A Favorite Place

Several years ago, while living in New Jersey and working in New York City, I decided to embark on a spiritual journey.  I went through the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) at St. Mary's Parish.  It was during this process that I met some pretty fantastic Catholic friends, including Sister Gloria (my favorite nun of all time) and Fr. Mike (one of the coolest priests I've met in all time).

And so, armed with my new faith, when I moved back to the Ohio Valley, I attended mass at a few different spots and decided St. Joseph's Cathedral was the place for me.  Growing up, this cavernous cathedral had its rather intimidating moments for me.  I played violin, and it was one of the spots I would play as part of a quartet from time to time.  Pressure and I have never had a great relationship, but despite the consistent case of nerves that accompanied my trips here, I always felt a very deep connection to the space and felt peace come over me in a very special way.

Now, though, this is one of my favorite places.  In the weeks of rushing around and being distracted, when I go here for mass on the weekends, it's like a gift to myself.  From the moment I walk in, and kneeling in prayer hear the trickling of the water at the fountain and the subtle sounds of chants, I leave the all-intrusive material world for a much better place.  The homily always hits home--from discussion about the various types of prayer, an emphasis on thanksgiving, to discussion about being aware of existing faith we have rather than asking for more.  Reminded of so much beauty and love, I walk away refreshed, recharged and spiritually full to the brim.  Thank you, St. Joseph's Cathedral.  You are still breathtaking after all of these years.      

Please Mr. Postman

It's been a while now since I lost faith in snail mail.  This was partially from experience and partially just circumstance.  I work at an international law firm with 25 offices, where you can stick anything into an interoffice envelope and will it to arrive at any office in any of the three major world regions by the next day.  Interoffice pouch has redefined the slowness of mail and shipping.  The other side of this coin is that snail mail got its name for a reason.  It can be epically slow.  My latest experience inspired thought.

One thing super lovely about online buys is it's like each one comes with its own GPS tracker, active from the moment of purchase (thank you, Amazon).  Watching a package make its way to you for an adult is like a kid tracking Santa on Christmas Eve.  This system seemed pretty spot on, that is until it was applied to a recent purchase  of mine, destined to arrive via USPS.  Just like UPS, the tracking page included a delivery date.  What I learned is that this date is flexible and up for negotiation--sort of like our nation's debt ceiling and healthcare system.  When that date came and went and no package had arrived, I began to think in a little more detail about our postal system's resources.  To offer tracking that is not reliable is the equivalent of offering any product that isn't really the product.  And in any world outside of the government, it wouldn't hold up.  This, in sum, is not a sign that resources are being used efficiently or well.

This takes me to the stories about the abysmal state of our postal system--not making payments to pensions, laying off workers, eliminating positions, routes, offices.  It all sounds terrible.  And the only thing that makes it more terrible?  Being a customer of the now 3-legged service available.  I placed a purchase that originated out of Youngstown, OH.  I didn't know this when I made the purchase, but as the story unraveled, it grew painfully apparent hat I could drive to this location in a little under two hours.  Keep this in mind as we proceed.  My package left Youngstown and journeyed northwest to Toledo, OH--about 2.5 hours away from its point of origin and 4 hours from its destination (that's right, further away from its destination).  From Toledo, it headed back east to Warrendale, PA, which is about 3 hours of travel time and literally took the package just a bit south from where it began.  Right now, my package can be confirmed for having left Warrendale, but where may it end up next?  How many more stops before hitting my mailbox?  Only my package's, dare I say, temporary caretaker knows.

Not long ago, when I lived one block away from my parents, if I put a birthday card in my mailbox, it would go an hour away from here to Pittsburgh before then coming back down and ending one block away from where it started.  Needless to say, I quickly learned to save the stamp.  That's right, the plot thickens, and it becomes apparent that we pay for this type of service.

