Whales & Water

Yesterday I set out with a singular goal - spotting the whale that's been playing in the waters of English Bay - our backyard. Several friends had seen her and I have a list of wildlife that I must see before our family moves away from Canada. Whales are on the list. The stars aligned such that I had prepared Tuesday night's dinner on Monday, I had a meeting at the school just after lunch and Philip was out of town. I already knew the laundry would wait patiently, so I, along with my children, proceeded to pack backpacks in preparation for a day out. My Parent Advisory Council notebook and the bylaws needing editing went with me, as did Jamie Tworkowski's book If You Feel Too Much. As soon as I dropped the children at their classrooms, I headed to McDonald's - I know, not the healthiest of choices, but it was quick, easy and on the way. It seemed I had forgotten to eat breakfast - I was that excited. I took my Egg McMuffin down to the benches at English Bay and quickly retreated to the 'laughing guy' statues when the geese and seagulls were as interested in my breakfast as was I. With my stomach satiated and my trash safely stowed, I headed back to the beach with anticipation similar to a child's on Christmas Eve.

The Laughing Guys - a friendly place for a picnic breakfast

As I pondered which bench to choose, I saw a gentleman with binoculars surveying the water and I asked him if there was any sign of the whale. He smiled knowingly but said, "Not yet." A gentleman on the bench beside him commented, "He (though I've decided the whale's a girl) was here yesterday between 9 & 10." It was 9:38AM and I was glad I hadn't missed the main attraction. I chose my perch and began busying myself with the business of waiting. Hear me say - I'm categorically horrible at waiting. I called my parents to check in, double checked the phone for any emails and promptly pulled out my trusty notebook and the bylaws beckoning edits. As it turns out, this 'daunting' task took all of 17 minutes, and the whale hadn't visited. Restlessness began to creep in and I decided to find a new perch. The sun was peeking through dappled clouds and I walked to the inukshuk and found a bench on the tip of the man-made peninsula that sticks into the bay. The sun was warm on my back, the water calm and glassy, the container ships seemingly standing guard in the distance. I chose to relax into the waiting, to give myself permission to let my mind wander while the sun relaxed my shoulders and soothed my soul.

The inukshuk

The view from my peninsular perch

The water was calm and glassy indeed - gentle waves lapping the shore like a kitten first learning to drink from a bowl. The water was rhythmic and comforting - it was everything water hasn't been for my home state of South Carolina this past week. It was odd to sit in that tension. Water is powerful - powerful in its ability to cripple roads and bridges and tear houses apart; powerful in its gentleness as balm for a weary soul; powerful in the opportunity it presents for new life to those wanting to escape brutalities in the places they've only known as home. Seeing power in so many forms is overwhelming and I got restless again. It was time to find a new perch.

I meandered over the beach to the sitting logs - notebook stowed, book at the ready. Before opening my book I scanned the water carefully, hopefully - just knowing the whale was coming. Nothing. It was 11:39AM. I began reading - Jamie's words are poetic, his sentiments affirming, his message encouraging. His book reads as if you're thumbing through a series of songs that put lyrics to the ebb and flow of all our lives. Reading it on the beach amplified the experience. After a few pages I scanned the water and there it was - a muted "pffft" and a spray of water just above the surface of the bay. Wonder dripped through me and I said aloud to no one in particular, "There it is," and I started walking toward the drifting spray. I found myself walking more quickly, disregarding the sand I had tried to keep out of my shoes earlier. The moment was urgent - I couldn't miss it! Once I got onto the seawall, I dodged folks who didn't seem aware of the miracle that was right before us and I found a perfect watching spot.

The sitting logs - our backyard's view doesn't disappoint either

Look closely - you can see the spray from her breath

She surfaced irregularly - on her on timeline - each time reminding the water of her own power and giving us a glimpse of her grace and enormity. She'd dive to forage for food and we waited eagerly for her next breath - she didn't disappoint. I snapped a few photos, texted my family to let them know she'd arrived and then I just watched. For twenty or more minutes, I just watched. Awe. Her power was so comfortable to her; she moved confidently with gentle regard for the life around her. It was reverently quiet along the seawall despite the growing numbers of people gathering to watch her dining ritual. Those who talked loudly received looks that quieted them instantly. We were in the midst of a mystical, surreal moment.

