New Wine, Old Wineskins

November 30, 2012

We bottled wine today, on this, our final workday at Nada.

Each of the monks has their own particular hobby or interest, as members in any healthy community (e.g. relationship, family, monastery, etc.) should have. Eric is a master carpenter/jack-of-all-trades. Ceil & Connie do pottery (not like do pottery, mind you!) Suzie sketches. And Thomas make homemade beer & wine. I can't vouch for the beer yet, but the wine was quite tasty. Before we'd even proven our worth Thomas had opened two bottles for our pleasure. We enjoyed an impromptu spread of cheese, crackers, olives, and wine in between sterilizing, filling, and corking 62 bottles of Nada Red.



Filling the bottles sounds easier than it actually is. Getting it to the top without spilling over took some skill...which I grew impatient with before mastering, as you can see from the drop cloth.

I moved onto corking, which is probably simple for anyone with any degree of upper-body strength. But for me, it was as struggle. I can assure you I wasn't smiling in the 2nd photo.




Then I moved onto a task more fitting of my abilities:





C.S. Lewis & Dorothy Day

November 29, 2012

Dorothy Day died this day in 1980.
C.S. Lewis was born this day in 1898, one year after Dorothy’s birth.
In fact, both writers were born in November and both died in November- Day at 83 and Lewis a week shy of 65. 
Both struggled with faith in their early lives before passionately embracing and promoting Christianity. 
And both came to similar conclusions about the essence of living out that Christian faith:

C.S. Lewis, from Mere Christianity 
The rule for all of us is perfectly simple. Do not waste time bothering whether you 'love' your neighbour; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him. 

Dorothy Day, from On Pilgrimage
 ...And the burden gets too heavy; there are too many of them; my love is too small; I even feel with terror, “I have no love in my heart; I have nothing to give them.” And yet I have to pretend I have. But strange and wonderful, the make-believe becomes true. If you will to love someone, you soon do…It depends on how hard you try... my whole life so far, my experience has been that our failures have been not to love enough.

p.s. This story of Dorothy's canonization process was featured on Weekend Edition Saturday, 12/1: http://www.npr.org/2012/12/01/166291580/catholic-hero-dorothy-days-road-to-sainthood 

We Are the Clay

November 27, 2012

This afternoon will go down as one of my favorite here in Colorado. (Did I say that about the hike too? Well, two favorite afternoons in one week then!) Annie, Jess, and I spent about 3 hours at Crestone Clay Art with master potter, Lynn Drake- a woman with the patience of a saint. It was my first-ever pottery lesson, and despite the artistic limitations brought on by perfectionism, it was a pretty good first attempt!


Lynn explaining the machine that turns blocks of clay into rope.

Finally beginning my coil bowl...
after first obsessing for 20 minutes over the perfect design.

After the design is complete, clay balls are used to fill in the gaps.
 
The clay is gently smoothed down and left to dry.
This made me nervous after my compulsive placement of the ropes!

But never fear...once you remove the dried clay from the mold the design returns! 

Now we gently paint on water to smooth out some cracked areas.
 
A pinch bowl is usually the first lesson in pottery. I guess we looked advanced :)
While you might not recognize it as such, this is going to be a small mug,
with a very "unique" handle.
The bowl and mug still need firing and glazing, which will hopefully get done before I leave next week. Otherwise Lynn will ship them. In all- a 3 hour class, a bowl and a mug from clay to creation, and a peaceful afternoon-....$25! Forget Paint Your Own Pottery...MAKE Your Own Pottery! I guarantee you'll impress yourself. 

There are a million and one comparisons to be made about pottery and the spiritual life. No doubt more than a few books have been written on the topic. Here are a few of my take-aways:

It’s amazing what can be created from earth; the possibilities for fashioning clay are endless.
Stop trying to control it! It will harden and crack.  
Don’t get too attached, especially before it’s been through the fire.
There is no such thing as perfect.
The flaw is the mark of originality.
Be creative. Be flexible. Be patient. Be gentle.





Letters & Leavings

November 26, 2012
God forbid that any of my friends should judge of my regard for them by the punctuality of my correspondence. Edmund Burke

I dreamt of writing a letter a day during this contemplative experience. But, my imagined routine wasn’t to be the reality, in all things. As one of the greeting cards in my abnormally large stock declares, “I write you letters by the thousands in my thoughts.” And it’s true. I’ve drafted a letter to each person I expect is following this blog at some point since arriving at Nada. But now I find myself at the beginning of my fifth and final week and must accept that many of those mental letters won’t get put to paper, at least on this side of the Mississippi.  And today, Desert Day, I needed to make room to read some letters that traveled here with me from Maryland. 


That overwhelming stack is what Loyola students and staff sent me forth with on my final day of work one month ago. Reading them in the moment wasn’t an option, given the wild emotions of the occasion. Not to mention, I wanted to savor them, to give each one the same precious time the writer gave to it.

