The beauty of broken things........

The sky deepens in shimmering colors of gold and burgundy.
Reflected on the water, the colors look like pieces of broken glass.
And I am reminded again of the beauty of broken things.

So much is broken,
But there is grace and beauty in broken things.

A bird circles slowly above,
One small wing bent down and under,
Unable to stretch into the wind and catch the swirl
Of the warm currents.

She is like an old woman making her way down a long hall
Legs unable to respond to the whispering command, "Go".
She weaves and falters and weaves again,
A dance no longer controlled.

And so the bird dances.
Around and around she goes
Unable to turn sharp or dive.
But the circles she carves are graceful,
Touching,
Simple and right
As though the hand of God himself is painting her path.

She cannot fly like before.
But neither can she stop trying.
She flies above the colors of broken glass
In the early morning light

And I see the beauty of broken things.

Morning people.......

Surprisingly, I am becoming a morning person. Well, at least, a little tiny part of me is becoming a morning person. I wake up early every day these days, most often while it is still dark. I watch out through the sliding glass door in my room as the sun rises out over the marsh. It is a beautiful site. I slipped out early the other morning and took this picture, shivering in the chilly air. The colors are so extraordinary - the purples and the pinks, the deep blues and the soft then bright yellows, oranges, and golds.

The colors are reflected in the waters of the marsh and at sunrise, the marsh is incredibly quiet. The water birds have not yet begun their daily raucous routines. It is a time of intense peace. I have been watching it most everyday. I often go back to sleep, if there's time, once the sun is up and the sky has turned its normal grey-blue. I dose and dream. My dreams are different these days. Still more likely to be strange than reasonable, but not so intense as before. Not so woven with emotion - just collections of weird and random thoughts and pictures. I have woken recently laughing just as frequently as I've woken with tears on my cheeks.

I have thought a lot about Garland Perry in the past few weeks. My children's great-grandfather, his name was the name we gave my son Daniel as a middle name. He used to go to bed before the sun was even set, while it was still light outside and then was up in the wee hours of the morning, well before sunrise. He was well up in his eighties and said that when a man had lived as long as he had, he should be grateful for every sunrise he got to witness. And Mr. Perry didn't intend to miss a single sunrise if he could help it.

I am not near so old as Mr. Perry, but well into the second half of my life. Well into this time they call middle age. As each year passes, I understand more about what Mr. Perry was talking about. I appreciate the sunrise. I am grateful that I get to see it. I am especially grateful for the particularly beautiful sunrises that I get to witness from my bedroom now that I have moved to this wonderful house in Willis Wharf. I don't even have to get out from under the covers. I only have to turn just so and then open my eyes. And there she is.

What a gift!

Peace.

Home again..........

It was a wonderful long weekend in Carolina. Very full, of course, with family and friends and traveling from one end of the state to the other. I got to see both my boys - that was the most important part of the whole weekend - just seeing them with my own two eyes and wrapping my arms around them and being physically close to them. I do quite well most of the time with my missing them. I miss them something awful. Sometimes it feels like an ache. Sometimes it feels like a heaviness. Sometimes it feels like a sorrow inside. Most days, it just feels like I've lost something essential. You know the feeling? Like when you've set your keys down somewhere and you can't find them. You know they're there somewhere but you just can't put your hands on them! That kind of feeling!

The entire family was there for Thanksgiving dinner, save one nephew who is in drug treatment and another nephew who seriously needs to be. The latter was there but wasn't really there at all. He was in a drug-induced place where we couldn't really reach him and he couldn't really reach us. It made me incredibly sad. And angry, too, that he would bring the chill of that place into my brother's warm house and into our loving family's presence. He is very very sick - the better part of me understands that. But another part of me can't understand how he could be in company with us like that.

We ate until we were stuffed! And then, of course, ate some more! After dinner, we got out banjos, guitar, and mandolin and played music in the little den. My youngest nephew, Timothy, played his piano recital piece. Then he and his brothers recited their Bible verses they've memorized for the Christmas program at their church. My niece Alex and I sang "Puff the Magic Dragon" - a song I have known my entire life. Daniel sang "Wagon Wheel" and played the mandolin, Jacob played rhythm guitar and Scott played banjo. I sang the harmony vocals. And I got that almost perfect "life is good" feeling. It was an almost perfect Thanksgiving. (see paragraph above for explanation of the 'almost').

Saturday morning, Scott and I headed up to the mountains. He'd never seen the North Carolina mountains before, and the closer we got, the more excited I got about showing him the part of the world I consider home and also that I consider among the most beautiful in the world. (I haven't seen a lot of the world - but of all the places I've seen, none has been more beautiful than the North Carolina mountains, with the possible exception of Ireland). We drove through Morganton and I took him by and showed him my old house. It's for sale. I almost cried. I wish I was rich. I'd buy it back tomorrow. I loved that house dearly.

It was rainy and foggy the whole two days we were there, but we had a wonderful time. We stayed with Bobbi and Steve. Scott fell in love with the whole area around Old Fort. And I figured he would, but then you never know! It was great to just be with Bobbi and Steve again. Just to be there. Like the feelings I have about my children and my parents - I miss Bobbi and Steve that much, too. Sometimes, on Friday afternoons, I want to just get in my car and take off. If I leave right from work (on time) and drive right there, I can be there by one in the morning. That's not so late!!

Back home last night, tired and sore from the long drive but full and happy, too. It was good to crawl into my bed and snuggle down under the comforter. Baby was particularly happy to be home. My cats were nowhere to be found last night or this morning, though Jericho showed up just as I was pulling out to head to work. Old girl, I was sure glad to see her! I slept well, deep and solid, only waking twice to slip out into the chilly air to visit the bathroom. Back at work today and prepared for another week of work.

Thankful. For so many things.......... for Daniel's quick wit and sweet spirit and pure heart; for Jacob's ease with himself and others and his good heart; for my father and mother's love for me and each other and my brothers and sisters; for Scott's company on another long drive down to Carolina and back with no arguing!!! no tension!!! just ease! for Bobbi, Steve, and Crystal and our enduring friendship; for safe travels; for Baby's quiet company in the back seat; for the knowledge that I am wealthy beyond measure because I am so richly blessed with the things that matter the most.

Peace.

Family ties............

My nephew Luke, my younger brother Eric and his wife Tina, and my beautiful niece Alex. One of my favorites things about spending time with my brother Eric and his family is that they all enjoy each other so much. When you're with them, the happiness that comes from that just radiates outward and seeps into your heart and you find yourself just smiling, all the time. It was a Happy Thanksgiving. Good food, good fun, lots of love, and some good old homemade, bluegrass music thrown in for good measure. Add the sweet sound of a little girl's voice singing "Puff the Magic Dragon" with her Aunt Lisa - seems to me that it just doesn't get any better than that.

Hope Thanksgiving was just as good for everyone.

I have a lot to be thankful for - and I know it. Life is good. And family ties are a precious gift that hold us fast when the world around us is going crazy.

Peace.

Jacob and me

This is a picture of my son Jacob and me at the Cafe Luna in Raleigh during the annual Stevens' family night at the Opera. We were on our way to see "La Boheme", my mom's favorite opera. We had a great time!

Thanksgiving

If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, "Thank you", that would suffice.
-----Meister Eckhart


I whisper in the night, "Thank you".
I sing in the morning, "Thank you".
I love and I say, "Thank you".
I feel and I cry, "Thank you."
I see the world around me in all its beauty and all its struggle and I pray always, "Thank you."

Peace.

John Denver

A woman named Kathleen posted a comment on one of my posts from earlier this morning. I went to her blog and spent some time there and was reminded that today was the anniversary of the day John Denver died in a plane crash. I still remember that day. My friend Katy called me to tell me the news. In high school, Katy spent hours and hours listening to me play the guitar (badly) and sing. Most of the songs I sang back in high school were John Denver's. I learned to play the guitar by playing his music.

The very first time I played in public - at fourteen!! - I played at the Sunshine Festival on NC State's campus. I was scared to death and microphone shy so I just played and sang. I didn't speak a word until just before the last song and I said, "I guess you know by now that I like John Denver." I'd played only his songs.

His music introduced me to songwriting. His music introduced me to the joy of singing from the heart. His music introduced me to my greatest muses: love, longing, Mother Nature, friendship, and music herself.

Here is a You Tube video of John Denver from 1976 - the year before I graduated from high school! (Check out the shirt!) I loved John Denver best in his early days when he was goofy and unafraid of being different. Because I was different, too.

I was a horrible teenager. I gave my parents hell!! My mother has always said she doesn't know how any of us would have survived my adolescence without that guitar!! I understood then and continue to understand how my guitar saved me. And because I have always understood how much my guitar saved me, this has always been my favorite John Denver song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_52ob3uVI4

Peace. And thank you, Kathleen from Pennasylvania for reminding me. My memories have been so full today.

My Baby........

Is this not a face that would melt your heart?

This is Baby.

She's one of the most loving dogs I've ever known. She adores me and thinks I hung the moon!

She's a great friend, too.

