ON THE ROAD

I'm on the road again rolling south through California on my way to LA My dad flies into LAX from Florida tomorrow for his cancer treatment and I will pick him up along with my brother who is also flying in from Sacramento I drove today from my brother's house in Chico and am now holed up in a $40 room at the Super 8 near Bakersfield I can hear the dull whoosh of I-5 through the drawn curtains and it smells like perfumed cleaners in the room but it's safe and comfy enough for the night As I roar down the highway I listen to On the Road the cult classic of travel writing by Jack Kerouac although I wonder if that's his real name since in the book he's called Sal Paradise So which is it I really don't know but I do know because it said so in the introduction that he wrote the entire book on one scroll of paper one long paragraph without punctuation like this one that I'm writing now for a lark really just to play with the words and with your head After church in Chico this morning I headed south toward Sacramento through Marysville where I past the big pond with all the ducks and duck poop that my children and I used to walk around when we visited Aunt Margie and Uncle Wayne in nearby Yuba City Then down into the great central valley past dull industrial towns like Lodi where I didn't get stuck but did give a panhandler $5 for burgers at the McDonalds where I'd stopped to pee and Stockton Modesto and Fresno I wondered whatever happened to my friends Sandy and Carlos who moved to Modesto years ago and disappeared and as I passed Atwater I pulled up the few memories I have of living there for a few months when I was seven And then I was past the towns and driving through a low-lying fog that reminded me of Brother Child's talk at church about how he used to live in this San Joaquin valley and one day took off in his little airplane into a fog so thick he couldn't see the line on the runway and how once in the air flying blind and regretting his stupidity he had to choose between trusting the altimeter which indicated he was banking sharply right or his body which felt perfectly upright and how that's often the choice because Spirit and sense rarely share the same air Long miles ahead blue sky beckoned and I followed the power lines hundreds of them marching parallel to the road like little Eiffel towers all lined up on the shelf of a Paris souvenir shop cows bunched beneath them or sometimes sheep The hills were green with exuberant new grass blades of glory that didn't know they were recycled and simply gleamed with joy to be alive Then the hills flattened out and the road stretched on and on one long thin line in the middle of flat fields that you'd call barren if you didn't know that much of your food comes from this vast valley Dark green groves of orange trees on either side of me thick glossy and round and speckled with bright fruit Other orchards with winter-stripped limbs appeared stretching in perfect rows into infinity One kind of tree figs perhaps with thick knobby branches and top-chopped crewcuts looked like inverted pyramids stuck on trunks I laughed at sight of them and deemed them my favorite There are no towns or cities really in this long stretch of highway just makeshift oases at certain exits with gas stations and cheap motels and fast food That's where I am now and can only expect to meet other transients on my evening walk past Denny's and Motel 6 and Chevron We're all huddled on a wire for the night heads tucked warily beneath weary wings and the hum of the highway constant and alluring

MUSINGS ON MEEKNESS AND MOTHER

They say . . . okay, He says . . . we're supposed to be meek. I'm not very good at meek. Or humble. Or patient, or calm, or forbearing, soft, or gentle. All peas in the same virtuous pod. However, that confessed, I've learned a lot about submission, which I'm hoping is close cousin to meekness and therefore my gateway into the realm of the meek, who, after all, shall inherit the earth.

The thing is, I love God. With passion. With complete trust. With total willingness to submit to the divine will in all things. Not that I do that perfectly, but the spirit, at least, is always willing. You can think of times, too, in your life, when you've followed that Voice, despite your fears and your good sense, and discovered yourself in a far better place than you could ever have imagined or created. God is like that, leading us down scary, surprising roads we never would have taken without that beloved Voice whispering in our ear, luring us into submission, into glory. God, He loves us so much!

But the problem I have with meekness is that it seems to demand anonymity, a sort of disappearing of self. Me, I want recognition. Acknowledgement. Appreciation. Renumeration, if you please. So it's perhaps not surprising that God has led me to become the mother of six, my work rarely recognized, acknowledged, appreciated, and certainly not renumerated. I work from behind a veil.

Somewhere I read that ancient priestesses of pagan religions were veiled in ceremony. The veil was a symbol of their power in the priesthood. I like that. I remember that when I am veiled, in ritual or in work. And I remember, too, that Mother works from behind a veil. Most Christians don't even acknowledge the female Diety. Mormons know about Her, but we don't really know Her, because She is veiled.
(And because we don't ask.) I don't know why. It used to irk me, as if someone was forcing that veil on Her. But I'm just beginning to sense the power of it, the miraculous things a person can do from behind a veil, without recognition.

I sense the power in meekness, in humility. I know the grace of submission. Maybe it's a game of semantics and I really know more than I think. Maybe I'm just full of contradictions and competing desires, like I suspect we all are. All I can think to do for now is to stop trying to rip that veil off, to be still and feel the power and potential of my priestess position. To follow that trusted Voice. To submit. To trust.

