Laurie Klein, Author at Laurie Klein, Scribe

Getaways, Road Postcard #4

I feel so restless lately. The walls seem closer together,
and my days are getting shorter. Maybe I’m the one
getting smaller. . . . What am I looking for?

These words, written by Vinita Hampton Wright, might express your thoughts. Or those of someone you love.

Time to get outta Dodge?

“Just drive,” Hampton Wright advises. “Drive and munch and listen and watch the scenery go by. Feel the sensation of moving somewhere . . .”

Even brief getaways, she says, can move us forward when we feel stuck. Stale. Burned out.

It might be simplest (and cheapest) to ride public transit on a day off, or lunch hour, freeing our hands for felt tips and sketchbook or an adult coloring book. We could knit, daydream, or doze as life slips past.

Is there a window in your schedule this month for a road trip, or even an hour’s drive?

Maybe you’ve heard Bruce Cockburn’s song, “Driving Away” (click below, to hear).

“. . . the picture of the world that’s coming clear, driving away.”

New View, Fresh Perspective

Although travel-resistant, I return from our getaways with an altered outlook. I see more clearly where I’ve been, which helps me map out—or at least imagine—where I might want to go with my life.

Sometimes getaways offer a surprise opportunity to face an old fear . . .

The past weekend upped my “inner Took” quotient, from 7% to 15%. (“Zip-lining,” Dreamer says, “ranks 50%.”)

Though chronically altitude-challenged, I scaled

this primitive 32-foot ladder

made from slick tree boughs

up a 100-foot rock face

to visit Balcony House,

the amazing stone remains at Mesa Verde, once occupied by Ancestral Puebloans.

Tall ladders have haunted me ever since panic stranded my childhood self, for hours, on our garage roof. That ladder cast a life-long shadow over my mind.

At Mesa Verde, I did not look down. I lasered-in on each burnished rung. One step at a time. All else fell away (except me, thank God).

Moving forward, one simple act at a time

An epic ladder, a little faith, and the vacation spirit of daring helped me concentrate on each step.

Hampton Wright says that getaways help us “confine [our] concerns to what [we] have with [us]” as well as giving us “a change of scenery.“

Try occasional Hit-the-Road dates, she suggests: solo, or with friends; with or without a plan; with or without a GPS or map (let’s go somewhere beautiful and get lost together); with or without a theme (visit museums, or small-town diners, country churches, old graveyards, parks or fishing holes).

Getaways: Potential Supplies

Bring snacks. Favorite music.

Work? No. Hobby tools? Sure. Pack only those which enhance your appetite for discovery and relaxation.

Camera
Journal
Sketchbook
Binoculars
magnifying glass
Musical instrument
Audiobook. (For a week-long trip, try The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, narrated by Jim Broadbent.)

Wear stretchy clothes, comfy shoes. Prepare for weather changes. Or not.

Lucky hat, optional.

What’s stopping you?

Is there a “shadow-ladder” barring your way?

Might this be the time to face it, whatever it is?

If you take a getaway, I hope you’ll share . . .

Godspeed!

Vinitia Hampton Wright, Simple Acts of Moving Forward, p. 29

Impressions: Good/Bad, First, Lasting

by Laurie Klein 2 Chiming In

Impressions: one word, multiple meanings

Comedians aping celebrities: Jimmy Fallon does Trump
Vague notions: Haven’t we met?
Dental molds for inlays, nightguards, dentures (clamp jaws, breathe through nose longer than seems possible)

Alternatively, aren’t lasting, good impressions what we hope to leave after completing the job interview?

We want others to see us in the best light as we shake hands with the leader, the banker or pastor, the mentor or blind date.

Then there’s our significant other’s parents, met that first time . . .

Impressions can be fleeting. Perceptive. Flat-out wrong.

Lasting impressions

Yesterday we visited Fossil Butte National Monument: true lasting impressions.

Showcased under glass, at staggered depths, ancient plant fossils seem to float against dark wood. Smithsonian-worthy, the layout is masterful.

Painstaking work exposed each specimen from layers of rock. Equally rigorous science identified and classified them.

Scientific impressions

May I oversimplify?

Organisms + Habitat + Death x Time = Fossils

Organisms near a waterhole, inland sea, or lake sink into the mud.

Over time, weighty, accruing layers of sediment embed the organisms ever deeper. Water evaporates or moves on, the way water does.

Tissues disintegrate and minerals may penetrate the remains.

