Showing up and First Communion...

Many of you know my life is the typical Pilgrimage of late...

This weekend was Norah's First Holy Communion. A very important day in the life of a Catholic, and Norah enjoyed her's with a 104 degree fever and vomiting. My

go-to-bag

in the church included ginger ale, water, ziploc bags (in case we needed a bag on the fly), tic-tacs, tissues and paper towels. Jeff and I were prepared for anything. But our little one, she was perfect! She is one tough cookie.

Some days, total success is achieved by just showing up, and she did! Also planned for weeks, the celebration at our house where we invited a large number of friends and family. I really can't say how many people were celebrating along with us, but let's just say well over 50 family and friends came by; our recycling tub is overflowing with champagne bottles and cake plates.

When I sit back and think about moments like this in my life; I recognize that we are called to live in community, surrounded by people we love. I'm blessed to have a supportive family, along with the most amazing and loving friends. The day went off beautifully, and between Motrin chewables, Norah was blessed to have the people she loved most surrounding her and celebrating this special sacrament.

But then she was all done.

My poor girl waved at everyone as she climbed up the stairs to my bed. At one point during her party I ran upstairs, held the bucket during the waves of nausea, washed my hands and dashed downstairs to pour champagne for friends and family! It was hard for me to be present in the day. I was nervous and anxious till she fell asleep and I put my toes up at 5 for a sip of champagne.  My poor sweet girl never hugged a guest or tasted her cakes or candy from the pink dessert table.

But, she recieved the Body of Christ. She did it!

My dear neighbor Sunshine ran out and picked up crackers after that fell off my to-do list and we talked about how of course this is just normal life for us. The best, most organized party planner girl's to do list, would crumble under our normal PilgrimageGal life.

In all honesty, I have to say, I wasn't surprised, disappointed, yes. Surprised. No. I don't ever expect easy, I prepare myself for hard, always, and then I'm delighted by easy.  Never for a second did Jeffrey and I consider contacting anyone and cancelling the party. Why? This is real time living, it is messy, unplanned and beautiful.

This is the real world, this is hard. This day is a life lesson for my little Type A in training, it wasn't a disaster, it was a blessing. Here is why:

This day was the most important day in her young life. It was something that she had been planning for months, and dreaming of for years. She has been on my lap or in my arms for all her cousins', her brother's, her friend's First Communions. She has patiently waited for her turn. It was her first real life rub that life happens while you make other plans. It wasn't what she wanted, but she did it anyway and it was all beautiful. Norah made lemonade out of lemons and she gained a new skill. Tenacity.

The best part she was tenacious about her faith; she wasn't going to miss out on the Body of Christ. She embraced the Sacrament, she professed her faith, she walked the walk.

We can learn so much about life from our little ones. Perseverance, tenacity and most of all hope. Children are hopeful, perhaps because they aren't worn down with the sting of disappointments. Maybe that is why their hearts are so light.

I have to be honest, this week is hard for me. It's now Tuesday, I'm beyond exhausted, I have things I want to do, but my sweet one needs me here, present with her. I have to recognize that in my selfishness or should I just say humanness, I wanted to be in bed alone, watching adult tv, relaxing and re-grouping. As women we all have our own ways to

re-charge the battery

. That is mine, me silent, watching TV, eating soup and doing nothing. I find it so telling that it is Norah's too.

But, she needs to be attached to me... and as we all know when we are empty, it is hard to give more.

So today will be filled with us snuggling, napping and re-charging, and me being present and recognizing that these days are fleeting. And I want her as much as she needs me, so we will do it her way and re-charge together.

She is growing and becoming the woman I can already see emerging.

But today, is a day to spend with the best 8 year old ever!

My little Beauty, my special gift....alone in my big bed together.

Namaste.

Wandering the Desert...

I go to NIH every few months for check-ups or to pick-up more medicine. Each time without fail, I make new friends. You don't end up at NIH for funzies. You end up there because you have exhausted many, many options. So there is a shorthand, a camaraderie when you meet someone who has the "extended visitor badge". You know they are a warrior and they know you are one too.

Every one of us has a story. A heartbreaking, heart wrenching story, and when you are battle weary you often can let your armor down and share. A deep, personal and very honest exchange. I always leave these encounters better than before, with new friends to pray for, new medical challenges to understand. I never leave these encounters without understanding the power of a hug and the ability of one stranger to comfort another. 

When you have a difficult diagnosis, you learn you are in the desert, wandering without water, with a blistering sunburn, cracked bloody lips. You are alone, isolated, scared, hot and in desperate need of an oasis. I've been there. Like Christ, alone in the desert.

The desert is the worst... and when you visit hospitals, doctors offices, and places like NIH, you quickly realize there are two types of desert people. Joyful people and White Knucklers. 

In the desert, you quickly realize that you have two options; to give in, or to face your fears, find your faith, and meet the best part of yourself. This person is the core of you with a superpower. But to find that girl, to find your superpower, you first have to confront the dark cold truth of your terror.  You must face her, defeat her and make your peace. 

Whatever your fear, you need to face the demon that wakes you in the middle of the night. The face of terror, which leaves you in a sweat, terrified. This is who you meet in the desert.  I have met my demon, my terror, and I faced her.

I faced Death in the desert.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I faced the terror, the reality, that I might not live to see my Beauties grow, that I would leave the love of my life. Jeffrey would be alone to raise these Beauties. That he would love another, and would move on without me. That the Beauties would never learn the lessons that I wanted to teach them, that they would forget me, only know me as the distant memory of a sick frail mother, not my vibrant self. That Jeffrey and I would never go to Paris and drink champagne in a cafe or grow old together. That we would never have the life we had planned, that we would be robbed of this life.

So I was forced to meet Her. I had to face Death, acknowledge that she was present and know that she was coming for me. When you are sick, really sick, you understand that life is fragile.

It was a cold and lonely place in the desert and I was there for a long time. I was still getting up in the morning, kissing scraped knees, helping with homework, driving the car to the grocery. I did all of this while my spirit wrestled with Death. At night, I slept restlessly, because at night, every night we battled, faced off. It was ugly, it was primal, it was war. I was bruised, scarred, humbled, humiliated, but on I waged, on I faced her. 

I faced her till there was nothing left, no anger, no pain...

When I surrendered... and faced that every worry, every fear, could happen, would happen.

Every worry, every fear was true, honest, raw, unyielding, and was going to happen. 

The only thing that remained was peace. 

Peace you ask? Yes. Peace. 

Peace comes when you face the fear, really own it, allow it to wash over you, to recognize that this may well be the reality. When you find peace in the fear, you have finally made room for the Holy Spirit to come. Made room for HER wings to embrace you, to realize that this demon that I was wrestling all this time, was myself. I had to make room for the Holy Spirit, for her Wisdom, for her Grace, for her Love to protect me.  To comfort me, to love me in the darkest of the darkness, to give me the grace to find my superpower, my inner light, my soul. 

And when I found my soul, I was fearless, able to become the warrior that I need to be, in order to find my wellness, my life, my truth, my team, my faith. That is when you become the Joyful person.

I will die someday. I don't know where or when. This illness or something else. I have no control over when I die; but what I can control, with my soul, is the ability to silence these dark places. This isn't anxiety, this is mortality speaking. Most of us don't face mortality until we are old, but those of us who are blessed with serious illness, we get to face it early. It is a gift because it opens the door to cross something off the list. When you face your death, you realizes you have a TON of life to live. Joyfuls are far too busy to let death slow us down.

