“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived.”

-Henry David Thoreau

Today we get on plane and leave Copenhagen, our ex-pat home for the last 2 1/2 years.  We left our community in Seattle for adventure. To learn to live in new and wider ways. To watch our children become world citizens. And to take in countries on a continent that was not our own.

Little did we know it would be such a challenge.

Copenhagen has become to me what my Jewish ancestors call and Omer, an in-between time. In my internal narrative it has become a long pause between our “old” life in The Densmore House and our “next” life in The DensmoreHouse, seen now with new eyes. Our life here has been a long metaphysical Winter followed of late by an extended emotional Spring. I recently said to my fellow ex-pat friends, Katie and Kate, “Life in Denmark has certainty had it’s gooey caramel center, but it was surround by a big ball of steamed spinach.” Perhaps not the most appetizing of metaphors, but accurate nonetheless.

Here, in the middle of a  physically and culturally chilly climate  we have undergone a metamorphosis. Old ways of living – too rushed, to0 obligated, too angsty– have ebbed. And a new pace of family and community life has emerged. Along with this, I have come to find that I am no longer afraid of my work. And above all, the pain that plagued me for so many years has decreased in volume. Through struggle, through waiting, through the taking of  the next step these things have come to pass in Copenhagen. Sometimes because of the place, and sometimes in spite of it. No matter. The point is, we have shed our illness. We are ready to emerge. To bloom. To blossom.

We are ready to ripen and pluck. To live a slower and more creative life. To be close to few, rather than available to many. To grow sugar-snap peas and to raise chickens. To move only as fast as our bodies can take us. To live in our dream house without the obligations that do not belong to us. To make a life with David and Barbi, with Jen and Paul — mashing all our children together into a happy clan. To sit at the table with Jenn. To meet people in real life, who before have only lived on our glowing screens. To let some people live a bit further away, but to keep others close.

We are ready to relish in the food we eat. To dress like ourselves. To have the secret of mysterious language, but to speak our most native tongue.

We are returning, but we are not going back. We are getting born.

…in which I lay out a plan to remain car free. with kids. in America. And not jut because it’ green. (It’s good soulcare!)

Neato Things Rachelle Mentions in this video.

• No one wears lycra in Copenhagen. Check out Cycle Chic , especially the category “cycling in furs.” Plus, they have a great tag line “Hold my bike while I kiss your girlfriend.”
• Zip Car : for the places the bus and bike can’t reach.
• Super Cool Cargo Bike by Madsen. If we make it thru our first year car-free in Seattle, we may get one of these  with a StokeMonkey motor.
• The only step thru electric bike I’ve found. Not as cute as my beautiful Amsterdam classic from Electra with Queen Bee saddlebags. Vanity Jones here is hoping she can just add a motor to her baby.

Today’s Artisan: Ten Things

• Visit Danish artisan Julie K. from Moments of Perfect Clarity  and shop for some  Clarity Birds.
• Don’t forget — all my art is packed on a ship for two month. So send me present from your hand-made artisan products and I’ll chant your praises in an upcoming video post at at Magpie Girl.

Rachelle Mee-Chapman
2311 N 45th St, #203
Seattle, WA 98103

And the questions we need YOU to answer (pretty please!)

Give us a Q for any of these A’s and enter to win a Clarity Bird for your very own window sill.

• What about your transportation life style? Do you have aspirations to do it differently? How have you become less car dependent.
• Present draw: What are you doing to live greener. (Is that a word? Greener?)

Don’t miss your chance to Train with Magpie Girl. Catch all my training posts, watch the video posts, and sign-up on my mailing list for advance sign-up opportunities and special discounts. (Top of the column, stage right.) Thanks for being here!

I’ve been in a funny space lately. After 18 months we are finally on furlough from Copenhagen, Denmark and are able to come “home” for awhile to Seattle, Washington. This means big reunions with family and friends, lots of cocktails and laughter, and a fare amount of disorientation.