Given all of the above, next time I hear a story about what awful shape the postal service is in nowadays, I will pause before reacting.  And in the end, I'll probably just shake my head because if anyone could look at a system that runs as this one does and expect things to look good, then I'd like to meet that person and have a conversation about their conclusions and what they are built upon.  I would write a letter and share my thoughts with someone who runs the service, but by the time my letter would reach them, we may be 1) still in the midst of our government shutdown, 2) in the midst of a new government shutdown or 3) in the midst of the next federal holiday.  Get it together government.  Just work on getting it all back together.      

Goodbye, Swiss Miss...

...hello, made at home hot cocoa.  

I will be the first to admit that some "convenience" measures that have been discovered and followed during my lifetime are nothing short of absurd.  As my age has advanced, so has my skepticism surrounding the hidden ingredients in things like fast food fare, highly processed foods of all sorts on the grocery store aisles and even some of my forever favorites.  Some of my confusion and concern are addressed in Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food, which I finally picked up recently.  His background and detail on the food industry is nothing short of fascinating...and mostly terrifying.  I will spare full details here, but basically, the confusion present with regard to what we eat is not due to a drop in level of human intelligence on the consumer's part.  The industry and all of its components--and there are more than can be counted--has provided a history of shifts and lame hypotheses, leaving a trail of trails that dead end and nothing else.  There has been no continuity and, instead, a new food history of discontinuity.  Food choices have also become a tangled web of nutritional elements and terms rather than whole food options.  I will step down gingerly from my soapbox here and return to the hot cocoa lead.

This past week, I returned from an evening walk, craving hot cocoa.  I had left the house craving ice cream, but alas, fall decided to be present along with some cool temps.  So, I confidently passed by the Dairy Queen on the way home, brainstorming how to avoid leaving my dog in the car (barking like a panicking girl in all of his 65 lb goldendoodle glory and embarrassing me) at the store but also satisfying my hot cocoa craving.  And then, then light bulb shone brightly.  I had cocoa powder, and I figured it would have some hot cocoa concoction available on its label.  I was right!  The recipe?  Two tablespoons of powder, two tablespoons of sugar, a pinch of salt and a cup of heated milk.  I decided to skip the milk, heating mere water in the kettle, and I also skipped the recommended bit of vanilla.  The result?  Pretty much the best, richest, most delicious hot cocoa I've had in my life.  This moment made me pause to consider why, from my youngest years, I ignored that hot cocoa existed outside of those convenient little packets of mix.  I'm sure those tiny little marshmallow-like deposits in some envelopes would have always won out previously, but from here on out?  I will be a throw it together hot cocoa fan.  

A Tribute to Life Recommends: Mary Oliver / Dog Songs

Tucker the Goldendoodle

One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, released a new collection yesterday.  Oliver is a master of describing the most delicate intricacies of nature, and in Dog Songs, she applies that genius to the human-canine connection.  One of my favorites so far is "How It Is With Us, And How It Is With Them," which follows

We become religious,
then we turn from it,
then we are in need and maybe we turn back.
We turn to making money,
then we turn to the moral life,
then we think about money again.
We meet wonderful people, but lose them
     in our busyness.
We're, as the saying goes, all over the place.
Steadfastness, it seems,
is more about dogs than about us.
One of the reasons we love them so much.

Morning Song

Nature has a morning song
So beautiful when it plays
That no one must listen for very long
Before peace takes heart and mind as stowaways.

The birds raise from their slumber and greet the rising sun,
They flit and flutter from here to there and across fences and rooftops they run.

The morning dew, it drips and drops from every leaf and limb,
Shining bright on the blades of grass, bringing life to each of them.

The stillness is the chorus, the light the melody,
And the warmth, as it spreads, from this nook to that sends away the nights elegy.

And the gentle breeze begins to move where the cloak of night has hung
Luring from the shadows all kinds of different life, from old to young.

And if you sit and listen, as the sun takes its place,
You'll hear the flutter of little wings, as bees and bugs busy round in haste.

At this time, if you close your eyes and draw a big, deep breath,
You'll almost be able to taste the dew that burns as the sun moves West.

Every single day, at the exact same place and time,
She will sing out her melody and woo you with her rhyme.
So, if you wake and are seeking something to draw on for your day's purpose,
Step outside, take a seat and join in with Nature's chorus.