To be honest, though, I’ve also been avoiding those letters- choosing instead the “safer” readings of Thomas Merton & the mystics. The truth is: that stack of letters is the only thing standing between me and closure. Once I read them, the Loyola chapter of my book of life will need to close. As well, the volume pertaining to my career in campus ministry will also reach an end. It’ll be time to put aside both identities. And though I’ve physically packed up, locked the doors, and driven away from those worlds, emotionally it feels a bit like a very long vacation that I’ll return from in a few weeks.

One of my many former priest-bosses thinks this whole closure thing is silly. “Lay people always need closure!” he said, half mystified, half exacerbated. Well, I’d argue (successfully so, I might add) that’s it’s not just a lay person need. More like a human person need. I’m not saying that priests aren’t human, of course! I guess I’m saying that they need closure just as much as they rest of us, but maybe don’t want to admit it. Or maybe, sadly, they’re so used to transient lives – moving from one assignment to the next every 4 or 6 years- that actually coming to terms with all those endings would be too painful. Indeed, closure is painful, whether it means the end of magnificence or misery.

I’m also not saying that closure means elimination, or destruction, or repression of what was. Bringing closure to my life at Loyola doesn’t require me to sever the relationships or erase the memories…though there are some I’d be quite happy to erase! But most I want to keep. And all will remain part of me; they are threads in the fabric of my life.

You all know what I mean. You’ve said goodbyes and closed doors. And more often than not you’ve carried pieces of those leavings with you into the next chapter, and even the next. It’s as it should be. We’d make no progress toward our greatest selves if we left behind all the lessons we have gleaned from where we've been.

That said, it’s nonetheless necessary to mark an ending. To recognize that what has been will never be again. Even if you return to a previous job, a relationship, a neighborhood- or in my case, return for a visit every now and then- you can never pick up exactly where you left off. What was has ended. What will be can begin, but it will be something new. Something similar, maybe. But something new still. The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come. 2 Corinthians 5: 17

Ritual is a signature element of the Catholic tradition, and of my psyche, it seems, after 34 years of practicing this faith. So, reading these 27 letters was a sacred act for me. I read each one- laughing out loud and tearing up, sometimes from the same letter- and recalled the face and essence of each writer as well as a memory of my time with him or her.

I’ll hold on to the letters for awhile- months, maybe years- as I did with my letters from Providence College. The writers have left out all my dark spots and rough edges, choosing to shine a light on only the good. There are few jobs in this world that can send you away with such tangible appreciation for your efforts. Younger kids are still too self-absorbed, and adults have become a bit too guarded. (I can't imagine my sister's former Bank of America coworkers writing letters to express their gratitude and fondness for her when she left!) No, this work of mine has been a rare privilege. And there will be days that I need a reminder that, for a brief time and in small ways, I made an impact.

But when the next cold night comes around, I will light all the envelopes in my little stove and let the unnecessary stuff burn to ash- the superficial shells. The stuff that was left out of the letters but was part of the chapter. The anger, the stress, the pain. The stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.

Then my ritual will be complete. And then, by the grace of God, I’ll find closure. 

A Walk in the Woods

November 25, 2012
Happy Birthday, Michele Dusek!

The earth is full of thresholds where beauty awaits the wonder of our gaze. John O’Donohue

After nearly four weeks, we’ve finally taken the hike I’ve been itching for. To hang around the foothills and not explore the heights is an invitation left unanswered. 

After mass, community breakfast, and a birthday celebration for our pseudo-director, Ceil, most of us headed out for our 5 mile trek. The community owns about 35 acres of a nearby mountain and maintains a very small hermitage used for occasional private retreats. This one-room cabin makes mine look luxurious! No running water, no indoor plumbing. One of our group members- the other Jess- opted to stay up there the next two nights. She also does solo back-packing in the Andes. That's the difference between 24 and 34.

Not much needs to be said, other than this was probably my most favorite day in Colorado. Gorgeous afternoon, challenging-enough trail, and lovely companions. 

Enjoy the view. 



 












Black Monday


November 23, 2012
A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house. Matthew 13: 57

I don’t know who got to decide that the one day of the year that brings out the best in people would be followed by just the opposite. Like the week before the election, I gave thanks yesterday for being so removed from media bombardment. Although, advertising is quite skilled at permanent infestation: far from a T.V., I can still hear the piercing shrill of the announcer ringing in my head: “Don’t miss Kohl’s biggest sale of the year! Doors open at 6am. Shop early for the best deals… before it’s too late!”

Yuck.

As much as I despise what our culture has done to the day after Thanksgiving, today pales in comparison to what I’m calling to Black Monday - the day the Vatican announced their excommunication and laicization of Maryknoll Father Roy Bourgeois. To say that I’ve been disturbed by this news from November 19th is an understatement. It has consumed my week and stirred up some pretty serious venom in my head and heart.