TIME

Time is a big bugaboo for me. It's not that I can't figure out how to "manage" it. It's just that I never feel like a temporal-based existence is my natural world. I feel out of place in time. Temporally displaced, perhaps.

I recognize the benefits of experiencing "generations of time." We can't very well exercise agency--make choices--without time, for there would be no cause and effect. There would be nothing temporally linear, so that we could see the results of our choices and actions. And that's a valuable lesson--imperative, even.

And I see how time is a resource and that we are stewards of the time we're allotted here, just as we are stewards of all the other resources we've been given--our bodies, our opportunities, our talents. That is to say, what we choose to do with our time matters, because of how it impacts our spiritual development.

But I still don't like it. Chronos time, I mean--the linear, chronological, point-by-point sort of time that we measure our days and lives by. There are ways to break through that narrow experience of Chronos time, however, into Kairos time, sacred time. I know you've experienced it, those in-between moments, that sensation of being caught up into something Other, where time is irrelevant and there is only you and the eternal moment. Maybe you get there through yoga or meditation or prayer, as I sometimes do. Sometimes you catch a glimmer of Kairos, the "supreme moment", as the Greeks termed it, in an exalting experience of music or nature or love. And when you're there, in that moment, don't you feel like you've come Home? Don't you feel like you've arrived where you truly belong? Don't you wish the moment would never end?

But it does end, and we are sucked back into our temporal world, like when Christopher Reeves is sucked back into his own time when he pulls that penny out of his jacket pocket in the movie "Somewhere in Time." And even though we acknowledge the benefits and gifts of our current somewhere-in-time status, it still sucks to be dragged back.

It's a testy beast, time is. Generally, it gives us the impression that there's either not enough of it, or too much, depending on the day's demands and our life circumstances. Yesterday, I worked non-stop for 16 hours and still didn't finish my list. And I remember my great grandmother, ready and waiting for years to die. Too little, too much.

Or maybe it's just right. Maybe we all get exactly the amount of time we need and it's up to us to be good stewards, to reap the benefits of our wise use of time. I really am grateful to be living in a Chronos world, even though I feel like a foreigner here. I know I learn things I could not in any other setting.

And with that, it's time for bed, where dreams pull me back into Kairos . . . where I belong.

TRANSITIONS

Something's off about my blog. You may have noticed I've missed posting for much of the past week. I've been mulling instead, trying to figure out what's wrong. This is supposed to be a blog about Exploration, begun as an attempt to help me weather the trauma of my return to "normalcy" after six months traveling the world. The original idea, inspired by the movie "Julia and Julie" and Ross from "Friends" was to explore new things daily and to write about them. But it feels shallow and stale to me, as I ponder blog posts, to tell you about my new salad spinner and how I had to call Genevieve to figure out how to use it, or to talk about "Avatar", the latest movie I saw. (It was excellent, by the way.)

My real explorations are going on inside. And it's pretty intense, which is more normal than not for me. The conundrum this presents is this: 1)the most intense and interesting things are often too sacred to share with you, and 2) I'm not sure you'd care to hear about it, anyway. As my son-in-law, Scott, commented to Genevieve, as he prepared to come spend Christmas with us, "I like spending time with your family, but I hope we don't spend all our time discussing deep stuff." I'm afraid you may feel that way, too. But maybe not. Maybe you, too, hunger for some deep stuff, something soul-satisfying, something to remind you that what is Real is invisible to the eye.

Here's where I am now. I don't want this to be just a recounting of the new things I do or read or eat or encounter. I want it to be more meaningful, perhaps even of service to you. I know things. Some of those things I can share, and maybe it will be helpful. Maybe it will inspire you a little. I hope so. Or maybe you'll wander off to less "deep" blogs, and that's fine, too.

I can't be deep all the time, though. It takes a lot of effort to write about the kinds of things I want to talk to you about, things you might term "spiritual." So I'm getting rid of my self-imposed goal of posting five times a week. It's too much for me, for now.

We're still exploring. But we're going to head inland for a while, inside the soul. That's where the most interesting and valuable discoveries are. I hope you'll stick with me. I have lots of questions and few answers, so I hope you'll chime in with your own discoveries, insights, and questions on the Comment board.

This is a risk for me, because to write Real means to bare myself. But I sincerely believe that the personal is always universal, that what is Real for me is Real for you, too. I'm willing to get Real. How about you?

GROUPON

I recently discovered a great way to save some money on all kinds of purchases. Every day in my email inbox, I receive notice of the Deal of the Day in my area. Deals run the gamut from restaurants, to spa and health services, to retail and entertainment. You can usually save at least 50% off the regular price and the "groupons" are generally good for a year. Every day there is a new deal, good for purchase on that day only. You simply buy the ones that interest you and bypass the ones that don't.

