Veterans Day

November 12, 2012

A Prayer for Veterans

You who left behind home and health, 

loved ones and leisure, 

work and weekends, 

school and security:

May the life you once knew welcome you back with out-stretched arms;

You who offered yourself as ambassador for your country’s masses:

May they return to you that which was once yours: 

a dwelling place to sleep in safe solitude, 

a job to afford a life of dignity and sustainability, 

health care to heal the wounds of battle, 

community to give and receive human affection;

You who developed lives and destroyed others:

May the memory of your good works bring you consolation 

as the rest fades quickly into history’s cloudy abyss;

You who returned home bruised and broken as conflict abroad rages on:

May your scarred self bear witness to the foolishness of war 

for those unscathed citizens and commanders;

You who served the war on terror and, in return, carried home terror in your heart:

May God’s great tenderness grant you everlasting peace, 

in mind, body, and spirit.

Amen. 

How to Spend an Afternoon

November 11, 2012

We make our own bread, from good whole-wheat flour, and I am very proud of mine, made according to an English recipe with only one rising; so short in time and easy to make. You  just knead your ingredients together- flour, salt, lard, sugar, yeast, and water- and make the dough stiff enough so that you can pat it down into loaves with well-floured hands, put it in the pans, let rise for half an hour, and then bake for an hour. It can be done of an evening, or before breakfast. It certainly is good to eat with a bit of onion - a poor man's feast. Dorothy Day

Ceil gave us a bread-baking lesson yesterday. I think I was the only one of the five with much experience baking bread; but we were making cinnamon rolls for Sunday breakfast, which would be new to me, too. Although my list of uses for cinnamon is long, my patience with the lengthy recipe is short. But, now that it’s all said and done, it actually wasn’t as taxing a process as my years of avoidance would suggest.  The thing about baking is that it is time-consuming, yes, but not energy-consuming. A good chunk of the process is rising time, which is the perfect time to pick up a good book!

So don’t be deterred by the length of this recipe. Like many things in life, you must approach bread-baking with loving desire. If you don’t want to spend an entire afternoon creating something, then you won’t enjoy this. But, if you’re willing to make the commitment, the reward will be great!

So day I'll try to recreate the bread Dorothy was proud of. But for now, let them eat cinnamon rolls! 

Cinnamon Rolls, from Better Home’s & Gardens. Copyright 1973!

Makes 24

In a large mixing bowl combine:

2 cups all-purpose flour and 1 package (1 T) active dry yeast.

Heat & stir:

1 cup milk, ¼ cup sugar, ¼ cup shortening (I used butter), and 1 t salt til warm (not hot or you’ll kill the yeast.)

Add wet mixture to dry mixture along with 2 eggs.

Beat at low speed for 30 seconds, scraping the bowl and then beat for 3 minutes at high speed. (Or get an upper arm workout and whip, whip, whip with a wooden spoon for several minutes until you can see air bubbles.)

Stir in 1 ½ - 2 cups flour to make a stiff dough.

Knead on a lightly floured surface until smooth, 8-10 minutes (or until your arms ache and you want to give up, like me.) Pause mid-way for a rest and a photo op.

Shape into a ball. Place in a bowl with some oil and roll it around to coat entirely.

Cover with a towel and let rise until doubled in a warm place, at least an hour. (I typically put the dough in the oven after it’s been heated to low and then turned off. Our countertops worked just fine today because the rooms are warm. You can also let the dough rise overnight in the fridge.)

Punch down dough and divide in half. Cover halves and let rest 10 minutes. (We skipped the resting part.)

Roll each half into a 12x8 rectangle.

Brush each half with melted butter (about ¼ cup total.)

Sprinkle about ½ cup of sugar over both halves along with 2 T cinnamon (I used more like 4. See earlier post for my opinion on cinnamon.)

Sprinkle with whatever else you’d like. Raisins, nuts, cranberries, whatever. (That’s my instruction.)

Roll up each piece from the long side; seal the seams tightly, water helps.

Slice each log into 12 rolls (more if you want smaller rolls; less if you want Cinnabon artery-clogging size.)

Place rolls in greased pans. (It’s fine if they touch.)

Cover and let rise until doubled, about 30 minutes. (We put ours in the fridge overnight at this stage.)

Bake at 375 for 18-20 minutes.

Drizzle with a milk/powered sugar icing, if desired, while still warm. Enjoy!

