20 Minutes and Turkeys

Returning to California summer after eight days of tropical greenery and wide open beaches of Kauai shocks the body into reality. Temps reached 100 here today. It seems hotter than the humid 85 in Kauai. I long to plunge into the ocean. I’d settle for a pool which gives me second thoughts about the burial of our pool a few years ago.

The sunrise alarm of Kauai’s colorful roosters is replaced with these turkey youngsters outside my bedroom window calling for their mom. They spent the morning with cries of abandonment. Maybe mama turkey couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe she needed a morning off. Late morning we heard her call, far off down the hillside. I watched the young ones mindfully waddle down the driveway.

So why did I include “20 Minutes” in my title? Because the last four weeks I committed to the exercise of writing 20 minutes a day. Everyday but Sunday. I managed to do this in spite of an eight day vacation proving to myself that I can find 20 minutes out of 24 hours. Not always easy, and sometimes writing into the late hours, but the course is complete. I thank my instructor, Len, from Story Circle Network for offering this class. Len offers a binder full of lessons, generous feedback and gentle reminders. If you need inspiration, go there. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

I can’t promise 20 Minutes a day posted here. My priority is to finish the first draft of my memoir before Labor Day. But, you can be sure I will be writing 20 minutes a day somewhere.

I think I hear the turkeys calling. Later.

Circle Way

Years ago, sometime in the 1990s, I had the privilege to attend the Women’s Dream Quest at Grace Cathedral. It was during this time of much strife and uncertainty that I discovered the labyrinth in this cavernous gothic cathedral. Not knowing what to expect I entered this sacred space nervous and scared but hopeful of finding a sense of spiritual peace. Sleeping bags, pillows and overnight bags lined up against one wall, eighty women gathered around the labyrinth for the opening ceremony.

I took my place in the circle, skepticism growing as we began with chants, songs and dance. Not being gifted with a pleasant singing voice or rhythm to dance I followed in awkward evolution hoping no one would notice I wasn’t verbalizing the words. When the time came to draw cards for smaller group assignments, I was relieved and yet worried knowing I would have to participate. I was assigned to the turtle group. My first thought was at least I can stay hidden within the shell.

We tossed the talking ball back and forth as each woman volunteered to reveal her purpose for being there. I waited to be last whereupon I blurted out, “I just want to sleep overnight in the cathedral.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but I wasn’t willing to share with these people I had met only a few minutes before. I’d have to sleep on it. That was okay.

After changing into our night clothes and having a light snack, we returned to the cathedral for the nighttime activities – pretty much whatever you chose to do – some art projects, meditation, blessings, journaling, walking the labyrinth. Not blessed with much artistic capability, the doll I made was simply a head with a purple robe. I still have her tucked away in my nightstand. As I snuggled into my sleeping bag on the hard concrete floor, the building was abuzz with action. Women walked, danced and crawled the labyrinth. I waited, wanting to walk the labyrinth in the dark peace of night. Soon the lights dimmed.

I slept for a bit, waking up to loud husky snores echoing from a cot on the other side of the pews. I wondered if the woman would be embarrassed if she knew. It was dark except for the candles around the labyrinth and only a few women were still wandering around. I picked up a small green rock that I had brought with me and headed to the labyrinth. Slowly I made the circuits into the center, dropped to my knees in meditation and made the journey out of the maze. I placed the rock on the altar.

At daybreak as the sun shone through the beautiful stained glass windows, Judith Tripp (our leader) strolled through the cathedral with her guitar singing Morning Has Broken. Soon she had a parade of women behind her. My sleeping bag was warm and I chose to stay cuddled up as I watched the procession in awe. When the call came for our first group, I stopped by the altar and picked up the green rock, surprised by its warmth in the chilly environment.

By noon we had finished up our small groups, had breakfast, and performed skits related to our animal cards. I felt blessed, at peace, and at ease – ready to make the journey to the hospital where my son lay deathly sick. I placed the healing rock in his hand praying that good health would return. He still has the rock.

I bring this up over two decades after the experience because I was checking the Grace Cathedral calendar for the labyrinth walk schedule. I was surprised to find that Judith Tripp has a Women’s Dream Quest this coming October. It might just be the nudge I need back into spirituality.

For more information see CircleWay and Grace Cathedral websites.

Charming

Remember the days we had charm bracelets? I was looking through my jewelry box the other day for missing earrings when I came across this. How convenient that it showed up since my 50th reunion is on the horizon for next year. Mostly it’s a visual trip through the senior year and I suspect each one of these charms could be a prompt for a future story.

The drunk hanging on the street lamp at the corner of State and Madison streetlamp may have been added a few years later when we honeymooned in Chicago.

Yarn with knitting needles and scissors with the thimble represent hobbies. I made most of my own clothes.

