Month: February 2010

A Moment


Busy days and then suddenly, yoga class was cancelled, I had everything ready for the writing class I was teaching that night, and . . . I had time. Glorious sun lit the coastal forest and sparkled off the pond that spills into Thiel Creek. Trees cast shadows on the road as Annie and I walked. How strange it felt to not be wearing a coat, to feel sun on my bare arms. We walked up hill and down, Annie’s tan and white paws padding beside my gray Reeboks. As we U-turned at the dead end of Cedar Street, Annie was panting. My two-year-old pup is not used to heat.

At home, she lapped water of of her bowl while I drained my glass. Then we lounged on the deck, which was finally dry after weeks of wet. As I lay back, soaking in the warm wood and blue sky, Annie snuggled against me, her head on my chest. “Ah, girl,” I said. “We’ve been through a lot, you and I, but God has blessed us with this moment.” I held onto that moment carefully, like a butterfly that had landed in the palm of my hand, soon to fly away.

A Slice of Heaven



It pleasures my bloodshot eyes.

That’s what I chanted as I left Salem for the wide open spaces on the road to Mt. Angel Abbey last Friday. It was a rare sunny day that brightened vast emerald fields of grass, red barns, brown cows, and baby sheep running across the fields. Clouds shot across the blue sky like flying angels.

For so long I hadn’t driven anywhere except Albany to visit Fred and Salem to teach my writing classes. I hadn’t run away in ages. It felt so good.

I always thought Mt. Angel was just a seminary, monastery and retreat center, but it’s also a town, population approximately 3,700. Clearly the town banks on its connection to the abbey. Most of the downtown shops sport signs written in biblical lettering. The spires of St. Mary’s church rise into the clouds on the road to the seminary. Buildings housing the Benedictine sisters rise up on both sides of Mt. Angel Road.

Quaint old houses gave way to trees as I turned up the mountain. I saw all these little white buildings along the side of the road. Bus stops? Prayer stations? Each enclosed a picture of Jesus on the Way of the Cross, his path from conviction to crucifixion. Soon I saw a monk in brown robes. I can see this as an arduous meditative walk. The road is steep.

Cars filled the parking lot at the end of the road. I took an elevator to the main level and entered the bookstore. A soft hymn played through speakers overhead as I browsed through the books, statues and crucifixes. Deep sigh. Peace.

Being a seminary for men, Mt. Angel made me conscious of my gender, especially when I passed a classroom full of young men who watched me go by. But I saw signs on the doors of the guest house welcoming women by name, and I was relieved to find restrooms with the familiar skirted symbol for women.

Beyond the brick buildings and the massive church, one can see forever. The whole Willamette Valley spreads out below. Past the green fields and trees, I could see a snow-capped mountain peak poking through the clouds. So beautiful.

But you see the everyday, too. As I gazed eastward, I heard someone singing. This giant Chicano seminarian came out carrying a sack of garbage. He continued to sing as he dumped it in the dumpster and went back inside. He sang in a high falsetto. I wondered how that might go over when he’s a priest in his own parish, but it certainly would help in choir singing. Every choir needs a good high tenor.

I didn’t have to wear a jacket that day. Amazing. So warm, so sunny, so pretty.

I always want to do whatever I see. I can’t be priest, but I could be a nun at the Benedictine convent. Or I could move out there, work on the newspaper—they must have one–play some music, make quilts, grow flowers. Be warm. Attend the annual beer and sausage celebration called Wurstfest, which is happening this weekend. Plus, it’s only 40 miles from Portland.

Of course when I got home, I was less eager to move, and brown is not a good color on me. But while I was at Mt. Angel, time disappeared and I wanted to stay forever.

I can’t stay forever, but anyone can stay overnight or for a few days. I could take that long walk along the Stations of the Cross. See the website at www.mountangelabbey.org for information on retreats there.

From Mt. Angel, I rolled back into Salem and treated myself to lunch at Marie Callender’s. Seated in the chintz and floral dining room with a huge slice of corn bread with honey butter and all the iced tea I could drink, I knew there was a God.

Roadside blessings

After my last sad post about my dog Chico, I thought I’d give you a few happy notes from my weekly trip east to Albany to see my husband Fred and Salem to teach my creative writing class at Chemeketa Community College.

A string of Canada geese squawks overhead as I leave Burger King after a pit stop. They’re flying north early. They fly in the shape of the top of a crown. Later, walking around the pond at Waverly Park with Fred, I’ll see another batch in a V formation. On the ground, ducks and local geese vie for bread being tossed out by a young couple and their little boy. In their midst, I notice a few sea gulls trying to blend in. It works fine till they try to quack.
***
A church in the far west portion of Corvallis has a sign out front that says Ch__ch. Beneath is another sign that says, “This is a church; what is missing?” The answer? UR. Clever.
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Sighted on I-5 just north of Albany: A dark-haired woman in the car next to me is blowing a gigantic bubble—about 3 inches in diameter. I’m already laughing when she eases ahead and I see the sign on the back of her car: “Naked Cleaning.” What? Her license plate says: ntr spy. Hmm.
***
Back at home, I look up into the bright sky and see a double rainbow around the full moon. Complete circles with color. You don’t usually see color at night. “Hey, Annie, look!” I call, but of course the dog has her nose to the ground.

I did a little research. It’s not a rainbow or a moonbow, although there is such a thing, produced by light reflected off the surface of the moon. Colored rings close to the moon are a corona caused by ice crystals that reflect and refract the light of the moon. They are red on the inside, blue on the outside.

One of the great things about living in Oregon’s coastal forest is the constant sky show. Without smog or ambient light, the sky always offers something new to see.
***
Life can be challenging, but it’s full of blessings, too, if you look for them.