The time my brother broke a window with a dolphin

Yes, you read that correctly.

Do you have siblings? I have one. My brother's name is Michael. I call him Ralph. Try not to think about it too much. (Now I also have two sisters-in-law, whoop whoop!) I am three years, five months, and eighteen days older than Ralph. (Michael. Don't worry about it.) When my mom told me she was pregnant, I said, "Good. I want a baby sister named Michael." When my dad came home from the hospital to tell me it was a boy, I said, "Welp, at least we can name him Michael." And so it was. My parents claim that they didn't let me name him, but I think we all know the truth.

My mother was determined that Ralph and I would be close, so she forced us to play together. We had limited screen time, so she would frequently kick us outside. Honestly, I don't know if we would have been as close as we were (and are), if it were not for Emily.

Emily was our next door neighbor. She was one year older than me and the only one who could keep us playing together longer. We would sneak over to Emily's house when we weren't allowed to watch any more TV at our house. There we would play with the peak of toy technology: the original Nintendo. We also climbed trees, played football, built pillow forts, jumped on the trampoline, and played many imaginative games together with action figures, Legos, and Playmobil.

Playmobil, if you've never played with them, are little plastic people, animals, and accessories. We loved playing with them.

Playmobil world

Our games with them often became animated. Sometimes, my brother would claim that Emily or I had "stolen" something that he was using. Usually we had found these treasured pieces under the bed or in the common pile. One day, rather than our typical elaborate story games, we took up a new kind of game. WAR.

Emily and I, as usual, were on the same side. You might think this unfair, but in fact, it was quite fair. My brother was, and is, very scrappy. Emily and I played against him in football and almost any time we could. I am more of a peacekeeper, so I could have never been on the same side as him. In our game of war, we each had a shelter. Emily and I were sandwiched between the wall and the bed. I don't remember where Michael was. Emily and I were laughing. In my memory, Michael was ticked, but he might have been laughing too. We flung various small toys back and forth at each other, ducking after we launched the toy. 

Suddenly, Michael threw with great intensity a bigger object than any of us had been throwing. He threw it hard and the window behind Emily and me shattered. He had pitched a Playmobil dolphin through the window. Many times, the games we played lasted for days. This time, our playing ended hastily, as Emily and I scurried carefully to get away from broken glass, but were able to rescue the plastic dolphin that shattered it. 

Fortunately, my mom has a good sense of humor. 

Real dolphins in the Straight of Gilbraltar

Stories: The Drive to North Platte

Sometime in the mid 1990s...

This picture has almost nothing to do with this post, but is from the mid 1990's...

"Are we there yet?" asked my little brother, Michael.

I sighed. My parents laughed. We had just pulled out of our driveway, two hours later than scheduled, after a lot of last minute running around. Typical. Our destination? North Platte, Nebraska, home of William "Buffalo Bill" Cody and our grandparents. Time to arrive? Approximately 8 hours.

We had to drive through the city to get to the main interstate, which in itself took about 25 minutes. I inevitably wanted to read during those first 25 minutes and would be carsick by the time we got to the road that took us straight north. If you've ever driven north on I-29 out of Kansas City, you know that it takes a long time to feel like you're getting somewhere. You have to pass through the northland, then St. Joseph, before you get out onto open highway.

Several cassette tapes or book chapters into the drive, we cross the border from Iowa into Nebraska. Every time our family makes this crossing, we sing the Nebraska state song. I carry this tradition on today. If you ever want to hear "Beautiful Nebraska", let me know. We'll take a road trip.  Once in Nebraska, we make a pit stop at two restaurants, minimum, because I don't like pizza or hamburgers. I like KFC macaroni and cheese.

Even though our car smells like greasy fast food, there is something magical about turning west. I can feel in my bones what it must have been like to be a pioneer. The wind is wild on I-80. The summers are hot, the winters are cold. We watch for windmills, horses, cattle. The sky is huge.

I'm reading Laura Ingalls Wilder and dreaming of what it was like to move to the prairie back when it was prairie. I wonder if coyotes or wolves still roam the plains. Later, I imagine myself as a Native American, knowing every hill in our area from quiet walks in my moccasins.