Then, I left. Goal achieved. Ushered to my meeting by her gentle "pffft" as I walked away. My soul richer for the almost three hours I sat on the beach. It sounds so decadent - three hours sitting on the beach, but I found that those three hours were the most actively I've waited since anticipating the birth of my children. Those three hours were far more productive than any tangible tasks I could have accomplished in our apartment - the laundry did, in fact, wait. So did the vacuuming and the dusting. In their place a myriad of prayers for my people in South Carolina. In their place, active grieving over the physical distance separating our little family from the rest of our family. In their place, permission to be present and seek wonder even in our broken world. In their place, reclamation of the importance of continuing to live my own story.

     "We live a thousand different stories, you and i. We live so many different seasons and who can          say when winter or victory or spring? Perhaps all we can do is go together, win and lose together,     because we deserve a people and a place...and a team." [from If You Feel Too Much p. 61]

Today is a new day. Our stories continue. Some will be stories of physical rebuilding, some will be of resting from labours, some will be of celebrating what life has put before us, some will feel like slogging through peanut butter. Whatever the case may be, my hope is we all find a glimpse, even if very small, of wonder, hope and awe. And I hope there are people in our lives who remind us of the wonder, hope and awe inside each one of us when our lenses get cloudy and the way seems laborious.

Broken Promise

The past month has seen me visiting with old friends Self Doubt and Insecurity quite a lot. As I last wrote, I've been in the market for a part-time job because I'm ready for an outlet that's just mine. Turns out, the process is akin to holding your breath waiting on your crush to ask you to the school dance - only a tad more vulnerable. I've spent hours perusing craigslist and job listings and I've been choosy about what I've pursued and that, admittedly, is an enviable luxury. I get it. But - I haven't been out on a first date in nearly 15 years and I haven't interviewed with complete and total strangers in about as long. Funny enough, I think myself fairly confident, but the notion has been challenged as of late. Many a resume hasn't even been acknowledged and while I've gotten a few interviews nothing has materialized that is a good fit. I got one job offer and almost accepted it - simply out of my own need to feel affirmed. Thankfully, my almost 40 self (and my wise husband), reminded me that questions are good. So I asked questions. Turns out the answers awakened me to my own ego and that giving up our only definite family time was unwise. It helped that, at the moment, I had interviewed for quite possibly the most-perfect-job-ever for me. The interview had taken place over Skype, for which I was thankful because I was convinced my red, splotchy neck (which betrays my cool, calm facade in such circumstances) wasn't as noticeable. It was a good interview, almost great even, and I promptly mailed a handwritten thank you note - because I'm old school like that. I felt really good about it, but those good vibes waned as I waited and waited for a response. The waiting opened the door for Self Doubt to visit - should I have taken the other position that gave me little to no spark of excitement? Am I too old to relate to young business people in Vancouver? Is my resume too riddled with church work to make me appealing in a business environment? Is the universe trying to tell me not to work because I'll single-handedly bring about the demise of our family?

"STOP!" Self Talk came in shouting at Self Doubt and in one fell swoop sent Self Doubt cowering into a corner. Self Doubt didn't leave, mind you, but Self Talk had wielded her power and helped open the door for the reclamation of sanity until Insecurity invited herself in via an email, "Thank you for your interest but we have chosen to go with another candidate." Ugh. But it was perfect! How could they not tell? Self Talk had to muster all of her energy and call me out on my betrayal of myself. She reminded me that I had promised myself I'd write every single day - regardless of length or subject matter. She reminded me that what I really wanted was to write, and then she had to wake me up a little with the notion that my ego and desire for affirmation just might be clouding my judgment of myself.

And here we are. Today, I'm writing. I'll tend to resume distribution tomorrow. I'll enjoy Henry's football practices. I will read other people's words. I will celebrate the patience of laundry and ironing - they wait so nicely. Today, I'm reveling in the time I get to spend with my family walking to school or the grocery.  But, most importantly, I'm keeping the promise I made to myself to write. And I'm remembering that life is about grace - with ourselves and with others.

Life Change 2.0

Tomorrow marks exactly two years ago that we pulled out of Clemson and headed toward Vancouver, BC. It has been two years of learning, soaking in, stretching and trusting; our lives are richer for it. It's far different than August 26, 2013 - I'm starting the day thinking not only about  myself and worrying for my family, but looking to find new ways to stretch ourselves since we've gotten comfortable here. We're counting down to the start of school - familiar with the building's layout, looking forward to reconnecting with friends. Philip's role at work has morphed into its next phase - he knows the ins and outs of the offices here and he's looking for new ways to grow professionally. I'm looking for a part-time job - ready for an outlet that plugs me into a world different from full-time mom and household CEO. In short, normal has come to the place that was foreign two years ago.

