Late September

...and a month went by, whoosh. In between moments of stillness, the rush of time, the rush of flood water. Mom was here to witness the 1000 year flood in and around Boulder. It was surreal to be here in our warm, dry house up on the mesa while destruction flowed down from the canyons and onto the plains. We watched it on TV, removed but still feeling the sense of loss for our new community. Even now, a week later there isn't much to see when I drive around; a barrier here, sandbags there, debris forced into the rails of an overpass. There are opportunities to help and I intend to. Then a rather whirlwind trip back east to give and get some hugs, share some laughs and wine with friends, check in with a few of those we love. We drove through the verdant tree-tunnels of Rhode Island and Connecticut roads feeling the remarkable distinction between there and Colorado where very little comes between your eyes and the jagged horizon. So green, so close, so damp with life. So many trees. We got into the Atlantic for a couple of minutes, baptised once again in the salty coolness. Its never a mistake to get into the ocean...you can always warm up. I feel compelled to get in whenever I can now...who knows how long it will be until the next time? Oysters, clam cakes, lobster rolls, chowdah, butter & sugar corn, September sun. Mmmm, east coast living. And now all of a sudden I have 4 interviews on the horizon. Today is with Hospice to become a volunteer. Friday is with Colorado University to see about becoming a program assistant. To be scheduled is one with Naropa University, assistant to the dean of graduate admissions; one with Walden University, supervisor for principal candidates doing their internship in schools; one with an agency in Boulder that provides subs to private schools. The job with CU is full time, the others are part time or per diem. I am going to go through with any interview that comes my way, if only for the practice of using my professional voice in an articulate manner. It's not the everyday voice I use when I talk to the dog so I'm a little out of practice. Through it all I'm keenly aware of my mandate to slow down, stay present. I admit, it feels really good to have someone--anyone--validate my resume and want to talk with me. But that can't be enough to compel me into a job. I have some work to do on being good with just being...being me, just being. It would be soooo easy (assuming I got an offer) to jump into something because it would necessitate shifting my attention from now/here/the present to "what's next." Busy, busy. I'm good at busy. I've made progress in being here in Boulder without schedule, without direction. I think a happy medium is what I'm longing for. A professional life involving interesting, happy and thoughtful colleagues, meaningful work to do, a sense of accomplishment and values...plus a social life involving a few good friends who like to climb to high places and eat good food... plus a home live involving a loving partner, peaceful togetherness, fun & laughter, good food and great wine...plus a family life involving those who have loved us longest and best (this includes old friends who are not physically near us but so close in our hearts)...plus a spiritual life involving worship in nature's cathedral and opportunities to collectively work to make the world a better place...plus health, wealth and wisdom...wait, does this mean I want it all? I'm gonna start by taking a run. 46 degrees, abundant sunshine, let's go.

Whoa, I'm here.

I put myself on a train. For the past 5 months I've been on a metaphorical train, more like a thought train really. There's a lifetime of momentum behind this train, driving it, pushing it onward. I had this realization today in yoga, at the very end. I actually started to cry a little because of the rush of emotions that hit me when I said the word "surrender." In my head of course, this was savasana after all. See, there are a couple forces at work right now. First is that it's late August and for the first time in a very long time I'm not at school preparing for the new school year. I'm not greeting teachers as they cart in their new supplies and dust of their rooms, full of stories of summertime bliss. I'm not setting goals, crossing T's and dotting i's. I'm not in charge of anything and that is...scary. Because if I'm not in charge of anything, what's my purpose? And the second force at work inside me is that I'm nearly 9 months into my sabbatical and I feel like I might just be beginning to understand what it's all about. Like a gestational period for my psyche. Maybe I'll give birth to reason and rationality. That's why this blog...writing in general...is good for me, because in order to do it I need to articulate the swirl of thought clouds in my head, and in order to do that I need to sit quietly and be. So I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself about Getting A Job. Ask Mark, it's been fun for him. I really think it has to do with the school year starting and me being here, just being here. On the train again, I've been obsessing about what I can do...what I should do. I've spent hours applying to the University of Colorado in Boulder for jobs that I'm either overqualified for or don't meet a minimum requirement which is actually kind of funny considering all the various skills I have after decades of challenging and varied work in the education field. I've spent additional hours applying to the Boulder Valley School District and simultaneously navigating the glorious bureaucracy of the Colorado Department of Education to apply for reciprocity for my Connecticut administrator license. And underlying all of this flurry of effort is a panicked sense of unknowing which is uncomfortably familiar to me. My challenge is to live with this unknowing and trust that when the time is right I'll know what it is I should do next with my time, my energy and skills. Not just to live with it, but to look right at it, to be with it without trying to run away or mask it. As you know, my modus operandi is to DO, take action, git 'er done. Which is also rather funny because I'm not averse to being alone in solitude. I spent the months of January, February, March and April looking for a new home and enjoying down time in our new town. I spent the months of May, June, July and August getting settled in our new home, three weeks of which were shared with good friends and family who came to visit. Doing, doing. Lots of doing. All good. But somehow I feel as though the real work of my time off is just starting and I could easily sabatoge it by jumping too quickly into another job that demands my time, energy and lifeforce. What an extraordinary problem to have. Anyway, it's good to be back.