Not much of a guard dog - not a mean bone in her body - but she lets me know if there are strangers about (especially strange cats!).

My view of the world...........

This is my view of the world these days. This is the view from the little deck upstairs on the back of my house, right outside my bedroom. This is what I see every morning when the sun calls me awake. It's very beautiful, especially in the early morning when the sun is rising. I'm on the seaside now, and the sun rises right out my window.

I feel so peaceful here.

I wish it for everyone. Here's peace to ya!

Smart woman......

From the brilliant mind of Eleanor Roosevelt:

"Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people."

"I can not believe that war is the best solution. No one won the last war, and no one will win the next war."

"In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility."

"It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness."

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"Probably the happiest period in life most frequently is in middle age, when the eager passions of youth are cooled, and the infirmities of age not yet begun; as we see that the shadows, which are at morning and evening so large, almost entirely disappear at midday."

"Sometimes I wonder if we shall ever grow up in our politics and say definite things which mean something, or whether we shall always go on using generalities to which everyone can subscribe, and which mean very little."

"You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give."

"When will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it? "

IT

I said, "Take this from me.
It's too heavy to carry
And I don't want the burden of it anymore.
It has weighed me down for so long.
Please, take it from me.
It changes me, it ages me,
It takes away my grace and my peace.
I fail myself because of it.
It does me no good.
It does you no good.
Please, take it from me.
I can hear the cracks it makes.
I can feel the shudder it sends up my spine.
It clings to me like beggar lice from the field.
I hate it. I hate the feeling it brings.
It is cold. It eats up my joy.
Don't you understand?!
Please take it from me.
I don't want it anymore."

I cried and I pleaded.
And then I simply asked,
"Why won't you take it from me?"

And you said, "I cannot take it if you won't let it go."

"Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. "
-----Tom Wilson

Ethan.........

I absolutely love this video! It's been around for a long time and I'm sure a lot of you have seen it. It's been viewed 19,000,000 times! I go watch it ever so often to just feel good!

Here's to the sheer joy of laughter!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXXm696UbKY

Dave Loggins put it into words a whole lot better than I think I could:

"Now this drifter's world goes 'round and 'round and I doubt if it's ever gonna stop.

But of all the dreams I've lost and found and all that I ain't got,

I still need to cling to somebody I can sing to."

That sure is the truth of it.

Peace.

Heckling........

I played at the 8th Annual Shore Made Festival yesterday. Scott and Clark were my back-up band. We practiced a lot before the Festival, especially Scott and I, as playing folk music on a banjo is not always easy! Scott's a great banjo player, and I knew he'd get it all! And he did! We were all excited about the day and being there and performing as a trio. We did pretty good. We had a couple of glitches here and there but, all in all, we were pleased with our performance. They called us to the stage 15 minutes early, so it was kind of a mad dash there in the last few minutes before we started. I enjoy playing with Scott and Clark so much. It's so much more fun than playing by myself!! And they add so much to my music.

I got heckled for the first time - ever. Even when I played at fourteen and fifteen and I pretty much sucked and I played in front of other teenagers - I never got heckled. And then, at nineteen and twenty and twenty-one, when I played with my friend Patti O'Conner all those times in bars, singing folks songs to drunks - I never got heckled. So yesterday's heckler was a big shock to me. He came down to the front of the stage and yelled at me, raising his arms up over his head and shaking his fists. He had a little boy with him, maybe three years old, his nephew, who copied him and shook his fists, too. I wondered if he even thought about what he was teaching that little boy.

It wasn't about the music. It was a personal thing. It was an act of anger. It was an act of spite, meant to degrade me and make me feel bad. It was meant to do nothing else but make me feel bad. And it worked. I think I could have played anything and he would have done the same thing. The son-in-law of an ex-boyfriend, he was just looking for a reason. Why? Hell, I don't know!! To listen to him, he was yelling at me because of the choice of my last song. But someone else sang it earlier in the day, and I didn't see him heckle that man. And if it was because it was a song that his wife sang - because it was "her song"- if she had been performing, I wouldn't have sung it. Hell! Around here you have to ask permission to sing anything else except your own songs. Like somebody owns the music or something. I don't get it. I don't get it at all. Scott and I just played that song in church last week. We didn't play it to hurt anybody or slight anybody. We played it because we love the song and the three of us play it well together. Period. That's the reason. What is wrong with that? I don't get it. I don't get it at all.

At first, I was mad as hell. It happened during the last song. And I came off the stage and I was so angry, had he gotten close to me, I would have slammed him with my guitar. I wanted to slap him across the face as hard as I could. Or punch him in the stomach. I was so angry. He came back behind the stage and threw out a couple more remarks, but Scott and Clark stood on either side of me and told him, without saying much, to back off. I think a part of me is still mad but not as mad as I was yesterday.

Mostly, it was just a huge disappointment. I've had several experiences now, here on the Eastern Shore, where my music has been invaded - by anger, by hate, by spite, by sadness, by jealousy, by pride. My music has always been a place that I could crawl into and feel a sense of myself unbroken, a sense of my spirit protected - and that sense of un-brokenness and protection has given me the ability to share my music, and therefore a part of myself and my spirit, with other people. Even when the songs I sing are immensely sorrowful, there has always been that part of my spirit that felt wrapped up by the music. These experiences here make me want to not do it anymore.

But, singing is as much a part of me as breathing. Like my sister Emily, music is one of my earliest memories. Music is my oldest friend. I cannot imagine a life apart from singing. I don't know what I'd do without that solace in my life.

So I'll just go on. And in time, the intensity of the experience will mellow. And the memory of it will become separated from the meaning of it and the history behind it. And it will become simply: the memory of the first time I got heckled. For now, though............

Let go. Let God. Get on with life. Get good. Grab the world by the tail and hang on for the ride. It's a rough and rocky place and there are people who come at you sometimes with a mean spirit. But, in the end, this world is what we got. And the next bit of beauty is just right around the bend.

Peace.

I'm so excited.....

I've got DSL!! I have finally moved into the modern age of computer technology at home! I can hardly believe that my old computer can move that fast. I was skeptical. I was figuring that I'd pay the extra bucks to get DSL and my computer would still move at glacial speed. I was wrong! It moves at a speed somewhere between moving-car speed and maybe a jet-ski-like speed. It's great. It actually stays connected!

I hope I get email. I've gotten out of touch with my email buddies since I moved to the Eastern Shore because trying to connect and stay connected with dial-up became a painful process. No more! So to anybody out there who might want someone to converse with by way of email, I'd love to converse!

So be expecting a bit more consistency with my blog! I can get to it, stay with it, and actually add pictures and stuff without it taking up an entire evening and a chunk of what little sanity I still have intact!

Peace.

Politics.....

I've been trying to keep my political cards close to my chest so as not to offend anyone I might offend by having my own feelings about things and people and choices and all. I haven't wanted anyone to lose sleep over who I might vote for. I talk politics a little with my banjo teacher Bates and his lovely wife, Jody. I see them as being wise and connected to the bigger picture and cool, in the way an almost 50-year-old hippie-wannabe would see folks like Jody and Bates as cool. They are cool. So I don't mind hearing what they have to say about the politics at hand. It either reaffirms what I'm thinking to date OR it makes me think a little harder about what I'm thinking to date, depending. I talk with my son Daniel about politics, too. He's more actively involved and on top of things than I am. I believe everything he tells me because he's my kid and he's a good one. I don't mind leaning in the same direction as he leans being I figure he gets his leanings from his mom.

I talk a little bit of politics with my boss, Dr. Scott. Mostly we rib each other, but in a good way. He likes to poke fun at what he thinks are my obvious "bleeding heart liberal Democratic" tendencies. One of the ways he likes to tease me the most is to tell me that I sound like a Republican! I'm not a Republican, by the way. I am a registered Democrat. But let me tell you the story of how I got that way:

I registered to vote for the first time in 1979 as Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan were getting ready to run against one another. In North Carolina, you can't vote in the primaries as an Independent - you either have to be a Democrat or a Republican. So I was trying to decide how to register. I'd taken a poli-sci class and learned about our country's political parties in college, but, basically, I pretty much had no clue what it all meant. My father is a Republican. My mother is a Democrat. At that point in my life (I was 20), I kind of aligned myself a little bit more with my dad, for some reason. I think mostly because he loves music and is a huge procrastinator like me. So I was thinking I would register as a Republican - to be like my dad. I mean, that's not such a bad reason, right? Think of how many other people have done that........

The night before I was going to register, we had a little get together at our house. I was living with several other people in a big old house outside of Boone. So we were having this get-together and I was telling a friend of mine - Lee Carter - about how excited I was about registering to vote the next day. So he asked me how I was going to register. And I told him I was going to register as a Republican (I didn't go into any of the explanation about my dad and all......I was afraid I'd sound like a kid and Lee was older and intimidating). He looked me right in the eye and said, "Hell girl! You don't make enough money to be a Republican!!". So I registered as a Democrat. I was afraid I'd have to show proof of income or something!

That's no joke. That really happened.

