holding tight

“We heap on the darkness, constructing a variety of false selves. We become adept at playing games, wearing masks as if life were a masquerade party.” --Sue Monk Kidd

The young woman sat before me dressed in her work clothes of tailored black pants and crisp white shirt. Her face clean of makeup. Her eyes tired from a cold—or was it more? Her long silky hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail that was a little messy, but still very ‘together.’ She held onto herself, grasping her stomach tightly, throughout our time together. Her face turning deeper shades of red as she tried to convince me that she ‘operates best under stress.’ It was almost as if I could hear her saying, “if I just hold on tight enough, all of the emotions I feel inside will not spill out and fill this room. If I can just convince you maybe I can convince myself that everything is alright and I don’t need help.” But she did not convince me.

I could see the terror on her young face. Terror and determination as she talked of breaking away from her “controlling parents.” Parents who were concerned that she wanted to work multiple jobs while going to school and playing sports and maintaining an active social life. From what was she running? If she were to slow down, I got the sense that the feelings would drown her. Did she have that same sense? Nowhere to turn. No one to trust. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

She hinted of betrayal. Friends she could not trust. A young love gone bad. The fighting in her house followed by the absence of family members. “They just leave,” she said with a shrug. The themes were all over the place, but still she tried to convince me that she did not need help. She could not fit in one more thing. She could only trust herself. But, here she sat betraying herself. Pushing her body. Exhausted and worn out. Driven. Holding tight. She saw herself as moving toward something. I saw it as running away. Her attempts at security were slowly eating away at her soul.

mystery on the mountain

Where to begin? I feel like I am a player in a 21st century God-directed version of The Birds. It’s not nearly as scary, however, but it feels like if I don’t listen carefully, I may be covered in blue jays cackling and laughing at me for not paying attention.

Perhaps I should back up just a bit. A post for me these days would not be complete without the mention of dreams. Let me add to that the topic of waiting. Or maybe it is more like Pamela spoke of in her comment on beginnings and endings, it is more aptly a time of transition. Yes, I think that’s where I am. A time of transition. In between dreams. Waiting to see what manifests while trying to be present to the world around me.

So, where do the birds come in? Well, last week I was driving along the rode and I looked to the side and saw one distinct blue jay. Beautiful. He seemed a bit out of place, because I don’t recall seeing many (any?) blue jays around here. A day or two later…same thing. Different road, same thing: A single blue jay placed herself distinctly next to my stopped car. Coincidence? Perhaps. But, here is where the Alfred Hitchcock thing really starts to happen…Yesterday, I was at Mount Rainier with friends. As we were going to our car after lunch, there was another amazing blue jay. And then another and another and another until they nearly surrounded us. It was incredible!!

Third time's the charm, right? I finally began to wonder, “What’s the deal with blue jays?” One of my friends said that they represent either dabblers or masters. Hmmmm. So, this morning I popped open Animal Speak and looked them up. Here is what it said, “Those with a jay as a totem usually have a tremendous amount of ability, but it can be scattered or it is often not developed any more than is necessary to get by...The blue jay reflects that a time of greater resourcefulness and adaptability is about to unfold. If the jay has flown into your life, it indicates that you are moving into a time where you can begin to develop the innate royalty that is within you, or simply be a pretender to the throne.”

What did I hear? It’s time to focus. Listen. Wait. Be still and know that I am God. Be direct in what you choose to do and stop being scattered. Listen. Wait. Focus. Whew! I think I’ll stop for now and let that soak in!

So, if I didn’t lose you in all that talk of Alfred Hitchcock and congregating birds, I would love to know what’s stirring in you. Do you feel scattered or focused? What does it mean to wait? To listen? To be still in God's presence? To follow your dreams?

(I have a few more thoughts about where this message is leading me particularly in relation to my dreams, but I think I’ll wait and listen for now.) Stay tuned…☺

lucy's photos from mount rainier 5.01.08

beginnings and endings

Anyone who has been reading here recently will know that dreams have been very present in my mind these last several days. Dreams to me represent a kind of beginning. A change of the wind. A longing of the heart. And so it seems a bit ironic to me that in this time of new beginnings and wondering what comes next, I have found myself in the midst of endings. As I ponder more, however, I realize it is not so ironic after all, because in order for something new to begin something else may need to end.

I have spent the last two weeks ending with students who I have watched transform over the past eight months. They came in as caterpillars, wrapped themselves tightly into cocoons and now I have the honor and joy of watching them spread their wings and fly away. It has been harder for me this year than last, because I now know from experience that many of them I may never see again. And so even with the best intentions of “I’ll see you around” or “We’ll get together for coffee,” I know that we are ending.

So, how do I sit with that? Knowing we have done good work together and we cannot help but be changed because of our time together AND we may never find ourselves face to face ever again. Longing. Sadness. Congratulations. Well-done & wanting more. Can it be enough?

In addition to students, there were also good-byes with colleagues who I have come to love deeply. The beautiful part is that we marked these endings with remembering, laughter, tears and holy communion. This feels so different from other relationships that have simply drifted away.

