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Baritone Ukulele

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It’s time for me to tell this story–about the broken baritone ukelele, Buddy the Australian Shepherd and the artisan acoustic instrument shop on 2nd Street in Corvallis.

Just about one year ago, when I was wandering the streets of Corvallis looking for dogs to befriend, short of funds and a job, I found myself on 2nd Street. Since I had never before entered Troubador Music I decided to go in that day. The small container garden out front, mixed with the mysterious and thrilling wood and rosin smells coming from inside as I opened the door, immediately welcomed me.

Imagine a working violin shop: beautiful, well-loved instruments hung above the front counter at about head-height, a large open space which doubled as a showroom and intimate venue for evening concerts, musical sounds in the form of ‘plucks’ and ‘thumps’ coming from a back work room. That is Troubadour Music.

Since I was considering selling my hard-earned Blue Lion Mountain Dulcimer (I’d been playing Mountain Dulcimer for more than 20 years) I decided to ask about their consignment policy. Selling it would pay my living expenses for one month.

I had a lovely talk with Kent (the owner) and the kind sales associate; both gracious and helpful.

Then I had a sweet interaction with Buddy, the elderly Australian Shepherd lying on the floor at our feet. When I stood though, a catastrophe occurred. The baritone ukulele hanging above the counter met my up-coming head and bounced to the cement floor. Many emotions bounced across Kent’s face. He told me it was beyond repair due to the broken inner body. I couldn’t stop from calculating how long it was going to take me to pay for this instrument, especially since I was already having trouble paying for just my rent. Of course I was crying.

“Wait,” Kent said thoughtfully, “you were giving love to my dog when this happened. I don’t want you worry about this. In the bigger scheme of things, love is more important than money or this instrument.”We went on to talk for nearly an hour about potential jobs, including teaching English at the nearest Community College (where Kent sometimes teaches poetry).

I left that day exhausted by the event. I spent much of the following year thinking about this baritone ukulele but my energy was spent looking and trying work that suited me. I didn’t come any closer to paying for that instrument and it weighed heavily on me. My dulcimer hadn’t ended up selling, so I kept it at home with me and played it occasionally but found little joy in it since my chronic pain interfered with the playing.

My walks still took me past Troubadour Music and I frequently saw Kent and Buddy enjoying breaks outside together. Each time I’d cringe inside and remember the feeling of that ukelele hitting the concrete floor. Two weeks ago I formulated a plan: I’d leave my dulcimer as a gift for Kent. He’d be able to sell it eventually or use it himself. I set aside the perfect time and dropped it off. Tears came a little as I reminded the sales associate about that earlier baritone ukelele falling day. She told me that Kent wasn’t there, but that maybe I should reconsider. I didn’t need to pay for the broken instrument. But I was insistent and I left my name and phone number and a note explaining the gift.

Later the same day, Kent called to thank me. He invited my dog Pearl and I to visit he and Buddy at the shop any time. We have since met on the sidewalk near Toubadour Music and Pearl and Buddy instantly appreciated each other. Kent reached in his pocket, found two small treats, one for Buddy and one for Pearl. Before giving them to each dog, he kissed the treats (a trick known to increase the value of the food).

Now my walks down 2nd Street are more pleasant again. When I think of that baritone ukulele hitting the cement, I don’t feel like crying anymore.

Continuing The Walk, 3

The world continues to weigh heavily on me. AlthIMG_0260ough I don’t find it easy to do, my goal is to focus on those I meet face-to-face in my neighborhood more than I focus on our national political scene and what I can’t change. The thing is, since I’ve been locally focused, I have been impressed by the beauty around me; in the people I know (and those I don’t know) that pass through my days here in Corvallis, Oregon.

Last I wrote, Pearl and I had just passed Bob’s Mirror and Glass and Robnett’s Hardware. Now, she’s ready for the city dog park and it’s the perfect time of day–2:30 in the afternoon. There are fewer dogs at this time and most often a higher rate of low-to-the-ground dogs like Pearl. So that’s where we’re headed.

We pass the coffee shop on the right, then the last block of apartments and businesses and Pearl is at a restrained gallop. Lately, I’ve had to take her in through the small dog entrance because she gets anxious while I remove her harness and the bigger dogs crowd the gate, waiting for her to enter so they can sniff her. She puffs herself up and growls ferociously, making everyone think she’s awful and mean (which she’s not) and say, “Oh, she’s a terrier” (which she is) . She runs around wildly in the small area until she seems ready to run with the bigger dogs. Timber is here! A Husky that Pearl recently played with and now loves to follow around (mostly to see whether she can get him to chase her).

