One month we have been here

Date: 2-9-14

Location: Kenney Grove Park, Fillmore, CA

Outside: 64 degrees on its way to 68 - or could we wish for 70?

Hubby is: reading in the recliner, enjoying his day off after a week of hard work

Things we like about living here: palm trees, mountains surrounding us, less than an hour to the ocean, being so close to town with lots of Mexican restaurants and markets, Greek food, a couple decent laundromats, several fast food places and a dozen donut shops!

Makes me sad: The bone-dry thirsty land across the region

Surprises: 

• Our valley is a green oasis in the midst of a drought-ridden American Southwest.
• HUGE jade plants and geraniums just outside our door and all kinds of cacti
• Being surrounded by Spanish everywhere.

...

One month it is.

A month is long enough to discover some things.

A month is long enough to bump up against irritations and annoyances and get really tired of less than convenient circumstances. Fortunately, there have been very few of those and we have been able to adjust and smooth out the wrinkles.

A month is also long enough to get a sense of whether you're going to be okay for the long haul. We are glad that we feel at home here - content and comfortable in our setting and optimistic about staying here for a few more months.

　

Thankful Thursday: RAIN!

It is raining!!!

Since we arrived here almost a month ago I have been so sad about the bone-dry conditions everywhere around - well, except for where hard-earned dollars pay for precious water to irrigate the fruit groves. I just keep hoping for rain. Today seemed like the first good chance of it. When I was out walking this morning, I met an older gentleman on his walk. We did the usual greetings about the beautiful day and that it looked like it might rain and how we hoped for that.

Sure enough; it is raining. I mean, it is actually raining. Not just misty but real rain that we can actually see dropping from the sky. We can even hear it raining - which is a first.

It is so glorious to see the leaves all wet and drippy. Oh, that it would keep on coming. Enough to really make a difference. It would be so exciting to see actual water in the ditches. Wouldn't it be amazing if we can see the Sespe River with water where there is only stone and sand now?

...

And now it seems to be stopping.  So sad.  I guess we won't see any gushing rivers from this shower.   I will be thankful for what we get and I have no doubt that the parched ground will soak up every precious drop that falls. 


 

Less

Less.

I have been thinking about less.  Just letting the word hang out in my brain and see what it has to offer me.  To teach me.

I guess I began to focus on it when someone talked about picking a word for the year. That seemed like a good idea, but I don't know that I would make it work nor that I want to mess with having a word for the year. But still I remind myself of the word "less" sometimes because it seems like a good word.

Less is a good idea.

We have been seriously downsizing for three years. It has been crazy. Much has changed, I have been letting go of things until it hurts, but there is still too much stuff.

Less is good.

On several levels of my brain and my heart, I am convinced that I prefer less to more, but it is still so hard to get there. The process is excruciating and exhausting.  So I focus on the benefits, on the idea of less - and how liberating it is.

Less is good.

...

This actually makes me think of a sermon at Brown City Camp many years ago by Dave Engbrecht - about things he had chosen not to be good at. I don't remember many of the things on his list, but I do remember the prinicple he explained by saying that he was unwilling to invest the time and money and energy to be good at certain things (like playing golf, for example) because he knew that if he decided to make that investment, other things would suffer. That important people or projects would end up getting the leftovers of his resources.

I suppose that the idea appealed to me so much because I must have been getting a little weary of the quest for more.  I had always been such a pleaser and so submissive to all those other sermons. The ones that told me I must excel in this and that and everything imaginable. That I must do more. Pray more. Read my Bible more. Give more. Serve more. Be more patient. More faithful. More zealous.  Have more passion and more compassion. Be committed to excellence and success and striving. Always striving. Bah! I am so sick of striving. Where is the good news in that?

More, more, more.

...

And of course, it wasn't just at church that I heard about more. Pretty much everywhere we turn, "more" is the measure of success.  It's not enough to keep up with the Joneses; now we need more than they have.  Certainly more than we already have. More than we need. More than enough.

Oh wait, then there was that whole other sermon about "more than enough." To hear the guy tell about it that weekend and to read his book, we should not be satified with enough. Nope, we serve a God who provides more than enough - so why would we settle for only enough?  Good grief.  Somehow he made it sound good at the time, but it was just one more of the unhealthy things I swallowed.

...

And what about advertising and commercials that are all geared to convince us that we need more?  What a crock.

...

Where is the call for less? That's what I think I need. Certainly less food. Less stuff. Less toys.