I was incredibly bummed out when Jimmy Carter lost his bid that next year for re-election. I liked Jimmy Carter. I thought he was a good president - in the way that a 20-year-old, non-TV-watching, mountain-climbing, vegetarian, hippie-chick, bartender/cook/waitress thinks someone is a good president. By the way he presented himself. I mean, I liked the things he seemed to believe in and wanted to try to do.

As the years have gone by, I've been glad I registered the way I did. Had I registered as a Republican, I'd have probably jumped ship a long time ago and switched sides anyway. I was so bummed out after the whole Jimmy Carter thing that I didn't vote again for awhile. I became apathetic, like a lot of Americans. During the last election, I got pretty riled up. And I kept after my patients to "go vote, go vote". I asked a local elections board official to send somebody to stand in front of my office and register folks coming in and out. I was working in a county in western North Carolina that had been particularly hard hit by the economic dysfunction of the country. Supported almost entirely by the furniture industry, our county had seen massive lay-offs over the previous two-years. A huge number of folks in the county were unemployed. And almost all of our patients were on Medicaid. It was a mess. The county was a mess. The people in the county were a mess. And anger was rampant. My boss was angry. The office manager was angry. Almost all of the patients were angry and confrontational.

The county overwhelmingly voted for "four more years". I was so stunned, I almost had decided to give up voting again. Daniel had the same feeling. He couldn't believe his vote didn't change the outcome of the election.

I have decided that I will vote. And I'm an Obama supporter. I will be glad to explain why to anybody who wants to ask me why. My reasons, you will find, are not so much politically based as they are based on my own personal feelings about all sorts of different things. I don't apologize for them. They are my feelings and I have good strong reasons for them. At least in my own mind I do.

Plus I just can't seem to bring myself to vote for Sarah Palin as vice-president. I know, I know - it's a presidential election BUT I think now it's becoming about more than just who we elect as president. All of sudden, the country is becoming fully aware of the implications and the ramifications of who the vice-president is going to be. I'm thinking John McCain might have made a really huge mistake. That's just my own opinion. My own thinking out loud. Having Sarah Palin for vice-president would certainly give us four good years of laughs. It's already started and sometimes it's funnier than hell!! But I think about what would happen if......... and it's an "if", I realize that but - just think - IF some madman takes John McCain out (or a heart attack or melanoma or a car wreck), as smart and as strong as she is, I don't think Sarah could keep us all together. Look at the division that's already occured! I don't think she could do it. And, more than any other time in my short life, I believe we're in a time where we all need to be together.

Reminds me of a song from the sixties! I swear I should have been a hippie!

Enough on politics. Peace to ya!

Things that matter.......

It's amazing sometimes how profound things can come to you in small ways. How big realizations sometimes are actually the smallest of things. My mind has been working in fits and starts lately - sometimes so overly active I can hardly stand it, and other times in a dreamy, sleepy haze. It's funny to me that I've had some startling revelations in those dreamy, hazy hours.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the things that really matter. In the end, does anything really matter at all? In this crazy world, in the frenzy of this life-long dance, are there things that matter the most? Should I be focusing on those things? Should I be setting aside my worries about all those other things that might not matter at all?

I'm realizing that the answers to those questions - for me - are "yes", "yes", "yes" and "yes"!! I catch myself some days, worrying about things that seem so big to me and so important - those are days when my mind is most likely working too hard and spinning like a top on a slick surface. When I slow down, breath deep, wipe away the tears of anxiety, and let go - let myself drift - I see how small they are sometimes, or I see that I am not connecting to what is most important.

So what is important? I've been learning, and will continue to learn I'm sure - that "things" are not very important at all. "Possessions" can be lost so quickly. My most powerful lesson in this regard came when I lost my house in Morganton. I actually didn't lose it. I had to sell it to keep from losing it. It was my first house. I worked my ass off to save the down payment, to pay the second mortgage off in two years, to paint and fix and claim that house as my own. In the end, I had to sell her and let her go. It hurt. And I grieved over that for a long time - but, in the end, I still have shelter. I still have a home. I am still the person that I've always been.

I've squandered a small fortune in the past ten years on "things". I wish I hadn't but I did. I am seeing that the THINGS that are important are minimal - it is the love of family that is important; the ties that bind, the links that stay no matter the time, the conflict - those that you love because they are your history, part of the blood that pulses through you and keeps you alive.

I see, too, that it is the strength and sheer power of faith and hope that can sustain us through trial after trial after trial. The love we have for God, the love we have for one another, the love God has for us. We hold it dear, carry it like a shield, and are brave enough to continue on.

The ability to share the sweetness of laughter and the salt-water relief of tears are incredibly vital - if you doubt that, sit down and talk for awhile with someone who has lost the ability to cry! it's a dreadful thing to lose.

The sound of music is important. Music matters - the notes that touch the very soul then resonate and vibrate inside long after the notes have faded and silence or chatter have taken their place. Where would I be without my music? Where would any of us be? Almost all of us have it - and if we don't, someone should help us find it, it is so important, music is. Rap, pop, opera, funk, punk, rock, bop, jazz, reggae, folk, fast, slow, full, sparse - it doesn't matter the type really - we are all called and touched by some form of it. We are all followed by an ongoing soundtrack. It rings in us. It defines us in ways that nothing else can.

Having someone in your life with whom you are truly and powerfully connected - ah!! that's something worth fighting for, something worth seeking. I've learned that it doesn't have to be a lover or a sweetheart (though the touch of a lover or the kiss of a sweetheart reaches a part of the heart that only the lover can). What is important is the connection - strong, true, right, powerful - a dear friend, a beloved child, a cherished sister or brother - those connections will hold you up when darkness comes. Those connections will sit at your side and never leave. Those connections carry a part of your very essence that will continue on long after you're gone.

By way of the things that matter, I am learning how beautiful the world can be. I remember the wonderful years when my children were small, when I saw the world through their eyes, when I saw the world again with the eyes of a child. And it was so beautiful, so amazing, so full of wonder. I am seeing the world in that way again in recent months. Seeing so many beautiful things. I have been spending a lot of time with a man who has a sweet, gentle, tender spirit. I watch him watching the world. I see the look of wonder on his face when he looks at the world as a child would. I follow his gaze and then follow his example, and the beauty is so clear and evident to me. It is such a joy to see and feel beauty like that again - hummingbirds and butterflies and my cat stalking a bug in the grass; the invisible movement of the Spirit through one person to another when the choir sings; the pink and purple glow that precedes the sunrise and follows the sunset.

I think being able to SEE like that - I think that matters, too. While the candidates roar and rage about one another, spouting out about how good, the one and bad, the other; when the economy continues to crash and burn; when murder and suicide attack right down the street and lay claim to someone I might have just seen yesterday; when drugs and alcohol eat away at the lives of people that I love and I am powerless to stop the decimation - oh, I believe, in my childlike heart, that being able to smile at the sweetness in the brown eyes of my dog Baby or marvel at the rush of joy I feel slipping my hand inside another's; I believe seeing and feeling the little pieces of beauty and grace all around - those things matter. Those things will save us somehow.

Peace.

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall

Fall is coming....... in the early morning breeze, I can feel autumn whispering into the back of my neck and across the skin of my shoulders. The time is already changing and darkness is coming on earlier. While the colors are not changing yet in the marsh, there are different flowers blooming in my garden now, and the summer flowers are fading. The kids returned to school today - a new year, a new start, time advancing ahead of us with our children in tow.

I feel a pull toward the mountains as the fall comes on. I don't believe I will ever grow away from that pull, no matter how far I go or how long I stay away. The change in the air calls me back to the mountains. Fall days were always my happiest - the days I thought the most beautiful.

The geese are coming over the marsh every day. Most days, I hear them both morning and evening. I am amazed and thrilled that I am again in their flight path. They flew over my house every evening in Morganton, fall and spring, on their way. And now they are here, flying over every day. I don't know as they are on their way anywhere. Maybe they live here year-round? Like the folks from New Jersey, they've decided to stay? I guess I'll have to wait for winter to see if they are stay-heres.

On the Eastern Shore, there are two kinds of folks - "been heres" and "come heres". I suppose the geese would officially be "come heres", which makes me feel much better about being a "come here" myself. (And nobody has to worry about me messing up a golf course!!) For all their trouble, the geese do sing a beautiful song - one that I never have tired of.

I am very happy these days. Not happy-la-la-happy. Not goofy-giggly-happy (though I can get to gigglin' pretty good here lately!). Mostly at-peace-in-the-bone-content-in-my-own-skin-happy. Peace in the bone. Sounds like a song coming on.

Peace in the bone to ya.

If You Stay........

I posted the lyrics to this song in the lyrics of the day section. It took me days to find out who wrote it. The link below is a video of Heidi Talbot singing it.

I hope it'll work. If it doesn't and you have the time and the inclination, you can paste this link into your browser and try to get the video that way or just google Heidi Talbot and it'll come up.

I think this is a beautiful song. I stumbled upon it accidentally. And have listened to it a hundred times since.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=haFgm3IhNm0

Pure joy.......

