More Christmas Memories

My friend Patti Digh, whose blog posts have been made into a wonderful book, Life Is A Verb: 37 Days to Wake Up, Be Mindful and Live Intentionally, writes lovingly of the deaths of her father and stepfather, the former very sudden (although not unexpected) and the latter only 37 days after his cancer diagnosis. Her stepfather's death became the catalyst for her blog 37 Days and her book. Today, Christmas Day, she reprised her blog post from Dec. 24, 2005, an annual re-telling that she shares with us in celebration of the lives of two wonderful men who had an impact on her life.

I've read these stories of Patti's before, and as before, it struck me again today how we have another thing in common (besides that her birthday is Aug. 16: same as Elvis; and mine is Aug. 17: same as Mae West): her father died of heart disease at the age of 53; my father died of heart disease three months shy of 53. That, however, is where the similarity in our stories about our fathers ends. From Patti's description of her father, he was kind, thoughtful ("the best breakfast cooker in the house," maker of monogrammed pancakes) and had a "pixie sense of humor." As far as I could tell my father had no sense of humor whatsoever.

Dad was a big man, about 6'1" tall with a barrel chest. He had played semi-pro football before he and my mother were married, a marriage for which she was always grateful (she told me so herself) since I was already on the way. My mother gave birth to five children from 1947 to 1954, and I think we were just too much for my father, who was the sole breadwinner until we were in high school. My mother didn't learn to drive until he died, so he also did the grocery shopping while she stayed home with us. His only other household duty, as I recall, was yelling a lot and smacking us regularly.

In her essay Patti ponders what her father might be like now, and wonders if she would adore him less now that she is old enough to see things about him as an adult that she wouldn't like. "Does my adoration depend on his loss?" she asks. For me, it is the opposite: I wonder if I would have loved my father more now.

One of the best memories I have of my father was Christmas 1972. I was 25 years old and had been married for nearly three years. Christmas had always been the best time to be with Dad, even when we were little (despite being yelled at and made to feel like a clumsy oaf when I dropped my best present of 1958--my very own camera--as if I didn't feel bad enough already). I like to think it was the generosity he wanted to show throughout the other 11 months of the year that was condensed into what certainly was for my sister, my three brothers and me the most wonderful time of the year.

About the year I turned 12 my mother started encouraging us to write down what we wanted for Christmas. I made it as easy as I could for Santa to bring just the right stitched-down pleated skirt and matching Villager sweater by helpfully including the page and item numbers from the Sears catalog. The list was a modest one, with perhaps a half-dozen items on it, nothing too expensive, and what do you know! On Christmas morning, everything on my list was waiting for me under the tree! My siblings were equally blessed, except for a few of the things on the bottom of my sister's rather lengthy list (the next year she put her "must-haves" at the top). It took my parents the next 11 months, or perhaps longer, to pay off the Sears bill.

In 1972 I had no list. It was enough just to be in the bosom of my family, having spent the first two Christmases of my married life without sufficient funds for two round-trip tickets from Virginia to Memphis for a not-so-white Christmas with my wacky siblings, my mother and my now-mellowing father. The highlight of the first day was evening cocktails with my parents. Mom and Dad were not drinkers while we were growing up so it was an especially rare occasion and an increasingly happy one as the evening wore on. I don't think I ever saw Dad laugh as much as he did that night. I felt all grown up, an adult at last, a peer of my father instead of the brat who couldn't seem to do anything to please him. He didn't live to enjoy Christmas 1973.

So I am left to ponder what life with father would have been like after that. My mother says my coming out as a lesbian would have been very difficult for him, so perhaps it's best that he didn't make it to 1981. He would have been 88 this past July, but I doubt he would have lasted that long. My mother battled cancer for six years and died in 1999 at a too-young 77.

I was angry with my father for many years for the way he treated me as a child, blaming him for all the qualities in myself that I abhored. But I finally gave that up in 1995 with the help of a great weekend workshop during which I wrote him a letter of forgiveness. These days I only wish he had been around long enough to see his granddaughter, who is now 31, and maybe his great-grandson, who's probably going to be a big man like my dad and my brothers. Dad would have enjoyed giving him a football for Christmas.

Happy Holidays to all from St. Augustine, Florida.

By the Sea, By the Sea, By the Beautiful Sea

Well, I finally made it to the beach. I had intended to visit the North Carolina Outer Banks soon after I bought the motorhome, but gas was going for $4.00+ per gallon and campground fees in that area were around $40-$60 per night, so I stayed closer to Asheville while waiting for my daughter's October 25 wedding.

I've been in Florida since Thanksgiving week but had had no more than a glimpse of "big" water (Tampa Bay) when I decided it was time to take advantage of a friend's offer to stay in her condo at Satellite Beach, between Cocoa Beach and Melbourne Beach on the Atlantic coast. I took my friend Annette, in whose back yard I've been staying since the first week in December, and it was a quick two-hour drive from her home north of Orlando to the beach.

"On the Atlantic coast" is an understatement. We arrived in late afternoon as the high tide was just turning. As we sat in our second floor living room and looked out across the small balcony, there was no beach to be seen, just rough sea. Waves lapped at the stairway leading down to the beach, and sand completely covered the bottom step. I've never stayed in a place so close to the water. With the angry December surf and gray skies I felt rather uneasy, or was it the memory of the lifeguard's sign at that public beach--"rough surf, rip tides, man o' war, water temp. 66"--that was making me feel fearful and exhilirated at the same time?