Not so sure about the orange ball but I think has something to do with bowling.

Typewriter – yes I learned to type on a manual typewriter and my first job was typing address labels of all the private airports in the states. I think it was busy work given to me by a friend of my dads.

Faith, hope and charity – I am a preacher’s kid.

Not so sure about the corn cob – the trip through miles of corn fields from Michigan to California.

Diploma – obviously I graduated. Probably a gift from mom and dad.

The crutch – a little tobogganing mishap and a perfect excuse to skip P.E., my least favorite class.

Expo 67 – my senior trip.

What’s on your charm bracelet? Do you still have it?

Mountains of Memories

Shoes to Whitney There’s Mt. Whitney dirt buried beneath the layer of dust on these boots. Nearly twenty years after the journey they remain under the nightstand, waiting for the next trek. I had planned to hike the trail again but the reality of that is improbable. Now I see the boots and bandana as trophies of past adventures – checks Mt Whitney ledge off the bucket list of goals.

I reflect on that elation I once felt at the top of this world. The photo proof of accomplishment feeds my mind with encouragement, staving off the inner critic as I work on my current goal to finish the memoir, one switchback at a time.

The process of writing the memoir is like climbing that mountain. We begin at the bottom, working on the arc of the story – the path to the top and then down again. I set the milestones.

Permits – getting permission
Training – learning the best way
Advice – finding a coach who has been there
Mirror Lake – reflecting on the memories
Trailside Meadows – feeling the effects but pushing on
Trail Camp – regenerating
97 Switchbacks – penning the points in the arc
Trail Crest – seeing the other side
Summit – the first draft
97 Switchbacks – editing, cutting back
Return to the Portal – exhausted but exhilarated
Buying the “I Climbed Mt Whitney T-Shirt” – the reward

I am at Trailside Meadows. Where are you in your journey?

If we were having coffee right now…

If we were having coffee right now, I would tell you about the people at my church. Since I suggested that people might want to watch Dogtown Redemption, it seems there are people now who are interested. They come up and talk to me after church. Mark sent me an email and asked what he could do to help. Marilyn called me earlier this week and we talked for quite some time. She knows Jason. She has grandchildren coming this summer and maybe they can meet JJ. She greeted me with a big hug today. Don brought me a copy of Remember to Remember, only because I got to know him last week at the deacon’s luncheon and he found out we live in the same city. The author lives in our city, right down the street from me. Louise gave me a knowing look as she walked by with the offering plate. Rich called me an “author.” Chris talked to me during coffee hour offering a suggestion that at some point I must determine the memoir is done. No more editing. Trust it is what it is meant to be.

If we were having coffee right now, I would tell you that I spent most of the afternoon reading Remember to Remember. I kept falling asleep. Exhausted. I feel like I need to read the book. Not put it on the shelf where it will stay at the bottom of the to be read pile for months, maybe years. It’s the first time I’ve read a real book in years. Instead I’ve read my way through three generations of Kindles. Somehow it feels right to be holding a book. A good thing since I have that stack of real books sitting on the shelf calling to me.

If we were having coffee right now, I would tell you how addicted I have become to listening to podcasts. Mostly podcasts about writing or publishing. That’s what I do when I develop an interest in something new. Not that writing is new but it is brought to the forefront as I consider the commitment that my memoir would be finished by the end of summer. My last interest was photography. Every day I took a photo and posted it on Project 365. I kept at it for almost two years. Then I got bored with it. But in the meantime I tried to learn everything I could about photography. I took online courses. I watched YouTube videos. Did I mention that I am taking online courses in writing now? What will be my next phase or interest I wonder.

If we were having coffee right now, I would tell you about writing 20 minutes a day and how it is changing my behavior. At least for 20 minutes a day it is. I am wondering if it is another distraction to keep me from working on the memoir. You see, it’s not about working 20 minutes a day on the memoir. It’s about writing 20 minutes a day with a topic that is sent to me by email as part of an online course. It’s only a 20 day course so it will be complete by the time I begin a 20 minute a day practice with Len Leatherwood. Yes, that is another course I’m taking through Story Circle. What I like about the idea is that it builds a consistency habit. It holds me accountable when I sign up for something like that. I guess you might say it’s because I seem to do well when I have challenges, my form of goal setting.

If we were having coffee right now, I would have to confess I am drinking tea. I only did the coffee thing because it was a writing prompt. I prefer to drink tea this time of day. Green tea, usually from Trader Joes. It’s an afternoon pick me up. Since I slept a good portion of the afternoon, it is a necessity. A wake up call.

Since I am drinking tea right now, I’m going to tell you that each paragraph in this exercise was supposed to begin with “If we were having coffee right now.” See what a rebel I have become? Is it cheating to change this paragraph or is it just creativity?

If we were having coffee right now, what would you tell me?