Even when I am scared to death, singing is pure joy to me. I have been so very blessed to have my old guitar and my voice (even when it does shake!!) and a longing to share my heart with the world through my music. This is from the Swannanoa Gathering last year. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hlf_qU7RXQ

Peace to you.

Home again.......

I am home from the Swannanoa Gathering and back to my sweet house in Willis Wharf. This was my thirteenth Swannanoa Gathering. In those thirteen years, I've only gotten homesick twice. In the summer of 2004, Jacob went backpacking in the Sierra Nevada mountains in California and was gone for a month. He was 16. It was the longest I'd ever been away from him in our lives together. I was very homesick that summer at Swannanoa and ready to leave before the week was out. I was ready to be home so that he would be home!

The second time it happened was this past week. The intense part of it was short-lived and came on the fifth day (no matter where I roam, I always get a pull toward home on the fifth day away. I don't know!? I don't understand it either!). But during the whole week I was there, I had a longing for home - my home here on the Eastern Shore. It feels good to say it like that - "MY home here on the Eastern Shore". The transition has finally happened. It was a long time in coming. I didn't think I'd ever feel like this was home.

I arrived home yesterday afternoon to find beautiful canna lilies blooming in the garden. The site of the water, the marsh, the birds, the sun and those canna lilies just took my breath away. My yard had been freshly mowed and the garden trimmed. All the birdfeeders had been filled. The floors were swept clean. The plants had all been watered. There was a bouquet of fresh cut flowers on my kitchen table and another bouquet of white roses in my room. Two pounds of steamed shrimp were waiting in the refrigerator. And a sweetheart of a man was there to greet me, just grinning, eyes sparkling.

I keep pinching myself, wondering, "Is this is real??!".

I walked out to the flower garden this morning and leaned in to smell the canna lilies. Then I promptly sneezed full force! I do believe it's real.

My friends at Swannanoa tell me that I look disgustingly happy! And they all joined in on the celebration that "Yes, I am!". We sang and played and laughed and giggled and talked and shared meals together. And I was surrounded by such a feeling of peace and happiness. Joy. Love. Contentment. Satisfaction. And I've started four new songs (not just one!! FOUR!!) giving me wonderful new insight and confidence - that I don't have to be miserable to write good music. Sometimes the sweet things in life can be just as strong a muse.

Life is good.

Peace all.

The Big Move.....

I moved - again. I survived it, despite the heat and the trips back and forth from Homeplace to Willis Wharf that seemed like they would never end. Despite the incredibly sore muscles (there's not a one in my body that doesn't ache!!) and completely worn out back!! My piano survived the move in the back of my friend Drury's truck. And Baby, Jericho, and Buster (the cat who used to live in a tree but now lives under the porch) all survived the move as well. It's been years now since Buster and Jericho lived with neighbors nearby - and Baby never has.

I am in a new/old house, in a new community, with new neighbors and a new outlook on life. I have air conditioning!! In the blazing heat and humidity of this summer, I am completely enthralled with my new air conditioning! This is my third summer here on the Eastern Shore and the first time I've had air conditioning!

The very best thing about the new house is the view. Soon, I'll post a picture of the view. It is so beautiful. I am on Parting Creek. The water rises and falls quite dramatically with the tides. And so there is a rhythm to my life. A very slow pulse that I can feel and see. An ongoing cycle. Something so soothing and so powerful at the same time. I feel its pull. I can sense the coming in and the going out before I know for certain which is happening. The cycle of the tides somehow connects with my own inner cycles of rising and falling, coming in and going out.

Sitting on my back porch, I have seen cranes, gulls, ospry, ducks, geese, herons, and hummingbirds. I have heard sounds - bird songs and night calls - that I don't recognize yet. But I can sit out on the porch in the dark or wander down in the back yard at night, and there is not a frightened bone in my body. I've only been there a few weeks and already I am at home.

I find myself tasting a sweetness in life these days. A sweetness I haven't known before. Is it middle age and the blessed and elusive wisdom that comes with it? Is it peace come stealing slow? Is it God here with me? Is it the breath of angels? Is it the tide? Is it love?

It is all of that and more............

Peace.

Can You Love Me at All?

You came to me on a rainy night with all your hopes and all your dreams.
We talked of life and all we'd lost, all the heartache that we had seen.
You said you're not afraid of losing.
You're not afraid to dive right in
But, for me, it's deep dark water and I can't swim.

Can you hear my voice singing?
Can you hear my heart call?
Can you hear the fear inside me?
Can you hear me at all?

You touched my face with a gentle hand and you asked for more than a kiss.
And the fighter that I hold inside, she stepped right up and raised her fists.
Well, for you, it may be easy to give yourself right from the start
But, for me, it's not that simple - it's my heart.

Can you fight through my defenses?
Can you fight through my walls?
Can you fight for all my goodness?
Can you fight for me at all?

I would ask you for your patience with this wild heart of mine.
I don't believe that I am broken - I need time.

Can you love me through my winters?
Can you love me when I fall?
Can you love me through my anger?
Can you love me at all?

Will you love me through my winters?
Will you love me when I fall?
Will you love me when I'm angry?
Will you love me at all?
-----Yours truly, Can You Love Me at All?

Quote......

"A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me, I'm afraid of widths."
------Steven Wright

Made me chuckle. I have to face a lot of scary widths in my line of work!
Peace.

Harvest.............

They're harvesting the winter wheat out at the farm these days. There's a coat of fine, golden dust on everything in my house. I hear the sound of that big machine in the mornings before work and in the evenings when I come home.

I was watching the combine making its way up and down the fields as the sun was starting to set. The farmer harvests the way I mow that big old yard, changing directions sometimes, and working one side of the road for awhile, then crossing over and working the other side, then back across - a change of scenery, I guess. I was thinking that there's probably something pretty zen about driving that combine up and down those fields. In a big kind of way. You know what I mean? Like the way painting a wall is zen - just on a huge scale. I hadn't thought about mowing the yard as being a zen type of experience before. Mostly, I think of it as hard work!! Especially in this blasted heat! But, now that I'm getting ready to move away from the farm and the big yard, I'm thinking that it's not so bad. In the way that such things are not so bad. Hard work, yes. Physically demanding, yes. (It's a really big yard!). But, in doing that work, there's a place that the mind can go and be rested.

I wonder if the farmer has to try not to fall asleep! Or if he drifts off into another place as he goes up and down and back and forth across those fields. I think I'd like that job. Maybe just for a season, just to see what it would be like.

I'm going to miss the wheat fields. They were a beautiful sight this winter. In the midst of all the cold air, blue blue skies, and bare trees, there were these deep green fields of winter wheat. I had a daily reminder that spring was not far away. And then this summer, they have turned a glowing, burnt gold. When I drive out the road to the Homeplace, it seems like that burnt gold stretches for miles. Even though I can see the road and the trees and the edges of the fields, it still seems like they go on for miles. Ever hear Sting's song "Fields of Gold"?

"You'll remember me when the west wind moves among the fields of barley.
You"ll forget the sun in his jealous sky when we walk in fields of gold."

Back to work now. Charts to do and then packing, packing, and more packing. It is my ability to daydream while doing other tasks that saves me!!

Peace.

In honor of Ireland.......

My son Jacob is leaving for Ireland today. He'll be tooling around the countryside there for the next nine days! I can't wait to swap tales with him. He'll be travelling to many of the same places that I visited on my first trip there. Ireland is just one of those places that gets into the blood of some of us and never leaves......... I've a feeling it'll do the same to Jacob. The following is a short piece I wrote during my first trip to Ireland. In the Song Lyrics of the Day section is a song that I wrote after my second trip. I'm posting these in honor of Jacob's trip. And him, too! Peace.

3 July 2001 - Ring of Kerry - Ireland

There is a sense of belonging for me here - like coming home, like I have been here before and have been gone away for a long time. As if I have memories from another childhood of running along the edges of the hills here, watching the sea, chasing the breeze.

The color of Ireland will always be for me - green. Green and stone. Green that lends a brightness to the air and a soft, cool place to rest my eyes. My eyes have learned a hundred new shades of green in just a few short days. But I will close my eyes back home and see those greens again - and I will open my eyes and see them new in my own hills. The colors of stone cross the green, bringing a sense of order across the wild. Like the stone fences of Ireland and Wales, the greys and the greens touch one another but they do not blend.

The taste of Ireland will, of course, be the taste of Guiness Stout in a pint glass. Guiness and potatoes. Potatoes in every form. Potatoes cooked in a thick hot soup with leeks and parsley; potatotes fried crisp with just a lingering hint of fish; potatoes boiled with white skins peeling or red skins split; potatoes with gravy seasoned with savory. I will taste the wind of Ireland whenever I put a potato on my tongue and remember the damp, cool air and the rocking Irish sea as I crossed over from Wales to Dublin.

The smell of Ireland will be the smell of my grandmother's kitchen from my childhood memory - the smell that greeted me each time I opened the door to my room in Killarney. How that smell crossed an ocean and thirty-five years is nothing less than a miracle. The sweet sticky smell of beer splashed against old wood and the smell of burning peat in a small, shady low-built house. Ireland will be the smell of the woods after a rain, the smell of leaves washed clean, the smell of water on grass and trees - the smell of green. How can green smell? In Ireland, it does! You walk down the street in the countryside and you can smell the green on all sides of yourself.