Pearl didn’t love Timber at first; she was scared. Timber didn’t act rattled by Pearl’s bark or bared teeth initially, which seems to be important to Pearl. Now they run off across the park to see who can make it around the big Fir tree first. It’s Pearl, after a speedy barrel roll through the wood chips. Timber’s human is a quiet woman who always chuckles at Pearl’s antics and who always tries to get Pearl to allow a quick scratch behind her ears. So far, no luck but Pearl is getting closer and closer to allowing it. Right now, as Timber takes a water bucket break, Pearl makes a quick drive-by sniff of her shoes, which makes us both chuckle.

Dog park behavior, both the dogs and the humans, always leaves me with a lot of thinking to do. I’m always relieved when people can see past Pearl’s scruffy feisty greetings because I want them to know how wonderful she is. She puts on a big show with people who seem threatening to her because she doesn’t want to get stepped on or called, “So cute” (so demeaning) one more time.

I can relate in some ways because I feel threatened by certain human behavior and am still learning how to stand my ground in order to avoid being stepped on. I’m not very good at it sometimes. I end up giving people the unintentional mixed message that I don’t care for them when really, I’m just scared of getting hurt. So I teach Pearl to be less grumbly when she meets new people and she teaches me to stand my ground when I have strong feelings about something.

The walk back up Second Street to our apartment is usually not a direct route. We stop back by River Jewelry so that Pearl can collect some more love from her good friends there. Once home again, Pearl  breathes a sigh of contentment and flops over for one of her many naps.

Home: Continuing the Walk

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When Pearl decides to  wake up, we usually walk down Second Street for our morning walk. When we continue down past Grassroots, the independent bookstore (at which you can purchase blank journals graced with an original acrylic print of a Pearl painting I created for the cover), we see Blackledge Furniture, a 3 story furniture shop and local landmark. When I first adopted Pearl, we’d walk by and window shop; she made me laugh every time by leaping and bouncing for joy at all the ‘bedrooms’ on display. Pearl was fond of jumping on beds for a time.

Across from Blackledge is a motor bank drive through. On Saturdays I take advantage of the free parking–a secret Colin the jeweler let me in on after we’d known each other for a few months. Down the street from Blackledge is the quaint U.S. Postoffice. This is where I go to mail my letters and bills. Since I live and work within two blocks, I am lucky enough to be on the same mail carrier’s route for both jobs and my home. Joe. He remembers our names and expresses concerns about neighbors. It’s easy to see the sparkle in Joe’s eyes and he still has time for stories and jokes. When I first moved in to my Second Street apartment, I was shown where mail would be delivered, but when it came around to mailing my first bill, I wasn’t sure where to post it, so I asked Joe. “Well,” he said, some people use a clip to attach it to the mailboxes, but you could also walk it down to the post office.” I didn’t see the humor in this at the time, but I do now. I enjoy walking two blocks and seeing the historic Post Office in person.

Lately there have been large groups of folks sitting outside with various signs requesting money; some with dogs, some with skateboards. These people have various degrees of friendliness. Pearl has learned not to bark at dogs as she walks her in-town walks, but sometimes these people and their dogs challenge her (and me) and it makes it very hard to get past them on the sidewalk. This changes my feelings of going to the Post Office every time. Most times, I leave feeling anxious and frustrated at a world in which so many people don’t have what they need. I also leave feeling like saying to one of this sign-holding people: “Hey–I wish I could help, but I don’t even have enough money to pay my rent right now. And I’m working two jobs.” But then I remember that I have a place to sleep, a sweet-faced dog at my side, and two jobs.

When we continue down Second Street, we pass the construction of a new hotel and what is going to be a County museum eventually. This will change the South end of Second Street, which has been somewhat forgotten for a time. Most shopping is up two blocks, where my apartment is. I’m eager to see how it affects parking and the general personality of down town.

 

Working Dogs of Downtown

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“Redda” from Sibling Revelry

During the past two years, as I pined for the past dogs in my life, I gave myself the project of attempting to paint the dogs I had been visiting along 2nd Street (which has since become my neighborhood). I began with Redda, the dog who had participated in my interview at the clothing boutique Sibling Revelry. She is a  sweet girl who had been showing me love when I thought no one else could. She lets me hold her on my lap and has participated in my small art show at the boutique. She is easy to love.

