In the Words of Tom Brady...

"Why do I have three superbowl rings and still think there's something greater out there for me? I mean, maybe a lot of people would say, "Hey man, that is what is" I reached my goal, my dream, my life. God, it's got to be more than this. I mean this isn't, this can't be what it's all cracked up to be."

He made that statement in a press interview. The profound reflection of a man who has supposedly "arrived at the top" of what our culture values most. His honesty is both chilling and heartbreaking.

Time with my sister...

I was originally booked to go through LA and arrive in Seattle at 3:30. But they overbooked my flights, so I got bumped to United #339 direct to Seattle arriving at 1:15. I don't think I will ever check bags again. Life just got a little easier.

So no long line to check bags, no layover, two extra hours in Seattle, and then it got even better... I had the privilege of sitting next to a Missouri corn and cattle farmer on the plane. He had never seen the mountains or the Pacific ocean. He and his wife were on their way to Seattle to board a Bill and Gloria Gather cruise to Alaska. Talk about worlds colliding! What a simplistic, content, and gentle man. The thrill in his eyes when we flew right past Mt. Ranier made the inside of me smile. I told them to have a wonderful time on their cruise, even though I was choking at the thought of the Gathers. To each his own, right?

Di picked me up and we went for a picnic on the Puget Sound. She is experimenting with different recipes right now. Chicken sauteed in red wine and a boquet garni of spices. Zuchini stuffed with goat cheese and dried cranberries. Fresh organic snap peas, and hard cider (Di shares my gluten free challenge). So strange to be by salt water and deciduous trees at the same time, while seeing the mountains across the bay. No, not strange, damn lucky. I close my eyes, thank the artist, and miss California all at the same time.

So this conference is kind of one of those so-so experiences. I do enjoy listening to Michael Frost speak, probably due in part to his accent. I've always had a fascination with Australia and New Zealand, he is a native of Sydney. Now here's an oxymoron. The man is a southern baptist minister and he has taken on the role of opening speaker for the neighborhood's local artist exhibits. In so many ways, appearance, speech, mannerisms, passions, he defies the word stereotype. I love it.

I was really struck by this statement, which coincides with my desire to become a better listener and create more space for people..."If you would listen to your patients, they would tell you how to heal them." Now a lot of my patients are not verbal (yet!) but they do communicate with me through crying, body language, facial expressions. Maybe it's time to pull out "The Baby Whisperer" and read it again!

Di introduced me to the concept of a "cower" this morning. Shower with coffee. I think it's a great idea, and am surprised I've never tried it before. Her friends in college used to take bowers. Can't take one of those, thanks to gluten.

This afternoon we will see the flying fish at Pikes Place Market and visit the Fry. I love the wonder of exploring a new place, with one of my most favorite people in the world.

Thoughts on Home

There was a time in my life when I said I'd never leave Michigan. It was for real at the time, but then my contentment left, and I followed it west, the big bad world calling me out. I have found other places that I call home since the great exodus of '05, yet there will always be a home for me in the land of green trees, American cars, and gray skies. And it's more than the presence of family, or the memories of small town life and the UofM. When I get off the plane in Detroit, there is something about that first breath of thick humidity that floods my mind with the familiar... sitting with Mom in the garden swing, molding the tar in the cracks of the street with five-year-old toes, sailing in the bay of Lake Michigan and experiencing speed for the first time. As I walk towards luggage claim, I listen to African Americans talk "real black" that screams home to me. I don't want them to stop. They sure don't talk that way in Denver, and damn, do I miss it. Before I get my bags, I stop at Coney Island for a chili dog. It's been years...

Back to the land where there are very few foreign cars, it muses me, almost a surreal experience, all these Fords, GMs, and Chryslers. Detroit is its' own little world. Green trees everywhere, no sky, the trees are always in the way. I make my yearly pilgrimmage to the cabin on Lake Louise, the only place in the world where I completely relax and have absolutely no sense of time. The water is still perfect, it is still so clear that you can see the sandy bottom at a depth of five feet, the pine forest is still the most tranquil place I've ever known, our friends are still family, and I still cry every time I have to leave.

So here's the question... can we have more than one place where we feel entirely at home? My answer is yes. I had lived next to Pikes Peak for two days, two days was all it took for me to fall completely in love with that snow covered mass of rock. Every time I would look at it, it was different. At sunset, silhoutted with orange and purple light, during a storm, with dark black clouds around it's edges and lightening striking the neighboring peaks, in the summer bare naked, and in the fall when the first snow adorns it again. There was something about living next to that mountain that gave me the greatest sense of security and safety. It was a constant that never changed. No matter how many developments and strip malls scar the prairries, that mountain can never be moved.

When I went on to San Diego, I missed the constancy and security of that mountain, but I was wooed by the energy I found in the ocean. "You have to try surfing, Rachel, you'll experience the ocean in a whole new way... it will help you not to miss the mountains so much." Andrea was right.

