Our Lazy Susan

Since becoming a mother I’ve read books and attended seminars on all the golden little nuggets of wisdom around how to grow a child through empowerment and self sufficiency. I’ve reorganized their rooms so that their little short torsos and nubby hands can grab items in their world with ease. I’ve tenaciously surfed the internet for that one special kitchen tool designed for children’s mobility. I’ve tried to make sure veggies and fruit were prepped and accessible as to leave no excuse for them not to make their lunches for school, relocated the laundry detergent so they can reach it themselves to do their laundry, written chore charts, faithfully re-stalked cleaning supplies in their bathroom to ensure the tools they needed are readily available to them. I’ve even watched videos filmed by my kids to get a glimpse of what it’s like to be of hobbit height. Such adjustments to the house have often meant sacrificing my preference of decoration and beautification. Such as the ugly plastic water pitchers that they can pour themselves or piles of shoes I leave alone because after all, they did do what they were asked so why undo and “fix" it? I want them to feel this is their home which means I’ll just wait a few years to replace the hallway book case full of random crap with flowers and candles. 

However, I’ll admit these efforts to create a self-reliant-confidant-responsible-non entitled-poster child, often manifest into ridiculousness. What kind of ridiculousness you ask? Picture an adult adamantly lecturing on how "the actions or lack thereof, to participate in the household expectations of packing your own lunch the night before school result in you not eating a lunch at all the next day” I say this to the devastated, wide eyed child and then it dawns on me - she’s 5 yrs. old. She only just recently (a matter of a few years) arrived at the exciting new world of going to the bathroom by herself much less packing a well balanced meal 12 hours before she plans to eat it. But onward I press into the abyss of forward thinking parenting. Which leads me to my main topic - our lazy susan.

A little backstory here for all of you who enjoy long winded tales - I’ve always been frustrated at the helplessness of my kids at meal time. Our table is large, their arms are short. Are you seeing the dilemma? "Pass the green beans" turns into a grunting / stretching exercise session which slightly resembles momma/baby yoga except it’s actually just dinnertime. It’s mind boggling to me how my daughters can reach within themselves and deep down magically muster up the strength of Wonder Woman when I ask them to carry in the groceries because they’ll grab the 50 lib ice cream carton without hesitation. They’ll pick it up with ease and run it inside like it’s on fire, eagerly anticipating swooping their 'spoonfuls of delight' into their mouths the moment they reach the kitchen. How is it that they can lift a gallon of Blue Bell with their pinky but are immediately disabled when it comes to passing a pasta bowl? So I thought "I should get lighter serving ware that they can actually pick up and pass" but well, let’s just be honest - I don’t want to because it would end up being a sister to that ugly plastic water pitcher and my self denial only goes so far. My conclusion? A lazy susan! You know, those turntable things from the 70’s. Perfect! But not just any lazy susan, the ideal one. Large enough to turn for everyone to reach, lovely to look at and of course, durable. I had one in mind and after 2 years of eyeing it the hubby got it for our anniversary. It’s one of my most favorite things in this house next to the dog and pottery….oh yeah, and the kids. It’s made from birch and driftwood by an art company in Iowa. We came across it in an artisan’s co-op in Boulder which is a good thing too because once I knew we should get one, lucky I could just swing by on a 2 hour drive to the store and pick it up. Hand etched is a mountain scene, a little house and the four seasons (not the band) surrounding the perimeter entirely illustrated in watercolored earth tones. Words carved along the outer ring say things like “Go out for Adventure, Come home for love” and “See Beauty”. A true piece of art. While my beloved brother delights in referring to me as a trendy suburban hipster - I’d like to think of myself as an artistic and eclectic homemaker. . . he obviously doesn’t comprehend exquisite taste. Poor fella. Regardless now our dinner table is embellished with this earthy functional goodness and I think to myself - AH HA! Dinner time dilemma is solved! I cracked the case. 

