Taking the Blue Boat Home

Visting home is going well so far. I moved away to distance from the East Coast, but didn't think about how much it would distance me from my family. I have three sisters, a brother, and two step-siblings, and my 84-year-old Mom still lives in the house we grew up in. Two of my sisters live somewhat near to Mom, but my brother lives in Australia, so we've been scheduling these annual get-togethers for a couple of years now. Last year was bigger, and we had dedicated photographers in my niece and nephew Natalie and Chris. You see me in the picture with my family of origin.

The dread I used to feel about re-entering the childhood states of mind has eased, and I'm finding it easier to be in the here and now, though I do make certain compromises. I won't drive around here; the combination of modern, borrowed cars (I have a car, but it's an '84 Tercel, which I drive about 300 miles a year) and lots of speeding traffic on unfamiliar, busy roads, is too challenging for me. I tend to hang out at Mom's, doing her yardwork and projects, listening to her stories and sorting through whatever stuff remains that I might want or be interested in a second look at. She has been getting rid of stuff rather relentlessly so not much remains, but kids miss a lot of the grown-up world so I get to rediscover things from my older perspective. She tells plenty of stories I have never heard before.

We took an all-you-can-eat crab cruise on the Christiana River last night, going through drawbridges and going past the port of Wilmington, which imports the most bananas and pineapple of anywhere in the US or some such record. We passed a park where the Marley family holds an annual concert. Bob used to live here, worked for Chrysler for a year or two. We made up songs (Jammin, jammin, come fix my machine, it's jammin...) and danced on the riverboat, getting Old Bay (crab seasoning) from head to toe. It was Eugene-ish weather, the one day of rain on the whole trip. Fun anyway.

Delaware is so small that Mom is a part of the political scene (one of my relatives is even the Governor, who would have expected that?) and Mom still works for Russ Peterson who was quite the environmental firebrand in his day and has compelling stories to tell. We went to his wildlife preserve, financed by duPont to reclaim wetlands that had been used as dumps for centuries. We talked to his wife at church and I also saw the father of my best friend from early childhood. It would have been amazing to see her, but I did see one of my cohorts from highschool, on 9-11, which gave him the opportunity to tell his story, which was compelling. He put up and maintained antennas on top of those buildings, and was even supposed to be up there that morning. He got an error message from there, stopped mid-sentence. He really wanted to tell that story.

My brother, his partner, and I went to church with Mom, the Unitarian church. I'm a recovered Catholic and I'm not that interested in religion, but those Unitarians are pretty great. As we walked in, and throughout the service, a jazz quartet with vibes played pretty lively versions of what seemed to be hymns, but were mostly celebratory odes to joy. The church was having their Ingathering service, after a summer of nature worship, and they worked hard to engage everyone from the youngest to the oldest.

The sermon was about Boldness, and Renewal. The Rev talked a lot about football and Star Trek, and while his jokey style didn't particularly engage me, most of the things he said resonated deeply. He said church was supposed to be a safe place, but not necessarily a comfortable one. He wanted us all to act boldly in our lives to renew all that needed renewing, transform the world with the love, compassion and joy we know is needed and right. He led a song about living on the earth with all kinds of sailing references that brought back my childhood, freely sailing alone on the Northeast River on a sailfish my Dad built, that allowed me to learn to be the captain of my own ship.

I teared up, a lot. I think the kind of safety, welcome, and love I felt is not present enough in my life, and added to the sense I have that my time with my family, these few who have known me my entire life, is so precious and limited, it overwhelmed me with gratitude and deep relaxation. I tried to think when I feel even close to that level of emotional safety, and what I came up with centers around the places I know I belong, and the people who are my family in those places.

Yep, Saturday Market, OCF, and the Jell-O Show. Perhaps the reason I write so much about them is that they are my faith, my spirituality, my opportunity for renewal and boldness. I can't believe I am so lucky as to be able to live in them, to have the decades of history I have there, and to have those friends there who have known me almost as long as my siblings have. I have it weekly, that sense of knowing where I belong, what I am supposed to do there, and how much it means to people outside of my life.

