hey Jack Kerouac
Today, in anticipation of the 5+ hours of driving I'd be doing to visit clients, I drove down the hill from my house and stopped at the tiny local mountain library to get out some books on CD.
This morning I started a Jack Kerouac book, and I LOVE IT. Ok, so maybe I'm a little late in the game. I have heard lots
about him, but until today hadn't read anything
by him. His words are perfect listening while driving, especially while driving through the mountains. He is one of those authors whose words cause my eyes to sparkle as I read (or listen) to them.
Though this quote isn't from the book to which I'm listening, I found it tonight while looking up other works of his, and I like it A LOT. It reminds me of the state of being in which I find myself most all the time these days, as soon as I step out of my front door and take a few steps from my house:
The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. Ecstacy, even, I felt, with flashes of sudden remembrance, and feeling sweaty and drowsy I felt like sleeping and dreaming in the grass.
In other (not so deep or happy) news, I found myself tonight in an all-too-familiar conversation with a kid about MYSPACE. She is 13 and decided to set up a profile in which she said she is 18 ... and she made lots of older male friends as a result. So tonight I had the wonderful experience of addressing this issue with her and trying to convince her of how overrated Myspace is. Honestly? I am sick of the site, especially when I hear reports of thousands and thousands of sexual predators utilizing it to find their victims. If it were up to me, the site would go down ... and so would the parents who are clueless as to what their kids are doing online.
Jeeps, mosquitoes, and traditions
Whenever I put the top on my Jeep, I am reminded of family camping trips and the silly little pop-up trailer we had. Much to the delight of the hungry local mosquitoes, I just spent about 10 minutes outside, negotiating zippers and snaps and little rubber pieces that I'm sure have some technical name (they're the ones that slip under the metal overhang thingies that go around the frame). The weather forecast for tomorrow says thunderstorms, and I'd rather not have to drain out the Jeep again (as much fun as it was when I had the pleasure of doing it about two weeks ago).
So, tonight, as the mosquitoes dined on my flesh and my dogs frolicked around the Jeep, I held a Mag lite in my mouth and - with each snap and zipper I snapped and zipped - I was flooded with memories of family and tradition. It was more common than not for us to arrive at the campground when it was already dark outside, so we got to be quite skilled at either putting up the trailer in the dark or sleeping in the minivan until the morning when we would then put up the trailer.
I remember other things about those trips, like roasting marshmallows around a campfire, and struggling to sleep at night on the stiff camper bed, kept awake by a sunburn earned by spending all day at the beach. I remember sneaking out of the camper at night to walk through the woods, guided only by the light of the moon, and coming out to an open space with my mouth wide open as I gazed up a star-filled sky. I also remember getting into trouble when I got back to the camper to find my mom awake and awaiting my return.
For several of my adult years, I looked back on those "camping" trips with a type of arrogant disdain, taking the lofty stance that we weren't really
camping and that somehow those trips didn't really deserve to be all that memorable. Real camping would not involve flushing toilets within walking distance, or coin-operated showers. In the wilderness, you can't run an extension cord to power a transistor radio or tiny refrigerator.
But it seems that lately I am constantly reminded that memories are not so much about
what you actually do, as
who you do it with ... or even
if you do it at all. The kids with whom I work, and today's generation in general, seem to lack the concept of tradition in their lives. One of the things that appealed most to me about my current position is that I have the opportunity to be a constant in the world in which these kids live, a world full of change and transition.
Even now as I write this, the trunk of my car is occupied with three Rubbermaid totes and a duffel bag, the evidence of one 13-year-old boy's most recent change and transition. While the traditions of my childhood involved pop-up trailers and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, this young man endures traditions of being moved from one institution to another, in the hopes that possibly he will stay long enough in one place to create happy memories. I wish somehow that I could buy a huge RV and gather up all these children (or at least my seven clients), feed them Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, and take them on star-gazing walks. I want so badly to help to create traditions and memories in their lives.
Part of me is stirred with sadness when I think about my own childhood, almost as if I would go back to those restless, sunburned nights if I could. But a bigger part of me is filled with hope: the hope that I am now in a position to teach others how to build their own traditions. I am doing it now myself, in small, seemingly insignificant ways. I get up early every morning and run alongside the lake as it reflects the first glimmers and hues of a new day. I sit on my deck and read every day, as I eat oatmeal with fruit and drink coffee. I still make it a point to meet someone new each day, and to be a part of impacting someone's life in a positive way. I eat pancakes on Sundays (today I had whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes with fresh blackberries on tops) and go for long walks in the afternoons (today's was TWO AND A HALF hours long). At night I sit in bed and write about the day and think about what I will do differently tomorrow. Life should be characterized by change and improvement, but there should also be a steady rhythm which drives it all. My role right now is to help create this rhythm in the lives of these children. I still sometimes wonder how I got to be the one to do this, but I am so glad I did ...
Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that so it goes on flying anyway.
(ok, so the title doesn't really relate to the post at all - it's just a quote I liked, and I couldn't think of a good title, so there it is. You can deal with it.)
Somehow some of my co-workers convinced me to run a 5k race with them in a few weeks. Not exactly sure how that happened, because I'm not really a "race" kind of person. I have done them in the past, but - unless they're for a good cause - they really strike me as "things you should be able to do on your own but maybe won't do unless there are lots of other people doing it and you get a free t-shirt." I am content to run - alone - beside streams and through the woods on root-covered trails ... but I'll appease my friends, just this once.
Anyway, I just got back from a really tough run on some windy, steep mountain roads. And this is fun? Hmmm.
Lots going on, as usual.
I stumbled across this quote today, and it suits me REALLY well:
Excellence can be attained if you care more than others think is wise, risk more than others think safe, dream more than others think is practical, and expect more than others think is possible.
- Author Unknown
a little scratchin' goes a long way
I was just stretching after a run, and both of my dogs decided they needed my attention and strategically placed themselves near my legs ... so my stretch time was a combination of stretching my muscles and scratching their bellies. And their backs. And around their ears. They love being scratched. I wonder how much of it is my ability to scratch, and their desire for any kind of attention.
Hm, I like my dogs a lot. I can't imagine what relaxing would look like without them. And I need to relax.
The past few days have been strange, but also good. Yesterday I went back to the town where I used to live. It was strange to be back there, to walk the streets of my old neighborhood, and especially to visit my friends at the rest home. There are so many memories in that place, so much information, so many shortcuts I learned (mostly by getting lost), and it makes me a little bit sad to think that all of that is now filed in the "not really too useful anymore" spot in my head.
I am discovering that my life is becoming a bit of a series of those kind of moments. Does everyone have a collection of library cards in their wallet, from several different counties? I catch myself still using some of them, so I hesitate to cancel them
just in case.
I think back over the past several years and I am amazed at where I have been and who I have become. Last year at this time I was stepping up to some CRAZY stuff that even now seems like a movie of someone
else's life. I am intrigued by the idea of where I might be in a year from now.
Yesterday, after hiking , looking at water, and getting eaten by bugs at a park near my old town, we went out to eat. Our waiter was super-likable, but also super-quirky. And I was reminded again of how much I enjoy people, and how grateful I am for the ability to communicate and engage and become a part of someone
else's story, even if it's just for an hour while he serves me pizza and salad and some really corny jokes.
Today provided several more reminders of why I do what I do, and why I know that I will never be happy living in a house in the woods and spending all my time reading or painting pictures of trees and mountains. I spent time with several clients today, and I was able to participate in a group therapy session with one girl. I have had inclinations toward what I want to do after I finish my degree, but today provided more clarity. The therapy session was incredible, and I think I wasn't alone in being disappointed when it ended. The kids' responses rendered me speechless a couple times, and I had to turn my face more than once - to hide a smile, and also to hide tears.
I left the group home with my mind buzzing, and then went to meet another client for the first time. She is 13, and a
girly-girl ... so we ended up going to the mall to walk around and talk. I admit, it's probably the coolest mall I've ever been to, but I still don't really like it too much. Anyway, while there I was able to observe lots of kids with their families and was struck by the similarity of those kids to the kids I work with. Take away the mom and screaming little sister, and swap the designer Gap Kids clothes with group home hand-me-
down's ... and these kids act and talk the same as the kids who I visit and engage in "therapeutic activities."
I have lots and lots of ideas in my head. The run tonight helped some of them to settle, the dog-scratching session took care of some more ... but I have a hunch that some of these thoughts and feelings will never resolve. There is pain and injustice in the world, and I can't make it disappear: in my head, or in the lives of these kids and others like them. But dang it, I refuse to look back at the end of it all and wonder if I could have done more.
pay it sideways
I think I need to make it a point to carry cash on me ... at least maybe $5 a day. I think this is maybe a reasonable amount that might just be enough to change the course of
someone's day.
I just came from a artsy bookstore coffee shop in the heart of downtown
Asheville. While I was looking at books and waiting for my iced mocha to be ready, I overheard two teenage girls trying to figure out which coffee drink they would order to share. They very possibly went through the entire menu, asking the not-too-friendly, pierced cashier how much each drink was. They had finally arrived at a decision (after much discussion and asking several times the size of individual drinks, all of which were the same size) at just about the same time my drink was ready. They walked up to the cashier, I walked up to the other end of the counter to pick up my drink ... and then I walked by them, put a $5 bill on the counter in front of them, and kept on walking.