I don't think about dying much anymore, I have kicked that can so far down the lane I can't see it. Because once you own your fear, you learn that your soul is free, it is light, it is weightless, and that reduces the other challenges of life to little annoyances, like mosquitos or ants. It also makes you impatient with fools. That impatience often stings others. It is not intentional, truly, it is just that we are far too busy living, to wait for people that are wasting our precious time with their own foolishness. 

Many get lost in the desert.  For me, it was only when I faced the darkness in myself, that I realized the desert was a mirage, that I was standing next to the water the whole time. Thirsty. Ready to drink.... 

Peaceful, Joyful.

Kathryn

PilgrimageGal

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Mike Chen aka Full Time Taekwondo Dad

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I Worry...

I worry.  I mean, I worry a lot.

As a Christian, I know some consider that a sin. It shows my hubris, that I don’t trust God. That I don't have faith in the path He has chosen for me.  That as a Child of God, I should know that I'm taken care of...

And yet I still worry. At times in my life this worry, frankly, it has paralyzed me, it has made me unable to trust others, it has prevented me from being the best wife, mother, daughter and friend.

I have shared the depths of my worry with a very select few. Others have seen the cracks in my armor over the years. When my sweet prince licked more than he painted with the Thomas the Train paints at two, (for which I was sure was toxic) my dearest friend said in jest, “child protective services is going to call!”  She of course was the sane one, knowing the paint wasn't toxic. But I began to cry, sob even, as paint was on Ian’s face and she was standing next to me in total shock. Shock because what had occurred was really a Kodak moment not a crisis. But, it had brought out my big fear: I'm a lousy mother, someone is going to figure-out that I’m not qualified and take my children away.

Another time when Jeff was late coming home, stuck in traffic and I was sure that he was in an accident. My sheer rage at his late arrival was only to mask my crippling fear. The fear that he would die or leave me.

My anxiety comes from my lack of trust, my inability to see the final cut of the movie of this life. To truly believe that as the credits roll, I will be happy with the finished product.  I want total control as the director, executive producer and starring actor. Don't we all?

I worry about abandonment.  About being left behind. I worry about Jeffrey. My biggest fear is being on this planet without him.  The thought of not having Jeffrey to cradle my fall cripples me. To feel his love, to show him in my word, actions and deed the depth of my love for him.

When we had been married for 7 years we had a tough patch. At that moment it was because of my fear. I was too focused on being brave and fearless. I thought being independent was more important than being committed. Because commitment meant that I would have to live with the fear of being left behind. Abandoned by the person I had let-in. That this man, that I loved more than anyone;  who knows me better than even I know myself, might leave me, as my Dad had done as a child to me. I  needed to brace myself, so I would never feel that pain.  I would be “smart enough” to protect myself.  It was big and personal, and it was my fears espoused, for all to see.  But, I got past it.  My stalwart husband, sat with me and a very wise therapist, and taught me how to talk about my fears. Jeffrey and I have been doing that ever since.  Making space for me to run my list of the things that scare me. My worries.

It is at those moments, when life is hard, that I remember the most important part of the Sacrament of Marriage. It is not just Jeffrey and I in this marriage. Nope. The Spirit of God is in this marriage too. So even in the darkest moments, God is present. It is the work of the Spirit that often is the most amazing. 

I recall walking with a good friend (who happens to be a priest) at the time of this rough patch who said something that I treasure. He said, ”Do you know what is special about you and Jeff?, I see the Holy Spirit in your marriage and it’s beautiful.”

That was the Holy Spirit working. The right words, from the perfect person, at the right time. No coincidence, people. Think about that. When has that happened for you?

I feel like the story of Jacob of the Old Testament who wrestled with God. My wrestling would occur in a bar, and frankly it would be over cocktails and I would be just a wee bit belligerent. Ok, it would be horrible. But see, I know God can take it. Just like when my Beauties yell at me and say, “YOU are the WORST Mom in the world”  or when it’s the doozy of my personal favorite, “I HATE YOU!,” which always comes with a stomp or demand of some kind. All of this for saying NO, to Wii before homework or because you rode your bikes on a busy street.

My response is the same: “First, I love you.” Then at some point this little gem rolls out in one form or another, “You are welcome to hate me, because I know it’s not true. Please know that I prayed for you. Your Dad and I planned for you, and we will always love you. So, I’m good. You stay mad. I’m confident enough to take your rage, frustration and utter disappointment at the miserableness of your present circumstances. Please know that God gave you to US to keep you healthy, safe and strong. We will get through this. But right now you need to go to your room and pull it together.”

Jeff and I have said that little litany so often that now just saying the “I love you” gets the stomp off to the bedroom.

I feel confident that God must think the same about me... When my anxiety gets too high it’s like me slamming my bedroom door, just pissed at the lack of control I have. But, always realizing, just like me, and the children, God is in all of this.

It is so much easier as a parent when the beauties just listen and trust me. I'm sure God feels the same about me, “Kathryn my sweet one, I made you, I love you, I've got this... Let me take care of you, my child.”

So, I get up and keep trying, trying to keep my door, my windows, the closet door, and most of all my heart open, so God doesn't have to wait so patiently for me to make a little room for HIM.

Goodness knows, I need to trust just a little bit more. 

And worry a little less...

Peace be with you,

PilgrimageGal

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Evil  Erin

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Tuesday Tip - Brunch!...

I can’t speak for the rest of the world; but this Winter has been a beast for the East Coast and downright miserable for us die-hard Washingtonians. We are done, done and all done with this cold, snow and frigid cold. It goes without saying that I have been inside without a break.  And after you have followed all my other comforting tips, you may need to just get out of the house, to kick the Winter Dull-drums to the curb.

So it was a delicious treat when one of my core life sustaining girls and fearless writer of  "A Parent in America", Jessica aka Cali Beauty and her man Chris; invited Team Fergie over for brunch last weekend.  All three of my Beauties skipped out of our house at 9:30 a.m. to party with Jess and her family. But Jess didn't stop with just us, nope she invited three other families to her home. Can I just say it was magic... A house full of kids. Adults all congregated in the kitchen, eating and sampling some delicious adult beverages (Mimosas and Bloody Marys). It was funtastic!

I don't know about all of you, but I'm soooooooo tired at the end of the day. On the weekends,  I just want to be able to spend time with my family. So this brunch was genius.  Everyone in the room was someone I was delighted to be with, happy to have an adult conversation, eat a fantastic meal and just delight to be in their company.

Jess and I are two extroverts, so I delight in her day or night. But what made brunch perfect was she got me at the best part of my day. And frankly it may be the best part of the day for all weary adults in our fast paced world. I don't know about you, but I crawl into my bed every night exhausted. But, because it was brunch, we got out the door early to start our day, not to mention my make-up was good, the kids were fresh and not exhausted from being tugged all over town. An additional bonus, we were all together, spending time with our best friends. Even with all the excitement, we still got home early enough to cross several things off our family to-do list, including thank you cards and a science fair project.

My Tuesday Tip, host a brunch.

At a minimum, pick up donuts or bagels and just get together with your friends. Everyone is less exhausted, the kids are happy and you get a two-fer. Time with your core sustaining friends and you still get to roll into your bed at a reasonable hour!

Many thanks to Jess and our  brunch buddies.... Look for an invite from us soon. It was a perfect day! 

Kathryn

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Tuesday Tip: The Love Bag...

Since this week is the week of Love, I had planned on giving some love tips... 

But, my Tuesday Tip has taken a turn. While speaking with my dear friend who is recovering from surgery and gearing up for another procedure Thursday, she shared what she had in her hospital bag...  

It’s a little different from the one many of us took to the hospital when we had our beauties. The concept still holds; we need a go-to-bag for our many medical adventures. So thanks to my Colorado beauty; I've changed it’s name to the LOVE BAG and thought I would share what is in mine. 

