Restoration-Part 1

Joe and Ben

My friend, Ben, has a WW II Jeep restored to look and function just like it was when it was originally built.  Joe (as he calls it) has had a lot of work done.  When it was new, the Jeep was a work horse meant to withstand conditions of war.  It wasn’t built to be flashy, and my friend has been true to Joe’s heritage, adding nothing that doesn’t belong.  As a result, Joe catches the eye of every car enthusiast, mechanic, and war veteran who comes near it. They marvel at its authenticity and at the skill and patience required to restore such a vehicle. He shows the Jeep at car shows and military vehicle gatherings, and onlookers pose next to it to take photos . He drives it on the highway. He gives his grandkids driving lessons with it. While this Jeep carries on with its life, it’s always a project in need of something to make it more authentic and/or to keep it running.

I like to think that we come into the world pretty darn perfect. As we grow, life carries on around us, and through us, and in spite of us. Like that Jeep we go to war with some tough circumstance. When the war is over, we return to the motor pool, damaged, seeking repair and restoration.  When restored, we go back to moving about in the world again, and the cycle goes on.

I’ve spent many days in the motor pool discovering that restoration for the human spirit doesn’t start from the outside. Restoration begins inside my head with the thought that I don’t have to remain damaged.  I have to take hold of it in my heart. I have to choose it knowing that true restoration comes wrapped in the forgiveness I offer myself and my offenders. It is generated when I can accept a loss and be OK with my sadness. It is kindled when I acknowledge the people in my motor pool who love me even when I’m dented and down.  It is created when I build a bridge, extend a hand, or, somehow, make a difference. I know it is real when I can bravely leave the motor pool with a grateful heart, all while knowing,  I could be back again tomorrow to hammer out another dent or two. 

Peace! lw

Silver Linings

Do these clouds have the silver lining? 

“You have to do everything you can, you have to work your hardest, and if you do, if you stay positive, you have a shot at a silver lining.”

-Pat Jr., to Dr. Cliff Patel, from the film Silver Linings Playbook based on the novel by Matthew Quick. 

I know that going to physical therapy is good for me; however, I arrived at my appointment with my usual lack of enthusiasm. It’s not convenient to leave work mid-day and miss my time to relax and eat lunch, only to get stuck in traffic trying to get back to work.  I was anxious to get in and get out. I can do whatever they ask me to do, and I can do it fast.

Since the injury was work related, the PT must document all the moves I can or can’t do for my job. As we were going through those moves, Pat (not her real name) said to me that the injury wasn’t such a bad thing to happen to me. I replied that I would much rather have not been injured in the first place. I did, however, admit that it’s been an opportunity to learn about how things work and how to take better care of myself.

She reminded me that the work we have done has been developmental and good for me. My legs are stronger and amazingly more flexible than they were before my injury. Learning to walk normally again has not exactly been a cake-walk, and Pat told me I could do it anyway. (Keep your foot straight, heel down first.)  She’s helped me pick better shoes. She motivated me to go to the gym so I would have access to the equipment I need to do the work on my own. She taught me how to tape my knee to lessen the stress on the joints so I can continue to be active without too much pain. She taught me how to slowly build myself back up. Rehab is a very patient process, and I get no brownie points for patience.

My knee is finally healing to the point where I don’t notice every move I make. I am seeing the light at the end of the rehab tunnel and I now believe that it’s possible for me to do everything that I could do pre busted knee cap. I see the possibility of continuing to build the strength in my legs over the winter so that I don’t have to start from square one when I get back on my bike in the spring, and doing so slowly with the patients and planning of Pat.  

Pat is a silver lining lady. I guess when all you do all day is help injured people attempt to get their lives back, you gotta be. Maybe it saves her sanity, as well as motivates those of us who are in the rehab process.  Every step forward I make is part of that silver lining. 

I am not by nature a silver lining person. Perhaps, if I strive with the patience and planning of Pat, I can overcome dreadful realism and become one.  One can hope. 

Peace! lw

Win or ..........

Last weekend I raced the boys with a small club from Seattle. I turned down other club’s offers to play. The boys probably would have scored higher point totals had I played with those other teams.  Regardless, I chose well.  

This little group needed us to have enough players to enter.  They needed the dog’s speed to score points. They needed my experience to help brainstorm some running orders.

