It's been an interesting two years...

Here I sit writing and sipping coffee as the ocean breeze blows in the windows and as the morning marine air fills my happy lungs. What an Israelite-like journey it has been to get here...to this moment, to this location, to this reality.

As I resurrected the blog this morning (again...this blog has been resurrected more times than Jesus), I was shocked to discover that there were only two posts from the last two years. I'm not sure what to make of that. I was serving in an inner-city congregation in the Midwest and, for the most part, was very thrilled to be doing so. There were so many incredible, insightful, wonderful people there and such phenomenal colleagues who accompanied me in ministry in an area hard hit by economic realities. It was most certainly an interesting time.

I just concluded the call to Elijah in Egypt. My ponderings and reflections continue to form as literal distance sinks in. Over the course of the two years at Elijah in Egypt, I learned a great deal. I learned a great deal about myself, about the congregation, and about what it looks like when the walking wounded journey together in a yearning for wholeness. I learned that following a 37 year pastoral tenure without the benefit of an interim pastor between your call and the previous one is not only inadvisable but also pretty much insane regardless of the optimism surrounding such a venture. I learned how fragile life can be and how holy the ground upon which we walk really is. I learned and experienced how unspoken nuances and assumed but not confirmed meanings of words and actions can chew a person up in the eyes of another. I learned that Jesus does indeed walk with us - whether or not we name him or claim him as Savior - and that he accompanies us in our deepest pain, greatest joys, and everything inbetween.

I find myself fairly wistful about almost everything to do with my time in the Midwest. There were so many happy moments and some treasured friendships. The Midwest was a great training ground for ministry. Though I most certainly had my share of missteps and errors, my foibles were almost always met with grace and Midwest nice-ness. Sure, there were times when grace seemed less apparent but dusting off the sandals and moving on seems like the best way to address that. The Midwest was also a wonderful place to raise my children. Much to my dismay, the boys consider themselves Midwesterners even though they are 3rd generation native Oregonian. My great-great grandfather probably wouldn't be so thrilled about that, but then again, he was French so maybe he'd simply roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders in disbelief, sip some espresso, and move on.

Now if there is anything else worth mentioning about life in the Midwest, it'd be the winters. We're talking snowflakes galore and temperatures not fit for human life. I remember as a child how I would revel in jubilation whenever the fairly rare occurrence of a falling snowflake entered my day. Now I cannot think of anything I will miss less than the piles and piles of seemingly unending snow and the inside of my nose freezing. Rather than causing my heart to soar, the mere mention of snow and cold now causes my heart and energy to plummet in despair. Snow. Ugh. Ick. Hopefully I will never again dwell in a land of low temperatures and snowbanks.

As I prepared to move to the Left Coast, Midwesterners would ask in all honesty, "Won't you miss the seasons?!" My theory is that this question is simply a form of denial about how crummy the weather is in the Midwest. Saying "I love the seasons" helps create a framework and coping mechanism for the soaring sticky heat and the dry frigid cold. So, in answer to the question, "Won't you miss the seasons?!" the response is an emphatic no. I will not miss the summer humidity, mosquitoes, and air so thick you feel like you are swimming in molasses. I will not miss the all-too-short spring replete with thunderstorms that freak out my dog. I will not miss the blink of an eye autumn where the beautiful leaves change color on the way to work and fall off the tree by the time you return home. And, yes, mostly, I will not miss the winters. The long, cold, harsh, snowy, icy winters. You can have your seasons, Midwesterners. I even admire your love of the variety. For me, though, I'll stick with morning marine fog that burns off in the afternoon and temps that tend not to dip below 40 degrees on the coldest of cold days. As Jimmy Buffett croons: I have found me a home.

If we couldn't laugh, we'd all go insane

In Santa Barbara, a bad business deal involves losing hundreds of thousands of dollars.
In Dubuque, it's realizing Shopko had the same product that you just bought at Target.

In Santa Barbara, great live music involves heading to the Bowl in shorts and a tank top wondering if David Crosby will randomly appear on stage again tonight.
In Dubuque, it's seeing the bank's tellers singing Christmas Carols in the lobby.

In Santa Barbara, grabbing some java is just a given part of any excursion.
In Dubuque, going to coffee is the excursion.