Extraordinary love

A couple weeks back, in the midst of putting an offer on our new home in Boulder I looked out of our living room window on a scene of extraordinary tenderness and love. A young man, maybe 30 years old was walking up our street toward the mountains with his black lab. Suddenly the lab stumbled, her back feet and legs collapsed under her and she listed sideways toward the gutter. I got up and stood at the edge of the window. The man caught the dog and steadied her with his knees. After a few minutes they started walking but before long she faltered again. This time she went down all the way to the sidewalk. The man stood over her then squatted beside her, stroking her as she lay on the cold concrete. A woman who lives nearby came out and bent down to stroke the dog too. They stayed like that for a while, exchanging soft words between them, gently caressing the lab as she lay so still. The two people seemed to be peaceful, not in distress, maybe just acutely aware that there was nothing they could do now but provide some comfort. The woman went back to her house after a time and the man coaxed his dog back to her feet. She took one or two halting steps...fewer than a dozen and she went down again. I held my breath as he tried to get her to walk. He was gentle and patient and I could see that he wasn't ready to accept that she simply could not walk any more. At last the dog just fell and lay down on the sidewalk, head down, very still. The young man walked around to her feet side and tenderly, carefully put his hands under her body to lift her up. He scooped the dog into his arms and turned to walk down the street, pain and disbelief in his expression, knowing that this day had finally come. I think--I hope-- he was going to bring her home and lay her down on a warm bed and talk with her about the hundreds of hikes they took together, the games of frisbee catch, the years of devoted friendship. He loved her very much, and she, him.

On coyotes

We saw our first coyote yesterday. We were walking with our little dog Enzo in the hills above Wonderland Lake in north Boulder. It was a blue sky day, blustery but not cold and we had just begun to climb when Mark noticed the animal loping across the path 100 feet from where we were. We drew back the retractable leash to keep Enzo close to us (recalling every trail head warning sign) and for a few minutes became hypervigilant in case the coyote was the lead dog in a hungry pack. It was a thrilling sensation--we're really in the wild west!--and also scary to feel so vulnerable and tender in the wilderness. We're new to these western mountains and are still getting our footing, still getting oriented to the vast wildness of the place. The coyote was solo, it turned out, in fact it disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, dissolving into the grey-green landscape. We climbed on, reflecting on the probability that any time we walk in the mountains we're being monitored by wary wild animals that tend to keep tabs on humans in their territory. Three months into my Colorado life I have a healthy respect for the mountains and a hyperbolic fear of the creatures that live in them; I hope that with enough time spent in the western woods my fear of the animals will evolve into a healthy respect for them as well. I believe that they could easily kill or hurt me but I also believe that if I'm aware of their habits and habitat and give them a wide berth that the odds are in my favor. The end result of being respectful but not afraid of the woods and its inhabitants is that I get to be out there, up high, breathing the thin, cool air, feeling the radiant heat that comes from being a mile closer to the sun, feeling at peace in the world.

The weight

It's a feather-weight anxiety and anticipation concerning whether we will in fact live in this house we wish to buy. As my friend Lesley referenced in a recent blog, it's an embarrassment of riches, not just the material kind, but for me, right now, it's also the wealth of time. I feel like an ordinary citizen who is suddenly wealthy after striking it big in Powerball. I've been handed an enormous (literally and value-wise) check and am now deep into spending my riches. What shall I do today? The sun is out, my belly is full from breakfast and the day stretches in front of me. Today I'll reach out to old friends to let them know how much I value their presence in my life. An exercise class to keep my body strong, a walk outside with the dog, a trip for provisions and gratitude that this is my life today.