Beauty + Life

Encapsulated in my love of nature is a love and appreciation for all things that speak to human nature and connection.  I remember starting to realize the power of this connection when I learned of the symbolism of the cross in Christianity.  The two most powerful relationships is between a person and the Creator (whatever that looks like to you) and his or her family, friends and humanity.

I have had the great joy recently of watching one of my best friends go through the birth of her first child.  This experience has touched me at my very core.  In the quiet moments of the day, my mind continues to wander back to all of the displays of beauty in this moment for her and her husband.  I spent a lot of my 20s and up until recently, living a very focused and independent life.  So, as my niece and nephews were born, I was hugely appreciative of those events, but I think my 30s have brought a very different perspective and appreciation for the process.  My friend, Julie, has been one of those friends who feel near a carbon copy of oneself.  Adventurous, always up for fun and in touch with all the things I love--music, art, nature--Julie has transformed over the past year into an amazing mom.  And this transformation was seamless.  She just added it to the portfolio of being a great human being.  Even more, watching her husband and her grow as a unit with the arrival of their son, has brought such insight into the dynamic and beautiful spirit of the human soul.  They have demonstrated, I think, what it's supposed to do when you share the great life experience of having a child together.  I feel so privileged to be a witness to it all.

In the world's current state, it can be difficult to sift through all of the horrible stories circulated in the media and come out at the other end still believing in good.  There is so much pain and disappointment to be witnessed.  However, we can counter that in our relationships with one another.  We can choose to believe in the good and allow the violent, critical and painful displays of the world to fall away.  As Mahatma Gandhi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."  

The Day Everything Changed

A Tribute to Life did not exist on the fateful morning of September 11, 2001.  But, most of my memories are so clear, I can easily recall them and go back in time to recapture them here.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was a sophomore nursing student at Wheeling Jesuit University.  I was a few weeks into the fall semester, and it was a day I had calculus class during the morning time slot.  As I got ready that morning, I heard the first reports about planes crashing.  It wasn't long at all that the reports went from speculation that it was an aviation disaster/accident to speculation that terrorism was at work.

This day was like the day of the walking dead.  In every nook and cranny where normally life was buzzing about, instead, there were faces etched with concern and shallow gasps of air.  This vibe was in great contrast to the amazingly clear and beautiful day.  My mind had trouble shifting between the pristine and flawless blue sky and the images of death and destruction.  I have one visual memory that I cannot shake, and it came as a result of being stopped at a red light on my way back home from campus.  My position at the light was such that I looked up at the looming and protective hills, still very much green from summer's gifts, and the only other thing beyond was the amazing sky.  I remember sitting there in this moment and for the first time ever feeling overwhelmed with doubt and panic about the state of the world.  While irrational outside of the moment, that moment allowed me to deeply consider the question of, "Will more planes fall out of the air today?"  Every former comfort of being an American citizen had collapsed just as the honorable structures of the twin towers and portions of the Pentagon had.  Hours before, this question of planes falling out of the sky would have been absurd.  What a difference a few hours had made in history.  And then as the world gradually returned to normal--or perhaps the new normal--I hesitated because the moment felt too huge for the return, but then the option to stay behind was revoked.

The human resolve to survive has taken this unsettling anxiety and made it into an acceptable part of daily life.  While there are far worse circumstances withstood in all parts of the world on a daily basis, this moment--this day--taught me that there are no guarantees, except for one.  The world will continue on, and the world's people will almost mystically survive.  This amazing ability to do so will only be one of the many testaments of the strength and abilities attributed to the human race over time.  

As many have proclaimed, I will never forget this day.  I will not forget the evil that prevailed on those flights and the precious and autonomous lives lost or the lasting effects of that evil in the wars and ways of the world.  While the tragic day came and went, that towering hillside still haunts me each time I pass it.  It gently reminds me that nothing can be taken for granted and also of the fragility of even the most powerful structures--be them literal or abstract.  It reminds me that life can only be measured in moments and seconds and anything beyond that is simply not guaranteed.  

