Author: ferylfiles

I have had the chance to live in the southeastern sections of two very different states. When I was twelve years old, my dad got a job at Ohio University’s medical school and clinic. Ohio University is located in the gentle, rolling foothills of the Appalachian (app-uh-LATCH-un, NOT appa-lay-shun) mountains. This college town has all four seasons–spring, swamp butt, autumn, and gray-and-miserable with occasional school closings. There is no place prettier than Athens in the fall–red brick buildings, bright leaves, the Hocking (yes that’s it’s name) river winding it’s way through town, the Halloween block party, homecoming, the Marching 110–it’s an experience. Both spring and fall are a reprieve from the humidity that makes Ohio summers an endless parade of sweaty suffering. It was in Athens, Ohio that I was introduced to French existentialists in the middle of winter and fully understood what depression was. The cherry blossoms on the trees near the bike path, the variety of resplendent greens make springtime incredibly lovely.

I’m lucky to get to live in another college town here in Walla Walla, Washington, a valley near the plateau-esque Blue Mountians. While there’s not a big football or marching band program at the college level, the vibe (heavens, yes, I’m discussing the Walla Walla vibe) is unique and wonderful anyway. I moved here to get a job at Whitman College in the fall of 2008. Whitman is a private, residential, liberal arts college. VERY DIFFERENT from a state school. It has a small, picturesque campus and much smaller faculty to student ratio. But it’s also not the only college in the valley. There’s Walla Walla University (my parents alma mater), a Seventh-Day Adventist university. And there’s the community college that is nationally-ranked and has the enology and viticulture program that draws a lot of folks to our valley, too. So the seasons ebb and flow against these school calendars.

This little town has all four seasons, too, and it’s really fun because you can tell which one it is by what people are buying at Klickers (the produce/farm stand, antique shop, gift shop, cheese shop, pumpkin patch, and Christmas tree market). If it’s closed, it’s late winter and early spring. If it’s strawberries, asparagus, and spring onions, it’s late spring/early summer, summer produce is abundant and lasts quite a long time. Then the gourds and pumpkins start coming out. They build a big hay bale slide and pumpkin patch for before Halloween. Then they close for a bit to decorate for Christmas. The interior because a holiday showcase of ornaments and gifts and wreaths and outside it’s the Christmas tree lot. It might seem strange to someone outside of Walla Walla to think of one store in terms of season tracking, but this one really encapsulates how time moves in this valley. Others do so, too, the farmers market, Frog Hollow Farm. But there’s a LOT of history at Klickers. When I was a kid, visiting my great aunt and uncle, strawberry shortcake was made with Klickers strawberries, no exceptions.

I love spring and summer for all of the light and flowers. My garden is my happy place so I will always love those seasons best. Autumn is beautiful with the vibrant colors and gathering with friends and loved ones. Pioneer Park is a breathtaking work of art every time I walk through, most especially so in the fall. Winter is the one I have the hardest time with. I don’t participate in winter sports (not for a lack of trying). The loss of light is devastating to my morale. The amount of effort to keep functioning is monumental. It was great to be married to someone whose favorite season was winter because he buoyed me with his Tigger-like enthusiasm for snow and cold weather. I have a greater appreciation for winter because of him and his friends. Last winter, however, was my hardest…

That’s the part about seasons, literal and metaphorical that I appreciate so much. I get to experience them, learn from them, walk in them for the time that it’s appropriate. But no season is permanent. This means I can cherish the very best and bask in those good memories. When the difficult seasons come, I can do my best to appreciate what is good but rest in the knowledge that this season will end. A new season will always begin again.

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One of things I like best in this life is making people laugh. If it bends, it’s funny. If it breaks, it’s not funny. Dancing along the knife edge of what bends is a rush. I don’t snow ski. I don’t do drugs. But I do love humorous shock and awe. Have I gotten into some trouble for this in my life? Maybe a little. :oP Maybe more than a little on occasion. But as Bryan used to say, “if you’re not over the line early every once in a while, you’ll never win a race.”

I also appreciate the folks who can make me laugh. Appreciate isn’t strong enough of a word. I feel like every joke, each funny story, every time I laugh, it’s a gasp of air above the crashing waves, a life ring launched to keep me afloat.