And so I sit this morning filled with possibility for future dreams as the season changes AND also a longing for the things and relationships that have come to an end. Dreams. Beginnings. Good-byes. Endings. Will I dream well today? Will I allow space for longing? Will you? What do you think of beginnings and endings? I invite you to come keep me company today, I have a feeling I may need a little help letting go ☺ .

lucy's photos from puerta vallarta

spreading wings

I love the beautiful "randomness" of the world; the universe. Having written and thought about dreams over the last several days, I was not at all surprised to see this "random" computer-generated thought appear in my inbox today:

"It may be those who do most, dream most." --Stephen Leacock

So what of dreaming and following our heart's desire? Do those who dream more do more? Or do they simply enjoy more of what they do? This all reminds me of another favorite quote of mine by Howard Thurman. Some of you might recognize it:

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

In my last post, I used the word "calling" in association with returning to graduate school to pursue a degree in counseling psychology. Having been a traditionalist, a conformist, whatever you want to call it, most of my life, I was used to functioning by practicalities like, Get a degree that is marketable. (I chose accounting.) Believe in God. (I found myself in a fundamental-based tradition.) Practical car. (Toyota mini-van.) House? (Two story, white house with room for children.) Get the picture?

Now please don't get me wrong, because I am not knocking any of those things. I chose them, after all, and they have been a formative part of my life. My point, however, is that it was not until I allowed myself to dream & listen (step out of "practical" patterns perhaps) that I ever began to really hear the call of my life. And, Now, the possibilities seem endless where before they felt quite finite. I began to spread my wings!

While at Mars Hill Graduate School I heard the word "calling" used often during my early years. It sounded good and began to stir something inside me, but it was not really until last week when I heard my supervisor say, "Listen to you! What a wonderful time of your life. You have found your calling!" Did I find it or did it find me? Somehow it was through the words of another that I started to understand that MY dream and MY calling are uniquely intertwined.

Random? Created? Unique? Those three things also seem intricately intertwined with each other as well as with dreams and calling. Where will they all lead? Who knows, but it is exciting to ponder. I find it amazing to see what happens when I can let go and quit trying to guess what is practical or acceptable or marketable or even possible...

So, what does the universe hold for you? Are you open to the possibilities that lie ahead? Will you allow yourself the chance to dream and listen today? It is often hard to know what the call may be or from where it comes, but one thing I do know is that a bird must spread its wings in order to fly ☺.

lucy's photos from puerta vallarta

fragile dreams

what is it about dream sharing that is so fragile? pondering some of the comments to my post, when dreams and reality collide, many thoughts ran through my head.

it feels so naked and exposed to put my dreams out into the world. it feels so presumptuous to consider some of them could possibly come true. even now as I write, I find myself holding back from sharing specifics. so I ask again, what is it about dream sharing that is so fragile? are we afraid of failure or are we afraid of success?

yesterday while driving to hood canal for a delightful afternoon with a dear friend, I found myself behind a huge red Ford pickup truck from Alaska. On its bumper was a banner that read,

“those who abandon their dreams will discourage yours.”

so I wonder, is it the discouragement of others I fear or is it my own resolve that if I state a dream out loud, one of two things will happen…1) the dream will seem ridiculously foolish or 2) I will now be “on the hook” and have to do something to make it happen--opening possibility for either success or failure. scary!

it seems that my most incredible dream fulfillment has come with surprise. in other words, it was not something planned. for example, 'I never dreamed I would go to graduate school', but when the “calling” came, I followed it and found myself experiencing a “dream come true.” wild, huh? it was a similar experience I relayed in Wednesday’s post. I never considered that writing and leading a couples’ workshop would be fulfilling a dream, but there I sat, at the end of the workshop, absorbing the experience and knowing something unexpected had played a part in making my heart a little more whole and full.

so is that what dreams are about? moving toward our heart’s desire? maybe that’s why dream sharing is so fragile, because it is a heart thing. hmmm…is sharing our heart the same as sharing our dreams?

I think I’ll ponder that one a bit more. how about you? what stirs when you think of dream sharing?

starfish - hood canal

where dreams & reality collide

“For it is in giving that we receive.” St. Francis of Assisi


wish lives. dream lives. what is next? what is past? there is so much to consider as I sit here this morning. last week my “wish” life collided with my real life and it took my breath away. in god's perfect way, it snuck up on me and I didn’t even realize what had happened until it was nearly over. how often is that the case in life?

last saturday night, I sat next to my dear husband in front of four couples who had just completed the first soltura couples’ workshop (that i had the privilege of co-writing and co-facilitating.) the couples snuggled. they glowed. they danced...hope filled their eyes. they had worked hard. they had discovered a “third way”. during the course of our four days together, they had indeed fled. they fought with each other, with themselves, with me. but in the end, they stayed. they were present. willing. open to possibility. it was miraculous to watch.

and what of my personal “collision” you might ask? as I addressed them for one official last time, tears filled my eyes and my heart welled with joy and gratitude. “thank you,” I said. “this is a dream come true for me.” even then I wondered from where did those words come? I sensed deeply that they were not just sentimental ramblings, but words that felt whole and true. it was not until the next morning as I was talking with another facilitator that I remembered the prophecy I received in the spring four years ago. in it were the words, “follow your dreams. find out what they are. do them with bill. save the families.” there was much more to that story, but even as I write this morning I realize that even now I am overcome by amazement at God’s grace and I feel the beauty and power of that collision of dream and reality.