It was a great three days. The surf calmed down a bit, the sun came out, and the bird watching was incredible, the highlight being the glorious sight of an osprey swooping into a wave and climbing back into the sky with a flashing silver fish wriggling in its talons. Of course there were the scooty-legged sandpipers in several varieties, the ubiquitous gulls, and squadrons of pelicans

doing aerial maneuvers up and down the beach. I became a cloud watcher, too. The surfers were out in their wet suits, which I didn't expect to see since the east coast waves are relatively benign, but I guess if you're a surfer who lives on the Atlantic you take what you can get. Me, I never got in the water and I was happy as a clam.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

It's now Saturday, December 13. Time I finished the post I started nearly a week ago.

I've been visiting friends and relatives in Florida since the week of Thanksgiving, and since they attend church, I have been joining them, mainly for something to do and to "be folks," you know? At least, that's how it started out. But I've discovered that my study of Eckhart Tolle's writings has given me a new perspective on the sayings of Jesus, and that being immersed in Christian doctrine of the Presbyterian variety on Sunday morning (no pun intended, since Presbyterians don't immerse, they just sprinkle) has become less...well..."doctrinaire" when filtered through the lens of my new spiritual understanding.

A couple weeks ago I joined my cousin Peggy at her church in Tampa and even sang in her choir. I've been a choral singer nearly all my life until the last few years. It was the first Sunday in Advent, the first of four Sundays leading to Christmas, so even though the tree was not up yet, the Advent wreath of evergreens with purple, pink and white candles was on display, and the Christmas spirit that Walmart has been trying to instill since the day after Halloween finally was validated in the church sanctuary. A child was chosen to light the first purple candle and as I watched and listened to the familiar words, I harkened back to days of yore (about 1958) when I and my fellow girls' junior choir members sat together in church in our blue robes and I believed that Jesus was the son of God.

I don't remember the title of the minister's sermon, but he held my attention when he recalled his experience of being on retreat at a monastery just before Advent a few years ago. He said he had arrived for the retreat with his usual collection of essential communication devices: cell phone, laptop computer and Blackberry, intent on keeping up with his work while becoming spiritually renewed. He described how he and his fellow attendees did everything the monks did every day, including retiring at 8 p.m. and rising at 4 a.m., prayers, meals, church services and long periods of silence. It was during the silences that he answered e-mails and kept up with correspondence.

The minister then recounted his meeting with the director of the monastery, an audience that all attendees were given during their week-long stay. When his host asked how he was enjoying the retreat, he confessed to the monk that he felt he was not "getting it," that even though he was doing everything the monks did, he was not having the kind of spiritual experience he had expected to have.

"Well, duh," I said to myself. "This comes under the heading of, 'I don't believe I'd have told that.'" (I was feeling rather self-satisfied in my new-found knowledge of being in the stillness.) "Anybody should have known that," I thought.

My very next thought was, "See how quick you are to judge?" Sometimes I wonder if there is any hope for me at all, ever. And don't ask how the "no complaining/gossiping/whining" thing is going. "Today is day one" has become my mantra.

But that is not the point of this post. What I really want to convey is how being in church lately has become almost bearable because what I've heard makes more sense to me now than when I heard it back in my choir days (it was the singing that kept me going back), even as an adult. In his books, Eckhart Tolle often interprets the words of Jesus in such a way that I can almost believe again, if not that Jesus was the son of God, at least that he sure had it goin' on. If you believe in what the Bible says, I encourage you to read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. You may get an enhanced perspective on what it means to be a follower of Christ.

If you don't believe but you're still searching for "the peace that passes all understanding," (Phillipians 4:7 and A New Earth, page 56) like I am, Eckhart says you can stop searching because you already have it in you to be at peace if only you will stop the thoughts in your head and be still. And the best part is you don't have to sit on a cushion with your back perfectly straight in the pretzel--I mean lotus--position for what seems like hours but is really only 30 minutes (not that I'm complaining)... in order to experience the stillness. All you have to do is ask yourself, "Am I still breathing?" That focuses your attention away from the voice in your head ("What voice?" you ask. "That one," Eckhard replies.) and puts it on your body. Beathing in...breathing out.

Live in this moment. Be at peace. And have a holly jolly Christmas.

Complaint-Free Zone

My friend Patti Digh suggests that we strive to eliminate all complaining, whining, gossiping and griping from our lives for 37 days. I've been working on that one myself recently so when I saw it in print, about halfway down the left sidebar of her blog post for today, I decided to really focus on it for the next 37 days.

Here are several examples of things that I have managed NOT to complain/whine/gossip/gripe about in the past couple of days:...but wait...oh heck! And they are all really good ones, too! Each one infinitely justifiable and designed to allow ME to appear superior and oh, so right.

Gee-whiz, what's there left to talk about? Uh...okay, I've got it...I'm thankful that I won't have to spend Thanksgiving with those people ever again. That didn't count, right?

I'm a Baby Girl!

Two nights ago, having been delayed until the evening rush hour and not wanting to join the line of ants with headlights crawling along I-26, I spent my second night in the City of Columbia, SC, at yet another WalMart. In the morning I took my usual walk around the parking lot. I try to walk a mile or two wherever I am and a WalMart parking lot is the perfect place if you get out early in the day. I always do some stretches when I'm finished, and since I like to lean on something while stretching my leg muscles, I often assume a position at the front of the motorhome with hands on the hood, head down and one leg extended behind me. I probably look as if I were trying to push the vehicle backwards. I also do some Tai Chi moves that I learned in a class for seniors, to help me retain good balance and leg strength.