We sit down to eat and the mad chaos begins. Someone says “Amen” to our deeply heartfelt 2 second prayer and it’s as if Seabiscuit was just released from the gate. One hand turns it right, another swipes it left. Then someone else spots the bowl of cheese sitting on the lazy susan which will inevitably fix Mom’s boring chili that she's labored over, so that hand grabs on tight to try their odds and there you have it. It’s like a live auction and the person with the most force wins the final spin! Whiz! Swoosh! The platters are clinking and the ugly plastic water pitcher is teetering on the edge of this fine piece of craftsmanship. Once the realization covers their little faces that not everyone can actually turn the lazy susan at the same time, disappointment sets in. I thought this would solve our dilemma but really all it’s done is created a venue for children to gaze down in forlorn hope at the lazy susan as it rotates by on it’s way to deliver the cheesy bowl of redemption to the person sitting next to them. But it doesn’t end there. Because the lazy susan is so wonderfully made of sturdy reclaimed wood it sits on a large wonderfully made base of sturdy reclaimed wood. This base is about 3/4 inches thick which of course causes all of the food to sit on a platform off the dinner table by a little over an inch. Didn’t see that one coming. So when my 4 or 5 yr old. Hobbit grabs the ladle to the giant silver stock pot in order to serve themselves up a bowl of chili- (because remember we are the Montessori home of self-sufficiency), it unavoidably comes toppling down and those beautifully hand sketched words of “Cherish family” are soaked in black beans and spicy tomato sauce disguising the message to say something like “C SH MILY”. But there’s good news because while I’m running for the dish towel and the Seabiscuit race turns into soup kitchen cleanup, my sly youngest is getting her calcium intake as she’s now polished off the contents of the cheese bowl when no one was looking. Did I mention that the recycled parchment paper instructions which the hippie at the store enclosed with the lazy susan advised the avoidance of extreme heat directly on the wood? Call me crazy but isn’t a lazy susan meant for food and here in privileged countries such as ours we often eat HOT food for dinner? 

It was about this time that I realized this lazy susan is just a thing. It’s not my child’s heart or pschye - it doesn’t feel, it is not impressionable so I had better react in a way that doesn’t make my kid feel bad that she’s completely and utterly destroyed my enjoyment of my brand new piece of art. After all, she’s got short stubby arms and they can’t quite navigate the toils of a chili bowl on a lazy susan. They can however be of sufficient length when she is reaching for the highest cupcake on the cupcake stand - oh yes. Then her arms are filled with grace and Bruce Lee like concentration but “pick and choose your battles” they say. So instead of looking at her with beety little eyes muttering the words “I’ll get you my pretty, and you’re little dog too” I softly ask her to get up and help clean up the mess. Which of course translates into emptying her lab of lentils and black beans while the dog rushes over for his fair share. Ironic - I was just thinking of him.

Finally I find myself in the morning hours sitting at the breakfast table with a soft candle lit on top our lovely lazy susan. A cup of coffee, morning devotions and a quick thumb through a book filled with all the golden little nuggets of wisdom for creating a space in my home in which kids will thrive. Because, after all. . . we are all about growing confidant little minds around here and surely there’s something I can do around this joint that introduces independence. Right?

Window Shopping Epiphany

So there we were in beautiful Georgetown during their annual Christmas market. There were horse drawn sleighs jingling down the street, victorian carolers walking about (apparently not at all feeling a century displaced) and a massive bonfire with chestnuts roasting in the town square. The entire Clear Creek valley echoed holly-Jolly Christmasness every time you turned around. I loved it. My husband kindly offered to take two frantic children who had somehow managed to soak themselves with freezing water to another store so my eldest and I could leisurely browse a charming boutique. Little did I know I'd overhear a comment that would stick with me for weeks.

Our puffy winter coats accompanied us as we carefully navigated our way through the mercury glass ornaments into a small room with nativities, vintage lights and hand crafted decor. I felt a sense of euphoria. How lucky am I? There's no little kindergarten fingers that I have to grab at light speed before the display goes toppling over (yes, it's happened) just me and a fairly mature 9 yr. old who appreciates beautiful things. ahhh.

Then I heard it. Crystal clear. As if straight from my heart. I've said it in days of the past or years in the future or somewhere floating in between my thoughts. So familiar that as quickly as it rolled off of this stranger's tongue it landed on my ears, flew through my conscious and lay right upon my heart in agreement. A simple, innocent comment and while I don't know this woman's story I intimately understood her.

"Oh look at that nativity! That's just like the one my mother used to have! I wish I had gotten it but it went to my sister instead, I wonder what happened to it."

I understood her. And as she asked the lady behind the counter how much it was I suspected she would buy it. Why? Because if I were her, I would too. It invoked a memory for her, a feeling of nostalgia and despite not knowing it's existence in store before she walked in, she unquestionably had to purchase it before she walked out. It's not a bad thing, I was actually a little bit happy for her. Her mother was dead, her memories alive and she grabbed hold of a tangible item that represented both.