In Santa Barbara, the gate agent tells you that if she loved her cats any more than she does, it would be illegal.
In Dubuque, the gate agent says, "Oh my, great weather today ya know," when it's 28 degrees and sunny.

In Santa Barbara, your real estate agent shows up for your open house in their Mercedes and wears surfer shorts and a faded red t-shirt.
In Dubuque, your agent goes to Younkers the day before your open house to pick up one of their sensible $29 suits and shows up in a Chevy Lumina or an American minivan.

In Santa Barbara, the taxi driver tells you he's moving 1/2 hour away into a nice one bedroom, 700 square foot bungalow with parking because he can get it for only $1600/month.
In Dubuque, do they have taxis in Dubuque?

In Santa Barbara, people live on the mesa or in the valley
In Dubuque, people live off the county road or "up the way"


In Santa Barbara, you can find respite at Mission Santa Barbara.





In Dubuque, you can go to the Dickeyville Grotto.


In Santa Barbara, you watch out for pedestrians and hurried drivers.
In Dubuque, you watch out for deer, racoons and the occasional groundhog.

In Santa Barbara, men buy Beamers or Mercedes as they enter their midlife crisis.
In Dubuque, men buy Ford F150s without the king cab (after all, it's time for a 2 seater, Ma).

In Santa Barbara, the Homeland Security agent cracks up laughing in response when you say, "Oh yeah...just a little firmer and down to the right" as she pats you down for the random extra security check.
In Dubuque, the Homeland Security agent would likely say nothing at all but would think "ohhh my" and find the comment interesting as they avoided eye contact.
[Bonus: In Portland, there's no talking to Homeland Security! You'd be detained for crossing the line!]











In Santa Barbara, baggage claim is outside.
In Dubuque, baggage claim is inside on this teeny tiny conveyor that looks like a PriceCostco display for big boy airport baggage claims.

In Santa Barbara, diversity reigns - many languages are spoken & heard, skin colors range, men walk down the street arm and arm and nobody thinks twice about it.
In Dubuque, diversity means someone who dresses like me.

Wonder why you ever go home

Yesterday morning's weather: 70, minimal coastal breeze, sunny, clear
Last night's airport weather: 31, 10 mph winds, dark, light snow
This morning's weather: 29, minimal winds, sunny, light clouds

The Gospel from the Coast

Here are some selected shots from SB days. Heck, as long as I've got a bonus day, I might as well upload the rest of the pics and share them with y'all.



The first two shots on the left are from Super Rica - awesome Mexican food where the gal grabs into the dough and your tortillas are thrown on the grill when you order your meal.

This afternoon, I napped while Journey Girl took the kids to the pumpkin patch. Then, Little Mister and I headed to Shoreline Beach for a long walk along the waves. We collected shells and beach trinkets and then we created the rock/shell/lobster tail diaorama on the right. After that, I shot the other scenes on the right.

Under the Super Rica pics on the left is a picture of the SB airport baggage "terminal." Isn't it a hoot? It's got one long metal shelf where the bags are set. And,
yes, the baggage claim is OUTSIDE!

Umm...yeah. The bottom right pic is of an anemone [uh-nem-uh-nee]. You stick your finger in them and they close around it. Pretty cool. Sometimes they even squirt at you. Shana didn't know what it was or what you did with it, so I thought I should explain. For someone who's lived abroad, she can sure be a naive Midwest girl some days. Gotta love her.

Strictly complicated

As of 11ish, the only way Northwest Airlines could get me into Madison before 11:38pm involved waiting to fly home until Tuesday afternoon from John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana/Irvine. Woo hoo, a part of me said. An adventure! A journey! A chance to connect more with friends. What could be better, right?

The other part of me (the one with a conscience) said, "This is so not good." I've got a tired husband with two mommy-missing kids, a budget that is strained prior to any possible awaiting adventures, an important meeting at the school on Monday (that I just cancelled) and Vision therapy on Tuesday that may need to be shifted.

I called home. C, understandably so, was frustrated. He's such a gem that he wasn't mad with me - he was just clearly exasperated by the situation at hand. He even supported my decision to not take one of the midnight runs. Yet, his understanding and exhaustion coupled with a good dose of Lutheran Mommy guilt (two zingers combined together for logarithmic results) only made me feel like more of a heel. There appeared to be no easy way to navigate the shifting waters that had gone from mysterious, quaint, meandering streams to mighty rapids full of problems...