Yesterday morning, as I was "pushing the motorhome," I heard a distinctly African American male voice call from a passing car, "Hey, Baby Girl, are you okay?" Since I began doing this very public exercise routine, I had expected that someone might ask if I were having trouble with the vehicle; I hadn't anticipated that my head-down posture, gray hair falling over my face, might be mistaken for a different kind of trouble. I looked up and barely got, "Yeah," out of my mouth when my would-be rescuer rolled up the window and continued on his way. As I recall the incident now, I wonder what he would have done if I'd said "no" instead.

I'm trying not to make it significant that the man was black, but upon further reflection it seems to me that, in general, African Americans tend to be more respectful of their matriarchs than the majority white population. The same might be said of Latinos, Asians and Native Americans. If you follow this line of thought to its logical conclusion, the fact that the "majority" is predicted to become the "minority" in the U.S. by 2042 leads to the possibility that if I live that long I could become revered rather than ignored; that is, if the new majority has anything to teach the rest, and if they have not become too Americanized along the way. Of course, I'll be 95 by then so it's not likely that I'll care.

Here are some photos of Sesquicentennial State Park in Columbia, where I saw my first live oak grove and my first fire ants. I'm definitely in the deep south now!

On the Road Again

I wanted to wait until after Tuesday to post again, and then things got away from me in preparation to leave Asheville for the next adventure. Tomorrow is Tuesday again and whatever profundities I was planning to lay on you concerning the election of Barack Obama have drifted away like the mist rising from the Great Smoky Mountains. I do have a confession to make: race was the biggest factor in my voting decision. Since Obama threw his hat into the ring I have firmly held to the belief that an African American president would enhance our worldwide reputation and improve race relations here at home. Having often decried the fact that Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech, delivered 45 long years ago, seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, I now view those 45 years as but the blink of an eye. How far we have come.


I have another confession: I was reluctant to leave Asheville. The scenery (the photo was taken from my daughter's front yard), the weather, being with my daughter's family after the wedding, enjoying time with friends, all conspired to make me too comfortable and complacent.


But I tore myself away and headed south to get warm. I spent two nights in a lovely campground at Croft State Natural Area near Spartanburg, SC. They have a horse stable: what a treat! Plus a lake and trails and all for only $15/night. Each morning I got up early and walked to the stables to greet the horses and give them a little hay, then down to the lake to enjoy the leaf color reflected in the water and watch the birds flitting about. It's easy to be in the moment when I'm the only human around. And campers are a nature-loving lot, of course, so it wasn't long before I was drowning in nature and wondering how I could have hesitated to leave the comfort of the familiar when the novelty of the unexpected is what fills my soul.


I'm in Columbia, SC, today having spent the night at my favorite last-minute, end-of-driving-day spot. I splurged on breakfast at Denny's, where, I swear, the black folk were happy, happy, happier than usual. I just want to hug 'em all! Soon I'll drive into downtown and visit the state capitol building, one of the things I like to do whever I'm in a capital city. Then on to another state park campground for a couple of days before heading on toward Atlanta.

Catch ya on the flippy flop...

We Made It!

It was a beautiful wedding. The bride was radiant, the groom very handsome (I'd never seen him in a suit), the guests had a good time, the food was great. My family stayed through breakfast Monday (in a hotel, so that little stressor was eliminated). What more could a MOB ask?

Well, the sound system at the venue could have been better, seeing as how I, and then the bride & groom, spent countless hours

listening to and downloading just the right music, all of which was lost on the wedding guests because they couldn't hear it: a cheap boombox would have been preferable. So the "party" portion of the event was a flop, but the B&G were so busy doing their thing they didn't even get to eat, so they didn't care. They danced one dance together, for the sake of tradition, then one with their respective parents, and that was all the dancing there was for the remainder of the evening. I was the only one who knew that no one got to show their stuff to "Dancing Queen" and "Footloose" (more's the pity).

Life goes on. It snowed this morning and the temperature in the RV when I woke up was 40 degrees, which I didn't mind a bit. I'm camping, after all, sleeping in a borrowed bag, now wearing three layers. It's about 1 p.m. and the sun has warmed up the inside of the RV to 60 degrees, enough so I can take off my gloves with the finger tips cut off. Outside it's 38 with 28 wind chill factor, according to The Weather Channel, but it's all good. Peace reigns.

I've decided to stay around through next Tuesday, even though the B&G and I voted yesterday, so I can party down with my friends and loved ones. What a celebration that will be!

Practice, Practice, Practice

My new spiritual practice is being put to the test.

I was getting pretty smug about how easy it's been to "stay in the present " or "be in the moment" or "live in the Now" as Eckhart Tolle says, but I was deluding myself. These days I come into contact with very few people on a daily basis, sometimes not even my hostess (in whose back yard I am parked), so of course life is easier, more enjoyable for me. In the past it's been the people in my life who made life hard, whom I perceived as the greatest obstacles to getting what I wanted. Perhaps it's been the same for you. Now, I'm on permanent vacation, enjoying beautiful fall days and communing with birds and chipmunks. No one demands that I come to a job (an obstacle to doing things I like), criticizes my work (an obstacle to my having high self-esteem), makes me wait for them beyond our appointed time (wasting my precious time that I could use doing something I like)...you get the idea.

The one person, however, who has been a constant in my life for the past 31 years and will be until the day I die, one of my greatest "obstacles," is my daughter, my only child. You remember, of course, that she is getting married in five days.

Well, something happened (it's not important what it was), and I have admitted to myself that she has a right to be upset with me. However, since I'm trying hard to stay in the present and not let my ego put me into defensive mode or even apologizing mode (so that I can feel superior for apologizing: you see how the ego as Eckhart decribes it can trap you?), I'm choosing to remain silent and just Be the Space for her issue--nothing else.