Song for the day:

“Today My Life Begins”, Bruno Mars

A whole new world is waiting. It's mine for the taking.

Thanks, Ryan Kearns!

The Gift of Music

November 10, 2012

This morning to ward off noise I have my radio on – Berlioz, Schubert, Chopin, etc. It is not a distraction; it is a pacifier. As St. Teresa of Avila said as she grabbed her castanets and started to dance during the hour of recreation in her unheated convent, “One must do something to make life bearable!” Dorothy Day

Something very special happened this morning.

I had about an hour to spend in my hermitage in between activities, which I’d normally use to catch up on reading. But have you ever felt that the only thing missing from a room was music? I have no problem with silence; in fact, I crave silence. But this particular silence was waiting to be brought to life. 

I turned on the radio and immediately remembered the limited options available to those of us in the middle of the desert. And then my eye caught the c.d. Loyola students made me for my trip west. The original plan was to drive from Virginia to Colorado; so in their thoughtfulness, they wanted to equip me with jams for the journey. I’d been saving the c.d. - as I do with new shirts and nice candles- for just the right moment. Well, that moment had arrived.

I really can’t describe the joy this music brought to my day, my week, my emotional space. One song after another, especially chosen by one loving soul after another, and each with a reason for its addition to this compilation.

And so, I did what any other rational person in the middle of nowhere with no one watching would do. I had a dance party. In my kitchen/living room/office/bedroom. A party for one, of course; but you would have joined in too, if you were there. That’s how powerful this c.d. was in that moment.

(That, on top of vacuuming the library this morning with a Eureka made of iron, was more exercise than I’ve had since my last fateful run with Back on My Feet on October 24^th.)

I’d like to share their brilliant selections with you, day by day. 

Go ahead. Dance.

“My Girl”, The Temptations 

I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame. I’ve got all the riches one (woman) can claim. 

Thanks, Stef Mule!

Friday Film & Fire

November 9, 2012

Let me, if I may, be ever welcomed to my room in winter by a glowing hearth, in summer by a vase of flowers; if I may not, let me then think how nice they would be, and bury myself in my work. I do not think that the road to contentment lies in despising what we have not got. Let us acknowledge all good, all delight that the world holds, and be content without it. George MacDonald

Friday nights are movie nights around here. This week’s selection: the Swedish film, As It Is In Heaven. Along the continuum of “choir director turns mess into music” movies, it’s on the opposite end of Sister Act. (Sorry, Diane.) Heavy, but worth it.  Here’s the tear-jerking climax:  Gabriella’s Song  

Afterward I returned to a very chilly cabin. So, I attempted to make my first fire. And by first I really mean first. Ever. In my life. 

In my defense, I’ve never had a fireplace, and we weren’t taught about fires in Girl Scouts. Unlike my Boy Scout-cousins. No gender bias there, though. I suppose the 9-year-old Girls were too busy learning about birth control to mess with fires, right St. Tim’s? (FYI)        

Anyway, I’d been avoiding the wood stove since arriving 9 days ago, which wasn’t much of a feat; the passive solar heating does its job quite well. In fact, if I stay inside during a sunny afternoon without an open window, I get a bit loopy! But today was not one of those sunny afternoons:

.

So, the time had come to experiment with fire. And it was a beautiful and warm fire, indeed.

For about 15 minutes.

And then it was out.

Did I do something wrong?

What makes this little incident even more pathetic is that the fire was built when I arrived. All I had to do was light the kindling, and clearly I failed in that simple task.

Help! 

Reflection on Week One

Ceil- our program director of sorts- asked us to complete weekly reflections on our experiences here. To those out there wanting a deeper glimpse into my sordid mind, this is for you. (Two disclaimers: one paragraph will sound familiar from an earlier post; and, this was written 1 week ago, so stay tuned for more recent thoughts in my next reflection.) 

In one way or another, I’ve looked forward to this experience since learning of it months ago, even when I had yet to be accepted! And probably like all things in life, our imagination runs wild in the face of the unknown. When that unknown is potentially negative, we imagine the worst-case scenario; when the unknown is potentially positive, we imagine the best-case. I believe this is why humans are capable of taking vows. Engaged couples imagine a happily-ever-after life together; if they were to imagine the reality, many probably would stick with the single life! It’s romanticism writ large.