I did not know I was on a path to dream fulfillment. I was just following my heart. the twists and turns were many. the road was long. the goal not even in sight. it snuck up on me and I didn’t even realize what had happened until it was nearly over. how often is that the case in life? ☺

what dreams are brewing for you today? will you be open, willing & present to see them? will you be open to the possibility of a new way?

may the god of grace be with you today. peace.

photo by h3images

fight, flight or a third way?

We are slowly discovering what many of us are calling "the Third Way," neither flight nor fight, but the way of compassionate knowing. Both the way of fight and the way of flight fall short of wisdom, although they look like answers in the heat of the moment. When it's an either/or world you have no ability to transcend, to hold together, to be creative.

from Hope Against Darkness by Richard Rohr

I read the above quote this morning and it really resonated with me. As is often the case, many different thoughts and ideas started swirling around in my mind and fighting for attention. I thought of my recent post, feel your feelings as well as Sunrise Sister’s post here. The other topic that ran through my mind was the Couples Workshop that I am leaving to facilitate tomorrow.

As I reflect on these three topics, I realize that they cover relationships with ourselves, the world and committed personal relationships—as well as our overreaching relationship with God which always shows up (I believe) when our eyes and hearts are open ☺.

Limited on time this morning, I cannot delve into this as I would like, however, here are a few thoughts that worked their way onto paper.

Will the couples (will we as people; I as a person) choose to fight or flee or will they decide to try something new in relationship? We must be risk takers in order to be peacemakers. They go hand in hand. It is sometimes risky to seek peace. To seek a new way of looking at things. To do something different when the old is not working.

In living each day there is always the urge to fight or flee. Sinking into depression and not considering options can be a form of flight. Immediately going to outside sources for cures, saying “Nothing is wrong” or merely treating of symptoms is a form of fight. Feeling the pain, being in it, wrestling with it, resonates of the "compassionate knowing" of which Rohr speaks.

There are so many ways to look at this, but for now these are the bubblings of my brain. I am not sure if I will be back here over the next week or not. I hope you will ponder some of these thoughts along with me. Also, if you are so inclined, please say a prayer, send special thoughts, warm feelings, whatever it is you may do to the brave men and women who will be participating in Soltura’s first couples workshop. I am one of the facilitators and I am excited, encouraged AND nervous as can be!

May each of us consider choosing a “compassionate knowing” rather than fight or flight as we enter this new week. Peace! ☺

feel your feelings

“The fastest way to freedom is to feel your feelings” -- Gita Bellen

There is a post bubbling around in here, but my aching neck demands attention. Some would say I must immediately go to a doctor and that might be true. Others would recommend I take an aspirin and rest. Personally, I can most easily justify it by knowing that I slept scrunched up last night, had a glass of wine and popcorn for dinner and spent yesterday dusting, vacuuming and cleaning dog fur from my house (a very good thing ☺). The feelings I refer to today, however, are not the aches and pains in my body, but the ones that held me in the emotional dump this week. It was amazing how once I wrote those feelings down—articulated them—really sat in them awhile---that I was able to release them…or at least begin to feel some freedom from their hold on me.

The heaviness began to lift even though circumstances had not really changed. It was like lining them up to look at, placing them on a boat and watching them float out to sea. The “problems” where not gone, they were now simply seen from a different viewpoint. In other words, I still have the same amount of work facing me. My house still needed cleaning. My children are still teenagers, etc. etc. One thing that has changed is the skies are not so gray--both literally and figuratively. (I also realize this is the place where some of you may be quick to diagnose me with seasonal affective disorder, but that is not the point here and it kind of is ☺.)

I think about the complexities of life and all of the choices we can make to help us feel better. We can pop a pill, numb ourselves, put on a happy face, and hurry to fix things. I am not saying that action does not need to happen, but I am suggesting that we not overlook the power of actually doing as Bellen says and “feeling our feelings” rather than stuffing them down, looking for the quick fix or anesthetizing them away. Because, guess what? Feelings don’t really go away.

Believe me, I have all sorts of little tricks to get myself out of the blues. I know deep in my heart that my nature is one of light and joy rather than darkness and gloom. But both are part of me. Sometimes to get back to wholeness, I just need to sit in whatever feelings are coming my way—irrational, justified or uncomfortable as they may be. It is all so paradoxical. For example, I know that my daughter does not really hate me and, of course, at some level she does. After all, she’s 15 and that’s part of her job to differentiate from Mom. My son is 36 days sober today which is wonderful AND it terrifies me that the number could go back to zero at any moment. I have checked things off my list AND the list continues to grow. There is much to manage and experience and this post could go on forever. And in reality, that is what this blog is about. It is about my experiences and feelings. It is about where I am today…right now…this very moment. It is about my feelings and thoughts as long as I allow myself to let them flow.