It stuck with me for weeks. I thought about that woman and her nativity as I boxed up my own cherished Christmas decorations. And it really got got me thinking of all the things we acquire and the reasons why. We can sometimes fill our lives with experiences that offer us satisfaction yet eventually their power dissipates so we fix our eyes on the next big thing. I think we should always be moving forward in attempts to improve our selves and situation but it's when those efforts are unknowingly used to chase a fleeting sense of fulfillment that is the trap.  I used to think it's because we're privileged westerners to never be satisfied. But it's not. It's a human disposition. We constantly are filling a void even when we aren't completely aware there is one. We have an insatiable thirst for more, more, more. More meaning, more purpose, more experiences, more honesty or get this - less honesty and more strokes of our ego, more knowledge, more stuff.

Our efforts are camouflaged and drowned out by the lies we can easily feed ourselves. Lies that are like addicting pills we pop every morning as an unconscious routine because they help us operate comfortably in our perspective. "Once I get there it'll be better / No one knows what it's like for me / If I can only go there /do this / get that..... arrive". The list of void-fillers are endless. And despite the accomplishments we make - nothing satisfies for long. My have's and have-not's don't satisfy. They always fail me and when I focus on them, I get bitter. People always fail me and when I focus on them, I get bitter. But there is good news. Because Oh HOW HAPPY I am when I acknowledge the poverty of my human spirit's condition compared to the greatness of the Creator. That's why I'm out of sync! That's why I'm always thirsty for more! This earthly life was never meant to be my home and how easily I forget. But when I remember this truth, it's like rain on my thirsty soul. Today, right now I live in over abundance. If only for today. God help my prodigal heart for tomorrow. Today I am grateful.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArglU4E7Vhc

The Ending of an Era

We are moving. A bigger house, more room, closer to the kids' school yadda yadda yadda. You know, all the perks that would draw a family of 5 to a  new place. It's a town just down from here but feels a thousand miles south of here. The smallest change that pivots everything. I've never liked change. I think I've learned to deal with it positively throughout the years and with a  peaceful assurance that nothing is worth getting too worked up over if it's bound to turn out alright. But this morning I stood in my kitchen frozen, staring at the packing tape and box. Unable to put the first box together because right then it symbolized the last box. I was (and still am) shocked at the sadness and humor of the moment as it hit me out of no where. I slowly put things away, tidied up around the living room and searched frantically for anything that might distract me for the next minute/ lifetime so I wouldn't have to face taping up the first box. We've packed up a lot already but this week is the "real-deal-we're-doing-this" packing. I was frozen. But forward I went. Tearful and all.

It's eerie how a home becomes an intimate family member and then all of a sudden it betrays you when you realize that in a few short days it will be an intimate family member for some stranger (who no doubt will ruin the walls with disapproving colors and neglect to tinsel the place up at Christmas). I felt guilty last week packing up the patio, taking down the twinkle lights that hovered over leisure evenings of red wine and good conversations on a love-built flagstone patio. Cleaning out the garden and shutting the fence that my dad and I built... taking off the curtains to a bedroom window I looked out while my babies entered the world. Moving up and down a set of stairs that housed seven other precious friends and family for a time... painting over little scribbles on the wall from hands that grow too fast.

There just isn't enough of a moment to hold all of my goodbyes. 

But forward I must go. With all uneasiness and awkwardness of stepping ahead. Ironically it's the only natural thing we can do. Or at least..... should do. And sometimes the scariest. 

I have so many questions, fears, hesitations, excitement and plans for these next unknown years but I'm grateful for the peace of not being alone even in the loneliest of moments. I will not worry. I shall not worry! What does worrying get me? Who adds to their life by worrying? Surely I am seen, and known and cared for by Him who I abide in. The troubles we have in a day are enough for one day! Matt 6:25-34. So I'll put my every hope and energy in today and not fear tomorrow.

Forward in all of my un-doneness and stress and love and tears and sentimental endings. 

Forward. 

Deliberating December

The past two months have consumed me. I’ve walked in and out of my days with an absent-mindedness that has seemed to infiltrate numerous areas of my life. I haven’t been able to articulate my experience and no doubt this attempt will fall short of describing it’s depth but foolishly, I try.

I’ve recently made personal discoveries that have been monumental. While all this time I’ve attributed my pre-occupied brain to these discoveries, I still haven’t seemed to . . . settle. I’m forgetful. I’m slow. I'm not focused. I'm overwhelmed. I’m finding the simplest of tasks to be overwhelming and feel more like a spectator in my life whose floating above looking down when really I’m walking around in slow-motion.

