Vacation Thoughts
I'm home from two weeks in So. Cal.; Long Beach, Chino, Disneyland, then back up the coast, Cambria, Santa Cruz, and home. I ate too much rich food, drank a bit more than usual, got one sunburn, and had a truly good time. In fact, coming back to our hot sierra house is something of a shock (even at my elevation, it's probably 90 today and we have no air conditioning).
Our dogs are still here; our friend who dog sat seemed to do a fine job though I can't believe how dirty our house is, much of it from before we left of course. Deep cleaning required.
I'm teaching one summer class online to pay for sailing and other fun and with the house as messy as it is and so many house projects looming, June nearly over already, I have less time to reflect here than I'd like. Perhaps later this week.
I have lots to reflect on.
For on, I am astounded to say this, I had a nearly ocd free vacation. Sure I had some anxiety; I rode that giant sun roller coaster at California Adventure and nearly passed out from terror (something about hanging free like that, moving so slowly, dangling...actually about the hardest exposure work I've ever done). But stuck in the obsessive loop...not really, very little. My wife had the best time we've ever had with family, maybe with each other, kayaking, going to the theme park, and eating and eating and eating. What an accomplishment this is for me. OCD, unlike depression say, is a chronic condition. It's not like I could ever go this long without being stuck in the obsessions, yet this is mostly what happened. And that freedom revitalized my relationship with my wife. What a thing to say, to write; I experienced two whole weeks without suffering from something I've suffered with almost all my life in one way or another, and all I can do is write the sentence. I know the reasons, which is all the better, and will get them up here when I can. Therapy, of course, made the difference.
We also went to a dear friend's wedding, and you know what, we both looked hot, my old self included in that. I write that because of the post below. Looks appear to fade in cycles, I guess.
I do have these wierd red bumps on my hands and feet that showed up yesterday or the day before. If they're still around tomorrow I'll call my doc., but I'm doing my best not to catastrophize into terror...truly, what's the worst it could be? Probably an allergic reaction or some kind of minor infection.
What else?
We visited the little Episcopal parish in Cambria and felt very welcomed. The readings that day were full of sea themes, Jesus' calming of the storm and the almost identical imagery from Psalms (yes, all the questions went through my head). There was something almost Moby Dick-ish (when was the last time I saw that adjective?) about staying in a room right on the sea, on Moonstone beach itself, and then going to church and hearing readings and a sermon full of sea and sailing imagery, in a house-sized church shrouded in sea fog (drawn in from the baking central valley), bowing to a processional cross decorated with stones from the local shore-sand? I would like to write an entire blog on those readings, but it's on my list of things to get to.
Oh that we had a housecleaner.
I even had one of those light-house moments in church, a sense that I would know, when the time came, whether to go deacon or priest. Or neither, I suppose; but at the time I simply felt I'd know which of those two I was called to do. Called. I don't even believe in a 'calling;' I figure I just need to discover my skills and apply them in the church. But there it was. Brief, but bracing and pure. I may still teach English all my life, but it was a nice moment. I simply hope I live a normal lifespan so I can do and enjoy the things I could not enjoy or do my first forty years.
I drove down the street I grew up on in Lakewood. It looked so small, so tiny, tiny small, that it felt surreal. The house I grew up in looks pretty good, though, which I'm glad for. After my mother left my father let it go Pap Finn and I was ashamed to be there. It seems someone has put money into it, probably from its own booming equity since we moved out in 1980.
Oh, 1980. I have a good friend, Funkiller, who took me on a tour of the high school I attended. That alone is worth a blog or more than one. I sat down in the sacred faculty lounge for the first time and told the story of the faculty member, my mentor and friend, who played cards in that lounge every day (and still does, one year to go) who hit on my 18 year old girlfriend and confused her enough that she broke up with me after more than three years together. Funkiller had never heard the story, and it was empowering, mystically so, to share it in that location.
More healing. If there's one great thing about an awful childhood and young adulthood, it's that you get to spend the rest of your time alive breaking through and healing. May God direct it all to some higher service. May my suffering help others in some way.
And may justice thrive on this earth.
On that note, I see that the Episcopal church has selected a female presiding bishop, one who wants complete inclusion for gay church members. I don't know enough about homosexuality to take a position (but note Sandalstraps recent post) but I do know enough about the bible to not scramble there for my chapter and verse. In short, I support her selection and her view on gay clergy and church members. I'm certainly supportive of women in ministry. I remember when that used to cool my blood; women and gays in minstry! Chilled my fundamentalist blood. The idea horrofied me and I had all the right answers.
Fact is, I didn't know a damned thing about the bible as a whole or human nature. I believe I learn slowly.
I don't know what else to write here, throwing up sketches as I am, snippets without development or form. But I wanted to let those who read (hi my loyal four!) that I'm okay, more than okay, and if God and luck and whatever else determines these things allows me continued health and time my intimacy with my wife will only grow, my sense of peace become real, my knowledge of my role in the Body only build.