Fr. Roy has been a Catholic priest in the Maryknoll Order for 45 years. During his early years as a missionary priest, he was immersed in the brutal civil wars of Central and South America- first in Bolivia, and later in El Salvador. Through his ministry he encountered countless lives affected by the violent repression by each country’s military. He grieved, as others did, the deaths of thousands, including the 1980 murders of the Archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, and the four North American Churchwomen, and the 1989 assassinations of six Jesuit priests, their Salvadoran housekeeper and her daughter. In time he discovered, as others did, that many of the perpetrators of these and other incidents of murder, rape, torture, and disappearance were trained in these tactics- on U.S. land and with U.S. tax dollars- at the School of the Americas in Columbus, Georgia. Fr. Roy established the SOA Watch outside the gates of Ft. Benning in 1990 and has energized tens of thousands of faith-filled people to rally every November and to lobby Congress for the closure of the School - students, clergy, nuns, parents and children, retired adults, former military personnel, myself, and others.


During these years of standing on the side of the oppressed, he came to meet Catholic women who felt oppressed in a different way. These women identified a personal call to the priesthood, a vocation to the ordained life, within the Catholic Church. Fr. Roy chose to stand with these women and, in a similar way as he spoke out against the injustices in Latin America, he began to speak out against the injustices in the Catholic Church, his own community.

Let me pause here and acknowledge that when I first learned of women feeling this “call,” I was dubious. “Men are priests. Period. What are they even talking about?” thought my Catholic school girl brain. Thankfully, I’ve moved on from that opinion, but only through repeated encounters with what was once a foreign concept.

After several demands for Fr. Roy to recant his support for women’s ordination, the Vatican followed through with its threats. Fr. Roy is no longer a priest, no longer a member of the Maryknoll order, and- in the eyes of the Vatican- no longer a Catholic. In practical terms, that means he is also bankrupt- stripped of the pension and retirement support other members of religious communities receive after devoting their adult lives to serving the Church.

One can think what they will about a woman’s right to ordination. But one can’t miss the glaring hypocrisy of this situation if you’ve been around the U.S. Catholic Church lately. Priests, bishops, cardinals actively and passively allowing the sexual abuse of children- for decades- in Boston, Philadelphia, and likely every diocese in this country- not only remain “Catholic” but most remain in their positions of high authority. No laicization. No excommunication. And in most cases, not even a conviction.

The Vatican described Fr. Roy’s support of women’s ordination as a “grave scandal against the people of God.” Let’s think about this rationally, shall we?
*Attending the ordination of a woman and the showing of a documentary on women’s ordination.
*Sexually abusing children and covering up the sexual abuse of priests under your authority.
Hmm…which one sounds grave and scandalous to you?

If the decision handed down by the Vatican and Maryknoll wasn’t so scandalous it would be laughable. This decision, coupled with their treatment of American nuns over the last year, seem to point to only thing: fear. The fear of the other half of the planet? Possibly. But certainly the fear of sharing power. For a change.

Thus, in their carefully orchestrated effort to hold back the inevitability of Church hierarchy that includes the full manifestation of God- both male and female- the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith will demand allegiance to their definition of vocation. They will insist that they know better than God the form and function of God’s unique call to each one of us. As Fr. Roy has stated multiple times, “Who are we to say, as men, that our call from God is authentic but God’s call to women is not?”

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I want to offer thanks for not receiving the call to ordination. It’s a painful call. In a community that rejects the legitimacy of your relationship with God, it’s a lonely path to walk. Few are as courageous- as prophetic- as Fr. Roy to stand in solidarity with these women and to speak out on their behalf. Certainly other priests voice similar support, but most anonymously, off the record, or behind closed doors. 

Like Archbishop Romero, the world does not stand quietly by prophetic voices. It silences them. And so, the saga of Fr. Roy’s relationship with the Catholic Church and, specifically, his Maryknoll family, has come to a bitter end.

But I hope, and pray, and fully expect that his call- to speak truth to power- is only just beginning.


You can read Fr. Roy’s brief autobiography here: http://www.roybourgeoisjourney.org/book/book.pdf

There’s a bumper sticker that seems made for times like this:
If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.

Giving Thanks

November 22, 2012
"I love being in America for Thanksgiving. Imagine a whole country setting aside a day just to be grateful." an Irish retreatant at Nada Hermitage

To begin today, and everyday:

i thank You God for this most amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
~e.e. cummings

And after the Thanksgiving feast:

We end this meal with grace
For the joy and nourishment of food,
The slowed time away from the world
To come into presence with each other
And sense the subtle lives behind our faces,
The different colours of our voices,
The edges of hungers we keep private,
The circle of love that unites us.
We pray the wise spirit who keeps us
To change the structures that make others hunger
And that after such grace we might now go forth
And impart dignity wherever we partake.
~ John O'Donohue, Benedictus 

In short:

If the only prayer you ever say is thanks, that will be enough.
~ Meister Eckhart 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Birthday, Monkey Myles!

November 21, 2012

On the eve of your birth, word of your coming passed from animal to animal. 
The reindeer told the arctic terns, 
who told the humpback whales, 
who told the Pacific salmon, 
who told the monarch butterflies, 
who told the green turtles, 
who told the European eel, 
who told the busy garden warblers, 
and the marvelous news migrated worldwide. 
Debra Frasier, On the Day You Were Born

Happy 4th birthday, dear nephew! 