My essentials for when I head out for my medical adventures. 

First off you all know what is number one in my Love Bag: ding-ding, gold stars Pilgrims.  My wrap (if you missed it here is the link to my first Tuesday Tip.) 

I also carry several other things to make me feel loved on my adventures, My chap-stick and hand lotions are also splurge items from Aveda (Santa always leaves a travel size Hand Relief and chap-stick in my stocking. I know so many of you will say, how on earth can you spend $8 on a chap-stick; well first off mine lasts forever, and second, we all need a few little things that make us happy... This is what works for me.  I refuse to share them; because the lotion and chap smell so good you wish you could eat them. These little treasures,  are a special love hug to myself on tough medical days.)

Always have a snack in the bag, if I get hungry waiting for the medical team. Of course some fancy writing pad to take good notes. Things don't seem so horrible if you take notes with a nice pen and paper.

Finally, I always carry a little treasure that makes me feel loved.  Sometimes it’s one of my rosaries; not that I'm praying; it just reminds me of the friends who shared them with me. My Colorado girl and I share the need to carry stones with comforting words on them. Mine say, “peace, joy, perseverance,” all good vibes when you are journeying through the medical maze. 

So that is what is essential in my Go-to-Love-Bag.

What is in yours? 

Kathryn

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Measurements of Success...

How do you measure success? 

It is a question that I have been sorting through of late.  I find that when my spiritual compass is working well; I can slow my “Kathryness” and see the patterns in my life.  My questions currently seem to be tied to my year of “Retreat”. 

I have found a new level to my reading and the depths of that discovery have brought some unusual insights.  I seem to delve into ideas, conversations that have caused me to question. Questions, I haven't before taken the time to consider.  These  questions have pushed me into journaling; something I have never really wanted to do; but as part of this discovery, I have taken on in earnest.

I found the same question kept following me.  Gnawing at me for answers.  One question in particular: 

What does success mean for me? 

Having lost my foothold in the professional world, Sheryl Sandberg would say I “leaned out”. And while I watch so many of my close friends lean back in, I see that I have taken a different course; which leaning out doesn't completely cover.  I haven't exactly leaned out; I’m off the grid and that feels far more uncomfortable. 

I feel so unbelievable uncomfortable and unsettled.

As humans, we don't like uncomfortable, we don't like extremes, and lord knows we don't like messy. In our relationships, personal and professional, we want things to just nicely hum along. 

But that Pilgrims, sorry to be the one to let you in on this news flash... That’s not how it works in this world. Nope, it’s messy here, no getting round it.  So that is where I am today, in the messy and uncomfortable place of seeking and carving out my definition of success. 

Jeffrey and I sat down this weekend to have the big picture conversation, how are things, where are we going; and I explained my discomfort about this question.  I explained I was feeling a little lost.  Lost only in that; I was not sure what success looked like any longer. That so many of my old ideas have been turned upside down since my health status changed.  That this writing thing; this PilgrimageGal had taken on a life of its own that, to be blunt was so unexpected. 

We went on to discuss what I like to call the “American Dream Model” that if you work hard-enough, financial and social success is yours.  So it would make sense to call that success, because that is easy to measure and it is the scale so many of us use.  And to be frank in my past life, I was really good at it, I had corporate jobs, made money, got accolades.  Was the “it” girl. 

Perhaps, thats exactly why I'm so uncomfortable.  I look at myself and say, I need to do more, get more, publish more, have more followers, page hits, make more money... Because that is the paradigm that is familiar and comfortable.  

After listening to all my rambling, hand waving, and foolishness; my sweet husband opened his mouth and said, “Maybe that is the wrong definition.”

So there I sat.  Thinking.  More like hearing crickets.  Because I knew in my heart he was so right, so on target.  When the person you love speaks a truth to you, sometimes all you can do is sit and wait for your heart to answer. 

Because my definition of success isn’t the American Dream Model.  My new goal may in fact be to touch more, connect more, and support others on their journey to find peace, and wellness in what ever form that means to them. To be an example that even with chronic disease, life is beautiful, meaningful and complete.  That when we make room for the Divine, in our daily life; we live more fully, more completely than ever before. 

What if success was measured by your ability to see your faith life grow in your choices, in your relationships, in your willingness to do good.  My health will never allow me the opportunity to have the career I once had.  And that is so fine, because I think the work that is guiding me in my brokenness, may in fact be far more important. 

So, as I continue my year of Retreat, I will be searching for more definitions of success, how to measure the unmeasurable, perhaps... 

But, having a wonderful time trying in the process.

Namaste,

Kathryn

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Sacred Space...

Tuesday Tip:  Sacred Space.

I love a tip that requires no money, no running to make an impulse purchase; this tip you can do right now, in your own home and spend zero dollars.  I promise you already have the ingredients in your possession.  

Today you will create your own sacred space. Sometimes, as busy women we don’t have anything that is ours, everything we own is fair game for others to “borrow".  The people we love most, touch everything; our phone, our lip gloss, our every possession is shared.  Some days it just becomes so draining not to have one small treasure that is just ours. 

That is how my sacred space was born. 

Now your sacred space can be as large or as small as you would like.  If you are lucky you have more than one spot in your home, depending on your mood. This is the spot where you curl up and pray, reflect, and recharge. 

For some, your sacred space may just be a simple candle. Any candle will do; sometimes it’s on the back of the toilet where you shut off the lights and close the bathroom door for silence, prayer and meditation. Some of us may be lucky to have a whole room.

Maybe it’s that little spot in the park that you head to all alone for lunch. That could be your space. In the summer, mine is outside on my screen porch, I have a beautiful fountain, a gift from my in-laws that creates such peace, you can’t help but sit and find the divine. 

The space may be some small treasures on a tray that you carry from place to place. Outside on a beautiful day or next to your bed on a day that has you resting.  You can keep this beautiful collection on your coffee or kitchen table. 

I think the basics include; a candle, an object from nature (orchid, dish of water, feather, stone, sand, sea shell) and some object that grounds you. For Catholics, we have our religious objects; a rosary, statue or icon.  Other faiths have prayer beads, or book of blessings. Perhaps a journal to write your thoughts, before or after. You will also need your holy book or the reading you want to meditate on. 

These are just suggestions, you will build your own space, and what works to center me may make you crazy.  That is so fine, focus and find the objects that matter to you . 

I find that most often my objects are gifts from the women I love most. For instance, a dear friend just sent me a rosary from the Church of the Holy Seplicur, from her recent trip to Israel. How amazing, my dear Jewish friend, sent her fav Catholic girl a rosary. Fantastic! That is on my desk right now, creating a sacred work space, with my candle and some roses. All gifts from the amazing women in my life.  

That is my sacred spot right this moment, as I write to you all. 

Your Tuesday Tip, make the time to create your own sacred space, fill it with a little silence, a little reflection, and you’ll be amazed how it can help you recharge.

Would love to see or hear about your sacred space, so send me your photos and suggestions and let’s continue the conversation.

Namaste.

Kathryn

P.S. Yes, that is the completed pink desk... You so knew I was going to get that desk painted!

photo credit: PilgrimageGal

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Bringing the Outside In...

Gift from my flower girl...

This is a simple and easy tip for everyone, not just our chronic disease friends. 

It is a simple tip to keep the sun shining warm on your face, by bringing the outside in...

Here in the DC metro area, we have what I call the winter blues. It’s the long days of gloom, cold and rain that face Washingtonians every winter, and makes us long for sunshine and dream of our sunny humidity filled summers.  I just want my flip flops, and to feel the sunshine on my toes.  

