Skating

I’m still waiting for word from the village, to know if I can rent the house on the bluff that overlooks the sea and the mountains. What does one do to pass the time and soften the frustration? If one is me, one goes ice skating.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would swear I was a champion skater in another life. My earliest memories are of roller skating in my driveway with my neighbor friend, Brenda, and making her promise to pretend that we were ice skating. I was absolutely enchanted by it. Year after year as my birthdays rolled around, I always got to pick an activity and a friend. The friends changed as I grew older, but the activity stayed the same, “Take me ice skating”.
It was a long drive to downtown Atlanta in the days before interstates. I knew my parents hated that drive. My mother would try to talk me into putt-putt golf or some other closer birthday fun place, but I never wavered. Once a year, I was an Olympic star.
I remember the smell of The Igloo, as it was called. It started to work its magic on me as soon as I walked in the door. While spectators would see me slipping and sliding and struggling just to stay upright, in my mind I was Peggy Fleming, “taking the ice” and wowing the crowds. My mother always thought I would break something and she was right. I was breaking Olympic records with my quadruple axels and my blurry spins. I was gliding as graceful as a gazelle (aren’t they supposed to be graceful?) and blinding onlookers with my exquisite form and my flashing sequins, totally in another world.
The years passed and reality took me through college and career and marriage and children and then……at age 32 I found myself a full time mother with one child in four year old preschool and another, going to the two year old class for three hours on Tuesday mornings. Funny how I can remember these details. As soon as I dropped Thomas off, I escaped into my ice skating otherworld. I’d check the mommy self at the door and step out on the ice as the champion I knew I was meant to be. Then for two straight years, Greg would keep the kids every Monday night and I’d take lessons. We’re talking some serious mental illness now. I learned to jump and spin for real and, more impressively, I could just dance my way across the ice, allowing the fantasy to completely overtake me. It was escapism on par with Houdini.
Then full time teaching and mothering and wifing and everything else seemed to overwhelm the need, and I stopped skating. I went back once a few years ago to try it out and it wasn’t so fun. I could hardly balance myself and, like Puff the Magic Dragon, I felt the spell was broken and I just wanted to sadly slip into a cave.
Then, years later again, I find myself planning a trip to Alaska in winter. “Now I wonder what I did with my old ice skates. They must be here somewhere.” I dug them out and packed them up. And then I found a frozen pond, cleared of snow, with no one on it, underneath snowcapped mountains and a gigantic sky. I’ve been there three times now, or rather Peggy Fleming has emerged from her past, dressed in sparkles and as smooth as ever. She jumps and spins and dances her way into the hearts of all who watch. She’s a joy to behold!
“….He satisfies your desires with good things, so your youth is renewed like the eagles…”

More waiting

Because of a series of circumstances that would be boring to relate, I still don’t know if I’ll be moving to the village. We all know the lessons associated with waiting, and I’m learning them all (I think).
Anyway, in the meantime I’m being seduced by the pleasures of city life. I found a scenic frozen lake to skate on. Odd to consider that a part of city life but it is. I could skate every day (when the temps are not in the singles anyway) It makes me feel so…..worked out.
The last two days have been pretty chilly so I holed up in the bookstore. It has dawned on me that I should never buy another book. While snuggled by the fireplace in an overstuffed chair with my steaming latte I have read almost two complete books in the last two days. Just read ‘em then stick ‘em back on the shelf. And be very careful with the latte.
Do I feel the least bit guilty wiling away my time like that? Not at all. One of the books I read was about the value of knowing yourself and just being yourself. That's easier said than done but it's so liberating! If I don’t move to the village, I just might have my mail forwarded to Barnes and Noble.
Speaking of village, I’m sitting here now, all packed up, WAITING! Here’s the conversation I had with the “airline” this morning:
Me: Hello this is Kim Vermeer. I’d like to fly out on the four o’clock flight today.
Them: Okay, I’ll put you down. Who is this again? Okay, gotcha down. But we won’t be flying.
Me: What? Not flying?
Them: Not at four.
Me: Then when ARE you flying?
Them: Not sure, depends on the winds.
Me: Maybe at noon?
Them: Maybe.
And on it goes. They’re supposed to call me if the winds die down. I think it’s doubtful (both that the winds will die down or that they’ll call me). I’m supposed to sub tomorrow and the next day. We’ll see.
Now just what time does that bookstore open?