Habitat for Humanity, Garden-Style

Last week, I posted some thoughts on the general differences in ecosystems between my old and new neighborhoods.  Since then, it's like the ecosystem gods have taken up residence in my flower gardens and yard.

When I moved into my new neighborhood, Tucker and I came across what turned out to be a Japanese willow (aka Hakuro Nishiki or dappled willow).  Nevermind the lady's yard it was in is a garden oasis, but I could not help but fall in love with this tree with every single loop past it that we took.  By chance, I drove past a local nursery and saw that they had some in stock, and after lots of thought (probably too much), I finally caved and bought two for in front of my home.  I'm in love with my new baby trees just as much as I am the beautiful mature one a block over.  In addition to my willows, I also planted a pink flowering dogwood tree in my backyard, and there's a large assortment of flowers in front of my house that were planted not long after I moved in.  They include several hydrangeas, knockout roses, dahlias, phlox and a few other types of groundcover.  I've also cycled through some different annuals along the way as well, with the current being some pretty orange and red mums.

This collective group of flowers and trees has brought out some really cool (and sometimes creepy) creatures.  This weekend, after planting the willows, I was inspecting the leaves and branches on one of the two.  I had to look really close to spot a super cool caterpillar that had a bright green body and a robust blanket of white hair/pricklies (to use a very technical term).  The awesome part of this little creature was that it completely mimicked the leaves of the tree.  These are the small things that leave me super humbled by nature's greatness.  Unfortunately, I'm afraid the caterpillar's extensive camouflage failed it because I walked around the corner of the house a bit later to a bird in the tree--and the caterpillar could not be found.  Another fascinating tree creature was this little caterpillar that was the exact color of the brown shoots off of the branches.  I had to tap it to ensure it was not the actual branch, and sure enough it arched its little back and confirmed my suspicion.

In the flower gardens, the initial assortment of creatures was limited to toads, potato bugs and spiders.  Throughout summer, though, there have been several other visitors, including the praying mantis and many many grasshoppers and crickets.  More recently, when things cooled down, there were so many leaping visitors, I was dancing around the front yard with my hose in hand and surely bringing entertainment to the neighbors.  Tonight, as I watered, a large toad very slowly emerged from underneath one hydrangea--I took this to mean that word had spread among the garden creatures that they big woman with the hose gets dangerous and quick if they emerge too quickly.

Overall, nature has humbled me with its return offerings since my flowers and trees have been planted.  I really look forward to seeing what else will join us!

Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

Ryan with his son, Hunter,  @ Ocean City, MD

I grew up with two siblings--both older, one sister--Erin--and one brother--Ryan.  My sister was the oldest, I was the youngest, and my brother got the lucky middle spot.  I was envious from the beginning because with bookends like my sister and I, he was able to pretty much breeze through adolescence and all of that ugly stuff that goes along with it.  We provided amazing camouflage (you're welcome, brother).  Despite a lot of haggling and tears, I always adored and looked up to him.  Even when we were going 90 mph on I-470 in the car, albeit a bit terrified for my life, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.

One of my favorite parts of growing older has been watching Ryan build his family, becoming a husband and then father.  There's something particularly amazing in watching a boy become a man and most especially after being witness to the shenanigans of the teen years.  In fact, at Ryan's recent birthday, a few of his friends from high school showed up with their kids and without their wives.  That's right, these guys who used to pour out of Ryan's bedroom across the hall from mine, smelling like boys and acting like boys, showed up and were in charge of children.  The great part?  All of them, including my brother, have become super loving and attentive fathers.  Had you asked me to predict that a couple of decades ago, I probably would have had a good laugh.  Even more, Ryan and his wife have provided the brightest lights of my life--my niece, Sydni, and nephew, Hunter.  This family descends and suddenly life, and my heart, grow very full.