When we visited Clemson this summer, we were outsiders - not that people weren't wonderfully welcoming and not that we weren't thrilled to reconnect. But the landscape had changed. Our neighborhood, while very similar, was different. Restaurants had closed, landmarks had been modified, roads closed, new folks had moved into town whom we had never met. It felt very different than when we left because we'd not been present for the gradual shifts. And we brought with us a sense of home in a faraway land where we'd built life for two years - two years that have seen changes in us as individuals we couldn't articulate or print on a t-shirt. We're different - but not. Defining this phenomenon is like trying to bottle a cloud. It's a dizzying, ethereal, amorphous blob of personality + life with a generous helping of cultural and personal influences. And since we're in the midst of it, I don't know that we even fully understand - seems that hindsight will be the great illuminator of what these two years have done to and for us.

What I do know is this: today I'm really glad that Philip and I decided to live as tourists in our new hometown. This is one life hack we're going to carry with us no matter where the wind takes us next. We've managed to squeeze more living into these last two years than we did during all of our time in Clemson. It's bizarre to consider when we lived in Clemson for eight years and stayed busy for most of those years. The difference is we seek new experiences - looking for ways to broaden our library of participation. I never would have considered we'd be able to say we'd visited a cheese rolling competition or the Quidditch World Cup or the FIFA Women's World Cup or acres and acres of tulips. Two years into this living intentionally thing doesn't see us with great stores of financial wealth or a huge house or a fancy car - but we've got stories to tell - grand stories of adventure and pushing against the bounds of our comfort zones. We're eager to drink up more.

On this second anniversary of our leaving the South, I'm nostalgic. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes as I think of family and friends we left behind and grieve the waning of relationships I'd thought would be lifelong. But those same tears that prickle are also tears of wonder about how far we've come, gratitude for new relationships that have percolated, and celebration of the ties that bind it all together. What joy to live into the next two years with my best friend and confidant and our children! We've come a long way, baby, and I'm excited to see where the road takes us next.

Year in Review

Butchart Gardens

Loved this haircut! What a difference a year makes!

Butchart Gardens - Japanese Garden - the kids' favorite place!

Coastal Victoria

Fall in Coal Harbor - beautiful

Pumpkin Patch fun

 

Tulip Festival

Home

Family Time Coast to Coast - Othello Tunnels

LOVED having mama and daddy and Aunt Rhonda visit

Uncle Paul came to town!

Dear friends

Some good time in the woods - hiking to the train wreck near Whistler

Catherine came to visit too!

Was GREAT to have cousins come out - and sport their Clemson gear

East Coast family time this summer - 2015

The Canada Trail - 2015

Looking ahead with grand anticipation to what's next...

There's Something About a Beach

Carolina Moon

va·ca·tion

vāˈkāSH(ə)n,vəˈkāSH(ə)n/

noun

1. 1.

   NORTH AMERICAN

   an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.

   "he took a vacation in the south of France"

   synonyms:

   break, time off, recess, leave, leave of absence, furlough, sabbatical,spring break
2. 2.

   the action of leaving something one previously occupied.

   "his marriage was the reason for the vacation of his fellowship"

We've just returned from two weeks of vacation. I realize I've used the word vacation for my entire life without really asking its formal definition. I love words, and today I remedied my naivete and my imagination was sparkled by the clinical way in which Google defines va-ca-tion. The first definition above describes my head space for these near 40 years, but the second definition - it gets to the heart of these two weeks. Our "extended period of recreation...away from home...in traveling" worked out, in reality, to be a literal tour of homes - where we "actively left something [we] previously occupied". Upon leaving our Vancouver home, we traveled to the home of my teenage years, the second home of our marriage, Henry's childhood home, Lydia's birthplace, the current home of my parents and sister. We visited with Philip's parents and gave our roots space to stretch and dig deeper into the land of their planting. We traveled from Vancouver, our home in every way right now, and returned to family and all things familiar - greeting them in a new way. For the first time since our move I felt the chapter of our family's life in Clemson is tangibly closed - it's bittersweet. South Carolina is forever our home and there's no question of the firm foundation of our roots in that place, but I realize today that our roots have compelled us to test our wings and see where they may carry us. I'm grateful. I'm also aware of what the term 'has-been' feels like - that's what we are - life has moved on, as it should; while Clemson is part of our story and we'll always be part of its, we're old news. It's not a bad thing - we are living in our present, not confined to but shaped by our past. This notion of living in the moment is hard for me as I'm always planning toward what's next, robbing myself of the treasure of embracing the right now. In Vancouver, we don't know what's next - at all. And so I'm forced to focus on the right now; a cosmic reminder that I'm hard headed. 