Sometimes less is a good idea.

...

Maybe that's why this article caught my attention - this list of things we could do less.  Great ideas. Several from this list jump out at me as being really good places to start in my quest for less.

...

Oh dear; now there are a bunch more ideas flitting through my brain, so many more things to write about, but I think I'll stop right here. 

With less words rather than more.

Daylight and darkness

Feeling subdued this morning. Again. Here we are in southern California with sunshine and warmth. And I'm grateful. But...

But... I just have to think of friends and family back home who are dealing with crap. Where all is not sunshine and warmth. Where life is downright awful. Where there are no easy answers. Where there aren't even ANY answers - easy or otherwise. Where each new day has more than its share of pain and really, really hard stuff to deal with.

Sometimes I wish we were there. OFTEN I wish we were there. To help - although I wouldn't know how to help. I don't have the answers. But just to be there. To lend my/our presence. To give hugs or back scratches. To listen. To cry together.

So what do we do with all that? Do we figure out a way to go back? How do we know?

...

Ah, there's a bit of daylight. Just a bit.  Where all was darkness, finally some faint light.

And with that teeny bit of light I can see the outlines of the mountains. Ah, yes, there are mountains surrounding us. Can't forget the mountains. What do we do about the mountains? Do we stay in our little valley and go on with every day life here - or do we shake things up and find a way up and over these particular mountains to locate somewhere else? Somewhere where we may or may not do more good. Where we may serve a different purpose.

We all have mountains. Mountains sometimes give good gifts - like shelter or beauty or inspiration. Mountains also restrict. Mountains can be dangerous and deadly.  Mountains demand much of us. Courage. Energy. Faith. Wisdom. Perspective.  Patience.

...

I guess I don't have to figure it all out right this minute. I can appreciate the daylight that is creeping into my world and be grateful that darkness turns to dawn yet another day. I do and I am. Oh, yes, I do appreciate daylight and I am grateful when darkness gives way to dawn. 
 

Watching the sunrise... or where I step

Tucked in the valley, I cannot actually see the sun as it rises, but I can see it shining on the mountains around us. It lights up the peaks - first the tall one behind our ridge that I never even noticed before - and then the closer peaks. Slowly the light from the ridge creeps down the slopes until eventually it breaks into our lovely park.  Little splotches here and there. On the tree tops outside my window, then the trunks, and finally hits the ground in little chunks on the lanes and clearings.

Oh, what a glorious process!
...

My friend Nancy Bouwens talks about perspective and asks whether we are focusing on the mud or on the stars.  It reminds me a bit of my current reality. 

Here I am, off on this incredible adventure, fortunate enough to have escaped the Michigan winter and be living in balmy southern California. I am definitely grateful for the privilege and am continually reminded of my blessings. I certainly don't not want to be whiny and complaining.

BUT, some things are still hard. Because this is real life. 

'Tis true that some things are easier because we are here. The warm temperatures allow me to get outside and do more walking which will hopefully have a healing effect on my joints and muscles.

It is also true that some things are harder because we are here - or at least because we are away. There are complicated situations at home that are made much more difficult for us and possibly for others by us not being there in person to care for the physical details of the various situations and responsibilities. It is hard. No question.

Then some things are hard just because they are hard. They are not necessarily any easier or any harder because of our location. It is just that we are living life and life is hard sometimes.

When you depart one time zone for another, move from one climate to another, you don't get to leave all of your problems behind.  Nope; you simply trade one set of problems for another set. Some things get better, some seem worse, and some just go with you wherever you go.

...

While I was reading what Nancy wrote about choosing between the stars and the mud, I realized that I have my own sky or ground scenario.  Yes, I have the positive choice of gazing at the sky.  My "looking at the ground" option might have more to do with focusing on the pickers and other hazards on the ground than with mud. Things that can trip me up and cause me pain. I love, love, LOVE watching the sunshine hit the mountain peaks in the morning and gradually creep down the slopes... I don't so much love the thorns that get stuck in my flip-flops and attack my feet. They are both part of my present reality. Given the current record-breaking drought going on in this area, things probably won't get much more pleasant or healthy underfoot, so wisdom suggests that I pay attention and find ways to protect myself from further injury. At the same time, I will be grateful for the sun lighting up the mountain peaks in succession each morning, for the amazing blue sky during the day, and for the full moon at night. I will continue to appreciate and enjoy them even while exercizing caution about where I step.

...