Reminiscing about the now "way back" years and remembering how terribly we fought, it's endearing to me that with age we've both naturally grown to deeply care about one another and one another's well being.  I would have never imagined I would be able to include my brother in the "who to call if something goes wrong" circle.  But, the truth is, he's the first I think of and becoming the one I call more and more often.  Now that I'm a homeowner, he also gets more project calls--like the most recent request to be my tree hole digging co-pilot (my "pilot" role consisted of standing close and tossing loose dirt back into said hole).

Life has an extremely funny way of reminding us what it's all about.  So, the next time you're bickering with a family member, thinking it's your way or the highway, just remember that they're meant to be part of your beauty.  That's their purpose, and they were gifted to you.  This is a powerful thought and a good one on which to hold tight.

Weekend Adventures: Master Naturalist

Last year, around this time, I was grappling with how best to squeeze my major passion of the outdoors into an all too busy life.  There were thoughts of figuring out a new career path, but completely by mistake, I seem to have stumbled upon the right one of those.  So, it didn't take me long to figure out I needed a plan B.  I needed to figure out how to do more of what I loved.  Nature, every part of it, speaks to me on levels nothing else can.  Whether it's the breathtaking ocean, towering mountains, gentle rolling hills or beautiful morning sky, I discover a level of being with each that nothing else can beckon.  

Thankfully, I stumbled upon the West Virginia Master Naturalist Program.  Still a fairly nascent program, the effort started around 2003 and was a cooperative effort among several state agencies and a couple of educational institutions.  It has definitely grown and expanded in that time, and I'm lucky enough to live near Oglebay Park, which holds many classes each season.  It's basically an accelerated and hands-on series of courses that prepares individuals for leadership in conservation and best practices with regard to nature.  Due to a lot of adjustments in my life over the past year, I had only had the chance to attend one class; but, I've enrolled in several for this fall, and I got to take the first of those today.  What's better than a Saturday morning spent, listening to a fascinating and interesting lecture on West Virginia's aquatic habitats?  There was talk of the ecosystems of several waterways, and then we got to go trekking around in the waters of a stream in the vicinity of Buffalo Creek and Castleman Run.

A couple of my favorite lessons from the day included a teaching on the American Bittern, which is an intriguing bird whose chest plumage imitates that of dense grasses/cattails in lake and pond areas.  The instructor had some amusing tales of approaching these birds, which apparently allow you to approach so long as you do not look at them (thus, employing a sidestep).  When they see you approach, they raise their head so as to better blend with the surrounding grasses and do so until you're uncomfortably close, at which time they and their 4.5 foot wingspan flush.  Also, there was the Lethocerus giant water bug, which has the ability to "deflate" a frog through its use of digestive enzymes and proboscis.  We also learned how to determine quality of water, using EPT Taxa, a method based on the presence of mayflies, stoneflies and caddisflies.  This last lesson was what led us to the stream to collect samples and interpret.  I managed to collect a mayfly that looked to have hatched this morning, so that its body was almost completely translucent with the exception of its beady black eyes.

Later this fall, I'm lined up for a mammals class as well as a class called "Growing up Wild," which equips adults to teach children about nature.  The Master Naturalist Program is just one more reason to love this beautiful state (and be grateful for Oglebay Park being just up the road)!    

Hot + Cold

This summer has been so kind to us--not too much of anything really.  We've had short stints of hot and humid, but nothing like some of the recent summers that heated up to 90 degrees in May and cooled down to the fall temps overnight in mid or late September.  Instead, we've had fluctuations of seasonal temps, rain, sun, etc.  And yet, I have caught myself in this latest stretch of humidity, wishing and pining for the cooler air.  I'm convinced some days that I was really made for Alaska...or Antarctica or something because it doesn't take much heat to completely spoil my fun.

I wake up early each morning to leave myself plenty of time to take a stroll with Tucker through the quiet streets of the neighborhood and also have the sacred cup of coffee to ease into the day.  Given how early I rise, I've been repeatedly shocked this week when I step outside and literally feel like I must swim through the air, or peel it back, in order to walk.  Morning is meant to be fresh and crisp and invigorating.  This week, there will be no such nonsense.  It's been disgustingly humid.

