This is just a small reminder: tomorrow is the National Association of Letter Carriers Food Drive. This year, perhaps more so than in any year of recent memory, food banks around the country are in desperate need of your contributions. Many warehouses across our great land are empty! With gas prices at a record high, more and more people are relying on local food banks. Working people like you. Food banks are pressed beyond their ability to serve and in many communities people are being turned away.

This food drive is always on a Saturday and I don’t know about you, but I tend to get busy and forget these things. So, this reminder is as much for me as it is for you. Please remember to leave your non-perishables for your carrier tomorrow. Every can helps.

(and just so I don’t forget, I’m leaving mine on the porch RIGHT NOW!)

At 10th and Marine

Last year and the year before that, May Day was filled with lilacs. Typically I’d be spending the day cutting arm-loads of lilacs to deliver to friends and neighbors. But this year, this year my lilacs are about 10 days from opening. It’s been a long winter, much longer than the 6 extra weeks promised by a certain groundhog. So, we wait for lilacs.

Only now is Spring waking from a deep sleep. She’s still stretching and yawning and blinking back the heaviness of winter. Spring is a sleepy-head. Spring could use an alarm clock. She has over-slept and doesn’t much seem to care. So, slowly, ever so slowly—she tentatively puts a toe out of bed. We can only hope she braves the icy floors beneath her and makes it into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

In some ways, I feel like I was gone from this blog long before my writer’s strike last week. I’m feeling a bit checked-out and I blame the weather. IZ has been calling this delightful weather pattern we’re in, “Spinter”. I’m not buying that though, so I’ve been tasking him to prove our weather is worth 2 letters from the word “spring.” I think what we’ve been facing is more like, “S’Winter”. Snow, slush, hail, freezing rain— Yes, I’m going to quibble over that “p” and if you lived here, you would too.

Which brings me to this post: a review of sorts. With bullet points and everything!

Previously on Evidently:

~~My little family went to Seattle and had an amazing time. I do have words about compassion, words I’d like very much to write. I’m in marinade mode, presently. So, it might be some time. But until then, you can read the lovely words Boy Wonder wrote about learning to talk with people of other faiths.

~~Also, 15 days in April is coming to an end today! Wow, time flies, eh? As of tonight, between donations and Thrifty Goodness revenues we’ve raised $80.00 for the Women’s Resource Center. More funds may trickle in and I’ve yet to hear from those who participated, but this feels like a very good first time out!

It’s easy in any service or charitable organization to notice the deficits. I hear it all the time at church, “Wow, look at how few people showed up today!” But, you know, that’s the wrong point of view, I think. In order to live lives of abundance, we have to foster eyes that see abundance. We can choose to focus on who showed up and be thankful for those people. And with that, I want to tell you this small story.

I woke up Sunday morning to an email from an etsy customer. She’d purchased several items and was owed a shipping refund. The subject of her email stated as much; I steeled myself for the request. Thrifty Goodness has a no gouge policy, but people tend to not read the fine print. And I’ll admit, I was groggy, in desperate need of coffee, and in no mood to deal with petty behavior.

Imagine my surprise when this woman wasn’t asking for her refund, but offering to donate it to Women’s Resource Center. It’s a small amount, but a HUGE gesture. I was so touched! And then, really ashamed at my own pettiness. I’d expected to meet something other than what I encountered—and then grace stepped in and I found myself humbled by this small act of generosity. Oh, for eyes that expect to see beauty in the world. Oh, for a heart that hopes with generosity of spirit. We can, we choose.

So, YES! It’s a matter of seeing with our hearts and being thankful for what we have. For those who show up. For those who read. For those who leave comments. For those who support. For those who are present. Of course, we miss those who aren’t here, we wonder about those who don’t read or comment or support—BUT, and this is the critical but, but we choose to focus on the abundance.

I’m certainly thankful for those of you who stepped up and supported this cause. So, Margaret, Katie, Connie (my mom!), and all those etsy shoppers, THANK YOU! You’ve made a very real difference in the lives of some of our most fragile citizens. The world is a better place because of you. And I am a better person for having known you.