My Facebook quiz for “Which Mental Disorder are You” brought up “bipolar” — to which I say “No doi!” I’m really feeling my tendency to swing between polar opposites as I spend the summer alternating between a happy sense of belonging, and a disquieting sense of displacement. I’m shuttling between Seattle (for migraine treatments) and Hartsine Island (my parent’s retreat) so my bag is always packed and my head has seen many different pillows. I don’t have a regular sleep schedule; my meals are extraordinarily ad hoc;  and at one point I had to brush my teeth in the car using  the watered-down leftover diet coke for a rinse. Yes, I am a vagabond.

All this joy and confusion has got me to wondering: “What are the core things I know about myself?” In the face of expectations from family and friends, what do I know to be true? Furthermore, what do their response to my presence tell me about myself? So here’s *8Things I Know for Sure About Moi.

1. People like me, they really like me. It’s been so touching to have everyone receive me with open arms; confess that they secretly kindasorta hoped Paul would get laid off so we could return to the States early; and make ticks on a cocktail napkin to start counting down the days until we are back for keeps. Some how I never really got it before. Thanks peeps!

2. I really do create community wherever I go. I always doubted if there was a real “there there” amongst my community-building efforts. But yesterday my darling neighbor Barbie drove some reality home when she told me, “You never know how things are going to be in advance, you know? But this street just isn’t the same without you.”

3. I am getting stronger. My health was really in the crapper when I got here, but if I can keep going relatively pain-free with all this wacky sleep and these long drives, then I MUST be getting healthier.

4. I Like Working. My vocational calling as a writer/teacher/community builder is very strong right now. I miss writing and coaching while I’m away, but it’s just been too busy for me to get much work in. I’m trying to trust that I can pick up all my series when this trip is over.

5. My health demands life in GranolaVille. Naturopaths, NAET practitioners, treatment massage, and stores that carry gluten-free foods are a must for me. I can’t live in the land of western-only health care. It just doesn’t work.

6. I’m closer to my husband than I thought. Paul and I are not all that mushy-gushy romantic, and I LOVE solitude (see my post on the hermitish life.) So  I didn’t think I’d miss him that much while we are apart for 6 weeks. WRONG!  I totally adore our daily talks and IM’s and feel super confident in our partnership together. (Mwah, Baby!)

7. I can survive without solitude. It’s not easy, but I can get through.

8. I can’t think of one more…why don’t you tell me a true things about me as you see me? Oooo….intriguing!

What are the *8Things I Know for Sure about yourself? What truths help you hold your core? Put them in the comments below, or grab a buttonand play along by putting your permalink in the list below. Thanks for being here!

It’s vacation time—a time when we so often return to a place we’ve once lived, or a holiday spot we love and come to again and again. I’ve recently returned to the States after a year and a half abroad, and I’m finding the reverse culture shock rather intriguing.  So this week’s list is all about the *8Things you experience upon returning to a favorite spot. What is is like when you go to your childhood home? Are there patterns you immediately fall into? (When I walk into my mother’s house, I always have to check the pantry for Oreo cookies, even if I’ve juste aten.) What happens when you return to a favorite vacation spot? (My daemon downloads poetry to me the second I see the sea.) Here are my *8 Signs of Re-Entry:

1. Feeling energized and giddy with the way people dress in my home town. (Jeans under second-hand dresses! Dredlocks! Practical funky shoes! Recycled and re-purposed clothing!)

2. Getting teary because the cashier at the organic co-op chatted with me as she checked me out, and thanked me for bringing my own bags.

3. Smiling giddily just because two teenage girls said, “Oh, sorry!” when they walked in front of me at Target. Ditto with how small children interact with me in the check out lines.

4. Being pleasantly surprised that the smell of fast food joints makes me nauseous and I no longer crave fries.

5. Enjoying driving. (Course, I am borrowing a convertible…)

6. Crying in the produce section of the organic supermarket because, as Catie put it, “Everything in here is like ART Mommy!”

7. Laughing a LOT more, especially with my Mom and Dad, and watching the children laugh, play and just generally have lighter countenances.

8. The deep, satsifying hum of knowing Iwill see someone wonderful, fascinating, and dear to my heart every couple of days as I reconnect with friends.

What *8 Signs of Re-Entrydo you experience on vacation or when you return to some place familiar? List your *8Things in the comments below or grab a button and play along, by adding your post’s permalink in the list below. Thanks for being here!