The offer

We put an offer on a house! I know, you're asking where the hell have I been and now suddenly I'm writing about putting an offer on a house? Well yes, and it's really ok. This--this writing/not writing seems to be all part of the process for me right now. The house is really, really nice. Not "McMansion" nice, not pretentious, but just really nice. It's the kind of house you might look at every morning when you get up and think how did i get so lucky to be able to live here? The outside of the house belies the inside. The outside is big and dramatic, like its made to evoke a wow response from people. And then there's the power line that presides over the property, a crackling sentinel. You can't miss it as you approach the house. My research on the safety of living near lines reassured me. The house is on a Mesa and backs onto open space that will always be open. We'd have our own prairie dog Calvary. Inside it has a southwestern feel with thick walls and arched doorways. Lots of windows, lots of wood and lots & lots of room for out-of-town visitors. More to come as we know more.

Productivity continued.

My wired coffee shop turned out to be the Boulder library, second floor near the windows overlooking Boulder creek.  I suppose that you have to get here pretty early to claim a spot at the window, and my hunch is that once you have your spot you don't easily give it up.  As I was at the front desk turning my temporary library card into a permanent one (now that I have a piece of mail with my new Boulder address) I was helped by a man who was simultaneously trying to slough off the insistent complaints of a grubby, red-eyed bearded homeless guy, something about his card not working... The librarian seemed patient at first, stating politely that he was going to help me now, and would the complainer please wait a minute?  But then as the security guard came over he casually said to her, "can you get rid of him please?"  And she did, with quiet efficiency.  There are so many visible homeless people in this town, so many people on so many street corners with cardboard signs reading things like "I fell off the fiscal cliff" or "homeless and hungry."  Most signs say "anything will help." Sometimes they make eye contact with you as you wait for the light to turn green.  Sometimes I smile and once I gave a guy a buck.  Do the good, generous people of Boulder have a ready supply of ones that they hand out to whomever asks?  Or do most people become blind to these folks after a while?  I want to learn more about them, why they're here, what happened to them, where they sleep at night.  It's an uncomfortable juxtaposition to find a place for them in my mind and heart while I'm spending so much time pondering the enormous amount of money that we're thinking of dropping on a house of our own.  And because its uncomfortable I should stay there a while.

Speaking of uncomfortable, let me go back to the idea of productivity and what I am doing with these days in my life.  I'm nowhere near having a crisis, but as the days come and go I find myself struggling with the rhythm and flow of the hours.  I'm quite cognizant of my mandate: to allow myself to just be, without schedule, without appointments or commitments.  To nurture my long-
neglected parts and to become a whole, healthy person again.

And so, this is what I've been doing: I get up at 6am, have coffee, read email and news headlines, check Facebook and the weather, make Mark's lunch and maybe breakfast and help him get out the door by 7:30.  Enzo and I take a walk in the morning, usually from about 7:45 to 8:30.  Then I clean up the house a little and get ready for yoga if I'm going in the morning.  I leave for yoga at 9 and by the time I'm showered and ready to leave its 11:30.  Then....well, recently I've taken a number of exploratory trips to neighboring towns to see if we could live there.  And the answer is an emphatic "no" so far.  "Sprawling" is the most apt word.  Anyway, so then I come home by 2 or 3 and let Enzo out of his crate, play with him for a while, maybe read for a while and then start to get supper ready for when Mark gets home at 6 or 6:30.  Last night I got upset at him because he made a joke--an innocent joke--about something I was talking with him about.  That's when I realized that I needed to refocus my thoughts--recalibrate my compass--to remember just what's going on here.  I was feeling momentarily dependent on him for validation of my current existence.  Aarrgh.  And that's when I also realized the extent of the loss of my job at Odyssey and the proximity of my friends...the daily interactions and conversations with people who knew me well, who cared about me, who valued my contributions.  Which brings me back around to productivity--if I'm not working at a job, how am I being productive in the world, and do I even need to be productive, and does the business of taking good care of myself, my husband, dog and house count?  Ad the deeper question, the more honest question is, can I stand being quiet with myself for an extended albeit limited amount of time?