And what about the feel of Ireland? What does my skin tell me to remember of this place? Ireland will be the feel of a cool night's breeze blowing across my shoulder as it comes through the curtain and across to my bed. Ireland will be the scratchy feel of wool against my neck, wool that is warm against a chill. Ireland will be the feel of my hair blown in all directions by wind off the sea; the soft kiss of a rain that is not quite falling. Ireland will be the feel of a song rising from my belly up through my throat - the song I can't hold back. How can I keep from singing? And Ireland will be the feel of fingers against damp stone worn smooth by time. If I hold a stone in my hand and let my fingers feel its smooth underside, I will be back in Ireland again. Over and over I could rub until I rubbed it away before I would lose the memory of touching stone and trees and wood and water in Ireland.

And, lastly, what will be the sound of Ireland in the place where I store my memories? The sound of Ireland will be the sound of feet tapping on wooden floors and fingers rapping on tabletops; the sound of voices all talking and laughing at once, rising together in a chorus that carries the lilt of contentment; the sound of voices joining together in song and reverent ceremony at closing time in a little neighborhood pub in Dublin. The sound of the fiddle and pipes or the mournful call of the low whistle; the sound of a breath drawn in quickly at the sight of something so lovely that I know I'll not ever be able to express that loveliness to another; and the sound of a quiet, peaceful sigh that says, "I am happy to be alive." Any time now that I hear that sound - the sound of a contented sigh carrying a smile with it - I will remember walking the streets of Killarney or driving the highways above the sea, and I will remember how it was to be in the hills of Ireland with a song in my throat, a smile on my face, and happiness in the doorway of my heart.

Good news......

Laurie's staying! Laurie joined our practice last year, right after finishing midwifery school. Our practice is a tough practice - lots of difficult patients, lots of high risk patients, lots of blatant misuse and downright abuse of the system.......... the perfect set-up for burn-out. I can understand the draw of a midwifery practice where folks actually care about what's happening with their own bodies and with their babies...... but she's decided to hang in with us! I am so happy about that. I like Laurie so much - as a person, as a midwife. And I am relieved, too, that all the things I was worrying about are not going to take place!!

So what is it they say about worry being a waste of energy?!

More good news - it's supposed to cool off into the high 80's by Wednesday. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep (as opposed to that sweat-drenched, feverish, restless, weird-dream-filled thing that I've been going through instead of really sleep-sleeping!). Living on the Eastern Shore without air conditioning has made me appreciate the "cooler" days.

My father is 80, my mother is 76. They are both holding their own and doing a fine job of it. I am more grateful for that than anything else these days. They are my cornerstone. They are a huge part of what makes me, me.

Life is good.

Is it pretending or is it coping......

"Every day I am an actress, with a smiling face I play my part......."

Is it acting or is it coping? I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Bruce Jackson, a doctor that I've known for many years, recently commited suicide. He was new to Boone when I first became a nurse, some 20 years ago. He was very patient with me and took the time to help me learn. He called me into the birthing room on my last day of orientation and told me that I was going to deliver my first baby. I was getting ready to start night shift, and, if a nurse is going to unexpectedly need to catch a baby, night shift is the most likely place for that to happen. He wanted me to catch my first baby with a doc standing right there, talking me through it. He put his hands right on top of mine and showed me how to help ease the baby out. I remember the exhillaration! When the baby came out, a big splash of amniotic fluid came out behind it (as it usually does) and he looked at me with a huge grin and said, "Uh oh! You know what that means!? Once you get your feet all wet, you're addicted." And he was right. I was. That was 20 years ago. My hands still do exactly what he showed me. 1200 babies later, I still remember that very first one.

A couple of years ago, Dr. Jackson asked me if I wanted to start my own practice in Boone. I had been laid off and was working as a nurse - back in the same hospital where I started, doing night shift again like a new-bee. Returning to Boone as a nurse-midwife has been a dream of mine for many years. Since before I even went to graduate school. I jumped at the chance. But things did not go well for us. Dr. Jackson had changed a lot. He had a lot of anger sometimes. It was a side of him I didn't know existed, and it troubled me greatly. We couldn't make it work. So I closed my practice and several months later, after Jacob had graduated, I moved here to the Eastern Shore.

Dr. Jackson was a very good actor. At least in a public sense. I don't know about his personal life. I only know that he struggled with one relationship after another, personally and professionally. I wonder if everyone else was as stunned as I was by his suicide. I had no idea that his soul was that troubled. Should I have known? Should he have acted his part so well?

When people struggle with the darkness of depression, is it wrong for them to smile and live "normally" outside of themselves? Are they acting or are they coping? In my own battles with depression and sadness, I know I have acted well. As a single mom, I acted well for the benefit of my children. They often knew when sadness was sitting on my shoulder, but they, too, learned to act as though she wasn't there. I always knew when Jacob knew my sadness was hanging around again, though. He stayed closer to me, touched me more, and tried to make me laugh. When I couldn't laugh, he worked hard (and always succeeded) at making me proud.

We were acting, maybe, probably - okay, we were. But we were coping. More often than not, I don't acknowledge it as acting - I see it as my way of coping with the heavy weight of Sadness. Moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other, interacting with the rest of the world, smiling -pretending or not - that always seemed to lighten the burden of her.

I have thought about Dr. Jackson every day since I heard about his death. Not obsessively, but persistently. I see his face. I hear his way of speaking. And I keep wondering how a person can act that well? Can carry that much rage and hide it? Though bits of it leaked out, I don't think many of us knew he had that much rage inside. And only rage, it seems to me, could motivate such an act. I wonder how he could hurt his children so. And his mother. And his brothers and sisters. I have been praying and praying and praying.

I reach out my hands. It took me such a long time to learn that one simple thing. Just to reach out my hands when times are tough. I wish that Dr. Jackson could have done the same thing.

Peace to you. Peace to Dr. Jackson's family. In time, I know. Peace to them, too.

Oh, I miss my children.......

There are some days that I miss my children so much I can hardly breathe. I ache from the inside out. Hearing their voices on the phone is just not the same as being in their company, watching their expressive faces as they talk, reaching out my hand and feeling their warmth...... I know that this is part of life. That children grow and become adult and go off to seek lives of their own making. I know that, at some point in time, I will adjust to this empty nest bit. I wonder if I will always have days, though, that I miss them like this today, this aching.

I keep wondering when it's going to get easier. In her wisdom, my friend Bobbi pointed out to me last weekend that my children were with me for a long time. Does that mean that it'll be eighteen years before this gets better?!

In my defense, I would have to say that I've spent most of the past year and a half trying to adjust to too many things at one time - a new job, a new community, a new culture...... At times, it was so overwhelming that I just had to compartmentalize and focus on one thing at a time. Primarily, that's been my job since that's the whole reason I'm here in the middle of nowhere and five hours away from the nearest family member and eight hours away from my closest friends! I think I've come to grips with that, for the most part, and realized I'll probably continue to long for my mountains until I'm there again.

I am incredibly proud of my sons. They're both doing so well in school and making their way forward in the world. They're both good men. Good-hearted, gentle souls. I wouldn't want them to NOT be flying free now. Guess I just wish they'd fly home more often. Life is just too damn busy.

I went to church with my parents last Sunday when I was home for the weekend. My five-year-old niece, Alex, went with us. She is an incredibly beautiful child, as is her brother, Luke. She sat on my lap through most of the second half of the service. She snuggled against me, and I soaked up her warmth. I could have stayed there in that church pew all afternoon, just holding her, listening to her happy chatter, let her fall asleep there if she wanted to - I'd have held her all afternoon. It was so sweet. Gave me a vision of things that might come in the future, when the boys are older and maybe ready to settle down. I think they both want to be dads at some point down the road. That'll make me a grammy.

I think I'll make a cool grammy.

Maybe that'll be when I stop missing my children so much..... 'cause I'll be missing my grandchildren? Is that how it works? Probably not. I think maybe I'll just have to move down the street from them!! Or maybe just in the same neighborhood!

Peace everyone. Peace to my boys.

In defense of opera...........

We had our annual Stevens family "Night at the Opera." We had a blast. We saw Madama Butterfly, touted as the "world's favorite opera". My son Jacob and I were both excited about seeing Madama Butterfly. We were wondering if our respective votes would change for our own favorite operas.

The production was well done. Staging was excellent. The set was beautiful. At one point, I leaned over and asked Jacob if he thought the tree on stage was a real tree. It certainly looked real. There were tearful moments in the second act, especially the end of the first scene when Butterfly stands peering out through the screen - all night - watching for her beloved to come. The woman who sang Butterfly's part was a tiny woman (especially for an opera singer!) and fit the part well. The woman singing the part of Suzuki, Butterfly's trusted servant, had an absolutely beautiful voice - even better than the two leads! I loved hearing her singing. All in all, the whole event was great, and I'm so glad we all got to go.

