White Bread

When did I become too sophisticated for white bread?  Someone told me it was inferior. Over time the bulk of information supported this belief system. And eventually I gave up and found myself wandering long isles of loaves looking for a satisfactory substitute in my price range.

But I remember when I was in college and living in an attic apartment. Rent exchanged for work in the old woman’s garden. She would sit, slumped and silent. And, as I would learn, quietly relish my hands digging potatoes, testing crook-necks and grabbing tomatoes heavy on the vines.

I was a city girl. Had never grown a thing. And complained mightily (to myself) that in a hot, hot eastern North Carolina town I slept in an unbearably hot attic and could afford this only because I plucked produce. I cannot say I tended the garden. I did not.  The old woman watered from her chair, and directed the boy from down the street to apply heavy mulch in the Spring so weeds weren’t much of an issue. I plucked and delivered…some to her waiting hands.  Savored, unwashed. And for this I had a bed and enough cucumbers and tomatoes to eat every day through most of Fall semester.

I rode my bike uphill to classes. Grabbed a bag of white bread and a jar of Kraft mayonnaise from the corner store as I rode downhill to the garden. The mayo stuffed into my backpack. The loaf of bread swung from my right handlebar. Tomato sandwiches with mayo and salt for supper. Cucumber sandwiches with mayo and pepper for breakfast. Only a small part of me knew how rich I had become. And only the passage of time revealed the value.

 

 

Going Long and Going Small – Leaving

Leaving isn’t easy. Knowing when to leave is important. Knowing how to leave takes practice. Trial and error. Letting go. Trusting the place you leave for. Having faith in the place you return to.

I sit on yet another exquisite summer morning in my favorite front porch rocker. It’s impossible to empty my head of thought. There is so much content around me. The play of light on freshly mowed grass. The hydrangea turning ever-bluer as I watch. The gentle sound of distant windchimes. Birds and butterflies. Occasional tires moving slowly across gravel. The stream bubbles along. The bees hum. I sit and I ponder….how long could I just be here? Days, weeks, a month? Just be here. Let the quiet and simplicity seep into me. Occupy me. The woodpecker taps away my reverie. Today I sit down to write the exit plan. Soon we will leave.

I go into the kitchen for another cup of coffee….as much for the warmth of the cup in my hand as the rich aroma. I must always pause by the window when I pass through the kitchen.  A worthy habit to gaze from this window. Two weeks ago I bought a small jar. Re-purposed by a local beekeeper. This tiny jar is 1/3 pebbles, 1/3 soil and 1/3 tiny succulents….sweet.  Directions are easy. Give them plenty of sunshine. Keep water level in the pebbles. I intended this small treasure as gift for a friend. But here it sits on my windowsill. I’ve told myself for a week “you can’t take it with you”. Today I told myself “yes, you can.”

We leave on July 6th for the next leg of our year-long adventure. And we are enjoying the challenge of travelling small. I have backpacking skills and generally enjoy an uncluttered life. But I know that travelling small is an art.

Suitcase for two months: work, adventure, a bit of dress-up, comfort clothes (most important), cozy socks (also important). Lots of cotton.  And definitely the stuff needed for tennis and dancing,

The beauty of our teardrop is that our bed and kitchen travel in ready position….favorite pillows and blankies. Kitchen set for smoothies! Bottom line: don’t sweat it, thrift stores everywhere. Always enough.

In a few days we will leave this place and go “there”. It has become our annual migration. While it is true that this past years’ movements seem, at times, excessive. It is also true, that for the most part, that I have been able to claim the “here” within each “there”. To be grounded in the here and now, wherever that may be….ahhhh. Sweet challenge.

So, this is how we roll…go small or don’t go at all.

 

 

Learning to be a Guest

I am a guest here. By definition, a person to whom hospitality is extended. This is true.

I find it a lovely thing…learning to be a guest

Gracious recipient. Tentative speaker of expressive language. Lover of generosity. Spirit of acceptance. Trusting adventurer. Fumbling attempts to be culturally sensitive. Daring and spontaneous, Also slow and observant. Deeply humbled by the beauty of both place and people.