And so it was with my journey to Nada. I imagined a utopia of sorts, from my perspective of the ideal. Time, for one. Time to spend as I chose, preferably reading, journaling, letter-writing, walking, studying Spanish, and sleeping.

Secondly, comfort, though admittedly my imagination hadn’t actually conceived of what that comfort would include; I could only feel it, and it felt easy and effortless- eating, sleeping, moving from one activity to the next, comfortably.

And desire- a true wanting to do the things that would fill up my days here. Prayer, work, community building, activities I had brought from home.

That’s how these 5 weeks would go: limitless time to comfortably do the things I’d desired to do.

Unlike a typical marriage, though, I seemed to have skipped the honeymoon period. My utopia wasn’t here when I arrived on November 1^st and will likely not appear before December 5^th!

My heart sank a bit when Ceil ushered me into my hermitage. I flashed back to the moment my family left me in my freshman dorm on that first day of college many years ago, and to my first days in Bolivia last summer. Of course I wanted to be there, but it didn’t feel how I imagined it would. Instead of comfortable solitude, it felt unromantically lonely. It took less than a minute for me to pull out my phone and text a friend, even though I told myself that texting wouldn’t be part of this experience. But I needed a familiar connection to make this cabin feel more comfortable. Soon other discomforts would arise. The desert doesn’t comfort like the ocean. The pantry staples don’t look like my kitchen. The bed doesn’t feel like my bed. The shower doesn’t heat like my shower. And now, the mice have arrived to disturb my night’s rest.

Thank God for Desert Days! Until today, I began to wonder if I’d ever have time to do the things I’d planned to do during these 5 weeks. I hadn’t expected to feel busy here; in fact, I came here to escape busyness! But that’s how the first 4 days felt at Nada. I must have been naïve to imagine it any differently.

And to imagine that every piece of every day here would meet all my desires. That the entirety of contemplative life would fill me with delight. And yet, very little feels desirable now that I’m here. Even prayer is leaving my mind & heart as dry as my sinuses. The activities I eagerly stored away for weeks to do at Nada haven’t been touched. To be clear, I’m not feeling unhappy, just lacking desire to engage.

To be fair, my baggage included not just shirts and socks, but symptoms of full-on burnout. This sense of lacking desire, time, and comfort wasn’t waiting for me at Nada, but rather arrived with me. But in my romanticized vision of Nada, this lacking would instantly be filled by the beauty, and grace, and rhythm of the hermitage.

But alas, utopia was not to be at Nada. Nor were my inflated imaginations. Reality feels much more real. And it’s here to stay, for 5 weeks.

So, what to do? It’s my nature to seek out change, to fix situations that are askew, to improve things that aren’t quite perfect. Many of my romanticized images involved the daily practices I would cultivate during this experience, in that quest for perfection, I suppose. But I hadn’t considered the very necessary spiritual practice of adaptation. Flexibility. Conforming to what is rather than fighting to change it. And receiving the grace that comes with resisting rigidity. That does not come easily to me, a born agitator. But with age comes wisdom, and I’m learning the hard way that some conformity is sometimes the better of the options.

So, since I can’t avoid eating, showering, or sleeping for 5 weeks, and I can’t recreate my home-version of those experiences in my hermitage, I’ll need to practice intentional conformity and surprise myself with my ability to carry on unscathed.

Since I can’t change the program’s schedule to fit my personal clock, I must practice intentional conformity and notice how another’s prescription might teach and transform me.

Since I can’t fabricate desire for my daily activities, I will practice intentional conformity and discover how the Spirit creates something out of nothing when I simply show up.

And so, the grace of this first week is this insight: romance gets us to the altar, but the real work begins after the vows.

Happy Birthday, Dorothy

Dorothy Day's life began on November 8, 1897. Here's a bit of that life's impact from those who knew her well. 

It was not what Dorothy Day wrote that was extraordinary, nor even what she believed, but the fact that there was absolutely no distinction between what she believed, what she wrote, and the manner in which she lived. Robert Ellsberg

I remember sitting in that dingy hall and saying to myself, 'This woman is getting a lot of fun out of life and I would like to get some of that for myself, so maybe I'd better try the same kind of life.' As much as anything it was a quality of humor and laughter, but with a deeper base than you might expect from a good comedian. It was a humor and laughter that seemed to reach down to the secret, hidden places of the soul, promising at any minute to explain the mysteries of life and human striving. John Cort

Without Dorothy, without that exemplary patience, courage, moral modesty, without this woman pounding at the locked door behind which the powerful mock the powerless with games of triage, without her, the resistance we offered would have been simply unthinkable. She urged our consciences off the beaten track; she made the impossible (in our case) probable and then actual. She did this first of all by living as though the Truth were true. Daniel Berrigan, S.J. 