I’ve shared before when I set goals it creates a rhythm I can operate in. A sort of metronome for life that seems to produce productivity. Well, that rhythm has lost it’s tick and now the holidays are upon me thus I cautiously approach them. I resent the situation I find myself in year after year. It’s the strategy game of Christmas with it’s commercialized, greed-inducing, and sometimes meaningless-gift-giving requirements. I love to give gifts and to receive them! But I cringe at the thought of lopping more things on top of our Mountain of things in a grandiose celebration of self. Especially when it comes to the impression I'm imparting onto my children and how it effects their evolving concept of holiday. Giving is a cherished encounter I've been fortunate to learn about from friends, where we express honor and appreciation of one another, a sort of acknowledgment of  “I see you”. But instead of seeing a people, we see lists. Some may easily find themselves slaves to a chore without ever taking notice as to why they are giving gifts in the first place. Ridiculous! The reverence of Christmas isn’t readily available to us anywhere but instead, waits quietly for us in our reflections and convictions.

I read once that contemplation and revolution should never be separated (Henri Nouwen). Maybe that’s why my thoughts can gnaw at me until I act on them, I don’t know. I shamefully admit that my frequent criticism of the enormous wasted wealth in the Western world compared to rest of the globe has not prevented me from being swept away with consumerism. Socially irresponsible consumerism, that is. How it astonishes me that one night I read about neighbors in a Nairobi slum sharing coveted shoe polish as an act of kindness (for when shoe polish is sniffed it offsets hunger pains and is often used in bottles shared by children and adults) and the very next day go about my business without any sense of urgency regarding information I gained the evening prior! In the end of my days, how will I account for this? How do you and I manage to live in one world but have knowledge of another’s whose reality is too painful to comprehend?

There is a way.

There are many ways in fact. Small steps. Baby steps to change. Scholars have analyzed this issue- the predicament people encounter when faced with the enormity of world hunger and still conclude with the notion of - small steps. Everyone making – small steps.

It's Christmas - the season of gifts and if you engage in gift giving, below are some links you can glance at that can revolutionize your giving.

Meanwhile, here’s a passage that has recently spoken to me. Dark as it may be, it’s been a poignant charge that's created a liability I can’t seem to escape.  

“The more we love earthly things, reputation, importance, ease, success and pleasures, for ourselves, the less we love God. Our identity gets dissipated among a lot of things that do not have the value we imagine we see in them, and we are lost in them: we know it obscurely by the way all these things disappoint us and sicken us once we get what we have desired. Yet we still bring ourselves to nothing, annihilate our lives by trying to fulfill them on things that are incapable of doing so. When we really come to die, at last, we suddenly know how much we have squandered and thrown away, and we see that we are truly annihilated by our own sick desires: we were nothing, but everything God gave us we have also reduced to nothing, and now we are pure death.

                                                                         (September 3, 1941, Journal of Thomas Merton, 243-44)

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The Importance of Time

The summer is nearing an end around our home and I can’t help but feel speechless about it. Within the past six months it seems I’ve been witness to life changes of those around me. Family has moved in, moved out.....moved away. It's created a solemnness that still stings at times but for the most part has laid itself rest in my unspoken thoughts.  While I usually attack my summer plans with an organized aggressiveness this time it was different. I moved in slow motion through the month of May and cautiously closed a chapter I'd invested in at our oldest daughter’s school. It didn’t sink in until it was over that I had come to know parents, kids and teachers in the course of 4 years. It would be back to the drawing board come August and I had a few months to realize it and so did my daughter. The topic fell silent between her and I. What else was there to say?

This morning was the first day of school. Dropping off my kids on the first day of school has always been an interesting experience for me. It’s flooded with my own memories of the awkward insecurities I had as a young girl, mixed with anticipation for my own children and then grandly topped off with my inevitable social analysis of other families and the general process. By the time the grueling 15-minute ritual had been accomplished this morning, I felt as if I had just finished writing a thesis. Drained and unsure, my husband and I got in the car and fell into the routine of weekday demands. I thought to myself as we drove by and glanced at the windowed doorway that there would never be enough time to slow it down and take it all in. That much I am sure of.