Tuesday Postscript


Two comforting additions to my desert life arrived today.

The UPS man drove into Nada as I was returning from a walk. I remember the driver; he has a big brown mustache. The community seems to get frequent packages. “Beautiful day today!” said the man with the brown mustache. “Yes, it is” I said, thinking “just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the last two weeks, actually. But you’re a better person than I am for still noticing it.”

He had dropped the package off inside in the front door about a minute before I crossed the threshold. It was a small box.
And it was addressed to me!
From: Geoff & Drew’s of Malden, MA "The finest cookies, brownies, and freshly baked goods."
OMG. I don’t know who sent this, but they have my eternal gratitude. I don’t even know what’s in the box, but I know I’m going to love it.
Here’s what was in the box:

Deliciousness. A million thanks Sharon, Coleman, Caroline, & Philip Kane!
In case you were wondering, I’m not planning on sharing them. Terrible, I know. But if I pace myself, they’ll take me through my final day in the desert. There is no substitute for chocolate.

After picking up the UPS package I noticed a manila envelope in my mailbox. From Loyola. A few lost paychecks perhaps?

Ah yes, the King of Reliability, Mr. Jonathan Pennachia, had come through again. Jonathan is a junior at Loyola and an all-star intern in Campus Ministry. I had lamented to him over email about the music at liturgies here. It’s not bad; in fact, the two Carmelites who usually lead us in song have really lovely voices and have recorded several c.d.’s. The selections, though, are either unfamiliar, or more often, way old-school. In short, I was a little homesick for Loyola Chapel Choir. At my request, Jonathan sent a few of what we call Orders of Worship; you may know them as “mass programs.” (I'm pretty sure everyone reading this blog already knows that I like church music- well, good church music, that is!- so I'm not at all embarrassed to share this story.) 

Jonathan also included notes from a few other Campus Ministry all-stars- Kristen McNeill, Meghan McHale, & Ed Ortiz- which made me feel like I was right back in my office in Cohn Hall. (Well, sharing it with my old coworker Patrick Range who was quick to move in! Just kidding, Pat. It’s all yours. )


A really delightful and uplifting afternoon. Thanks, Community! 

Reflection on Week Two-ish


We have all known the long loneliness, and we have found that the answer is community.
Dorothy Day

If you’re in a committed relationship, you may not have noticed the point when many of your I’s turned to we’s and our’s replaced your my’s. With time, things begin to get shared by partners – our T.V., our house, our dog. People begin to get shared too.

During my first week at Nada I began to notice a surefire clue into the authenticity of this community. It was a habit- an unintentional habit, I suspect- that assured me this was not simply a gathering of individuals posing as a unit. This clue, this habit, was a two-word phrase- our friends. “Our friends made this for us.” “Our friends own the shop downtown.” Or on occasion, “A friend of ours sent this to us.” “We have a friend in Denver who…”  

I’m not sure why that phrase first struck me, and why I continue to notice it. Maybe I’m used to hearing it from couples, so when it’s used by individual Carmelites, I’m stumped by its plurality. Maybe because I’m single and have few opportunities to use it myself. Regardless, my initial confusion quickly moved to pleasure; I probably grin a bit whenever one of the five Nadans uses the phrase.

Why? What’s the big deal? Lots of people use the phrase everyday.

Yes, lots of people use the phrase everyday. And I don’t think they recognize the inherent decisions they’ve made by using it. They have decided to release their exclusive grip on their friend or loved one. It’s a lot easier to share your T.V. than it is to share your friends, especially the good ones. And when you’re part of a community-authentic or not- it’s natural to want to keep something for yourself, to have ownership over something, to not have to share everything.  Moreover, identifying the other as “our friend,” not “my friend,” is a decision to be communal, and that’s no small deal. When you’ve decided to be communal- to be part of a community- you’ve decided to share it all…the blessings and the burdens of relationship.

This witness to community was demonstrated twice this weekend, from my view at least.

The loaded phrase- “our friends” -was put to the test the last few months here in Crestone by both Nadans and neighbors. Here’s my interpretation of the sequence of events associated with Eric’s father’s illness:
Summer 2012 – Neighbors to Nadans
You are our friends, and so we must help you. We have our own homes to clean, our own work to manage. But we share the responsibility of community, and thus, we will take on the burden so that you might be rightly blessed.

November 2012 – Nadans to Neighbors
You are our friends, and so we must give thanks for you. We could use our money and our time in more practical ways. And we are just returning from travels and preparing for others and could use a restful evening. But we share the responsibility of community, and thus, we will take on the burden so that you might be rightly blessed.

I also saw this community transaction, this sharing of responsibility for human relationship, in the fictitious life of Lars (in "Lars and the Real Girl.") After years of an isolated and stalled existence and months of delusional bliss grounded in anxious fear, Lars is liberated by a loving community who chooses to share the responsibility of one man’s health and happiness while sacrificing their own time, lifestyles, and reputation. The sister-in-law and her husband, the church ladies and the workmen, the doctor and the coworker- together insist that Lars and Bianca- his delusion- are “our friends” and assume the accompanying blessings and burdens of that shared friendship. I think Mary Richards had Lars in mind when she wrote: “Symptoms of growth may look like breakdown or derangement; the more we are allowed by the love of others and by self-understanding to live through our derangement into the new arrangement, the luckier we are.” (Centering in Pottery, Prayer, and the Person.) That community of support, friendship, and responsibility accompanied Lars out of delusion and into new life, and were themselves transformed along the way.

