When people ask what equipment I use, I tell them my eyes. (Ansel Adams)

Why blog? It’s a place to fill with words, photos, stories, ideas, musings. A platform to share my journey. To ramble on about found confetti. Or my personal experience with adventuring, dreaming, traveling and soul daring.

This particular blog documents over 12 years of posting. My first venture in electronic publishing happened on January 1, 2000, when I started a group email titled “e-devotions.” Then I tried xanga, blogpost and eventually landed with WordPress. My blog has been renamed and redesigned multiple times. Nourishment for the Soul. Soul Pantry. And now Soul Pages. There are a couple side blogs out there: one about walking paths, another about cereal bowl fiction, and I’m pretty sure there used to be one called “Living on Intuition,” which was about our boat travels.

Often I meander away from the blog format, just letting my ideas and thoughts swim around in my head. Then I pause, and wonder: why haven’t I posted.

And then I ask: why blog, what’s it for? It’s for an audience to be sure. But really, it always comes back to a free place to publish my writing efforts. So I’m back. Ready to post, publish, share again.

What will I “blog” about? Whatever I want! That’s the genius of this format. Sometimes a vignette, a spiritual reflection, a prompt, a poem, a story or a photo.

I choose this space to celebrate my created self, to share life and to hopefully encourage a reader or two. A place to stretch my vocabulary and creative writing skills. So, welcome back, if you’re reading this.

I hope to post more frequently in the near future.

“…that I may know how to sustain with a word…” (Isaiah 50:4 ESV)

“It only takes one person to change your life– you.”

Ruth Casey

I like to go for drives. To explore new places. To revisit familiar places.

I woke up on Tuesday, and decided it was a good day to take a drive. I left the neighborhood and got on the expressway and then another one, and then merged onto Hwy 94 West, which I always think should be called South, but my directional logic defies understanding. Let’s just say I drive by intuition most days.

It’s an overcast day, drizzly. The radio is cranking out tunes from “the best of the 80s” and I’m enjoying the scenery, escaping from reality for a few hours. I stop at the red light, where the interstate intersects the highway, I’m in the right lane and need to merge over, so when the light turns, I accelerate and pass the other cars to gain my lane, crooning to some tune, and in my peripheral vision, I notice the turn to the conservation area. In that instant memories of years past parade through my mind, as I try to hold back tears and drive at the same time.

I recall the many biking adventures on the Katy trail, fishing with my friend at the conservation lakes, driving to the local wineries, and spring break adventures with our boys and their friends. Marveling at the redbuds blossoming, sweaty humid bike rides with a group of friends, dancing with wild abandon at the winery with friends on their birthdays. Driving the support van, so my sister and her kids could bike to Klondike Park for a camping adventure.

All these memories sweep over me like a flash flood. I let the tears wash my face, intrigued. How driving down a familiar road evokes a deep gratitude for all the memories. Memories made in a place I never imagined living, but which has firmly rooted itself in my soul.

I regain my composure, and notice a sign: Scenic View. When I’m with other travelers, the spontaneity of veering off the charted path happens rarely. I am solo today, so I pull off to check out the view. Before I hop out of my car, I notice a text from my niece. We have a nice chat, and I share the view with her via a photo, because I know she loves green things, and the green has arrived in all its late spring splendor. I try to descend the trail, but the path is slippery and I decide its not worth falling. I take in the view one last moment, and get back to driving.

I packed art supplies, snacks and some books to browse for when I arrive at Klondike Park. I’m almost to Defiance, when I see the sign for Daniel Boone Historic Home. Have I ever been? I’ve always wanted to go. Memory doesn’t serve me any tidbits of previous visits. Only five miles off the highway; I’ll go.

I arrive and the parking lot has four or five cars. It’s post “stay at home” order, but social distancing is still in place, and I’m a little worried about protocols. I tell myself I need to do this. I need to figure out how to live within the parameters. I walk towards the entrance with mask in hand. A gentleman welcomes me, and points out the restrooms. I am surprised that the restrooms are open, but grateful. My social self has been craving conversation, so I volunteer that it’s my first time here, and I’ll put on my mask if he wants me to, and he asks do I want to tour the house. I say, sure. He says a ticket is $8.00. I say, why not? I approach the gift shop, a sign says one person at a time. That’s good, I’m the only person there. They have a reasonable process in place to safely buy a ticket with no contact. I mess up, but the woman behind the counter gently redirects me. It’s hard to hear words through masks. I tell her I’ll come back after the tour and buy a soda. I also had my eye on a hand made walking stick. (For future hikes.)

My tour is at 10:00am, so I walk the grounds enjoying the buildings placed around the grounds. Buildings from the 1800s. I amble my way up the path to the Boone home to meet my tour guide. He tells me his name is Dennis. Sinned spelled backwards. His joke; I laugh, thankful for humor and social interaction. (I tried to tell him earlier that I was suffering from social atrophy, but mistakenly said social apathy. Both are true.) I stand listening, while he shares from behind a roped off area. I soak in the history of the house and the other buildings on the property.