Books, Glorious Books!

November 8, 2012
Happy Birthday, Phil Kane!

Baron Von Hugel used to say that every morning as he made his plans for the day, he used to draw up a schedule of work to be done, and then cut half of it out. I should do the same about reading- draw up a list of books to be read, and then cut half of them out. Dorothy Day

It's Thursday, which for us means fun in the library! It's pretty monotonous work, which is just fine once in awhile, right? It's actually quite meditative. Under Fr. Eric's management (who's proving to be the best kind of boss there is: clear directions, reasonable expectations), the five of us each take a section (Fiction, Non-Fiction, Social Commentary, Poetry, Nature, etc. etc. etc.) to "clean up" by alphabetizing, and recategorizing and labeling, if necessary. Simple enough.

Here's the hard part. As I (and the others, I imagine) scan each section, inevitably I come across at least 3 or 4 must-reads. It's a problem. Already I needed an extra bag to pack the 12 or so "must-reads" I brought here... which have yet to be touched! It's not a lack of desire, just time. 

And the real trouble is that this particular library, with its 3000 or so volumes, looks a lot like a regular library  but with all the junk skimmed out. Pretty much everything is enticing! (Well, maybe not the Church History section.) There's even a Children's Lit section, which may be the best of all. I mean, who wouldn't be tempted to reread The Velveteen Rabbit if you had it at your fingertips? 

You readers out there know my dilemma, I'm sure.

And so, I returned to my hermitage today with another stack, only to be added to the pile already patiently waiting for my attention. Let's see: 4 weeks to go...is a book a day too optimistic?

The Day After Election Day

November 7, 2012

Phew! That's all I'm going to say about yesterday.

I was assigned to cook community dinner tonight along with Annie (who, by the way, spent a year in BC's School of Social Work after I graduated and is 1 degree of separation from my very dear friend, Scott. The world is oh so small.)

Annie selected two recipes from the Mennonite cookbook, More-With-Less, which you can find at your local Ten Thousand Villages store :) Even with tripled measurements and high altitude adjustments, these came out tasteful and filling!

Baked Lentils with Cheese
Serves 6-8
Preheat oven to 375. Combine in a 9x13 baking dish:
2 cups lentils, rinsed (and I suggest soaked for a couple of hours as well)
2 cups water
1 bay leaf
2 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
1/8 t. each of marjoram, sage, and thyme
2 onions chopped (or less if you'd like)
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups canned tomatoes
Cover tightly and bake for 30 minutes. (Note, we put all the ingredients in at once and it was just as good.)
Uncover and stir in:
2 large carrots, sliced 1/8" thick
1/2 c. thinly sliced celery
Bake covered 40 minutes until vegetables are tender.
Stir in:
1 green pepper, chopped (we subbed in zucchini)
2 T. finely chopped parsely
Sprinkle on top:
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
Bake, uncovered, 5 minutes until cheese melts. 

Dutch Apple Bread
Makes 1 loaf
Preheat oven to 350. Cream together:
1/2 cup softened butter
1 cup sugar
Add and beat well:
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
Combine separately:
2 cups flour
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
Add dry ingredients alternately with:
1/3 cup buttermilk/sour milk/orange juice
Fold in:
1 cup chopped apples
1/3 cup chopped walnuts (we didn't use nuts. I think raisins would be good too.)
Bake in greased 9 x 5 loaf pan for 55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean. 

Election Day

November 6, 2012

Our problems stem from our acceptance of this filthy, rotten system. Dorothy Day

It's been a great gift to avoid this last week of SuperPAC commercials, campaign phone calls, and media obsession at the expense of more critical news. (Isn't there still a war going on in Syria??) Yet, I impulsively turned on NPR this morning to hear the beginning of election day coverage, not that there's any election news to report at that hour. But my anxiety got the best of me, and my fingernails have suffered all day because of that election anxiety.

Despite his many flaws, I have my hopes set in one direction, of course. And I hope to wake up in the morning to the news of his victory.