I, who love to host, feel in my soul the need to embrace and honor the many ways I am here as welcomed guest. In the way I speak and dress to be sure. But also by addressing my assumptions. To return the gentle….patient, very patient…and wise explanations with curiosity and awe. Each time I look deeply into the eyes of these people of the clouds I reach beyond all that seems different about us. And I rest in their contentment. “This is my work” I hear from each person. Pride and joy and simplicity. Es la vida!

To reside in a place not my own, yet feel so much at ease. Breathing deeply the high desert air. Gazing in all directions. Expansive vistas. Mountains and sky and mountains and sky. An unfamiliar beauty. I have been gifted. I will carry these sights and sounds and aromas and smiles and soulfulness within me as I travel along. All has been offered with deep and genuine generosity. I accept the gift.

 

And I will also have some tangible remembrances. Intricate silver earrings, fabrics worked with vibrant natural dyes, mezcal sipped with the grandson who taught me the ways his family has continued their tradition for generations. Oaxacan handmade chocolate and dripped beeswax candles. I will smile each time I enjoy wearing and using these artfully produced labors of love….and this is why…

It’s the relationship.
Not the acquisition of their art. Not the current value of the American dollar. Not even the cozy comfort of pure cotton against my skin (and I do love cozy cotton!). What I have been honored to receive as welcomed guest is the exchange of daily life energy. Our trade agreement is simple. It is created in mutual respect. Eyes meet. Hands touch. Each is known and each is accepted.

Inauguration Day

I am in Ajijic, Mexico. It is Friday. Lovely people go about their day. So many smiles and sweet salutations. I offer my smile. Our eyes meet time and time again. I see nothing that could pass as material for building walls.

I pull from memory any positive image I carry of “wall”. It is the high wall of the ropes course at camp. I take my small group of teenagers there to build confidence and trust. Together we conquer our fears. Heights, failure, physical limitations, personal obstacles. Some of the group feel this is impossible. We cannot do it. But the only way up that wall is together. We managed the Trust Fall. Now we make our way up and over the Wall…all of us…together. It was possible.

I remember this as I wander the streets along Lake Chapala. I pass and nod to laughing children, stroke the warm skin of well-groomed horses, celebrate the dogs running free and happy.
And as I ponder this day of inauguration I find wall after wall painted with the colors of life.

 

School-Girl Love

 

As we end our first two weeks on the road and the beginning of time spent in Ajajic, Mexico with friends and family, I sit by last nights fire with fresh-perked coffee. My favorite camp chair poised at just the right angle to  watch a thousand shades of green swish slowly across a Florida blue sky. It is easy to be here. And I must confess…this morning I feel like a bit of a school-girl who must leave her sweetheart at home while she goes on the family vacation. Looking back over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the love she must leave behind. Crazy, huh?  But true.

Dewey has a cool spot to hang out while we  are in Mexico. Quite a lucky little teardrop! Being close to Disney, basking in the sun, and posing as yard art. Happy to be sure, but I like to imagine Dewey dreams at night of our return to the road 😜

People are amazed when they see the modest accommodations we call home. Where I see cozy, most folks see coffin 😜 ! Ah well, it really is true I guess. Love  is blind, and I am smitten.

 

Where One Begins and Another Ends – The Strands Between

God this is it! It does not matter what came first…chicken or egg…sunrise or sunset…peace or turbulence. It’s all there. All in its natural state. I feel in my soul “hallelujah”. The real, deep hallelujah…beyond the headlines or financial statements or family feuds or lines to be crossed or not crossed. Beyond all we perceive as boundaries between me and thee..there are strands of light. We can meet one another in those sweet, open-hearted strips of light. Anything can…and with our permission…will happen there.

Sent from my iPhone

Rules of the Road – This is how we roll

First rule, you guessed it; there are no rules. If I can’t go with the flow,  life on the road is gonna be tough. That being said, there are some pretty important guidelines.

These are my daily aspirations. Each day I plan to drink lots of water, do 30 minutes of stretching and yoga, meditate, write, laugh, play tennis or walk, read, enjoy (or at least, observe) what’s happening around me. Eat really healthy food often enough that indulging in local fun food strikes a good balance in the long run. Take note of peaceful words and deeds. That’s pretty much it. Whatever else happens in a day is just icing on the cake.

