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!

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.

the small lake at my local park, from my February dreamboard.

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.

Eden and Cate wish for a return to Rome at the Trevi Fountain. When we went back to visit it all lit up at night, gelato in hand, Eden said “I’ve never been this happy before in my life! To be at the Trevi Fountain! At Night! Eating Gelato!”

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

Rachelle’s back from another trek through Europe…it must be time to talk about sacred spaces involving stones, and pagan roots.

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.

an olive branch from the top of Palatine hill in Rome

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!