Bridge Repair

The Hood River Bridge spans the Columbia River, and serves as a connection between Washington and Oregon. There’s lots of controversy about the bridge including what it costs to cross from one side to the other, the price of its upcoming replacement, the undue financial burden it places on those whose labor keeps our Gorge communities running but can barely afford to live here, and on and on and on. One thing that is undeniable is that this bridge matters. It’s necessary. It connects us one to another, and makes life possible in countless ways.

Recently, the bridge underwent necessary repair work to address deck fractures due to heavy truck loads. This meant that there were intermittent single-lane closures, usually lasting about 15 minutes, which meant drivers needed to allow additional time to make it to that doctor’s appointment, job, lunch with a friend, or whatever errands were on the list for that day. While a bit of an inconvenience, repairing fractures on a bridge that crosses a big body of water seems worth the trouble.

I didn’t expect the process to make an emotional impact on me.

But it did.

Pickup trucks were parked every so often, and in between each truck were two welders wearing helmets, goggles, and protective gloves, bent over their section of the bridge requiring reinforcement. There was no music accompanying their efforts, but the welders moved with the elegance and precision of those who have spent countless hours mastering the art of repair. A porta potty sat on the back of a flatbed truck located in the middle of the bridge, and flaggers directed traffic. Drivers were cautioned to drive slowly so as to ensure the safety of the workers, and to refrain from looking at the brilliant welding arc light that flashes as the welding iron worked its magic.

As I observed the process I suddenly had this lump in my throat. What I was watching was what I could only call a stunningly choreographed dance of collective human endeavor, and like it or not, regardless of our opinion about the bridge and how it is or isn’t being managed, we were all a necessary part of that dance. Because the bridge matters to all of us. And the bridge matters because connection matters.

Bridges, real or metaphorical, are what connect us from here to there. From one person to another. From one perspective or belief to a differing one. From one side of the political aisle to the other. And like the Hood River Bridge, at one time or another repair is needed to provide safe passage to the other side, and we all have a part to play.

So when encountering bridge repair, be mindful to proceed slowly and with caution for the safety and wellbeing of all involved. And don’t look directly at the welding arc, because there is some blindingly brilliant magic at play in the work of repair..

The Guy In The Camo-Hat

We are all one family who have forgotten who we are.

~ Rhonda V. Magee - The Inner Work of Racial Justice

He walked into my favorite local farm store just as I was about to check out with my basket full of produce, birdseed, and farm-fresh eggs. Tall and imposing with a long beard fashioned into what is sometimes referred to a Viking beard, the expression on his face was anything but warm and friendly. He was dressed in khaki hunting pants and a short-sleeve t-shirt, a camo hat pulled low over his eyes. And, he was packing a semi-automatic pistol on his hip. Accompanied by a woman wearing a mask, he had a young German Shepard on a leash. The woman with him was small in stature and, to my eye, seemed timid and submissive, as if she had acquiesced any personal power and agency to him.

I was grateful that I was wearing the mask that I diligently use during these strange and scary COVID-19 times. Thankful that I can do even this simple small thing to protect my fellow citizens, yes, but also grateful that he was unable to see the look on my face—a look that would have let him know that I knew his story and was disgusted by it. Everything about this guy in the camo-hat smacked to me of white supremacy, white nationalism, an unflinching commitment to the least restrictive interpretation of Second Amendment rights, and the relegation of women to their place behind men. I could feel my anger rising up as I considered all the ways in which what this man surely stood for are undermining our country and threatening our democracy. How, with people like him on the rise, can we have a shred of hope for ever achieving “liberty and justice for all”?

Climbing back into our car my thoughts continued to unspool about why people feel the need to wear a gun in public, not to mention a semi-automatic one. What felt like low-level adrenaline coursed through my body as I continued to focus on all the things I imagined when encountering the guy in the camo-hat. This went on all afternoon as we went about our bi-weekly essential activities trip into town.

And then it dawned on me.

I knew nothing about the guy in the camo-hat.

Not his name, the cards life had dealt him, or how he has chosen to play them.

Nothing.

In the time it would have taken him to draw his weapon, I had made up a story about him based on my own stereotypes and biases, and then proceeded to believe every imaginary word. It was the kind of story that separates us from our fellow human beings. The fear-based story of Us vs Them. The weaponized story that is undermining our country and threatening our democracy.

What if his story wasn’t anything like the one I had been telling myself since I first laid eyes on him. What if he was an off-duty policeman whose family had been threatened due to an earlier arrest and conviction? What if he was veteran committed to training therapy dogs for military members who were living with trauma-induced PTSD? What if the woman he was with wore a mask because she had a compromised immune system from treatment for cancer? What if she stayed close to his side because he was the love of her life who had seen her through her illness?

What if?

I can remember the exact spot on the road when this new story made it’s way into my closed and biased heart. There was a perceptible change in my body. Everything softened and opened up. My heart made room for this man I didn’t know. Like me, is he afraid for our country, and if so, why? Like me, does he love his family and friends with a love that runs deep and wide? Like me, has he been battered and bruised by painful life experiences? Like me, does he have knee-jerk reactions to others as a way to protect himself from those he fears?

I may never learn his real story.