As a result, we placed well both days, in spite of an incorrect seeding into a faster division where we were sure we’d be creamed into oblivion.  As a bonus, we helped a dog reach his 5000^th point. If you know about flyball, you may think this is nothing, but for Doogie and his little team, it was 8 years coming. Our being there made a difference, and we had a really great time.

I remind myself, that the dogs do not care how many points they score. They care about running fast, a ball, a yummy reward, and the praise and scratches I shower on them each time they run and fetch.  They care about zooming around with their “doggie friends”. If you asked them how many races they won, you would, maybe, get a head cock.

Unlike them, I count the points we score. I like to win because being the loser kinda sucks.  I challenge myself and my readers to be people who choose "make a difference" over "surefire win"  in all areas of our lives. I ponder the notion that maybe in the grander scheme of existence, "make a difference" = "win" no matter the final score.

Peace! lw
FYI - The photos were taken by David Eastman. He was paid for his downloads. 

Doogie, Nov. 16, 5K Points

Sonic, Sept 16, 20K points

Pi, Sept 16, 40K points

The Myth of Independence

An orange dawn over Seattle

As the orange dawn crept up my window sill, I heard them. I rolled over sinking deeper into my pillow in a vain attempt to ignore nature's alarm clock.  I heard them again, this time closer to my window. I looked out and up, and the geese were passing in their magnificent V formation, crying out a chorus of honks and squawks. They are communicating the need to fly.  Winter is on its way. Perhaps they are discussing who shall lead the formation, honking out some kind of bird talk that tells them all how to line up and where they are going.

The V formation gives them lift. The flight pattern generates drafts from one bird to another making it easier for them to fly far without tiring. The geese take turns in front since the leader endures the most head wind. When the leader is tired, she drops back into the V and lets another goose move forward. Their natural instinct drives them to work together to get where they need to go before winter's grip grounds them.

From my sketch book....

Like the wings of the  geese, actions taken create the drafts that effect those around us. Whether we like it or not, we are all somehow intertwined.  We influence each other's experiences with or without intention. Like dominoes lined up in a maze, one toppled tile affects many. True independence is a myth, a story, a fairy tale, made up by those who really believe that they do not need anyone and who don't understand the impact of being disconnected. 

Sometimes I shuffle through life as if I have no impact on anyone else. I am tired, so I forget.  I am selfish, so I pretend I don't care.  I am anxious or overwhelmed, so I can't cope today.  Eventually I come back around and remember that I am not a lone goose. Woe to the lone goose who expends a great deal of effort and doesn't get very far.

I am thankful today for the people in my formation who provide the lift that allows me to fly even when I get weary. I am thankful for opportunities to take the lead and let someone else rest, and just as grateful when I can drop back into the V and enjoy the journey.  

Peace! lw

Paddle to the Sea

When I was in grade school, I saw a film called Paddle to the Sea. Unlike the standard boring educational film, Paddle to the Sea was screened for  our class as a "treat." The lights were dimmed, and the chugga-chugga of the 35 mm reel to reel projector transported me to Lake Nipigon, Canada, where a young boy carves a wooden model of a Native Canadian in a canoe. On the bottom of the canoe he roughly etches the words "Please put me back in the water. I am Paddle-to-the-Sea". He then parks the figure in the snow and the spring melt water carries it away. The film highlights Paddle's treacherous journey through the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean.

Amarillo - No water here! 

As a youngster from Amarillo, the only body of water I had seen was the city pool. I had very little exposure to large bodies of water. While I loved the Paddle story, I had no desire to face the kind of danger required to paddle to the sea. Regardless, the film made an impression and every time I go out on the water I recall Paddle's journey. (And I also take a life jacket!)

An injury took me off my bike this summer. For a new way to enjoy the outdoors, I took up kayaking. In a borrowed, fishing kayak, the dogs and I have ventured onto Oregon's rivers with a healthy respect for water's power instilled in me                                by Paddle to the Sea. 

Tualitin River

On the Willamette between Corvalis and Salem, I inhaled the aroma of the mint fields while a daytime moon poked her forehead from beneath a cloudless, blue tarp. The wind made the downstream paddle take longer than we expected giving us more time to observe the many blue herons fishing along the banks. We stopped along a little sandy beach to let the dogs run a bit. They ran through the grasses sniffing and peeing on everything. After a snack, we were back in the boat and paddling the tiny whitecaps created by the wind. 