More importantly, there are some significant human rights issues at stake on several state ballots today, including Maryland. Those results will change things for our neighbors, coworkers, and friends of friends; so let's hope and pray that people (especially Catholics!) are taking their responsibility to be faithful citizens seriously today, voting with consciences directed toward the dignity of every person, especially those on the margins.

Desert Day

November 5, 2012

There are times in our lives when we feel life flow in our veins, feel ourselves to be alive...but we need to be alone, we need to have time, to be at rest, to be rested too. Dorothy Day

At last…some peace & quiet! I know that must sound terribly selfish to those of you surrounded by whining children or noisy political ads. But the last 4 days have been busier and more social than I had expected, or wanted. Hence the brilliance of the Carmelite schedule that devotes an entire day each week to unscheduled retreat- no communal prayer or meals, no work or chores, no discussions or conversations of any sort. In a word, heaven. (I know, one person’s heaven is another’s hell!) Mondays are now my new favorite day of the week.

I was able to begin letter-writing, as I’d hoped to make a daily practice here. I’m cutting myself some slack around those plans for the everyday (e.g. letters, yoga, running, journaling, reading, blogging, etc.) Routines don’t happen over night. In fact, the only daily practice that is in place, oddly enough, is Crunchy Betty’s Face Wash Regimen (thanks, Santhin!) I figure what better time for skin experiments than while away from civilization for 5 weeks J If you don’t see me in December as scheduled, assume I’ve gone into hiding like the Phantom.

That said, there’s no excuse for skipping these daily practices on Mondays. So, after some writing, I headed out for an undetermined walk up Camino Baca Grande in the opposite direction of Crazy Crestone. After about 30 minutes I came upon Willow Creek and I meandered through the trees until I heard the sound of liquid gold…which to me, after 6 days in the in the desert, means water. I can’t describe how satisfying the sound of trickling springs and the sight of little waterfalls were to my very dry ears and eyes. 

I wanted to linger by the creek all afternoon, but my urban precautions took over and hustled me back to the wide open main road. It’s a shame, really, that the threat of violence- so culturally ingrained in the female psyche, especially- can disturb such a peaceful moment in time in what’s likely such a safe situation. I’m sure not all urban-raised women would react as I did... maybe just the daughters of policemen.

Let our first act every morning be the following resolve: “I shall not fear anyone on earth. I shall fear only God. I shall bear ill-will towards no one. I shall not submit to injustice from anyone.” Gandhi 

East Meets West

November 4, 2012

Food for the body is not enough. There must be food for the soul. Dorothy Day

Like most of you, I enjoyed an especially luxurious night of sleep thanks to Daylight Savings Time. It’s just one hour, but waking up to daylight at 6:30 makes a world of difference. Waking up to the desert sun peaking over the mountains makes quite a difference too!

I read somewhere that the San Luis Valley (where Crestone is situated) is sunny 320 days a year. I think of my friend Emily in Seattle when I consider the alternative and wonder how she manages. Emily, I wish I could send some of these rays your way! Not that I’m complaining, but because of the passive solar heating in our tiny buildings, it’s quite necessary to close the blinds during the afternoon to avoid heat exhaustion! I’d compare it to a sauna, but my arid nasal passages and cracked skin would object.

Anyway, onto today’s highlight. After mass and a community breakfast (baked goods, finally!) we were given tours of three local spiritual centers, which have put Crestone on the map, so to speak. I’m going to butcher this history, but the short version is that in the late 80s land in the San Luis Valley was purchased and given to several spiritual communities, all attempting, in their own ways, to contribute to a more peaceful and ecological world. Nada Hermitage, this Carmelite monastery, is one of those beneficiaries. The others include several Tibetan and Zen Buddhist centers and stupas, a Hindu Ashram, the Japanese spiritual organization, Shumei, etc.

In my opinion, interfaith awareness and dialogue isn’t about changing anyone’s mind about their own faith. Certainly there is the possibility of conversion, especially for seekers. But for those of us who profess a creed, the benefit is a greater appreciation of our unique convictions and a respectful reminder of those beliefs we share with many other religions. Though to be clear, Shumei -which I’d first heard of today- and Buddhism are not technically religions. As Buddhists would likely agree, “there is no conflict between Shumei and any religion or spiritual path that seeks universal well-being. Many maintain and deepen their own beliefs while participating with us.” After all, some of the more enlightened Catholics are committed Buddhists, right Charles? Most of our group returned to Nada feeling grateful for our Christianity while also gleaning insights from these other spiritual paths that might enhance our Christian practice, and indeed, help us be more Christian.