Cate’s year of adventures, starting with the amusement park Tivoli in Copenhagen.

Dear Catie,

This morning when I woke up I was chewing, chewing, chewing away about what to write to you for this your Number Nine Birthday.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how Mama and Grandpa like to tease you about getting so grown up. I always say, “Catie! Who told you you could grow up so fast!” And Grandpa says you have to stay 8 another year because he missed your Number 8 year while you were in Denmark. (At least he’s “letting” you turn 9 when we celebrate all the cousins’ birthdays next week!)

But you know what Cate? I don’t think it’s very nice of us to tease you so. You are great at every age!

©       We loved you when you were one second old and crying softly in the operating room.

©       We loved you when you were Baby Cate and your tiny little tushy never touched the ground because no one ever wanted to put you down.

©       We loved you when you were a toddler and said such funny things like “I am getting fwusterated” and “I got distwacked” and “That’s ig-GUSTING!” and “I NOT yelling. I cweaming. You know, CWEAMING!!!!”

©       We loved you when you started school and uncovered your Superpower of being the Worlds Friendliest Child.

©       And we love you now when you are still just the right fit for a cuddle, but getting so big and independent as well.

Every age and stage of life is full and good things and challenges. And just because we love your little self so, we shouldn’t make you think there’s not fantastic stuff ahead in your bigger and bigger girl self. Because baby, there is some good stuff waiting for you this year. Nine is just fine!

This year you did so many big kid things! You learned Danish, a language so hard even Mama can’t learn it – yet you speak it like a pro. Danish grownups always say how perfect your accent is! And you’ve made friends from all over the world: Danish pals like Sara and Sidse, Mia from China, and dear, sweet Johanna from Estonia. You get to do a lot more independent things now, like taking the dog out by yourself or riding your bike to the library with Eden. You even get to walk to the train station to meet Daddy for dinner at McDonalds! Woah!  I don’t think I got to do any of that stuff until I was at least 10 – and that was in the old days when kids got to do that stuff younger. You are really doing great on the responsibility thing Cate!

I hope you will always remember your wonderful year of adventures: riding the double-decker bus in London; drawing the David in your sketch book in Italy; learning about old fashioned skole in Sweden; and picking up pebbles from the Berlin Wall in Germany. And don’t forget the Towers and Dome Tour of Europe with Eden and Daddy! I wonder how many steps you three have climbed to get to the top of the world?

I know this birthday summer here on the island with Giggy, Bompa and the cousins is going so fantastic for you. I’m so glad you get to start Year Nine off in such a beautiful place. I hope the peacefulness of this place – the still morning waters, the long glowing sunsets, and the hush of the rustling trees—sinks down deep inside you and fills you up for when times are not-so-easy. And I know you will be filled up to the top with joy as you run around with your sister and cousins: going out in the double kayak with Preston, building forts and hunting for treasure with Noah and Luke, and showing Jilly and Amelia all the best places to find crabs. Not to mention all the fun that is waiting for us still with the big Chapman cousins in Chicago. (Oh, Mommy cannot stand to look when y’all have Danger Adventures with the big boys! “Do you know you are very strong?”)

I love you Cate Shalom, and I’m so proud of my growing-up “Baby Cate.”

Lots of Love,

Mama

Cate loves collage, drawing, cooking, giggling and screaming. She celebrated her birthday with mocktails, sushi, and a Costco cake that could feed approximately 3,000. She is having 5 birthday parties this year in 2 countries, 3 cities, and 4 houses. You can celebrate her for hours here and here.

Just one of many Solstice celebrations, this one at the house on Rockaway Beach. 

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It is not quite 5am and the dark is slowly dimming to reveal pine trees like shadow puppets awaiting the stage. Beyond them the water is still as glass waiting or the faithful northwest kayakers who will slip out at the dawn, leaving a silent wake in their path.

We are finally at my parent’s coastal retreat, Pura Vida, a beautifully appointed home on a tiny island in the Puget Sound. Everyone is asleep, save me, the insomniac with jet lag. But in a place a still and beautiful as this, who can be worried about a few hours of lost slumber? (Beside, the hammock is waiting on the deck below, should sleep come calling in the afternoon.)