How fun to watch the stare of the overly pierced and tattooed staff person, and to hear the girls say, "Oh my gosh, thank you!" several times, in various high pitches of voice. Sometimes I wonder if I do this kind of thing because it's the right thing to do, or because I enjoy the reaction it elicits ... and I didn't even touch on the stares of some of the people in the bookstore.
there's just something i like about (being) a pickup woman
While I'm getting some work done on my car, I'm driving this truck:
And I like it a lot.
Between the Jeep and this, I'm not sure I'll ever own a car again.
I know my posts are pretty shallow lately, but it's because the depth of things in my everyday existence has grown like crazy ... so I need to balance all that out
somewhere. :)
I head toward the beach tomorrow to visit a client - I'm looking forward to some time alone in the car.
Lots and lots and lots going on ...
I like this a lot
It's from Wednesday's
Reflections for Ragamuffins:
What the world longs for from the Christian religion is the witness of men and women daring enough to be different, humble enough to make mistakes, wild enough to be burned in the fire of love, real enough to make others see how unreal they are. Jesus, Son of the living God, anoint us with fire this day. Let your Word not shine in our hearts, let it BURN. Let there be no division, compromise, or holding back. Separate the mystics from the romantics, and goad us to that daredevil leap into the abyss of your love.
It's a good reminder to me.
Lots going on. My neighbor (the one who is the mama to teeny, tiny little Ashley) is going to church with me tomorrow. And today I gave a new copy of
Blue Like Jazz to Justin at work. I am curious about, and fascinated by, life and the people that fill it.
I have been reading about the history of the counseling profession. So interesting. There's a lot in there about how counseling sort of flourished during the Depression era. Makes sense, but it's nothing I would have necessarily thought about before.
Really, really good book I'm reading/listening to right now:
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. If Anne Frank lived in the South in the 60's and her writing ability wasn't quite so amazing, this might be something she would write. There's no Miep, and the narrator on the CD doesn't quite offer what Winona Ryder does to the recorded version of Anne Frank's writing ... but still - really, really good.
i like my life
Today was a long day. But a good day.
It was a "working on files" day. I took one of my dogs to work with me, and took paperwork breaks to throw her bone and wrestle with her on the carpet and forget about work. Everyone else was doing the same thing. They sort of liked her at my office.
I took the Jeep to work. The drive home was the best part of the day ... it was just starting to cool down, and we caught the wonderful sight of the sky above the mountains growing darker as we drove alongside them. I am convinced that she was smiling as she leaned out the side and let the wind blow her cute little ears back. I sometimes almost feel a little bit guilty about my life being so good.
Last night I held 3-week-old Ashley for 40 straight minutes while her mama went for a baby-free walk down to the lake. She is perfect (Ashley, not the mom - though she is nice too).
I need to start giving back.
thoughts from a rain-cleansed runner
I think that perhaps there is nothing I like more than running in the rain. Except for maybe the stretching and warm shower that come afterward - and even those don't compare to the wonderful rush I experience when pushing my body to its limits while the sky rains down refreshment upon me.
I feel sad when I think about the way that so many people
don't push the limits - physically, emotionally, and especially spiritually. It seems to me that people who "play it safe" or don't ask the tough questions are really living a substandard life.
Lately the spiritual limits in my life have been pushed almost to a level of discomfort. I think a good part of it has to do with the extreme close-up view I'm getting of pain in its rawest form. The history of some of my clients reads like a psychological crime book. I'm not even sure that's what I mean, but sometimes I have to close a file and go outside for a few minutes before I can come back to it and finish reading. Where is God when these children are being robbed of their innocence and of their joy? Where is He when some awful creature is ripping these kids' childhood from them?
I know God is there, I just don't understand how He's there.
Something that I read recently is sticking with me right now.
"The very nature of orthodox Christian faith is that we never come to the end. It begs for more. More discussion, more inquiry, more debate, more questions."
- Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis
I guess, honestly, I don't want to pray to, serve, or worship a God that I can figure out. But it's also very difficult for me to do these things to a God who makes me
freakin' mad. I have learned though, that I require challenges in my life in order to remain interested. If God was easy to grasp or explain, I don't think I would stick with Him for too long. It's almost like I need the frustration in order to have confirmation of the "feelings." And the frustration leads to personal growth, so I guess in the end it's
ok. I'll just be running more, which can't be bad for anyone.
One thing that distracts me from these difficult thoughts is being constantly on the look-out for snakes every time I step out of my house. I heard from a neighbor that there are baby copperheads lurking around my place ... and I don't really want to have one of those not-too-smart cute little
snakey-
wakeys inject all his venom into one of my
leggie-
weggies.
