What A Trip

trip n. an act of going to a place, and returning.

A wise friend often said, “When God wants to teach you something, God takes you on a trip.”

Having just returned from a 6 week trip across the pond, his words ring as true as ever.

It’s not like God is a travel agent making all the arrangements, a tour guide explaining all about the sights out the bus window, or the flight attendant making sure we can just sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. No, I think God just loves to travel, and knows that anytime we go from here to there and back again, there is the possibility for transformation. That we will come back changed by our experience. That we will see through new eyes in some small or big ways. That our hearts will open a bit more to the wonder and mystery that is always ours for the noticing.

Iceland was stunningly beautiful. Wild, dramatic, and mystical, one has to be made of sturdy stuff to live there. Sometimes called the land of fire and ice, life seems to hang a bit more precariously in the balance in Iceland. It was there that we learned that my husband’s brother had just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Close to complete kidney failure, it was nip and tuck as to his future. Thanks to excellent medical care, groundbreaking research, and lots, and lots, and lots of prayer, the future is brighter. But what is true is that in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Yesterday life looked one way, the next, completely different. Except for one small but mighty truth. There has never been a guarantee of anything beyond the present moment, which means that the present moment is everything. It means that we need to be exactly where our feet are, without knowing if that footing will hold.

England was the location of the “Farewell Tour” for my right knee. I’m giving myself a new one for my birthday this fall, and wanted to give the old girl one final adventure by hiking 100 miles around the Lake District. Green, vast, and pastoral, every day was different as we walked along roads dating back to the Bronze Age, wandered past Beatrix Potter’s farm, and hiked across fields with stone walls built by the Romans. As one friend put it, old paths made new again by our footsteps. Every day there were multiple trails to reach our next destination, and the guidebook was less than clear. Ours (well, Tom’s) was the job of finding the right route for us. Given my knee, the number of trips we’ve both taken around the sun, and the risk of getting lost, it was a somewhat daunting task that couldn’t be left to chance. One day in particular gave us the most pause. Lots of elevation gain, tricky descents, clouds that roll in on a moment’s notice, and the possibility of finding ourselves on the wrong ridge too late in the day. Because of his attention to all of the factors, his experience in the wilderness, his map reading and way-finding skills, and his ridiculous love for me, the day that was the most daunting turned out to be the most dazzling. Our bodies were up to the task, the views spectacular, and the satisfaction that comes when we accomplish something challenging together was worth every one of those 24,199 steps.

It’s not that going off trail is a bad idea. In fact, some of the most magical things happen when we head out on the way less traveled. This just wasn’t one of those times. The consequences and risks were too big. Good to know when to do which.

Scotland was our final and most important destination. It was our chance to once again jump into life with our daughter and her family as she completes her Ph.D program. Her husband (who loves all things golf) works on a golf course in St. Andrews, the birthplace of golf, and their three wee-ish boys ages 8,6, and 4 are getting an education that goes far beyond the classroom. For two and a half weeks we did life together in all its messy wonderment. Forest walks, endless stories, family meals, bath times, bed times, snuggles, home improvement projects, and all the big feelings that life elicits inside the walls of a home.

It’s a long way from home and family. 4,536 miles to be exact. Family matters. Home matters. Their family is there. Their family is here. Their home is there. Their home is here. If they didn’t feel so certain that they are smack dab in the middle of where life is calling them, it would be almost unbearable. But they are certain, and so are we, which not only makes it bearable, but beautiful. This chapter is writing the story that is, and will be, their life. On an afternoon walk, my daughter and I talked about the pain of distance, the passing of time, and the promise of loss and grief that are sure to come. Great love and great pain go together. There is no other way. It is the price of admission to a rich and full-hearted life, and costly as that may be, we will all gladly pay the price.

When God wants to teach you something, God takes you on a trip.

To Begin Again

She was born on August 8, 1953.

Compassionate. Creative. Courageous. She arrived on the planet with these innate qualities in tow, and they are the stars by which she steers her ship, come what may. Always has. Always will.