The assistance of one friend at Nada this summer would have been appreciated, but inadequate; and the presence of one friend at Saturday night’s feast would have been celebrated, but awkward. In a similar way, the joining of one person to Lars’ reality would have been kind, but incomplete. It was only by the grace of the whole community that Nada and Lars were able to thrive instead of breakdown.

Therefore, when you decide to add “our friends” into your verbal repertoire, it means that when tested, you will join with another to take responsibility for your community. And, in turn, they will join together to take responsibility for you. You don’t need to be part of a couple to use the phrase “our friends,” but you do need to be part of a community. Then, and only then, will you live your way out of the long loneliness. 

Weekend Update


November 20, 2012
Happy Birthday, Megan Linz Dickinson! 

It’s mid-way through Day 2 of back-to-back Desert Days- a most generous and observant gift from our director, Ceil, who said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired! So I thought we would spend two days in solitude this week, and I didn’t think you’d mind.” I don’t mind in the least. It was a busy weekend.
To recap:

Friday Film & Feast
I made 3 quiches (quiche?), which were total experiments. That is, I’ve never made quiche and the final products were an amalgamation of various recipes adapted to our ingredients and my patience. To my surprise, each one came out well and was enjoyed by all.
Asparagus & Mozzarella
Zucchini, Onion, & Mozzarella
Broccoli & Cheddar

We watched “Lars and the Real Girl” with Ryan Gosling and Emily Mortimer.


I don’t know what I was up to in late 2007 when this film came out, but it missed my radar. The brief, online description is: “A delusional young guy strikes up an unconventional relationship with a doll he finds on the internet.” But that description doesn’t begin to do justice to the film. I’ll have much more to say about it in my weekly reflection.

Saturday Supper
Eric, the Carmelite priest here, spent this past summer in Michigan while his father was dying of cancer. Friends of the community – Crestone neighbors and Sunday mass visitors- stepped up in a big way to help keep the monastery running in the absence of 1/3 of its staff. Eric’s father expressed sincere gratitude to Eric for their friends’ assistance here in Colorado and ultimately left Eric money to host a meal of thanksgiving for Nada’s community of support, which we celebrated Saturday night. The main dinner was catered by a local couple who will soon be opening a farm-to-table restaurant in town. The Carmelites and the retreatants spent the morning preparing the appetizers and desserts.
Yours truly devoted an obscene amount of time to compulsively arranging 3 meat/cheese/cracker platters that were devoured in minutes, along with the other apps. During my intensive prep, the only male retreatant, Michael, commented: “You know, people are just going to grab a cracker; they won’t notice how the tray looks.” Oh Michael. The arrangement isn’t for their acknowledgement; it’s for my own perfectionistic satisfaction! After 3 hours, it was perfect and I was satisfied. The rest of the food was amazing; and we have days of leftovers stored in the fridge. No canned veggies for me this week!
Wanting to avoid the crowd in order to actually eat (certain older people love talking to certain younger people,) I retreated to the kitchen table and sat between two gentlemen already in conversation. One, a very loud Italian in his 70s (who was really talking AT the other), lived much of his life in NoVA/DC/MD, except for his college days in Providence. We had plenty to talk about.  The other, a Jesuit priest making his own retreat here at Nada, was ordained along with my two former bosses at the Cathedral in Baltimore, a ½ mile from Loyola. We had plenty to talk about.
In all, it was a lovely celebration of life, and I went to bed very full.

Sunday Stations
Whenever Ceil returns to Crestone from their retreat house in Ireland she visits the outdoor Stations of the Cross in San Luis, the oldest town in Colorado. San Luis is about 90 minutes from Crestone, but it feels very, very close to Mexico. I’d imagine that the life-sized bronze sculptures, completed around 1990, are the primary tourist attraction for miles. (Although, we did pass the birthplace & museum of heavyweight champ, Jack Dempsey, in the town of Manassa.) I forgot my camera, but here’s a look at each station, thanks to Bob and Laura Madigan and their “RV travels across America.” I don’t know the Madigan’s, but I’m sure they won’t mind my sharing their helpful site:
Here's my favorite, the 15th Station:

We ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant (New Mexico style) in Alamosa on the way back. I think my stomach has returned to its 10 year old distaste for Mexican food, or at least for what’s served this side of the border. When one item blends into the next until the entire plate morphs into a monochromatic blob that ceases to be identifiable food, my stomach closes the door and bolts the lock. However, there’s a secret passageway for sopapillas! 