I don't care that I will probably always be a beginner when it comes to surfing. There is something about the experience that is almost spiritual for me. I stand before those waves with reverence, knowing that they could kill me, and yet, with an addict's will, I smack them head on, paddling out beyond the break with my small arms. I don't know how I get out there to that peaceful place, but I do. Laying on my board, and floating over those gentle rollers, I wait for my wave, and watch the sun dance on the water. I am truly happy.

There is nothing quite as exhilerating as timing and catching that wave. You fight with the ocean to make it's energy work for you... there is a thrill about struggling with something so much more powerful than yourself, something that could kill you, the struggle makes you enjoy it's beauty and energy even more. I love the taste of salt water. My best day is one where I come home feeling beaten, with red, blood shot eyes. Then I know I've lived.

An early morning walk next to the beast that beat me the day before (the ocean!), brunch in LaJolla, a nap on the beach, red wine in the evening, with a good friend. Melissa plays the guitar and sings to me, the most recent song she has written, and my heart is home. Why do I keep wishing that time would stand still, when I know very well that it's always moving? Maybe there's still a child in there, that hasn't quite accepted all of reality, and never will. I still like to wish time away. As with the lake in northern Michigan, I cry when I leave California.

Now I am here in the mile high city, feeling completely at home, enjoying some new culture. Having grown up in the suburbs of Detroit, I was always taught that the city was bad and dangerous (dangerous, for good reason). Now I am experiencing a city that is beautiful, clean, thriving, and safer than the one that I grew up with. Without much effort, I am loving this too.

There is not one place that I call home. And as I've thought more on this, I've realized that home is not a place, it's something that exists inside of me. In my heart I asked God to dwell, and it is those experiences of Him, of His beauty, His presence in nature, in culture, in people, and in memory, where I find home. His presence interfacing with those things which reflect Him. I am not attached to any one place. My heart is joined to Him, and home goes with me wherever I go. I like to think, that maybe I have a whole lot of time left, and there will be more places, more moments that communicate home to me. How exciting.

Butterfly Wings

One of my favorite people in this world is a little person named Grace. Blond hair, blue eyes, a strong will, a dramatic personality, and a tender heart. A $13 Cinderella Princess set was all it took to make a third Birthday one of the best days of the year. A few weeks later, I tried to expand the princess's world by reading her one of my all-time favorites: "Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots?" The answer (an overwhelming) - yes!

I recently had the privilege of using the Pierce Airport Shuttle Service to and from DIA. Before departure to the airport, Grace put on her butterfly costume (with wings!) to show me. I watched her "fly" around the living room, giggling with a delight that can only come from a little person. She wore her butterfly costume to the airport, but sadly, Mom had to take the wings off so that Miss Grace could fit in her carseat.

As we drove up E-470, Mom (Missy) told me about the day that Grace got her wings... she put on her costume, and started running, and it wasn't too long after that, she came to her mother, sad and dejected.

"Grace, what's wrong?"

"Mommy, they don't work. I can't fly."

We laughed, and delighted in one of the most wonderful realities in life... the mind of a child. To be able to believe for a couple of moments, that putting on wings could actually make you fly... wouldn't it be fun to be three years old again, if only for a day.

Farewell Suburbia

I have moved to the city! And I have to laugh - it seems like every time I move (which has been pretty frequently in the last three years), I downsize another 25%. I think about my condo back in Michigan - 2 bedrooms, 4 closets, dining room, living room, full kitchen with ammenities, and a sizable storage unit. All that space just for me, and I had no problem filling it. Then Travel Nursing taught me that I really don't need anything I can't fit in a Ford Focus. Above is the car that taught me one of life's greatest lessons: if it doesn't fit in here, it goes. I will never forget my friend Andrea, tackling the Ultimate Packing Challenge for San Diego to C.S. '06. It was a legendary packing job. Thank you, Andrea.

Today I am a Denverite, and I am sitting in my 400 square foot studio, observing all of the charm that the early 20th century period has to offer. I take on the challenge of a small living space with enthusiasm. What else can I live without and throw to the curb, or better yet, give to someone who really needs it? Where can I hang a curtain to hide the laundry basket, or use a draw divider to maximize space? My mahogany wood against the pale yellow walls takes me back three years to a winery in Tuscany... brick walls and fields of poppies. I smile, then remind myself that I am in Denver.

From my new place I can walk to the grocery store, the dry cleaners, the wine store, 2 pubs, and 4 restaurants. I am excited to walk, to bike, and to save the Rav for trips to the mountains (my small contribution to the very large oil crisis).

Yeah, I think this urban thing is going to work. In addition to the wonderful people that have been welcomed to my life, I will miss Pikes Peak. I will not miss strip malls.

Hanging Lake / Glenwood Canyon, CO

It was a beast of a hike...

but a little taste of paradise at the top...