My day still consists of a mere 24 hours so this is a tall order for me. A discipline and a challenge. Especially when “home” is a 4′-wide teardrop. There is a sticker on the side of Dewey that’s says ONZE BEDSTEE, N L. The original owners were Dutch. It translates “our bedroom”. And that’s what it is. A double mattress covers the entire interior space. The rear hatch is a small kitchen. It’s everything we need.

So one week on the road. How am I doing? I feel great!  Drinking enough water is still one of the most challenging things to do.  And finding a place for a yoga mat on a rainy day can be hard. But Dewey ‘s kitchen holds some good food, onze bedstee helps me sleep like a baby, and I can mediate just about anywhere…even the parking lot of the Flying J Truck Stop. Which is, by the way where we spent our first night on the road. Imagine little Dewey surrounded by the 18-wheelers. Quite a funny picture. It’s also where we had our first great “locals” meal. “Skynard’s” in St. George, Georgia serves 5-star bar food. And a generous dose of local color!  Beginners Luck!!! We pulled off to get gas and found the best place ever to eat and a safe place to sleep!  The next morning I rolled (literally) out of bed around 6:00 am,  stumbled inside the Flying J to use the bathroom, bought coffee, filled up the tank and headed for Skidaway Island. Not a bad beginning.

Since opening night we’ve enjoyed beautiful outdoor campgrounds and parks in Georgia and Florida. Taken lots of hikes by rivers and along beaches. Eaten at Jalapeños on Skidaway and Whitey’s Fish Camp on Fleming Island, Florida. The tennis is superb! I just want more! Today as North Carolina is covered in snow , here in Florida we are rainy and pretty cold. It’s a lovely day of rest.  Tennis will have to wait.

Yesterday along a fairly remote section of beach we ventured into the only gas station for miles around and had the best hotdog in the world. Actually it was Italian Sausage. It was the only food item they sold. We were hungry. We bought two. Wow…such deliciousness!!!  I mean, this was One Great Dog! Who would have expected?

So in the food and exercise department, I’d say things are going better than I expected. We are giving ourselves a lot of grace for creating new rhythms. It really does take some effort to create, each day, a way of living in the world without the normal constraints and structures.

We are painting, journaling and reading. Sometimes together and sometimes in a quiet, away space. I am meeting kind people…fishermen, waitresses and truckers. Listening to great music and audible books. Finding and feeling peace.

And to my delight, we are laughing a lot!!!  Often at ourselves as we fumble our way along. Missing a turn, misplacing keys, tripping over tree roots, forgetting passwords.

But the really great laughs come from two sources: our daily Spanish lessons  (Que hora es!) and listening to “The Daily Show: An Oral History.  HaHaHa. I ❤️ to Laugh!

So, this is how we roll. Meet Dewey. Aka DewDropInn. A Four-Foot Wonder. A pedigreed Little Guy. Oh, the places we will go!

A Proper Good-Bye

Well, here we are on the eve of 2017.  I am in the NC mountains.  Sitting by the fire and feeling blissfully removed from….well, just about everything. And it feels good!  Don’t get me wrong. I love a good party.  And I have lots of interesting stories about New Year’s Eve. But this is different. This story does not contain the word “resolution” or the phrase “the ball is dropping”. It is a story of bidding one year move-along and welcoming the next. It is the story of learning when and how to say good-bye.  It is a story of acceptance. It is a grand adventure story.  If you’re interested I invite you to share the adventure.

There have been times I avoided a proper good-bye. Moving on without closure. Avoiding pain and discomfort.  Or even thinking, it’s not over, just delayed…I will wait.  But I must say that for me, 2016 has been a year that requires more than a few straight-up, lay it out there good-byes. I imagine you have some of your own that come to mind in this moment!

