an organized birthday celebration the phone rang and it was Sonny, then the phone rang and it was the McKelvey's singing, then the phone rang and it was Charlie, then the phone rang and it was Melissa.
I heard happy birthday from just the right amount of friends to outweigh the happy birthdays I missed from family.
So all in all a good birthday.

What did I miss?

We are nearly a third of the way through the month of November and I don't know where the days have gone. It seems like yesterday was the first of the month and the kids were still sorting out all their favorites candies collected from the night before.

Now the candy is gone and all that is left of our first Halloween in Oregon are a few Bit-O-Honey, a number of candy wrappers tossed under the couch and some photos still inside the digital camera.



I don't like this feeling of time passing so quickly. It seems as if I am missing something. One third of the month has gone by in what feels like a day or two. What did I miss?

Did I miss opportunities to go for walks with the kids?
Did I miss opportunities to just sit and listen instead of trying to impart parental wisdom?
Did I miss opportunities to appreciate my husband?
Did I miss opportunities to express to family and friends how important they are to me?

I am fairly certain that 'yes' is the answer to all those questions.

In 7 days my parents arrive and we will start planning our first Thanksgiving celebration in a new home.
And as I approach Thanksgiving I want to be conscious of each day. I will try not to let the days fly by without notice. I want to pay attention and take advantage of each and every opportunity to let those around me know how blessed I am to have them in my life.

What comes my way....

When I left Nebraska and moved to Oregon, I told myself that I was going to wait a year, I wanted to give myself 12 months, before getting too involved. I envisioned taking my time to sightsee, get familiar with the local area, and to make sure my kids and spouse were settled enough to manage at home without me here full time.

But a great opportunity popped up. I did not go looking for it, but I am glad it found its way to me.

Three weeks ago I interviewed for an AmeriCorp Vista Volunteer position with our local Habitat for Humanity. Even though I don't officially begin until next Wednesday I went to my first meeting last night. My first impression is that I am really going to enjoy working with these people for the next 12 months.

Our main goal between now and June 30, 2007 is to fundraise for and build a new two bedroom home for a single mother. I learned a lot about grants, fundraising, permits, deadlines, and construction delays in the Northwest rainy season from one short meeting.


Part of me will miss the lazy mornings around the house, the slow paced afternoons of searching for recipes and what to make for dinner, and the free evenings at home. But there is a bigger part of me that could get crazy with the lazy, slow paced, free time ALL the time.

This feels right. This challenges and excites me. This is something I would do for free (which is a good thing since the stipend is small). And... this is only for a year. This time next year I get to look be lazy, slow paced and free again until something else comes my way.

So Much to talk about...

My mind is spinning right now. There is so much to finish and prepare before I leave town tomorrow morning at 5 am.
I am heading back to Kearney to do a handful of things. But mostly I look forward to seeing our adult kids and hosting a baby shower for our oldest daughter. Boy, just the thought of me in charge of a baby shower is a bit frightening!
Melissa is due in 8 short weeks! I didn't think I would be excited to be a grandma, but I am.

Shortly after I get back home to Salem I will start my new job.
I will be the Resource Development Coordinator for the Mid-Willamette Valley Habitat for Humanity.
It is a one year position through the Americorp Vista. I am excited to venture into this new area and see what challenges lie ahead.

It seems strange to look back a few short weeks ago and see how things are so different in my life and the life of our family.
I can't begin to imagine what the next three weeks will hold for us.

Stomper or Swabby?

Yesterday we had a nearly perfect day. The weather was ideal for just sitting on the grass, enjoying wine and looking out over the valley, so we headed to the Willamette Valley Vineyards for the annual grape stomping competition. Along with the wine tasting we wanted to show our visiting family members some of the sights. What a surprise to also find great food, good music and a wide variety of fun people.


When the opportunity arose to actually enter the grape stomping competition Caroline's face lit up. "Mom, can we do it!" I said, "sure." The waiting list was quite long and I never thought we would actually get in. But we found ourselves called forward to stomp in the 3 o'clock heat.
Caroline decided to take on the roll of the stomper. The rules are to stomp for 3 full minutes without touching the sides of the barrell. The stomper is allowed to steady their self on the shoulders of the swabby. Since Caroline was the stomper, this made me the swabby. My roll was to make sure the drain hole did not get plugged and the grape juices flowed steady into the jug.

