On the journey

if those walls could talk…

barbara — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 05:02:34 +0000

They started tearing down my older children’s old elementary school today. I got an email from a friend while I was sitting at my desk this morning. She lives not far from the school (her grown children went there too) and was taking her morning walk when she saw the bulldozers, back hoes, and scoopers starting to work on the demolition. She said it was sort of a “Bob the Builder meets Destroyer” look. I laughed…through my tears. The tears took me by surprise ~ one moment I was reading; the next I was literally sobbing. Such a wave of emotion overtook me that tonight, I still can’t explain it, but it is still there. My three oldest children attended Roosevelt Elementary (in Medford, Oregon) from 1988 until 1997. My oldest didn’t attend Kindergarten there, but did spend 1st - 6th grade there. The other two went all the way through that little school. As I walked through today, memory after memory after memory of the hours we all spent there came flooding back, and, with each one, a flood of tears accompanied them. I remember holding their little hands as we’d walk in the doors each first day of school. I remember Stevie’s (my oldest) nervousness dissolving away that first “first day” when he saw Mr. Wright, a familiar face from his previous school, on the stairs. Mr. Wright looked at Stevie and said, “Well, well, well - you moved to Roosevelt too. Let’s do our first day together,” and then taking my son’s hand in his, they wandered off together to find Mrs. Staller’s first grade room. Each one of my older kids darkened the door of Mrs. Staller’s first grade room. I remember Danny, my second child and youngest son, and that incredibly weepy Kindergarten year. If Simon was absent, Danny played alone (by choice). Pioneer First remains one of the best decisions I ever made in regards to Danny I think. Mrs. Hicks named him Roosevelt’s “Outstanding 6th Grader” in front of the School board years later. Roosevelt Elementary was the only school in the district that had Pioneer First. I wonder who Danny would be today if we hadn’t been Roughriders? Noelle (#3 and oldest daughter) fell in love with bunnies at that school, prompting us to add Dot Bunny to our family. We also added some lifelong friends. A couple of summers ago, Noelle was in the wedding of a friend she made in Kindergarten at Roosevelt. Again, what if…? The old song, “Sunrise, Sunset” asks the questions, “Where is the little girl I carried? Where is that little boy at play?” When I ask myself those questions, my mind’s eye pictures my children at Roosevelt. And today, my heart just couldn’t stand the fact that Roosevelt (as I know and remember it) will soon be no more. I wonder how many other parents are feeling this same way tonight? I wonder what memories they hold dear? Tonight, the walls of Roosevelt lay in heaps on the ground. What stories would they tell us if they could talk? And I wonder how I would go about getting one of those great old red bricks to sit in my house today, just to remind me of all those memories I revisited today?

three years ago today…

barbara — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 04:42:57 +0000

…I saw my best friend for the last time. I was three days away from my wedding when I got the call that morning ~ Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005 ~ that the end was near. ”They” said probably two weeks. It was two days. Those minutes I got to spend with Shauna at her bedside three years ago were some of the most-precious, intimate moments I’ve ever shared with anyone. I am not sure there is anything more-personal than death, and we both knew that hers was imminent. I’ve never been in that position before, and, while I never hope to be there again, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. Shauna was the most-extraordinary person I’ve ever known, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and miss her and thank God for the time I was lucky enough to have her in my life. I’ve really missed her this year ~ she was my rock, my support, my straight-shooter….and I’ve needed that this year. But, she’s with me ~ all the time, every day ~ and she taught me well. I am trying very, very hard to make her proud. But, tonight, I am just really missing her…

choosy mothers choose…

barbara — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 02:51:01 +0000

Seems it has been entirely too long since I’ve written anything out here. My life has been centered around summer fun, my church’s VBS program, and my newest family member, Fern - our “impossibly cute” (to quote my friend, Carson) three month old beagle. If I can figure out how to add a picture to this blog, I will. If not, well, you’ll have to join Facebook, find me as a friend, and then peruse (sp??) my countless pictures of this adorable little being. She is pure joy and sheer delight, all rolled up into one little bundle of ENDLESS puppy energy!! Simply put ~~ she is a lot of fun!!I hadn’t planned on becoming a puppy’s mother, but a phone call about beagle pups outside of WalMart, a couple of snuggle with this little girl later, and I was making puppy payment plans. That was a Thursday ~ the following Sunday, I used my acquisition of Fern (named after the endless ferns that grow at Camp Arrah Wanna, our former home near Mt. Hood) as an illustration in my children’s message during church. This immediately made Fern the most-popular dog in McMinnville ~~ well at least in my church family that is ~~ while, hopefully, teaching our youngsters (and even our oldsters) about God’s love for them. See, I didn’t just choose Fern out of that pen of her and her sisters. She sorta chose me too. Yeh, I picked her up and let her snuggle into my neck, but I did that with her sisters too. The only difference? When I’d put her sisters down, they’d run off and play with the next person waiting to snuggle up to them. When I’d place Fern back in the pen, she’d sit at my feet and cry. Three times of this and I was sold…as was she. Or maybe she was sold from the beginning, who knows? I picked her because she picked me, and, truly, this may be one of the better “picks” I’ve ever made in my life. Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians, chapter one, verse four, these words: ”For we know, brothers and sisters, beloved by God, that He has chosen you….” That was my message for the young (and the young at heart) that morning, and that is Fern’s reminder for me everyday. Not only am I beloved by God, but He picked me. And, because of that, I, in turn, pick Him. And I picked Fern too.