A Photo Tour of Crestone

November 17, 2012
Happy Birthday to my older and wiser sister, Kathleen Haley! Wow, 36 already?
Just to be a blessing; just to live is holy. Rabbi Abraham Heschel

As promised, here's a glimpse of the booming metropolis of Crestone, Colorado, the land of Subaru wagons. (I counted 15 on my 2 mile walk into town.) There's a bumper sticker on sale in one of the shops that aptly characterizes many of this town's residents: "Getting Spiritual in Crestone"

Here we go:
This first photo is simply to justify why I'm out of breath before completing a 5 minute walk. 
8000 ft is no joke.


If you ever find yourself in Crestone unexpectedly and unprepared, have no fear. This handy information center can tell you everything you need to know. And I don't doubt that those two walls pretty much sum it up. 



The first business to greet you as you enter town is the Elephant Cloud Tea Shop. In addition to tea, they seem to also specialize in fresh organic produce, local honey, and Zumba classes. 


Located right next door is the famous, I mean WORLD FAMOUS Crestone Freebox. You'll find clothes, books, household appliances, and more in this open air Buddhist market.


Next is the Crestone Creative Trade Co. Sounds cool, right? I venture inside, hoping to find a souvenir or two. 


Clearly I missed the sandwich board listing their specialties. None of which I needed that particular day.


Across the way is Curt's Old Country Store & Cafe. This is the mini-Whole Foods where I picked up some "necessities" after first arriving to Nada. I've since met Curt and his wife, Bernadette. They're a beautiful couple of 43 years who are devoted friends of the Carmelite community- even to the point of following them  from Sedona to Crestone many years ago. Unfortunately, a larger all-purpose grocery store moved in down the street and Curt is preparing for his store to soon close. 


Across from Curt's is the Bliss Cafe. 
You're getting hungry...very hungry. 
Maybe, but who knows what those cooks have been smoking!



 And then there's....


No, I didn't slip in a picture from Bolivia. 
This is still Crestone- a place where you're not at all surprised to see a llama tied to a fence post. 

After my 7 minute stroll around town- literally- I stopped in the Shambala Cafe for a hot coffee before returning to Nada.


Inside there's a typical looking community board. Typical of Crestone, that is. 
Need a goat for $200?
Need someone to take books off top shelves? 


The walk back to Nada always seems faster on the way out town. Maybe it's because I'm running. 






The Gift of Music, Part Two

November 16, 2012
Special shout-out to the Loyola delegation and other Jesuit friends beginning the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice in Arlington, VA today!

Well, my song-of-the-day efforts failed after two. So for those who are interested, here is the full playlist from my lovely Loyola students, with lines particularly poignant to me in italics. (See original post "The Gift of Music" if you're confused.)

“My Girl”, the Temptations. Thanks, Stef Mule!
I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame. I’ve got all the riches one (woman) can claim.
“Today My Life Begins”, Bruno Mars. Thanks, Ryan Kearns!
A whole new world is waiting. It’s mine for the taking.
“Who I Am”, Jessica Andrews. Thanks, Laura McCormack!
Sometimes I’m clueless and I’m clumsy, but I’ve got friends that love me. They know just where I stand.
“Human”, Natalie Grant. Thanks, Meghan McHale!
Every life has a choice to rise up and fill the void.
“Dancing in the Moonlight”, King Harvest. Thanks, Katie Joumas!
We get it almost every night when that moon is big and bright. It’s a supernatural delight.
“I Choose”, India Arie. Thanks, Kristin Witte!
I’m dropping these bags, I’m making room for my joy. And I choose to be the best that I can be.
“Into the West”, from Lord of the Rings. Thanks, Kevin Harrington!
“You’ve Got a Friend”, James Taylor. Thanks Chris DelBello!
They'll take your soul if you let them, but don't you let them.
“Awake My Soul”, Mumford & Sons. Thanks Claire Cummings!
Where you invest your love, you invest your life.
“Man in the Mirror”, Michael. Thanks Chrissy Anastasio!
If you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make a change.
“Sweet Serendipity”, Lee DeWyze. Thanks, Ed Ortiz!
I don't want to hold on; I want the strength to let go.
“A Beautiful Day”, India Arie. Thanks, Christina Fahey!
I wonder how life will surprise me today.
You can still smell the roses and be on a mission!
“The Winner Is”, Devotchka. Thanks again, Christina!
Just ask and you'll receive beyond your wildest dreams.
“Greatest Love of All”, Whitney. Thanks, Vanessa Gailius!
If I fail, if I succeed- at least I’ll live as I believe.
“Wherever You Go”, Audrey Assad. Thanks, Jen Bishop!
All that you see her you'll soon leave behind; so open your hands and look into my eyes.
“Below My Feet”, Mumford & Sons. Thanks, Jimmy Coughlin!
Let me learn from where I have been. Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn.
“For Good”, from Wicked. Thanks, Kelli Alberici!
So much of me is made from what I learned from you. 
“If I Ever Leave This World Alive”, Flogging Molly. Thanks, Laura Biesiadecki!
Wherever I am you'll always be.
“Send Me On My Way”, Rusted Root. (My prom song from 1996. Apparently now a classic.) Thanks, Jonathan Pennachia & Tommy O’Donnell!