We must love them both, those whose opinions we share and those whose opinions we reject. For both have labored in the search for truth, and both have helped us in finding it. Thomas Aquinas

Power Washers & Pantries

November 3, 2012

Never feel above an honorable calling, nor be afraid of the course frock or apron. Put your hands to work in the line of duty; dust on your garments and moisture on your brow neither shame nor disgrace. Better soil your hands than your character. Daniel Orcutt, Shaker

They say we learn something new every day…or at least we should. Well, today I learned how to use a power-washer. There’s a very attractive photo of me in action on another retreatant’s camera which I hope remains on that camera. So just take my word for it. Thomas (a Carmelite brother), Michael (one of the 5 retreatants) and I spent the morning washing the community’s “fleet”, which include: 1 older Bronco, 1 older Subaru, 1 older Corolla, 1 older minivan, 1 large Truck, and 1 newish Rav4. Perpetual dust is a major downside to the desert, as my nostrils have learned quickly. So, we spent the better part of 3 hours removing layers of dust from all but the Rav4. And then we got to powerwash! I have to admit it was fun for about 10 minutes and then I was happy to hand off the hose to Michael, whom I suspect was itching to return to gender equilibrium after vacuuming and dusting.

I was itching for chore time to end so that I could take care of some important business. Now don’t judge! But the sight of my “pantry” when I arrived made my stomach churn with anxiety. 

I have developed a very close relationship with food over the years. I’m often preoccupied, if not worrying, about the when/where/what of my next meal, as if I’d spent time in a refugee camp as opposed to a middle-class suburban home. And again, unlike a refugee situation, I’m increasingly picky about what I consume, particularly objective to the 2 deadly ingredients: HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup) & partially hydrogenated soybean oil. I don’t buy items if I see these on the label and I try to limit how much I eat unless absolutely necessary. (One plus to leaving my office is escaping the candy and snack food hanging around tempting me each and every day!) Anyway, after a quick label scan of the canned goods and peanut butter that stocked my panty, I panicked. What will I eat for 5 weeks? Will I have to succumb to the deadly ingredients just to survive?? I can’t! I won’t!!

I’m being slightly dramatic. I did have some “safe” food at my disposal: potatoes, onions, eggs, cheese, whole wheat bread, fruit, rice, quinoa, lentils, pasta, granola, tuna fish, and raisins. And even now as I type it out I realize that the above list was sufficient fuel. Not to mention, we cook & eat 3 meals a week together in the main kitchen and we can restock our individual supply from that kitchen whenever necessary. Oh, and there’s the 3 pack of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate bars that I brought for emergency purposes. Nonetheless, I convinced myself that I needed some supplements. So, I laced up my hiking boots, strapped on my backpack and walked what felt like 5 miles into town (though I think it was about half that.) Have I mentioned the altitude? 8000 ft. and sea level are significantly different heights!

The town of Crestone might need its own post. Let me just say for now that I had seen all I cared to see in the first 5 minutes and was ready to return to the civility of a 1 room hermitage in the desert. But first, I loaded my backpack at Curt’s Country Store (which looked more like a mini-Whole Foods than a Cracker Barrel). Except for peanut butter, which “Curt” was out of, I can’t recall what I thought I desperately needed to buy. But here’s what I returned with: yogurt (for the granola), milk (to bring my oatmeal to the next level), cinnamon (because everything is better with cinnamon), flax seed (because it seemed like a good thing to have for a mostly vegetarian diet), concentrated cherry juice (to jazz up my liquid repertoire of water and hot tea; and it was the right size to carry back), and blue corn chips (well, because they were on sale and every shopping trip deserves one impulse buy, right?)

My pantry (and stomach) are now less anxious. 