My best friend for almost 50 years, Kristine Patterson wears her heart on her sleeve, while always leaving ample room for yours. There are more creative ideas in that beautiful heart of hers than most of the rest of ours put together. Refusing to let fear have its way with her, she steps out where angels fear to tread, and invites them to come along. And they do.

Like most of us, life didn’t turn out as she expected. More glorious goodness than she ever thought possible, and more pain and loss than she thought she could bear. Time and again she has had to call upon her compassion to keep her heart open, creativity to make beautiful the life that is hers, and the courage to get up every day and choose to begin again. And never more than when the life she had worked so fiercely to build got blown to smithereens. It would have been so easy to give in and give up. To allow her heart to harden over, her creativity to wither away, and her courage to falter and allow fear to bully its way into her soul. But she never did.

One day at a time, she chose to begin again.

Moving into a small bungalow on a quiet street beneath a towering Dutch Elm, she began building a home in her own heart. The home that had been waiting for her all along. Sweeping out any old stories that had held her hostage, she made room for new ones that offered her freedom. Grieving what had been lost, she slowly opened her heart to what was to come. Sifting and sorting through the cupboard of her life, she held on to the goodness and beauty that still held true, and let go of that which no longer did. Or perhaps never had.

Her hands found their way to clay. The clay became works of art. Each work of art became a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Her heart found its way to new love. That new love became a new life. That new life became the next chapter in the story that began 70 years ago on August 8, 1953.

Today marks the beginning of another trip around the sun for this magnificent friend of mine, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate her birthday than to join with her and say, Today, I am choosing to begin again.

Holding It All Together

Sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together.

Last week I headed out early in the morning to The Dalles to drop Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle off at our vet to get her teeth cleaned. I can’t believe how much I love our silly dog.

And.

As a dog, she receives better dental care than the estimated 74 million of my fellow citizens without access to dental insurance, who, when financial push comes to dental shove, have to choose putting food on the table over a trip to the dentist.

And.

Driving through the jaw dropping beauty of the Columbia River Gorge that I call home, I was overcome with awe and wonder for this spectacular corner of the world. One of the top destinations in the country, people come here to live, hike, kite-board, wine taste, and of course, fish for salmon.

And.

This was once the home of Indigenous peoples long before those who looked like me arrived on the scene, colonizing, displacing, and destroying their homes and ways of life. The once abundant fishing sites, central to tribal cultures, diets, societies, and religion, were destroyed by dams. Today, traditional fishing, and often living, take place at “In-lieu” Sites. These small, poor parcels of land, often without utility services, are supposed replacements for lost livelihoods.

And.

After dropping Gracie off at the vet, I test drove a late model Toyota Sequoia, and fell in love with it immediately. I called my husband, and before the day was over, he had traded in our other car, drove the new one home, and parked it in our garage.

And.

Heading home later that same day I stopped to grab some groceries. A family sat at the corner with a sign, asking for help with rent. Our new car cost more than the first house I owned, and could sleep a family of 5 in a pinch.

And.

Yesterday I paired my iPhone with the car audio system, making it easier to make and receive calls while on the road, listen to podcasts, and car dance to my favorite tunes.

And.

The parts for that iPhone were likely produced with slave and child labor.

And.

On our nightly walk lately, the stars have been out in spades. It’s almost like God is showing off, as only She can. We turn off the flashlight and take in the wonder and magic of the night sky, grateful to live in a place where we feel safe as the quiet darkness settles around us..

And.

The night sky in Ukraine is lit up by incoming bombs and missiles, killing thousands of citizens, destroying property, and sending thousands of others to makeshift bomb shelters and fleeing across borders. As Russia wages a ruthless and evil unprovoked war, God can only be shedding tears at this devastating display of human hate and hubris.

Like I said, sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together. How do we hold on to two huge opposites at the same time—all the good in our lives and all the terrible things happening in the lives of others— when both are real and both are true?

The only conclusion I can come to is that we just do. We don’t feel guilty about the good, we welcome it with open hands.

And.

We use those same hands to do everything within our power to build a better world for all.

(A guilt-free moment, loving our silly dog.)