So, given my aversion to the heat and humidity, you would be led to believe air conditioning is a close friend of mine.  Not so.  While I don't mind the cold in general, the extreme humidity outside and heat make the cold air inside feel a hundred times more cold.  This aversion grew just a bit deeper this week when I read in the Wall Street Journal that going from the heat outside and into the air conditioning has been proven to be bad for our immunity.  So, all of that lore about how awful sicknesses reign in the winter?  Guess again.    

As I sat on the stairs at the back of my house, watching Tucker wander the yard at lunch, feeling like a raisin in the sun, it occurred to me just how miserable the hot weather really is for me.  Some people talk about how they slow down in the winter, due to the cold, but if you ever need me to slow down, just plop me down in the heat.  The misery increases when you add work clothes to the equation.  The natural solution would be to dress in summer/light attire, right?  Sounds reasonable.  However, I had spent my entire morning (and then my afternoon) freezing in the relentless air conditioning at the office.  The chuckle came when I pondered my personal space heater under my desk.  As I sat there, hating the heat, I realized that my entire perspective would be shifting drastically in about a half hour when I returned to the frigid reaches of my workspace.  As predicted, I huddled round the space heater all afternoon.

Tonight, as I walked through the thick, sticky air, I realized this fickleness is more common than not for us.  When you're young, you want to be older; then, you're older and wish you had enjoyed being young.  When you're busy, you want to have some downtime only to then get bored when the downtime comes.  When you wish you had taken the time to finish reading that book, you're of course the busiest you've been all year.  I could go on, but I'm sure the point is clear.  I've worked really hard all summer not to wish for winter or fall, but I guess today showed me that obsessing over the heat's misery is just about the same, without the words being spoken.

And so I say to you, Mother Nature, keep that humidity coming...I'm so grateful?  (I'm counting on you, reverse psychology.)

Life on the Creek

It's been amazing to me how different ecosystems can be between two neighborhoods, mere minutes from one another.  

I grew up in a part of town that had so many hills that there was truly no direction to go in and not encounter one.  With those hills came lots of trees.  Springdale's hills made me feel like I was up on a perch with a bird's eye view of the valley.  The view brought breathtaking mornings because it sat above the fog, so I could see fluffy stuff listlessly puddling all along the lower lying areas.  Similarly, at the end of the day, I always felt lucky to be able to watch as the sun slowly faded behind the hill-filled horizon.  

Springdale had an assortment of regular visitors from nature.  Always lots of birds--the typical robins, cardinals and blue jays.  (I can't forget the infamous crows and pigeons here but will subject them to a parenthetical; all too willing creatures of garbage night.)  There were also plenty of sightings of deer, raccoons, bunnies and the occasional groundhog.  My mom has always entertained a very large family of squirrels.  Their home, the aptly named "Nuthouse," in an old tree is always bustling when we gather as a family for cookouts.  In fact, the family has expanded so much, it's now like its own circus, with various generations entertaining us with their high wire acts along the power and phone lines. This ever-expanding family has brought a hawk or two to my parent's yard on occasion, but I was never present.

My new neighborhood is literally a 5 minute drive from Springdale, but it is nestled in one of the wandering crooks of Wheeling Creek (affectionately referred to as Big Wheeling Creek locally).  Wheeling Creek is part of the Ohio and Mississippi River watersheds and about 25 miles in length (or that's what Wikipedia tells me).  I have been amazed at the change in ecosystem for one large and many small reasons.  There is almost nowhere in Wheeling one can go at this point and not see deer wandering about.  Over the past 4 months, I've witnessed one lonely doe.  What I've seen here that I rarely or never saw before include toads, frogs, an increased number of groundhogs, ducks, geese and perhaps my favorite--the blue heron.  There are also many more earthworms here--to the point that when it had rained one night, I was out by my garden and could hear them tunneling through the dirt just like they were doing laps in a pool!  Also, in the old neighborhood, there would be the unfortunate occurrence of roadkill from time-to-time, and it would almost always be a poor defenseless squirrel.  Here?  Tucker and I walk the streets and find that many toads and frogs meet the same unfortunate end.  I would have never considered the playful, hopping creatures as roadkill until I saw it for myself.  As we walk, we also get to hear a lot of ducks and geese calling out as they fly overhead.  I love it.  