There’s very little in me that wishes to enter a new phase of life by inappropriately holding onto those people, places and things that have shifted.  All those things I have no control over. All the pieces and parts that no longer fit.  To be sure, I could cling to the familiar. Often it is so much easier than daring.  But new places are opening up and without my attention….intention, they are likely to become cluttered by the accumulation of the remembered past, the unfinished business of the now, and the fear of “what-if” and “what-now”? Fear just does not work for me. Leaping into, and trusting the unknown is more my style.

And still, I know what it feels like to be held captive. To be limited by unexplored or irrational fear. Or, to stand breathless in the face of immediate danger. Fear is not foreign to me. As Elizabeth Gilbert describes in her book Big Magic even a tadpole comes equipped with a fearful reaction to a shadow above the pool.  It’s natural.  I get it.  I just can’t accept that it is the best motivator for my life.

True Family Story:  Debbie was always afraid of the dark. When she was a tiny baby she began life insisting that Mom hold her hand through the bars of the crib….all night long! She could sleep well through the night as long as someone held onto her. As she got older she would not go upstairs to her bedroom alone. Never open the front door after dark. And still ask for someone to sit on her bed as she read herself to sleep.  In 6^th grade the very patient parents of her best friend tried repeatedly (maybe a dozen times) to have her sleep over. They grilled out…her favorite hamburger supper. They played board games. They read books and left on lights. And still, by midnight the phone call to Mom. The defeated 12-year-old hopped in the car for the silent drive home, and fell asleep once again in Mom’s bed. Though she learned to disguise the fear it was never too far below the surface. To be honest, life added-on some scarey experiences that contributed to the mostly unspoken and unexplored emotion. And, no matter how much support we receive from others, ultimately we must decide for ourselves.

This was my story. Then around age 23 I decided the story needed to change. Enough, already.  I can’t walk alone. I can’t camp alone. I can’t even stay home overnight alone. I am tired of living in fear!

So I began the work. I set out to de-sensitize myself.  No big therapy sessions. No how-to books. I just said I will do this. And I did. How?

• I began to stay home overnight by myself…even if I didn’t sleep much.
• I began to open the front door after dark.
• Next, I walked from the front porch to the curb with a flashlight.
• Then I walked down the street without a flashlight.
• Eventually I could even take a chair outside, sit in darkness and watch the night sky. Wondrous.

The world opened up for me. It wasn’t just the fear of the dark I had learned to overcome. I had learned to welcome the unknown.  To trust that beyond fear I could find possibility!

** A funny side note here to support this theory. I learned to play tennis while I was still considered “blind” by legal standards. I could barely see the ball, but I wasn’t afraid to run around using all of my other senses to find, and then swing at the ball. I am not the greatest tennis player ever, but I might possibly have more fun than most because I dismissed the fear of inability and concentrated on the possibility. (Thanks, Steve for teaching me the dance of tennis!) I am glad I didn’t miss this great love!

I learned a powerful lesson. I had a choice. I could choose to live without fear. That doesn’t mean avoid the facts or ignore the realities. It means I could make a choice to meet whatever comes my way with an attitude of trust. Trust in myself and others. Faith, hope and love. These three have carried me beyond the limiting factors of mistrust, despair and hatred.

And so what are these good-byes I speak of? These major life events will take hundreds of words and hours of writing to unpack sufficiently. But without making light of this year of good byes, I will tell you the list includes saying good-bye to our beloved dog, Ruby. Letting go of the idea that summer camp can always be a place of radical acceptance of the “other”.  Telling my 97-year-old mother that it’s okay to leave us here. And doing the hard work within myself, and with others of my ex-husbands’ (and father of my three sons) decision to end his life. And the life of his wife. Abruptly. Violently. Without a clue.

I have lived with this question much of my life, “What am I supposed to do?” I explored it intensely this year in my PTSD therapy. Doing this emotional work opened my heart in new ways. I was ready to address the necessary good-bye’s in my primary relationships without anger or pity or denial. And this awareness made my decision to move along one that could be healthy, whole, and filled with passion and energy,

My life is a beautiful mystery. There is so much I cannot fathom. There is much I take for granted. There is reason each day to express gratitude and joy and hope and love. I don’t think my life is that much different from lots of folks I know. We all know pain and loss. We all have the capacity for compassion. We all choose each day what matters and what makes a difference. My answer to my life-long question, What am I supposed to do? I am supposed to live with an open heart. To challenge my fears. To practice loving myself and others.  Especially when I disappoint myself.  Especially when I fear the others.