I hmmmd and hawwed and ate an avocado fresh from Travelin Man's dad's orchard. I made some calls. I hmmmdd some more. Called the airline and ended up talking to one of the most Midwest Nice (in all the best ways) Minnesotans you'd ever encounter. She even gave me some shopping tips in case I ever make it to the Mall of America. Besides all those surpises, she was able to book me on tomorrow's 8:40am Santa Barbara flight and get me to Madision Monday night at 8:40 pm. How and why this option arose (it was never available at the counter at the airport and in my two other calls to NWA), one can only venture a guess. Anyway, I've now got a bonus day and a way home.

No Planes on Sunday

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve just been informed there are serious ground delays at LAX due to weather. I have no further details at this time, but I’m going to begin backup booking passenger tickets as we await further news…”

After compiling my mental checklist (Who can cover carpool for me tomorrow? Call in to work, arrange a babysitter for tomorrow after school just in case…), these are welcome words for me. Well, welcome-ish anyway. You know you don’t get much time away to yourself when you’ll happily go through airport security again just so you can sit outside on a bench on a fogged-in, crisp-for-Southern-California morning even if it might only be for 1/2 hour. Now is the unexpected opportunity to grasp and savor every last drop of this liminal time.

The ticket agent just gave us an update: LAX just closed 3 regional runways and there will be no further update for at least an hour. All around me, people display various states of frustration, dismay, and anxiety. The sweet older woman next to me, planning to fly from coast to coast today with her wheelchair-bound husband, has tears in her eyes. The whole trip was a bit too much for them to undertake in the first place, she tells me. Their flights out here presented their own challenges and re-routes. This is really more than she thinks she can bear. We enter into a holy ground conversation as we sit in uncomfortable airport waiting room chairs. She says to me, “I know I’ll make it…” I gently put my hand on her arm, look her in the eye and say, “You know, there’s no doubt about that, you will make it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t stink.” She laughs through her tears and breathes in a big sigh. She fills my outbound prayers.

We talk about how this affects my husband and she says with feminine I-survived-the-Depression resolve, “It will be good for him to know what you do as a mom.” I tell her what a gift C is, how much I treasure and value him as a husband and father. I become wistful as I tell her was a lucky, blessed woman I am. She responds with a voice of wisdom and experience, simply saying deep and profound truisms: "Treasure every moment of it." Her words linger in my heart and mind. Tears remain welled in my eyes as I write now.

What’s peculiar about these re-routes and delays is that they really don’t impact me personally all that much. I float along in the unpredictable current with contentment and have no problem resting in this particular mystery. What’s unfair is that the unexpected waters present all kinds of shifts for so many others who have no voice or control over the shifts imposing themselves into life: the husband who has been a single dad for 5 days already, the kids wanting to see their mommy (even if the 10 year old won’t admit it), a hostess who headed back to the airport and shuffle her schedule, the neighbors saving me once again with their willingness to shuttle kids to and from school…the list goes on and on. For this list, my heart is saddened. For my own, I roll along waiting to see what scenery awaits me around the latest bend of the river’s path..

Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On

It's 6:57 a.m. although my body clock thinks it's nearly 9:00. This chapter is quickly drawing to a close and I find myself both buoyed by the recent dwelling in serenity and sagging as I depart the sunshine and warmth to re-enter daily life's chaos and chilling winds. Don't get me wrong - daily life, despite its sometimes shivering gusts, also has its sunny clear skies and moments of peace. It just becomes so easy to get lost in the lists and the obligations and the stresses that I neglect to dwell in life's own unique daily beauty.

So many more experiences from this time away remain to be shared and pondered. But now, I need to hop in the instantly warm waters of the shower, don my layers of insulation, and step off the terrace and back onto the ever-shifting farmlands of daily life. At least today's view makes it a bit easier to leave.

Don't try to explain it, just bow your head

What a precious end to a beautiful day...sitting on the terrace sipping wine, watching the sunset and sitting by the firepit with fantastic, treasured friends Journey Girl and Travelin Man. You know, there's something to be said about the phrase "There's no friend like an old friend."

