Inside Plumbing

Plumbing issues can be the worst. I’ve had my share over the years, and maybe you have too. Like those times when you find bits of lettuce floating in a bath tub that has backed up, or the laundry room floor has a half an inch of water on Christmas Eve, or you open the door to the basement only to find a small flood in progress.

In a plumbing system there are valves that allow us to turn things on and off, and to regulate the flow of water coming out of the faucet, from a slow drip to a gushing stream. The pipes in the system are meant to allow the water to flow freely, but when there is a blockage, everything begins to back up and overflow in areas we wish it wouldn’t.

When it comes to plumbing problems, the timing is rarely convenient. When things are running smoothly we probably don’t give it a second thought, and tend to take sinks that drain and pipes that don’t leak for granted until something goes wrong. Suddenly it is all we think about, because when there is a problem with the plumbing, things come to a screeching halt. Drains clog, sinks overflow, and household tasks have to wait until the source of the problem is located and dealt with. Sometime that’s an easy fix. Nothing that a little drain cleaner won’t fix. Then there are those other times when we have to call in some help. We need someone who knows their way around the maze that is a plumbing system. Sometimes that means a trusted someone who is handy with a wrench, and other times it means calling on the help and expertise of a professional. Either way, when things get backed up, it’s time to get some help

As usual, I find myself connecting the dots between what goes on out in the world with that which happens in our inner world. It is as if we come with our own internal emotional plumbing system, where thoughts, feelings, and words are meant to flow freely, and where we have the ability to regulate that flow. The condition of the pipes, keeping them open and in good working order requires our mindful attention. When things are running smoothly, we don’t usually give that internal system a second thought, and tend to take relationships and ease of communication for granted. Then suddenly something goes wrong, and it’s all we think about. We discover that there is a blockage somewhere, and stuff begins to back up and overflow in areas, which usually means on other people, that we wish it wouldn’t. Sometimes it is an easy fix. Nothing that a little reflection and self-care won’t fix. Then there are those other times when we have to call in some help. We need someone who knows their way around the maze that is the human heart. Sometimes that means a trusted someone, and other times it means calling on the help and expertise of a professional. Either way, when things get backed up, it’s time to get some help.

Photo: Pexels-(Digital Buggu)

Digital Buggu

Home Ownership

There is a big difference between a house and a home. A house is a structure. A framework within which we live, and what can be seen on the exterior says little about what goes on in the interior. From the outside, a house doesn’t give away much about what happens inside the home, and like many things, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Having sold a house a time or two (five to be more precise), I know that location matters. Some neighborhoods are more desirable than others depending on our preferences, and most of us tend to buy into the best area that we can afford. When putting a house on the market, in order to distinguish ours from others that are similar, sellers are encouraged to create street appeal for potential buyers, and to stage the inside so that they can see themselves living within its walls. But location, street appeal and staging do not a home make.

Or a life for that matter.

When I set out to write a book a few years ago, I did it because it was the next right thing to do. I was compelled to write BLUSH: Women & Wine not to become rich and famous, but to discover why I had come to depend upon wine as a coping mechanism to soften the blows of my own life, and to invite my readers to embark on their own exploration with me. Yet the temptation was there, and sometimes still is, to make the book and my work look good out in the world, rather than using the book and my work to do good out in the world. I am often more easily enticed to sign up for another course to learn how to create a more successful platform instead of standing on the platform that I have and telling the story to those ready to hear it.

It can be easy to get caught up striving to situate ourselves in the right place, be seen with the right people, and surrounded by the right stuff. We develop an image that will appeal to those we seek to impress, and stage our lives to appear accomplished and successful. There is nothing wrong with working to cast ourselves and what we have to offer in the best light, but that is exterior window dressing to the real work of shining a light inside the walls of our life. The work of coming to know ourselves and our vocation, of cultivating our gifts and honing our craft. For only when we do that will we find ourselves at home in our own life, and it is only from there that we are able to step out into the world and offer what is uniquely ours to give.

When it comes to real estate it might be about location, location, location, but when it comes to real life, it is about vocation, vocation, vocation.