This experience is only eclipsed in the rankings of enjoyment by one other thing:  the blue heron sightings.  (I have myself convinced that it's the same blue heron every time I see it, but I have no way of knowing that.)  There is an access point to the creek one block over, and it's a place we pass daily on our morning walk.  So, when we wandered over and witnessed the heron there for the first time, it was in the process of catching a fish and flying off to who knows where.  This bird's wingspan was incredible and the colors that became visible with its outstretched wings were just as much so.  Now, each morning that we have the great pleasure of seeing it, I still gasp with excitement--and most times, it's simply standing there, just as it is in the picture above.  

So life on the creek has proven interesting, and taught me that no matter how far I go, there will always be some new living something to entertain.  Fun!

Books + Home: When Two Loves Collide

I have been much in love with books since I can remember.  I don't have the best long-term memory or many other crisp-clear memories of childhood, but I remember endless hours spent reading aloud to my mom.  I think my favorites were the Little House on the Prairie series, by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and the Berenstain Bears series, by Stan and Jan Berenstain.  These books were my springboard into all the possibilities the world and one's imagination could hold.  Life was good enough to allow me to work in a bookstore (RIP Borders Books & Music) during my year of graduate studies at Villanova, and my heart still races each time I get to walk into a building filled with the classics and more contemporary works.  The thought of all of those amazing minds and what they create is overwhelming to me.  Brilliance is hanging out around every last corner.

My other love (more during my adult years) is my hometown of Wheeling, WV.  I think I probably loved it as a kid, too, but I'm positive there was a span of time in my teens and early 20s when I could take it or leave it.  My mom, who always had amazing musical tastes and exposed me to some of the best artists of her time, like Carol King, James Taylor, Billy Joel, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, etc., used to crank up tunes as she cleaned the house.  This must have pre-dated my school days because I was hanging out rather than off learning, but I remember her playing a Billy Joel song ("The Ballad of Billy the Kid") that started out with the lyrics, "In a town known as Wheeling, WV..."  Each time I heard it, I was so proud of where I was from!  Nowadays, it doesn't take a Billy Joel song to fill me with pride.  I love my hometown and state beyond compare.

So, I couldn't have imagined the sheer volume of love possible when my love of these two disparate things collided with the opening of the Barnes & Noble in conjunction with West Virginia Northern Community College.  I wanted to come out of the store and shout into the streets huge "thank you's" to everyone and anyone who made that place happen.  Granted, the store is not of cavernous proportions--half of it is dedicated to a Starbucks and customer seating and a fraction of it is dedicated to books and supplies not really of general public interest--however, the little bit of space they have, they have packed with great titles and some other fun items (like Moleskine notebooks, which are a huge weakness for me).  I do have to say here that endless options are not a good friend of mine, so this smaller selection is actually more fitting for my own personal taste and did not lack a bit in offering exploration into some unknowns.  The atmosphere during my visit was one of quiet comfort, something I've always loved about bookstores--makes them feel like a trendy library.  They have a parking lot, making trips in and out pretty simple, and the customer service was lovely. The absolutely best part?  It's a mere two blocks from my workplace.  "Best" and "dangerous" are probably interchangeable here.

My bottom line is that this is just one more reason to love life in "the Wheel" and be grateful to all of those who made it happen.  The culture of home just got a little better.    

The Earth Provides

This past year has been a big one.  One of my favorite adventures was putting in a real, honest-to-God garden in the backyard of my new (and first) home.  I had no idea what I was doing, and there's so much information out there, I decided I just had to wing it rather than sift through the endless commentary available.  