As the sun goes down in brilliant color, we pass and are passed by several trucks. My brother and I ask the timeless question, "How much longer?"

When we were young, our parents answered in numbers of cassette tapes or in hours and minutes. As we got older, they started telling us the miles we had left and let us figure it out. If we were lucky, we had stopped at the toy store when we stopped to get food. This would tide us over longer than usual, as did the times we stopped to pick up our cousins two hours away from our grandparents.

As night fell, we tried to fall asleep to pass the time. I watched the stars come out and curled up against the cold window with my pillow and teddy bear. The pillow slides down. I pull it back up and fluff it. Finally I find a compromise good enough to allow me to drift into sleep...

We're getting off the highway now, I can feel it. I keep my eyes shut and listen to my parents' hushed voices comment on what's changed since the last time. We turn left off I-80 and begin our slow drive through town. I don't know for sure, but I assume my brother is actually sleeping, not just faking it like me. Finally, we begin the slow downhill drive. The gravel crunches under our tires and then, silence. I am always struck by the silence that comes after turning off a car that's been running for hours.

Inside, I know a light will be on and Grandma will be up to greet us. I always feel a little shy, but by the time morning comes, I know I'll be ready for cinnamon rolls, outside exploring, playing cards, and lots of vacation.

Grandma and Grandpa's house

I don't know what day it is, I'm just grateful.

"The more grateful you are, the more you get to be grateful about. It's that simple." - Louise Hay

Peaceful weekend photo

"Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day." - Henri Nouwen

I got to see more thistles this weekend. You know how much I love them!!

Beautiful weekend. I have been gone the past two weekends in a row. When my coworker, Stacy, said that she was taking a staycation weekend, a weekend to just stay home with her husband and not make plans, I was jealous. That wasn't in the cards for me this weekend, but the things I chose to do were very good. I spent a few hours of Saturday with my mom and aunt, which was so lovely. I got a massage. (Mmmmm) I ate some delicious chocolate. I passed a few hours with my dear friend Karen. She is so cool and so real. I like hanging out with her. 

Caleb and I went to this magical place on Friday

Today, I got to spend the whole day with my sweet husband. We did yoga in the park, had a lunch date and took a nap. Everyone - go take a nap. Well, actually, go to bed cause it's night, but next weekend - NAP. Then we just dwelled in our home. He cooked, I - ... Well, I don't really know what I did, but it was great. Sometimes, being home is the best thing.  

It's good to be home. Even when your bedroom looks like this.

Gratitude Day 17: THISTLES: just do it.

A thistle I picked the first year Caleb and I were dating

 Have you ever wanted to do something, but then you put it off, and then when you wanted to do it later, it was too late?

Oops. I should have rephrased that. Ahem. You know those times when you want to do something, but then you put it off, and when you go to do it later, it's too late?

Maybe it's buying tickets, or needing to tell a friend something, or giving a gift. For me, one of those things that happens every year is picking thistles.

Caleb, picking me a thistle year two of dating

Thistles are my favorite flower. They are like little tufts where I would like to sleep. And they are prickly on the stems and leaves, so be careful. And they only grow in ditches or along the highway, or in unwanted places. I actually potted some from my parents' yard this year - to GUARANTEE that I would have some. 

It's interesting - something about their wildness makes me want them more. Trying to contain them in pots somehow felt a little wrong. 

On Tuesday, I went for a walk during my afternoon break with my friend Anne. She's getting ready to leave us at work and bike from Vancouver to L.A. Yeah. She's that cool. We saw some thistles and I thought, "I will come back and pick these." Guess what? They were gone today.

Thistles Caleb picked for me last year. See the theme of who puts it off?

BUT. I have good news. Last night, I was driving home from a farewell party for Anne. And I decided to pull my car over and DO SOMETHING. I picked thistles and it gave me so much joy. I could have stayed there all night, up to my knees in itchy grass, picking wild beauty and letting it prick my fingers, burying my nose in the fluffy firework blooms. Pure joy.

One of my thistles this year. 

Gratitude Days 13, 14, 15, 16: Downward Dog, Kids, & Omaha

... I know I'm a leeetle behind on this.

BUT.