The house will not be quiet long as Pura Vida is full of happy grandparents and boisterous children – soon to be joined by more boisterous children and chatty mamas when the cousins arrive. My Irish roots will show big and bold and the gift of gab will be used in full force over the coming weeks as we greet each other in a rush of words and stories. In the happy, overwhelming rush of family reunion, these sleepless quite moments in the early morn will be my hermit-ish ying to the jolly yang of our happy clan. A time to reflect and write, and sooth the frayed edges of a soul worn down by the coldness of life abroad, now stretched to a joyful bursting point by the warmth of familiarity and common bonds.

 Already we have be embraced by the loving arms of people we cherish:  the Curran-Coolmans who took our battered jet-lagged selves into their home so full of art, and story, and affection; the sweet child-like family at BF Day Elementary who jumped up and down to see us all on the sugar-filled high of the last day of school; the colorful chaotic buzz of the artists prepping for Solstice celebrations, awash in paper mache; the affection of our son-adopted-by-affection who apparently “does not get enough love” (hard to believe given the lovely young woman who rarely leaves his side); and the teary embrace of our dear friends Lynette and Dwight who could not possibly have more generous hearts toward we the ornery wanders.

All of that goodness in the first 48 hours—a restorative tonic for the 18 months spent in a culture which barely says “hello.”

And now, seven glorious weeks on the shores of placid sea, listening to the giggles, finding crabs under rocks, plucking oysters off the rocks for our supper, and wondering again why it was that we ever went away.

 Today Brother Sun will shine his goodness down on all of this wonder, creating from his rays the longest, most glorious day of the year. And I will see very dear moment of it, until his Sister the Moon arrives to tucks us in, just so we can rest and begin it all again.

Happy Solstice.

Today’s Ask Magpie question is from Jen Luit of Hollyhouse Studios via Twitter (mine: hers):

“How do you split time between 2 countries? What’s the deal with that? Any why don’t you have anything in your Etsy shop?”

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It is nearly 9pm and the Sun is still holding on to the sky by her fingertips.  After a short nap, she will start creeping up again around 4:00am, when I will dig my sleep mask out from under my pillow and hope my tendency towards insomnia will not be triggered by this unseemly light.

This is one of the things I love most about our Scandinavian life – these long days of light which grace us now, trying so diligently to make up for the 6 hours of half-light that haunt us all winter.

We moved to Denmark in February ’08. Microsoft has an office near Copenhagen and we’ve always want to live in Europe, so Paul lobbied for a transfer.  We were warned that Danish culture is notoriously difficult to break into – sort of like we were warned about how hard it was to raise children. Since at one point we had two kids under 2 years old, I think you can see how good we are at heeding this kind of advice.  So here we are living Life Abroad in Copenhagen, trying our best to avoid acting like “ugly” Americans. (As the saying goes, “In Denmark you are free…free to conform.)  

We still have a house in Seattle, where our 19yo adopted-by-affection still lives.  But I can’t really say “split our time between 2 countries,” since we haven’t been stateside since we left. Our British pals are constantly shocked that we haven’t been “home” in 18months. But once we reminded them that their plane tickets home are $150US and ours are $1,000, they start to get the picture. After a year and a half in Europe, the girls and I will spend seven weeks in Seattle this Summer. (Paul will come for part of it.) While there I’ll spend a small fortune on migraine treatment (blech) and host our first ever Soulsister’s retreat on a beautiful island in the Puget Sound. (yeah!)

I closed my Etsy shop when I left my Seattle studio, but last week I floated an idea for a joint project past  soulsister Jolie Guillebeau, and I’m hoping my sister-in-law’s Magpie necklaces will be sweeping the nation sometime soon. In the meantime, if any of y’all want to go Etsy shopping here’s a little link love:

-Stacy at Bella Wish has these beautiful Taking Flight necklaces, inspired by Kelley Rae Robert’s book. She also offers these beautiful memorial medallions, which I adore.

-Speaking of Kelly Rae, she sells out faster than daylight in Danish winter, but if you like pretty things with soul, do stop by and see what you can lay your hands on.

