Outside the Box

"Mother, I have smelled autumn, and it's inside this box!" My son's voice rang from the recesses of the mud room closet. With global warming finally losing the battle of the seasons, we had decided it was time to deck the halls with orange, rust, yellow and brown.

"You're right!" I caught a whiff of fall as I lowered the plastic bin from the shelf. Prying open the lid in the living room was like the redemption of Pandora's box: memories came pouring out in the essence of clove, apple, and some undefinable crispness which spilled from the bin and enveloped the room.

I find that in the height of seasons, like February, July and November, I feel claustrophobic and restless. I come alive at the turn of seasons. Maybe it's the promise in the unknown, like the intrigue of the big red X on a treasure map when the journey is just underway. Maybe it's because the wind blows more violently in April and October, scattering the stagnant and rousing the lethargic.

Autumn is a paradox. Can summer die? Can winter be born?

The warm sun on my face and the cold breeze at my back is like a friend I don't quite trust, but feel drawn to just the same. The sharpness of the air is that same necessary slyness needed to outwit such a companion. The bursts of color on the trees and from stalwart flowers mirror the adrenaline rush of a chase, a battle of wits, a maneuver well played.

My house is alive with the fire of fall.

Up to my neck and rising will work for this post, too.

My sister has gone missing, and I think I finally believe in global warming.

Perhaps she has taken another extended trip now that the Northwest Passage is open again.

Up to my neck and rising

I'm reading Reviving Ophelia. It's been on my "gotta get to it" list for quite awhile. Now that I'm in a counseling internship and at the brink of adolescent adventure with my daughter, it rose to the top of the stack.

On page 22, Pipher quotes a Stevie Smith poem, "they are not waving, they are drowning."

How can we as women be lifeguards to our girls when this quote sums us up just as well, if not better, than the girls we are to rescue?

We smile and wave at Home & School Meetings, countless sports practices, our own work places, volunteer activities and church events, but almost all of us aren't really waving at all. We're struggling for breath!

We want to be Every Woman, and end up spent. We want to give our girls this great model of how to "do it all" while we are so stressed that we can't even find our own vehicle in a parking lot. In fact, we don't even remember driving to the store.

My thoughts are coming so rapidly, and all I want to do is get them down on this page, but of course, I can't. There are birthday cakes to make, field notes to write, laundry to do, emails to send, cards to address, classes to attend, carpools to drive...I'll wave goodbye for now.

The Weight of Wait

I am a recovering control freak.

In the past, the trials that have stymied me the most always involved waiting. There was the Wait of '94 when Gregory was at Officer Training School. Could he pass Vigilant Warrior to graduate as a 2nd Lt.? The Second Wait of '94 featured almost a year (interrupted by the other Wait) of expecting to be expecting. Then there was the Great Wait of '98, while we sought a discharge from the Air Force and a job back home. The Wait of '03 tested my patience and my sanity during a house-building venture.

Today, I am able to report that the most recent Wait has ended. Gregory has received an invitation to Candidacy in the Diaconate Formation Program. It many not seem like much to some, but to us, this invitation unveils an entirely new path for our future. My husband will quite likely be a clergyman in three years; an ordained minister of the Church.

It has been about 20 months since this wait began. Although there were moments of frustration, this trial had a decidedly different feel to it. I prayed constantly for a resolution, but I found that my request was truly for God's will to be done, and for it to be done when He thought best. I wanted Gregory to continue in the program, but not at any expense. Not if God had a different plan in mind.

In Waits Past, I had an agenda. I wanted a certain result, and according to a self-prescribed time table. I was not above setting deadlines for God! I realize now that my problem wasn't waiting as much as it was controlling. I don't believe that I trusted God enough to leave the details to His care.

Now...I have learned enough along the way to avoid saying that I am cured of control freakism completely. I'm sure some flare-ups lurk ahead. But, thanks be to God,

I am a recovering control freak.

Press Release

I, dauntless frontierswoman that I am, have explored and tamed the landscape of Page Seven.

Roughin' It

I was looking at the packing tips for our vacation destination - a Christian campground in the hills of Ohio - and noticed their request that all handheld games, iPods and other electronics be left at home to promote family quality time. "Surely that can't include computers!" I thought.

Now I was ready and willing to forego other modern amenities, but traveling without my laptop was akin to leaving some other needed accessory like, say, my contact lenses behind! My new novel was on the hard-drive after all, and all that fresh air and serenity was sure to be a writer's boon. The laptop was definitely coming.

We arrived, registered and located our rustic one-room cabin. As this was our second year, we knew what to expect. The cabins are complete with a small refrigerator, a microwave, and, new this year, air-conditioning, but have no running water.

We all absolutely love these cabins. We feel like the Ingalls. Well, the Ingalls with air conditioning, a refrigerator and a microwave. We quickly made the cabin homey and set out to meet the neighbors. In truth, we didn't actually need to meet the neighbors, since our real neighbors from good old Pa were also our Ohio cabin neighbors!

Anyway, the next few days were filled with spiritual growth and "holy fun". There were trails to hike, horses to ride, services to attend, ill children to tend and deluges to survive. Before I knew it, Friday had arrived and it was time to pack for home. I picked up my computer bag from the corner and put it in the van. It was the first time I touched it all week.

2 weeks

To avoid further confusion I must clarify my last post. My vacation, starting tomorrow, will last only one week.

My comment regarding time spent longing for vacation was an attempt at whimsical rhetoric. On average, people have two weeks of vacation per year, so I was simply discussing vacation as a whole, not mine in specific.

The other week of vacation is typically spent in the highly desirable get-away of Southern Virginia.