Tools for fossil removal

Wooden frames, for marking stone perimeters
Rock saws
Hammers, chisels, brushes
Adhesives
Pneumatic air scribes, picks and needles

Bet you can guess why I like the “air scribe.”

Back in the lab, technicians manipulate the air scribe, a tiny jackhammer, to painstakingly remove the remaining matrix and expose the fossil’s intricate detail.

Good impressions, humanly speaking

How do we make them? Leave them? Recover or rebuild them when things go amiss?

“Look for areas where you need to let go,” I read this morning.* This implies surrender. Leaving something behind.

Every leaf on that fossil wall eventually yielded to forces beyond itself. I find myself reviewing my human interactions on our trip, thus far. Have I left a lasting impression of kindness? Courtesy? Warmth?

I once reviewed a novel for a literary journal. My review’s title? “We Were Here, and We Loved.”

I combed the book for key lines, layers of meaning, and vivid images to support insights I’d gained from reading the story—a painstaking process, not unlike chiseling out fossils.

We Were Here, and We Loved: Isn’t this what we hope our lives, our work, our words communicate?

“Work is love made visible,” poet Kahlil Gibran wrote. Poet Emily Dickinson adds, we all “…dwell in possibility—A fairer House than Prose—”

Maybe there’s an unseen Air Scribe detailing our surrenders and endeavors. And a Curator, who preserves our stories.

Maybe there’s a gallery on the far side of today, and it exhibits the varied depth of our interactions with nature and people: Call it Hi-def, video-in-stone that angels or any celestial passerby can view.

The thought makes me smile. And bite my lip.

What kind of surrender is unfolding in you these days? Will you view your work as love poured out?

*Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, May 17.

Words in Edgewise, Growing “Edge Wise”

by Laurie Klein 15 Chiming In

Edgewise to the massive cliffs on either side of our RV, we nose through a misty canyon in Colorado.

Along the rim of a rocky cutaway, one valiant tree sports May’s latest green. Beyond its small canopy, ghostly aspen trunks mount the next slope: limbless, charred. Their music, silenced.

Fire once ravaged parts of this canyon. You could draw a v-shaped line where the flames stopped.

“Edge areas” between differing habitats are ecologically distinct. In the foreground above, lichens inch across stone. Sparse vegetation seeks footholds, hunkers edgewise between rocks.

In the ruined woods beyond, ground covers will vary now, as will returning wildlife.

The division appears stark, even hostile. Yet a strange serenity rules here, amidst devastation. There’s something compelling at play in this scene.

I’ve been dividing my evenings between several books, pulling out words and ideas from each and letting them converse in my head.

One book currently captivating me is God in the Yard: Spiritual Practice for the Rest of Us, by L. L. Barkat. She describes it as “a 12-week course in discovery and playing towards God.”

For someone who often overworks, the idea of playing towards God feels irresistible.

The right book in a ripe time offers gifts, unparalleled.

Published in 2010, this one reached me belatedly, and it’s searching and sifting my soul with each chapter I read.

An Edgewise Commitment

Barkat made an odd commitment after reading a book she found pivotal: Radical Simplicity, by Jim Merkel.

With her senses and soul open wide, for one year she spent time in her small backyard every day—no matter the weather—“to find some contentment and beauty” (p.5.).

Some days (and nights) she slotted in backyard dates edgewise: Fifteen minutes in falling snow or rain was all the time she could spare.

Just as the photo above suggests a heart-shaped area of destruction wedged between soaring walls of grandeur, so God in the Yard is gently ushering me between grief and recovery.

Pages nearly vibrate with unexpected observations. Paradoxes invite further exploration. Soul Questions are interspersed with scenes from the author’s life and readings. She invites the reader to fill in the blanks. For example:

When I was a child, I lived______________
Today I live________________________
If I could, I would return to_____________

My answers describe edges in my life: geographically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Yes, I long for earlier terrain (and people) no longer available
And yes, acceptance grows slowly at deeper levels
There are also actions I can take

Wisdom expands as I learn to honor new ways to thrive.

And you? (This is a question Barkat asks, again and again.)

Do you perceive a distinct edge for yourself? What change might you need to accept (or reject)? What one action can you take (or stop taking) to move you toward discovery and thriving?

God in the Yard: Spiritual Practice for the Rest of Us, L. L. Barkat, T.S. Poetry Press, 2010.

Note: “Words in Edgewise” is a title borrowed from a marvelous show created and directed by my mentor, Pat Stien.