It's been a day of knowing and being known, of exquisite acceptance of exactly who you are and treasuring all that means. Watching the flames of the fire as they spark, ebb and flow - somehow it's a lot like life: There's the ups and downs, the moments when we glimpe the Feast, and the times when all feels quelled. It's so much easier to be contemplative about life's realities when the stresses are miles away...

After the campfire, Journey Girl and I just talked and talked, relived the day, pondered the joys and the insights and gut feelings of today's experiences. Man, it's gonna be hard to leave all this.

You got to leave your mind open to discover

What a day, what a trip, what a journey. Life is good. So good. Amazing what some time away does for the soul.

I decided to give this calling home schtick one last try this morning as I walked along the upper terrace looking at the reflection of the sunrise. Aaahhhh. It ends up I'll continue calling home - the latest report was more positive than the first two. I told C that if I'd gotten another bummer of a phone report I was seriously considering not checking in again. He said he didn't blame me. What a great guy. Just love him.

This morning, Journey Girl (my hostess and great bud) and I headed out around 9 a.m. to have breakfast with my buddy, Soul Friend, who happened to be in town. We went to Jeanine's - great lil' spot in Montecito. Pretty upscale part of town but a pretty laid back kinda haunt. Good stuff. Ends up Montecito is the place where Oprah, Kenny Loggins, and Rob Lowe have houses. Low income housing kinda deal, you know. Montecito is probably where they do their slummin. Yeah, right.

Breakfast was a great deal - I think we spent about 2 hours at Jeanine's. Some of Soul Friend's buddies came along and we ended up breakfasting and hanging with them too. Then his little brother, Funky Youngest Child, showed up and we had a great time talking with him. It was really fun to watch the sibling interaction thing...cracked me up.

After breakfast/brunch, SF and I went for a walk. I treasure the times when SF and I can steal away some time for conversation. He's one of those friends who just gets me and it's a mutual deal - no pretenses, no explaining, just real and honest talk that is so true that it doesn't even feel as vulnerable as it really is. Our conversation offered a bit of honest pushing toward discovery, a listening that hears both what is said and unsaid, a sharing of struggles and joys, and a few wise insights about it all. As we were talking and walking, I pondered the stories in The Book of Acts where the teacher is the student and the student is the teacher. All lines are blurred, words are spoken and heard, synergy reigns, and collaborative insights emerge. What more can we ask for in life than a friend who simply gets who we are and takes us with our foibles and faults, shortcomings and strengths? Someone once described these types of friendships as Soul Friends - an interesting term meaning someone through whom the Holy Spirit whispers, prods, sustains, and upholds.

Laughing with friends old and new, walking along the Montecito burro, leaving your mind open to discover and ponder - yep, that's good stuff.

That's what livin' is for me

Here's the scoop:
1. Blog posts will have Buffett song line titles until I'm done dwelling in my post-concert high.
2. There'll be lots of pics of sunny So Cal as I dwell in this 70+ degree clear blue sky paradise.
3. Writing quality will vary depending upon my mood, the amount of time I can access the net, and how often Little Mister interrupts me to show me the amazing Petz5 he's playing on my laptop right now. Little Mister is 7 and is going to be a lobbyist when he grows up - he's already an accomplished negotiater with great charm...lots of charm.

Speaking of Lil Mr., he wanted me to post pictures of his cats, Lucy and Charlie. Aren't they awesome? I went with his mom to the kitty cat haven a couple years ago to pick the cats out. Someday I'll write about the cat sanctuary place - it's pretty incredible.










On the left is a pic of the place I'm staying. Not bad, eh? This picture was taken from the top of the third terrace. And down and to the right is a picture of the third terrace - otherwise known as my mid-afternoon napping spot - complete with an ocean view to the left.














And here's a view from yesterday's walk:

What a show!

I've got a post on my laptop that's all ready to go...but I'm on another computer right now. That post will have to wait.

Just got back from the concert. What an amazing show! David Crosby showed up and played some tunes (including Southern Cross) and local musician Jack Johnson (a la Curious George soundtrack) sounded great and chimed in on Pirate Looks at 40 and other favorites. Robert Greenidge and Peter Mayer both had amazing solos (steel drums and guitar respectively) to bring the band into Desperation Samba, one of the classics. My only disappointment was that Amy Lee wasn't there - she's my hero because she's a woman who plays the saxophone. I played the saxophone in 6th grade...but I never sounded as great as Amy Lee. Guess that's where my rock star career came to an end.