So, today, the sun is shining. My heart is filled with gratitude. My gentle readers rose to the occasion and allowed me to “feel my feelings.” Thank you. We’ll see what happens next.

So, how will you feel your feelings today? Boldly? Gently? Wisely? Not at all? Or maybe today, you will simply choose to feel the sun on your skin or the crunch of the snow under your feet or watch the rain through your window? I’d love to know.

photos by lucy --yelapa, mexico

a little space

Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering her way.

Come near, come near, come near--Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!

--William Butler Yeats

the sun is shining
the fog is lifting
words of beauty speak again
my eyes have opened
my heart is grateful
friends have drawn near &
still left me space for breath to fill.

blessings to all who read here today. peace.

emotional dump

warning: this is NOT a feel good post...

how long is it o.k. to stay in a funk? what is socially acceptable? personally acceptable? I feel like sh.t. my head has hurt for several days and I have felt nauseous too. if I didn’t know better, I might think I was pregnant. yikes! maybe that’s the issue. I am experiencing the pains of pregnancy and childbirth, but right now it is with nearly grown children…loss of dreams…loss of hope... when can hope return? how many times must we experience "death" so that we may be "reborn?" the dying is getting tedious. I don’t want to do it anymore. I signed up for Italy and I got Auschwitz where I am one of the "able-bodied" who must continue to work and work and work and feel the pain rather than the more swift alternative of certain death.

when does the "living death" lift? when will the clean air start to fill my lungs again? and the original question...how long is it o.k. to stay in a funk, because everyone seems to want to pull me out of it…occasionally even myself…but more than not wanting to be in a funk, I am tired of the yoyo…the pendulum…the highs are too high and the lows are too low…swimming with the dolphins…high…bitter words and stalled relationships…low…sitting on a sailboat, listening to classical music, surrounded by blue seas...high…watching your children self-destruct…low. I am tired. really sick and tired. can I pull the covers over my head and wake up in a few years like rip van winkle? is it better to just hang out at the bottom of the pendulum? numb, but safe? my friends say, “drink a margarita”. “go for a drive in the sunshine.” “don’t try so hard.” “breathe.” yea. whatever.

sorry for the funkiness...don't say i didn't warn you...where do you hang out on the pendulum?

Home

Oh it is hard to re-enter the "real" world. Why do we have to? Can I not just stay in that moment-to-moment glorious, watch the sea waves, feel the sunshine, sit with friends glory?

It is gray and cold here. Volumes of e-mails await me along with a huge project for work. My kids demand attention in a detached sort of way. There is dog fur everywhere and the house needs a good cleaning. All I want to do is sit on a boat and listen to the waves lap against the side.

I have tried for two days now to catch up on e-mail and look at what has been happening in the blog world, but it has been to no avail. I have decided to say “hello” for now. I am back and I am not. Returning to Seattle feels more like a foreign country today than either Mexico or France. Am I a stranger in my own home? Where is home? Home is where the heart is. Hmmmm...I think I will sit with that for a while today.

waking to a new song

In the movie, “Dan in Real Life,” Julliette Binoche’s character describes her perfect day as “waking up in a foreign country, not really knowing the language, ready for adventure, so amazing.”

I ran across those words this morning as I took a quick peek into my Paris journal. As I have mentioned here before, I have been dreaming in French since I returned from my trip. One of the outstanding lines is “Je ne parle pas Francais”…I don’t speak French. Many wonderful comments were left about the wildness there is in not understanding language and I plan to continue to ponder, collage and sort through what that means for me. Today, however, I was delighted to read my own words written shortly after I returned to Seattle.

listening to the patter of language around me…not having to partake or be responsible for what was going on…just listening...like music—listening to a song I could not understand, but still loving the melody and the message…a lullaby…a love song…written just for me…this past week was my love song to myself…a beautiful gift that only I could give.

When you do not understand the language around you, where do your thoughts go? Do you fight it and retreat? Or do you choose to hear it as a new song around you? Maybe it is a beautiful love song or possibly it is a fight song you would rather tune out. What is the language you hear today—wherever you are?

Peace.

"glory" photo from musee d'orsay

Easter Reflection

even in death and darkness, there is the light.
redemption. resurrection.
words of my childhood
words of my faith
words of my hope
the eyes of Jesus
death in the tomb
the light of new day
it is there
always there, heavenly Father
Mother of heaven and earth
light shines upon me and through me
the eyes of Jesus
head bowed
hair flowing
the cross & resurrection
new birth of Easter
hope
peace flows like a river from the light
to death and beyond
peace in the garden
fleeing the tomb
he is risen
she is risen indeed.

photo taken Easter morning 3.23.08 @ crown hill cemetery

the wonder of little boys

This morning while reading this post, I was touched by the images of discovery and childlikeness. While in Paris, in addition to dog stalking which sounds reasonably odd, I was also drawn to child watching (which I realize could move from "odd" to downright creepy in many contexts ☺.) Not to worry, however, I was most touched by the sense of wonder in the children I observed. Sue's post included this special T.S. Eliot quote:

We shall not cease from exploration,
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

So, I am sharing a few of my Paris children (all little boys). I have not included the girls because today I think of my own beautiful boy who at near age 19, has a hard time remembering his own sense of wonder.