Anxious

I was in the village for 10 days. I loved every minute. I worked in the school with the kids, I took walks at sunrise (remember, that isn’t exactly getting up early in Alaska), I ate moose and goose with my native friends, I talked shop with the teachers, and I developed a real desire to stop commuting and just live there. Did you see that coming?
As usual, circumstances started to fall into place to make this a possibility. But you can’t just decide to live in this native village and that’s that. You have to acquire permission from God AND the tribe. It is, after all, private property. So I wrote a letter to the tribal counsel requesting approval, and I got on my knees before the Lord begging, “Pretty please?” In the mean time, I found a house for rent. It’s just a little house but it sits right above the beach, overlooking Cook Inlet and the mountains beyond. The view is breath-taking. It’s spectacular and thus………..I’m anxious.
Just when I feel the peace of being totally surrendered to God’s will for me and willing to submit to whatever He has planned, something comes up that I really want, and I start trying to talk God into doing things my way. I REALLY want to live in the village and in that house. It has become “my p..r..e..c.i..o..u..s” and we all know that can’t turn out well. All too often God gives us good things only to see us start to worship the gifts instead of the Giver. I know you know what I mean.
I want to live in the village so badly that I know I will be so disappointed if the counsel (or God) says no. They are meeting tomorrow (the counsel, not the God-head). I guess it comes down to expectations. Some say if we have no expectations we can never be disappointed. I suppose that’s true but…….I don’t think I’m willing to go there. I do have expectations, I do get excited about stuff and set myself up for disappointment and heartache, I do move on things even when I’m not sure of the outcome, I do walk through doors even when I’m not absolutely certain it’s God leading.
I think He can handle it. I think He’s big enough to cover my mistakes, to pick me up when I fall, reorient me when I get displaced. Actually, He’s done a lot of that in the last three years. He’s used to me….impulsive, impatient, easily excited. I think it might scare Him if I changed at this point. I like to think when the God-head meets to discuss me, they describe me as “passionate”. It has a positive ring.
So I try to stay calm and “be anxious for nothing, but in everything….I let my request be known to God.” If the move to the village doesn’t happen, if I can’t live in the house overlooking the sea and the mountains…..I will still follow…..and He will still lead…..and I will still enjoy being me (in the midst of a few disappointment tears).

Peachy Friends

As my life lessons continue, I realize that many of them are difficult to learn. Face it, at this age I’ve mastered the easy stuff. Now, in the second half of life, it’s the lessons I never anticipated and the ones I hoped might just go away, that are finally demanding my attention. It’s what this blog has been about: how to love life again after tremendous loss, how to enjoy independence, how to deal with adventure in a fashion that would do a hobbit proud, and how to recapture joy when you’ve had it snatched from under your feet. I suppose some people have to face down these issues when they’re younger. I get to negotiate them with menopausal hormones. Yippee! No self-pity here!
I think I’ve learned to do without a whole lot of stuff I thought (in my former life) was imperative for my happiness. But one thing the Lord has not deprived me of, one thing He knew would push me over the edge, the one thing that is promised and never messed with: You think I’m going to say Starbucks, don’t you? NOT!!! I’m talking about friendship!
I have never for one moment in the last three years felt like I was alone in this. I’ve heard widows complain that all their friends divorced them when calamity struck. Well not me! I believe I have chosen friends wisely… best friends, that is. I choose, not on the basis of what we have in common, but on the true-blueness of the heart. Consequently, many of my friends don’t know each other. There is no particular “circle” as such. I pick you from this circle and you from that circle. Each hand-selected with the utmost care, like peaches……sweet and juicy and perfectly timed. And fortunately, my peachy friends don’t rot.
I am not in constant contact with all my best friends. If you’re a best, that isn’t required. We can always pick up where we left off. Weeks, even years sometimes, hardly diminish the quality of the sharing, the confiding, the loving. I know who will be there in a heartbeat when I call for help. And I pray very sincerely that my best friends can count on me as well.
I had coffee today with a new peach. The fruit cup is expanding (and honestly, most of my friends are a little fruity)! God knows I could not get through this life without love, and that pours from God’s heart into mine in the form of family and friends. I got the family piece through the holidays, and now I’m basking in the pleasure of the non-related….I like you just because….“you shouldn’t wear that color“…“it’s your turn to pay”…..”I need to be alone”…“I need to talk to you”….”let’s pray“…,joys and tribulations of friendship.