Next was Indy, who I met as I walked near my apartment on a particularly busy downtown October day. I remember seeing children,

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“Indy” from The Shoe Hutch

dressed up in Halloween attire, trick-or-treating at various businesses when I happened to turn my head toward The Shoe Hutch door. This little puppy face was peeping out to see the kids while James, his human, handed out candy.  I immediately put on my ‘brakes’, turned toward the door of the store (nearly trampling the unfortunate holiday revelers) and bristled my way inside to give Indy love. Seeing him made me so happy! He still gets excited to see me, though it’s a little more complicated nowadays.

Cammie from Bob’s Mirror and Glass was not so eager to make friends, which I took as a challenge. My daily walks took me to the south end of 2nd Street often and once, as I turned east toward the river, I saw her in the store front window. Again I put on my brakes, turned and entered the store (the fact that I have no immediate business to give any particular store never deters me, evidently). Cammie didn’t budge from her curled-up position in the middle of the floor. I asked whether it would be alright if I gave her some love and the young man at the desk said, “She doesn’t warm up to everyone.” My previous dogs had been heelers, so I felt the need to make friends with Cammie intensely. After some cautious sniffs, she decided I would be okay and now lets me scratch her belly without hesitation. It helps that I carry treats.

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“Cammie” from Bob’s Mirror and Glass

 

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“Merlin” from Zooey’s

By now, I was on the hunt for other dogs who work at downtown locations. I was between jobs and needed a project to keep my focused and productive. I also needed this project to fend off impending depression that comes with lack of work and the lack of confidence that comes with that. Someone told me about Merlin who worked at Zooey’s. I made an appointment to photograph Merlin and his human helped pick the pose, saying it was kind of “iconic” for him to sit there on the velvet couch. Merlin let me pet him just a little, but seemed kind of nervous about it all. I took the photos and left, thanking them for the opportunity, of course.

Since The Shoe Hutch is the place I frequented most, and since Indy had by now become one of my favorite animals in the entire world, I also became easy friends with Huckleberry and Bella (dogs who also work at the shoe store). Many days I’d have nothing more on my schedule other than to take treats to Bella, Huck and Indy. The humans that work at The Shoe Hutch made me feel welcome, even though I rarely purchased anything. I can easily admit that I felt so guilty about being such a pest that I bought one pair of shoes and several pairs of socks that I didn’t truly need over the course of the year.

 

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“Huckleberry” of The Shoe Hutch

 

Up to this point in my self-guided project, I felt I was definitely practicing the art of painting dogs, but it wasn’t until I saw all the paintings in order that I realized practice really does pay off. My technique was improving and I gained some confidence. It’s extremely hard for me to face a blank page/canvas and I have procrastination down to a science when it comes to beginning a painting. All kinds of negative talk passes through my mind until I’ve convinced myself that I’m wasting time.

I decided to attempt painting the dog of my heart, the Blue Heeler that stayed at the farm when I divorced. Ruger and I tried visits for the first year, but logistics made them difficult and both our hearts hurt a lot. I had taken a photo of him at my Corvallis apartment and wanted to try to capture that look of love in a painting. I was scared. It was painful. But I really did find him in my painting. My sister’s comment was: Jaqui’s paintings are getting more and more realistic. My heart was in all of the initial paintings, but my soul was in this one. I still miss Ruger and he still has part of my heart.

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At this point in the Working Dog Project, things get a little sketchy; there were roadblocks. I began really searching for all the dogs that work downtown. I found there were more than I could fathom! The project became a socialization practice for me–a chance to force myself outside when all I wanted to do was sleep, or go teach overseas in Indonesia (which I came a hairs-breadth away from doing). I arranged for meetings and took photos of more and more dogs: Peak Sports, Corvallis Home Brew Shop, The Frame Shop, Troubador Music. These dogs’ pictures are waiting for me to paint them.

But it doesn’t stop there! One incredible aspect of this Working Dogs of Downtown project has been very personal. One of the roadblocks of staying right here in Corvallis has been living in an apartment, and the thought that I could not have a dog of my own. Once I crossed the hurdle of that limiting thought, so much changed for me. And it happened all at once: 1. A new co-worker shared information about her companion dog, 2. I happened to look at Heartland Humane Society’s website and found “Moonstone”, a terrier mix that looked a lot like a puppy I had met and loved three months earlier, 3. I talked with my landlord about the possibility of having her as a companion animal, 4. “Moonstone”/”Pearl” came home to live with me!