~~That just leaves the weather. It always comes back to the weather, doesn’t it? I’m with Calvin, let’s move on to Summer.

Hey oh, here I am,
And here we go; life’s waiting to begin.

Boy Wonder: So, my friend. . . he likes to pretend he’s living in a television show.

Me: Really? What kind of show?

Boy Wonder: Well, it usually changes every time I play with him, but he likes to start out by saying, “Previously on. . .”

I can’t tell you how I laughed over that. It’s brilliant, really. I can so identify with this kid—blogging my life often feels like I’m writing for a reality TV show. Or maybe a medical drama or slap-stick comedy, depending on the week. Sometimes this blog even looks a bit like a public access version of Martha Stewart Living, bad lighting and poorly scripted craft projects included.

Of course, occasionally television writers go on strike. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been a week of a self-induced writer’s strike on this blog. It’s not that I can’t write. Or even that I won’t. It’s that I’m finding myself hording words. Saving them really. For what, I’m not exactly sure. IZ keeps whispering a nasty four-letter word in my ear. I keep batting him away with little flicks of the wrist, because I’ve never had any aspirations for publication (book became a dirty word in grad school).

Actually, that’s not exactly true. There was once a time in my life where I had every aspiration to publish—but that was because the word publish was directly linked to the word perish and as such, a necessity of life. I don’t doubt that my ego would have been immensely gratified, but it’s not like I’ve ever had a burning desire to see my name in print. While we might associate publication with glamour—uh, yeah, Oprah’s book club isn’t in the habit of pushing narrative theological tomes. Ever.

So, no. I don’t have dreams my blog will “make it big.” I could care less. And no, I harbor no delusions that anything I write here is publishable beyond the click-publish move I make to post this to my blog. It’s just that lately, what I have been writing doesn’t seem to fit here. Write what you know and know your audience. This blog isn’t the place for what’s been eating away my fingernails and haunting my sleep.

The thing is, though, I have no ambition for publication. It’s a ridiculous amount of work and I’m inherently lazy. I mean, for starters, I’d have to stop abusing commas and parenthetical statements—clean up my act and my copy to submit to an audience that might want to read my work. I don’t see that happening. Which leaves this blog abandoned while I write for no reason other than to horde.

For the record, hording is BAD. In fact, the God of the Hebrew Scriptures forbids it in Exodus 20. We know it as the 10th commandment. Thou shall not covet, something, something, something. . . Our understanding of that word, covet, is a bit off. We’re too literal as are most of the translations of the Hebrew. However,  some scholars are more liberal in their interpretation and believe that this is a direct commandment to not horde. It’s called latifundialization; we’re implored to not scoop up everything in sight in order to keep it for ourselves.

Now, this twenty-dollar-don’t-use-while-playing-scrabble word doesn’t really apply to my lack of posting. It is addressing the nasty business of wealthy land-owners consolidating land to the detriment of smaller subsistence farmers—putting the lives of many at risk for the enjoyment of the few. So, yeah, the 10th commandment has NOTHING to do with my self-imposed writer’s strike. Except, I can’t shake the sensation that I’m hording. Inside my head is this wicked 10th century (BCE) landlord shouting in his most miserly voice, “Mine, mine, mine—no words for you! You can STARVE! Down with the petty masses, it’s all MINE!” Of course, he speaks Hebrew, so that’s just a loose interpretation.

Hording thoughts and hording ideas and hording words. This is where the analogy stops. But it is enough to put me in a pickle. I’m writing words and hording them while leaving this page blank. It would be one thing if I were making an attempt to put those words out there in a different venue, but I’m not. It’s not that I can’t write or won’t write. It’s that I’m hording what I am writing. For no other reason than I can.

Thou shalt not. So maybe, I’ll call an end to this writer’s strike and start blogging again.

This dog. This dog is breaking my heart.

We picked Sophie up from the kennel on Thursday and it was puppyville for a day. She went a little nuts coming home—which was fun. I seriously think she didn’t stop licking and nose-butting and pouncing on everyone for at least 20 minutes. Poor IZ nearly had his arm pulled out of the socket trying to get everything out of the car while Sophie clearly wanted nothing but to come inside!