The Tualitin is shallow and lazy, full of sticks and greenery. It's a gentle water road through the city filled with swimmers and bird life. There were no beaches to land on (at least the part where we were), just a boat ramp and slow water. The Tualitin offers the chance to slow down and relax. 

Columbia River

A trip around Price Island in the Columbia went from the choppy, dark water of a wide river to the flat water of the Echloman Slough where the  shores became peaceful and green. The cloudy sky turned blue as the sun rose.  In the river, the giant ships contribute to the waves and while I was not worried about falling out of the boat, I didn't enjoy the stress of this stretch. Even the dogs were nervous about the changing wakes and tides as they gravitated toward the center of the kayak and hunkered down for the roller coaster ride.  Once we entered the slough they were back on the bow sunning themselves and watching for water critters. Overhead, the adolescent raptors squawked as our guide pointed out the old growth trees, the bird life, and the large eagle nests.

On the Siletz 

The Siletz was too shallow for the kayaks, so we made due with inflatables. Staying on them was a challenge and Sonic and I fell into the mini rapid.  The water wasn't too deep for me, but Sonic could not find the ground. He  quickly abandoned me for the shore. So much for canine loyalty! He was rescued against his will by our friend who managed to stay on her raft. The water was warm, clear, and pleasantly calm in the swimming holes while the shores were lined with slick rocks. The next day we traveled to Ollala Lake for paddling since the Siletz didn't provide a haven for paddling. 

Estacada Lake

Lake Estacada provided a paddler's peace of heaven between two dams on the Clackamas River. The water was just the right temperature to take the edge off that 100 degree day. The water mirrored black in the distance and green just under the boat. The Osprey soared on thermal drafts, and the dogs barked at the ducks. They wanted to chase without actually getting wet. One can easily spend an afternoon here dodging the fishing rafts, slicing through flat water from dam to dam. If you go later in the day the tall trees along the banks provide plenty of shade. 

Each time I put in the kayak, I can't help but recall that little wooden canoe. While I won’t be paddling to the ocean, Paddle’s memory links me to a simpler time before the burdens of the world became apparent. I forget my troubles for a while and enjoy each river's wildlife, scenery, and natural pace. I am lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I am thankful today for nature’s gifts of sunrises, sunsets, rivers, mint fields, and those delightful daytime moons.

Echloman Slough

For more info about the NFB's Paddle to the Sea click here

Info on children's book Paddle to the Sea

Roads to Cathlamet

I have now made three trips to  Puget Island in Cathlamet, Wa where I have enjoyed the river, the apple orchard, the garden, the farmer’s market, the goats, and my wonderful friends.   

The first time I went to this beautiful place, the weather was gray and rainy in typical Oregon fashion. My traveling companion and I took Highway 47 through Vernonia , where we stopped for a burger at a small café. We continued north to Highway 30 where we were awarded a scenic drive of twists and turns along the road to Westport where a small ferry leaves the dock at a quarter after every hour. The Oscar B Ferry shuttled us 1.5 miles across the lower Columbia River from Oregon to Puget Island in Washington where we disembarked and drove a short distance to my friend’s little farm.   Later that evening, Oscar B, the last car ferry to cross the river between the two states, returned us.

 Last weekend, I decided to take a different route and avoid the ferry. This time I took a sunny, cloudless drive along Highway 30 from Portland to Rainier.  I crossed the Lewis and Clark Bridge, ducked through Longview to Highway 4, and enjoyed the drive along the Columbia through Stella to Cathlamet where I crossed a narrow bridge to Puget Island. Time wise, this route took no longer than the other.  Since this route travels through St. Helens, Scappoose, and Rainier, it's a bit stop and go. Watch your speed through the little towns or you may get to visit with a state trooper. The scenery was different this time, less twisty forest road and more river/slough view.  I favor this route as I do not have to wait for the ferry.

Since I needed to stop in Vancouver on my way home, I grabbed I-5 South from Longview. I took care of business in Vancouver and grabbed the highway into Portland. As usual, traffic was fairly annoying and the city added at good half hour to my travel time home.

I drove back up today to harvest pears, apples, and tomatoes. I chose to avoid the ferry and I-5 and took the route through Rainier again.  Next time I go, if the weather is good, I think I will go back through Vernonia and ride the ferry again just for fun.