A Picnic In The Storm

My ninth-birthday plans included skipping school to go to The Portland Zoo with my best friend, followed by my favorite dinner—broiled flank steak, baked potatoes, birthday cake and ice cream. Perfect plans for my birthday docket.

Then The Columbus Day Storm of 1962 hit the Pacific Northwest. It was the most powerful extratropical cyclone recored in the U.S. in the 20th century. 46 people died, and hundreds were injured. If your home wasn’t damaged, you were the exception. The cost of damages in Oregon alone were estimated to be more than 200 million in 1962 dollars. Few if any escaped this storm unscathed in some way.

We were at the zoo when the wind started to blow, wind that would eventually top 100 mph. Running for the car we passed an exhibit where large birds were being tossed into the air like bean bags. Driving home I remember seeing a mop fly in front of our car, and tall trees crashing across the road out our rear window. We made it home just in the nick of time. The power went out, the wind howled, trees toppled in our yard, broken branches blew against the windows, and the huge black walnut tree in our back yard bent nearly in half over our roof. Thankfully it stood strong, or I might not be writing this today.

On that dark and stormy night, my biggest concern as a little nine year old girl wasn’t for the damage being done outside as the winds ravaged cities up and down the West coast, or the safety of those caught in the cross-hairs of the storm. It was, of course, for my birthday plans that had been blown to smithereens.

Now I loved the zoo. But what I really loved was flank steak. Prepared just the way my mom made it, there was nothing better. Marinate it for several hours, spread Dijon mustard on it, put it under the broiler, and don’t, under any circumstances, overcook it. (If it turns out anything but rare, you might as well throw it out and start over.) Slice it thin and serve it up with baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No electricity? No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter? No birthday dinner.

No birthday dinner? No birthday.

Mom saw it a little differently..

No power to broil the steak or bake the potatoes? No problem. Out came an old-school hibachi, hot dogs, and potatoes chips. We ate my birthday dinner by candlelight, sitting on a checkered table cloth on the floor in front of the fire.

That was the night I first remember watching my mom do one of the things she did best. She made a picnic in the storm, literally. Time and again, she brought us together, made something good out of something bad, and created beauty in the midst of almost any mess, leaving a legacy that every one of us can live into today.

The gale force winds of 2020 show little sign of abating. There have been over a quarter of a million deaths, and 12.5 million cases in the United States, and it isn’t over yet. The economic fallout is hard to fathom, and few if any will come out of this year unscathed. If ever we needed to learn to make a picnic in a pandemic storm, it is now, and this holiday season, as difficult, devastating, and disappointing as it might be, is a place to start.

Whether it means huddling together outdoors around a fire pit, setting a place for one or two using our best china, cooking treasured family recipes and making extra to pass across the fence to our neighbor, supporting our local restaurants by ordering takeout, or lifting a glass around our separate tables over Zoom, anytime we can find the will to make a picnic in this storm, we are smoothing the way through a rough patch in our shared history.

The year before my ninth birthday and The Columbus Day Storm

I know, I was already a fashion icon.

Shotgun!

On August 8,1953 my best friend Kristine Lorraine Patterson was born.

So, do you want to have dinner?

It’s a simple enough question, but forty-five years ago it was a lot more complicated than that. The invitation came from the drop-dead-beautiful 6’tall woman with the wild, curly, crazy hair I’d always wanted. Her name was Kristine, and at the time we were both working for the city parks and recreation bureau. For the past several months we’d been like opposing magnets, each of us trying to stay out of the magnetic pull of the other. Tired of wondering if I’d measure up as a friend, and weary from resisting the desire to get to know her, I decided to take the risk.

Sitting out on the lawn in front of my house, our first dinner together lasted for three hours. At the end of the evening, we looked one another in the eye and said, So, we’re best friends for life, right?

And we have been.

Since that night out on the lawn there have been more than enough reasons to leave one another on the side of the road. Too hard. Too painful. Too much work. Too many competing outside needs and expectations. For us, in the end, leaving one another behind has never been an option. No matter what has come our way, and with more still to come, somehow we’ve managed to build a friendship that has stood the test of time, not to mention: marriages and divorces, the births of our children and the aging and passing of parents, the joy of grand babies and grief over the loss of grand dreams, depression and health, money and not so much money, faith and doubt, and at times giving too much of ourselves and asking too little of one another. No matter the odds or how dark the night, somehow we are always able to find our way back and head down the road, ready to face whatever lies around the next bend—together.