When time was called we filled a jug & a half of grape juice & pulp!



The competition was fun and fierce! Each team was striving to win the coveted prize - a trip for two to sunny California for the National competition and 2006 Grape Stomping Championship Title.

Being first timers, I never dreamt we'd be in the running, but it was close.
Two, dare I say gentlemen, experienced stompers beat us out of the semi-finals by 6 ounces. They held the record for the heats stomped on Sunday and were going on to face the winners of the Saturday heats. We didn't stick around for the finals so we don't know how close we were to winning, but we went home feeling proud of our effort and we sure did have fun!

Another little piece...

Well, they came yesterday. My new Oregon license plates arrived in the mail, the last of the vehicles to receive their new tags. This was just another little piece of the transition process. Gone are the DWNTWN Nebraska plates.



Now I am officially an Oregonian. I have the drivers license, the new tags and all I have left to do is register to vote. I have found the Oregon drivers to be incredibly gracious and courteous. I wonder how much of that was due to my out-of-state plates.




Now when I find myself in the wrong lane and need over at the last minute will people still let me in? Were they just being nice to the out-of-towner? I guess I will find out soon enough.

I am glad to have had the "I'm not from here" excuse the past few months as I have learned to negotiate a bigger city and the many unfamiliar winding streets and hills of Salem.

The difference a year makes

This time last year I found myself traveling a lot. I was swamped with arranging child care at home and coverage at work in the midst of classes and schedules filling up fast for both my kids and the youth I worked with so that I could go with my husband.






We went to Chicago








and traveled to Oregon




This year I find myself a stay at home mom.
For the first time in years, we eat home cooked meals nearly every night, my house is relatively clean, and the laundry is done. I have started two quilts and nearly finished one, reupohlstered two chairs, unboxed a plethera of belongings, as well as pulled out my art supplies, done some drawing and painting, volunteered a few times at Habitat for Humanity, and I have taken nearly two thousand digital photos all in the past few months. This is my attempt to stave off boredom.

Reflecting back on the past year I find that I am beginning to adjust. I don't think I have adjusted yet, but I am adjusting.

I came across some old photos of my former office while cleaning out the computer files. It was fun to think back to the experiences I had, the people I met, the wonderful staff I worked with. But I also thought about the struggles of working in ministry, the lack of catechists, dealing with the disgruntled parents and realized that there are some advantages to not working right now.


In looking back on where I have been in the past year I am better able to get some perspective on things. Perspective on work, on my children, on relationships, a different perspective on my life.

I don't have a clue what life will look like a year from now when I reflect back on it, but I hope that I still find that we are all in good health, loved by family and friends, that I am a grandma to a new grandchild (hopefully just one grandchild) and that perhaps I have found the time and money to go skydiving!

Fallen pride

I fell today. I fell down a couple of concrete steps, tore my jeans, skinned my knee, jammed my shoulder and wounded my pride.

Why is it so embarrassing to fall? Why is it when you fall down a couple of steps in an area with lots of business people and professional types you feel like such a loser? I wanted to just sit on my behind for a minute before picking myself up but instead hopped up quickly as if nothing happened hoping no one noticed.
And while I didn't hear anyone laughing hysterically at my clumsiness, there was no one to ask if I was okay either.

As I sit here still bothered by the pain in my swollen knee and aching shoulder, I wonder if I will tell my husband when he gets home later. Or will my wounded pride and embarrassed feeling keep this hidden inside. I also wonder if I tell him will he be the one to laugh or will he ask me if I am okay?

Then there is that quirky side of me that I get from my mom and is perpetuated by my husband that wonders ....

Was this some kind of sign or is there some hidden message in my clumsy, uncoordinated, inability to handle two simple concrete steps?

You see, I was leaving the parish office of St. Joseph's Church after picking up a job application. The parish is in need of a youth ministry coordinator for high school and middle school youth. A position that I know something about. Yet the one time I attended this parish it didn't seem to be my preference for a place to worship. So I am not sure how serious I am about this job opening. But I wanted more information.