And although, my big boy may think he is all grown up, I still remember when his sense of joy and wonder filled his life, because...


He is mine; And I have different eyes That hold his yesterdays In pictures no one else remembers:

Waiting for him to be born, Not knowing who he would be, The moments of his childhood, First steps, first words, Smiles and cries, And all the big thresholds Of his journey since...

He is mine in a way No words could ever tell; And I can see through The stranger he has become And still find the countenance of my son.**

**adapted from John O'Donohue blessings.

photos from Paris. last photo circa 1994--j & me

What's your best?

Geez Louise, this process of wounding, healing, living fully, loving well…is all so exhausting. Should it be? What is the cost of living well? Or thinking you live well? From where does the pressure come? If I was brilliant yesterday, does that mean I must be brilliant again today or I am a failure? Don Miguel Ruiz says, “Always do your best.” Some days that means you pull the covers up and stay in bed.

As I was writing this little rant, I looked out of the window and saw a beautiful little sparrow in the fresh spring blossoms of my ornamental plum tree. It reminded me of a Bible verse which quickly slipped my mind, but I landed on “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” It is apt, but not the one for which I was looking. Wait, here we go: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

How do we stay in relationship (or do anything) if we are constantly worrying about wounding and being wounded. What does it mean to find our own rhythm in the context of relationship? It is such a paradox. A paradoxical dance. I want to see well. I want to be in relationship. I want to find my own pace and rhythm.

Since I returned from Paris, I have been dreaming in French. One of the phrases, that sticks out in my mind is "Je ne parle pas Francais." I don’t speak French. Translated for me from dream world, it means I don’t speak the language. Is that what living life means? Constantly trying to learn the language of ourselves and of those around us? Who does the wounding? Who is responsible for the healing? Can love overcome all? Is it as simple as “turning it over to Christ?” So simple. So hard. So challenging.

Today I will choose to do my best. Who knows what that will look like? Maybe it is some ramblings on a page. Maybe it will be some completed tasks. Maybe it will include pulling the covers back over my head. Life is exhausting…AND it is an amazing and wonderful adventure…Maybe it’s worth peaking through the covers to see what’s out there. Maybe it's worth doing my best...whatever that may look like.

Thoughts? Stirrings? Rants, perhaps?

photo: 'waiting for the bus' by lucy

Paschal Mystery

"Christians speak of the "paschal mystery," the process of loss and renewal that was lived and personified in the death and raising up of Jesus." --Richard Rohr

Welcome back. So, I am a little freaked out right now, because I read the above words from a morning reading AFTER I spent my quiet time alone this morning and wrote the following (unedited):

Trust. Trust you will be held with your strong hands and mine too. Trust the process. Unfinished. We wound and we are wounded. We are never healed, but always healing if we allow ourselves to heal--to trust we will go up and down and all around. Wounding. Wounded. We wound because we are human. We heal because we are made in God's image. Healed from the tomb. Nailed to the cross and risen again.

I have been nailed to the cross time and time again. Wounded and wounding. Healing. An unfinished woman. We are moving forward. Gratitude. The healing that continues to take place in me. The woundedness and the healing. Momentarily healed, but then a new wound appears or maybe a very old one we were unaware of. We have the opportunity to receive grace and heal again. Some wounds heal quickly and some are deep and leave scars that are like gouges to our soul, but our soul survives. No matter what, the light cannot be extinguished.

Wounded and healing. Loss and renewal. Is this the "paschal mystery" of which I write? What does healing and wounding look like for you? I'd love to know your thoughts. It is a mystery to me...a paschal mystery, perhaps ☺. (By the way--I do not recall ever hearing the term paschal mystery before this morning. hmmmmm....)

Blue Dancers

Life comes rushing in so fast. I wake up dreaming of the Musee d’Orsay, Tess, the grandmother & her boys (who I have not had a chance to write about), Blue Dancers. I want to return to Paris. There is so much left undone. No regrets except maybe that I did not ride the carrousel ☺. Still, I know I will return.

I have been dreaming in French. Soon the trip will start to fade. Not so quickly for me, but it will certainly fade for others. Their lives are not changed by me. I think of Ally and the lives she touched. The life she lived. Yesterday was a day filled with memories of her just as today will be and probably—hopefully—tomorrow.

I miss Paris. I did not have to worry about so much there. I could wake up and let the wind blow me where it would. Now I am here. My dear husband sleeps next to me. The dog wants attention. My daughter is being a little snarly. (Is something wrong or is it just “normal” teenage angst?) My son is in treatment again. Lord, please help him. Help all of us.