The Icing On The Cake

Somewhere in a kitchen a long, long time ago a family tradition was born. That tradition is known as the caramel icing cake. A white cake, made from scratch, went into the oven. Meanwhile, on what was likely a wood burning stove, the icing simmered along. As the cakes cooled on a rack in that long ago kitchen, a watchful eye was necessary, as the icing could quickly turn from what candy makers call the soft-ball stage to hard-ball stage in the blink of a weary eye. Once the mixture reached the perfect consistency, a cube of butter was beaten into the icing with a wooden spoon, and it was time to ice the cake. This was no small task as our paternal grandmother dipped a knife into cool water in between every spoonful of icing dropped on the cake, and then spread it quickly yet gently so as not to tear the cake. It would have been easier with two sets of hands, and sometimes that extra set belonged to our dad.

The caramel icing cake made it into our family kitchen, and onto the table for birthdays. Dad made the icing and Mom baked the cake, but try as she might, according to him, her cake never measured up to “Mother’s”, which is of course, what every woman longs for her husband to say after she has stayed up late in the kitchen,  after everyone else is in bed, to make the family cake. Again. Truth be told, the cake, his mom’s recipe of course, wasn’t very good. In fact it was downright dry. So……….. One year, our mom secretly bought a box of cake mix, the kind with pudding in it, baked the cake, and threw out the box before he was any the wiser. He probably complimented her on finally getting “Mother’s” recipe right. She probably just smiled. As they say, ignorance is bliss. So is caramel icing. It contains more sugar that you can imagine, and is so rich and sweet it actually hurts your teeth. But in a good way.

If it had been left up to me, the tradition would have passed into family history when the baker and the caramel icing maker passed away. Thankfully, my sister Margie picked up the baton, or in this case, the wooden spoon used to beat the butter into the icing. She learned how to make it along side our dad, and now she is passing it on to the next generation. As they make it alongside her, there is more passed on than just a recipe. Dumping the cake mix from the box, they remember that finding your own way instead of trying to measure up to someone else’s is a delicious way to live. Keeping a mindful eye on the frosting, never rushing it, checking it regularly, and recognizing when it is ready reminds them that patience and persistence pay off. Icing the cake together, they discover that many hands make light work. Of a cake, or almost anything else for that matter.

When it comes to the caramel icing cake, a few things will never change.

Always, always, always use a cake mix with pudding in it, and hold your head up high when you do.

Secure the layers together with tooth picks so they don’t slide apart when icing the cake.

Make a batch and a half of icing, because, well, just because. The family cake isn’t the place to skimp.

Hide it before the party, unless you want to find half of the frosting gone before ever lighting the candles.

The icing tastes as good on your finger as it does on the cake. Especially with your first cup of coffee in the morning the day after the birthday party.

One thing has changed.

Because the cake is simply the vehicle for the frosting, a cupcake will do just as well. Probably better. Less cake, more frosting.

This year, my niece Katie, Margie’s youngest daughter, made her first batch of caramel icing cupcakes all on her own for two-year old Harper Joy’s birthday party.

When it comes to the sweetness of family, a savored tradition is the icing on the cake.

Customer Service

After many years working for Nordstrom, an organization known for its excellence in customer service, the bar I set when it comes to responding to my needs when I am the customer is admittedly high, and surprisingly simple.

Care about me. Help me.

Recently I’ve had two experiences in stark contrast to one another.

LOW BAR

In the Costco checkout line (and for the record, I love Costco) I asked about an item I hadn’t been able to find. 

Me: Do you know if you have an capers? 

Employee: I have no idea what those are. 

My thought bubble: That’s not what I asked. 

Me: Do you think someone could find out for me? 

The other employee at the register overheard the conversation and asked her to go see if she could find out if there were any capers in stock, at which point she replied: I have no idea what those are.  

My thought bubble: That’s not what she asked either. 

Finally, yet another employee came over and informed me that they were out of stock, but were anticipating new ones that would, of course, be located in the meat department. 

My thought bubble: None of you have any idea what a caper is, do you.

The experience could have so easily been raised to a higher bar.  

Me: Do you know if you have any capers? 

Employee: I have no idea what those are, but want to know, and would be happy to go find out if we have any. 

HIGH BAR 

I’ve spent approximately 5 hours, with five different customer service agents on the phone with Apple Care to resolve an issue on my iMac. 

Me: I’m having a problem with the Message function on my Mac. I can receive messages but not send them. 

Employee: I’m so sorry for the problem. Let’s take a look and get this resolved for you as quickly as we can.  