Sometimes the fullness of life means that I don't have time to be online. Also, I had a MARVELOUS weekend in Omaha learning from many wise women (and two men). I learned that sometimes after a powerful experience, our minds are racing and processing everything we've learned and it takes our bodies a while to catch up. This may result in forgetting your words or accidentally walking into things. This has been happening to me - which made it hard to imagine writing a blog.
Without further ado, here are some things I am very grateful for from the past few days...

13 (Saturday) - SO MANY THINGS. I got to see my cousin Amelia and her sweet baby Graham. I did some serious (playful) yoga. I got to be alone for several hours (introverts unite! separately. in your own rooms) in the evening thanks to my dear friends Steph and Eric who lent me their house.

14 (Sunday) - I am in the midst of a yoga teacher training program. Sunday, I was so grateful for my teachers, both in Omaha and at home, and for new-found strength. I actually have gotten less flexible (in the legs) since I started regularly practicing yoga, but it's been worth it for the strength. I've also learned to listen to my body and know when I am overstretching. I did lots and lots of yoga on Sunday and am not taking this for granted, thanks to one of my teachers.

15 (Monday) - I was so happy to be reunited with Caleb on Sunday night. He's so great. I was grateful for him all day Monday, especially when he and Jen recommended a small but revolutionary change to the way I do downward dog in yoga.

16 (Tuesday) - Today I got to tutor my two favorite kiddos after work. They are so cool. I hadn't seen them in several weeks. due to schedules and car problems. We went to the library and had a blast. I gave them nicknames - Isa and Forfe. (Use your best Spanish pronunciation!) I spent a long time chatting with their momma and holding their one year old sister. I love them.

I am endlessly grateful for the time and inspiration to write on this blog. See you all tomorrow lovelies! 

Gratitude Day 12: Road trip!

Today, I am grateful for long drives on open highways, friends with the gift of hospitality, time spent learning from wise teachers, and rain falling as I drift off to sleep... which may be happening now...

I am also grateful that there are no tornadoes. During the final part of yoga (savasana) tonight, the teacher's phone started going off with the weather alarm. She let us all know that we were under a flash flood warning, which I will gratefully take ANY day over a tornado...

With the summer sounds of rain and thunder, I bid you all goodnight (or good morning).

Gratitude Day 11: my job

For some reason, I thought this was day 12. And I was all ready to tell you, "On the twelfth day of gratitude, my true love gave to me: new windshield wipers and a cookie. (cha, cha, cha)"

He didn't actually give me a cookie, but it had to rhyme...

Today, I am deeply grateful for my job.

Here's a reason my job is awesome. This is my cubicle on my birthday. I worked in there for almost two days.

I got up early today and hopped on my computer at 7 am for a webinar - an online conference with our colleagues all over the African continent. At work, I learned some new skills and got to attend a beautiful Mass. We prayed for some of the things that matter greatly to me - comprehensive immigration reform, that we around the world who have plenty would walk with those who have nothing, creative ways for women to be more involved in the (Catholic) church.** To finish, I got to make calls to our sponsors, which I love.

The homily at our Mass was about prayer and the myriad of ways we can pray without speaking. I have become more convicted that expressing gratitude is essential to life. We heard the story of Don Jairo* in Guatemala who thanks God for life by standing in his doorway and spreading his arms toward the mountains each morning. As he lights the fire, he expresses gratitude to the earth. As he shares a breakfast of tortillas, sometimes with eggs, sometimes with only salt, with his family, his eyes move around the circle, person by person. "I am grateful for you," he says. "You make my life more complete."

This story humbles me. It compels me. It gives me goosebumps.

This is why I am writing these blog posts. This is why I humbly try to reframe each day in gratitude, rather than let arbitrary memories color my unconscious reflections. I posed this question to you yesterday, but today is a new day. What are you grateful for?

All my love,

ellen

* I can't remember his name. He was certainly "Don", a title more respectful than "Señor", but we'll go with Jairo for right now.
** I want to say that every day I become more aware of how diverse my friends and blog readers are. I feel pretty passionately about being able to have conversations without judging. It's really hard, but I've been working on it little by little. So it's okay if you don't agree with me.