I don’t want my journal to move away from Paris. I don’t want to leave there. I don’t want to jump into the seemingly million obligations that await me here. I just want to write about the Musee d’Orsay and Blue Dancers.

Alas, life slips in. How can I live today as though on the wings of Paris? How will I choose to live these moments fully? How will you?

Image Edgar Degas', "Blue Dancers"

Au Revoir, Paris--musing #9

“Breathe deeply,” said Aurore (my Paris hostess) as we parted ways. My first walk out of the neighborhood found my local patisserie, Jean Millet, closed. “Quelle horreur!” I thought it must be closed on Friday and found that I could not bring myself to enter another café. And so, I walked around and said good-bye to the Eiffel Tower from the first place I saw it at Pont de l’Alma. The morning was gray again like when I arrived only not quite as wet and rainy. I stood on the bridge and watched the people heading to work. I’d like to believe I did not stand out as l’Americain. This had come to feel like home.

I returned to my apartment for a quick stop and resigned myself to going to Starbucks down the street. At least I could do a little comparison shopping at a semi-familiar place. I was not willing to risk having a mediocre cup of coffee at a new café--rather to have something vaguely familiar. And then I saw it—the night time bars removed from my favorite haunt and “Voila!” they were open for business ☺.

I finally felt confident enough to use a little more French with the Madame.
“Comment allez vous?”
“Bien et tu?”
“Tres bien,” I said, but in truth I was a little sad. Still I ordered my breakfast. “Je voudrais un grand café au lait et un croissant, s’il vous plait.” (This was a far cry from the stumbling, “Uhhhh????” of a week ago ☺.)
For one last time, my coffee came in its beautiful China cup. The espresso served first followed by the little pitcher of warm milk. The croissant tasted especially buttery and fresh this morning. Pure heaven!

As I prepared to leave the café, I told the shopkeeper that I loved her shop and thanked her for her recommendations as well as telling her it was my last morning. She said, “Wait! I have something for you. You will like it—a souvenir to take back with you.” She left and came back with a straw “Jean Millet” tote bag and a nice little French pastry cookbook. Tres bien!

As I left the shop, there was one more surprise for me—Madame Martine and Ginger were coming up the street. I said, “Au revoir and it was a pleasure meeting you.” Martine told me not to be so sad for leaving Paris. It would always be there.

“It is in my heart”, I told her.
She said, “See you again. You will be back. Same place” and she pointed to Millet.

Nothing will ever compare to this first amazing trip. It was exactly what I needed to do for me. As I walked through rue Cler slowly breathing in the morning, I knew that I was a different person than the one who arrived eight days ago. I was more of me. It was like I found a piece of myself that had been tucked away for awhile.

I strolled once more through the market. The locals had their shopping carts and the dogs were out en masse (in a very lovely sort of way.) It was a little drizzly and threatened to rain, but that never happened. I visited the streets that were foreign to me a week ago that now felt like home. I snapped a few more shots—stalked a few more dogs—enjoyed the lovely aging people. As Tess said, “The older women are not ‘invisible’ here.” (I think I would love to grow old in France with my little shopping cart and sensible yet still stylish shoes ☺).

When I turned the corner to go back to my apartment for one last time, I saw the taxi. My taxi—15 minutes early. The cab driver was polite, but not talkative. The trip to the airport felt like the final scene of a movie complete with operatic soundtrack. We toured through the Right Bank (a place I spent very little time). I saw sights I had missed along the way—the couture houses, Hermes and others. Then up the Champs de Elysee and back to the Arc de Triomphe where it all started.

Au revoir, Paris. Je t’aime!

where have all the poodles gone? paris #8

Sitting here on my last morning in Paris I find myself wondering...where have all the poodles gone? Paris is full of dogs. Big dogs. Little dogs. White dogs. Black dogs...actually mainly white dogs. (Hmmmm...wonder what's up with that?) Les chiens are on the Metro, in the cafes and fine restaurants, strolling through the parks and along the Seine. In all of my wanderings and dog stalking, however, I only came across one poodle!! But oh what a poodle he is!!!



I would like for you to meet Ginger. Ginger belongs to Martine who in return speaks lovingly of her very own Mr. Darcy. Tess and I met Martine & Ginger at my favorite little neighborhood patisserie, Jean Millet. They occupy the far corner table and have done so for 15 1/2 years (which happens to correspond with Ginger's age.) Martine described Ginger as a "confused male poodle" since he has lived with a female name for his long life. He was thus named because of his beautiful color. Currently Ginger is deaf and basically blind, but continues to enjoy his morning stroll and cafe sitting with Madame Martine who is a definite treasure herself. Oh, Paree...you have to love it!!!

See more chiens (pups) at lucy creates!!!

Absorbing Paris--reflection #7

"Paris is to be absorbed in through the pores...sensing it and feeling it rather than seeing and doing. When you sit at that cafe with that glass of French wine and write in your journal (or on your maps and guidebooks!) raise a glass to yourself for giving yourself this amazing gift!"