So, with the help of a wise teacher; I learned the lesson of bringing the outside in. Whatever you miss when trapped for the umteeeth day inside, bring a piece of it inside... 

For me, that’s easy. I need the promise of Spring.

So over the years I have cultivated an orchid collection from my visits to Trader Joe’s.  Just today I had to walk away from the $2.99 potted baby daffodils. I just long for sunshine in a pot. How does that not make you smile?!  For me, it’s all about the flowers and an orchid can stay in bloom for months at a time.

I have lavender sachets that I have hidden in the sofas, closets, drawers and the disaster that is my mud room. I bring my seashell collection out in the late winter, a silent tease and symbol of summer. I put sand, or in a pinch, dry white rice in a dish, small round jar, old ash tray and then display my treasures from the sea. There is something so magical about touching sea shells, setting them on top of your favorite book or just running your fingers over the edges.  It’s relaxing. 

Anything from the outside world, brought inside, to keep my spirits lively till the first real signs of Spring, when I can leave my windows and doors open and experience the real thing. 

So today, do a little something to bring the outside in... 

You won’t regret it and it will bring a smile to your face. 

Kathryn

photo credit: PilgrimageGal

P.S. We can stay in touch three ways: 

First, LIKE PilgrimageGal on Facebook and leave comments there (www.facebook.com/pilgrimagegal).

Second, speak privately to me by submitting your questions in the form on the right.

Third, get all the details from the road by entering your email in the box on the top, and receive each post in your email inbox (keep on eye on your inbox or spam folder to complete the process).

I NEVER SHARE YOUR INFORMATION, EMAILS OR CORRESPONDENCE with anyone. They are for my e

yes only.

Tuesday Tip - Wrap Your Way to Comfort...

Since I got so many nice comments about my first Tuesday Tip on bedding and PJs, the theme will continue. But, I promise not every Tuesday Tip will require a hit to your pocketbook.

Today, I’m going to tell you about the most important clothing item in my wardrobe.

My cashmere wraps.

I know cashmere is pricy and it is definitely a luxury item. But, the little wraps are the yummiest, most beautiful things I own and worth every penny.

I wear my wraps with everything in my closet, from sweats and jeans to my fanciest of fancy.

The times they have mattered most is when I have used them as the equivalent of my childhood blanket.  I always wear them when I’m all but naked on the exam table of my favorite hospital or doctor’s office. The wraps I have are soft, warm and provide a little bit of love when I’m at my most vulnerable. When you are in one those stupid paper gowns that we are all so fond of donning, a cashmere wrap provides a gentle hug.

The DC metro area is a place of extremes, cold in the winter and hot and humid in the summer. So my wraps are a staple, I wear them all year round. I use them in church and the car as a blanket and cover my summer shoulders in the air conditioning tundra at the store. I’ve wrapped my kids in them as I carried them to the pediatrician’s office.

They are lightweight and delicate, but hold up well to my rough and tumble life.  All of them are still beautiful. I get compliments on them constantly.

You can find cashmere wraps a lot of places, but my go to source is Garnet Hill.

(Let’s get the disclaimer out of the way. GH has sadly paid me nothing, not even given me a wrap. Ditto on the friends and family, who work there.  Not a one, but wish I did!)

I have or should I say, my beloved husband, has given me a wrap for my Birthday, Christmas, Mother’s Day and one time just because I whined a lot.  That covers the four I have (pink, grey, blue and teal) and my collection will continue to grow. I hope they make a bright green one for my Irish national holiday!

GH makes cashmere wraps in a zillion colors, and I hear you, $178 is a little steep, but they do go on sale and I have never paid more than $120 sometimes right at $100.  So if you keep change in a change jar, or skip your lunch out for a few weeks you will have saved for the single best purchase in your wardrobe.

http://www.garnethill.com/cashmere-wrap/334124 They just rolled out the spring colors and with the 25% sale til the 20th, I’m seeing some new friends in my closet!  

So there you have it. Wraps, love, love, love.

Kathryn

photo credit: Garnet Hill

Tuesday Tip Number One...

So my first ever Tuesday Tip:

My goal for the Tuesday tip, is to give you a little nugget from my Lemonade stand of Life, where I make beautiful lemonade out of the lemons that come my way!  These are soul recharging and mental health tips that make it possible to tolerating the intolerable. 

Hopefully, a little gem that makes living better and keeps a smile on your face. 

So here we go: 

My first tip came to me when I was on bed-rest during both pregnancies, and I have continued to use it often. My Mom instilled this tip, and frankly it has been a meaningful one. 

I have beautiful pajamas, slippers and bathrobes. My sheets are lovely, and my bedding pretty. They make the days you are forced to be in bed just a little easier. Just because you are in bed feeling miserable doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be surrounded by things you love. AND none of it need be expensive. 

I have zillions of slippers, robes and pajamas from Target.  I also have been given some expensive ones too, but my favorites all have one thing in common, they have to be soft, comfortable and beautiful. ALL of the linens on my bed came from off-price retailers, I never paid full price, and many were a steal. I also spray my sheets with lavender water, so my sheets and linens smell fresh and beautiful, another little tip to make your bed your “re-charge docking station.”

The idea of look good, feel good is true. So today is the day. White sales are abundant, winter  PJ’s are on clearance, this is the time to stock-up. Buy two pairs of PJ’s, and a clearance pair of slippers. Grab a throw blanket on sale. These small purchases, make a huge difference to your mental health when you are not feeling your best.

And frankly they feel awesome on a snowy winter day when you are feeling great, reading a book! 

Please keep in touch, your feedback is important to me.  Please, keep your comments coming. 

We can stay in touch three ways: 

First, LIKE PilgrimageGal on Facebook and leave comments there (www.facebook.com/pilgrimagegal).

Second, speak privately to me by submitting your questions in the form on the right.

Third, get all the details from the road by entering your email in the box on the top, and receive each post in your email inbox (keep on eye on your inbox and spam folder to complete the process).

I NEVER SHARE YOUR INFORMATION, EMAILS OR CORRESPONDENCE with anyone. They are for my eyes only.

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My Secret Weapon...

First a disclaimer to my Mom, sorry in advance for the litany of bad words. Yes, you raised me better. Yes, you encouraged higher levels of discourse. Yes, you did send me to Catholic school and the nuns are furious. But, you love me because I speak the truth, right? Ok. Love you, too.

xo,

Kathryn

Well friends, I’m in bed. And it’s NOT the pretty, all puffed up pillows, taking it easy eating bon-bons like 1950 Doris Day movie. It’s ugly, miserable and I’m taking every medical intervention that I can to stay in one piece.

So, in keeping with my theme of retreat, I’m going to share like we are sitting in the Kumbaya circle at our high school retreat. (Little homage to my ICHS girls, I’m so proud to be in your company. I love you girlies).

This is an educational and instruction based post. I will teach you how I tolerate, deal with missing out on my life, when my body shuts down.

I have had a series of horrible/serious episodes based on the balmy weather conditions. I’m stable and under the care of my amazing team.  Now for normal Pilgrimage followers this story is nothing new, and sadly my hot husband and Clive Owen look a like, (Jeffrey) and I have managed three of these nasty events since Christmas. So it’s no surprise that my body, has launched me into bed for several days. I have lots of posts on what my ravaged body feels like on days like this. (start here, if you are new to my story: http://www.pilgrimagegal.com/2013/01/the-real-scoop.html)

But, that is not what we are up to today.

Today, I’m letting you in on my Secret Weapon (SW). It’s what gets me through the toughest of toughest days.

Now some of you who meet me, this will suprise you. At first glance, I’m a spunky but well mannered kinda gal. I never let my Beauties say “stupid” or “hate”.  I’m a polite woman, I don’t scream at fellow drivers or give them loving hand gestures.  My Mamma raised me right.

