What more did I think I wanted?

Again I resume the long lesson: how small a thing can be pleasing, how little in this hard world it takes to satisfy the mind and bring it to its rest.

Within the ongoing havoc the woods this morning is almost unnaturally still. Through stalled air, unshadowed light, a few leaves fall of their own weight.

The sky is gray. It begins in mist almost at the ground and rises forever. The trees rise in silence almost natural, but not quite, almost eternal, but not quite.

What more did I think I wanted? Here is what has always been. Here is what will always be. Even in me, the Maker of all this returns in rest, even to the slightest of His works, a yellow leaf slowly falling, and is pleased.

-Wendell Berry

April Showers

Today we leave for Training Trek. Diana is busy dispersing and explaining gear and I'm the joker on the computer. Actually--the gear scene is usually a one woman job, so justification is made (naturally).

Aside from the possibility of torrential rains and flooding in a couple of days, the weather couldn't be more amazing up here. The sun is out and slanting through the pines, you can smell the earth, and there is no need for 5 layers of clothes. Bliss.

I also drove by Chachi on the way into camp yesterday and can hardly wait to bring him back home. I fear that Kurt is literally going to have to pry the dog away from me. Ah, sweet Chach . . . .

Pictures and hopefully deeper thoughts will come later. Enjoy the entry of Spring!

Chachi

How can you not love him?

Chachi's Coming to WI!

I can not contain myself.

Kurt just suffered an ecstatic phone call from me, informing him that Chachi's a "go." Dusty--a caseworker at Thistledew--just gave me a call to let me know that Chachi's owner had called him to let him know that she's willing to give him to me in order to give him a good home. I first met the Chachmeister in late September. Diana was giving a talk on family circles, and he came charging onto the trail near Carpenter Town Hall. The girls were in an uproar (as were we) to pet the dog and give him as much attention as possible. He hiked with us for the next 2 days, and hung around during mini-solo (leading the way to each girl's site)--we loved him!

After asking around, we found out that Chachi was well-known in Togo. He enjoys chasing cars, trucks, ATVs (now snowmobiles), and lately, has been getting action from one of the neighbor's dogs. (We call her Joanie, though her name is Kissy.) A loveable rabble-rouser, of sorts. I would take him home myself, but I'm a one-dog woman currently, and having just moved into an apartment, I'd like to keep the owner of the building liking me.

During this last course, it came to my attention that Chachi was on the skinnier side, and that when Thistledew folks had dropped him off at his residence, food and water were rarely available. Several times we drove by Chachi (now tied up because of impregnating Joanie) and my heart broke for him . . .so the mission began to bring Chachi to a better living situation. I called people I knew who might be interested in a dog, and Kurt expressed interest. (Kurt--you will LOVE this dog.) I then contacted Chachi's owner (his real name is Clyde--can you believe it?) and apologized for the bizarre nature of my call, raved about how much I adored her dog, and offered her money for him. An indecent proposal? Maybe. But after taking some time to think it over, she has now decided to release Chachi to my care. So, come the end of April, Chachi will be heading home with me, to then live in Milwaukee with Kurt. Agreements have been made that I will watch him if Kurt is away on trips (and I'm home), and I will help in finding a veterinarian, and so on.

I feel like a dog social worker.

Huskies Revisited

The Huskies are playing each other.

GET OUT OF HERE!

One of them will advance to the Elite 8, and from there hopefully make their way to the championship game. It kills me though, that one of them has to take the other out . . . . Do I decide between UConn and Washington? Or let them make the decision for me? ( I think I'm secretly hoping for WA, though their chances of going all the way are slim--but who am I to limit them?)

Go . . .Huskies!

Journal Entry from a Couple of Years Ago . . .

Today I pondered the distinction between fantasy and dreams. Those that worship their dreams, I believe, actually worship fantasy whereas those that acknowledge their dreams (and take steps to work toward those dreams) understand the lack of depth mere fantasy holds.

I’ll explain further:

Fantasies are specific: he has blue eyes and brown hair, a height of about 6’3” (give or take a half an inch) and understands me perfectly; I am never wrong. (Note—fantasies also often come with imaginative conversations in which the perfect communication between two individuals is always achieved.) Other fantastical ideas include a 5 bedroom house in your choice of neighborhoods, 4 kids (which are athletic, academic superstars) and a vehicle with satellite radio, the appropriate emblem on the hood, and naturally, many people noticing. (Further note—I am writing from Suburban WI.)