Consider that there are many routes to where you wish to go, and that there is no sin in attempting more than one. Just because a certain path worked out OK doesn’t mean that we should avoid the opportunity to try another road which ends up in the same place. Like the roads to Cathlamet, a new experience awaits along each route.

Peace! Lw

Marshmallow: The Movie

 Perfect Toasted Mallow

A few weeks ago while camping,  I created the perfect toasted marshmallow. To create the perfect toasted marshmallow, one must draw upon one's deepest patience. To start toasting over a roaring fire spells doom as the mallow will burn to blackness. Waiting for a bed of hot coals produces the finest roasting environment. 

Once the coals glow red and the smoke has died, the delicate confection must be carefully punctured by the finest roasting implement. I suggest a whittled green stick or a store bought roaster with safety handle obtained at your local dollar store. Say no to mutilated wire coat hangers. 

The marshmallow must be tended uninterrupted. Distractions are dangerous.  A few extra seconds on one side, defeats the perfect toast. Too long in the heat may blacken it, or allow it to over melt and fall off the stick. 

As a side begins to brown  gentle turning is required for even browning.  Again patience is the key!!  Gentle, uninterrupted rotation above the coals is a must. Giving up too soon may produce a one-sided toasty leaving the other side devoid of delicious crispness and with a sticky, gooey texture instead. Get distracted, and have a coal on stick. Once toasted to perfection, keep your stick up or the melty goodness may dive to inferno.

I can't think of one time when I toasted marshmallows all alone.  When I went camping alone, sitting by a fire toasting marshmallows was the last thing on my mind. I built a fire for heat when needed, or I simply didn't bother. When we are with those we treasure, the campfire presents a place for fellowship.  While consuming the perfect marshmallow could be the best part of the toasting, to me it’s the camaraderie around the fire that makes them taste so good. Sharing the small stuff with people we care about makes the joy abound.  Consider who you would have with you around the campfire while you view Marshmallow: The Movie.  Tell them you care and invite them to watch it with you. Hopefully,  you will find the film is better when shared (since it’s not really that great to start with).

Toasts!

lw

Physical Therapy or Medieval Torture?

You know that old saying, the bigger they are, the harder they fall?  It turns out it's true. When I fell, I meant it. My knee has been quite unhappy since the embarrassing crash I took at work over a month ago. I shall hereafter refer to that moment as "the incident."

As a result of "the incident" I have been ordered by medical professionals to attend weekly PT sessions. About 10 years ago I got whiplash and went to see a PT. Mostly they just massaged and stretched me. That PT never really asked me to do anything, and I was fine with that.

Not so with this new bunch. They work me hard. I have teased the PT Assistant mercilessly about putting me on the racks and locking me into stocks.  I asked her about the thumbscrews and, fortunately, she didn't know what thumbscrews were. (I encouraged her to chat with her Game of Thrones friends.)

My PT and her Jovial Assistant (aka J.A.)  not only force me to use various torture devices in their presence, they also want me to inflict myself at home with a regimen of exercises including one which involves looping a dog leash around my foot and pulling it vertically across my back and over my right shoulder. I have named this exercise the Ouchy Dog Walk. My book of physical terror games grows thicker after each visit.

In spite of rehab's discomfort, I appreciate how my PT and J.A. smile and lob words of encouragement as I suffer. Sometimes they even offer some praise when I get through something with only minor (although amusing) complaints.   J.A. even laughs at my torture related jokes. Even though she has probably heard them all before, she does a nice job of pretending that she hasn't. 

Health care providers can burn out. Personally, I often tire of seeing suffering weather it's a pet or the human family. I've had times in my career where I was pretty low after a what seemed to be a plethora of negative outcomes and grumpy people.  Most of  us have crossed paths with a health care provider or two who is tired and/or jaded by the system. 

I am fortunate to have some superior providers on my case who care about the outcome and can chuckle with me about "the incident." So the saga continues until this knee resolves or I see a thumbscrew and run. (Dang, I'm in trouble! I can't run!) 

Thanks to my peeps at Providence Rehab & Sports Medicine-Tansabourne for great service and support. 

No Sonic, we aren't going for a walk. I'm doing my PT. 

lw

Jaded at the Coffee House

Sometimes when I am tired or a little blue, I head across the street from work to the multi-million dollar coffee chain for a Frappucino. (I won't use this company's name since I fear litigation when I dis them.)  I don't frequent the place super often as the drinks are spendy and loaded with empty calories. They are tasty though, and the sugar and caffeine give me a shot in the arm for the afternoon. 