Pearl currently works with me at Irenes’ Boutique and I am so grateful to Rebecca Robinson for making this arrangement work. Because I live and work downtown Corvallis, Pearl has become a recognizable presence. When I first brought Pearl home, she surprised me in so many ways (positive ways), but my veterinarian cautioned me that I’d need to work on several problems with her, especially since it was just her and I. She needed some interventions in the way of confidence and socialization. Of course I took this as a challenge and wore it every day as my “job”. We went to the dog park downtown, I walked her all around the riverfront, took her to the outdoor restaurants, asked every dog/human I could find to give her treats. She was always with me for the first few months–I didn’t go places to which I couldn’t bring her. I was exhausted!

Pearl is a lightning fast learner and met our challenge like a champ most days. I took her to visit my former neighbor Jo (96 years old). There was mutual love immediately and I was impressed with Pearl’s ability to discriminate play time from serious time.

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Jo, with son John, and Pearl

Pearl also has her favorite stops along our daily walks, including the shop across the street run by Reed and Colin. It’s her favorite because feeding her tortilla chips has become a tradition. She loves these guys a lot. It’s pretty obvious they kind of like her too.

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Reed, Colin and Pearl

Pearl and I have become inseparable, and I am lucky we found each other. The unconditional love of a dog is the closest thing I’ve felt to the love of God. Ever. And Pearl is exceptional. What I love about her is her ability to bond with other people too. She adores the newest member of her pack. They also have a close bond, which makes me happy to see. I love seeing her love in action.

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This post is the encapsulation of my past two years. What I’d like for the next two years is to paint more and more dogs. I have finished my first commissioned dog portrait–‘Atticus’ who lives with my dear teaching friend Alicea. It was scary to do and to be paid for, but I loved doing it and I hope to do a lot more commissioned portraits!

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“Atticus”

 

Tiny Garden

Just outside the outer door of my apartment building (and just about on every block of downtown Corvallis), there is a a garbage receptacle. My landlord designed it and it is brilliant in my opinion. Made of cement, it has two compartments–the lower one houses the actual garbage can and the upper one is reserved for planting flowers. There is just enough space for a little bit of soil and a few pansies or succulents. The outer cement housing is decorated artfully with glass mosaic.

Unfortunately some late-night customers of the bar across the street ‘planted’ cigarette butts in the planter atop this garbage receptacle. For the first year of life in this apartment, I’d walk out the door, see the ashtray/planter and silently complain about the jerks that misused the planter. It took me a year of complaining before realizing that I could do something about this problem.

Up until then, I kept thinking, “I wish the authorities would do something to fix this. I wish someone would plant some flowers there. I wish someone would make those people stop putting out cigarettes in the planter.” One year of this.

The problem: I didn’t see myself as an authority; as anyone who could do anything to solve any problem. I’m still working on it. Through some trauma in my life, I have come to think of myself as nothing and no one. This has made it tough to succeed in many things during the past two years.

IMG_0443I am working on it though, and after a year of walking out that apartment door and seeing that planter, the idea that I could plant flowers there struck me. Finally. Since I didn’t have funds to buy much in the way of plants/flowers, on my daily walks, I took starts from the other planters on other blocks. Mostly, I planted succulents since I wouldn’t need to water often. The most surprising thing about it all is–the plants are thriving and no one is using that planter as an ashtray anymore!

My friend likes to use a phrase when she hears negative thoughts spin through her mind: Remove and Replace. This ashtray to flower planter experience has given me a perfect image of this phrase. I can thrive when I remove the old negative ones and replace them with more helpful ones. Sometimes this idea helps me a lot. Now all I need to do is to pay attention to that planter when I walk out my apartment door each day. And water it occasionally.

Borrowed View

When my husband and I were buying less cared for homes and fixing them up for resale with lots of curb appeal and a few cosmetic details, we often heard the realtor say this phrase: “borrowed view”. This described the next door property’s magnificent trees or sloping landscape or pond. We learned to use it as a selling point when we were ready to move on to the next place.