Dreams on the other hand, are fluid, giving room for life to take its shape. Words such as “maybe” or “perhaps” become key indicators for someone understanding he or she is working with dreams. For example: Maybe God will surprise me with an extraordinary individual who will love me by empowering me to be all that Christ has designed me to be; Perhaps I will have a wrap-around porch where I can enjoy meaty conversations and sunsets with the many visitors I hope to have at my home. Detailed? Yes. But happiness dependent on the details? No.

The problem with fantasy is that despite all the imagination involved in creating the perfect scenario, relationship, conversation, living situation, etc., it is incredibly limited. The psuedo details attached to mirage-like mental images hinder the individual’s ability to observe the creativity of God, the dreams that are beyond our wildest thoughts, hopes, prayers . . . (Eph. 3:20). We literally blind ourselves with our fantasies, settling for human-made “dreams” instead of God-made life. I suspect much of this is due to a fear of grace. We can control our fantasies when those we love wound us; when the carpet gets ripped out from beneath our feet and we’re laid out on the floor face-up, eyes-closed and retreating to pictures we dictate in our brains. The old movie reel of “What Should Be” kicks in, and we opt for something less. But we’re still on the floor . . . .

I’m looking for people who will look around and take in the new perspective. What does the floor feel like? What about the ceiling? Do I notice how different the sun slants in through the windows from this angle? Am I paralyzed? Do I get up? When?

Maybe I’ll just rest awhile. Breathe deep and pray.

Yes—genuine, real-life dreamers don’t escape life to live elsewhere. Instead they work with God-instilled loves and passions toward a very blurry picture of “maybe” and “perhaps.” Rather than operate out of expectation, they function with hope, taking in situations while looking for God in the ceiling boards and the spider web dangling in the corner. Grace has freedom to make herself known in whatever form necessary, whether that be in water stains from a roof leak or the feel of hard wood on one's back.

Will I dream with hope or fantasize with expectation?
---------------------------------

"We must stop destroying our body and soul for the idea of happiness in the future. We have to learn to live happily in the present moment, to touch the peace and joy that are available now."

-Thich Nhat Hanh, Touching Peace

Go Huskies!

I've wandered over to my parents' house to watch some of the games with my brother. Currently Gonzaga (where is this school and how did it get its name?!) is ahead of IU by 5 points. Earlier Washington beat the Fighting Illini by 3 points. Woo hoo!

I've decided that I want one of the Husky teams to win. Some people might choose a favorite color in picking a team, or a location that they're tied to (UW Milwaukee already lost, along with Madison), or the school they graduated from to cheer on throughout the tournament process. This year I am going to pick teams for their mascots--particularly ones that are dogs. So for this March Madness, I'm going with UConn or Washington, and I think the chances are good that one of them will make it to the championship game . . .even if my brother rolls his eyes at me.

Taxes--They're a Bitch

My apologies to those of you who are offended by swearing, but I have no other way of referring to the pains of paying my Self Employment Tax to an administration I hate, not to mention that I will never see that money when I'm older. Granted, I have the perks of being able to write off gear, food, and travel costs, along with health insurance and the like. But it still amazes me that even with my sizeable deductions, they can STILL take a serious chunk of change. Bastards.

I think I've turned into my grandfather.

Cheesehead Crocs

While at Canoecopia I ran into a million gear deals, which I can rarely walk away from with a good conscience. I picked up a new PFD ("personal flotation device"--the PC term for lifesaver), some Granite Gear storage bags, and a pair of Crocs--bright, yellow, definitely-Green Bay-cheesehead Crocs (probably why they were so cheap).

First, let me explain the current craze over Crocs: they weigh virtually nothing and are surprisingly comfortable. A great shoe, to say the least, to throw on after a long day of backpacking. I also enjoy walking the dog in them. However, I am still having a hard time getting used to their color. I swear I'm the only woman walking around in Oconomowoc as Daisy Duck. It has only been within the last year or so that I've been working to embrace brighter colors . . .like pink. I like pink now. In fact, I actually own a pair of pink pants. Progress. But the Crocs are going to take some time . . . .

So for those of you from Oconomowoc that maybe read this blog--yes, I'm the one with the yellow shoes cruising around the lake with the dog. Try not to stare at them when you drive by.

In Honor of St. Patrick's Day . . . .

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

From The Stolen Child, by William Butler Yeats

Elizabethtown

At the used CD place in Brookfield I picked up the soundtrack to Elizabethtown and am enjoying it thoroughly . . .Tom Petty, Patty Griffin, Ryan Adams--you can't go wrong. I especially love Patty's Long Ride Home.