And a few from the 17 song c.d. made by Kristen McNeil. Thank you Kristen!
"Follow You Into the Dark", Mumford & Sons
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark.
"Beautiful", L2
You never know what you have until it's gone.
"Someday", Rob Thomas
Maybe, someday, we'll live our lives out loud.
"Things That Matter", Rascal Flatts
You don't wanna leave this world with "Why didn't I...?"

The Return of My Tormentors

November 15, 2012
Happy Birthday, Patrick T. Range! (Now, skip around the room!)

As for me, I have been going to bed at dark. If I put the reading lamp on, the little porch where I sleep swarms with all kinds of insects that fly in your eyes, your hair, your nose, your ears, and then in your mouth if you leave it open. I have been pestered with all kinds of insects. Dorothy Day

Would I prefer insects to mice? Probably. Though Dorothy likely dealt with both, given her life in the shabby Catholic Worker tenements in lower Manhattan, as well as on the farms. And the mice must have been so commonplace- so much a part of her daily life- that they never commanded enough attention to be spoken of in her writings.

Well, I’m no Dorothy Day, so brace yourselves. I have zero tolerance for mice. “Oh, but they’re cute and harmless!” Wrong and wrong. Encounter a dead mouse caught in a trap and tell me that’s cute. Examine what they leave behind and try to convince me that’s harmless. They are germ-carrying menaces and I want nothing to do with them, especially in what was to be a 5-week sanctuary. But alas, mice have become such a part of my daily life here at Nada, and try as I might, they cannot escape my attention. Over the last 10 days their presence has grown from faint scratching behind the walls to frighteningly-close squeaking. All too familiar noises.

You see, it wasn’t so long ago that these creatures first tormented me. (Summer 2011: Campion Towers, Loyola University Maryland.) I swear on all that is good that I nearly went mad in my vigilance that summer. It would be better for everyone if I do not reach that place- so far from sanity- again.

When I mentioned my observation of the mice in the walls, Thomas, the Tennessee-born Carmelite brother here, said proudly, “I’ve already caught 8 in my first week here!” Though he offered to set up traps for me last week (and collect what was trapped,) I declined. My theory was that they seemed to be content within the walls and may just stay there. Enticing them out of the walls with peanut butter would make certain that our paths would cross. I would deal with the eerie scratching as long as a wooden barrier remained between us.

However, yesterday’s squeaking has brought this situation to a whole new level. They have crossed the barrier. It’s like Summer ’11 all over again. And I’m quite certain some symptoms of post-traumatic stress are emerging.

The main problem- even beyond disease- is sleep. It’s been a long while since I slept soundly, as I did my second blessed night here (the night after the coyote call.) It’s not that the scratching is so loud that it keeps me awake; it’s that the scratching keeps my imagination running wild with horrid scenarios sure to plague me after my eyes close. 

So, I’ve developed new theories for sounder sleep over the last week:
1. Keep all the lights on all night. Mice will avoid light.

When that felt too wasteful (and counterproductive to my effort to fall asleep):
2.  Keep only the bedside light on all night. I’m pretty sure mice will avoid light.

When that caused me to wake up repeatedly still, only to be reminded instantly of why the light was on:
3.  Keep the bathroom fan on to drown out the scratching noise. I’m not so sure mice will necessarily avoid light.

When the power went out and back on again during the night, twice, causing me to awaken at the sudden noise and be reminded instantly of why I had turned the fan on:
4. Write about my night terrors and plead for better theories. 

Domestication

November 14, 2012
Happy Birthday, Pedro Arrupe, S.J. (Former Superior General of the Society of Jesus)

Nothing is more practical than finding God; that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evenings, how you will spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. 
Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything. Pedro Arrupe

Yesterday for lunch (and dinner, and lunch, and dinner, and probably lunch again) I made what I call the “Everything But the Kitchen Sink” Soup. Convenient, since I don’t actually have a kitchen sink. I’m sure you’ve made a similar one-pot concoction at desperate times. Its contents, in order of their addition: carrot, onion, celery, chicken broth, quinoa, white beans, peas & green beans (which I’m pretending were not poured out from cans,) mushrooms, and spinach.

Voila! 

You know, this is essentially the secret to Atwater’s success (my favorite Baltimore eatery.) Whatever they’ve got in stock that day gets turned into soup and sold for $4 a cup. (Of course, they wouldn’t dare put canned anything in their creations.) At that rate my Kitchen Sink soup could have racked up an easy $24! I’d probably need a more appealing name, though.

Making this "just throw in whatever" dish was a bit of a break-through for me. I tend to be a slave to recipes (the rule-follower half of me, which trades face time with the rebel half of me.) That has certainly helped me develop my baking skills for sure, but limited my general cooking skills. You have to be willing to bend the rules- and make up your own- if you want to be a great chef. Now, this soup is far from great chef material; but my ability to forego a plan and just go with the flow is a big step for me!

After lunchtime I intended to drop my veggie scraps into the compost bin, but saw that it was occupied:

 
That evening many of my companions here headed to the local ashram for Diwali, the annual Hindu Festival of Lights. The festival is outside. It’s like 30 degrees here. No offense.