This phrase has been jumping out at me lately, though I no longer own a home and my landlord extraordinaire does all the necessary repairs. I am lucky to have a borrowed view of the Willamette River, if I step out and walk around a building or two. I walk along this river any time I like, thanks to the City of Corvallis, Oregon.

I’ve been mostly thinking of the phrase in terms of not needing to be in possession of something in order to enjoy it thoroughly. For instance, I have no children of my own but for 18 years I taught and enjoyed the company of the young people I was lucky to be with eight hours a day. While that in no way compares with being a mother, it was my “borrowed view”; I have so many anecdotes that still bring me joy and from which I learned life lessons. That is the biggest and best benefit of being a teacher.

My current joy is to visit the dogs of down town Corvallis. More than ten business owners bring their 4-legged friends to work each day on Second Street alone! This is particularly meaningful to me since I live in an apartment without pets and I miss their company profoundly. These working dogs are my new “borrowed view”. Through this experience I have come to know that while I no longer own some of the things I did ten years ago (due to major life changes), I do know where I can go to find what I need. In this case, it’s the comfort of canines. I borrow their kindness for a little bit each day.

I am learning what I really do want to (or am able to) invest in and what I am happy to just borrow or share for short bits of time.

Social Security

It has taken me a lifetime and a sudden change of circumstances to realize that I live life completely differently when I am without the “security” of job benefits like health insurance and retirement accounts. I’m only 15 years away from receiving Social Security and part of me can’t wait.

When I taught as a public school teacher, a percentage of my paycheck always went into my retirement account every month, like clockwork. I felt secure that when retirement came I’d have everything I needed readily accessible.

Now, I am  no longer a part of the public system, or any system. The money I put into PERS during my 17 years of teaching is locked up until I reach the age of 55 (due to tax penalties and since I am not adding to it currently). It’s taking me longer than expected to make the transition from teacher to. . . something else, and I have no money to add to my future savings. In fact, I’m using up my reserves but hopeful about job perspectives still.

This difficult transition has taught me about another kind of social security: relying on friends–really being forced to ask for help, I mean. Throughout the past two years I have made decisions both good and bad, which have brought me right back to where I began, which is looking for a job that is not teaching. I have found some friends more patient with me than others as I stumble through this part of my life. Some just shake their heads and turn away because it’s too painful to watch. Others sit down with me and talk, even though it’s painful.

These friends who walk with me are far more valuable than the Social Security that may (or may not) come to me in 15 years. They are the ones who keep me in this game; without them, I would have dropped out long ago. I live life now, knowing that it is necessary to rely on others–that I cannot do this life alone. Retirement accounts and Social Security might falsely convince one that one is infallible, prepared for anything.

While I know that saving money is a necessity for my future well-being, I also know now that honest and heart-felt friendships are imperative for my present well-being. This is what I am currently investing in. I am living my life as if it depended on my friends, because it does, and I don’t want to forget it.

Glass From Sand

They make glass from sand, a fact I just barely believe because it is when I feel like sand that I am at my lowest, most dry moments of my life; my plainest, ugliest times–times when I feel like I am one in an infinite number and it would not make an impact at all if I slipped on out to the sea and disappeared under the weight of the ocean and the world.

What I know about the ocean floor is that they have yet to explore much of the deepest parts, and that there are fissures in the crust where edges of the earth allow molten core to escape up into the ocean–a meeting of fire and water. If my grain-of-sand self reached these dark, unexplored waters by floating unnoticed through currents and doldrums, it would be what they call a ‘non-event’.

But they make glass from sand

and if my single-grain-self rested there at the bottom of the bottom of the ocean, even though no one knows this from experience or exploration, most likely I would find myself resting among an infinite number of other sand grains, all of them ancient, some of them content–maybe–I would bring them the news, quietly (perhaps in passing): “you’ll never guess that this is true, but they’re making glass from us up there.” They’ll look at me quizzically, some of them, as if to say, “glass?”

Then I’ll launch into a big tutorial about how glass is made. Of course I’ll have to start farther back than that by describing the properties of glass: its reflective and refractive qualities allow the light of the sun to shine through. Ah! I need to start with sunlight of course. This is getting complicated. When I get to the description of how fire is used to create the glass transition no one will be buying it. “We haven’t seen fire in these depths for eons,” they’ll say. And it’s true–how could I expect these salty folk to believe in fire and glass if there’s never a chance for them to see either?

So I do what I’ve come to do: rest, without bothering the world with my plain self.

