Of absolutely no concern to the desert

I arrived late yesterday afternoon at the St. Joseph Mission located on Soboba Reservation lands after driving from Phoenix.  What a beautiful desert drive I had, traveling along I-10, through the Sonoran landscape looking out upon its muted pinks, browns, purples and greens.  I am a road trip girl, so four-plus hours of desert driving are pure heaven for me.  When I was a little girl, I wanted, no yearned, to be an explorer – to travel alongside Magellan, Columbus, de la Salle or Lewis and Clark.  I imagine seeing mountains, rivers, forests and prairie in their unspoiled, pure and pristine states.  As I look out at gnarled trees, oddly shaped cacti, craggy ridges, dry washes and deep blue skies, I wonder what all of this looked like to the eyes of a 15^th and 16^th century Spaniard?  What did he think when he saw this stark, yet beautiful landscape? As I drive along, these romantic, girlish wonderings fill my head.

I listen to local radio stations, as they come in and out of range – lots of ranchero, norteno, cumbia as well as twangy American country music.  I see signs for Joshua Tree National Park, Coachella and Palm Springs.  I see developments that seem to spring up from nowhere and connect to nothing.  What are these walled collections of tiled roof homes and lawns doing in the middle of the desert?   Who lives here and why do they try to make it green?

I see massive wind farms and I feel my roller skate of a car rental shimmy in the desert winds.  Sunglasses, bottled water, a cell phone and cold car a/c do not feel like luxuries – they feel like necessities.  I am surprised at the number of bars I have on my cell.  Despite the desert looking raw and unspoiled at various junctures along my route, modernity is clearly out here.  I wonder if I would have had the fortitude to have done this in armor, on horseback, without a map or GPS. 

And when no radio stations can be tuned, my mind becomes still. All I can hear is the sound of the tires on the highway and in the late afternoon shadows, the desert makes me feel small and alone; tender and vulnerable.  I am deeply aware of my human-ness and that I am not a natural part of this environment.  I am a visitor.  My romantic, girlish notions ebb away as I remember why I am out here. 

The finest quality of this stone, 

these plants and animals, 

this desert landscape 

is the indifference 

to our presence, 

our absence, 

our coming, 

our staying or our going. 

Whether we live or die 

is a matter of absolutely no concern to the desert.  

 Edward Abbey

Yes, we must ever be friends

I left home on Wednesday, flying to Phoenix to visit a dear friend before my time at the St. Jude School. It was like a road trip down the memory highway.

After greeting me at the airport and some quick lunch, we headed to her house where she whipped out the photo albums and we relived the glamour of our younger selves - in all of our 80s glory.  Wow, I sure loved shoulder pads, matte red lipstick and black!  I am so glad we did not have camera phones and Facebook.  And oh the stories that we remembered; I laughed until it was just tears and trying to breathe. 

Some memories, just for you Miss M:

the wedding was a gay fest, with Budweiser…the Monzai (aka  Chevy Monza) … Miss Minnesota … pussatots on the Cossatot … everybody, get a hat! ... Villa Allegre, la la la la … she’s got freckles on her but I love her … Mamba, beer from the homeland … one big piece … no, it’s real, its kortz … why are we wearing Linda Ellerbee’s glasses … you have turkeys … why did you let me wear tinsel, oh wait, you’re wearing it too … the waterbed, the hot tub, the RV … Yeti and Bosco … you’re supposed to take it once every 12 hours, not every 4 hours, you idiot … someone has to wear mint, it’s a wedding … meesh-loaf and mustard steak … my IQ just dropped, we crossed into Arkansas … BPOE

Although we lost touch for far too long, we reconnected last year.  And when we did, it was as though no time had passed at all.  A true friend, a sister, a piece of my heart – a gift rediscovered – my brilliant, wicked, sarcastic, warm, loyal, witty, beautiful friend and sister.

“Yes, we must ever be friends; 

and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, 

the truest, the nearest and dearest!" 

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Quality of Joy

In 2009, at the Los Angeles AASH (Associated Alumnae of the Sacred Heart) Conference, I had the gift of hearing Marianna Torrano, rscj speak.  I was gripped by what this petite, soft spoke woman shared.  She is part of a group of religious and lay people working at a small school, on the Soboba Reservation in southern California. 

Her devotion to the people of Soboba, her joyful spirituality, and her steadfast purpose were revealed as she spoke quietly but with a powerful intention. She was serenely joyful.

After her presentation, I spoke with her briefly and thanked her.  In the back of my mind, the words, “If I ever have the chance…” formed.  Like so many things, however, you wonder if anything will truly come from it. And so, as I walked away from her, and on to another session, quite unknown to me, a seed had been planted. 

Thus, it is two and half years later, and I find myself, plane ticket in hand, heading to the desert, the Soboba, the St. Jude School, Sister Torrano - I am heading to joy.

"The quality of our joy depends on the spring from which it is drawn. 

Where do we seek our joy? 

How does it flutter? Is it steadfast or changeable? 

Does it go by days, by moods, by self-love, by the adventure of circumstances? 

To be a joy-bearer and a joy-giver says everything;"

Janet Erskine Stuart, rscj

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace - living your beliefs

Friends of St. Francis Walk the Line for Peace at STRATCOM

My aunt, Marilyn Curran Ryan, standing up peacefully, prayerfully and with dignity for her beliefs.

"The three heroic line crossers for Peace are the following:

• Marilyn Ryan, a career educator and Principal from Omaha, Nebraska.
• Gilbert Landolt, disabled Vietnam Veteran, Chapter President of the Des Moines Veterans For Peace and Des Moines Catholic Worker
• Sister Marian Klostermann OSF, a Franciscan Sister from Dubuque, Iowa, a long time Peace and Justice Activist and teacher of nonviolence to the imprisoned.

We celebrate and honor their courage and sacrifice."

And here are the time stamps where you can see and hear my aunt:

13:50 - Marilyn speaking
20:50 - Marilyn speaking
27:20 - Marilyn speaking
28:20 - Officer reading tresspass rules, then again, then directing her and the two others to the van

Sing to me of the man, Muse, 10.10.2011

Welcome, friends.  I started this blog as a place to to journal about topics – personal and professional.  I am not sure entirely the form or the direction it will take. 

I read a lot and I am fond of quotes.  Always, books are my most boon companions and many lifelong friends have I made among the pages.  I often find their words far better than my own.  Words, turns of phrase, are, to me, thick, juicy, chewy.  I gnaw on them, and they at me, for days, weeks, years.  They provide me sustenance, light, clarity, hope.

Much change in my life of late, so, maps out, compass in hand, sails unfurled, in medias res I begin –

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove –
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,

Translated by Robert Fagles (1996)