Next I’m invited to climb the three stories to the upper level, and enter to look at the rooms. “Feel free to holler down any questions from the balcony.” And so I do at each level. He invites me to go talk with the “gunsmith” who is on the premises today. All three of the guides were very friendly, and willing to answer questions. As I walked down, the woman from the gift shop was out for a stroll. We talked about the garden, and other buildings and the various artisans who share their demonstrations there. She invited me to check out the volunteer site, if I ever wanted to come out and work in the garden. I love learning, and this little side trip filled me up. The gunsmith, shared the history and changes that came for gunsmiths when the parts of the gun could be mass produced. He too, asked if I had any questions. It was nice to be asked.

I finished my tour. Stopped by the gift shop for my soda and the walking stick. As we went through the social distance dance for payment, I shared how I wanted to hike and Angel, that was the woman’s name, told me about some of her favorite spots. I only spent about an hour on this side trip, but it felt timeless and peaceful and my social muscles got a nice stretch.

In the car, I sipped my soda. I thought about retracing my path back to the main highway, but instead my intuition nudged me to take the road less traveled, the long way round to Klondike Park. The winding roads and open spaces revived my cramped soul. I arrived at the park, and parked in the lot near where I had camped a couple years ago with my sister and her kids. I even walked down to see our campsite. Fond memories.

I drove around the park stopping and getting out to stretch my legs and enjoy the various ponds, bluffs and facilities for a restroom break. The simple things like an open restroom changed my perspective. I could do this social distancing thing. I daydreamt about camping at Klondike Park again one day. I even checked if they had openings this week, but amazingly they are booked.

I came home ready to face whatever the future holds. Willing to stay at home, as indicated. Willing to wear a mask, as indicated. Willing to converse with strangers, who might also be angels.

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Hebrews 13:2 KJV

I am radiant with joy because of your mercy, for you have listened to my troubles and have seen the crisis in my soul. (Psalm 31:7 TLB)

Little did I know that when I woke up Sunday morning, I would be facing a crisis in my soul. I was enjoying a quiet morning on our porch swing; reading and writing thoughts and intentions in my journal. Thinking about all the fun travels ahead that we’ve planned to enjoy the end of the summer season. My husband was doing yard work, and came up to the porch to see if I could help him with moving our boat into the spot we prepared to store it next to our house. I agreed to help.

As the humidity rose, so did our frustration because the truck wheels kept spinning out and we couldn’t move the boat as far into the yard, as we had hoped.

Finally, we came to the conclusion that we had done all we could, and were satisfied that the boat was where it was going to stay for the time being. While we were going in for lunch, my intuition (also the name of our boat) kicked into gear, and I started inquiring of my husband if he thought there might be water inside the boat cabin, since we really hadn’t checked in awhile, and we’ve had a LOT of rain this summer. He was hot and tired, and the timing and approach of my questions were falling short. I tried to hear him, and he tried to hear me, but our words and intentions were getting their wires crossed. Finally, he understood me to mean that I wanted to see if there was water in the boat. But by then for some reason my soul was hurt, and I was on the verge of tears. But my intuition prodded me to climb into the boat and investigate, even though logic and humidity argued against my desire.

I unlocked the cabin door, and stepped into a puddle of water. And to our dismay, and with a weight of sorrow beyond explanation, I cried out  to him that the cabin was covered in mildew. Mold on the seat cushions, mildew all over the wood trim, and one of our baskets was no longer brown, but fuzzy and gray. Ugh!

I wish I could say that I valiantly ran into the house to get cleaning supplies or to research how to eradicate mildew from a boat, instead I ran to my bed and sobbed. I wanted to sell the boat, and discard ten years of happy memories. Once during my tirade, I even shouted, I know you think I’m being irrational! And my sweet, patient husband who was investigating the solution to our troubles, answered, “Ok.”

After a LOT of blubbering, I pulled myself together enough to listen to what needed to be done. Everything was to be pulled out of the boat. We would need to clean off the mildew on the cushions and other items with a vinegar and water solution or a bleach product for the tough stains. Then we’d have to clean the boat. Let it air out and put the cushions and fabric life vests in the sun. (Of course the forecast called for rain, which mercifully skirted us, AND it was hot and humid.) We’d do one thing, like unload the boat, then I’d cry again. Then we cleaned the stuff, which didn’t seem as hard as I imagined it would be. We decided to save the boat cleaning for the next couple days. We finished, showered, went out to eat and pick up more cleaning supplies and a fan to air out the boat.

I wish I knew exactly what was going on with my soul. Partly, I have prided ourselves on keeping the boat mildew free these many years. Partly, the mildew freaked me out, and reminded me of ruin and neglect. And partly, the boat is my haven, my retreat, my happy place and it FELT like it was being ruined by the mildew attack. And partly, it just seemed like an unnecessary disruption of life.