We have the potential to share lots of things to tie us together in our humanity–music, anger, grief, joy, but laughter, oh laughter, that’s my favorite.

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I grew up in a faith tradition that has strong prescriptions around a day of rest. Sundown to sundown–it was a 24 hour period of a whole lot of don’ts. At least that’s how it felt as a kid. There were many pieces of the don’ts and their exceptions that confused me. Don’t work on the Sabbath, unless you’re a doctor or a nurse or the pastor giving the sermon or one of the deaconesses putting together a whole potluck or a family hosting a lot of folks for dinner. Those don’t count, you see; they’re outside of the rules. And you can be in nature, but don’t work, but climbing that mountain totally doesn’t count. I think with most things it’s hard to pin down metaphor and philosophy and apply it practically. Do this and don’t do that simplify broad truths, but I think that’s where it’s easy to get into trouble. It’s incredibly easy for humans to get caught up in minutiae without looking at the bigger picture or the why.

Herculean effort isn’t sustainable, not for anyone. And while it’s been oft-repeated, I believe it to be absolutely true–the body keeps the score. If we don’t rest, our bodies find ways of making us do so anyway. Too much stress can lead to illness of both body and mind. Rest isn’t the negative or absence of something and I think it’s often framed that way. To me rest is restoration to fullness. We sleep (hopefully) every night so that we can be awake and our full selves the next day. Psychosis and a whole host of problems happen if we don’t sleep. In like manner, regular intervals of rest help us replenish to be our full, best selves.

For me, though, rest isn’t just time of NOT doing. Rest is the place where I can focus on being. Sometimes this is alone, contemplating in nature or creating art. But the rest I most appreciate and the rest I celebrate today during this gratitude challenge is the rest I find with people who help remind me of myself or give me the space and time to be myself. Safe. Welcoming. Kind. Warm. Space to restore. I have spent time with very dear folks in the last couple of days who help foster that rest. My hope is that I can also be a restful space for those who need it, too.

The wild critters out at Mill Creek, all the dogs I get to visit on my walks, the neighbors’ chickens, and my three furry libertarians have been an incredible source of joy. I am so thankful for their presence and their demands on my attention. Life with animals is so much richer. We do not deserve them and yet they choose to be with us. If that’s not grace, I don’t know what is.

Music is probably what keeps the aliens from destroying us(laugh with me!) What can so easily shift a bad mood, lift a sad spirit, emphasize a joyous moment like music? I appreciate how music tells the story of our lives–we’re really living in a musical every day, we just need to pay attention.

My mom played the piano and organ and insisted we all get piano lessons at the very least and encouraged us to play an instrument–trumpet for me. She often had the classical music station on in the car. Dad would play Kenny Rogers or the Statler brothers or Steve Martin’s “Grandmother’s Song.” Todd brought us rock-n-roll and made sure we had MTV incorporated throughout our day (when it consisted largely of music videos). I remember my Aunt Daisy sent my dad a mixed tape of “oldies” and we listened to that on regular rotation, too. There were hymns and singing along to musicals and even the Irish Rovers. We sang, mostly in tune, sometimes not.

Music is time travel. Just a few notes from a song can throw me back to a particular place and time. Music is medicine. It is said to be able to soothe the savage beast and even the savage Becci. Music is a translator. When I don’t have the words or the capacity to process my emotions (see yesterday’s post), music offers me a language to do so.

I’ve written about many things this year that have helped me on my grief journey. Music absolutely lives in the top five. I’d like to share a few things that have been on regular rotation recently:

1. Happy Bach in the morning with a big ol’ cuppa Joe sets the tone for my day. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VKzYELdgDs
2. I’ve loved Ella since high school and this offers over three hours of her music. I’ve been listening to her a lot more this autumn. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzNbt6Ufcv4
3. Sometimes you just need some heavy cello in your life. I tell ya, doing chores to dramatic cello music makes a person feel like a gothic heroine about to discover some seriously important clues while also getting the dishes done. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5JX-vf048k
4. And of course there are those delightful, guilty pleasures that are fun to jam out to. I’m not even sorry. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bz61YQWZuYU

I am so thankful for music. I appreciate recommendations, too. 🙂

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