Summer Days

Tidal Pool Reflections

     I love where different habitats meet, land and sea, beach and marsh, secular and spiritual. A naturalist once told me that magic happens at the boundaries between habitats, transition zones that offer a wealth of diversity in plant and animal life. Tidal pools for me are such places. I love it when I hit a beach walk just right to be treated to the sight of them, to have time to indulge in the personality of each dip in the land. I like how short lived tidal pools are, how some sport minnows and crabs. Others serve as wading grounds for shorebirds. 

     All offer fun discoveries if only the lap of warm water. 

     In a few hours, they will be gone. But then again, so will I. 

DB

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     Disclaimer: The above photo is not of me. At least, it's not the way I look. But it's close to the way I felt a few days ago. I had gone to Waterfront Park for my boot camp class, as I usually do three times a week. On this hot and steamy day, though, no one else showed up for class. The trainer gave me exercises to do, instructed me to do five rounds of them, and left. A few minutes later, all by myself, drenched in sweat, I was doing jumping jacks and I realized, "I'm that crazy person, that one person working out in spite of the elements, with no one coaching or watching." I always had great respect for that person, self-motivated enough to do such a thing. My eyes filled with tears as I felt that same respect for myself. Doing my third round of wind sprints, I thought I heard someone applauding. When I looked back, I saw that the sound was a little girl's flip-flops clapping at the pavement as she ran to keep up with me. I smiled. It was even better than applause.

     I loved that moment, when that girl and I were running side by side, pushing ourselves, reveling in the strength of our bodies. Girls are too often discouraged from such things, as I was reminded again by a review of the movie "Brave" on a Christian website.   Merida is labeled "not a charming, sweet young girl" because she stands up for herself and takes joy in her God-given abilities. In the fact-based movie "Chariots of Fire," Olympic athlete Eric Liddell said that when he ran, he felt God's pleasure. That's what I experienced during my solo workout in the park, and what I shared with a sprinting little girl. I hope I can give myself permission to pursue it more often, and I pray no one tries to take that joy away from her.

SS

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      It smells like summer.  As I head out for an early run, the smell of freshly cut grass and the rapid ch-ch-ch of the sprinkler in our neighbor's yard give me pause.  I smell the grass - and even smell the water from the old fashioned oscillating sprinkler.   It smells like every summer I've known.

     Of all our senses, smell seems to have the best memory of place. A wave of exhaust from a diesel bus hits me and suddenly I'm a student in London, standing in a queue waiting for the bus.  I don't need to open my eyes or even use my ears to know I'm at the ocean when the smell of the sharp salt air blows over me.  New sneakers smell like the beginning of school.   The scent of damp decaying leaves and pine tree resin take me back home hiking  in the mountains with my brothers. For my husband, the smell of Coppertone suntan lotion is summer in Myrtle Beach.  Charleston smells like pluff mud and old lace. The list goes on - a charcoal grill, the smell of rain in the distance, smoke from a campfire with friends...

     Writer Diane Ackerman refers to the sense of smell as the "mute sense, the one without words."  Smells are often hard to describe in words but are acutely connected to memory and place.  I imagine that we, in our sanitized and civilized world, have lost much of our animal sense of smell.  I watch a cat or a dog smell their way through a day and realize how much I'm missing - some of it possibly for the best.  But as we pay attention to the ordinary wonders in our lives, we need to remember not just to look and listen but to smell each moment.   Our moments and our memories will be so much richer for it.

     What smells like summer to you?

AF

Summer!

     Summer.  It’s shoes off time - that time of year when the shoe pile at the foot of the stairs grows ever larger - a pile of flip flops, Chacos, Tevas, running shoes. You know it’s summer when footwear gets kicked off at the door.  And this week, with both girls home, shoes will be everywhere.

     Taking off your shoes says “I’m slowing down, I’m through with the “doing” of the day, now I can just ‘be.’”  In summer, it’s a kick back moment, but it’s also a moment to remember the goodness of the life we live.   God stopped Moses in his tracks.  “Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground."    My back porch is not Horeb, the mountain of God, and I don’t see a burning bush anywhere close by, but moments at home, of being family, of simply being present to life can be all be holy ground, if I can pause long enough to let that awareness sink in. 

     In Seasons of Your Heart, Macrina Wiederkehr writes “Taking off your shoes is a sacred ritual...It is a way of celebrating the holy ground on which you stand.  If you want to be a child of wonder cherish the truth that time and space are holy.  Whether you take off your shoes symbolically or literally matter little.  What is important is that you are alive to the holy ground on which you stand and to the holy ground that you are.” 

     So, go kick off your shoes, celebrate summer and remember you are holy ground.

AF

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Ridin Solo

I took the kids to see Disney's Brave and was pleasantly surprised to see a strong heroine, Merida, who doesn't need to be rescued by a prince. She whips out arrows while on horseback, nailing targets on the move. Disney is way overdue is sending out a healthier message to young girls about following their talents and passions, without waiting on that perfect prince.

In author Eric Klinenberg's book, "Going Solo," he makes the interesting observation that we're becoming a nation of independent souls who are crafting new ways of going solo. In 1950, only 22 percent of American adults were single, but that has changed today to be 50 percent with 31 million—roughly one out of every seven adults—living alone. He brings out the fact that our demographics are changing with the number of people living alone making up 28 percent of all U.S. households, which makes them more common than any other domestic unit, including the nuclear family. I'll be honest. As a family gal, that makes me sort of sad.

But you have to love Brave's heroine Merida. She stays true to herself, refusing to chose a husband she doesn't love. More importantly, she learns the lesson of pride and how it tears the fabric of relationships, a lesson she'll dearly need should her prince-sometimes-charming ever show.

         For that matter, even if he doesn't.

The best movie I've seen in awhile is The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, where a bunch of people on their last leg so to speak find more authentic ways to live their lives and relate to others. I think we have to drop our masks and Hollywood conditioning to do that. I caught myself in Brave looking for the Hollywood "love interest" part of the script. Good for Disney, he was a no show. Merida had to do the hard work of growing all by herself.

DB

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     Never thought to find myself here,

     On this middle-land, this in-between.

     Water on either side, tide rising.

     Where do I go?

     I've come too far to return.

     A growing pool separates me from the safety of beach.

     But out there, in the depths,

     Who knows what I'd find?

     Or what might find me?

     I don't have all I need to go that way.

     Maybe in time, I will.

     But the tide is rising faster than my courage.

SS