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