Nada, Nada, Nada

November 1, 2012

I was out of Silver Saddle by 8am in order to make the most of my short morning in Santa Fe. Thanks again to Jen, I ate confidently at Cafe Pasqual's, and received especially attentive service from Arturo who kindly offered to give me his number so that we could “hang out” when I returned to Santa Fe. Though tempting, I passed. After an all-too-rushed loop through the sights and shops of historic downtown, I grabbed a quick but very delicious lunch at Chocolate Maven and then drove the 3 hours to the Hertz location nearest to Crestone: The San Luis Valley Regional Airport in Alamosa, which makes South Bend’s airport look more like O’Hare. Everything, including the ticket counter for Great Lakes Airlines, security, baggage claim, the Hertz counter, the departure waiting area, and the bathrooms sit in a room no larger than a Hallmark store. I may have the great fortune of revisiting that mecca of modern transportation in December in order to make my way to The Harper Family in Ft. Collins.

After about a 45 minute ride through the Valley with one of the Carmelite community members, Connie, we arrive at Nada Hermitage.

I meet Sr. Ceil who had been my contact over email the last several months. The Spiritual Life Institute is one community of 7 lay, religious, and ordained members divided between two retreat centers: Nada in Crestone, Colorado and Holy Hill in Sligo, Ireland. Knowing that Ceil spent most of her time in Ireland, and that her name is Cecilia McGowan, I was prepared to meet a native Irish woman. Her Chicago-land accent surprised me. Fun fact, though: you are eligible for Irish citizenship if one grandparent was born in Ireland. This is the case for Ceil, so she has dual-citizenship.

Anyway, Ceil drove me and my luggage down the road to my home for the next 5 weeks: the Dorothy Day hermitage. Of all the 18 or so hermitages at Nada, I couldn’t have been better placed. (Except maybe for Ignatius, but I need a break from him anyway.)

Now, here’s where things get sensitive, so fair warning. My heart sank a bit when we stepped inside- after I practically knocked over the poor nun with my unnecessarily large suitcase! (Why do I consistently overpack?!) I had a flashback to my first day of college- August 1996- at the moment my family left my dorm room to return home after moving me in. Of course I wanted to be there, but it didn’t feel how I imagined it would. (The Modern Family episode where Claire & Phil drop off Haley at college captures this moment well.) Instead of comfortable solitude, it felt like stark isolation. Soon, other discomforts would arise. The pantry staples don’t look like my kitchen (more to come on that!) The bed doesn’t feel like my bed. The shower doesn’t heat like my shower…in that the water ceases to be hot after about 5 minutes, which is quick even for me. (Bill Haley would never survive!) And it’s so very quiet. What I wanted, yes. But the reality is just so real.

Here it is. Don't blink or you'll miss it.

I settle in, unpack, and consider my dinner options. It’s a little late to attempt a real meal on the available hot plate, and the toaster oven is temporarily, well, broken. I make some tea, eat a Mexican wedding cookie, courtesy of my friend, Arturo in Santa Fe, and decide that the altitude has sufficiently suppressed my appetite for the night. (I have renewed sympathy for Obama’s 1^st debate performance in Denver. 8000 ft. can really zap you of all energy and alertness, in addition to inflicting headaches and nausea! I’m convinced Romney was under the influence of some major stimulants.)


Welcome to contemplative life, Jessica.

Ah, Wildlife

November 2, 2012

My first night’s sleep at Nada would have been surprisingly restful had it not been for the coyote posse that chose to hang out by my window sometime around 2am. If you’ve ever heard a coyote, you can imagine how alarming it would be to wake up to that shriek while sleeping in a strange bed, in a strange hut, in a strange valley. I was sure they would jump right through the glass and bite off my face.

However, I must have been very tired or the pack must have wandered off, because I fell sound asleep again until morning. And here’s what my eyes opened up to with the dawn:

So, as you may know, there’s no cost to this retreat. Some Jesuit-types asked me why I wasn’t doing a 30-day Ignatian retreat. Well, how can I put this simply… Oh, right: $2000.  That’s about how much most Ignatian retreats cost these days at insufferable places like Gloucester and Cohasset, MA! (That’s a joke, dear New England friends. I know of few places as beautiful as the Northern Atlantic coast.) But seriously, I’m thrifty if nothing else. So the opportunity for a free retreat, despite its landlocked location, was convincing. But free is a bit of a misnomer; there is no payment required, but the retreatants do give 15 hours of week of manual labor- along with the Carmelites- to help keep up the retreat center. My sisters and I speculated about what such “manual labor” might include: Laundry? Yes, on Wednesdays. Cooking? Yep, Tuesday & Friday evenings. Cleaning? Saturday mornings.

