Comfort and Prayers -

My dad's in a precarious spot right now - his health is not holding. Prayers of comfort, both for him and my mom would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks -

Proofreading -

I spend a significant amount of time reading and editing. This summer I've been editing a Business English course. I have to be super-critical about the material I'm reviewing - watching for numbers and numerals, quotation marks, commas, periods, spacing, indents, overuse of words such as that, you, misspelled words, font size, and the list goes on and on.

Then when I read for pleasure - I find myself doing the same thing - Aaaha - found a typo, way too many you's in this paragraph, shouldn't that period be inside the quotation marks? And the list goes on. Often these errors leap off the page at me. In fact, I can read a sentence or paragraph two or three times, if it doesn't make sense the first time, to try and figure out where the error is. I think, "Where was their proofreader/editor?" "Obviously the publisher was sloppy."

This makes me a good teacher, a good editor, but it makes me critical of what I should be enjoying.

I've been thinking about that - It's one thing to be professional, critical, but it's another to be engaged in the content rather than critiquing the content.

In life, this likewise applies. I can be the proofreader, the critical one, looking for, and finding, fault in others, in myself, for that matter. As I've been caring for my father these past 2 weeks, there are plenty of times I have found fault - feeding tube kinked, nurses who didn't respond as quickly as they should have, pain meds that don't do their job, a doctor who was a little too knife happy, a room just a little too cluttered.

I have tried, diligently, this time with my dad and my mom, to, rather than be critical, be compassionate. What am I to learn from this experience? How can I be better because of what I've seen and heard? How can I be honest without being hurtful? Am I asking for too much? Can I be patient with the process? How can I care for others, make this experience good for them?

The response has been amazing, if only to me. Instead of finding fault, I have overlooked mistakes (not ignored, but a choice) and in doing so, have found peace, and ultimately, joy in this journey. And honestly, it's easier - not being the proofreader allows for me to enjoy the surroundings, the message. I'm tired, my eyes are tired of reviewing, I need a rest, I need to do something for enjoyment, but joy has filled my heart. I am not frustrated, not anxious, not upset with the situation, because I have chosen to overlooked the "" that aren't up to my standards, the over use of "that" when "who" would be better, and in doing so, I have been able to focus on the content - Dad and Mom.

Hip-Hip-Hurray!

Lord, by Your grace, 

please replace my critical spirit with 

Your love and compassion for others.

Beggars -

"For behold, Are we not all beggars?"

I see this time and time again working at the hospital, teaching at the university, and in my daily life.

What are you begging for? What do you want so much that you are willing to stand on the street corner, with a sign, and ask a stranger for?

"Don't we all cry out for help and hope and answers to prayers?"

And - one step further - what are you willing to give to a beggar - one who you do not know circumstances, status, need? Can you say you have done all you could?

Seldom do I post something religion specific, but in this I find a connection -

Financial assistance         Space               Generosity             Trouble
Shelter                           Food                 Grades                  Return
Friendship                      Peace                Leniency               Change
Relief                            Care                 Understanding        Water
Forgiveness                    Family              Faith                     Touch
Another minute               Health              More                     Tolerance
Job                                Wealth              Love                     $7.96
Time                              Hope                Mercy                   Chance

Dad - Liminality -

August 2 is my father's birthday; he'll be 84.

On July 27 my father had hip replacement surgery. It has been a week of wondering - will he live, will he die, will he rally, will he diminish, and then - what would he want. He was supposed to leave the hospital for rehab on Thursday. He didn't, and complications due to, well, stuff, mean he may, or may not, leave the hospital this next week.

It has been a liminal week - where the routines get lost in the "crisis at hand." My family is great when dealing with crisis - we know the business. We know how to drop the every day and move into motion to deal with the "event." Priorities are dropped, what was important is no longer, and what filters to the top is typically family - not nails, not swimming, not webinars, not concerts, not . . . He's not dead; he's certainly not among the living; and we're "not sure" what is next. We're all in that liminal space - in fact, a hospital is a clear example of liminality - waiting, wondering, waiting. To patients - crisis; to staff - work, every day, same thing.

July 2010, Dad, my sister, Sheri (one of those who cleared her calendar and stayed).

There are 7 of us kids, 3 of us daughters live nearby, and we have juggled home, work, family, to spend time with Mom and Dad - because both of them are in crisis.

We've had frank talks, we've laughed, we've been angry, we've talked about dying, living, last wishes, goals, and we've filtered the news from the doctors and hospital staff to our other siblings, family, friends.