Fortunately, it is relatively easy to remain silent this time because the whole issue was presented to me by email from her two days ago. She chose that mode of communication rather than a face-to-face meeting or a phone conversation because, she said in the email, she was afraid she would cry through the whole thing. As a result of that choice, I have not had the opportunity to test my ability to remain present with her, and she has not had an opportunity to feel what that is like. Doesn't it take, if not eye contact, as least voice contact to Be Present? I thought of sending a reply email: "Okay." Or "Roger, wilco." But she didn't ask for a reply, either directly or by implication, so I didn't send one. Does my silence "speak volumes" and if so, what message has she received?

As you can tell, I have not "let go" of this yet. The night I got the email I struggled to focus on the present moment at least long enough to get to sleep. The past two days have been difficult, partly because I have not allowed myself to complain about it to anyone, which would have been one way I would have dealt with "problems with my daughter" in the past. Eckhart teaches that complaining is denying what is, thereby creating suffering for myself. It's also setting myself up as the one who is right as usual, by implication even if I don't give voice to it, and therefore superior to my daughter. I am right; therefore, she is wrong. He says my choices are to change the situation or thing about which I am complaining or, if that is not possible, accept it and move on. Of course, we all know we can't change another person, ergo...

Needing to be right has been my predominant modus operandi all my life, the thing I was led to discover in myself at a workshop in 1995. Since that time I have continually tried to be aware of my need to be right, and have attended other workshops on the subject. Eckhart Tolle's teachings have been the most helpful of all, perhaps because he offers a way to "do something" rather than just try to "be aware of" my behavior. Or maybe I'm just ready to receive the message, having simplified my life to the point where I can let it in.

Well, here I am talking about "problems with my daughter" again. Am I trying to justify the behavior by making it "instructive" for you, Dear Reader? I don't think so (at least, I hope not). Eckhart says, awareness of the behavior is enlightenment, a little pinch of it, anyway. That is the "doing" that he offers, the thing I cling to, the thing I am trying to share with you. I am focusing on becoming aware of my thoughts more of the time, on becoming the objective observer. My thoughts control my emotions; my emotions control my behavior.

How many times today have I said or done something in order to protect my oh-so-fragile ego? I'm letting it all go. Feeling my breath, moving in, moving out...in...out...that's the Present. The only place I can be. No worries. No fears. Just alignment with the energy frequency of the Universe. Aah...

What, Me Worry?

Remember Alfred E. Neuman from MAD Magazine? Heck, maybe you still read the rag that taught Roger Ebert how to be a movie critic (according to Ebert). My siblings and I used to have a blast reading MAD and sometimes making up our own mini-skits loosely based on something we read. That was around 1963 and MAD had already been in publication for nine years.

I don't know how or when I became a subscriber to Alfred E. Neuman's famous philosophy: "What, me worry?" The implication in Neuman's case was that he was too simple-minded to worry. Clearly, anyone with "a lick o' sense" would realize that the world is a horrible place and we need to be very afraid, every day in every way.

And so it follows that if we need to be afraid we also need to worry about all those things we are afraid of: everything from global warming, fluoridation of the water supply (I watched "Dr. Strangelove" again the other night), terrorists and burglars, to what might happen if we don't get that raise, or worse, what might happen if we get laid off, or lose all the money in our 401K. Then there are our children to worry about, and our significant others, or our lack of children and significant others. One of the Monty Python crew sings about being "worried about the baggage retrieval system at Heathrow" Airport.

Last week my daughter, my grandson and I were in the car when I heard Austin pipe up from the back seat, "Nanny, did you know there's going to be a flash flood? I heard it on the news." My daughter sort of laughed it off but I know my grandson, so I asked him point blank if he was worried and he said he was. I explained how his Chunns Cove neighborhood was about as safe a place from flash floods as anywhere in the county but I knew he wasn't convinced.

You see, Austin is a global worrier, a term I first heard from a previous boss who applied it to his ADHD son (Austin is also afflicted with the condition). People who are globally afraid must have very active imaginations because they worry about things like tall buildings falling down, events they have neither experienced nor even seen on television, and over which they have absolutely no control.

I know where Austin got it: from his mother. I once said to my teen-aged daughter, "I don't know how I got such a worried child: I never worry." She answered, "I know, that's why I have to worry for both of us."

One of the best definitions of worry I have heard is "negative goal-setting." Eckhart Tolle says that worrying is the ego's way of keeping us thinking about what might happen in the future rather than being fully present, in the Now, when everything is always perfect.

While eating my breakfast today in the RV, I happened to glance out the window and saw a chipmunk picking up some of the acorns that have bombarded me since I arrived in my friend's backyard a few weeks ago (thankfully, they have mostly stopped falling). What a cute little feller, no more than five inches long from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. He scurried around, picked the acorn he wanted and stuffed it into his cheek. Then he stuffed another one in the other cheek. These acorns are large, about an inch long, so you can imagine what his little face looked like with two of them shoved into his little cheeks. Then he picked up another to carry with his front teeth and he ran off. A moment later he was back, minus the three acorns, and the process began again. Then another chipmunk ran onto the scene so I immediately dubbed the pair Chip and Dale after the Disney cartoon characters who used to harass Donald Duck with their nut gathering.

These two chipmunks never worry. They just do what has to be done to prepare for hard times. They never sit around thinking about what might happen if they don't pick up enough acorns. Sure, I realize they don't know any better; they don't have the capacity for thought and reason we humans have. But we would do well to take a page from their book. If there is something you can do to prevent whatever it is that worries you, do it. If it is beyond your control, don't think about it any more. Go out and pick up acorns, or rake leaves, and focus on the activity at hand, right now, in the moment. It's all there really is.