This is all I have time for, fresh from unloading the car.
Be well all. Peace and grace. More to come when I have time.
t
Our dogs are still here; our friend who dog sat seemed to do a fine job though I can't believe how dirty our house is, much of it from before we left of course. Deep cleaning required.
I'm teaching one summer class online to pay for sailing and other fun and with the house as messy as it is and so many house projects looming, June nearly over already, I have less time to reflect here than I'd like. Perhaps later this week.
I have lots to reflect on.
For on, I am astounded to say this, I had a nearly ocd free vacation. Sure I had some anxiety; I rode that giant sun roller coaster at California Adventure and nearly passed out from terror (something about hanging free like that, moving so slowly, dangling...actually about the hardest exposure work I've ever done). But stuck in the obsessive loop...not really, very little. My wife had the best time we've ever had with family, maybe with each other, kayaking, going to the theme park, and eating and eating and eating. What an accomplishment this is for me. OCD, unlike depression say, is a chronic condition. It's not like I could ever go this long without being stuck in the obsessions, yet this is mostly what happened. And that freedom revitalized my relationship with my wife. What a thing to say, to write; I experienced two whole weeks without suffering from something I've suffered with almost all my life in one way or another, and all I can do is write the sentence. I know the reasons, which is all the better, and will get them up here when I can. Therapy, of course, made the difference.
We also went to a dear friend's wedding, and you know what, we both looked hot, my old self included in that. I write that because of the post below. Looks appear to fade in cycles, I guess.
I do have these wierd red bumps on my hands and feet that showed up yesterday or the day before. If they're still around tomorrow I'll call my doc., but I'm doing my best not to catastrophize into terror...truly, what's the worst it could be? Probably an allergic reaction or some kind of minor infection.
What else?
We visited the little Episcopal parish in Cambria and felt very welcomed. The readings that day were full of sea themes, Jesus' calming of the storm and the almost identical imagery from Psalms (yes, all the questions went through my head). There was something almost Moby Dick-ish (when was the last time I saw that adjective?) about staying in a room right on the sea, on Moonstone beach itself, and then going to church and hearing readings and a sermon full of sea and sailing imagery, in a house-sized church shrouded in sea fog (drawn in from the baking central valley), bowing to a processional cross decorated with stones from the local shore-sand? I would like to write an entire blog on those readings, but it's on my list of things to get to.
Oh that we had a housecleaner.
I even had one of those light-house moments in church, a sense that I would know, when the time came, whether to go deacon or priest. Or neither, I suppose; but at the time I simply felt I'd know which of those two I was called to do. Called. I don't even believe in a 'calling;' I figure I just need to discover my skills and apply them in the church. But there it was. Brief, but bracing and pure. I may still teach English all my life, but it was a nice moment. I simply hope I live a normal lifespan so I can do and enjoy the things I could not enjoy or do my first forty years.
I drove down the street I grew up on in Lakewood. It looked so small, so tiny, tiny small, that it felt surreal. The house I grew up in looks pretty good, though, which I'm glad for. After my mother left my father let it go Pap Finn and I was ashamed to be there. It seems someone has put money into it, probably from its own booming equity since we moved out in 1980.
Oh, 1980. I have a good friend, Funkiller, who took me on a tour of the high school I attended. That alone is worth a blog or more than one. I sat down in the sacred faculty lounge for the first time and told the story of the faculty member, my mentor and friend, who played cards in that lounge every day (and still does, one year to go) who hit on my 18 year old girlfriend and confused her enough that she broke up with me after more than three years together. Funkiller had never heard the story, and it was empowering, mystically so, to share it in that location.
More healing. If there's one great thing about an awful childhood and young adulthood, it's that you get to spend the rest of your time alive breaking through and healing. May God direct it all to some higher service. May my suffering help others in some way.
And may justice thrive on this earth.
On that note, I see that the Episcopal church has selected a female presiding bishop, one who wants complete inclusion for gay church members. I don't know enough about homosexuality to take a position (but note Sandalstraps recent post) but I do know enough about the bible to not scramble there for my chapter and verse. In short, I support her selection and her view on gay clergy and church members. I'm certainly supportive of women in ministry. I remember when that used to cool my blood; women and gays in minstry! Chilled my fundamentalist blood. The idea horrofied me and I had all the right answers.
Fact is, I didn't know a damned thing about the bible as a whole or human nature. I believe I learn slowly.
I don't know what else to write here, throwing up sketches as I am, snippets without development or form. But I wanted to let those who read (hi my loyal four!) that I'm okay, more than okay, and if God and luck and whatever else determines these things allows me continued health and time my intimacy with my wife will only grow, my sense of peace become real, my knowledge of my role in the Body only build.
This is all I have time for, fresh from unloading the car.
Be well all. Peace and grace. More to come when I have time.
t
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