It's been a circus - but one we're very comfortable with being a part of. An observer, this week, said, "Looks like you've done this before." I said, "Well, does living in the hospitality industry - whether for profit or pleasure, count? Does being an entrepreneur count? Does being an event planner count?" Because see, we know how to plan, how to shuffle, how to deal with the minutia and the grandiose, in a relatively calm fashion. It's in our genes - in our upbringing - in our makeup as Walkers and as Mormons. We know how to serve one another, how to get outside of ourselves, how to let others be in the limelight while being the messenger.

August 2 is my father's birthday - August 3 - we'll cross that bridge tomorrow. One. day. at. a. time.

About Bread - and Friendship

More than 30 years ago I found this poem, and I had a friend write it in calligraphy, I framed it, and I gave it to my mom (who is an amazing bread maker). It's been off her wall for awhile, and I haven't been able to internet search it and find it. However, the phrase, "Be gentle when you touch bread, let it not lie uncared for, unwanted," has rolled around in my mind for many years. I was looking for an apron in my mother's linen closet the other day, and because she throws nothing that has sentimental value away, there this was, propped up on its side, in the corner of a shelf. 

Be gentle when you touch bread
Let it not lie uncared for--unwanted
So often bread is taken for granted
There is so much beauty in bread
Beauty of sun and soil, beauty of honest toil
Winds and rain have caressed it,
Christ often blessed it
Be gentle when you touch bread.

I was happy to see the poem, and then Googling it, I found it online. Oh well, the time was now for me to find the entire piece. 

My heart is sad this morning over a broken friendship. One that was nurtured, torn, and forging a new pattern, but one that could not move from the past into the present. Good-byes were sharp, doors slammed, honest words opened old wounds, and no amount of caressing right now, can heal. 

Be gentle with life, with family, with friends, with relationships. 
Let them not go uncared for - 
So often those we love are taken for granted.
There is so much beauty in caring
Beauty of kindling, nurturing, proofing, beauty of honest toil
Good and bad have caressed them
Christ has blessed them
Be gentle when you touch a friend - 

Owls - Western Screech Owl -

An owl has taken up residency in a tree in our backyard. A juvenile Western Screech Owl, to be exact. It spends about 4 out of 7 days in our tree, flying away at night (nocturnal, hunters). This morning Scott and I woke to a bundle of birds screeching in our backyard. I walked out, and a Bluejay was in the same tree just a screaming at the owl. The Bluejay headed to our shed, perched there and squawked. The Jay left, the Owl remained.

Native American lore states that owls are the harbingers of bad news, typically death, and owls are to be avoided. Owl feathers are not to be used in cleansing ceremonies, because they cannot rid the human body of bad energy. Hearing owls hoot is considered bad luck. They are said to give supernatural warnings, particularly as messengers of death. 

In European mythology owls symbolize wisdom, deeper knowledge. An owl is seen as a keeper of souls, often the transporter of souls from earth life to spirit life. Because of its nocturnal nature, it brings secrets, sacred information, and pure energy to its realm. 

Last fall I saw an amazing Great Horned Owl outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, right at dusk. It flew directly at the passenger window, me, looked right at me, pierced my soul, and flew away. 

I felt this owl was giving me a message, a gift - the gift was to celebrate the dark times, gain wisdom from my "evening" travels, and listen. 

This young owl in our backyard (we're naming it Archimedes) has energy similar to the Autumnal owl. It's yellow eyes are penetrating, but not invasive. It brings peace - saying explore the dark times (just as it does), don't be afraid to hunt for what you want, and be at peace in the chaos (our yard is not always quiet, yet it rests). 

I like that. I like this owl. It beats all other animals that have resided in my yard (all uninvited, but welcomed). 

Here's to all that is dark - yet good, looking up, and sifting through the obvious (trees and branches and leaves) to find the gems. 

G'Night -

Pioneers - Mom - Sisters - Authenticity -

Had lunch with my half of my Walker sisters and all of my Walker mom at Sundance this week. 

A beautiful place with gorgeous women. 

Thinking of Pioneer Day, July 24, and the gratitude I have for the women in my life. 

I come from pioneer heritage - women and men who crossed the United States in search of a place where they could live their truth, landing in Utah and Idaho. 

No wonder I am continuously in search of my own authenticity. 

Being true to self is extraordinarily important to me. 

The women below understand the concepts of respect, caring, understanding, support, and space. 

I love them all - and miss, like crazy, my sisters who are not in this photo. 

Happy day - 

Maria, mom of 6, grandma, special needs educator and advocate.
Alice, mom of 7, grandma, great-grandma. Expert in fishes and loaves, accounting, caregiving . . .
Vicki, mom of 4, mother-baby nurse and charge nurse.
Me
Sheri, mother of 3, art educator, artist. 

When pioneers moved to the West,. With courage strong they met the test. 

They pushed their handcarts all day long,. And as they pushed they sang this song. 

For some must push and some must pull, as we go walking up the hill,

 and merrily on our way we go, until we reach the valley - o.