It is certainly possible that the story I made up has a loud ring of truth to it. Even if it does, I can only hope that my encounter with the guy in the camo-hat will help me remember what so many of us seem to have forgotten. We are family, and we belong to each other. Which is why, tomorrow when I head out on a nearby logging road for a hike, I will be sure and wear my favorite hat to help me remember.

We are family.

We belong to each other.

The Garage Day 2

When it comes to cleaning, clearing, and organizing a garage, like many things in life, it’s different strokes for different folks. I’m a tosser, he’s a saver, and with those two facts in play, as you can imagine, this project could stir up a little emotional stuff for the two of us. However, if we’ve learned anything in our 25 years together, it is that while we couldn’t be much more different, our commitment to one another is the same. So this morning, before setting one foot in the garage, we sat down with our coffee, and along with my sister and her husband who are here to help, had a conversation about what we wanted to be true at the end of this daunting project. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have made major progress. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have hauled away as many truck loads as possible. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have created a much more organized and clean space in which to start using the garage for the purpose it was originally built. And, yes, and most importantly, by the end of the week the four of us want to have all laughed together, had fun together, and be even more grateful for one another.

When it comes to cleaning, clearing, and organizing a garage, like many things in life, the project isn’t the real project. What matters in the end is how we conducted ourselves in the midst of the project. What matters in the end is how we related to one another in the midst of the project. What matters in the end is whether or not we are better people, both individually and collectively, because of the project. That can only happen when we realize that the project isn’t the real project. It is just a vehicle to become even more of the authentic and wholehearted people we are called to be.

Stay tuned.

This Is Us

When we are in relationship with others, our differences are more evident than our similarities. No place is this more apparent than in marriage. Tom and I have been married for almost 25 years, and our many differences are as evident today as they were when we were starry-eyed in love on the day of our wedding.

I’m prickly. He’s buttoned up.

I’m multi-layered and a tad complicated. He has a deep, gentle core and is more straight forward.

I experience and express all of my feelings ad nauseam. He’s darn good at avoiding any emotions that rock his internal Hakuna Matata, much less putting words to them.

I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. He’s a planner.

I can go for days without a shower. He can’t.

I state my needs and preferences quickly, and perhaps a little too easily. He poses a question as a backdoor way of stating his desires without having to take ownership for them.

I care about form first, function second. He starts with function and hopes for form.

I move fast. He’s methodical.

I can commander any conversation. He tends to take a back seat.

I know I’ll find a parking space close in. He’s pretty sure he won’t.

I’m messy. He’s, ummm, not.

A good example of how this plays out happened the other morning. We were staying at Los Poblanos, a drop-dead fabulous historic inn in Albuquerque, NM. Sitting in bed with our cups of French Press coffee, it went something like this.

Act 1

Him: Do you want to explore the grounds after our coffee?

Me: Yes! And then go to breakfast. (Rated the best breakfast in all of New Mexico.)

Him: But shower first, right?

Me: (Big sigh) Can’t we just be spontaneous?

Him: (Jaw muscles clench) A shower just wakes me up.

Me: And you don’t think a brisk walk in 31 degree air will do that?

Him: (More jaw clenching)

Me: (Bigger sigh) Fine. We can come back, you shower, and I’ll keep walking or read or something.

We finish our coffee in strained silence and head out for a walk.

Act 2

It was a glorious morning, and as we wandered the trails discovering secret gardens, meditation spaces, the resident llamas, took in the attention to detail in the design of the buildings and grounds, and breathed the fresh morning air, the sun on our faces warmed up our hearts. Pretty soon we were laughing, holding hands, and giving thanks for the unbelievable blessing of even being able to grant ourselves this kind of experience.

Me: Who gets to do this??

Him: Today, I guess we do.

Me: It feels so good to be out here together.

Him: (Deep laugh) I think I want breakfast.

Me: Now? Before your shower?

Him: Yep. It’s amazing how rigid I think I have to be in my mind. Thank you for challenging me to do it differently.

We finish our walk and head off to breakfast in happy silence.

Act 3

We head into Campo for breakfast. Our server comes by our table with coffee, and I jump straight into an energetic conversation with her.

Me: We had the most amazing dinner last night.

Her: I’m so happy to hear that.

Me: We both think it was one of the best, if not the best meal we’ve ever had anywhere.

Her: Wow! My partner is the Sous Chef. I’ll be sure and tell him. What did you order?

Me: I had the Rib-Eye. OMG, it was beyond delicious. We also had the Sashimi, the grilled asparagus, and Tom had the Pork Chop.

We order our breakfast.

Act 4

We sip our coffee in easy silence for a few minutes.

Him: (In a quiet, gentle voice) I’d like to offer an observation. You jumped into that conversation, took off running, and didn’t give me a chance to answer for myself or give my opinion.

Me: (Taking a moment) You are so right. I don’t even see myself doing it.

Him: Just like when I ask you what you want as a way avoiding taking ownership for my own needs.

Me: Yes!

Him: You are really helping me with that.

Me: Like you just helped me.

Here is the truth—we are different in so many ways, and while we sometimes drive each other crazy, we’ve also come to count on the gifts that come wrapped in our differences. When all is said and done…this is us.