Check it out at www.groupon.com

SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

I was flipping through channels while at the beach this week and happened upon Gene Kelly singin' and dancin' in the rain with his umbrella. It looked so inviting and fun.

Not! When I tried it, singin' and skippin' down the road toward the beach, the raindrops pelted my face and the wind blew winter into all the gaps in my clothing.

I didn't have an umbrella, which was perhaps the problem.

Or it may have been a problem of love.

"I think it has something to do with love," I remembered, "the reason he's so happily melodious in the inclement weather."

So the next day, I bundled up better and braved the wintry weather once more. I still didn't carry an umbrella (umbrellas are for wimps -- and dancing props) but I did take that lovin' feelin' with me on my walk in the rain.

And you know what? It worked. I had a lovely time singin' in the rain.

NEW YEAR'S RETREAT

I love Mondays and New Years. Also the first day of summer vacation and the first day of school in the fall. It's beginnings I love. There is such an energy and hope about a fresh start. All the unfinished business, the mistakes and disappointments of the previous week/year/semester fall away and we get to begin again.

I like to begin each new start with a bit of quiet and solitude, away from the daily grind. So typically, when the new year rolls around, I get away. It's a time to retreat, reflect, and renew.

So I'm off to Surfside today, at the northern tip of the Long Beach peninsula. It will be cold there in January, but there's nothing nicer than watching winter storms over the ocean from beside the fire in my bonus-time condo. I've packed two backpacks full of books and journals. I have my first-draft list of goals to refine and organize. I've carefully planned and packed food to carry on with my healthy livin'. And yes, I've got my boots for fast walks on the beach. And Season 2 of "Friends" and some yarn and a crochet hook.

My good husband mans the fort while I'm gone, for which I'm grateful. He knows he will benefit as much as I will by this set-apart time.

Even if you can't retreat totally, find a few hours to be quiet and focus on what you really want in this new year. I promise you, it's worth the effort.

And by the way, I can book anyone in the Worldmark condos on bonus time. I can see availability for two weeks ahead, and the cost is about $30-$50 per night. Contact me if you're interested.

SPIN

I took my first Spin class at the gym this week. Ugh! I pedaled and pedaled for an hour and even though I gave up standing up for the "hills" every time Denise yelled, "Crank up that dial!" I didn't quit.

And you know, I actually felt great . . . about thirty minutes after class ended.

HEALTHY LIVIN' CHALLENGE

Yep, it's the new year, time to get back on the wagon and live healthy. I've joined a group of women in a healthy livin' challenge, to add a little motivating competition to my efforts. You can see the details of our challenge at www.healthylivinchallenge.com.

We can earn up to six points per day, one point each for:

1) reading scripture (any amount)
2) praying
3) drinking at least 64 oz. of water
4) eating at least 5 servings of fruits and vegetables
5) consuming no junk food
6) exercising at least 30 minutes (resting 30 minutes on Sunday)

I'm two days into it and have earned 12 points already! Of course, everyone else probably has, too, so the key will be to stick to it.

I suspect you'll hear more about this as I progress. And of course I'll let you know when I win.

LA'S ORCHESTRA SAVES THE WORLD

Alexander McCall Smith is one of my favorite authors. A Brit with wit, he always provides a chuckle-in-your-tea -- even the occasional pee-in-your-pants hilarious adventure in reading. So when I saw a book by him on the "New Books" shelf at the library, I grabbed it.

It's called "La's Orchestra Saves the World" and it's very different from anything else I've read by him. Set in a small village in Suffolk during War World II, it's the kind of story that whispers in your heart until you are snared unawares by its tenderness and truth. The writing in some paragraphs is so stunningly beautiful that you reread them just to hear the words again.

I don't know why, but I am always deeply moved by stories involving the British fight against Hitler during those dark years of the Blitz. I don't know a braver story. As I walked toward St. Paul's Cathedral in London with my daughters last August, recounting how the Londoners determined to save the cathedral, whatever the cost, and how they stationed soldiers in the belfry to watch for the German planes that came blazing in every night to bomb the city, I cried, like I do every time I visit this point in history. I don't even know that much about it. But something extraordinary happened in those five years in England, with Churchill chanting, "Never give in!" and the nation rallying to resist evil.

"La's Orchestra" is not really about that. It's about a girl who gets married and then unmarried and who finds a way to make a life and to contribute. But the setting is important and at least for me, incredibly moving.

Try any of Alexander McCall Smith's books. You won't be disappointed.

PARTY ON!

My family and I sat down to Sunday dinner and wondered, "What shall we do this week?"

"Well, it's New Year's Eve on Thursday. Let's have a party!"

So we did. We got on the phone and invited some local families over. They came bearing goodies and game boards and we had a rollicking time.

At midnight, we all went out on the porch and waved our sparklers in the rain, shouting . . .

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Hope you heard us, since we were shouting at you.