Boating with cousins/friends on Lake Hartwell with Clemson's Death Valley in the background

Loving on Nana

We left Clemson and traveled the familiar route to Charleston, South Carolina - the home of Philip's university experience, the home where we met, the first home of our marriage and Henry's birthplace. The roads were familiar, we visited old favorites, we reconnected with friends with whom we've stayed in touch since we lived there 15+ years ago. Our home for the week was the beach - Folly Beach [its very name forcing us to let go of our own seriousness]. There's something about a beach; its constant seabreeze has a way of muting cell phones, busy minds and the frenetic. Rhythmic waves create a conscious hypnosis while heavy salt air makes naps a necessity and makes anxieties disappear. Fine sand serves to exfoliate the soul - gently removing attachments to anything not life-giving and smoothing any edges that have become too sharp. We shared our week with people who mean the most to us - parents, siblings, cousins and longtime friends. Television lost its allure in comparison to the ocean, storytelling and game nights. Emails ceased to have a voice. Stars seemed brighter and the moon was full. Living was the focus. 

 

Folly on Folly Beach

We rode by the house where brought Henry home from the hospital and were happy to see that it still looked like a home. It's clearly loved. We went back to Philip's alma mater and he shared stories of his life before any of us had come into it. We explored downtown Charleston and listened as our stories there intermingled with stories of revolutionaries from eras past. We celebrated the gifts of forgiveness and grace born of recent tragedy as we paid our respects at the Mother Imanuel AME Church - our souls were nourished by voices we never personally heard. We reconnected with people whose voices are interwoven with our own. We woke up each morning in the presence of three generations - generations connecting families who had never previously intermingled until some serendipitous meeting led to marriages, children and a story being written still. Serendipity drove the agenda. Lydia reconnected with friends she'd had since birth - they played in the salty water and the sand, picking up where they'd left off two years ago. We sat under umbrellas eating fried shrimp and hushpuppies; laughing about common experiences and telling tales of times long past while toasting one another and our stories. It was holy communion at its finest.

Visiting The Citadel

Because who doesn't want to chat with a giant frog?

Old friends reconnecting on the beach

Fun times with Daddy

Cooking dinner with Uncle Rich and Trey

Uno after Aunt Em curled her hair - ooh la la

Apples to Apples with Mimi

Poker - Papa taught us :)

Even being in a dungeon doesn't dim the smiles of being together

Signing the Declaration of Independence at The Old Exchange Building and Provost Dungeon

Exploring the USS Yorktown

Last Night at the Beach - dinner at Bowen's Island

Saturday led us back to Clemson by another way - circuitously following two lane, country roads as the interstate transformed into a parking lot. Little southern towns beckoned us to stop in their rural gas stations and enjoy their boiled peanuts, their sweet tea. We obliged. And so began farewells - farewell to the beach where we'd sought refuge to let go so we could get a better hold. We said goodbye to Philip, sending him back to Vancouver. We enjoyed visits, tho they were all too brief, with dear friends from every piece of our lives. We caught up feverishly, feeling the pressure only time can exert. And then we said goodbye again. All too soon the time came for the kids and me to return to Vancouver - vacation coming to an end. On the 4.5 hour leg of the plane ride back I watched The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Maggie Smith's character captured my thoughts precisely, "There is no such thing as an ending; just a place where you leave the story". And it occurred to me we had our intent backwards all along. We had gone to the beach to temporarily let go so we could get a better hold on life, but in reality, we got a lot better hold through the act of letting go - allowing our story to turn the page without keeping our fingers in the pages we've already read/written. Our life as a family is richer in Vancouver because we've left the story in Charleston and Clemson, accepting that we now make guest appearances in those places. Home, as it turns out, is transient for our family - ripe with emotions, ripe with relationships. One day we will vacate the story of Vancouver for yet another home - our story richer for our time here among those whom we hold dear in this place.

This girl LOVES her some boiled peanuts - a southern delicacy

Building with cousins (admitting they were building weapons somehow takes away from the nostalgia, but that's really what they were doing...)

Cousins no matter where we live

South Carolina sunset