After gathering the necessary paperwork, I shut the outer door and turned to close the iron gate that locked the parish staff securely in their office. I missed the first step, and fell.

Seeing this story retold here in the written page, I am no longering wondering, I am pretty sure my husband would laugh! He would prefer I not be employed anyway. And I am fairly certain he would consider this a sign from above that I shouldn't submit my application and resume'. :-)
Yes he would be laughing, and THEN he would ask me if I was okay.

I don't really see signs and get messages the way my mom does or the way my husband does. It is different for me.

I will admit that this incident will stick with me for a while, for at least as long as the pain does!

Learning...

We survived the first week of school for the kids. And have successfully ushered them off to begin their second week.

We have all experienced a roller coaster of emotions and feelings as supplies were purchased, new book bags were filled, clothes were laid out and the alarm clock began ringing at an inhumane early hour of the morning. The morning routine is still being experimented with in the effort to find the quickest route to and from 3 different schools in a city I am not familiar with yet.

The first couple of days were rocky for Alex and Caroline especially. But by Friday things were looking up.
Laura and Jacquie seem to be getting along better than the older ones, but I expected that.


Laura came home the first day with, "4 new friends already!"

Jacquie is doing okay but says, "I feel so Small! 8th Graders are mean."


Caroline for two days said, "I didn't talk to a single person. I don't know anyone."
And Alex said, "It was weird to be at an assembly and not know any of the school cheers, so I just sat there."

Alex at an all school assembly just sitting there? .....
Perhaps a good thing since it could keep him out of trouble, but still a little bit sad for me to hear.
All the kids are doing their best to adjust and so am I.

Salem has a number of Habitat for Humanity build sites and this year they have a home that is primarily being built by youth. I got an e-mail the other day asking if I would be interested in helping lead the youth on the build site on Saturdays. I'm not sure Jeff and the kids want me to be gone every Saturday, but I am exploring this to see what is involved.

So for the time being we are all learning. Learning to adjust, learning to make new friends, learning and listening for where we are being called.

Hummingbird

Shortly after I arrived here in Oregon we had a visit from our dear friends, Nick & Marsha. They live in the Seattle area and for many years in spite of the distance that separated us have remained close friends. They are such a gift in our lives. The long weekend that they were here they helped us unpack, build shelves, get settled, and of course take time to just sit and relax. Marsha wanted this new place to feel more homey for me and purchased flowers for my empty pots and bought a lovely hanging basket and hook for the porch.

What they don't know is they also gave us the gift of hummingbirds.

Every day between 9:30 and 10:00am we have a hummingbird that visits my hanging basket and the flowers on the porch. Today there was a pair of hummingbirds. I don't know what kind of plant is in the hanging basket. I had never seen one like it before in Kansas or Nebraska. Even though I don't know what it is called, I do know it does not like heat. Since Oregon is having a warmer summer than usual, I have worked hard to keep this plant alive. Partly because it is a symbol of the friendship we have with Nick and Marsha and partly because of the hummingbirds that enjoy it.

My plant isn't as full and as beautiful as it was when Marsha first bought it for me, but it is still a great gift to me and to the hummingbirds.

The Competitive Spirit

Competition: the act of competing; rivalry for supremacy, a prize.


I have just attempted to settle a Monopoly war between the girls. The yelling and crying could be heard throughout the house and most likely throughout the neighborhood!

The competitive spirit runs strong in our children and often is the cause of arguments and fights. I don't think any of our kids are afraid to take on a fight nor are they willing to back down once they are in the midst one.

I think they get this from their father who grew up in a very competitive family. If his family were to have a philosophy it would be, "if you are going to play, then play to win." It doesn't matter whether it is a card game, board game or general topics for discussion. I think they often take this philosophy to the extreme. In fact, when my husband was a young teen he even wrote to Milton Bradley for clarification on a Monopoly ruling that was the source of an argument he was having with his older sister. Of course, he was in the right and couldn't wait to point this out to her.