And that friends, is why my Mother hates my SW.

Now this weapon may be used ONLY, when out of earshot of any minors, If you have school age children then only use it between 8:30 and 3:00 (or after drop-off and before pickup) and never near any school grounds. You may only use it behind the door of your own room, alone in the car, shower, or on the phone with your BFF.

So what is this magic trick?

It’s my favorite word.

FUCK.

That’s right my friends, cover your ears and turn the little people away. I drop the F-bomb a lot. I have a really filthy mouth, when needed. I use bad words about my health all the time. And in running succession, in almost prayer like litany form. It’s genius.

I FUCKING HATE THIS BROKENNESS. Now notice, I did not say my body, I love my body, it is beautiful, we have had some amazing times, and she still has moments of greatness, but I don’t love the brokenness.

I have taken the control back. When I have had a bad day -- I let it rip.

I FUCKING HATE COLD URTICARIA,  I HATE BROKEN GENES, FUCKING, AUTOINFLAMMATORY DISEASE,  I FUCKING HATE CHRONIC DISEASE, I HATE GOING TO DOCTORS, I FUCKING HATE MISSING MY LIFE.....FUCKERS..... I FUCKING HATE 15 BELOW WHEN IT ROBS ME OF MY LIFE. I FUCKING WANT MY OLD BEAUTIFUL BODY BACK, NOT THIS FUCKING BROKENNESS!

Well, you get the idea.

Whatever your litany is, make it work for you.

I have a dear friend, who uses this SW as well. Our phone calls go like this sometimes...

me: “Hey sweetie how are you.”

her: “Got a second, are you good?”

me: “Yep, whats up”

her: “I FUCKING HATE DIABETES!”

me: “Yep, I FUCKING HATE DIABETES, too. Talk to me! I’ve got your back, I can take it.”

Then we cover the particulars.

Now sometimes we have a contest to see who can say the F-Bomb more in a five minute conversation.  And then we laugh, with the seventh grade giggles, till we can’t stop laughing. Because, we are the two most un-sailor like girls you would ever meet.

O’my it is the best. It’s also our mental, emotional and spritual barometer about life. It’s a release, it forces you to breathe, to stop the madness from spinning, for a moment, and you let all of it out. And you reset, you can breathe and you can face the world again.

This release does two things: One it gives you a safe vehicle to vent. Second, and more importantly,

it acknowledges that your life is really hard, it is not fair, this is not the life you deserve or the life you planned for.

But, it is the life that you have to face, make peace with and decide how you will live it.

Will you lie down and let it own you, define you, and dictate your future or will it be the life that you face, challenge and live beautiful, honestly, authentically. You make it your truth. You get to decide how you choose to live.

We use the SW in text messages or outside of the time window by saying, ”insert code word”,  because our kids have never ever heard that word, and they won’t learn it from reading our texts.

Saying FUCK or whatever word works for you; I think it is akin to breaking every dish in your house.

Who has the energy to trash all your dishes, sweep them up, go out and buy a new set. Let’s be real that would be a big job. Then of course you

wake-up the next morning shuffle in and while getting coffee you feel a jab in your toe from that one shard you missed, to look down, see blood and say  “FUCKING dishes...”

Now some of you may well be skeptical of using the code word, well because at first you giggle when you say it with intention.

But, I promise with practice, it will become your mantra, your way of saying: “HELL no this disease, issue, problem, will not define me, it won’t take my soul and it will never take my spirit.”

You have the power in a body that some days may seem powerless. You OWN this life.

You may not be able to fix your body, sadly maybe no one can. But you can decide how you will live every moment you have. And this “FOOLISHNESS” as I call it, make sure it doesn’t define you, or your life.

Now here is my caveat. 

To live well, I urge you not to use this SW on people, it’s about the disease. So whatever the beast is in your life. Mental health, Alcoholism, HIV, Cancer, Diabetes, Broken Genes, Autoimmune Disease. Call it out. But not at a person. That is just hurtful.

Whatever your beast is, don’t let it suck your life, your spirit, your happiness.

Don’t give it that power, don’t become that disease’s BITCH. Make it your BITCH.

Now I know this post is very different for me so please, I urge you, email, leave me a message on

Facebook

. Give me feedback. Please let me know if this post resonates with you, if it works for you or it just got you to think a little differently.

I remain humbled that you read and share your stories on the Pilgrimage with me.

The DIVINE in me is honored to bow to the DIVINE in you.

xo,

Kathryn

Don't forget I have this super private way of conversing. "Contact the PilgrimageGal..." form on the right. I'm the only person reading them. So give me your thoughts.

photo credit:

Kristian Thøgersen

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New Year Retreat...

How can it be that we are already into 2014 and I feel a little behind. Eeek. I have so missed writing these little stories of life on the Pilgrimage; but living has been keeping me on my toes! It is a testament to my life.  I’m struggling to keep my footing.  The Holy Days of December and early January are beautiful and busy, busy. My family is fine, fighting stomach bugs, and colds, but well.

I pray in your world the same is true. 

But, to be honest, with the holidays behind us it is time to be real--they take a toll, I don’t know about you, but I find myself exhausted and dare I say a wee bit weary. January brings the birthday of a very important Irish Princess who turns 8. So no sooner do we say, “so long farewell” to the trio of Wise Men; we say hello to the birthday girl! 

So, I find it impossible this year to join the throngs of others; with their shiny new New Year’s TO-DO lists. The LIST of accomplishments that we need to do. To feel purposeful.  I have them too; O’ Lord how I have that list.  But tell me, how can we start the year off with a LIST, only to know that we are doomed for failure at the first missed day at the gym, first taste of chocolate or missed day of yoga?  I’m exhausted. So tell me why should we start off this New Year at such a deficit? 

My number one job for January, is to restore. 

This year I have decided to do something a little different. This year I’m going to delay the To-Do List. 

Instead, I will take the time to restore this mind, this body and this spirit. With warm soup and long days in comfy clothes, I will try out every pair of new slippers given as gifts. A huge thank you to my loves for that!

I will indulge in the candles and books that were gifts and nibble on the last treats. I will love myself into the end of the month and then begin my latest trek on the Pilgrimage.

I have decided to go on Retreat. 

Retreat to me is an opportunity of rebirth. As Catholics we love a good retreat. Religious go at least once a year, you go to beautiful, quiet surroundings and you connect with yourself and God. In some ways, it is the equivalent to a professor on sabbatical. Except it is only for a month, week or day or even a few stolen moments. A time where the outside world is shut-off and you focus on your internal life.  

Some may see it as narcissistic, but for me it’s survival, I need to slow down this outside world and re-boot.  But, my retreat is going to be all year. No, I’m not leaving this world, I will still drive carpool and make dinner. But, with a new focus. 

I will use my new favorite expression, “I would love to say yes, but I have to say no.”  It will become my mantra and everyone will tire of hearing it. But, say it I will.

So my goals of my Retreat are simple: 

Four steps, and if obligations arrive that don’t fit into these goals, well “I would love to say yes, but...”

1. Regain my Spiritual focus: through prayer, reading and relationships.  

2. Find religious and education opportunities for my children and family.

3. Work on my physical health through gentle movement, compassionate eating and forgiveness.

4. Detail my journey through PilgrimageGal.

To be completely honest, I don’t even know what theses goals mean yet, it is what feels real; has come to me in prayer and reflection. Maybe that is what I’m mean to discover this year. After all, that is the focus of a good retreat, to not necessarily find all the answers, but to be willing to do the work, and perhaps discover what the right questions should be. 

That’s what this Pilgrimage has been all along.