MOB Update

Okay, here's the latest in the ongoing saga of the dress I'm wearing to my daughter's wedding. I know you have been on pins and needles waiting for this important news. I even have a photo.

But first, I must tell you about one of the best things that has happened to me since I started living in Michelle, my RV. (BTW, I rechristened her Michelle because she's "my shell," my little home that I carry around with me.) Anyway, you'll recall that I bought five dresses "on spec" about two weeks ago. My daughter and I narrowed down the choices to either the brown one or the teal one. I was waiting for the MOG (Mother of Groom) to buy her dress because she is hard to fit and has fewer options.

Well, she chose a charcoal gray suit, which I didn't feel would be a good "match" with either of my choices: certainly not the brown, but the teal was a little too muted and grayish looking. So yesterday I took all five back to Ross with the intention of seeking out yet another option. I gathered up the five three-piece dresses and drove to Ross, arriving at about 10:30 a.m. I didn't have much time because I had to be back downtown by 11:30.

As soon as I got to the checkout I realized I didn't have my receipt with me. I tried to get the sales associate to let me return all five dresses, after which I was going to spend just a few minutes trying on a few different colors in hopes of finding something that would look good with charcoal gray in the wedding photos. Easy-peasy.

Wrong. All I could get for my purchases without the receipt was store credit. Just what I don't need: a $182 store credit at Ross! I gathered up my 20 pounds of dresses and headed for the door, disappointed about my spoiled plans and mad at myself for forgetting the receipt. As I walked through the door the thought in my head, I kid you not, was "Now I have to drive all the way back home to get my receipt."

I'm sure you're smarter than I am and have already figured out what happened next. I took two steps through the door of Ross Dress For Less into the bright sunshine of a beautiful fall day in the mountains and there it was! My home! Sitting the parking lot! I laughed out loud as, with a new spring in my step, I walked home, all of about 30 yards. Woo-hoo!

I found my receipt (Actually it took a good 15 minutes to accomplish that little feat: how many places could it be in a 19-foot motorhome?), went back into the store, found four more dresses to try on, put them on hold, got my $182 back, and made it to my 11:30 appointment.

For me, this is where the story gets even better. My appointment was to emcee the 3rd Annual Asheville PrideFest. I had intended to wear my MOB dress as part of the "act" I had written: you know, the schtick the emcee does between acts to keep the audience entertained while the performers set up. Now I had to find something else to wear plus put on stage make-up, all in ten minutes (fortunately I had already done my hair).

In the past I would have had to drive home, rush around, and then drive to the venue. All I did yesterday was drive the RV from Ross to the venue, park in the designated parking lot, and take care of business. I was so excited! This driving your house around is da bomb!

And so it continued. My next activity was a wedding shower at 6:30 in another part of town. Between getting off from the emcee gig and having to be at the shower I visited with friends, drove back to Ross where I tried on all four dresses and found the perfect one: purple, my daughter's favorite color, and one of mine also, then drove to my daughter's house so she could confirm that I had made a good choice. She loved it. "Where are you going now?" she asked.

"To a wedding shower at Martin's Pizza in River Ridge," I told her.

"So are you going to change in their parking lot like you did at the other one?" she asked.

OMG! I hadn't really thought of it, but yes, that's exactly what I did, and I had a few minutes to have "a little lie down" before the party started. What a life. I am not only MOB, I am QOW: Queen of the World.

Just What Makes That Little Ol' Ant...

Okay, I tried it. I sat in my chair, without my computer, and waited for something to happen. I was totally in the moment. Boy, did I get fidgety. As it happened, I had placed the chair within reach of a good sized oak tree, the very one that has been dropping acorns on the RV since I arrived. (In fact, sometime during my first night under the tree, an acorn hit the roof and woke me up from a sound sleep. In my confusion I got up, opened the door, and actually heard myself say, “Who’s there?”)

Anyway, while I was waiting for something to happen, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that medium-sized black ants were crawling up and down the tree. So I turned my head ever so slowly, ever so slightly to the right (thereby fooling the creature I was waiting for in the first place into thinking that I was still just part of the landscape) and I watched the ants running up and down the tree trunk.

Here’s where I lost my “presence” and began thinking, wondering why the ants were going up and down the tree. I figured that since ants don’t live in trees (do they?) there must be something up there for them to…what?…see? Then I started wishing I were an ant and could get an ant’s eye view. I picked out a particular ant, a going-up one, and watched it until my neck ached and I couldn’t see it any more, about 20 feet above me. That didn’t answer my question so I picked out a particular coming-down ant to see what it was going to do next. I was able to follow it for a couple of seconds but then it crossed paths with a going-up ant and I switched my focus to that one.

This went on for about five or ten minutes, during which time I wondered how I might “tag” my ant so I could keep better track of it. Red fingernail polish? Finally, I realized that the coming-down ants seemed to have slightly enlarged abdomens. Aha, there was something up there they were ingesting! But were they eating it to satisfy their own hunger or were they taking it back to the colony for the benefit of their fellow ants?

Well, that was the end of being still and waiting for something to happen. Now I was out of my chair, following one of the coming-down ants to see where it was going. This took considerably more effort than merely sitting in a chair and it wasn’t long before I was crawling around on the ground trying to follow one ant back to the ant hill. I still have no idea what I expected to find out by doing that. (Mother Ant: ”Where did you get that?” Baby Ant: “It followed me home, can I keep it?” Mother Ant: “Okay, but you have to feed it and take care of it. I’m not going to do it for you.”). If only I could figure out the tagging thing I could watch my ant going into the ant hill and then see if it came out later with a skinny abdomen. But what would that prove?