This once-in-a-lifetime friend of mine is, in the words of her mother, unique, one-of-a-kind, and special. There is not a heart that is bigger or a mind more curious. An accomplished artist, she brings beauty to everything and everyone she touches. When her heart is broken, she allows herself to be broken open, making even more room for the love, care, and compassion she offers so freely. She champions my work every chance she gets, and calls me on the carpet whenever necessary. She turns grief and loss into grace and laughter, and is fiercely committed to living an authentic and wholehearted life no matter what it takes. She knows the matters that matter, and loves me no matter what.

I can’t imagine life without her.

We can’t know what waits for us down the road, but when it comes to the road trip of friendship there is no one else I’d rather have riding shotgun.

Happy Birthday Kristine Lorraine Patterson.

March 2020

Another Star Is Born

If joy had a face, it would look like Valerie Christine Pierson. Born 34 years ago today, she came into my life when I answered a personals ad written by her dad. From day one she wiggled and giggled her way into my heart, and has never left.

I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more generous human being in my life. If Val has it to give, she will. Whatever it is. Her time. Her talent. Her listening ear and her caring heart. If there is one story that captures the essence of this beautiful woman I get to call one of my daughters it is this one. Heading home from New Jersey after her Granddad’s memorial service, Valerie, Tom, and I were sitting in one of those dark airport restaurants where other weary travelers gather while waiting for their flights home. While I was focused on my burger and glass of wine, Val spotted two women sitting at a nearby table, heads close together, tears streaming down their faces. She didn’t know why they were sad and in pain, only that they were. Val quietly got up from the table, went up to the bar, paid for their lunch, and then as if it were the most natural thing in the world to buy a meal for two strangers, returned to our table. Only as the women were leaving the restaurant did the whole story come out. They were mother and daughter and had just lost their father and grandfather. Val’s kindness was just the balm their two broken hearts needed to remind them that even in the midst of loss and grief there is love and grace to be found, often through the kindness of strangers.

She is a mama bear to her Jonah-bear and I dare you to find a more fiercely loving mom anywhere. They share a love of the Portland Trailblazers, their new family addition, Comet-the-dog, and doing almost anything together.

I’ve never known a happier spirit. Come what may, somehow Val is able to find the silver-lining in almost any situation. Once during a particularly challenging time, when most people would go down with the ship, I suggested she come up with a mantra that she could say when things got tough. She didn’t miss a beat. "Things could be worse.” she said with a smile. At first blush, that didn’t strike me as an especially useful thing to say. But the more I thought about it, that is Val to a T. No matter how hard things are, she knows that others have it far worse and will do her best to make life better for anyone within her reach.

Val has a faith in the God who loves everyone regardless of who they are, what they’ve done, or where they come from. She has the husky voice of a rock-n-roll angel, loves everything glitz and glamour, and is a down-home family girl at heart.

I have no idea where life will take this bright and shining star of mine next, but wherever she goes and whomever she meets, they will be the better for it.

Happy birthday Val.

You are one in a million!

ATG Photography

The Garage Day 6

One day this week my husband Tom and brother-in-law Bob loaded up two mattress sets and headed out to drop them off at an establishment that makes household goods, furniture, and clothing items available to the community. The mattresses were clean and in reasonably good shape, and according to the woman I spoke with on the phone, they would take them. However, when the guys got there, as it turned out, they wouldn’t, which left only one option—adding them to an already overflowing landfill.

Just about then a nearby volunteer walked up and quietly asked if she might be able to have them. She was a single mom who had recently moved here, and neither she nor her young daughter had a bed to crawl into at night. Long story short, Tom and Bob followed her to her apartment, carried the mattresses upstairs, along with a beautiful antique headboard and good bedding for both beds. And just like that, she and her daughter had a comfortable place to lay their heads.

If we keep our eyes open there are hidden treasures to be found along the way, even amidst the trash.