 So lace up the walking shoes, the journey is about to begin again anew. 

I feel forever blessed and humbled to be on this journey, to walk with so many loving guides, to learn from so many teachers and to be able to share this Pilgrimage with you. 

The Divine in me bows to the Divine in you. 

Namaste.

Kathryn

Sooooooo, some things to tell you about. I'm giddy! Perhaps it's the green tea!

P.S. - I have a new Pilgrimagegal facebook page. Give me a like and follow, if you are an active facebook user. (www.facebook.com/pilgrimagegal)

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Thanksgiving as an Active Verb...

My beloved insisted we use this photo: Peeps from a Thanksgiving past...notice Jeff is pouring a drink in the background. And my turkey is drinking ginger-ale.

I have a joke, albeit a bad one, that from the week before Halloween till the day after Miss Norah’s birthday (mid-January), my life is a disaster.  I just triage as best I can. 

The last few weeks are no exception. 

I shared a booth at a craft event with my dear flower girl. I made it one of the two days, my wonderful mom jumped in when I couldn't get out of bed for day two.  I've been in bed more than out and I’m not even close to my 50% benchmark. But, as hard as I try to say no to commitments and lock our life down; well it just keeps moving at warp speed. 

Jeffrey left last Monday for a business trip and my mom graciously steeped in to help with my four daily shots and ground transport for the kids on the cold mornings. Mind you we just celebrated her 70th birthday and she still works full time. She just told me that for the next three weeks, she is running the company that she works for while the GM is out of the country. We are talking 100’s of employees and she is doing all of that while keeping me afloat. So when Jeffrey returned, he rolled-in just in time to watch Ian go under with the stomach bug. So as I type here in my bed, thanks to my awesome flu shot, on a very cold Sunday and while Ian putters close by; my dynamic duo are attending mass, hitting the grocery and keeping up our appearances!

So that gives you a sense of the world as we prepare to host my favorite holiday of the year on Thursday. That’s right fellow Pilgrimage travelers, I’m a Thanksgiving girl. And it has nothing to do with the meal; it’s the ritual. 

I love Thursday because we are all one on this day. It’s the most encompassing holiday for Americans. It’s what unites us in this busy unpredictable present day world. We all want that moment to sit down and look around us and know at our core we belong; we are loved and we are valued. In all our brokenness, in all our dysfunction, we have a spot, a place at the table, a place in this world.  That is why Thanksgiving is meaningful to me. At whatever table you sit, it is home, if even for just one night. 

I have had Thanksgiving in Seattle, where we had the peeps who couldn't fly home Shrimp Creole and margaritas non traditional Thanksgiving. That one produced some legendary stories (I always think of those very special friends on this day!).  I’ve had Thanksgiving dinner at Disneyland, and at my first real job’s boss’ house, and in a seafood restaurant a month after my step-dad died.  I’ve hosted Thanksgiving for the better part of the last 15+ years.  My mom and Aunt Susan knew before I did I was pregnant with Ian, was on bed-rest with Norah with a midnight call to the OB for my horrible cough that woke the entire house full of family. Jeffrey and I have cooked this meal in countless kitchens and with too many people I love to count. 

The only constant at all these meals, my Jeffrey. The guest lists have changed, we have added two beautiful children, we have taken in friends, family, friends of friends, friends of family.

Our table is always a mystery and always a gift. 

That is why it’s my favorite holiday. It’s not that we are doing anything that is miraculous. We just open our home and hearts to whatever crazy and delicious meal we roll out to share with an assortment of friends and family. 

So when my Mom and Jeff both tried to talk me out of hosting Thanksgiving, it crushed my soul, profoundly. Mom had quietly tried to

un-invite

some people, and wanted us to just have Thanksgiving be the Ferguson Four. But what got me was when we mentioned this to the kids. It was just going to be us in our pj’s with a hungry man frozen dinners... The kids would have none of it, “Are you kidding me, that’s just dinner.

I've

written the thanksgiving prayer, I have place cards to make, Mom. It’s just not Thanksgiving without the guests.“ 

I realized that I had turned them into Thanksgiving people too! 

So this year, as we have for many previous years, we are hosting Thanksgiving. It’s very small, just seven of us.  

I've

sadly farmed out dessert and agreed to less food dishes (sorry relish tray, sorry brussel sprouts with horseradish cream sauce). But, I did save my world famous

Kathryn cranberries

(the link is worth the read, and the

recipe

has been made by all my previous guests.) How anyone cannot make this is outrageous! How do you say no to cranberries cooked in red wine, cinnamon, cloves and oranges.... Make it, you will love me forever, trust me! 

But, up until we sit down, we are always ready for more.  You see, Thanksgiving is the most profound opportunity to love. 

Every year, no matter where we are, I look down the table and what I see is Jeffrey holding up my world, creating a better one with me, one meal at a time. 

So this year as you hustle and bustle to make the world a better place, remember Thanksgiving as a verb--the action of loving, the state of loving, the occurrence of loving.

Because to me, that is what thankfulness is all about. 

Happy Thanksgiving, my fellow travelers. 

Kathryn

Pilgrimage Gal

photo credit: PilgrimageGal

Halloween, Lists and Life Management...

Halloween was amazing. I’m writing this little post game story early on Saturday morning. In bed as the sun starts to come in my window. At o’dark thirty, my children are already downstairs working on Lucky Charms, candy and the remote.

Wednesday started off with a bang, with Norah telling me her costume was not good enough, that she didn’t have a helmet and that she wasn’t feeling it! Now Joan of Arc was committed to this costume for weeks, and without question she was having “homemade remorse”. So with love and affection, and more love, (please read here that I had a full on Mom temper-tantrum, where I expressed my frustration for her lack of gratitude for my maternal sacrifices) I dropped them off at school and promptly drove to the brand spanking new grocery store a few blocks from home. Now in the midst of all of this fantastic home life, I had made a shopping list of the strange things I needed at the store: Bags of candy corn, 48 cupcakes, deodorant, superfine sugar and Gluten Free Bread (which is always found in the freezer section.)

Now why would I pick the day before the busiest day of the year to try on a new store for size is beyond even me. I walk into this beautiful new Safeway (Vons for my west coast peeps) and feel my heart start pounding, it’s as if they turned the whole store upside down and shook it. Nothing was where it should be. So as I realized that it's freezing in there, I begin my quest for cupcakes, and immediately realize that I have no list. And lord help me if I forget something.... I somehow manage to get out alive with cupcakes, sausage, greek yogurt, m&ms as a substitute for the candy corn I never found, deodorant, three things of mushrooms (I thought I would make homemade soup, no words for that decision as the shrooms now rot in my fridge).

I stumble home cold, tired, frustrated and fall into a puddle of tears.

You see, perfection met my list and it kinda all fell apart.

So a tear filled phone call to Jeff at work, no less, yes he is amazing.  An hour later, I’m curled up on the sofa giggling at Kathleen Sebelius getting crushed in House Hearings and two hours later I'm sound asleep, I then slept intermittently for the next 6 hrs before I slept for another 10 and Jeff is tapped to be super parent again. He has pickup under control.

We (my amazing team) are so used to these flares, I sent Harvard a text that just said, “pain is stupid bad, let’s talk, I’m a mess/grumpy” and he knows that’s code for 911, and that I need a quick coach and counsel on my current cocktail. Now the problem with the cocktail is that I have two choices: one take the meds and become a zombie (like the pun) or tough it out and rip the heads off anyone who comes within 100 feet of me. Its not an easy choice. If I need to drive, or pick up the kids, or show up for fantastic Halloween parties, I have a very short window, before the pain overtakes my will; and I'm hurting and there is only time and bed that can help me re-group. Oh and I wake up HUNG-OVER... It’s the worst feeling ever, to wake from a medically assisted sleep.