i didn’t know it would feel this way…

barbara — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 05:45:55 +0000

The last summer staffer to arrive at Arrah Wanna, my former home, called this week to say “hi” and let me know she was there. They’re all there now ~ some new faces to the staff, some familiar ones, some I don’t even know. But they’re all there. And I am not. For the past five summers (this would have been six), these kids have been part of my day-to-day routine…and this summer, they’re not. Yes, they’re still family. They’re still “my kids” and they will always be a part of my life. But, tonight, this week, right now, I really, really, really want them to be a part of my day-to-day world. I knew I’d miss them once June rolled around, but I didn’t know it would feel this way.

today…

barbara — Tue, 27 May 2008 05:04:43 +0000

rain clouds…waking up alone…a bit of dread…a bit of melancholy…a lot of tears…messed up plans…broken heart…more dread…more tears…my beautiful little girls…a couple of messages from my boys…a phone call from my beautiful soon-to-be college grad…$3.99 per gallon gas…great traffic on the road trip…the beach…more rain clouds…ocean mist…watching the waves…reading a just-for-fun book…hanging with the dog…sand castles and moats…watching my girls, hand-in-hand, in the water…more tears…campfire on the beach…a long walk…begging for a sign…dusting off the sand…heading to my favorite place on the beach…salt water taffy…fries and onion rings at gracie’s…walking under the bridge…a seagull nest with egg…frolicking seals…channel house hot tubs…fisherman’s boat…horrific return-trip traffic…phone call from my sister…dinner ready and waiting in the crock pot…making tomorrow’s sack lunches…giggly bedtime battle…sitting down for mindless tv…when harry met sally…my sign. happy birthday to me.

i miss the woods…

barbara — Sat, 03 May 2008 22:00:24 +0000

We (me and my girls and some friends) spent last night at the camp I used to live and work at near Mt. Hood. I’d forgotten how incredibly quiet it is here at night. I’d also not realized how much I am missing the woods these days. Maybe it’s my church’s series on Faith and the Environment right now: maybe it just being gone from here for about 8 months: maybe it is how the sound of the river speaks to my heart, or maybe it is a combination of all three….but I didn’t realize how much I was missing this place ~ its smells, its sounds (or lack thereof), its people, its location, its soul. Yes, this place has a soul. I feel it when I am here, and, apparently, I miss it when I am not. I spent awhile walking the river trail this morning, and now, I am sitting in a room, the door wide open, typing away and listening to the river rush by. It is running really high right now - a testament to the amount of rain fall and snow pack (although I doubt that is melting much yet) Oregon has had this season. It sounds beautiful. I can hear my daughters and their friends playing tether ball nearby, and my dog (okay, she’s camp’s dog) is meandering back and forth between them and me, much like she did all night between our two rooms, not knowing if she wants to be close to them or to me. That is testament to her love for all of us I guess. What a blessing she is. What a blessing this place is. Yeh, I miss the woods…

i am…

barbara — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 05:42:21 +0000

…the proud daughter of the veteran of three wars; an incredibly patriotic person; a person of a deep, deep, and abiding faith in Jesus; someone who cries every time The National Anthem is played (add an Olympic medal to that mix, and I blubber); someone who flies a flag on the 4th of July. I am also a Euro-American woman who watched the Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s NAACP speech, and read every word of the text of his speech to the Nat’l Press group. I am here to say as publicly as I know how to say it: I take NO issue with ANYTHING he said. Are his experiences my experiences? Of course not, and that is exactly why I would not DARE to speak to (or God forbid against) his experiences and opinions. Our upbringing, our stories, our lives could not BE any more different than they are, and until I have walked a mile in ANYBODY’s shoes, I have absolutely NO RIGHT to pass judgement on them in ANY way, shape, or form. I am beyond-discouraged at the outcry (especially the Euro-American outcry) over the Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s comments. If we (white America - - and, yes, I know folks of all ethnicities, skin colors, and cultures are speaking to this - - it is just that I am white, so I feel I can only speak to / from being white) are SO blind, SO self-centered, SO close-minded, and SO ignorant about the history of race relations (both past and present) in our country today, then I hold very, very little hope this evening for the future of race relations. And that is heart-breaking to me - - absolutely heart-breaking.