I didn't change my vote for my favorite, though. My favorite opera is still Tosca. Jacob's vote didn't change, either. His remains La Boheme. La Boheme runs a very close second to Tosca in my book.

We had a glorious Italian dinner at Cafe Luna before the opera. Shared a couple of bottles of fine wine around the table. Not a lot of wine, mind you, just the right amount. Had us all feeling warm and mellow - the right mood for a night at the opera. We all had our dress-up clothes on. I'm starting to worry now that someone is going to notice soon that I only have one dress-up dress (since I've worn it a couple of years now in a row!!). There were thirteen of us at the table together. My mother and father (my dad just celebrated his 80th birthday on May 19th and my mom, her 76th birthday was Monday!), my sister Karen and her daughter Jennifer (now 25!!), my brother Jay and his wife Patience (or Patey as we call her), my sister Emily, my younger brother Eric and his wife Tina, Tina's mom Sally, Patey's dad Dave, my son Jacob and me.

It's a cool thing we do every year. How many families get to do something like this? I mean - think about it. We're just an average, middle-class, baby boomer family. Two folks married 55 years now and five kids - three girls, two boys. We aren't rich or high society. We were just raised by a man who has a dear love for opera. And he's passed that down. Once a year, we all put on our fancy clothes and high heels, and we have dinner at the Cafe Luna, a very nice upscale Italian restaurant in downtown Raleigh, then we take the shuttle over to the Arts Center and see the opera. How cool is that? I've come to love this tradition. So has my son Jacob - he saw his first opera at 16! My dad buys the tickets in November, so we plan it months ahead of time.

If you get a chance, go SEE an opera. They are wonderful to listen to when you can WATCH them at the same time. You'll develop a whole new respect and sense of enjoyment for the experience. It is absolutely amazing what people are able to do with the human voice. It is a gift. It is an art.

Chao!

One Child......

You raise your voices to the Heavens
You look for a way to change the world.
You search high and low to find some answer
You call out to God to be heard.

The tears that you cry are precious
You get weary from all the things you've tried.
If you could change the world this minute
Could you start with one child?

I am one child - can you feed me?
I am hungry and cold down in my bones.
I am one child - can you see me?
I am lonely and longing for a home.
Change the world - be the turning of the tide
But could you start with one child?

So many times I've been shattered
By an angry world I cannot control.
I try to hide the ways that I've been battered
Such a heavy weight for a tiny soul.

I would give you all that I hold dear to me
Just to see the sweetness of your smile.
You can change the world - this much is clear to me,
But could you start with one child?

I am one child - can you teach me?
I am willing to learn and understand.
I am one child - can you reach me?
I am saved by the love within your hands.
Change the world - be the turning of the tide.
But could you start with one child?
Could you start please with one child?
-----Yours truly, One Child

This is a third draft and now has music outside of my head and in the guitar!

Dedicated to the orphaned children of Russia, China, Africa, America, Guatemala, Honduras....... of the world. Dedicated also to all the folks who try so hard to help them.
Peace to you.

The beauty of children......

They are a window into a place of beauty, of tenderness, of sweetness and light. They are the songs of the world before the world has gone crazy. They are resilence and strength mixed with innocence and blind faith.

They are close to Heaven. They still hear the whispers of angels.

These children gave me a gift. In a foreign land, they opened the windows of themselves, so that I might see - beauty at its truest. In the countryside of Russia, in a small orphanage, abandoned by their parents, they showed pure generosity and random kindness. These were part of their nature, part of their cores, their souls. They were generous and kind without effort or pretense.

They are amazing.

Peace.

Coming soon.....

Pictures and reflections from my trip to Russia. I haven't been able to work my computer from home - it's refused to be cooperative! I'm picking up my pictures today from the drug store and had a picture CD made so that I can retrieve pictures on another computer! I have some beautiful pictures of the children and look forward to sharing them. My thoughts have been detained in Russia. I can't seem to stop thinking about the kids........

It's been a busy week. I'm on call all weekend, with lots of babies due to make their grand entrances, so I have a feeling I may be at the hospital a good part of the weekend. I can write from there.

Peace all.

Home......

Back home. Back to work today. It seems almost surreal to me. Like I have been displaced somehow. I can still hear the children's voices and see their faces in my mind's eye. I hear their names - Vanya, Volve, Sasha, Rudic, Ira, Sonya, Velara, Dema....... I can still feel their warm hugs and picture their smiles. They all had beautiful smiles.

It's hard to believe that just the day before yesterday I was still in Russia. Today I am back at Shore Memorial Hospital. I have already brought two new Americans into this world - a boy and a girl. Two children who will never have to worry about spending any part of their lives in an orphanage. Who will probably always know hot, running water and plenty of meat in their diets. Who will be warm. Who will have more than they need.

We do have poverty here in this country, that is the truth of the matter. Somehow it seems to stay hidden behind some great curtain. You have to get behind it to really see it. In Russia, it is everywhere. Russia is gray. Russia is so old and seems so tired. A huge, sighing country.

I worry more about what will happen to this country when the world starts to collapse. We are a country of spoiled brats. We grow up, even the poorest of us, taking everything for granted. When the days come (and they will come sooner than we all expect) of rationing water and electricity and gasoline, when we all have to stop going, going, going - when we have to learn to conserve, when we are all drowning under the mountains of garbage we create - we will not know how to deal with it, no way. In so many other countries - countries like Russia - going without is a way of life, it is no big deal, it is just the way it is. But for us here in America..... we will completely fall apart and we will be the adult equivalents of children having temper-tantrums because they can't have what they want - angry, violent, selfish, bitter. It's a scary thought. It was in my mind the whole time I was in Russia.

These children demonstrated something to me so clearly. I do not NEED anything more. I don't. I have all that I need plus way more. The task that is now in front of me is to learn to stop wasting, to stop wanting, to stop thinking I need, and to cherish all that I have. These children do it. Their generosity was so genuine. They would make something and immediately give it away, without really even thinking about it. With a sweet smile. With a warm heart. It was so powerful.

Peace.

Are you a hippie?

According to Merriam-Webster's Dictionary........

Main Entry: hip·pie
Variant(s): hip·py \ˈhi-pē\
Function: noun
Plural: hippies
Date: 1965

Definition: a usually young person who rejects the mores of established society (as by dressing unconventionally or favoring communal living) and advocates a nonviolent ethic;
broadly : a long-haired unconventionally dressed young person.

Yup, I guess I'd fit the definition. At least I think I would. Or at least I used to.......

I travelled across the world to serve on a mission team in an orphanage in Russia. The first day we were there, on the way back from lunch, one of our Russian interpreters asked me, "Did you used to be a hippie?"

The last day we were there, just as we were leaving, the regional director said to me, "I want to ask you a question that I've wanted to ask you all week. I hope this is not rude. But, do you know the American movie Forrest Gump?"

"Yes," I said, and smiled - I figured I already knew what was coming.

"You know the girl in this movie?"

"Yes, Ginny," I said.

"Yes, Ginny. Did you used to be like her?"

I guess the "used to be" part must have something to do with the part of the definition that includes the word "young". I guess you could call me an old hippie but I think I'd rather say I "used to be a hippie" rather than that I'm an "old hippie"!

I got a big kick out of it. All the way across the world, and still the hippie in me is recognizable! And I don't smoke pot, wear beads, or smell like patchouli! I don't know what part of me shines the hippiness through, but I think it's pretty groovy that it does.

Peace man!

From Russia with Love.....

It has been a long, amazing week. I met the most wonderful group of children, very pure and loving, offering smiles once shyness was overcome. I watched several young men pick up a guitar for the first time and take right to it. I watched God at work.

We had no heat, no hot water. We had to scoop water from a bucket into the toilets to make them work. We walked and walked. We ate good food and wonderful chocolate. We did a lot of laughing. We cried a lot, too. We worked long hours back at the "house" at night, getting things ready for each day at the orphanage with the kids.

We are all exhausted. We are all full. We are all grateful. And, truth be told, we all received so much more from the children than we gave. Their generosity was so sincere. I am glad I have been here.

I sure am ready to get home!
Love and peace.

It's almost time.....

I am journey proud!! I'm ready to go. Ready for the adventure. Ready for the work.
We leave Franktown tomorrow, bright and early in the morning. We'll be in Moscow mid-day Sunday (Russia time) - 4:00 am our time. By supper time Sunday (Russia time), we'll be at Petrovsky and see the place where we'll spend the week. I've seen pictures but haven't been able to paint them into my mind. My mind says, "You'll just have to wait and see for yourself, and then you'll never forget!"

I'm ready.

There's no computers or cell phone service where I'm going, though I've heard there's an Internet cafe-type place that I can visit on Friday afternoon back in Moscow. I hope I'll get to do that. I think it'd be cool to write a blog from Russia.

I'm sure my journal will be full. I'm looking forward to writing it all down.

Peace and love each and all. Keep up the prayers and blessings and know that I appreciate all of them.

My hands.........