I get my sermon every Saturday from the reverent Beth, I sit at the feet of River, my healer, I visit with Rich my musical jester. I consult on mutual prosperity with my work partner Willy, I get grounded by Bill who has known me the longest, I dance to the rhythm of Raven's blessing. Tim takes me to the woods and the owls, Brandi and Nat really are in my family, and JoAnn and Teresa keep me in mind of our endurance and stamina. Sheila and Patricia remind me how it all weaves together. (Did you know that there are no machine made baskets? Every basket in the world is made by hand.) Mike is my connection to the drum circle. My customers and friends who come by honor me with every possible compliment and blessing, and Kim, Vi, and the other staff grant me every blessing I ask for or deserve (and even those I don't). I go across the street where I have forged friendships and find inspiration, and am well fed and delighted with the beauty and abundance they have coaxed from nature. I am a part of something extremely precious and huge, and every week I discover new artists, renew old friendships, and work in the big world to transform it to something meaningful.

This is just what the sermon asked me to do, to go boldly and renew the world with thoughtful, methodical work, to make something where nothing was before. What an opportunity I get between April and Christmas! Then I get a spiritual retreat, and blossom forward into the next year with the emergence of the irreverent and very spiritual Jell-O Art, and work right up to that well-loved psychospiritual rejuvenation at the Mall of the Woods. Around and around that circle I continue with my companions.

I get so full with these notions that I'm not sure I really do have anything lacking in my life. My congregation is a large one. My mission is ever-changing and clear. I'm in the middle of a clear-running stream that can go uphill anytime that is required, and it runs from an eternal spring to a fathomless sea. When it comes down in rain it might help to remember where it started, and think about what constitutes 98% of my human being.

I didn't know this trip back to my origins was going to be so satisfying. I brought back a pile of my newer products for my sisters, who have seemed a bit dis-interested in my designs in the past. This time they were even mildly squabbling over who got what, and everybody went and looked at my Beautiful Booth profile and congratulated me. I've reached acceptance! My brother gave me a lovely late birthday card and called me "always outstanding". I'm pretty sure no one has ever said that to me before (always?), or maybe my critical self just wouldn't hear it. He said I lived a creative life and he got the benefit. We all get the benefits of the creative lives of those who split infinitives and boldly go. (That was one of the jokes of the minister's sermon).
I think I'm allowing myself free-er emotional expression and getting that back in return.

I'm fired up. We're going to end the week with my nephew's wedding, where I will be sure to take plenty of tissues. I'm giving them some of my silk paintings, practicing letting go so I can make more. I may even go into the attic and practice more deeply forgiving my father who gave me my greatest emotional challenges (and many thin excuses for not more boldly going), by reading letters he wrote in his twenties. I'm experiencing renewal, and missing two markets is making me ravenous for more. I'll work out that rain problem and when those football games slow down the crowds I'll take the opportunity to visit more with that eclectic family that is our Eugene city center ingathering.

Being here where nature is all owned by rich people or paved over by corporations (Delaware has lenient incorporation laws) makes me vow to be more diligent about going to the woods and coast when I get back. If you walk somewhere here people look at you with suspicion. Forget biking. At least Mom has lots of birds in her suburban yard, even a fox to watch for in the neighbor's back lot. I hung the laundry out and there is a little bit of my normalcy here and there. But I will be glad to get home to my solitude and work, which I hope have been opened up by inspiration and honored by appreciation that won't fade.

Life is short, but it is wide. It only takes about six hours to get the 3000 miles back that took me so long to drive way back in the 70's. It only takes minutes to travel the emotional decades and get back the feeling I used to have when I climbed to the top of the weeping willow that used to stand outside my Mom's bedrooom window, with its rope swings and comfortable branches, where I took my book and listened to the leaves in the wind. It was limitless possibility and safety from the confusions of all that I didn't understand or invite. It's nice to know I still have that willow tree when I need it, when I look at my sisters and see them as the aged children I shared beds and back seats with, when I talk about parenthood with my brother, when I talk about age with my mom. It's nice to know that all is available to those who boldly go.

Go in peace, and peace be with you.