-Jolie Guillebeau and Rowena Murillo are both a part of our Sacred Commerce experiment. Spread a little love around by ordering from their shops. Jolie will send you a miniature watercolor with her pretty earrings, and Rowena’s Flying Girl prints are whimsical and inspiring.

-And don’t forget today’s Ask Magpie questioneer, Jen Luit, who has loads of cute stuff at Four Corners, including these earth-friendly re-useable lunchbags.

Thanks for helping me get my writing mojo back up and running with Ask Magpie!  ”Ask me a question, I’ll tell you no lies.” See you soon.

Read something at Magpie Girl that’s set you to wonderin’? Ask Magpie in the comments below…

We recently passed the one year mark of life here in Copenhagen. Baring lay-offs, we have a mandatory two-year assignment. But given Paul’s ship cycle, and what he needs to do for and with his team, we’re looking down the barrel of being here at least three years. … Can you tell by my metaphor how I am feeling about this?

For a long time I thought I would get used to being in Denmark. I was eager to live abroad, and I knew from experience that I like learning and living in cultures that are not my own. Plus, my graduate school was very international, and I enjoyed that mixed-culture experience very much. So I’ve been surprised at my inability to adjust to life abroad.

For the past year I’ve been on the “accentuate the positive” bandwagon most days– listing all the things I like about living here and trying to embrace the bits that I enjoy. But the reality is, while I like living outside of the U.S., DK is not the best fit for me.

February in northern winters is by far the hardest month. So much so that at my Seattle college our advisors told the freshmen to “never change your boyfriend, your haircut, or your major in February.” Nonetheless, February is when it struck me that maybe I am not going to come to terms with it. Maybe this is never going to fit right, to become my community, to feel like home.

I was listening to a story on This American Life recently in which the narrator was describing a heated debate between two political opponents. He noticed that the only time the crowd seemed to be experiencing something as a joint experience was when photos of the war were put up on a screen. When that happened stillness filled the room. What he said about this still space was this:

“Forget all the arguments. Let’s just sit by this lake, and try to figure out its name.”

At first I didn’t understand why this phrase was capturing my heart. Then Jena pointed out that the whole story was using the language of struggle and that I have been living in midst of two great struggles: the struggle to live cross-culturally; and the struggle to live with chronic pain. For a long time I’ve thought that there were only two choices about how to respond to these struggles: “Stand and Fight,” or “Lay Down and Die.” But what if there is a third way? What if it involves sitting in the place where stillness pools. What if it involves turning around, looking into the face of loneliness, and saying, “Okay, so you’re here now. Have a seat.” What if it involves—not a frantic search for meaning—but just sitting on a park bench and waiting to see what happens. What if? What if?

I want to step out of the struggle. I want to stop trying to like it here. I want to stop trying to be brave about being in pain. I want to step out of the energy of the struggle, sit by the lake, and see if it will tell me its name.

Delicious Baby’s Photo Friday this week was an ask for travel photos with kids. We’ve are traveling all over Europe with our two grade schoolers and the experience is fantastic. I couldn’t pick just one photo, so I gathered all the kid photos up in one Flickr file here. Most of the photos have a little story attached. Have a bon voyage with us!

Paul stayed up most of the night to watch the votes come in. We woke up the girls at 6am to watch Obama’s acceptance speech.

Hope. A call for shared sacrifice. Hundreds of thousands of people, maybe millions gathering across the U.S. to celebrate. Wow!

Here and here are how it was reported in Denmark (translated version).

Dear World,

We are sorry for the last eight years.
We are working very hard to fix things today.
Wish us luck.

Rachelle

Of all the beautiful churches and temples in Rome, the Pantheon is my absolute favorite. The Pantheon was dedicated to all (pan) the gods (theos) in 27 B.C. and is the only building in Rome to be in continuous use as a place of worship since its inception. (This means it will be celebrating its 1,400 birthday next year.) Like most ancient sites in Italy, the Christian church has managed to remove most of the pagan influences, cannibalizing its copper ceiling and decking out its original spare interior with Renaissance and Baroque madness. Still, I adore the way ancient-to-modern beliefs are layered there, one on top the other, in a dizzying expression of post-modern spirituality. (What I wouldn’t give to plan an alt.worship service here. What do you say Maggi and Paul? Got any contacts?)