And Thursdays? Well, that’s when our “special project” takes place. Each group of young adult retreatants (as opposed to private retreatants) takes on a new project, depending on the needs of the community. For example, in Ireland last spring the group built a stone wall. Possibly expecting a group of city slickers this time around, our project will be organizing the library. Apparently their system of categorization has seen better days, so we’ll be restoring it to some semblance of order over the next month for the ease of inquiring retreatants and community members. If we complete the project early, there may be some construction awaiting us…though Fr. Eric expressed some concern about our physical ability-levels while looking directly at me. I’d be offended if it weren’t somewhat accurate. He then asked me outright: “Have you done much construction, Jessica?” I proudly shared my experience building a house in Jamaica, while leaving out the part about the crew of Jamaicans who did most of the work.

Entering the Desert

October 31, 2012

I cannot make the universe obey me. I cannot make other people conform to my own whims and fancies. Thomas Merton

Happy Halloween, I suppose.

I flew to Albuquerque today to begin my Southwestern adventure. A toddler in the row ahead squealed unceasingly, partly in response to her older brother’s taunting, which the parents ignored. The flight attendant (gender not immediately certain) was dressed head to toe as a Bee Gee and paced the aisle to the repetitious serenade of “Staying Alive” belting from an iPod on his shirt. The Marine Corp member next to me was engrossed in a Glenn Beck book.

I was annoyed at all of them for disturbing my peace, or more accurately, blocking me from reaching a peace that Hurricane Sandy had already delayed by a day.

Once I reached New Mexico it was the Hertz agent’s turn to annoy me with her contrived cheeriness and stalled computer. After 10 too many minutes at the Hertz counter I head to the Center for Action & Contemplation, a place I have long admired and imagined visiting. But the man who answered the door didn’t help redeem the frustrating encounters from earlier in the day, seemingly underwhelmed by my spontaneous visit all the way from D.C. and my fondness for Richard Rohr. No tour? No introductions? Must I grill you with questions to make this side-trip worthwhile?? Ugh! More annoyance. (Can you tell I need a retreat?) I’m not sure what I expected would happen once I arrived there, but that was not it!

I’m irritated because what was to be a leisurely visit to a new city has turned rushed and superficial. I drive, as quickly as my poor-excuse-for-a-car Ford Fiesta can muster up the mountain road to Santa Fe.

Things brighten a bit. I couldn’t make a decision about lodging before leaving DC but had tucked away the memory of a kitschy retro motel that earned top ratings on Trip Advisor. It was meant to be a back-up to a more sophisticated B & B, but by the time I reached Santa Fe, I was too hungry and tired (and cranky) to search for an alternative. So the Silver Saddle Motel it would be. 

Nestled along the now over-developed Route 66, its charm is worth much more than the $52 room rate, which includes breakfast. Sure, there was a Doubletree right next door, but why not choose local when possible? Friendly, unpretentious, clean & tastefully decorated (if you like Wild West décor), and equipped with flat screens & wireless, the Silver Saddle Motel has all you could want! (Please humor me and Google it, if you haven’t already.)

Thanks to Jen, who searched Yelp for good restaurants in Santa Fe in between trick-or-treating with her son, I enjoyed a classic New Mexican dinner at The Plaza Cafe.

 

A member of the local fire department ordered a piece of banana cream pie at the table in front of me. When the two female diners in costume commented on the pie, the man brought it to their table and insisted they try it. I can’t see that happening in D.C., can you?

The shops closed around 6, so not wanting to waste my only evening in Santa Fe, I walked a few cobblestone blocks to The Lensic, Santa Fe’s Performing Arts Center since 1931. I had seen “Phantom of the Opera” on its marquee before dinner and thought it might be a quaint, but enjoyable performance of familiar Broadway songs, and the ticket was just $10. 

Oh my. First, Halloween is apparently a big deal in Santa Fe, as evidenced by the costumed audience that filled the theatre and offered a round of applause as each new costume entered and took his/her seat. Second, this was to be no reproduction of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Phantom. Oh no. The Lensic would be showing the original (1930ish?) Phantom of the Opera on screen… a silent film. But wait, there’s more. This showing would be accompanied by The Alloy Orchestra. Can you call a 3-man group whose instruments are old household appliances an orchestra? Hmm. Ok, I’m being critical. It was…unique. And in all honesty, the original film is pretty creepy- perfect for Halloween night.