I suppose that’s why yesterday went just as it was meant to. The last day of summer has traditionally been relished in the mountain air with my kids. Snapping the last few pictures near the lake with their summer tans, singing the songs that were the soundtrack of our summer on the radio.  But not yesterday.  Something inside me was still. Quiet. Something caused me to pause and interrupt my instinct to head for the hills. Even now I don’t know what…but I’m grateful for it. I watched my kids grow older in the matter of 5 minutes. They wanted to go outside with their friends and then they gathered in the backyard splashing about the hose while I was in the garden. It was a simple day. A window into their safe childhood summer and I felt privileged to look through it. We were all at peace. Just being, talking about nothing in particular and laughing at each other's outrageous attempts at humor.

We’re inevitably being pushed forward. Every day. Flung into tomorrow’s expectations and required to show up on time. I thought a lot about the question – what will I do with my time? People ask me this as if I’ve just received 40 hours a week of free time. After the general bitterness subsided over the question - I thought about it more. What I will I do with the time I’ve been given? What should any of us do with the spare 15 minutes we might have in an afternoon or the weekend off that we have at our disposable? What will I do in a two-hour respite that can change the world I live in? Not just maintain it - but improve it?  It’s irrelevant what age any of us are since this question applies to us all. And it applies at every hour of the day or night. How do you spend your time? It’s probably a good indicator of self-discipline, values, desire and ambition or lack thereof.  The thought occurred to me that without goals or ambition – how can I continue to become? The fear of falling subject to a lazy complacency provoked me to action. Thus, I created a few goals for myself.

And I began to feel hopeful. 

My lesson hour

I had the privilege accompanying my daughter to her classroom last night. I along with a handful of somewhat willing parents were lead around by our child from one station to next. The teacher adamantly made it clear that the night was the students. There were no instructions except to the student and that was that they can show their parent anything they want to as long as they’ve had a lesson on it. What struck me the most wasn’t the neatly laid trays or the washed linens that the children had hung but rather the intense discipline it took for the adults in the room to constrain themselves. It was almost sadly entertaining.

In a 24 hour period, a child’s day is typically completely dictated by an adult whether a teacher, parents, daycare worker etc. They are told what to do and how and when. They’re told how to behave or what to say. They’re even told how to apologize when they’ve done something “wrong” that they can’t comprehend to begin with.  Little toy soldiers marching about in accordance to adult world standards. It must be exhausting. Sadly, it seemed even more exhausting for the parents to not be in control.

I was silent while my daughter sheepishly looked about the room. Despite the on-going conversations about what she will do and how she will teach me days prior it appeared the adrenaline was quickly lost when adults were hovering over and I waited silently. Finally after much thought, she chose the bead wall to be the venue in which she’d reveal her vast amounts of skills and knowledge. I watched as she fetched a small rug and laid it down decisively. I started to scoot towards it when I was abruptly stopped by her hand straight out in the air as she shook her head saying “No, no no. You can’t sit on it” with an apologetic tone. “Oh” I said “Ok, thanks for letting me know.” She began laying down a strand of beads and placing small arrows with numbers at the bead it correlated with. “One, two, three, four, five” she’d whisper and then lay down the tiny gray “5” arrow. The other arrows were set in a neat row above her bead strand as she began to count again. “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten”. Then she paused and surveyed the other arrows that were labeled 10, 15 , 20 and 25. She grabbed the 20 arrow and placed it down and began to count again from the very first bead. “One, two, three” and so on. When she arrived at bead 15 she searched for the arrow. Realizing that the previous was incorrect, she fixed it and finished the bead chain.

I found it interesting how extremely difficult it was to constrain myself in pointing out her mistake. Furthermore, as she returned to the first bead every time she started to place the next arrow I wondered how long I was to endure her counting the beads from the beginning instead of simply starting at 5 or 10. I wanted so desperately to impart my witty and easy tip as it would make her little mind expand twice as quickly! If only she had my help! I’m so important you know. After all, isn’t her classroom my personal space of expertise as well? But despite my instinct to guide, train, correct, “teach” her. . . I sat. Waiting. Waiting is so difficult yet we ask it of our children everyday. As well as our friends and family for that matter. It’s simply who we are. We ask for patience and grace yet it all of a sudden becomes a complex dilemma when we are to grant it ourselves. She rolled up her mat and carefully picked up the beads correcting me on how to hold them as not to accidentally hit another student in the head while I was walking (a sure sign that this observation had taken place earlier in the year). I told her that she really seemed to know her numbers and the order that they go. Then I asked her how long it took her to learn all of this stuff. “Well, the blue chain is really, really, REALLY hard” she replied not answering my question. But it wasn’t about me. I couldv’e asked her again how long it took but I realized – she doesn’t care so why should I? BINGO!  She had brought me to a lesson that has been the most difficult for her and she started with the hardest chain to show me as an example. That takes some serious guts. She couldv’e shown me anything but the bead wall let alone picked an easier chain to start with. But it was her night. She was the teacher and given enough silence and patience on my part, had taught me a difficult task with grace and precision.