Great venue! It only holds about 4800 people so there are no bad seats. Really loved the SB Bowl - great sound, great food, great size. West Coast crowds are kind of a trip though - they all tend to sit down too much and seem to have an "entertain me" mindset. I'll take a Midwest crowd any day.

It was an amazing day: about 79, sunny and clear. I walked along the beach, up to the harbor and then along State Street (SB's main drag). Spent the afternoon asleep in a hammock on the lower terrace (more about terraces in the post from my laptop later) - yeah, life is rough here in Santa Barbara.

If the phone doesn't ring, it's me

(Sorry for the lack of photos - can't get my card reader working...Grrr)

It’s 9:30 a.m. and roughly 70 degrees with no breeze. Life is good. I’m out here on the second terrace – yes, the home where I’m staying has terraces. Wow. The second terrace is a place of red, green and blue adirondack chairs, shy and fragile monarch butterflies, and Lucy the cat. I can hear a number of birds at any one time. These birds are the smart ones – the ones who live year around in this temperate coastal land. They sing and fly and swoop and glide, gracing the palm tree laden landscape.

Just a hint of autumn colors dot the deciduous trees below in the view that extends all the way to my beloved Pacific Ocean. I’m home. True, it may not be where I grew up, but something about simply being on the West Coast fills my bones with peace and contentment. A steady joy encounters my sagging soul and, if only for a few days, all is well. Here, I can relax, dream, and breathe deeply.

In my two calls home already, I’ve discovered all is not well. Hints of underlying resentment from my husband who couldn’t make the trip dot his words or lack thereof. News of TT refusing to do his homework and of panicked colleagues who couldn’t reach me while I was in flight come to me like crashing waves attempting to be a respite-drenching tsunami. I’m tempted to stop checking in.

Last night at LAX, two security guards gleefully chuckled as I spoke with my frustrated husband who had one ear on his cell phone with me and one ear on another call with someone who was desperately trying to reach me to tell me something that really was not desperate in the least. One of the guards accompanied me down to a shuttle bus for the regional terminal and was grinning ear to ear. He shook his head and said jokingly, “If I were you, I’d turn that phone off and stop calling home.” Thank you, God, for the wisdom from the airport security guard.

As I sit on the terrace taking in the familiar breathtaking views, the stresses of the already cold and winter-like Midwest, of awaited calls, of defiant children, and of frustrated husbands seem so very far away. It’s another world. Today’s oasis offers calm glimpses into the roots deep inside me – reminding me of my need for mighty waters, nature, and warm sunshine. It beckons me to write, ponder, and conclude without interruption. Bliss.

Into Serious Countdown Mode...

List made...check
Babysitter Wednesday...check
Babysitter Thursday and Friday...check
Babysitter on standby for Sat a.m. in case C wants to work out...check
Vision therapy homework miracle worker...check (Yay - it's K Kindhearted!)
Camera, phone & Palm Pilot charged...check
Last Sunday's Desperate Housewives downloaded from iTunes...check
Oil change...in process
Office Depot - 1 GB card for turning Palm into an iPod...on my way to do it now
Mail sister's birthday gift (a pillow that says Diva on it and 2 Wizard of Oz magnets)...on my way to do it now
Pack...oops.

Ta ta. One day to Cali, Two days to Buffett. Woo Hoo!

Buffett Bound Baby!

My great faraway friend, Journey Girl, forwarded an email to me from the amphitheatre near her house the other day. She (jokingly I found out later...) put a comment to the effect of, "so, want to come to Santa Barbara in October?????" at the top of an announcement about a Jimmy Buffett concert.


Journey Girl knows me very, very well and I'm surprized she thought that Buffett was something to joke about. As soon as I got her email, I logged on to NWA.com and booked a flight to Santa Barbara using my airmiles. I really did. Then I emailed her with the flight plans. On my way up to campus, I called her and she was so surprized I was coming! (Good thing I called...)

Anyway, if the phone doesn't ring from October 18-22, it's me (That's a play on a Buffett song for those of you non-Parrotheads).