Hidey Wholes

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“Hello darkness, my old  friend

I’ve come to talk with you again”

                                    –Paul Simon, The Sounds of Silence

 

Our fifty pound puppy Max is trampling through this old house at the speed of sound.  The floors groan in protest at such slip shod treatment.  Down the stairs and around two corners and he dives for his hidey hole—plunk…. plop. The space that once fit his so nicely, underneath our dining room buffet, now forces him to scrunch down low to enter.  But once there, he sprawls and stretches to match his entire length and width to the confines of his hidey hole.  He is safe from the torments of his world, which mostly come from his sister Maddie.  And within the sounds of silence, he falls asleep as his head rests on the floor.

 

Like Max, I retreat to catch my breath, to release dark thoughts and to breathe in the aroma of fresh possibilities.  When I empty myself, it gives God room to work a miracle, maybe not overnight, but over the space of my life.  Breath by breath, I work to quiet the riots fighting for attention in the streets of my mind.  I expel the darkness so it no longer eats away at my soul.  Nightly examen is a refuge against the goblins of the night.  And it helps me see those sneaky solutions that come by special delivery, from an angel of light tapping me on the shoulder.   

 

As I write this, two of my friends are seeking asylum from the dark cares of their world.  One has packed up her two cats and a pile of books to go sit out by a river that runs near her country cabin.  Another runs with music in her ear and the wind in her face. As she runs, I envision her becoming lighter than air, as the weight of anxiety and troubles lag far behind. 

 

I’ve written both friends this week to let them know they are not alone in their cares.  The words I normally devote to this blog were offered yesterday to the friend who runs.  I needed her to know that I was cheering her on from the sidelines, just as if she were running the Boston Marathon, because the kind of trouble she faces may not be solved with a quick sprint.  And after she empties from all her running, I invited her to surround herself with all that makes her most whole.  As I always do, I invited my dear friend to breathe.

 

“Breathe dear friend.  Breathe in the aroma of the living God—breathe in the fragrance of spring grass and flowers and salty ocean air.  Run barefoot on the sandy beach and let the water lap around your ankles.  Let the breeze caress your face and dry your tears.  And know that God is not “up there somewhere’ but as close as the air you breathe, that fills your lungs and rests around your heart.”

 

Through the sounds of silence, healing will find both of us… as well as my other friend who sits by a running river and Max who rests under the buffet.  Wholeness will come to those who wait, even in dark hidey holes.   

Running on Empty

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‘I’m running on empty’ was once how I described my life.  Mid-week through my Ignatius prayers, I no longer believe this was true.  Instead, I was running on the gas of success.

 

Back when the boys were still toddlers, I broke my  life like a wishbone between graudate school and my fast-paced career.  In theory, my family received leftovers; but in reality where it counts, my work ambitions as a senior tax executive absorbed the best of the rest.  I craved success like a crack addict craves their next high.  And because my work additction was knotted up with my shaky self-esteem, I couldn’t seem to break free of it.    

 

My first step toward ‘sobriety’ came when my husband’s career intervened with the first of many overseas trips.  Before leaving town, my husband left me a detailed written schedule of the children’s weekly activities – the soccer practices and games, the Cub Scout activities, etc.  I needed this cheat sheet because I had effectively delegated the family to my husband, in the same way I had delegated work to my staff and outside consultants.   

 

A few days into my new life and role, I began keeping a journal.  Re-reading the entries today made my eyes water as I relived again those days of young family.  The pages witness to the normal everyday life that the kids and I enjoyed:  we spent evenings at home doing puzzles, watching movies, going through home readers and subtraction cards; we ate dinners together, usually fast-food we picked up on the way home from daycare.  We had fallen into a rhythm of family, with both boys falling asleep in my bed and me falling in love with the idea of more time at home.

 

Within two months, I had relinquished my title along with the ambitions and stress in favor of a part-time staff position that allowed me to pick up the kids after school and cook dinner.  My friend Dianne was midwife to my new life – by listening and planting seeds of advice, she offered hope that a more balanced life was possible.  And my husband was there to support me every step of the way — I now laugh that we made this major life choice from an airport pay phone, during my layover between an east coast-west coast business trip.

 

I recognized the importance of this life event while it was happening.  But, until now, I had not recalled that it was also the point when I began writing my life.  I  had spent years chasing after life – pursuing the trappings and the glitter – the big home, the corner office the large salary and never-ending ambition for more.   But in those two weeks while my husband was overseas, I learned life is not somewhere over the rainbow, where you chase your dreams until your running on empty down the yellow brick road.  But rather that life dwells in the everyday.  And it was there where I found subjects worth writing about.  And still do.  Because if you blink instead of write, you’ll lose them forever.    

Gal Pals

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Colleen, Dianne, Donna, Joni and me.  We were twenty-something when we met.  The five of us were just beginning our accounting careers.  And though we didn’t know it then, we were still growing up.

Many of our life lessons were learned at Arthur Andersen & Co–what some called ‘Uncle Arthur’ but most simply knew as ‘AA’—back when it was still an elite international public accounting firm, back before Enron blew up and the firm closed its trademarked double doors forever.  By that time, we’d all parted ways with the famous doors—but thankfully, we had the wisdom to hold on to each other.   

We all wore our carbon copy ‘dress-for-success’ business suits, but beneath it all, we were and remain as different as five women could be.    

Colleen – gorgeous and sweet.  She made men swoon in the halls of AA and one in particular, lucky enough to be Joni’s good friend.  Colleen and Dan now live together in paradise, thanks to Cupid-Joni, where Colleen views life through a poet’s eye… and the lens of her camera.  

Dianne – more than a bit on the wild side.  She broke the CPA mold when she entered the starched button-down accounting profession.  Daring and bold, she speaks aloud what other’s don’t dare to think, which serves her well in her incredibly successful business.  She is the proverbial preacher’s kid with the stories to prove it, the kind that curl a person’s toes.     

Donna – Mrs. Conservative, with a capital C, the Matron of Honor at my wedding.  She’s the down-to-earth mother figure of whatever accounting kingdom she rules.  She is comfortable with herself and others are confortable in her presence.  All this mothering makes her a worry wart, but she releases it to the world when she says, “Jiminy”.   

Joni— she’s articulate, funny and full of southern charm and poise.  When Joni walks into a room, it comes to attention.  She can spin a yarn and read her audience effortlessly.  She’s a force to be reckoned with – she went eye-to-eye with an OU football player she thought had made her daughter cry.  The other guy blinked.

So there you have them – sugar, spice and everything nice — the pretty one, the wild side, mother earth and our very own steel magnolia.  And then there’s me.  I’m the quiet one.  I listen.  And maybe someday, I’ll write it all down. 

Every few years we convene at some nice locale to talk into the wee hours of the morning.  We laugh at our shared past which keeps us all grounded.    We talk about our joys and our troubles.  We’ve seen each other through divorces, re-marriages, illness, career challenges, and the forever humbling, pull-your-hair-out times of raising teen-aged girls.  When one has the wind knocked out of her sails, another will remind her to breathe.  We are and always will midwife each other’s troubles.  And before we part ways, we encourage one another to reach for the stars — or at least to take ‘one small step’ out of our individual comfort zones.

We’re talking about inviting our nine daughters to our next reunion.  Can you imagine fourteen gal pals talking into the wee hours of the morning?  Sounds like good listening.