I, on the other hand, grew up in a family that had a vastly different philosophy. I would say it was more along the lines of, "You better play to have fun, and if it isn't fun for one then it isn't fun for anyone." I, myself, am non-confrontational and not very competitive. With one exception.... when I am playing against my husband.

My husband claims I turn everything with him into a competition. I don't understand this about myself. Why does it bother me to lose to the one I love? Why do I do react this way only with him? I don't have any answers.

So I have to admit the competitive spirit within our children must come from both of us, their parents.

But I think it is my job to help them strike a balance between the competitive drive to win and the desire to play for fun making sure everyone is having a good time.

After all, if it is just a game, shouldn't it be Fun?

26 years

Celebrating 26 years of marriage!

Sometimes it feels like yesterday and at other times I am very aware of each and every moment as if time has passed in slow motion.

We are blessed by 8 wonderful children, loving families, many good friends and so many good memories.

I am anxious to see what the next 26 years have in store for us!

Letting Go

I am feeling sad today and I just need someplace to share my feelings.





Sundays seem to be the most difficult day of the week for me.
Being at Mass in a strange church, not knowing anyone, is such stark contrast from where I was before I came here.
I keep telling myself it takes time. But in the meanwhile it just hurts.
I think about getting involved, volunteering, or something. But I'm not sure it would help.
I guess I am simply having trouble letting go.
I look forward to Mondays and all the other days of the weeks, when I don't wake up with the reminder of all that I left behind.
Tomorrow will be better.

Gender Roles

I grew up the second of seven siblings. There was always work to be done at our house. And my recollection is that we all pitched in to get things done. Saturday mornings the family was up early and we were presented with the list of chores to be done before we could play. There was no sleeping in for any of us.

Work inside or work outside, the choice was mine, but everyone was to work. With seven of us there was always someone who opted for the inside work. My older sister opted for the controlled environment of the inside because she liked the familiar, the certainty of the routine of folding laundry, ironing, cooking, and cleaning windows. I always went for the outside work; mowing, trimming, pulling weeds, cleaning the bar-b-que grill, changing the oil in the car, pouring concrete for the new deck, cleaning out the gutters, whatever the project was for the weekend. It didn't matter so much to me what the job was as long as I could be outside, doing something different each weekend, and working along side my dad.

I loved working with dad. I always felt confident with dad, like I could do anything I put my mind to. I felt determined and tenacious. It was never an issue of whether it was a man's job or a woman's work with dad. It was simply about finding a way to get it done. In the winter the weather took us inside more often than I would have liked. The household tasks were shared by everyone. I watched my dad fold laundry, vacuum, cook and clean right along with the rest of us. He makes the best onion parmesan bread! There were little if any specific gender roles defined between my parents. Us kids, sons and daughters alike, were taught to cook and mow, we were taught to hammer and sew. And I assumed this was how everyone else was raised.

I am trying to raise my children the same way. My daughters are taught how to change their own tires and my sons are taught to sew on a button. They all know how to cook, although some are better than others. Taking out the trash is everyone's responsibilty, and not reserved for just the guys, and same with the yard work. And they all know how to do their own laundry.

For the four months that my husband and I lived in separate states he did his own laundry. He is very competent. He even went to a laundry-mat to do this. And when we bought our new home, he purchased a wonderful new set of energy efficient washer and dryer to go in the new laundry room. When we all moved and joined him, he taught us how the new appliances worked. I was excited he would be sharing in the household chores with the rest of us. Or so I thought.

It is more evident to me now that although I grew up in a home with very blurred gender roles, my husband didn't. Not only would his father not do his own laundry, his mother would never allow her husband to do the laundry. And it would seem that the way we are raised, the nurture part of our person is very difficult to change.

So I had better stop here and go put my husbands clothes in the dryer.

Celebrating Birthdays

In the past ten days we have had two family birthdays to celebrate. We have always celebrated birthdays with just us, just family. On a few occasions perhaps friends or our parish priest would join us, or once in a while extended family were in town, but for the most part only our immediate family made the guest list.

Now we are in Oregon. I never thought much about how things would be different in terms of birthday celebrations. After all, we never invited a lot of people. However this past month brought two Birthdays, and two very different celebrations.