My thought bubble: I love Apple Care 

The problem isn’t resolved yet, and has been escalated through the ranks, now landing with the engineering team, but there is no doubt that they care and will stick with me until it is resolved.  

The experience could have so easily been dropped to a lower bar. 

Me: I’m having a problem with the Message function on my Mac. I can receive messages but not send them. 

 Employee: We have online resources. Have you tried those?

When it comes right down to it, in one way or another we are all in the customer service business, because we are all here to care about each other, and help each other. Or at least we should be. 

 In case you’re interested...https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caper

Illustration by Otto Wilhelm Thomé and displayed on Wikipedia 

Discouragement

One of my least favorite emotions, and yet like all of the ones we’d rather not experience, discouragement has something to say. It sets in when something rears its head again, or when we think we’ve gotten to the root of something and come to find out that we haven’t. At this point it feels like it would be easier to just throw in the towel, forget whatever the issue is, or give up rather than keep going. But this gray sense of disappointment, whether in ourselves, others, or both, is an invitation to look deeper.

Discouragement tells us that what’s been done isn’t what needs to be done. Our work is to figure out what that is.

Discouragement suggests that there are stones yet unturned, paths not yet taken, or viewpoints not yet seen. Our work is to turn over new rocks, embark on the new trail, or look through a different lens.

Left to its own devices, discouragement can lead to a loss of confidence and enthusiasm, leaving us downhearted and demoralized. So rather than leave it to its sorry little self, it is better to grab it by the hand and walk with it until a next right step appears, which if we stick with it, it almost always does. And that’s encouraging. 

For Weekend Reflection

Maturity is not a static arrived platform, where life is viewed from a calm, untouched oasis of wisdom, but a living elemental frontier between what has happened, what is happening now and the consequences of that past and present, first imagined and then lived into the waiting future.

~David Whyte: CONSOLATIONS

What does your past tell you that can help you live more fully into your waiting future? 

It Is Well

Today in a sanctuary overflowing with people, we were privileged to celebrate the life of Denny Rydberg, a man who was certain of his calling, his vision, and in Whose name he served. There is no doubt that as he left this life, it was well with his soul. May we all have that same privilege.

It is well

It is well

It is well, it is well, with my soul. (Link To listen)

The Residual Effect

re·sid·u·al/riˈzijo͞oəl/

adjective - remaining after the greater part or quantity has gone

 Recently I had the experience of spending several days with very good friends. Three of us are colleagues and meet together on a monthly basis for a video visit. Our intent is always to show up authentically, speak truthfully, listen deeply, and help each other become more of the people we are meant to be. One of our trio had the idea of finding time for a longer connection. One that was more  up close and personal than can transpire in a couple of hours every month. A time to step aside from the goings on of our everyday lives, and for good measure, to bring our partners with us. I wrote about this experience in an earlier post at the beginning of our time in the house overlooking the water that we rented for our getaway...

Our agenda? To show up as ourselves.

The topics for our time together? Whatever felt real, relevant, and revelatory. 

Looking back a week later, it is clear to me that when it came to showing up authentically and sharing the real, the relevant, and the revelatory, everyone knocked it out of the park. Not because of a need to perform or succeed, but rather out of a desire to be known and seen.  Riding the ferry back to the lives that awaited each of us, I think we all felt enlivened, enriched, and challenged by our conversations and the connections forged over morning coffee, long meandering hikes in the woods, shared meals, and time spent lingering over another glass of wine. We shared stories both fragile and funny, read poetry aloud to one another, dug deeper into what makes us tick and the forces that have shaped us into the people we are today. We posed questions and gave our best answers, cooked for one another and cleaned up after each other, and when we left it is safe to say we all knew ourselves, and one another, better than when we arrived, and we can’t wait to do it again. The cool thing is, we don’t have to wait for a next time to experience more of the goodness that happened, because there seems to be a residual effect that is keeping the experience alive. Whether that means a sense of being more present and engaged, experiencing the light of clarity, or a renewed sense of purpose and vocation, our time together changed us.

What we experience has a residual effect that can linger and endure for good or for ill, which suggests that we are wise to be mindful of how we spend our time and with whom. 

Written with gratitude for Tom, David, Theresa, Alia, and Kyle.  

There’s No Place Like It

Is your bag ready to load into the car?  