missing “the days”…

barbara — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 01:50:05 +0000

I usually deal with change really well, often embracing it, asking it in for tea, sitting down with it and becoming very-well acquainted in a relatively short amount of time. I guess that is the fancy way of saying it doesn’t take me long to get comfortable with “new and different”. I moved to McMinnville just six months ago, and, just yesterday while driving around, I realized that I feel as though I’ve been here and part of here for a long, long time. A lot of that has to do with my amazing church and the amazing people there that go out of their ways to make me feel welcomed, loved, appreciated and cared for. A lot of it is the community here - it is a community made up of people that, for the most part, seems to truly care about each other. I like it here, and I am glad we moved here. I feel at home here, and I feel good about making a home here for my family. The change involving moving here has been good…and welcome. There are some other changes that I am struggling with. My kids, and my camp kids, are getting older and moving away, graduating, getting married, studying abroad, and doing all those other things that grown up kids do. But I don’t like it - any of it. I miss the days of piles of kids piling around my house, or my camp, and I miss being privvy to all the details of all aspects of their world (or at least all the aspects that they allowed me to be privvy to). Yes, those were “the days” for me….and I miss them, both “the days” and the kids. I miss their faces. I miss their voices. I miss their hugs. I just miss them. And I think I fear that the missing is going to become the rule as opposed to the exception. As they continue to grow older, they will continue to change, mature, move, graduate, marry, travel, etc., etc., etc. I just wonder how much I’ll actually get to be privvy to as time goes by. And I already miss them so much now, how will I even tolerate missing them more? I guess I’ll find out…

friends are friends forever ~~ but i need her now…

barbara — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 04:24:56 +0000

I had one of those “once in a lifetime” kind of friends in my best friend, Shauna. I am still sad and angry that that “lifetime” turned out to be relatively short. I was reminded of all those feelings recently upon hearing someone speak about walking with a friend at the end of that friend’s lifetime. For me, the sadness, anger, and confusion that death brings, would come right alongside this incredible feeling of unexplainable gratefulness that I’d ever even had such an extraordinary person in my life in the first place. It was the oddest, oddest thing I’ve ever moved through. I remember so clearly the literal wave of emotion that overtook me when I left Shauna’s side for the last time. I walked out of that room knowing that I would never see her again in this life; that the words we’d shared, the sentiments we expressed, and the love we had for each other, would never ever ever again, in this life, be spoken of together, friend-to-friend. It was so FINAL….and I was so inconsolable. I do not like final. I do not like not having choices. I do not like being hopeless. And, at Shaua’s bedside that day, I was hopeless. I was not void of hope for Shauna - I have a firm faith in the belief that this life is not all that there is. I was hopeless for me; hopeless for ever sharing that kind of relationship with another human being again; hopeless for future moments which would certainly been shared with Shauna; hopeless for a peace and a knowledge of who I would turn to when the waves came crashing down; hopeless for a best friend - a true, true, true best friend, in the true, true, truest sense of the word. I cannot even begin to describe how much I miss my friend these days. If I could describe it, it would sound selfish and self-centered…because it is. I miss my friend. I miss her so much right now. Always, but especially right now. My worst bedside fears are coming true…I am hopeless about where to turn for what I know would have been given by Shauna without me ever having to articulate a need for it. If she were here, she would instinctually know what I need. I should be thankful - and I am - that I had that friendship for even a short amount of time. It’s just that when you know how incredibly awesome and special something is, it makes it all the harder to not have it when you really need it. And I really need it right now.

it was like someone took the soul out of the air…

barbara — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 16:18:11 +0000

I am watching CNN and they are reviewing some of the notes they’ve received in response to their special on the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. A viewer said that he remembered sitting in a coffee shop, being served by his regular waitress, Miss Mary, when a gentleman came running in off the street saying, “They done shot the King.” This viewer said that Miss Mary started to cry - a cry that he still hears today; a cry, this viewer said “could only be cried by the granddaughter of a slave.” Another viewer said he remembered walking out into the streets of Memphis and, “it was like someone took the soul out of the air.” I was almost seven years old when Dr. King was murdered. I lived a pretty sheltered young life - my father was in the Air Force and, by that time, he was an Officer and we were living at (the then called) SAC (Strategic Air Command) Headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska (Offutt Air Force Base - where dubya was taken underground during the September 11th attacks). Outside of a few transitional months, all of my first almost-ten years of life were spent living on Air Force bases. It is a very sheltered world on a military base - I went to school on the base. We shopped on the base. Our doctors, hospital, dentists, church (we called it Chapel) all were on the base. We did go off the base, and, in Omaha especially, I got to see a lot of things “off base”, the Harlem Globetrotters and the College World Series to name two. But, looking back now, I know how incredibly sheltered my life was. I was certainly old enough to remember when Dr. King was killed…but I don’t. I wish I did ~ I feel badly that I don’t. When push comes to shove, how many national events in my lifetime can really be described as taking the “soul out of the air”? There are many national events I remember ~ the Olympic hostages, the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion, and the September 11 terrorist attacks to name just a few. But, and I mean no disrespect at all, I am not sure that any of those events (maybe 9-11) took our collective soul away. I am not African American, but I am raising African American daughters. I imagine many felt like the dream died that day in Memphis forty years ago…and our nation certainly has given many reason to still believe that today. For the sake of my daughters ~ for the sake of us all ~ it is up to us all to make sure we keep that dream alive. The soul of our nation, and the soul of all her people, should demand no less.