I imagine most people think of a family of seven as a large family, but to us it feels small. With Lindsey away, we only numbered six. Six of us gathered around a homemade cake to sing happy birthday and watch Alex blow out all 15 candles. As much as we tried to be enthusiastic and sing with our best voices, it seemed to lack something more than the correct pitch or tone.



Eight days later we gathered around a cake and prepared to sing and watch Laura blow out her nine candles. It took several attempts, but she accomplished her task and is waiting to see if her wish comes true.




Same kitchen, same type of cake, similar candles, yet vastly different celebrations. This time we numbered ten! Lindsey was back and in addition Brad, Aimee and Mike flew in from Nebraska. I have always been surrounded by family. And as chaotic as life can be in a large household, it is a wonderful way to celebrate.

We all went to 11:00 Mass on Sunday and nearly filled the pew. Having so many of us there together felt familiar, it felt more like home, yet it also left me with an emptiness. An empty feeling from knowing our family time wasn't complete without Melissa and Justin. An emptiness knowing that this was only temporary and in a few days we would be back to a family of 7.

I don't know how to adjust to this new life. I don't suppose there is anyway to fill the hole that comes from being separated from my children. And even if I could fill the hole, or fill the emptiness I feel, I don't think I would. The emptiness, the sadness, the loss I feel also makes me incredibly aware of how much I love them. It makes me appreciate all the more how they have grown to be such wonderful young adults and how proud I am to call them my children.

I suppose this is one of those situations where people would tell me, "give it time, it will get better" and I suppose that is true. In time we will adjust to our smaller family size and we will need to continue to adjust as more children leave and go to live their own lives, But I hope that I always feel just enough emptiness to know how full and rich my life is because of family.

Getting Creative for a cause

In between the moments of chaos and moments of boredom I have been trying to get the creative juices flowing again. Whatever it is that flows within me to bring out my creative side seems a bit dry or stagnant lately. I have been called on for the third time now to create a quilt for a friend who has cancer. ( I think I mentioned this in an earlier blog, or maybe I didn't, but since this blog is just for me I guess it doesn't matter. )
The only perameters and suggestions were something red and hearts might be good.

The first quilt I designed and helped sew was for Jody. After all her hair fell out she was sharing with a number of us how odd it felt to have her head stick to the back of the vinyl recliner in the Chemo room where she was spending so much of her time. None of us would have thought about this before. Why would we? Because of Jody's openness with us and her willingness to share her experience of cancer treatment, Barb and I began a quilt for her, Rosebuds for Recovery. As more friends heard of our project we had more offers to help with the handstitching, even those who had never sewed before were taught enough to put in a few stitches. In the end it was not a perfectly handmade quilt, but it was a quilt handmade with love in every sense of the word. Jody's quilt has since been shared with other women who have had need for it during Chomo treatments.

A few years after we made Rosebuds for Recovery we found out Ron had cancer. It was obvious to all of us that at nearly 6 foot 5 inches that Ron would need his own quilt and it would need to reflect his wonderful personality and strong nature. This time all of us, including Jody, were involved in the assembly and quilting of Ron's quilt. And I had more help in the design process as well. It was a beautiful quilt filled with vibrant colors that spaned the spectrum of the rainbow.



Ron lost his battle with cancer not too many months after we finished his quilt. My feelings were mixed at seeing it draped over his coffin at the funeral. A quilt is a symbol for warmth and comfort and seeing it over a cold, hard coffin was difficult to wrap my mind around. Yet in some way it felt so appropriate. It was as if each small piece of fabric blended together making one splendid quilt was a symbol for how we all came together because of Ron's friendship. What better image to portray what we all felt in the church at his funeral than the Quilt of Many Colors? All our lives had been touched by Ron, and we were all there collectively to celebrate his life and mourn our loss.

Part of the awesome spirit of the former quilts was the relationships that were deepened through the quilt-making process. Much of that is lost this time since I am now in Oregon and everyone else is back in Nebraska. But, I need to give my head, my heart, and my creativity to this quilt for Julie. I want her to have her own quilt so that Jody's can be passed on to someone else. I want her to know that we care as much for her as we do for Jody and Ron. I know she will recognize many of the same fabrics since she has helped us in the past, and I hope this holds special meaning for her. Time is of utmost importance and I hope in the future Julie is around to share this quilt with others like Jody.