I thought I needed one today. I was indeed a little blue about something. So I headed over on my lunch break to get a lift. First, they didn't have the type of sandwich I wanted. I was okay about it and chose something else after checking with the clerk to make sure they didn't have one stowed somewhere. Then I ordered my fave s'mores frap and headed to the pick-up end of the counter. 

I was greeted by a nice young man who informed me that he didn't have all the elements needed to create my drink of choice. I know my face shifted from excited (about that drink) to super frowny. 

"I'm not happy," I said in a flat tone. "Really, I'm just not happy." That's the drink I want today. I needed that drink today I thought. Damn, it's not fair. What is wrong with this place that they would take this drink away after selling it to me? If they didn't have it, they should not have sold it to me. 

" I  can make it," he said, "but it won't be the same. Do you want something else?"

" Ok," I resolved, " I will have waffle cone instead."

" Oh, I'm so sorry. We discontinued that drink too." He was apologetic at least. 

I crossed my arms and flopped them on the counter. I am aware that my face was now extra frowny. I broke the eye contact I had with the man, and hung my head.

The Drink 

"Now, I'm not just unhappy," I grumbled. "Now, I'm upset." I was slumped over in disappointment like a kid whose scoop just leapt from the cone. I sighed. It occurred to me then that I was being a big baby over a frosty drink. It also occurred to me that I didn't care. I wasn't angry, just disappointed. I wanted a pick me up. I wanted to feel better, and go back to work stoked.

I finally picked out another drink. I, with great sadness, requested extras for which I had not paid and was rewarded.  I was handed the drink and the barista felt so bad that he also gave me a gift card for another drink. I thanked him for his efforts and tried to provide a half-assed smile. The poor guy wanted me to walk out happy and I couldn't do it. 

I drank  the hazelnut frap with banana and extra whip and was not happy about it. I was jaded by the multi-million dollar coffee corp. who had lured me in for something that was no longer there. 

Such is life, I guess. Aren't we all subject to being lured by a promise of something that isn't really there or wasn't what we thought it would be? There in lies the disappointment that often strips us down to our basic human-ness. We want what doesn't exist and mope when we don't get it. 

lw

The Tunnel of Uncertainty

Change…. just thinking about it makes me want to spit.  The older I get, the harder it is to let go and move forward.  Whether a change is forced by circumstance or chosen, the common product is uncertainty.  Will it all work out or will I suffer and die? (I know I am being dramatic.)

Big changes are like walking into a long dark tunnel. My assumptions keep me from moving forward since I have already (very dramatically) determined that what’s in the tunnel isn’t good for me.  I cling to my assumption as a lantern in the darkness. Will I encounter a fiery dragon, a cursed treasure, or be forced to slay my own demons like Luke Skywalker in the old tree? Yoda understood about the uncertainty of a dark unknown place and, despite his knowledge, he saw its usefulness in training Luke to acknowledge his fear and face it all while Luke claimed he was “not afraid.” Unlike Luke, I have no problem shouting out to the world that the tunnel is scary. 

In the face of an important change, I am challenging my assumption and requiring myself to believe that the tunnel is a passage to another place , that it doesn't house killer beasts, and that if I can muster the courage to go forward I will see the light at the end. Can changing my assumption change my experience? I am finding that, if nothing else, the new assumption makes me a little more willing to move along. Willingness doesn’t quash the fact that change carries a truck load of uncertainty that I can't do much about. 

Carly Simon had it right when she sang, " We can never know about the days to come, But we think about them anyway." So dwelling on it is pointless and what IS certain is that I will do it anyway. Human nature compels me to think ahead .......... even when it's not in my best interest. 

Excuse me now, while I go spit! 

I've had this drawing folded up in my sketch book for a while. 

lw             

Swing the Bat

I was reminded by someone who cares about me that we are all in the batting cage of life. Some people cry and cower in the corner. Some people run screaming from the cage and into traffic. Some of us are more resilient and just stand there. "I'm not afraid," I say. I don't run or cry or cower. I stand my ground while the fiery balls of life pummel my noggin. Thunk!