I ended up in the neighbor’s yard for what must have been a fairly long time because when I “came to,” I heard the lady who owns said yard telling someone, I think it was her grandchild, that the lady in the yard (meaning me) had been concentrating very hard on something for quite a while.

Sheepishly, I walked back into my own yard, crawled back into my shell, and didn’t leave for the rest of the day. I never did find the ant hill but I did re-discover one thing: ants aren’t one bit afraid of humans. Why can’t Hooded Warblers be like that?

One With Nature

Monday, October 6, 2008

My RV is backed up into my friend Lula’s back yard here in Asheville. I am situated about a foot from a stand of bamboo and other trees and shrubs. Yesterday that put me about two feet away from a Hooded Warbler. Now, that might not mean much to you if you’re not a birdwatcher, but for me it was an exquisite moment of joy and connectedness.

I became a birder (actually I’m just a dabbler, not the serious birdwatcher that some folks are) somewhat by accident. When I bought my little house in north Asheville in 2003 I was gratified to find that I lived near Beaver Lake, and that the trail around the lake and through the bird sanctuary was the perfect distance for my daily 30-minute walk. One morning as I ended my walk in the parking lot of the bird sanctuary I stopped at the notice board and saw that the Elisha Mitchell Chapter of the Audubon Society hosts a guided bird walk on the first Saturday of every month. Well, since I was going to be walking at that time anyway, I decided to check it out.

I quickly realized on my first Saturday bird walk that my cheap binoculars were not adequate so I asked one of the birders (there were about 20 that day) about hers and she told me that particular pair cost about $300 (or was it $600?). Gulp. But she said I should go to KMart and get a pair for about $30 that would probably suffice. I did, and I’ve been looking at birds ever since, sometimes with a group, sometimes by myself.

I learned from birdwatchers that there are lots of different species of warblers that come through Asheville in spring and fall on their way to somewhere else. Some birders are what could be called “warbler snobs.” They will go anywhere, any time to see any species of warbler. To them all other birds pale in comparison. For me, even with my new and improved $30 binoculars, I had a hard time finding the often elusive warblers that others saw and pointed out to me. (”Look up there about 1:00 on the branch of that willow, just to the right of that dead oak. See it? It’s right there.” The good thing about birders is that they are infinitely patient with newbies: they want everyone to get the kick they get.)

So you can imagine my excitement when, upon hearing something land in the shrub next to the window of my RV, I looked out to see a beautiful yellow-breasted bird with a yellow and black head. I knew immediately that it was a warbler of some kind and I felt blessed indeed to be with it “up close and personal.” I could have reached out and touched it, and the reason it was not afraid to be so close to a human is that it couldn’t see me through the dark glass of my RV window. It looked around, hopped from one branch to another and back, while I held my breath. The entire encounter lasted about five seconds, and when it flew away I went immediately to my field guide to find that it was indeed a Hooded Warbler, common to the entire eastern half of the US, and probably on every Asheville birder’s list of birds they have spotted. Now I can say I “got” a Hooded Warbler.

I’ve had similar experiences many times since I’ve being living in my motorhome. While staying in the driveway of a friend in Chapel Hill, I awakened several mornings to find myself in the midst of a herd of deer. My present situation has afforded communion with several species of birds, and with three different neighborhood cats, none of which knew I was here. It’s as if I were just another creature on the planet, no different from any other, which is, of course, absolutely true. We humans usually can’t experience it because many of our fellow creatures are afraid of us.

It’s a lesson in stillness, really. Even if I were not hidden behind tinted glass, if I were to sit in the same spot long enough, and be totally still, I’m sure the same types of encounters would occur. When was the last time you sat still that long? Eckhart says awakening (his term for enlightenment) happens in the stillness. I’m cheating, here behind my dark glass. Maybe I’ll sit outside without my precious laptop and see what happens.



Mother of the Bride
October 2nd, 2008

Somehow I thought I would never have to be one of those women. My only daughter married her first husband before a judge. That didn’t work out and now she wants to marry her second with some ceremony. I don’t have a problem with that at all, but yesterday it came home to me in a big way that I am going to be attending the ceremony as the Mother of the Bride and I don’t have a costume!

I have given away and/or sold all my appropriate MOB clothes and shoes so that I could fit myself and my stuff into a Roadtrek 190 Popular, which doesn’t really matter because I didn’t have the right dress and shoes anyway. So yesterday I went shopping (ugh).

I started at two used/vintage stores in downtown Asheville and found nothing. Why is it that no size 16-18 dresses ever make it to these shops? So then it was off to Ross [Dress for Less]. I needed something so inexpensive that I wouldn’t mind paying for a dress I would wear only once. Fortunately, the selection was great! The only problem was deciding which style would please the bride: dressy/sparkly or tailored. I bought five outfits totalling $180 and took them to my daughter’s for approval

She liked all of them, which was gratifying to say the least, but not particularly helpful. We narrowed it down to the brown or the teal, both of them three-piece chiffon-ish numbers with glitter. Brown? I haven’t worn brown since 1973 but my daughter tells me it’s the “in” color; and besides, the glitter is gold/orange so it goes with the fall theme of the wedding.

Only problem, excuse me: challenge (thank you, Eckhart) now is the mother of the groom hasn’t bought her dress yet so I can’t make a definite decision until she does (something about her being concerned with having very few choices: I don’t know), and then I have to find some cheap shoes to go with the dress. Don’t you wish your life were this jam-packed and fun-filled?