My favorite lesson from gardening was about the unexpected beauties it can offer.  The yard had never had any attempted garden--at least any living remnants of such.  So, the wheels started turning as to how, exactly, I would pull off tearing up the grass, its plentiful roots and enough dirt to actually plant anything with a chance at a root system.  My dad, who is Johnny on the Spot for all handyman jobs that pop up at my house, was rightfully enjoying retirement at the shore.  Those crazy kids (aka my parents) never make it home by any definitive date these days, so the growing season was liable to come and go before they rambled their way home.  In a random act of kindness, an old friend from school and his beautiful little family came to the rescue and prepared the ground with a tiller.  

Gardening also taught me how to appreciate the earth and what it will provide--given a commitment to assisting it.  And what fantastic gifts it will give if just a consistent and solid amount of work is done!  It really takes the weekly trip to the produce section at the grocery store and tosses it on its head.  The flavor, alone, makes growing as much food as possible at home well worth it; but, add to that, the sense of accomplishment and amazing feeling attached to growing, nurturing, harvesting and then eating your own food.  It's such a simple concept and yet so lost in the buzz of today's world.  

As I stood at my kitchen sink tonight, blanching and skinning a load of heirloom tomatoes, I was pleased to think that the cold months will be a little bit warmer and tasty this year as a result of what has turned out to be one of my favorite experiences in life.  Thank you, Earth and Mother Nature, for one heck of a run in 2013.  Looking forward to next year's growing season!  

The Hawk's Perspective

Now that settling into a new role at work and a new house at home have both started to plateau a bit, I've started to shockingly return to some balanced way of life.  Whether it's big stuff or little stuff, life's stuff definitely has a way of pulling the path right out from under you, placing it in the far reaches of your vision.  But, on a recent trip to Coopers Rock State Park, a brief run-in with a hawk helped me remember that relocating that path is sometimes just a matter of changing your perspective.

I've loved living in West Virginia for most of my adult life.  I am guessing I enjoyed it as a kid, but I definitely didn't take pride in it or liking it.  Looking back, it was only after I'd left it for some time that I really started to see and appreciate its beauty and unique offerings.  Wheeling, while endowed with its own collection of beauty and activities, really becomes quite boring and traditional when you head south (well, north, east and then south).  Driving down I-79, the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains (foothills are no more exciting than regular hills) begin to melt away, and the lumbering Appalachians begin to creep up on you.  Strikingly different from driving into the Rockies, driving into the Appalachians brings a spectrum of greens, and so for me, breathes life into your drive.  Rather than the hills and valleys I'm used to having around me, which sometimes say, "hey, I'm here, you should come and climb me sometime," the real Appalachians say, "hey, there's no denying I'm here, and I dare you to try to climb me."  Perhaps it's a bit imagined on my part, but when I travel deeper into West Virginia's landscape, I get an overwhelming sense that everything is so much bigger than I am.  The benefit of this?  Worries and trifles are shifted right into their place.

So, last weekend, I drove down to Coopers Rock and chose the Ravens Rock Trail for a mini-adventure.  This is a fun trail for hiking because it's not hugely challenging, so you can enjoy the scenery a bit but also feel confident on the trail.  There's a little bit of a climb at the end of the trail, but man is it worth it because you plateau, and then you hit it.  You hit the overlook into the Cheat River Canyon, and it's breathtaking.  Talk about remembering how small you really are--I'm convinced there's not a better (more beautiful) reminder out there.  And so, I made my way to the edge of the outcropping and sat down to take in the--well, everything.  When I looked up, there was a huge hawk, floating round and round in circles above.  And then there was a second.  And they just kept flying in these circles, higher and higher up into the air.  As I observed them, it hit me that sometimes when things grow to feel overwhelming, we will say we need to step back.  For me, this has always meant sort of checking out of whatever is causing the stress.  But, what I started to realize is that these hawks were on to something.  As they went higher and higher, their perspective would grow to be wider and wider--in my mind, giving everything a place, allowing it room and room to breathe.  So, these hawks taught me something in minutes that I hadn't thought of before.  Even more?  The smooth and controlled beauty of their flight was entrancing and also appeared effortless.

This entire moment sort of made me want to just pitch a tent and stay right there forever.  What a great place to take in and how fortunate I feel to have it right at my fingertips whenever I want it.  Thank you, West Virginia--my forever host.