"Swing the bat! Pick it up," she said,"and swing."  Maybe you hit something and if you don't hit a damn thing you are no worse off. You have taken some action to improve yourself or your situation and whether it's a home run or bunt doesn't matter as much as the fact that action was taken. Stop worrying about always doing just the right thing and just do SOMETHING.

"Swing the Bat" has become my mantra. When the balls are flying at me, I ask myself what action can I take to protect myself from a concussion while still standing my ground.

       What help can be given or sought? 
          What options can be weighed?
            What grace can I grant to myself or another? 
              What choices can be made?

                 Swing the Bat! 
               
       

lw









Disclaimer: Swing the bat is a metaphor for life. In no way do I endorse the swinging of bats at any human or animal. 

Mr. Claus comes through!

If you read my letter to Mr. Claus last December you may be thrilled to get an update on what's happened in this first half of the year. If you haven't read it, clink the link and get the scoop, then return for the updates. 

Dear Mr. Claus:

The spirit of Mr. Claus has come through in ways I could never expect. Whether direct or indirect in cause, my Christmas wishes have all come true in some degree. 

Wish #1 is in the works. 

1. My friend has been typed for a kidney and is being matched. She is loving her life and living boldly. She knows I would give her one if I could. A work in process!! 

Visitors from Texas will soon arrive. 

2. My family is coming to visit in July, which means I see them twice this year instead of once. I am beside myself with gratefulness and excitement.

3. The new roof was installed in May thanks to the generosity of my extended family. The kitchen is rain free once more.  

New Roof

4. Lastly, seeing these wishes come true gives me hope that the universe is not all fruitless pursuits and misery. Kindness, generosity, empathy, faith, and love continue to exist. And while those attributes may seem fleeting and dang near unattainable sometimes, we need only recall those times when we took an action to create them or gave up something to receive them.

Happy Solstice!
lw

If I Bought a Boat.......

I read somewhere that if you have five really good friends over your lifetime, you are fortunate. I am blessed enough to have SEVEN women in my power circle. These are the people who are there when I need them and when I don't think I need them. When I don't need them they are there anyway because even the best days are better when shared. These ladies celebrate what works and comfort me when things don't turn out.  Not all of them know everyone in the circle and yet, they compliment each other, providing a diverse sounding board, and even more diverse skill sets and concerns.

If I said I wanted a boat they would all respond differently. (I won't use their real names. It protects their privacy and creates a mystery for them.)

Anna would quiz me about why I wanted the boat. She would present me a list of options including styles for different uses, where to purchase, and where I could get the best deal. She would have all the details lined out including pricing and she would circle her top three picks. Her feelings would be hurt if I didn't choose one of her options. Since she is good with details, I would likely choose one of her options.

Bea would tell me I deserved the boat. She would talk to me about how the boat would improve my well-being. She would listen to my dream without shooting it down.   She might not be the first one in the boat. She would want proof that the boat was sea worthy first.

Carla would help me with the logistics and financing. She would know where to store it and how much it would cost. She would want to give the boat a spiritual name that would protect me from evil. I would let her do that.

Dana would buy me a life jacket, point out the local boating safety classes, and give me stats on how many people had died in boating accidents in the last ten years She would make sure I was careful. She would probably never actually get into the boat, and she wouldn't tell me not to.

Ella would plan a boat launch party. She would crack the bottle on the bow and cheer. She would be the first one in the boat with me. She would say, "Go faster!" and "Use my bottle opener."

Fran would make sure I was dressed properly for the occasion. She would school me in maritime etiquette and chastise me if I wasn't polite. She's a good swimmer, so she would get in the boat.

Gwen would pack the first aid kits and food. Everything would be water tight and useful. I would not go hungry and there would be extra snacks for the dogs. Nothing would go to waste.  She is always prepared and would make sure I had sunscreen.

That's how this group operates!! In addition, to this power group I have about ten others who would show up at that boat launch party and few who could help me maintain the boat too.

When I came to Portland in '97, I had not one friend. I remember what it was like. A lonely place to which I do not wish to return.  How could I survive without them? I used to think I wanted to be independent. I have learned that independence is not all it's cracked up to be.

If you are lucky enough to have a few power friends, ask yourself what they would say if you said you wanted a __________ ( you can fill in the blank.) Their responses will tell you who they are to you.

Pi and his friend Otter. Dog's have pals too! 