The Holidays 2010

I’m back in the air, on my way back to Alaska after almost three weeks of phenomenally good times with friends and family. I’m writing in Word because US Air is NOT offering free wifi like Delta did.
Remember how I wrote just before I left Anchorage that I was feeling more and more contemplative and “monkish” lately? I have felt the urge to withdraw, to rediscover a relationship with God that is purely personal, not influenced by what you think of Him, not dependent on happy circumstances or (maybe more importantly) sad circumstances. Just to meet Him naked, so to speak (although I might delete that before I publish this). Being alone with Him with no distractions has been such a luxury in Alaska.
You aren’t going to believe this, but my friend gave me a book for Christmas (and she shamefully admitted that she had not been reading my blog) that opened with, “This book… is the result of my long journey toward the knowledge that I am not a monk.” She said she hadn’t read the book and didn’t know the author, but felt compelled in a mysterious way to buy that for me. You will remember that I’ve been recently reading books by Henri Nouwen, the Dutch priest. Well guess who showed up in the acknowledgments of the new book?
I just love when this happens. When things converge toward a message. When the puzzle pieces seem to fit and a picture starts to emerge that looks somehow familiar and is easy to describe.
The title of the new book is The Active Life and the author is a guy named Palmer Parker (or is it Parker Palmer?) He must know me although, for the life of me, I can’t place where we met. He has definitely been reading my blog (and my mind). He talks about breaking the illusions the busy life creates, not by withdrawing, but by discovering more authentic ways to define the active life. The book is subtitled, A Spirituality of Work, Creativity and Caring.
I was extremely “active” through the holidays. I have missed my alone times to read, write and pray. But I was overwhelmed with the company of those I love. Leah, Ted, Thomas and I put over two thousand miles on my car playing Trivial Pursuit, listening to music, talking about you and just having fun together (we weren’t really talking about you, not most of you anyway). Greg’s family gathered in Chapel Hill. I think there were 17 of us, ranging in age from 80 something to two and a half. Barry even surprised us from Australia. Brent and Heidi got engaged. On my side of the family in Atlanta, Ellen and Seannon got married the week before Christmas. Jason and Nora joined us all for a belated Christmas dinner. You don’t know all these people but the point is, there was much celebration and festivity all around. We celebrated each other and shared joy.
So now the holidays are over and we’ve gone our separate ways once again. But we’ve promised to Skype and email more and plan the next reunions.
And I’m left feeling more like a people person again, continuing to pursue that sweet balance between solitude and busyness. I'm thinking, like Parker (or Palmer), that the key may be finding solitude within the busyness rather than retreating to The Island of The Blue Dolphins (see earlier post). Back to "the last frontier" now to continue with my life lessons.

Flying Day

Here’s my latest song: Composed and posted in the air. Same tune as Moving Day (although I don’t guess you know the tune)

Flying Day

Flying day……..I’m feeling really sleepy
And that staring man is creepy
Hope he isn’t on my flight,
Flying day…….can’t wait to see some light.

Screaming kid…..there in the seat beside me,
I keep asking God, “Why me???”
Are we in international air space?
If I smother a child……..what penalty will I face?

Dozing off....dreaming of a Christmas tree
And getting home to my family,
Til the steward says, "More drink?"
Are we having fun yet?.........Let me think.

Lavatory…….not my favorite place to be
But sometimes you just gotta pee
Changing table hit my head
How do you flush?……Well, enough said.

Two layovers……Don’t let me do this again
My boarding gates were end to end,
I barely made it on,
Flying day……the day is almost gone.

That’s enough for now. Have a safe landing!

Reading

I stopped by Barnes and Noble on the way home from church to buy you a book for Christmas. I actually walked out with two. But they were both for me. So this year, your gift is a more interesting, diverse, well-read friend in Alaska. Does that work for you? Good!
I’m having an epiphany! I think God wants me to become a monk! Not a guy monk……a girl monk and that’s quite different from a nun. And not a complete monk….just monkish.
It all started with the books I’m reading. Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell was always one of my favorites. When I first read it many years ago, I wanted to be Karana, the Indian girl who was stranded alone on the island and spent her days in survival mode (btw, I also wanted to be Tom Hanks in that movie where his UPS plane crashed and he survived alone). But in the last three years I have become very socially needy and I was rereading the book to try to discover what in it attracted me, and thus what part of myself I had lost. Does that make sense?
In some ways I feel like I’ve been changed forever by widowhood, but in other ways I want to get my old self back. I really liked the me that wanted to be stranded and never felt I could ever be lonely.
So I decided to delve into the book for answers, and I’m also reading The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen (one of my very favorite authors) alongside it. This is an interpretation of the Biblical parable based on Rembrandt’s famous painting and is about “coming home” to the unconditional love of God. In a very unpredictable way, these two books are complimenting each other and speaking volumes to my heart. In the bookstore, I got two more books by Nouwen that further elaborate on these themes.
This is getting deeper than I imagined it would, but I think I’ve put my finger on what draws me to Karana. Her life is devoid of details. There are one or two goals each day, i.e. gather shellfish for dinner or dig the canoe out of the sand. And each task can take days or even seasons. She’s so simplified. She can think her thoughts without interruption and just bask in the details of her surroundings (and I can vicariously journey home to God). I can see how this appealed to me when I was raising two children, being a wife, housekeeper, teacher, worship leader, band member, etc. Many of you can identify. I just loved hanging out with Karana. She lowered my blood pressure. She still appeals to me but, now as I read, I sense her loneliness and no longer envy her. I want her to be rescued in the end.
Nouwen talks a lot about solitude. He has been a comfort to me through my grief though he, himself, lived much of his life in confusion and anguish. He helps me distinguish between solitude and loneliness, something I’ve struggled with for a while. When I went hiking through the snow this week, I didn’t see another soul all afternoon, but I was anything but lonely. That is a really good sign for me. I’m learning to be monkish, to commune with God alone, on His terms, accepting what He offers in relationship, asking for no more and being satisfied. And, by golly, I’ve even been reclaiming a little joy!
Like I’ve said before (in earlier posts), the fruit of the Spirit can become an illusion when your wants are being met and you’re swept away by the current of activity and social busyness. You can probably find time to read and enjoy Island of the Blue Dolphins, but you might not realize why you like it so much until you become a monk (or at least, monkish).