For my friends who worship at the altar of science, the dome itself is a mathematical wonder, spanning a distance as high as it is wide (142 feet). It’s the model for the Duomo in Florence, St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, and the White House in Washington D.C. The last time I came to stand under its wonder, the temple was relatively empty, and I could gaze unobstructed at the Pantheon’s most famous pillar — the ray of light shining through the oculus of the dome and extending down to the 1,800 year old marble slabs on the floor. It was raining then and the water flowed through the opening, adding body and shimmer to the column of light. The feeling behind that light-and-water phenomenon was akin to seeing a total eclipse, or spotting Halley’s Comet on its rare path across our visible sky. Priceless.

This visit was different– the temple was busy with throngs of people enjoying the cooler climes of the soft edges of tourist season, and it was noisy with conversation. Still, Catie and I managed to find an empty bench and a relatively peaceful moment. She huddled next to me as we sang Taize chants and the Kyrie in Latin under our breaths. As soon as we finished our short repertoire a choir suddenly appeared in one corner, filling the space with Gregorian chant and showing off the stunning acoustics. Unlike the polite hush honored by visitors at Westminster, the crowd here remained buzzing and inattentive to the opportunity to enter into liminal, holy space. But Catie and I found it there, crouched on the corner of a new wooden pew, bathed in centuries of song, and a single beam of light.

Hello loves! I had good intention of posting something for Sacred Life Sunday about the Pantheon, but a heavy head cold and an equally heavy heap of post-trip laundry got the better of me. (How do two smallish suitcases translate into 8 loads of laundry?!)

Instead, here are some pretty pics to hold you over until I can get back on the keyboard again–which may be a day or two seeing as it is “Potato Harvest” holiday here and the children have a random week off school. (Argh!) Now go pour a glass of something red and live la dolce far niente. Ciao!

Ciao!

This is my dreamboard for September’s full moon.

I believe: time around the dinning table is sacred; lighting candles on the windowsill is ritual; a flock of friends in a cozy home is essential.

Since moving to Denmark 9 months ago we have been lonely. A lot of our time has been spent adjusting to a new culture and just learning our way around, so at first we were okay with the solitude. Hiding out with our nuclear family was sort of novel and refreshing those first few weeks, but now it’s “ikke sa godt.” (not so good.) When we first came here I was burned out from over-hosting — too many dishes, too many personalities, too much dirt tracked across the living room floor. It was good to rest for awhile. But now we are ready to gather a little flock in our home. Flock gathering is kind of my superpower.

We are accustomed to being the hub for friendly gatherings, and I have sent out an invitation for monthly gatherings in our home through the Fall and Winter. I’ve also invited a group of women to come dreamboard around my dinning room table each month. Monday is our first one and I made a dreamboard in advance, because I know my hostessing energy will be too bustle-y to make mine on the actualy night. So here it is — my dream of a tiny flock of lovlies in a cozy home. The words on the left are in Danish and mean “welcome,” “sacred,” and “cozy.” You can see the whole thing better here.

Well, shall we say “Amen, let it be so”? I think so. I do indeed.

Click here to listen to this post, or opt to read it below.

_______________

Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness, you who seek God
Look to the rock from which you were hewn,
and to the quarry from which you were dug.
Look to Abraham and to Sarah who bore you;
For they were but two when I called them,
but once I blessed them they multiplied.

God will comfort Zion; God will comfort all her waste places,
God will comfort all her mounds of ruins.
I will transform her dead ground into Eden,
her moonscape into the garden of God,
a place filled with exuberance and laughter…

This was the lectionary reading from Isaiah this Sunday. When I heard it read aloud in the clipped Danish accent of Hanna, my sister in liturgical ministry, I was immediately transported back to Stonehenge, where I lay my hand upon an ancient heel stone. It made me think of my ancestry, held in ancient stories, and of my—of our—deep connection to the earth. These words and this memory released inside me a wellspring of gratitude for the very real connection I have to such an ancient heritage.