What is it about the open road? There is a stretch of I94 between Black River Falls and Osseo, WI, that is sacred to me. Like taking communion, the drive forces me to ponder the actions of my life and I wonder if I'm genuinely living it all as a gift. Having driven through WI throughout college, and now for work, 94 has taken on its own identity . . .it's very much an old friend. Often while I was sitting in traffic on "the 210" or on "the 405" (trust me, they warrant the article "the") in LA, I would think of the rolling farmland of WI and remember the prayers, the tears, the daydreams I had during the drives home or back to school. Trips up for weddings, out-of-state boyfriends, and visits to much-missed friends were also in the mix. So much thinking and feeling, every now and then a realization . . .the good ol' Buddhist "Aha" moments.

And then there is mile marker 9 just outside of River Falls--site of where my mom and I rolled our vehicle 3 times when I was first moving into college. I tend to slow down there to remember and whisper a prayer of thanks. I think of my friend Bryan as well, who died in an accident shortly after. Occasionally the question over why I survived virtually unharmed while he died with every organ crushed in his body rears its ugly head. I'm actually thankful for the question now . . .again, to remind me to live life as a gift. To take it seriously, and not so seriously. To make an effort to laugh, and to love, still, when it seems futile. To love. To love. To love. Always to love . . .in the deep and concrete ways, the self-sacrificing and unafraid ways.

Did you know that there is a road actually named "Schnagl" in northern WI off of 53? There is also a guy who posts homemade and local political signs just outside of Cotton, MN, and the latest has something to do with "pissing on poodles." Bizarre. WI has also added another big plastic animal to their collection along 94, a black angus of all things. It goes nicely with the pink elephant, orange buck, and numerous mouse-with-cheese renditions already dwelling outside of various gas stations.

Thank you, 94. I'm glad we can see each other.

Canoecopia

I am so EXCITED. Tomorrow I head up to Madison (40 mins from Oconomowoc) for Canoecopia 2006 to scout out potential kayaks. My good friend, Danielle, will be there selling jewelry and is going to help me find a kayak that fits my needs. She used to work as a kayaking guide before she trained me in at Thistledew, so I'm looking forward to her "consulting." I've also been getting to know the folks at Sherpers, the independently owned gear shop not even a block away from my apartment (dangerous). They're willing to match any deal I find at Canoecopia, so I can keep my purchase local. Beautiful. Also--I can bring Dima shopping there anytime. He was a hit with the staff, even though he scratched on the door to get out of the dressing room when I was trying on clothing. I know, I live an odd life.

Aside from that, no deep thoughts today. Just happiness. Spring and open water are close . . .I feel it in my bones.

Thunderstorms

Yes--lightning, thunder, pauses between onslaughts of rain--all of it happening last night. It's strange, coming from the land of 3ft deep snow to rain and thunderstorms (not to mention the 30 degree difference). I felt some sadness as I drove away from the last remaining bits of snow . . . .

However, to hear the rain on the roof and feel the building shake under the weight of the thunder last night was incredible. I remembered how much I've missed the midwestern storms, and am again thankful to be back. There's nothing like the panes rattling after the thunder and the anticipation of the boom after the lightning first makes itself known. Like I did when I was little, I found myself counting "1 . . .2 . . .3 . . .4."

How did I survive in CA? Good, amazing friends . . .that's how I survived in CA.

On a different note, Dima is losing his gut. This is good news--the ridiculously priced dog food is not purchased in vain!

Rilke

Progress

And once again the depths of my life rush onward,
as if they were moving in wider channels now.
Things are becoming more close to me
and all images more thoroughly looked upon.
I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless:
With my senses, as with birds, I reach up
into the windy heavens out of the oak,
and in those pools broken off from the day,
my feeling, as if standing on fishes, descends.

-Rainier Maria Rilke

This poem caught me while I was looking for another. Though I don't grasp it fully, my soul loves it. "Things are becoming more close to me, and all images more thoroughly looked upon . . . ."

This is Hysterical

My sister-in-law sent this to me, and I cried from laughing so hard. Listen by clicking here.

Expedition Pics

One of our sites on Little Horseshoe Lake. Check out that beautiful Red Pine.

Our first night of Expedition was spent here on the "Tank Chain." One of the girls is busy sawing wood.

Our trail on one of my favorite lakes up here: Rum Lake.

Each night we treated the girls to an "organic fireworks" show before bed. This was one of our weaker numbers . . . .

I love this picture. Liz (probably the best intern we've had that I'm hoping to recruit to Girls Endeavors) hauls the fireworks in for the evening. We stopped mid-trail to saw down this red dead beauty, and it did not disappoint.