I am not like everyone. I am, on my best days, most in touch with “me”. And the “me” I must support needs to fling myself fully into the possibilities created when I take a chance. Embrace the other. Live more sustainably. Believe….just believe. Because nothing can happen until I believe it can happen.

It is hard these days to sit down with another and avoid a conversation of loss, fear, anger, and hopelessness. I believe we must talk to each other. Voice our needs. Get vulnerable. Practice…really practice…listening. Be okay with being different. I had a plan to move out of my childhood fear of darkness. I now have a plan for living into this particular point in human history….

I don’t watch the news. I do listen to podcasts.

I rarely visit Facebook.

I engage in conversations and share meals with people outside my regular circle of friends.

I meditate, exercise, laugh, drink water, create, and ask, how can I be of service?

And, on January 1, 2017 I am stepping into the great wide open. Teardrop camper and a smart phone for directions. New car stereo and lots of audible books. No timeline, paints and journals. I traded the question, What am I supposed to do?  For the more appropriate question, “What’s next?”

Come on 2017, show me what you’ve got!

 

2016; I lived a full & loving & hectic & reflective & silly & sad & celebratory & transitional life!!!

I wish to say a proper good-bye to:

Ruby; you were 100% perfect family dog.  You loved me with abandon.

Teens of teen camp; you taught me to claim my truth while honoring yours.

Stuart; I honor your struggle with depression. And I thank you for shedding light on gun violence.

My Mom, Lettie Fae Lowder  age 97, You loved us all so well. Enjoy the music.

On New Year’s Day I will begin a journey. I plan to write more. To laugh and take naps. To play lots of tennis. To travel and meet all the people all around this country who might be like me or different from me, but are ultimately so much like me. To begin each day with an intention to live fully. Now, more than ever, I must be the change I want to see. I refuse to hate. I refuse to disrespect. I refuse to give up on the kindness of strangers.

Good-bye and hello.

L’AMOUR  n’a pas besoin. il doit parfait. il doit soulement etre. AUTHENTIQUE

Love does not need to be perfect. It must certainly be authentic.

The Width of the Door

Have you often tried to fit a refrigerator through the back door? My days of moving children in and out of spaces are over, but I remember them well. And hey, though I’m spatially intelligent getting through that door was never an easy endeavor.

If you are lucky and capable of guiding large objects in a straight line you barely squeeze through the opening. Also lucky if you complete the task without scraped knuckles.

Much easier to work with a wider doorway.

This approach can be applied in the daily round. If I wake up and imagine my life as a maze to be carefully navigated with pre-determined actions and specific solutions to anticipated challenges, the width of the door is fixed…..rather small. A struggle at every turn. If I wake up and expect life to surprise and delight me in ways I have yet to imagine the door is flung open wide. I want to feel good. I want to love life. I want to create doors that a herd of goats could wander through.

To this end I spend a lot of time working with teens and 20-somethings. In large part I choose this work in order to expose myself to fresh perspective and youthful energy. It is far too easy for my personal preferences to narrow and essentially close the door to new experiences. Whether I know it or not I am constantly making the decision….the things I know and love move easily through the opening. The bulky stuff that makes me squirmy and confused tends to get left outside, gaining access only when I am forced to stretch and make room.

Here’s the width of some of my doors…

Music: Very broad. I like a little bit of just about everything though I am particularly fond of Big Band                

Food;           Pretty broad. Though I prefer savory to sweet. Local to mass produced. Eat-in to Eat-out.      

Clothing;     Rather narrow. Cotton comfort.  Rarely trendy.      

People;       Broad. I love people just the way they are…mostly. I avoid experts and extremists at all cost.    

Passions;    Poetry, YES.  Politics, no.

And so it goes…..In the world of personal preferences I have many opportunities to choose.