This wonderful quote was given to me by Kate I before I left for Paris. Today as I find myself just a little melancholy as I must attend to the details of preparing to leave Paree tomorrow, I wanted to make sure Kate knew I succeeded in following her wonderful recommendation. Here is an excerpt from yesterday's journal:

Today I am pinching myself. Everything is so delicious...so French...sitting in Cafe Panis at rue LaGrange across from Notre Dame. It is still cold, but the sun is shining. My kir champagne was just poured and I shall toast to myself. I am beautiful, brave and in Paris!

Yesterday was one of those magical days where everything fell into place and the day poured on and on with new delights around every corner. I returned for a visit to Notre Dame to sit in remembrance and light a candle for my friend, Allyson, taken from life too soon. I climbed to the top of the tower and stood in the crisp, cold sunny day overlooking the panoramic view of Paris. Absolutely breathtaking!

My next stop was Shakespeare & Company where legends such as Hemingway, James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw and Gertrude Stein went to get their "English fix" for books. (I managed to get a little "fix" myself with a new book of poetry.) The lovely sales clerk gave me the superb recommendation of Cafe Panis where I had my lunch of kir royal au champagne Montgivroux and soupe a l'oignoin gratinee (champagne with raspberry liquer and french onion soup) while being attended to by very handsome and gracious waiters ☺.

A little shopping peppered the morning in the Latin Quarter and a visit to St. Severin Chapel. Later I took my favorite bus (#69) to Pere Lachaise cemetery where I meandered through the ancient tombstones and visited the likes of Collette and Jim Morrison. While I did search for my families' surnames, I had no success. This still has not dampened my assurance that I am indeed part French!

My handy bus then dropped me back by the Louvre where I considered trying my luck again with Venus, but opted instead to visit the amazing Monet water lilies at Musee L'Orangerie. Both before and after the Musee included a stroll through the wonderful Tuilleries gardens.

Leaving the gardens, I walked up the Right Bank toward the Avenue du Champs-Elysees. The best part of this walk was the beautiful sunset over the Seine. I found the Avenue to be much like any major city complete with McDonald's, the Gap and cell phone stores. The prize at the end, however, was the Arc de Triomphe bathed in evening light.

I am not sure if more posts will come directly from Paris, but I know that many more will follow about it. I have only begun to scratch the surface of this amazing gift of a week!! And I know that it has been "absorbed in through the pores" as Kate claimed it must be. Merci!!

A bientot!

in memory of allyson

"I am a tear of the sun." --Lawrence Ferlinghetti from the poem, "Autobiography"

While traveling this week, I learned that a young friend & coworker of mine died suddenly due to complications with a brain aneurysm. It is so hard to understand when anyone dies, but especially those who seem to go "too soon." Allyson Thrift would have turned 34 years old tomorrow. Today I dedicated my journey and adventures to her. It was a day filled with tears and delight. I hope she would have liked it. These are for you, Ally.

stained glass at notre dame

saint joan d'arc

the center candle was lit for allyson at notre dame (next to joan d'arc)


silhouette at pere lachaise

sunset over the seine

paris musing #5...don't make the louvre gods angry or...

...how the Venus de Milo got revenge.

It was Monday morning and most museums in town were closed except for the Louvre. It would be crowded, but Tess and I had our plan. We called it “the bullet approach.” We had mapped out the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. We would arrive early on our direct bus route (after, of course, stopping off at Jean Millet for croissants and café au lait). Our museum passes in hand, we would “shoot” in and out and save the rest for another time.

We were excited, giddy even, like two kids who were about to do something naughty. Everything was going according to plan. There was a line by the pyramid for ticket purchases, but the guard pointed to our special entrance…no lines…no waiting. Perfect. We were in! We picked up our museum guide (just in case) and headed up the stairs. Before we could even prepare ourselves, there she was…Venus de Milo…in all her glory.

I reached in my bag for my camera, hit the power button and it was at that exact moment that Venus decided to get her revenge for even considering “the bullet approach”. Like a slow motion film clip, the camera started to slip through my fingers. I reached too late and heard the crash of metal against granite. Not a pretty sound. Quelle horreur!! The camera hit the hard floor just as the lens was opening and just like that (in the blink of an eye; the slip of a hand) my photo taking adventure had come to an end.

It was a sad, sad moment. Frustrating. Maddening. An attempt to dampen my sense of humor, mais non (but no). With Tess’ handy camera in tow, we completed our “bullet” tour (even adding Winged Victory) although the timing was slowed down a bit due to much pushing of buttons and fiddling with lens to see if we could get the camera to work again.

"What next?" you might ask. “ From where have all the photos continued to come?” Well, the ones you see here were taken with Tess’ camera. We spent the rest of our morning in search of 1) a camera repair shop and/or 2) a camera store. It definitely led us to parts of Paris we had not intended to visit and we met several helpful people along the way who we would not have met otherwise. We kept reminding each other that every day is perfect in it’s own way!!!