Finding My Spirit

I have always thought of myself as an upbeat, positive person. I have always involved myself in many forms of ministry, through home, through work, through family, and even through play.
For the most part, I see life as a gift and blessing and that holds true for our new surroundings.
I am beginning my fifth week in this new place. There are so many great things about living in Salem. We are only 60 minutes from the beach, 60 minutes from a major city with lots of activities, and 60 minutes from the mountains. The town itself has a great parks system and there are some wonderful activities to participate in every day. This is a beautiful place to live and things are going well. We have a great house, the kids are adjusting, my husband loves his job, my sister is thrilled to have family in the area... the list of blessings goes on and on.

So why can't I see the gift for me in this move?
Why do I feel sad or bored most of the time? It was only four months ago that I would have loved to be at home with no schedule or activites to prevent me from doing whatever I chose to do that day. Why am I having such a hard time with all of this? Why do I feel as if I am slipping into a void?

I've been trying to understand this change in myself. I want to feel whole again and not like I do today, torn apart, as if a huge part of me is missing. But I suppose that is the problem.... a huge part of me is missing. A part of my spirit is gone. I don't think it is gone forever. I think it is just gone for a while; gone, missing, misplaced, as if my spirit is not yet unboxed after the move.


A couple of months ago I shared with a good friend my fear of leaving my minstry and leaving my friends. I knew this was going to be difficult. It already felt painful to thinking about it. I shared my feelings and fears of not knowing how to let go. How does one leave something so integral to ones spirit? His words weren't easy to hear, but they were the words I needed to hear.

He told me, "It's not about you! Just go! Your spirit will find you."

His words helped me break away and make the move, but now that I am here it still feels as if my spirit is what is packed away in a box somewhere that I haven't opened yet. I don't feel whole without it and I am falling away, falling down, just falling. I don't know what to do. Where do I look? Or am I supposed to be patient and let my spirit find me again?


All I am left with are questions that no one can answer, a little bit of trust that I will be reunited with my spirit, and a lifeline of hope that there is something out there for me.

They say change is good....

They say change is good. They say change is difficult. They say change is inevitable. I think it is safe to say that even though I don't know who "they" are, I have found these three statements about change to be true for me.

I have eight children. It doesn't seem that long ago that all ten of us lived under one roof as a family. One family living, sharing, fighting, loving, annoying, and laughing together. However when I think about how long ago it has been since we shared the same home I realize that it has been seven years now. Seven years! When did all this time pass and how did it pass by without me knowing it? Four of our eight children have graduated high school and are on their own life's journey.
And in many ways my own life journey has taken a new turn as well.


One month ago I and four of our children left Kearney, my home of nearly thirteen years, to join my husband (and child #6) in Salem Oregon where he had been living and working for the previous four months. It was with very mixed emotions that I started my car and began the trek 1500+ miles across the country to join them in our new house. Waving to me in the rear view mirror was my oldest daughter and her husband (who will soon give birth to our first grand child) along with our oldest son, our third child, and a couple of dear friends.


This past month has found me experiencing life in vastly different surroundings. Everything about where I live and work is different. I expected vast differences especially in terms of our terrain and climate. But there are differences that one never anticipates until you are right there living and trying to function in a new environment such as: where do you buy groceries? What isle is the lemon juice in? Why can't I pump my own gasoline? Who are these people we are calling neighbors? Where is the dump? How do I find someone to cut and color my hair? Which schools do I enroll the kids in? How do I choose a parish, by boundaries or by where I want to worship? Where is the liquor store?
There is a lot to be learned and a lot to adjust to. Most of the time I feel as if my world has been turning, spinning and rotating and I am just trying to stay upright.
I have found that when I can go to the beach and just sit by the ocean then I feel more solid, I feel more grounded, I feel a sense of peace in my world.
I hope to get to the beach more often until I don't need to go to the beach as often.