We’ve jokingly called her our “door stop dog” for so long, because she really is a low energy pup. These long winters take a toll on her. She’s solar powered, like the rest of this family, but with an edge; she gets to hibernate! And hibernate she does, typically on the edge of the couch. If she moves, it’s to find a sunspot on the carpet. Having her frisk around like a puppy was such a change in her energy, we were a bit taken aback to find her sick 12 short hours later.

Thursday quickly melded into Friday and it all went down hill from there. I’ll spare you the bodily fluid descriptions, but last night found me in tears. I lost a dog to Parvo when I was Boy Wonder’s age and that experience has never left me. And I guess I go to that place when Sophie is this sick. She’s such a sweet dog, I can’t help but mourn with her when she’s ill. She looks at you with such pain in her eyes and I melt. She’s a tender soul, she’s embarrassed and shamed to be sick. So, there you are, cleaning up messes and she’s too sick to find a place to hide, but she’s looking at you with a million apologies. And all you want to do is scoop her up and hold her, except she winces in pain when you touch her. It makes you want to weep!

While we were certain she didn’t have Parvo due to her age and inoculations; her symptoms just couldn’t be ignored, which precipitated an early run to the vet this morning for fluids and medication. She’s home for now while we wait and see. We’ve been cautioned that she may need to come in for IV fluids tomorrow if the meds can’t stop the vomiting. Clearly, we’d like to avoid that.

So, this is where I find myself this morning. I’d had every intention of sharing with you my thoughts on compassion while the experiences from last week were still fresh. As you can imagine, after last week, I have quite a bit to say about that! But it will hold for Monday. Right now, this dog, this dog is breaking my heart.

UPDATE: Thank you, all, for your comments. IZ and I so appreciate them. It’s Sunday afternoon and while Sophie is still wonky on the medication, she’s showing signs of rapid recovery. I think she’ll be back to herself in a few days.

Look up, look UP!! See. . . right there on the header?

Today is tax day and you might have other things on your mind. So, this is just a gentle reminder that the Thrifty Goodness fund-raiser for the Women’s Resource Center starts today. Everything you need to know to participate can be found on the “15 Days” link in the header. I think it’s going to be a FABULOUS 15 days in April, don’t you?

He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him again.

I said, “Yes, yes, yes!”

The day dawned brightly; sunlight streaming through every window. The sun has found its way back into my world,  and I find myself warm again.

All is not lost, after all.

The Dalai Lama arrived in Seattle today for the Seeds of Compassion Conference. We’ve been waiting for his arrival and the arrival of our tickets with baited breath. IZ and I caught a glimpse of his motorcade on the news tonight and I think we both exhaled at the same time. IZ and BW’s tickets arrived on Tuesday, mine came in the mail today. Whew. Hotel booked, bus routes scoped out, we have a plan.

It’s a long story and all the details aren’t worth rehashing, but the bottom line is demand for these tickets so far exceeds availability that people have been scalping them. We feel very fortunate to have received 3 and to be able to attend this historic event as a family. Our tickets come from two different sources—which means we probably won’t be sitting together. Considering how many people asked to go and were turned down, I don’t even see that as a deficit. My ticket was reserved for me as a member of SDI and I just feel so blessed that Seeds of Compassion had two more for my family. This is the sort of thing that I usually attend by myself; it’s amazing to be going with IZ and Boy Wonder. That the event is in Seattle is icing on the cake.

And I needed cake. I really, really did.

So, we will be in Seattle very, very soon. I can’t tell you how much I have to do between now and then. Everything converges on the 15h; my ad with Modish, my fund-raiser for the Women’s Resource Center, and of course this event. The past few days have been a whirlwind of activity and I find myself a bit overwhelmed by it all, if in a good way. I keep reminding myself: BREATHE.

Obviously, I will be writing more about this conference and keeping you posted about the fund-raiser as next week approaches. But I hope in the meantime, you’re feeling blessed by the miracle that is your life… and that you’re remembering to breathe.