Fate of the Throw Backs

Fish Lake in NE Washington

Oregon is a fisherperson's paradise. The waters of Oregon provide habitat for over a 100 species of freshwater fish, including trout, bass, salmon, shad, sucker, and the list goes on and on. Sadly, I have not fished the waters of Oregon myself in spite of being in a boat many times. I have enjoyed the rivers and lakes without a pole so my fishing memories are tied to my younger days where I fished alongside my Dad or Grandpa. 

In Oregon (as in most states) there are rules for fishing. Criteria for keeping fish include length, species, or an indication that the fish is from a hatchery. At some lakes, native fish and very young fish are returned to the environment to protect habitat and the species.  The state imposes a limit on the number of fish that can be taken in a day. Once a fisher reaches the limit, additional fish are required to return to the water. 

Back when I fished with Dad and Grandpa, the "throw backs" were the undesirable catches. Often a carp, a pike, or a fish too tiny to be worth eating. I sometimes heard other animals and even people referred to as "throw backs".  Nobody wants to be a "throw back." 

However, consider the point of view of the fish. The young fish, the native fish, the undesirable fish and the one caught after the limit is reached, get to live!! They escape certain death and swim away. That fish is never the same because it has been on the hook and/or in the boat if only for a minute. It returns to the water knowing something it didn't know before. 

We have all heard stories of a giant fish in a pond that nobody could ever catch. Perhaps that fish was a throw back. Now he is the stuff of legends since he learned to avoid the hooks that could have ended him. 

My little fish. It's not Nemo!! It's a goldfish. 

If you ponder a moment and remember a time when you thought you were an undesirable "throw back," then perhaps you can understand the state of the that little fish. Take the time to be grateful for a little pain that taught you something important that saved your future. 

Here's to the throw backs: . Swim!! Swim!! Swim!!

lw

Generosity

Is there anything more generous in this world than a tended garden? Gardens provide the beauty of flowers, a bounty of fruits and vegetables, and habitat for bees and birds.  Some plants are generous enough to reappear every year without much input from outsiders. Plants have no expectations of anything in return for their generosity since they “know” nothing. While the garden expects nothing, without the water to give it life, the garden’s generosity cannot be.

My hope for myself and my readers is that soaking in the water of life produces for each of us a bounty as generous as a tended garden and that our fruit is kindness, forgiveness, and love. 

lw

A garden from my sketch book. Oh for the day when strawberries grow with pumpkins. : ) 

What Gratitude Looks Like

Imagine an old-timey lamp post, the type your grandmother had in her front yard. The black metal pole with a lantern on top rising from the greenish grass. The frosted lantern bulb is heart shaped. When activated with a simple switch the lamp grows bright, pushing back the darkness, illuminating the house, the yard, and the life of the activator. When the switch is activated several times, beautiful fireworks expand across the night spraying wonder through the darkness. The timer on the lamp stops the display at a random moment and darkness closes in again. The activator needs only to tap the switch again to bring back the shine and beauty. 

Gratitude can be difficult to muster in times when your life just sucks.  Sometimes the switch is easy to reach and sometimes I have to work really hard to even find the dang thing. And when I do find it, the light shines and there is revelation. 

For those who like visuals,
enjoy my 3rd grade art version.

Things That Make Me Go..........Aaaaah!

Experiences that make us really happy are fleeting. So here is my attempt to journal the things that make me go .........ahhhhh!

When competing in a flyball tournament, I get to watch my excited dogs run like the wind, their bouncing butts flying over hurdles, toward a wonderful prize called tennis ball. I love those bouncing butts. As a bonus I get to see their happy faces coming back to me with the expectation of the tasty treat to come. My hands rub them and rev them and we do it again and again until our day is done.

Banks-Vernonia Linear Park

I love to ride my bike along the green lined trails. The Banks trails is all uphill until you get to the top. The ride down is worth the painful climb. I sometimes laugh out loud as nothing can quell the joy conjured by a hiss of wind in my ears, a cool breeze on my face, and the occasional bug up my nose. Speed produces enough adrenaline to give me an uncommon lift without giving me a heart attack.

I think most people have a song! Is there a certain song that generates a smile in your heart as you belt it out in the car when you are stuck in stupid traffic?  For me the songs are Journey's "Don't Stop Believin",  Elton John's "Rocket Man", and Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."  When I hear those songs, I must sing. I forget my troubles for 2.5 minutes and sing (and not well either). If there is someone in the car with me, I sing anyway and encourage participation. If s/he elects silence or complaint, I sing louder.