I think I lead an interesting, beauty-filled, fairly low stress life. When I am really honest I will tell you my version of the good life….the amount of goodness I experience daily, is in direct response to the width of my doors….the awareness of my choices. It just stands to reason that I am far more likely to have interesting things come into my life if it’s easy for them to find an opening. My good life has much to do with attitude and little to do with income or achievement. Seems straight-forward, but honestly, some days my attitude just isn’t that great.

On those days when I’m feeling stuck, uninspired and resentful I often find that, unwittingly, I left the backdoor locked. I’m just sitting there wondering why nothing interesting has waltzed into my life. Maybe there was even a knock that I just didn’t hear. Still there is something inside of me that wants to wake up…wants to risk…knows that I want to feel good, I want to love life.    I want to walk across the room, open the door and welcome whatever is out there.  I don’t want to limit myself by assuming I don’t like sushi, libertarians, old people, cats, ocean cruises, Christian punk rock, evening wear or sit-coms. Neither do I want to limit myself by wearing only locally-made cotton socks, eating only my homegrown veggies at my table in my backyard, or turning down the drippy sweet pastry delivered hot from my neighbor’s oven. Can I open myself to those things I know and love and remain open to those unknown or uncomfortable experiences? I want to try.

And really, what’s the worst thing that could happen? Maybe, while running errands I somehow find myself in the only elevator in the universe that streams bad opera, eating Twinkies, and wearing a sweater-set when an abrupt stop forces me to hold onto the wall to maintain balance. I realize I am stuck between floors. I am not alone. There is but one other passenger to share this painful moment. No, it can’t be. Yes it is. It’s Rush Limbaugh. I offer him the last bite of the Twinkie.

Sometimes the worst stuff isn’t all that bad. Not even a scraped knuckle. Sometimes the worst stuff creates our best stories.

Up, Up Grammy!

Do you ever just crawl around on the floor and look up at the room to gain a little perspective?  Sometimes from the yoga mat….between poses… my thoughts drift and I see things that usually escape me. Most often I see dusty pens or missing socks.  But sometimes I see the way the sunshine falls across a stack of books or a small photo half-hidden by larger frames. The beauty of the every day there among the dust bunnies.

Other than the yoga mat I don’t generally get down to floor level. When I do, I am reminded of how refreshing a shift in perspective can be.  As a child who didn’t think highly of her artistic ability, I gratefully remember the favored art teacher who opened up my world through her enthusiasm for teaching perspective. These days as a Grammy I wonder about things like this. The world of a young child is constantly changing in perspective. And they delight in it. They have little choice but to plunder forward. Sometimes by their own initiative. But often in a whirlwind of movement on the part of  giant, purpose driven human beings . Up, down, back, forth, rock, fly, alone, crowds of faces, here, gone, noisy, quiet.  Ahhhh, a wee bit of a nap and then at it again. As responsible adults making calculated decisions about schedules and mealtimes  and all manner of important endeavors , do we have to choose to experience a change of perspective? Get down on the floor or crawl through a box? Hmmmmm, just wondering.

These days I have a new art teacher. Ellis, now 10 months old, has loved this  painting in my kitchen for perhaps  as long as he has been able to hold up his head and focus that direction. It’s called Moondance  (NC artist B. Seckman). That’s one happy chicken… turning flips by the light of the moon.  I dance in my kitchen almost every day.  Sometimes I dance with Steve. Lots of times I dance alone. And now I have the pleasure of dancing a grandchild around the room. We join the Moondance and pause from time-to-time to tell that chick thanks for sharing the dance.

Often adults walk into the kitchen and smile at me after they see the painting. It’s no secret that I am visually challenged. They gently say, “Debbie, do you realize you hung that picture upside down?”  I can see what they mean. It does seem a bit off. But Ellis crawls into the room, heads for the painting and grins. I lift him up so he can see things from my perspective. He just keeps on grinning at that crazy, upside down chicken. What a wonderful teacher he is. I want to see more of what he sees. So I put him on the floor and join him and try to see past the dust to discover what I’ve been missing. Ellis on the other hand grabs hold of the chair and pulls up to get taller. Then up to the table.  Tugging on my leg…up, up Grammy.  Sure, come on up here. I want to see what you see.