Meanwhile I observed other parents talking to one another as their child tugged at their shirt. “Ok just wait a minute honey, I’m talking to Mrs. Harris” they told their kids. Unknowingly requesting them to wait in a situation that they shouldn’t ever have to. But of course, if a child tried to tell their parent “no, I want you to see this” then they risk the label of talking back and the punishment that follow. I had the luxury of not knowing many parents and my own husband was out of town so my focus was able to be on my kid. But what if that wasn’t the case? I wonder if I’d make the same observations. I asked the teacher as we were leaving if they ever instructed the kids to begin at bead 5 or bead 10 and then count up from there versus beginning with the first bead everytime. She said that they didn’t need to instruct them because after enough repetition, the children learn this naturally and it’s much more beneficial for them to come upon that discovery by themselves. If a child asks, then they would reply something like “that’s a good question, how about we find out?”.

It’s so difficult to wait. To think that maybe. Just maybe – I’m not the expert in my children’s lives. Or even WORSE! My family or friends. YIKES! I don’t know everything? I don’t have their solutions? That they might have something valuable in from their perspective to show me and if I talked or instructed, I completely destroy that beautiful encounter that could have taken place.

It’s difficult to be silent. It’s hard to wait. Maybe it’s because it requires a smidgen of humility. And humility is in low demand these days. . .

Gone

I feel uneasy. It happens quite a lot. It’s difficult to talk about without sounding sad. I’m not sad. More anxious. Unsatisfied but not ungrateful. Like having a craving that you can’t satisfy or an itch that you can’t quite reach. Deep down inside I wonder if I’ve denied my gypsy tendencies. . . chosen a road that I enjoy but a selfless one that any parent might understand.  Laid down roots that bind me. I don’t like to feel bound. It’s claustrophobic. It’s like choosing what routine you want to dance for years and years. Sounds morbid doesn’t it? I don’t mean it to (look, see – I’m apologizing). It’s just me. I feel like “just a wife and mom” and not so much like myself. Many times I enjoy the cadence of my family's life but one can still want more while enjoying something.

I’ve been distracted. Pre-occupied looking around my life instead of actually living it. As if I’ve been fixated on the view from my window instead of the one I’ve always hoped to see. Meanwhile feeling like an outsider. While standing around talking mommy talk or observing myself in a conversation with a neighbor. I’m a fraud. I think –Who the hell cares about what swimming lesson is better than the other or why you won’t go to a certain theater. Don’t they know there’s more to life? Is something wrong with me that I think the people next to me at Costco are superficial? After all,  I’m in line with them! Am I judging them that their loading up on destructive paper towels and pre-packaged baby carrots that in all reality don’t even resemble a carrot? I couldn't keep track of how many, myself included, loaded up on things they didn't know they needed until they came upon the coveted shelves at Target. It's a sickness.

I’m not sure what’s changed but I feel a shift in perspective. I’m almost indifferent about those things and irritated that they’ve been distracting me for so long. I enjoy my safe little life but I fear it’s become a drug. It’s not something that this mother of three brain of mine thought would ever be appropriate to say but I don’t want any roots. At least not deep ones. Is that strange? All I’ve known of home has now become a collection of dear people and irreplaceable memories.

I just want to GO! Go Somewhere. Go anywhere! Into the world that’s been waiting on me and I on it. To get lost. Eat "strange" food, be uncomfortable, make surprising connections, meet God on the altars of inconvenience. Outside of this blinding western perspective. Apart from the debt-driven machine of suburban life. To quit ringing that darn dinner bell in the kitchen but instead to tell my family “I don’t know what’s for dinner, let’s see where the train drops us at next.”

Am I selfish or just honest? I suppose most of all . . . I feel free. Free and now eager. One day I'll tell someone that I can't meet with them because I'll be gone. GONE. I'll be out of the country. They'll ask where I'll be going and I'll reply with some fuzzy idea but all I know is that I'll be gone. Long gone. One day. . .

The world is a book and for those who do not travel read only one page. ~St. Augustine