Want to know what I’m looking forward to the most in connection with this wedding, besides seeing my Memphis siblings? Being in my daughter’s clean apartment. No one has seen her living room floor or kitchen counters in months. Exciting stuff.



Finding Peace in Nature
September 29th, 2008

Yesterday my friend Lula and I hiked up Roan Mountain to Jane Bald. When we reached our destination the elevation was about 6,000 feet. Unfortunately, we were in the middle of a cloud and couldn’t see anything of the surrounding view. But for me it didn’t matter one little bit. It was just so wonderful to be up there, wind and fog and all (and of course, I felt rather pleased with myself for making the hike as it was quite treacherous in places–and it was my first time on the Appalachian Trail!). I don’t know what the temperature was but I would guess it was about 50 degrees. With the wind it felt very chilly indeed.

Being one with the cloud and the mountain, the plants and the rocks, would not have meant so much to me if not for the work I have been doing with Eckhart Tolle, Elizabeth Lesser, Wayne Dyer and others recently, all through the wonder of the internet and the gift of Oprah Winfrey. Many spiritual teachers recommend getting in touch with the source of all being by going into the natural world. As Tolle says, you can connect with your consciousness by meditating on the microwave (I’m paraphrasing here) but it’s easier to get the message if you focus on a flower. The photo didn’t come out as well as I had hoped but if you look closely at the little red dots in the center, those are flowers growing out of a bed of moss and lichens (I think) clinging to a rock at 5,000 feet along the Appalachian Trail near Roan Mountain, NC, and I was there to witness them. I was so happy to be in the cathedral on the mountain rather than in the pew in town.















Eckhart Again
September 26th, 2008


I can’t seem to get enough of Eckhart Tolle. What an incredible teacher. If you have not read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookseller and get this book. When you have read it, go to Oprah.com and sign on to the ten sessions she did with Eckhart Tolle. With any luck, just reading the book will put you on a path that will change your life. Seeing Tolle with Oprah, and hearing questions others have, really brings it all home. This is how we can change the world. McCain can’t do it and Obama can’t do it, but you and I can, because we can contribute to the universal consciousness that will make it happen. Want inner peace? You have it already and Eckhart can help you discover the place in you where it resides.

Too “woo-woo” for you? Well, words always have been, and always will be, inadequate to describe the indescribable. I might have felt the same way not long ago, but when you are a seeker after truth or enlightenment or whatever you call it, and someone comes along who really can help you to see that you already have it, you pay attention, right?

This man is worth your attention. The world needs to wake up, and it happens one person at a time. Join us.



Stuck!
September 24th, 2008

There’s no gas in downtown Asheville! That is, if the one station I heard about on the news is now completely out. They made the news because three guys got in a fight and the police had to be called in! Sometimes life gets just a little too weird. I’m staying in a friend’s back yard and I have about 1/4 tank of gas so I guess I’ll just hang out for a few days. I can download old black and white movies from Netflix and work on my blog. Unfortunately, working on my blog is a big headache, literally, since I don’t know what the heck I’m doing.

See, what I really need to be doing, aside from keeping you informed of my whereabouts (it’s so boring I don’t know why you care) is finishing my pet portraits page so I can get it out there for people who might like to have a hand-drawn portrait of their special friend. My new business is called All In The Family: Pet Portraits by Lila, and you can see a sample of my work on my pets page. I’d tell you how to get to that page if I knew how. So many questions, so little brainpower. This is one of those times when I wish I were 30 again, or maybe 15 would be more useful, since it seems that the younger you are when you try to learn this stuff the better (maybe 5 would be even better).

How are you coping with the gas shortage? That is, if you’re in Western North Carolina. I guess folks outside our area are not experiencing this problem. Do you think there really is a shortage? Some don’t. Who knows? I’m just happy to be retired. I can be stuck for a while and it won’t matter. Good luck if you’re still having to make the commute every day.



Look at Me, I'm Blogging!
September 17th, 2008

To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.
Dame Freya Stark, British Explorer, b.1883-d.1993

I told everyone I would keep in touch by weblog and I truly have wanted to keep my promise, but every time I sit down to write, my editor (we’ll call her Linda, after someone I used to know who now is trying to get beyond perfectionism and learn to let herself just BE) would tell me it was boring, or it was going to be boring (since I hadn’t even started), and so I would decide it was the wrong time of day, or the wrong place, or…well, you know.

Today all that ends. I beg your indulgence while I give it one more try. I hope you’ll be kind.

As you may know, I’m currently living in a 19-foot camper van, a Roadtrek 190 Popular to be specific, parked this week at Small Country Campground in Byrd Mill, Louisa County, Virginia, off I-64 between Charlottesville and Richmond. My handy-dandy indoor/outdoor thermometer says it’s 78 degrees inside and 75 degrees outside, but since I am pretty sure neither of those is accurate, let’s just say there is a slight drizzle falling and it’s not hot (hallelujah). I have a roof exhaust fan that is pulling a cool breeze in through the window behind me, so I am comfy cozy.
I’ve spent two months in my little shell, whom I’ve re-christened Sheila (Shell: Sheila—get it? Lila and Sheila—oh never mind), but I’ve hardly left NC, the first month having been spent in Asheville just getting the feel of things in the RV and learning to use all the new electronics I bought, all of which were totally new for me, and each of which came with its own two-pound manual, sometimes more than one and usually written in more than two languages.

(Linda: Well that’s not very interesting. Tell them something interesting.)