Now I should go on about the fabulousness of Halloween, how I rode out the pain, made the day spectacular for the kids, partied with both kids at school, one second grade boo bingo game, saw orange cupcake frosting on the faces of 40+ kids; gave out full sized candy for the first 75 of the over 200 kids that stopped by.... But I won’t burden you with my fabulousness and make you feel jealous. Just know that It was amazing!

Friday is All Saints Day a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics (code for, you head to mass). I was still in my pjs at 1 and Jeff was home from work a little early and I went straight to bed where I never left. And I’m writing this in my same pjs from bed.

Today, I’m celebrating my Mom’s 70th birthday, we have big plans and I need my A game for her. My mother is so easy for birthdays, she just wants to be in the room with her beauties, have a scotch, eat a feast made by Jeff and just delight in us. Its so easy, and I hate that I’m so tired and miserable. I want nothing more than for this day to be fantastic, and she just wants me at my best, but my tank is empty.

At 7:30 last night, the stunningly beautiful, Clive Owen entered my room with toast, tea and a beautiful smile, and he said, ”Do you think, just maybe, that your to-do list may be driving this flare?” “Why can’t you just do simple and good enough, why must everything be fabulous?”  I’m gob-smacked, shut the front door stunned. Me and my list are the best commitment I have, they keep me productive, accomplished, and unbelievably fabulous. I mean I only have a few things on my list:

A fancy semi formal dinner to attend next weekend.

Have a booth at the holiday bazaar that requires me to make ornaments, wreaths, lavender sachets, and holy candles.

Have a small hospital procedure three days before the bazaar.

Jeff is leaving on business for a week before Thanksgiving.

Will be hosting Thanksgiving.

I mean who isn’t busy in November.... and I love everything I’m doing sans the medical procedure and I don’t know how not to do them all at the expense of my family. It just makes me want to pull the covers over my head....

I stink at priorities, I want it all, and when I say yes, It is always do-able till the snow ball gathers steam...

I have some soul searching to do... I know it...Ugh, I know it... I really have an over-commitment issue.

But till then, I’m looking forward to the sunshine and Mom’s birthday.

Peace be with you,

Kathryn

photo credit: Courtney Dirks via photopin cc

Living in the Body...

The body is miraculous. We really don’t consider all her wonder when she is operating at optimal levels.  Which is like how I think about technology, Lord help me if my wi-fi goes down; or my car

doesn't

start. I have zero and I mean zero patience for system failure. Perhaps that’s why I struggle with my health so.  It’s so inconceivable that this body wouldn't work.

For the last two weeks, the weather in the Nation’s Capitol has turned crazy, from darn hot to freeze warnings. And that is not the weather that this girl can take. It has caused me to have cold attacks when a rain storm caught me unprepared and to have my body shutter this week at the huge drop in temps. This huge change makes it difficult for my body to keep up. So my chest pain is excruciating, like a weight fell on me, it’s hard to breathe deeply, to catch my breath and I’m forced to sleep elevated to just breath. That coupled with the arthritis type joint and muscle pain, makes me cranky. I delayed my flu shot this week just because I’m too run down to go for it. I have increased the wonder shot to support this weakened body, but what it needs is to rest, to stay in bed and re-boot.

How many mothers can do that? Not this one.

While I have scaled back life, you just can’t roll up shop. Your family needs the stability. They can’t have a Mom in bed at 3:30 in the afternoon. I picked-up my future doctor after school this week and she looked at me and her first question was, ”Mom are you mad? Because you don’t look good.”

Well I’m glad I put on my expensive lip gloss, what would she have said if I had put on the cheap stuff?

They see it, I see it, my loves see it all, they see the pain on my face. The labored breath, the greyness of my skin at the end of the day. The kids hear my voice get raspy and not in a hot Kathleen Turner kind of way. In a breathing through a wet straw, kind of way.

In a former life, I was the ultimate go-getter, working at the top of my game, being a decision maker and a doer. I was the one you called when it HAD to get done.  But, I’m not that girl anymore. I’m the head of the I’m sorry, can’t do that today, maybe tomorrow club. It makes me crazy.  I can’t make peace with it. The part of myself I loved most is gone. The get it done, high-heels, ponytail flapping behind me, as I light the world on fire.  I love her, I long for her like a former lover, I long for the body that worked, performed at that level.

I think that the hardest part of brokenness, is when you can see it, touch it, taste it, feel it. And you are forced to make peace with it.

And making peace is what we are all called to do. Make peace with our demons. The truest test is to be able to quietly sit in a room with ourselves and be at peace. To tolerate the intolerable, the excruciating, the anger we feel within ourselves. We are called to live this, NEVER accept, but to tolerate.

That is what I’m trying to teach my beauties, tolerate the intolerable. Live through the discomfort, live through the disappointment, live through the brokenness of your dreams and learn what the gift is.  It is there if you are willing to be present. Few of us learn in the victories, they are short-lived; it is in the failures that we met our true self.

The real me is not the high heeled pony-tail girl, oh she is a part of me, she is me, but she is the unsustainable me, she is not the essence of what makes me fearless, she was too busy off running, she wasn’t stopping to see the world around her, she wasn’t in awe of the life that she has, the love she has, the people who love her so unselfishly, so perfectly. No, pony-tail girl is too busy trying to be first, the best, shockingly beautiful.  She is the selfish version of me, no wonder I ascribe so much attention to her... She is all that and a bag of chips.

But, what she lacks is compassion... And that is what I lack most. Not compassion for others, compassion for myself, for my shortcomings. I just get angry and curl up, and woe is me through it.

That is why struggle is the ultimate key to personal success and growth.

It reminds me of the decadence of a long run, when you get to the sweet spot where the pain lessens and you are in the present, you are the run, your lungs no longer burn you just feel your heart, your breath, in the run, the warm sun on your face, the perfection in the moment, that makes the pain insignificant and the achievement meaningful.

I’m not in the sweet part of the run this week. I’m running up that beast of a hill, and it’s really, really hard, but the crest is coming, I can sense it and soon, oh Lord soon, I will be in-it, the perfection of the run. And things will get just a little easier.

My prayer is that the run gets easier before Halloween.

I have lots of candy to hand out, lots of parties to attend and lots of little goblins, witches; a warrior and a mad-scientist to delight in. So dig deep, my fellow travelers; like I am, find the kick in your legs and get it done. It will be worth it soon...

We are far too strong not to make this better.

And even though I’m broken and you are too, we are still vessels of the Divine, the Divine dwells in me and she dwells in you.

My prayer for you is that you don’t for a minute forget that she is residing, breathing, moving in you.

Namaste (The Divine in me is honored to bow to the Divine in you.)

Kathryn

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Lekke

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The Power of Touch...

Jeffrey and I were blessed to celebrate our 21st Anniversary this week.  As a special treat, Jeffrey and my Mom worked out a plan for her to take the Beauties for the weekend. We dropped them off Friday night and she returned them back to us Sunday morning. Let’s be honest, it was fantastic, decadent and very relaxing. Not that we did anything special, we stayed in all weekend did a neglected honey-do-list, slept-in and watched R-rated movies before 9 pm. While it would have been nice to go away, it was so wonderful to sleep in my own bed, and relax in my silent home!

I don’t have to do a mea-culpa, I adore my Beauties, delight in them, but we all need to re-charge and it was nice to take care of my Beloved and myself.