Taking Turns, Taking It Slow

by Laurie Klein 22 Chiming In

Hairpin turns funnel our 30-foot RV downward today, through Idaho’s wild canyons.

Yours truly is not driving.

I am 93% Bilbo Baggins, a homebody who loves peace, quiet. Warm food.

Bilbo had to dig deep when the great Gandalf appeared and set him on a quest. But the little hobbit discovered derring-do within—latent “Took” qualities from his mother’s side of the family gene pool.

We’ve been traveling for ten days. Taking turns with the driving? Well, hoping to channel my inner Took, a week ago I “took” the wheel. Did I mention we’re also towing a station wagon?

I rollercoasted us up and down and around, again, and again, taking turns, taking it slow. To give Bill a break.

Longest. Hour. Ever.

And then the weather changed . . .

Today, from the passenger seat, my senses plunge into spring scenery.

Moraines left behind by ancient glaciers look wetly vibrant. Balsam Root Daisies carpet slopes, glowing patches of gray and chartreuse amid deeper greens.

Camera braced on a raised knee, I shoot through the open window. Colors abound!

I can almost hear Julie Andrews as Maria von Trapp (who definitely claimed her Took side) singing “The hills are alive with the sound of music.”

What inspired those lyrics? Perhaps, the canyons of Idaho.

Or Isaiah 55:12 (NIV):

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

What an ear-tingling promise for people who failed, so spectacularly often, to listen to God. People who clung to their comforts, idols and appetites.

Which sounds like me.

I wonder what today’s scenery might be broadcasting . . .

Married to a roamer, I get to regularly unearth my latent Tookishness. Took and Baggins, taking turns inside me. Is one better?

This world needs those who stir things up.

It also needs those who stir the soup,
and those who keep candles burning on window sills.

What will you stir up today? What’s stirring in you?

With or Without a Net

by Laurie Klein 8 Chiming In

Is today a good time for a walk where you live? If not, how about taking a virtual walk with me?

Wild, sometimes, the memories that surface.
You step out the door
and before you know it . . .

you’re a hatless kid again, let loose in the meadow, stalking ladybugs, moths and monarchs. In spongy-new tennies, you inch past milkweeds and burdock, dandelions and Queen Anne’s lace.

If you relished this mid-century childhood freedom like I did, half the fun was being outside on your own, green grapes in a pocket, traveling with or without a net for butterflies (made with a coat hanger and cheesecloth). Remember? Let’s go!

Exploring. Staring at clouds.
Sitting on our haunches to flip over a bug with a stick.
Whistling on grass blades, inhaling May.

Walking without a net today, I take these pictures along the path and wonder (maybe you do, too):

Why do I always prefer a safety net?

I don’t like living without a net to catch me. Before I can plumb this fear, I see the wild shooting stars: tall and delicate with wind tunnel petals. Their centers are dark, beaky snouts.

Their name alone reminds me to watch for surprises.

“If you search for the little bursts of surprise in your life,” writes Margaret Moore, “you create an entire mind-set change—exactly what the adventurer needs.”*

I’m not very adventurous. But I’d like to be.

Streamline this soul today
like a badminton birdie,
ready to rise . . .

“Finding novel sensations in the everyday hits a mental reset button,” says Todd Kashdan, PhD.**

And you—what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down—
papers, plans, appointments, everything—
leaving only a note: “gone
to the fields to be lovely. Be back
when I’m through with blooming.”

—Lynn Ungar, “Camas Lilies”

This is my year to delight more in life—without a net of some kind to reassure me I’ll be okay. Sometimes I question my motives. I take heart from the following quote:

“An adventurous person will always have moments of feeling like a fraud—it’s a sign that you’re creating new roles for yourself, that you’re evolving. It means you’re doing great, passionate work (Kashdan).”

Grass widow and the wheel done rolling — Wild Larkspur

So today, if we feel more like a wheel done rolling . . .

Larkspur, you remind us to keep seeking
the company of those who are still blooming,
as if knowing some days we feel
irrelevant, relegated to rust.

Or is it field art?

TAKING IT FURTHER:

Amble somewhere this week. Make this outing non-aerobic. Non-wired. A slow roam without a net, soul mesh open to receive surprise. What along the speaks to you? How might this change the way you live?

*Margaret Moore, MacLean/Harvard Institute of Coaching, as quoted in O, June 2010, p. 141.
**Todd Kashdan, PhD, author of Curious?
“Camas Lilies,” Lynn Ungar, Bread and Other Miracles