I’ll fill the water bottles. 

I’ll lock the doors. 

Let’s leave the porch lights on.

With a glance at the mountain and a prayer of gratitude for the beautiful home in which we get to live, we climb into the car, and off we go.

We have it down to a science.

We have it down to a science because we’ve had a lot of practice.

When we decided to embark on the adventure of building a rustic home in rural Washington, we sold our house, put everything we owned in storage, and began house-sitting. Because we both still worked we needed a base from which to operate, traveling to our new home on weekends and for more extended time whenever we were able. I’m not sure how we did it, but somehow every time we needed a new house to sit, another one would appear, and we would move in. We’d bring a few clothes, some kitchen items, our French Press coffee maker, and a picture of our family which we’d place on the kitchen counter, and, we were home. One home had avocado green appliances, gold shag carpeting, and a recliner in every room. Another sat near a train track, and the last one had too glass shelves with too many glass figurines that probably needed dusting. I chose to ignore them. Once the house sitting came to an end, we moved in with dear friends for a few months, and, under their roof, we were home. When it was time to move on, we moved our 1980s refurbished Airstream onto a friends property in the country, in the shadow of the former pig-barn. Barn owls would serenade us to sleep, and, in that old Airstream, next the the pig-barn, we were home. The time came to part ways with the Airstream, and we found our way to a small 325 sq. ft. flat, and in that tiny space, we were home. When the rent on the flat became ridiculously high, we decided to give airbnb a shot, and in each of those spaces, some good, some bad, and some downright ugly, we were home. Over the course of the last 10 years we’ve slept in more beds than we can count, but no matter where we crawl in, when we get to crawl in together, we are home. 

Today, we live in our home under the shadow of Mt. Adams full time. Except for all the times we don’t. Like this week, as we head out to hold grand babies, help daughters, and celebrate the life of a remarkable man who left us too soon. Tonight we will sleep on an air mattress in Portland, tomorrow night in a bed north of Seattle, and, we will be home. 

Living out of a suitcase isn’t always easy, and there is nowhere I’d rather lay my head than in our bed at home, and yet these past 10 years have taught me that home really isn’t a place. It’s where the heart is.

Feedback Anyone?

How often do you wake up in the morning and hope someone asks Do you mind if I give you some feedback? For most of us, those words rarely lead us to think that someone has something awesome to share with us. We generally prepare ourselves to hear something that shines a light on our shortcomings, failures, or mis-steps, and the truth is, sometimes, ok, many times, it does highlight something that we didn’t see ourselves, but wish we had.

This morning, after reading my latest blog post (Sunday School) which talked about the biblical story of creation and what it might tell us about ourselves, my husband Tom asked if he could share his perspective with me.

Umm. Sure.

“If someone didn’t know your theology, they might think that you believe that the world was literally created in six days. They might not understand that you were saying that the story is meant to point us to a much deeper truth.” My first response was that he hadn’t read it carefully enough, and then I remembered who it was that was offering me the gift of his feedback. As a scientist and a writer himself, he is a careful reader, and, he is also one of my most trusted voices. When he speaks, I (generally) try and listen, so took a deep breath and asked him to tell me more.

In my mind I had specifically written that piece to point to a deeper truth, not as theological commentary on anyone’s understanding of a powerful story of creation. I wrote it to encourage each of us to take seriously the unique errand upon we have been sent. To remind us that when we do the work we are called to do, and share the gifts that are ours to share, we can look upon all that we have done, and see that it is good. Just as the Creator does in the story. That was my point. Tom’s point was that readers might get wrapped up in a theological debate and miss the point altogether. It would have only taken a little more effort on my part to provide some context for my readers. To set the table a bit better before inviting them to partake of the offering.

It’s never fun to feel like we’ve missed the mark, and yet missing it is the only way we can improve our marksmanship. Whether as a writer, speaker, teacher, or coach, the only way I can get better is through honest feedback from trusted sources. The same holds true for all of us. In order to become more of who we are meant to be, to live into our fullness, and yes, to reflect the image of the creative power behind everything, we need to hear from others what they see in us that we cannot see in ourselves. Feedback is always a gift, not because it is always accurate or right or deserved, but because it provides a perspective other than our own, and helps us better understand how we are showing up in the world.

Whether that world took 6 days to create, or 4.6 billion years.

Photo: Pixabay