Added to that, with the government foolishness, Jeffrey and I have had more time together than we have had in years. It has been wonderful, we have gone out for errands and to the grocery and held hands. Holding hands is something we forget to do with kids. You are always holding theirs and I love it. But, there is something so profound about slipping your hand into the one which has held yours for years. They are rougher than they were when we met, and my hands are more inflamed, puffy and arthritic than they were at 21. But our hands still fit, beautifully. 

I forgot how much I need them, to hold mine, support mine and trust in mine. 

The power of touch. 

The power of Touch got me thinking about how we share touches in this germ filled, technology ladened world. I’m a world renowned hugger, I will hug everyone, all the time. I’m also a kisser. Love to give a smooch as well. I’m desperate to feel connected to the world. When you touch another person in a loving, supportive and compassionate way, you are meeting God. You are witness to the true light in all of us. 

The power of touch exists all around us and we often miss it. I have it with each of my doctors, beyond the hugs I give them all.  There is a ritual of our exams, there is a predictable pattern that they follow, a dance of touch if you will.  I could name each of my doctors blindfolded on just how they place the stethoscope on my chest. There is a space for God in them. Perhaps that is the real reason I have unconsciously cut some loose, when they fail at the most basic of tests, the simply gentle physical exam. Their touch didn't touch me. I didn't feel the connections, to me to us, to the Divine.  I don’t need to ask any of my doctors about their faith, they all have it, they are all connected to God in whatever way they believe, because they believe in the power of their healing touch. 

As parents our children can’t escape our touch, the hugs, the kisses, the brushing of hair, the fixing of clothes... It’s profound. I felt it when the children got out of my mom’s car. They squealed and tore out of the car for a hello Mom hug. I needed it as much as they did. To feel those growing arms around me, to feel the little heart beating against mine. To just breathe in their little smell, that Momma bear feeling... 

That is my task for the week. 

To touch. 

To really get in there and give that gift of the Divine to another, to give of myself. To prove that I walk the walk.  The power of touch. 

The Divine in me bows to the Divine in you.

Namaste, 

Kathryn

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Free Falling into Fall...

I love Fall, the break in the DC humidity, the abundance of golds, browns and that warm orange sun; the warm soups, afternoons of green tea with my girls and the settling down with this beautiful family.  I love my beauties as they enjoy All Hallows Eve, and the huge table of loved ones at Thanksgiving.  Fall seems to  allow me to nurture; I get more creative, it is the most fulfilling time of the year for me. I delight in the season change.  

But all change comes at a cost for my family.

Fall brings on a manicness that sometimes scares Jeff. He never knows who he will come home to, and what hair-brained project I will have taken on.  We have an agreement in our marriage that I will not use a pick-ax or power saws. It’s just to keep him happy. I have no doubt that I can manage them just fine, but we all sacrifice. Some girls have to promise not to hit the high end department stores. I have to promise not to hit the thrift store with a credit card. I always can find a great project that will make me so happy. Jeffie not so much. I can upholster, sand, paint and pretty up just about anything. I love the broken and a little battered.

Last Friday was no exception, he came home to find me unable to move on the couch with six sanded desk draws ready for primer.  I had adopted a beauty, a little writing desk, destined to sit in our living room and be the home of all my future writing.

I have serious issues, Jeffrey would say too many to count. But, I have a tiny, tiny little issue with thinking that my body is still in decent shape. My projects are where my brokenness shines. I can feel the adrenaline pump, my happiness grow as I’m in the process of transformation. Unfortunately, while my work may be transformative for the desk, it is not for my body.

And that’s why Jeff found me, gasping for breath, covered in non-pulmonary approved dust, sweaty and in rough shape. Jeff walks in and takes one look at me and doesn’t get mad, just smiles, that are you flipping kidding me smile and he says, “you done?”

Fall brings a drop in temperature that brings on my panic mode. Knowing that soon I will be trapped inside for weeks at a time, with a list of projects that never get finished. When I’m in the cold months mode, I don’t get depressed which is a gift.  I’m beautifully resigned to this part of my life. But as with most of my anxieties; it’s the lead up that’s painful for anyone that loves me.

I don’t get up in the night to do projects, I don’t get up early, I just focus my days on things that are imperative. Like a farmer who only has a short time for planting. I can only paint in certain conditions, I always paint furniture outside, with my mostly VOC paints, mask and alike. I find painting furniture a most relaxing and happy pursuit. It frees my mind and spirit. I also am proud to say I’m good at it.  The painting may be my therapy, but my dogged determination that this time I won’t succumb, never changes. My friend M and I joke that on my headstone it will say, “wife, mother, friend and lover of all spray paint.” My friends are always happier when they see me outside with my spray paint working on a project. 

Norah also loves it! “Mom you are always so happy when you are being crafty!”

I’m Sisyphus rolling that damn rock up the hill. It never changes, I never learn, I never just accept the challenges.  I just plow through. It’s no surprise that the paint color I picked for my desk with Norah is named Pollyanna. The gods they are funny, no? I mean that is the honest truth.

Now this determination is vintage my Mom, I have on more than one occasion found her with a scotch in one hand and a heating pad in the other from a similar brilliant albeit simple minded decision. We just get a hair-brained, flat out stupid idea, and we go for it. Most of the time we don’t get caught, but when we do it’s the stuff of legends. Mom just doesn't get caught much anymore, she

doesn't

have a  husband and young kids to answer to. There is a great family story about her on the first day home from the hospital after, and I’m not joking, BRAIN SURGERY, and a cab ride without my step-father’s consent about her hair.  But because I love you, I will keep that one quiet. Just know at anytime, I can out you! By the way Mom your hair looks great, just saying.

Friday’s activity led to both Saturday and Sunday on the couch. And my irritation grows as my desk sits in two separate rooms unfinished. Staring, mocking me. “You will never finish, you are weak, you are sick.”

And while my inanimate desk continues to speak to me...

Norah gets sick, for the first time this year and she went down, 103-104 degrees; for three days, hard. And that isn’t good. I see it, her brokenness. She hates to be told, NO SCHOOL, NO TENNIS, NO GIRL SCOUTS, and it terrifies me. She was so angry at one point; she was taking her temp and when it beeped and turned red, she rocket launched it across the room.  She has a good tennis serve for a reason. Thank goodness we ditched mercury thermometers, that would have been a toxic mess!

I know as a parent I should have

disciplined

her for losing her “stuff”. But, that is not how I run my rodeo, you see, it is crystal clear: I thought good for you, honey. You know that flipping beeping device is your enemy. I get it, it is telling you that you are going to miss your life for a week.  A week that your life is on hold, from the things that matter.  I get her at the core on every level. Will the female Taylor line of broken genes continue its run?

Will

this be the time that she gets really, really sick? Like 104 isn’t!?!?!

And I ask myself, when I do wake at 3:30am to hear her calling out, fever raging.  How am I going to ease this, how do I support this? How do I teach her balance, when I clearly have none. How do I counsel my sweet girl, who is flipping smart and looks at me and says, “I don’t want to be sick like you.” And I hold her in my arms and say; I don’t want this for you either. 

My God, I don’t want this for my worst enemy. But, here we sit.

I know this is where faith comes in, that NIH already has more info for me than I have ever had. That they will know more about my disease in the next few years than they have in the last 1500 years. That Norah my future doctor may be the girl who fixes all our brokenness.

But, that is the future, that does nothing to ease the pains of a beautiful 7 year old or of her mother who is holding her.

It’s late and the fever has finally broken, she will return to school. 

Tomorrow, I will drop off the kids and head to the grocery store for some much needed food in the morning.

I will also pick-up more sandpaper...

Because, that desk will not get the best of me.

Kathryn

May the divine in me, bow to the divine in you.

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Whatsy Mendoza

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photopin

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