As they departed I noticed a bunch of black bananas on the countertop- a thing of beauty to a baker’s eyes. I was delighted to see that Nada’s cookbook collection contained The Tassajara Bread Book. I glanced at this 1970-era gem at my sister’s house recently and made a mental note to spend more time with it one day.

This is a fairly typical banana bread recipe, as those without white sugar go; but as a whole, the book is a valuable tutorial for the novice bread-maker.

Banana Nut Bread
Makes 1 large loaf

2 cups whole wheat flour (I used 1 cup whole wheat, 1 cup white for the sake of the crowd)
1 t baking soda
½ cup oil
½ cup honey
1 grated lemon rind (didn’t have lemon rind)
2 beaten eggs
2 cups ripe banana pulp (I used 4 small bananas)
½ t salt
½ cup chopped nuts (omitted these for the nut-allergy here)
½ cup raisins, optional (also omitted these; I’ve never in my life put raisins in banana bread.)

Sift together flour and baking soda. Blend oil, honey and lemon rind until nearly smooth. Beat in eggs. Add sifted ingredients in three parts alternately with banana pulp, beating until smooth after each addition. Fold in chopped nuts. Place in greased loaf pan. Bake for 50 minutes at 350 or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool for five minutes and then remove from pan onto cooling rack. 

Be Here Now

November 13, 2012


Outside is unbelievably beautiful, with the snow-covered fields and hillsides, the green pines and the red roads showing through the snow. But one does not take much time to contemplate this beauty. Dorothy Day 

It was a beautiful day in the Valley yesterday. Bright sun. Crisp air. Snow-capped mountains. 


But all I wanted to do was read Mary Oliver and John O’Donohue. I wait all week for the endless opportunities of Monday Desert Day’s and there I was sitting in the dark library, subjecting myself to the distractions of community members milling around, in order to read just one more of these poets’ brilliant observations of the natural world.

You would have noted the irony before I did, no doubt. But, thankfully, it finally did occur to me that I could be making my own brilliant observations of the natural world in this very moment!

And so, I headed out on foot toward town. (Coming Attraction: A photo tour of the infamous Town of Crestone, with commentary, of course.)

Shortly into my walk up Rendezvous Way I spotted a fox step onto the path about 50 yards ahead. It spotted me too (or heard my boots crunching on the gravel path) and looked behind. We both stared at one another in total stillness. I don’t know which one was more frightened by the other’s presence, but I can attest to my own rapid heart rate. (Have I lived too long in the city?) 

Mary Oliver has a great respect for the fox, as she does all of nature's inhabitants. Yet, she admits, "they are neither adorable, or charming, or cute." The young foxes "chew bones and sticks, and each other. They growl. They play with feathers. They fight over food, and the strongest eats more and more often than the weakest. They have neither mercy nor pity. They have one responsibility- to stay alive, if they can, and be foxes. They grow powerful, and thin, and more and more toothy, and more and more alert." Blue Pastures 

Graciously, I waited for the fox to continue on before I took another step. It did, only to stop again after a few feet at the sound of my footsteps to note my location.  We’d begin our staring contest again, I’d win, again, and the fox would continue on. After a few rounds of this dance, the path curved and it was out of sight. I decided taking an immediate left onto Chaparral Way would make for a much more “scenic” walk.

It’s gotten much colder since my earlier walks around the Valley- my pace was now quickened to keep warm and my vision narrowed with the addition of a hood. In my mind swam drafts of journal entries and blog posts, revisions of conversations past, and lists of books waiting for my return. There could have been a dozen foxes surrounding me and I wouldn’t have noticed.

And then, I looked up and saw it.


 What do you see? The mountains in the distance? The landscape's gentle flow of color?

Here’s what I saw:


How funny. Is a stop sign really necessary at the intersection of Chaparral & Rendezvous, I thought? And one in each direction, no less! I’ve yet to encounter a single car during my walks on those gravel paths; and the chance meeting of two cars at that intersection would be a rare sight to see. No, I decide. One, let alone two stop signs are not at all necessary at this juncture.

And then I thought, maybe the sign isn’t there for the cars.

Maybe it’s there for the pedestrian distracted by her thoughts- of things to come and things gone by.

Maybe, in the tiniest of print, it’s saying:

STOP. Be present. Look around at what’s here, what’s now.

I’m a pretty adaptable person- maybe the result (or the cause) of my many moves. And this adaptability is a pretty helpful quality for navigating life’s twists and turns.

But there’s a downside.

It’s amazing how quickly I’ve adapted to this place. This enormous, pristine, glorious place. Somehow, in the course of 12 short days, it’s gone from breath-taking to almost banal. And now, if- as I walk from building to building- I notice the mountains ahead of me, I certainly don't appreciate their presence.

Yes, I decide. The stop sign is entirely necessary. Without it, I would be in serious danger.

When the world going on inside our heads becomes more real than the world outside, we have problems. Eric Haarer, Nada Carmelite