But they make glass from sand

and while I settle myself among an infinite number of other fine grains–“pardon me while I get comfortable”–I feel an undocumented rumble below. One next to me notices my startled look, “Don’t worry. We feel that every once in a while. Nothing ever comes of it.” I let it rock me and I imagine a warmth spreading, passing from on to another around me. Then I realize it’s not my imagination. What happens next seems to startle every one. Such a heat is reaching us that I curl up next to one near me, quivering.

But they make glass from sand

and I am no longer my single-grain-self but something larger altogether. Before we know what to think, multi-grain partners are becoming more common all around. Some notice what happens when more and more are joined. We are transparent; we reflect some of the fire around us, but allow protected viewing of the earth and ocean event below. We have become glass.

They make glass from sand

and an element of fire which turns out to be ingredients found at the bottom of the ocean, where I came to rest. I marvel at our combined beauty and strength. We are clear and crystal-like. Beautiful.

Looking Out

“Let go of all that seems to suggest getting somewhere, being someone, having a name and a voice, following a policy and directing people in ‘my’ ways. What matters is to love.”

Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours, page 171.

For the good share of my former life (the past 10 years) I had been looking too much our: toward the things that I thought would bring me happiness, like the accumulation of goods, a house, security in general. Looking back now, I can see I was building a safety net that I thought could protect me. I felt safe. . . but I wasn’t. It turns out I was only buying insulation to protect myself from a reality that I didn’t have the heart to face–I was a partner in a marriage that was failing miserably and I was unhappy, though I tried every day to convince myself otherwise.

So after finally facing these two very powerful realities of my life, I shed (or lost) nearly everything: house, job, partner. . . anything that had brought me a feeling of security. Since then, for more than two years, I’ve been looking more inward than outward; developing a confidence in who I am or who I want to become more of; struggling to survive without all the “things” I thought I needed. I think I’m beginning to feel successful in this area. My life now has given me a kind balance between working a job I honestly love part time and developing my interest and skills in the areas of visual art and writing in my expansive free time. This has helped me find a confidence that had slowly been whittled away. I’ve initiated the practice of seeking what I need inside myself and finding security in who I am.

And since I’ve experienced reaching the end of who I am and what I can sustain, I’ve learned to seek out the help of One Who Is More Than Me for help beyond myself. I’ve learned that this is the only security I can ever truly hope for.

Now I’m looking forward to sharing some gifts with the world–looking out more often while still developing the who that I am. It turns out, I like me and I just never really knew that at the level that I needed to. I never had to trust myself like I have needed to during the last two years of my life. I am happy to have found this reliable friend in myself.

Marvelous Leap, or Leaving a 20 Year Partner and Stable Job With Benefits for No Job, No Benefits, No Partner

And I said, “Oh, I know! My work is one of joy, kindness, something to live up to.” I said I also cradle a song in my heart. In time it is morning and I look out my window. I prepare for a marvelous leap. (jaqui eicher, 2014)

Most of the time, I don’t think of this “leap” as marvelous, unless it’s used as an adverb and followed by the word ‘frightening’ or ‘awful’. Most days, I wonder what I have done with my “one wild and precious life” as Mary Oliver says. But on the days that count, I know that something in me awakened and has driven me toward this move. I have become mindful of my hours and days; how I spend my time matters much more to me than it ever did before. In this way, I have taken a marvelous leap toward mindfulness.

So far the journey has been painful and filled with such a powerful lack of confidence that each step further, each day, leaves me with nearly as many questions as answers. Only the more confident voices of my friends and neighbors have grounded me with good reflections and reminders of my better qualities. I’ve covered new territory (that which I didn’t know existed); wild and dangerous terrain. But I’m still alive! And still there exists in me the will to wake each day and take the next step.

Lately I have wondered when this “marvelous leap” will end. I’ve got to land sometime, right? I’ve considered turning back on the worst days, but instead I take the next step forward, toward the distant unknown. William Stafford wrote: “it is legitimate to crawl after the wings are broken.”  So some days I crawl toward the unknown.

Soon I will need some greater force to pull me because I will be spent and have no energy left with which to move–either forward or back.

My path seems to be leading me toward teaching English overseas and I am happy to finally see something on the horizon besides a bank of fog. Recently I heard Sinead O’Connor’s song, “I Am Enough For Myself” and though I’ve never before  believed this, I’m learning that it might be true and I may have to sit with this for a time.