On the rare occasion when a cool morning drives me and the dogs under the comforter and I actually have an extra hour to snuggle them while drifting in and out of reality, I remember that even though the little mutts drive me to drink sometimes, we are fortunate to have each other. I scratch their ears and rub their bellies. Sonic melts. Pi growls at me as usual. They keep me sane (as much as that is possible) and they keep me coming home at night. To come home to no pointed ears to scratch would suck.

I leaned on a rail of the upper deck at my friend's home in Seattle last 4th of July. I had a glass of wine, good food, friends I loved, my dogs and theirs. I was barefoot and in a skirt. I hadn't worn one in years. The sky was lit up in three directions.  Was it the wine, the skirt, the fireworks, or the company? The summation was a rare moment when life seemed stainless and ideal.

Just thinking about these things makes  me go ..........ahhhhhhh!

Frosting the Cake

Cake is an interesting dessert. Bakers decorate cakes with whipped cream, frosting flowers, little objects, pictures, and messages. Regardless of the what's on the outside, when you cut into it, it's still just cake. Maybe chocolate, or lemon, or just plain white........but cake nonetheless. Sometimes that frosting is so thick on a piece of cake, that I will cut it off and toss it. The cake is really the good part.

I think humans are much like cakes. We decorate ourselves with appearances, education, work, money, and a plethora of  belief systems.  In the end, when we look at the inside, we are all imperfect humans, each of us flavored slightly differently. Sometimes the frosting of life is so thick that nobody has any idea what flavor the human cake actually is.

I recently had to come to terms with my own "cake-ness" and accept that I am what I am. The DNA won't change, no matter how hard I work or what belief systems I have implemented. It is not an easy idea to master after 50 years of frosting oneself.

lw

Hello, Texas.......

I was back in Amarillo for some time with family and friends. In Texas, one experiences all kinds of things one doesn't  get in Portland. In case you haven't been to Amarillo, I will hit the highlights.

Yup! Those are cows in the city.

1. SUNSHINE ( and flat brown landscape)  Although the sun was shining, the wind chill set the temp about 10 degrees lower. The air was so dust ridden that the sky spit an odd type of mud for a few minutes.  Any dryer and I would have disintegrated into a pile of crumbs like a crushed saltine, been swept into an envelope, and mailed back to Portland. It ain't pretty compared Portland, and if you are there long enough, you get used it .

6 kinds of Mac & just gettin' started

2. MAC & CHEESE - I had never been to a Mac & Cheese cook off. I sampled about 24  takes on this old time comfort food. Some were original and super tasty. Others made me want to spit. (I actually did spit a few times.) I have no idea who won the contest as my family was done eating and headed towards the nearest couches. Even taking only a bite or two of each caused me to swell up like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I did manage to waddle out on my own without a trip to the juicing room.

Bucket o' Coke

3. EVERYTHING'S BIGGER - Ordered a tall and got the PDX equivalent of grande. Ordered a glass and got a bucket. The ribs and brisket at the local BBQ joint are served by the POUND with an entire loaf of white bread. The Chicken fried steaks are the size of a plate served in a mini swimming pool of country gravy. The trash cans are enormous too, and they are right behind everyone's house. Imagine being able to legally throw away a chair or a dead goat right behind your house. If you are from PDX, you can't. If you are from Texas, no problem.

Mandy

4. ANIMALS EVERYWHERE - My sister has a horse in her backyard. When I was a little kid my babysitter told me how a horse killed her daughter. Ever since I have been terrified of the hoofed beasts. I overcame this deadly story and mustered the courage to feed Mandy. I am grateful that I didn't die.

Buddy

My mother's Brittany is one of the dumbest dogs I have ever met.  He runs the fence line non stop, has jumped through closed (yes, I said closed) windows, destroyed blinds and bedding, and gone AWOL so many times, mom has lost count. In spite of his insanity, this dog is makes me smile every time he sheds his white hair all over my black jeans. He sits with his crossed paws and throws his simpleton gaze straight at my heart. He subbed in for my own kids so I didn't dissolve from lack of dog love while I was away.



In spite of all these great benefits, I am glad to be back in Portland where a tall is a tall, it rains all winter,  and I can't throw any large animals in the trash by my house. I missed you Portland. It's good to be home.
lw