These are my hands. They're good hands. They are my mother's hands and her mother's hands, and my grandmother's mother's hands - passed down to me from generations of women who used their hands to take care of the sick, the sad, the lonely, the child, the mother.

These hands are my hands. They have delivered over 1200 babies. They have played all the songs that I have in my heart. They have played music that has sustained me through all the difficult times.

They have fed my family and soothed my children and expressed my love to other people.

These are my hands. They're good hands.

Peace and harmony to each of you.

A word about grace.......

"The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you."
----- Frederick Buechner

Isn't that way cool?

Amazing Grace.......

I had an incredible experience this weekend - one of those life-changing experiences. It was so amazing that I don't even know how to describe it or explain it. I only know that I am different now. I only know that much sadness has been lifted from my spirit. I only know that I was witness to such kindness, tender care, love, and faith that I understand at the very deepest level of my being that I have seen Grace. Amazing Grace.

I will not preach. I will not try to force the experience on anyone else. I will not try to make you understand it. I will only tell you that God is good. Life is good. I feel peaceful for the first time in a very long time. And that's why I moved to the Eastern Shore!! To find peace. I felt so strongly when I made the decision to come here that this might be a place where I could find peace. And I was right.

And I haven't even gone to Russia yet!! Imagine what I'll experience there!! I can hardly wait. I am so ready for the trip now - so prepared. I guess I needed this weekend a whole lot more than I thought. It's hard to shine a light for others when you're carrying so much sadness and shame inside yourself. I needed to find some wings. And a wonderful, loving community of people held them out to me and said, "Here, girl. Fly!!"

So fly I will.

Gratitude is a wonderful thing. It will change your life - it's changing mine - every day!! (and I'm about as stubborn as any mule you'll ever find!). Thank you all.
Peace.

The things we do for love..........

I was at the church last night, working with a handful of folks on the Children's Hope Chest Mission team, packing up the suitcases we'll be taking with us on the trip to Russia next Saturday - we've packed 22 so far, 18 more to go. All of the checked bags will be filled with all of the things we're taking to the kids in the orphanages. It's amazing to see all the things that we have to take. And even more amazing to see it being packed!!

While we were packing, one of the women there was ribbing her husband about how long it was taking him to do a task she'd given him to do. It was actually pretty funny, and he took it well. He looked at me and said, "See what I have to put up with?!" My normal response would have been something smart-assed like "Reason # 915 not to get married!" But I didn't say that last night. I just laughed, too. I actually like being around the two of them. I think they have a good marriage and make a good team. Of course, I only see the outside and you never know what things might really be like, but, I really do think they have a lot of love there. And it got me to thinking about the things we do for love. And I've been thinking about that all day. I've been thinking about the thousands of stories I've heard as I've sat quietly and listened to my patients. It never ceases to amaze me the stuff folks get themselves into.

I was telling a friend of mine earlier today that I am a penultimate voyeur. I am always watching. I love to watch! People fascinate me. People's relationships fascinate me. I have found that watching is easier and a helluvalot more entertaining than trying to do it myself. (That's my excuse for today, anyway). But, by watching, I think you do learn. Sometimes you learn things that prove to be incredibly valuable. Sometimes you learn things that'll only get you deeper in trouble in the end!

It seems that so much of the trouble I see stems out of this search for love thing. Sexual love, platonic love, family love. But then, too, comes much good.

This is just for starters. The things we do for love:
We abdicate, adore, anger and agonize. We bite, bitch, beg, borrow, bicker, and berate. We conquer, chastize, chase, captivate and coerce. We demand, demean, degrade, and dictate, but we also delight and dedicate our whole heart sometimes. We examine things in detail and extract great joy out of small things. We fuss and fight and forgive and forget. We gyrate, gesticulate, gawk, and gaze in wonder. We hold, help, and seek harmony, but we also harbor resentment and pass down hate (hate and love are brother and sister, sometimes twin faces on opposite sides of the coin). We idealize and idolize and internalize. We justify and jeopordize and juxtapose our own spirit with another. We kick and kill and kiss and keep the secrets of our loved ones close to our chest, guarding them with our very lives. We lie, lay, languish, and long. We make war not peace. We make love not minding about morality, mortality or mystery. We neglect: ourselves, our health, our children, our wallets, our bodies, our minds. We pursue passion purposefully without preparing properly. We pray. We preach. We project and protect. We quiet, quake, and quicken at the sound of our lover's voice. We rescue, respect, redeem, and rejoice. We screw and screw and screw (even if we don't want to! because it's required somehow. I find this to be particularly true with young women - they give it up, give it out, hand it over - not even knowing that what they are offering is more precious than gold and as unretrieveable as a soul lost at sea). We sacrifice, satisfy, and soothe. We sing the songs of our souls. We tantalize, traumatize, and tempt. We touch. We trust. We teach. And we thirst for more touch. We understand and underestimate. We unclothe and undermine. We value, victimize and vindicate. We worship, want, whine, win, and whither our dreams for another. We x-ray events and experiences and we turn X-rated if all our examinations of our PG-13 existence find us still seeking that mysterious "thing" that we seem to seek so intensely. We yearn. We become zealous or overzealous or zealousless, if we can just figure out if we're coming or going; if we have it or not; if we've found it or lost it or are still somewhere on the road in-between.

I am amazed at what people do for love (or sex or connection) - myself included. Though the watcher that I am, I am still quite guilty of many amazing and dramatic blunders.

I suppose it is part of the human condition - this need for love, sex, acceptance, intimacy, entanglement. Seems like sometimes we've made a mess of it. But then, at other times, when I am with those people and couples that challenge my jaded way of thinking - then I see the beauty in the midst of the madness. There are lots of folks I know really - that show me that beautiful side - my mom and dad (55 years married and still counting), Jody and Bates, Kristen and Charles, Laura and Bill, Bobbi and Steve, Laurie and Clark, Tom and Virginia, my brother Eric and his wife Tina, my friend Jon and his wife Kathy (though I've never met Kathy, I know that Jon loves her - it's as plain as the expression on his face when he talks about her!! one of my favorite things about spending time with Jon is seeing that expression when it comes). My son Daniel and his girlfriend Emily - they are still young, yes, and they have their share of arguements and bickering, yes, but there is something very beautiful in their relationship with one another - something that shines through.

So I will close with this thought (a line from one of my songs): "I would say, in my defense, that I have learned love can go wrong. It can wear you down, it can make no sense, but, in the end, love has made me strong".

Love has made me the person that I am. I have had the great privilege to have lived a life, so far, surrounded by love - friends, family, my kids; lovers and strangers, too, each in their way have shown me love and kindness, tenderness and mercy. And so, while sometimes I long for love (or intimacy or sex or touch or tenderness), I see that I do have it. And the longing is soothed. I might not ever have that one true great partner - but I sure do have lots of love.
Peace.

So many things.......

There are just so many things all occuring at the same time. It's hard to even sort out how I feel about all of them, let alone how to write about them. I'll leave at, "Life's a bitch sometimes." That's probably the best summation of all.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day today. I had to force myself to go back to work after lunch. A quick trip to the post office and I was caught up in a heady dose of spring fever and had to draw on every bit of my inmost sense of responsibility to go back inside and work! I wanted to go play - at something!! Anything!! "JUST LET ME OUT!!" The word is that it's supposed to be beautiful again tomorrow and up in the 80's. Then rainy on Sunday but warm. First job of the day tomorrow (if I get to be home and not at the hospital catching babies!!) is to open all the windows and let the fresh warm air in!

There are new windows in the house and more being installed tomorrow and Sunday. (The guys are coming at 8 - so much for sleeping in, even if I don't have to catch babies!!). The new windows are great - no propping them up with sticks, no hoping the screens don't fall out! Just unlatch and lift. It's like........ modern!

Two more weeks till I head to Russia. I went by the church today to pick up one of the guitars that's been donated for us to take over and leave at the orphanage. I wanted to get to know it a little before the trip, let my fingers get used to it. I also wanted to see how much room there was in the case to cram clothes in, rolled up as small as they can get, as the guitar is my carry-on and my carry-on is where my clothes are supposed to be. Kristen and Charles were working away, packing all the things for us to take to the kids. It is an overwhelming, heart-warming site - seeing all those things that people donated. Blankets, crafts, kites, softball bats and gloves and balls, soccer balls, hats, mittens, notebooks, back packs!! The list goes on! Kristen said they were saving room in the checked bags for my clothes and Thelma's (Thelma's carrying on the other guitar), so I don't need to panic about making room for clothes. Thank God! I was having all these visions of having to open the guitar case (a soft case) at the security check and all my underwear flying out!! I don't mind wearing the same pair of jeans for a week, but I will have a clean pair of underwear for everyday!! Hey!! a girl can only limit so much!!

Jacob is well. Daniel turned 24 on Wednesday. I can't believe I have a 24-year-old child! I am praying every day that my knee will carry me through this trip! It's still a mess yet, whatever I did to it. I discovered on Wednesday that I now have to wear glasses when I watch a movie. Bummer. This getting older thing....... man! I'm not liking it a whole lot!