However in the midst of the distress, I found a strange joy in working through it, and in rational moments realized what a mercy it was that my intuition prompted me to even think about checking on the boat. In a couple weeks we are heading to a boat rally, and we may not have opened up the boat until the weekend before, leaving us little to no time to clean it up, and most likely the damage may have been worse. Thankfully, the interior of our boat is fiberglass, with no carpeting or fabric on the walls, making it much easier to wipe down the surfaces with mildew cleaner.

Joy comes in the mourning, and in the morning. Today, I feel better and relieved that the clean-up is progressing. And our Intuition will not be on the market anytime soon. That was an irrational moment. But how distress can distort our true source of joy and happiness! The boat isn’t my only happiness. My joy comes from knowing that God delights in me, and can handle all my intuitive and impulsive reactions to life. And I’m grateful for a husband who sees through my irrational tears and just says, “Ok,” because really it IS all okay, even when mildew happens.

How do you handle distress? Can you see mercy in the midst of troubling times? Where do you find joy?

 

The tablets were the work of God; the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets. (Exodus 32:16 NIV)

For months, my inspiration chalkboard supported me with the word: DREAM. I even drew little stars all around the word.

For months, with the word, dream, as my visual cheerleader, I wrote words that looked like a play script. I liked the words. I enjoyed talking about the characters, plot and struggles of writing with a couple of my writer/creative friends. I’ve been teasing myself, my friends and my family with the idea that I am stretching myself and becoming a playwright.

I have enjoyed the journey, and sometimes needed the reminder to enjoy it. I give the story room in my mind, take it on vacation and ignore it. I even took it to Chicago, and made some progress.

Earlier this year, I erased the word, dream, from the chalkboard. It’s support was no longer necessary. I needed a stronger exhortation: “Do the work!” These words don’t get the work done, of course, but they guilt me when I feel like quitting.

So as I write this post, I am using one of the techniques that helps me get the work done. I divert myself from the project at hand, then surprise the work and come back to it. It works for me.

Another thing that has been working for me this week, so far, was to set aside time to work on the project. I thought I’d share today what I’ve learned from this week, so far, and how “doing the work” works for me.

THINGS I’VE LEARNED THIS WEEK

• I need a shower before I write.
• I need coffee, too and always.
• Accountability works! (Even if you don’t have much contact with your accountability network, it still works, because I wonder if they’re going to check on my progress.)
• Setting aside specific time works! (My self-appointed 9am-12pm schedule gave me a target. Now, do I write for three hours solid? Let’s not be ridiculous. You need to get more coffee, check social media and stretch every once in awhile to stay productive!)
• Reference books are helpful! (For this project, I have referred to and read chapters in Save the Cat! Writes a Novel and Playwright Power. In, Save the Cat! Writes a Novel, Jessica Brody’s subtitle promise comes through: “The Last Book on Novel Writing You’ll Ever Need.” I have read a lot of books on writing, and this one is very practical and a basic blueprint for any narrative work. The second book was given to me years ago by a friend and aspiring playwright. She had met and worked with the author, Robert Friedman, who I know little about, but his candor has helped me be realistic about my lofty aspiration of being a playwright. His advice has been spot on, as I work through this process. I don’t know where you can get a copy, but I’m sure some other playwright is out there who would be just as helpful.)
• Any writing counts! (Writing in your journal, writing a grocery list, writing a blog post, taking notes and the actual project.)
• The DELETE button is addictive! (I used to be afraid of deleting some of my work, but it actually feels cathartic to let go of some of my “clever” ideas. BTW, I do save each draft, so I can go back and see what I deleted.)
• Any quality of writing counts! (Crappy writing is just as important as clever stuff, because remember, you usually need to delete the clever stuff.)
• Practice detachment when you’ve completed your scheduled writing time. (One reason I kept putting off finishing this project was that I got too involved with the characters. I needed a mental and emotional break from them, so I actually would say good-bye to them at the end of each writing session. And it worked. I moved on and did other things, and guess what? They were waiting for me the next morning, they didn’t leave or forget about our relationship. Cool!)
• Make a playlist for your project! (I did this as a diversion while in Chicago. It’s great to have music playing in the background that remind me of my characters. I would hear a song on the radio, and think this speaks to so and so’s experience. I was proud of my self for learning how to use Spotify Premium. It was fun searching for the songs.)

I wasn’t sure if I’d stick to my schedule this week, because I’ve failed to follow through in the past. What was different this time? I think I expected to follow through. I was living the mantra “Do the work!” It was time.

Who knows? But, I do recommend checking your expectations for projects, for relationships, heck, for life. Expectations can really mess with you or they can guide you, but if you turn a deaf ear to them you will stumble, and possibly even stall out.

How do you interact with expectations?