When I returned home and read the text again, I was struck by the feminine language that Isaiah uses for Zion. This is a word which has many meanings, but perhaps most meaningfully to me is how it holds the idea of homeland–the physical or metaphysical place in which we find our source, our identity and our solace. It encouraged me to know that this ancient statement of true things, this old poet’s tongue, still stands. It is an affirmation to me and to my soulsisters, known and unknown, who are feeling as though bits of them have been converted in mounds of ruin–who feel as though they are living in wasted places.

As my dear Jen always says, “Whatever you do hold on to hope…that this is not the end of your story.” Our sisters, our mothers, our ancestral Sarah’s, have been holding on to the hope that the homeland of our hearts and hearths would be comforted—would be made into gardens like unto Eden. Whatever you do today, in whatever way you can, hold on to hope—like a seed in your palm, like the scrap of a fortune cookie paper cupped in your hand. For this is not the end of our story, but the very place from which it is born. Amen. May it be so.

click for more podcasts: Beaches and Bodies, The Care and Keeping of Sacred Stories.
click to learn more about Sacred Sunday.

After the first few minutes of re-orientation though, I started to feel a bit ill at ease. Sure, part of it was just the let-down of coming back to the mundane tasks of the everyday after a week in a sunny slice of heaven. But there was also an underlying twitchiness that made me feel as though there was some uncompleted task following me through the quiet rooms. Then it struck me – where were the housemates?

Since 1998 we have always lived with wonderful housemates–some for short terms during life transitions, some for years as we watched our histories weave together. After ten years of coming home to someone, the sudden nuclear family-ness of it all has left us disoriented. Now, once we’ve unlocked the door, flopped down our bags and grabbed a drink of water we start to wonder…where are our housemates to talk to? Who can we tell about our trip? Who can we ask about how work is going, or whether or not the garden survived the record heat? And most importantly who’s around to explain why the dog’s tail is purple?!?!? (Yes, once our housemates dyed the dog’s tail with kool aid. She’s quirky, that Emily.)

It’s odd to live just us four after ten years of living with Sharon, Susan, Lindell, Duffy, Amber, Josh, Kristen, Rebecca & ‘Ren. I don’t dislike it, but it’s strange, so strange it’s affecting my dreams. Last night I dreamt we were moving into to a sublet rental. It belonged to someone we knew, and we had thought we’d let them leave their office set up in the spare room. Then I realized, “Hey! We could have another room for someone to live in!” Next scene: a garage sale and a guest room.

My guess? That communal living thing, it’s not just a part of our past… it’s simmering on the back burner. I hope so. I certainly do.

I enjoy the architecture of holy spaces: churches, abbeys, monasteries, temples of all types. Europe suits such a fancy, and lets me see a wide variety of structures meant to honor something – though what they honor is sometimes a bit off from the original goal. This week we are on holiday at Børnholm: Denmark’s only rocky island! (Sometimes the Danglish on signs can be quite amusing. My favorite so far is “Feminism Squats my Heart”…but I digress.) Børnholm has proven to be far more charming than its English tourism by-line. It’s a pretty leafy island in the Baltic Sea, with fine sandy beaches, clear water, and pretty woods through which to bike. In addition to home brewed brown ale (quite nice) and smoked herring (not so nice), Bornholm’s claim to fame includes several Rundekirks – round stone churches white washed to a gleaming brilliance. We were lucky enough to visit a couple of these unique bulwarks, which have served as a combination places-of-worship-cum-look-out-towers since the early 1100’s.

I was particularly struck by Nylars Kirke, the smallest and least significant of the bunch. It’s stolid bulk and cool interior is just the type of space that appeals to me – old, earth-rooted, and simple. I was compelled to touch things there. I ran my fingers along the rim of the grey stone of the baptismal fount, planted firm in the center of the building; placed my palms on the stout center column and felt the wisdom held in its age; ran my hands along the curving outer walls to feel the warmth of the sun-kissed wash and the underlying chill of the hewed stones.

These are the kind of places that speak of home to me—these simple rooms with history in their walls, with time poured into their mortar. It is in these nearly abandoned places, anchored deep in the unwinding days of time, where I my footing can be found.