My heart is continually longing for home - in whatever way I can find it. The mountains of North Carolina, the sound of my father's voice singing opera in the shower, the sight of my mother's hands working her knitting needles, the smile on Bobbi's face, Steve's sweet and quiet way, Jacob's full body hugs (he's one of the best huggers in the entire world), Daniel's expressive face and his wonderful playing and singing (in his way that is all his!), the wind through the trees in my front yard, the prayers that Alex prays at church, my friends there. I find myself wondering if I'm ever gonna find the place where I truly belong. And it distresses me sometimes because I often feel like I should have already found it. But may "it" is everywhere. Maybe the most important place to belong is here within my own self and then everywhere I am or go?

If it weren't for family and friends helping me out with this trip, I'd not be able to go, even with a scholarship from the church! I am learning to feel better about reaching out. I'm not Chicken Little anymore and I don't have to do it all myself. I am learning lots of things by making this trip - and I haven't even left yet!!

I'd best get some sleep while there's sleep to be gotten! I'm anticipating the beep-beep-beep at any minute!

Get out in the beautiful day tomorrow so that if I miss it, you can tell me about it.
Peace.

Oh, blessed spring

There are some days too beautiful for words. After days of grey and drizzle and rain and fog and mist and cold, I awoke to a thick mist hovering over all the fields this morning. All I could see from my window was fields covered with mist. Coffee cup in hand, I crawled back under the comforter and drifted back to sleep - wandering out into that mist in my dreams. Now there is a beautiful warm day, clear skies, and a bright sun. Everything has come alive with the green of it. I have all of the windows open. New windows!! at least in the downstairs of the house. The new upstairs windows will be put in this weekend and maybe even the new kitchen windows. The warm air is seeping in. My bones feel better. I don't want to go anywhere!! (I 've got taxes to go pick up and errands to run and doctors to see). I want to go out and lie down in the grass next to the flowers and be still and get warm.

Today is a day too beautiful for words. But, you know me, I'm going to try to find them anyway.

Peace.

Little stacks of scrap paper.......

I had quite a weekend this past weekend. One that ran the whole gamut of female-maternal-family emotions. It was like a roller coaster that you can't get off! Up and down. Worried then relieved. Sad then happy. Filled then strangely empty. Certain then confused. I'll start at the start.....

My kids' dad called me at about 5:30 on Wednesday, just as I was heading out the door for a combination open mic/going away party for Michelle, a woman who had moved here about the same time I did. She is a wonderfully funny, intelligent, talented woman. Younger than me, way prettier, and a great stand-up comedienne. She was leaving Friday to move to Chapel Hill, ready for the world and gainful employment! Dan (my kids' dad) called to tell me that my son Jacob was in the Emergency Room in Chapel Hill with a possible appendicitis. This started a series of phone calls back and forth between my son and me, his dad and me, my other son and me, my parents and me, my sister and me, the ER and me...... on it went until well after midnight. He did not have appendicitis after all. He had acute pancreatitis and was one sick and miserable young man.

I worked Thursday (and it got so busy and some intense and sad things happened there) until 3 (but didn't finish up until after 4), rushed home, threw stuff together to head south, cleaned up the house (one of my obsessions about travelling - you HAVE to leave a clean house), and hit the road just before six. It was, of course, raining. And proceeded to rain for the next 5 hours of driving. I talked to my son, intermittently during the drive, but he was doped up to the hilt and sometimes didn't make much sense! Drove straight to the hospital in Chapel Hill and got there a little after 11. Getting into the hospital to see him was a trip!! They took my driver's license and scanned it into a computer, took my picture like a mug shot!!!, and then plastered a sticker on my chest with said mug shot on it. I wasn't expecting to find him in Critical Care. This unnerved me.

I had little sleep the night before, worked my ass off all day, then drove five hours. I was pretty beat. I had one of those mysterious three beer hangovers, too. One you don't expect but get anyway. Jacob was not a happy camper when I arrived. He was upset about the lack of information he'd been given, unhappy about not being able to eat, tired from being in the ER for - get this all you long-wait-in-the-ER complainers - 12 hours!! (He wasn't even in a room during that time! He wasn't even behind a curtain! He was on a stretcher at the nurses' station!! The nurse himself told me that!). And he still felt like crap. He fell asleep awhile after I got there and after we'd talked to his nurse and got some information about what was happening. He was very anxious about missing classes (that how he is). And, like I said, he still felt like crap. I sat by his bed and watched him sleep and wondered at how so much time has gone by so damn fast. I thought, too, about how beautiful my children are - both of them - to look at, to know. I still can't believe I had anything to do with that!! I can hardly believe I'm their mom!

So bottom line, he's much better now. He was released Friday evening. He had nothing by mouth for two days, then they gave him liquids at lunch, then a cup of ice cream, then for supper macaroni and cheese, boiled carrots, and garlic bread (my God!! it's an epidemic!! this hospital food thing!). No pain thirty minutes later and he was booted out the door! From critical care to the front door to WALK back to campus! And discharge instructions?!! These were his discharge instructions in their entirety - "if you have pain, fever, or vomiting, come back to the ER." That was it!! TODOS! Nothing else. Not even "see your doctor next week." Lord, what were they thinking!! And, to top it all off, THIS is one of North Carolina's premier medical centers!! Yeah, right! Makes me very proud of our little hospital here on the Eastern Shore.

So that's my rant on that. I was furious. I was frustrated. I was scared for him. (I was not there when they discharged him - I would have asked a lot of questions. He's 20. He just wanted out!).

I realized, during the experience, that the letting go has already occured. I know that probably doesn't make much sense but, to me, it does. I mean, I'm still working on letting go. Moms hold on a bit longer (though his dad is a holder-on-er, too). But my son has moved further out than I had let myself understand. And it was an emotional thing for me. I mean....... I really DO have an empty nest now. It's permanent. It's not that I didn't know it before. I just didn't KNOW it before.

I drove from Raleigh back up to Emporia on Saturday (halfway home) to meet with the rest of the mission team making the trip to Russia. There are 20 of us going. There are 11 going to the orphanage in Chentsy and 9 going to the orphanage in Petrovsky. I'm on the Petrovsky team. Four of us on the team live on the Eastern Shore, four live in Danville, and one lives near DC. So it was the first time we'd had the chance to meet each other face-to-face. It went well, I think. It ought to be an incredibly neat experience, sharing this time and this work with this group of people. I'm looking forward to it. We met at a United Methodist Church in Emporia. A group of the women from that church fixed a luncheon for us. And they had pens and pencils on the table for us, and note paper for us to write on, and a stapler and other office supplies. I got a kick out of watching them get our lunch ready and appreciated their warmth and hospitality. But there was something about those little stacks of scrap paper that just moved me so, almost to tears. It was so thoughtful.

After the meeting, I drove back to Raleigh and scrubbed myself up to go out to the Arts Center with my mom and dad for an evening of Italian Opera. The North Carolina Opera company put on the performance. Their orchestra is amazing. The soloists were outstanding. They sang my mother's favorite aria, my father's favorite aria, and my favorite aria. I was sitting there in between my mom and dad, looking from one to the other, and listening to that incredibly beautiful music. And I was thinking about how ill my son had been and how blessedly quick his recovery was coming. And I was thinking about my mom and dad and how precious every moment I have with them has become. And I was thinking about going to Russia and meeting these kids in the orphanage and trying to be a disciple (me - little me, who I thought had so little to offer - I'm going to be able to try to be a good disciple), and then I got to thinking about those little stacks of scrap paper. Then it started. That crying thing. That MOM crying thing. I cried those tears that moms cry. You know, the ones you cry without letting anyone see you crying them. The ones that are made of silver and gold and pure love. The ones that the angels catch before they ever touch the ground. The ones that come from inside your heart not inside your eyes.

I spent several hours with Jacob on Sunday. He's still very tired. Still a little leary of any hint of pain. (It's horrible pain, that pancreatitis stuff). He's a little pale and he's lost weight (and he was already slender!). But he's going to be alright, and that's what matters. That was the hardest leaving to drive home that I've had since I've lived here on the Eastern Shore. I just wanted to stay for awhile longer. Hang out with him. Have a couple more good meals at my mother's table. Sleep in my mom's sewing room, and feel that wonderful relief from the homesickness that I get so often.

Baby, my sweet dog, kept me good company. It was almost like she knew some kind of something was happening. Every little bit, she'd lean her nose up between the two front seats and nudge me just a little. Just letting me know that she adores me no matter what. Dogs are cool that way. They know when you need some extra loving.

I've been battling with my computer for days now and I'm coming to appreciate why some people smash their computers into small pieces with sledge hammers. I had visions of doing just that last night as I was headed to bed. Could imagine the whole scene with great delight. Fortunately for the computer, I cannot afford a new computer or even a computer repair right now, so my computer is safe. (But just for now, you piece of junk!).

Enough of my ramblings for now. Best try to get this onto the blog. Wish me luck. If you see me out running the road with a sledge hammer in my hands and a wild look in my eyes, you'll know what happened!

Peace, each and everyone. It is a long journey - this road to peace. I hope to run into you along the way.