Repairs for my simple camera would take 3 or 4 WEEKS! However, the earnest young saleswoman who spoke no English would not give up and called in 'back up' to help with my camera issues. Between the four of us (Tess, one sort of English-speaking salesgirl, one French-speaking and me), I am now the proud owner of the new generation of my broken camera. It uses the same battery and digital cartridge thus allowing me to miss only the shots in the museum (which Tess covered) and the ones along the way during our camera hunt through Paris.

Crazy stuff. Again feeling blessed in so many funny little ways. I am glad to share this with you and very glad to be able to continue photographing this delightful journey!!! One word of warning, however...if you ever decide the visit the Louvre consider carefully how you will approach it. Arms or no, Venus has amazing power!!!

And, just one more thing…Mona Lisa did NOT disappoint, but that’s another story ☺!

why paris?...musing #4

Tess asked me yesterday why it is that I was so drawn to Paris to come on this grand adventure. Initially I said, "I don't know." We then talked about how if we do have "other lives" then I think at some point in time I was French. I have thought that in some way most of my life. As a little girl (and now a grown up one), I discovered that my family has very little knowledge of our ancestry or heritage. And so I have often felt quite assured (by myself at least) that someone in my long history came from France.

When I started "creating" a couple of years ago in the "Awakening the Creative Spirit" program we were asked to write about our muse and this is the poem that popped out of me. Hmmmm...

My inner poet is French. Tipped beret and Mona Lisa smile. Her voice rings out with playful laughter, her arms wide open, leaping into darkness and light. She is beautiful and earnest. Seductive and serious. She was born on the wings of angels and birthed out of pain and suffering. I recognize her in the first morning light by the gentle shores of the sea. She is bathed in God’s fragrance and surrounded by belief. What does this inner poet know for sure? She is light. She is dark. Complete and unfinished. A creature of God. A glorious paradox. This poet lives hidden from sight. Covered in blue scarves and white. Peeking through the window and knocking on the door. She lives at home inviting others to come and sit by her fire. Her imagination is infinite. She dreams of knowing and being known, of embracing and being embraced. She desires community, fellowship, peace and solitude. She must speak of everything. The resonant and the dissonant. The beauty and the depravity. The joy and the sorrow. The fullness of life and the darkness of death. She sits on the sidewalks of Life, holding a thin cigarette and dreaming her dreams. Her voice speaks in a beautiful accent. Tipped beret and all-knowing smile. My inner poet is a romantic. She is French.

Last night as I was trying to wind down after another fabulous day, I considered Tess' question again and thought "how could I not be drawn to Paris?" It has all of my favorite things right here (except, of course, my dear family and friends.)

The art is amazing. There is beauty everywhere you look; whether in architecture, God's greatness or "real art." Water...it flows through the city in the form of the Seine and periodically falls from the sky to wash everything clean. You can walk everywhere and even in the midst of this large international city, it feels like a neighborhood. This has become home for me in just a few days. There are great buses and who knows maybe I will revive my bus stories while here. Oh, and the food...beautiful, interesting, delicious and sometimes a little scary. I could go on and on, but I will stop with this one confirmation that I am supposed to be here. Paris is the City of Lights and for those of you who don't know it, Lucy means Light!! How perfect is that?


I just wanted to share this little morning musing with you. Once again I am waiting for Tess to arrive so we can go for our cafe au lait and croissant (more later about this fabulous little spot we have found.)

I hope you have a wonderful day today! I know I will!!! Au revoir!!


(more at lucy creates!!!)

les deux magots--paris musings #3

"This cafe still trades on its self-styled reputation as the rendezvous of the literary and intellectual elite of the city. This derives from the patronage of Surrealist artists and young writers including Ernest Hemingway in the 1920's and 1930's, and existential philosophers and writers in the 1950's." Today they were able to add two great writers of the 21st Century to the list...guess who? drum roll please...lucy (c'est moi) and Tess!!!

Yes, it is true. The two friends who met in the blogosphere well over a year ago were united today in glorious, sunny, fabulous Paris. Hugs were exchanged amidst astonishment that we were actually in each other's presence. Waiting for a table at the very busy cafe, we commented on the amazingly chic hostess and the waiters dressed in tuxedos pouring wine and Evian for the wide array of customers. We sat inside at a great window seat with a French father, mother, daughter and little white bulldog beside us. (No poodles in sight.) It was all so Parisienne.

After lunch, we made our way to the Seine where Tess had her first look ever at the magic river. We continued our walk along the quai where we strolled next to the infamous "Left Bank booksellers." Our next stop Saint Chapelle with it's amazing stained glass windows depicting over 1100 scenes from the Bible. Breathtaking to say the least!!!

Finally we hopped on the local bus back to the rue Cler area (my home away from home) where we picked up Tess' luggage and strolled past the Eiffel tower to find her hotel in the 5th arrondissement. Making my way back, I stopped at the local pastry shop to pick up my dinner of Salmon tartine and Framboise Tartelette. Vie, c'est bon! (Life is good!!)

Time to say bon soir. Tess and I are meeting for breakfast in the morning and a visit to the Musee d'Orsay...and who knows what else? Stay tuned for more...

(be sure to check out lucy creates for pictoral updates!!!)