Shut up! Oops, sorry, not you. So anyway, here’s the thing: I want this big adventure to be something more than just a trip around the country in a camper. At first that was all I wanted and/or needed. My friends said, “Ooh, I want to come,” or “Gee, you’re brave to do that all by yourself,” and my chest would swell with pride and I’d feel really good about myself. But now that I’m out here, I want the trip to be more meaningful in some way; I just haven’t figured that part out yet.

Occasionally I think perhaps there is some “quest” that I could embark on, like finding the best vegan food in every state. You know, like they do with barbecue or whatever. I would be the secret vegan food critic, selling articles from the road to Vegan Magazine. Then I’d collect my oh-so-clever reviews into a book and become a famous food critic. And then I’d have my own show on the Food Network, and I wouldn’t let the fact that I know nothing about vegan cooking deter me, I’d learn as I go.

Or…I’d become a troubador, or is it a minstrel? Whatever. I would drive into the small town square in places where folks don’t have a lot of cultural events and set up my little show. I’d sing and tell stories and juggle, and kids would come by the dozens and bring their parents and grandparents, and they’d throw money and we’d all have a really good time. And I wouldn’t let the fact that I don’t play an instrument and I can’t remember the stories deter me, I’d learn to play the ukulele and make up the stories as I go along.

Or maybe I would just collect rocks…if I had a place to put them.

Well, that’s what I think about sometimes. Other times, I just want to go deeper into myself, in my solitude, in my little home on wheels, where I don’t have to perform in any way for anyone. Where life is simple and I don’t have to learn new tricks or remember any lines. Where the most taxing part of the day is remembering to unplug the RV before leaving the campground (I now have a list). I even bought Eckhart Tolle’s book A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose on CD so I could listen to it while I drive. I loved the book so I thought this would be a great way to have a constant reminder to be in the present. I’ve been on the road for two months and haven’t opened the package. What’s that about?

No, there’s something more I want to do. I just can’t put my finger on what it is. I discovered recently that my life must include service to others or I’m not fulfilled, but I can’t volunteer my time in the usual way when I’m in a new place every week (although I figure I can at least continue to give blood every eight weeks).

My need to serve, or be useful in some way, has been on my mind even more since I read Life Is a Verb: 37 days to wake up, be mindful, and live intentionally, by my friend Patti Digh of Asheville. It’s a very personal, reflective book but with such exquisite nuggets of truth for living that I know you will be as inspired as I have been. The premise: How would you spend your time if you knew you only had 37 days to live? The question is based on Patti’s true life experience following the death of her stepfather from lung cancer. I love the exercises at the end of each chapter: suggestions for things to do in order to live more intentionally, life being about action (definition of a verb, right?). Get your own book and have Patti sign it at Malaprop’s on September 20 (or maybe coming she’ll be in your town—see 37days.typepad.com for schedule).

So perhaps someone out there has some suggestions for how I can live intentionally, and in service, while I’m out here having the absolute time of my life! (Hey…who says simply having the time of my life isn’t allowed? Because it’s a totally selfish act? Hmm… Maybe it’s that first-born thing again…taking responsibility… Oh shut up, Linda)



My Itinerary
September 17th, 2008







July 12 – August 12: Wilson’s RV & Campground, Amboy Road, Asheville

August 12: Julian Price State Park Campground

August 13: Visited Blowing Rock, then Boone (looking for a car charger for my cell phone), spent the night at WalMart for the first time, in Winston-Salem (not too bad)

August 14: Toured Old Salem which I enjoyed because I like historical sites.

August 15: After spending the night at WalMart in Asheboro, I went to the Africa part of the North Carolina Zoo (the other part is North America). Since I’m not really fond of zoos, it was pretty much a waste of time: I was not impressed. Spent the night in the driveway of a B&B in Siler City (no charge; nice people; we went out to eat).

August 16: Went to Hillsborough to spend time with friends of a friend from Asheville who were full-timers in an RV for 3 years. Had a great week seeing the sights in Raleigh (Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit was great, as was the NC Farmers Market), Durham (Duke Gardens and Nasher Museum show of El Greco/Velasquez-era paintings) and Hillsborough. Also had my first experience contra dancing. Wow, what a workout!

August 23: Spent 3 days in Chapel Hill in the driveway of contacts through UU church. Spent an afternoon on Franklin St., main drag at UNC, saw a movie.

August 27: Spent time in Roseboro with my ex-husband’s cousin and his wife on the pecan farm they call The Nut House.

Sept. 2: Back to Hillsborough in another contact’s driveway one night

Sept. 3: Drove to Danville, VA, just so I could say I had left NC! Spent the night at WalMart, stayed all day

Sept. 4: Drove to Lynchburg where I spent the night at, you guessed it: WalMart.

Sept. 5: On the way to Charlottesville I saw the turnoff to Natural Bridge so I took it and had a good time touring the caverns, the natural stone bridge (wow) and the wax museum. Decided to head to Charlottesville on Blue Ridge Parkway (big mistake: it gets pretty monotonous after a while, and it’s very slow going) but got off at Sheronda Lake and found a campground.

Sept. 6: In the morning I was all set to leave when a ranger told me about the Museum of Frontier Culture in Staunton, so I went and it was very interesting. They have disassembled several really old buildings in Europe and brought them over here, where folks in period costume answer questions about what you see in the houses. The oldest was built in 1630! Then on to Charlottesville, finally, and past it about 30 miles to Small Country Campground in Louisa. The next day I visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's plantation, which was akin to a religious experience.

Sept. 13: Back in Asheville, after an overnight stay at WalMart in Roanoke, to help my daughter prepare for her Oct. 25 wedding.