Life on the Road

For the better part of the two years of 2002 and 2003, I traveled for work and lived on the road.  What does that mean?  It means we worked 80 and sometimes 100 hour weeks and traveled from city to city throughout the country and worked and lived in hotels.  Sometimes we stayed in the same city for a week or maybe two and more often it was two or three cities in one week.  We slept little.

I joined the subcontractor to the TSA in April 2002 just as the organization was taking shape.  It was a very chaotic, stressful, confusing development.  The SOPs were being written and revised daily.  Our roles were changing by the minute.  The instruction was to tell no one in each city who we were working for or what we did, which was sort of silly when a group of 50 of us descended upon the bush in Alaska for example; they knew who we were before we arrived.  We worked and slept under secured floors.  We ate when we could steal the time.

It was an extraordinary experience, both professionally and personally.  It challenged every logical process in our brains and every emotional thread of our beings.

With all the traveling, my packing, airport navigation and hotel comfort skills were tightly honed.  And my bank account and mileage accounts were aplenty.  This was back in the day when an upgrade to business or first was often a handful of miles or another $50-$75.  This is how I traveled, taking advantage of any additional comfort available to me.

Once I left the project for the second time, I needed to travel for myself.  I took a few shorter trips and returned to Argentina each year for the next three years.  All the while accumulating miles and upgrading.  Then I cut way back on travel and used up my miles on the next handful of trips and gave my parents a couple of flights out to visit.

Here it is, several years later and I am traveling, albeit a short trip.  As I move through the airports, I notice I lack urgency.  I listen to those whisking past me, "I'll reach out to an architect on the team," "The program needs some modifications for the client."  The conversations overheard on the hotel shuttle bus are tense and curt.  I climb the bus with spring in my steps and song on my voice and they look at me with a cocked inquisitive head.  There is nothing about what I see that intrigues me or that tempts me back.  In fact, quite the contrary.  It affirms that I am doing what I love just where I am.

What do I miss about that lifestyle?  The upgrades.  Economy is rough.

Context Is Everything

What a funny!  I have been laughing over and over this morning about a Spanish language mix-up.  Actually, it could have happened in either English or Spanish if you think about it.

As some of you know, I have been working quite diligently to plan a successful week of campaigning for my boss, Aelea Christofferson, who is running for a seat in the US House of Representatives.  She is traveling across part of I-84 here in Oregon, making a stop in about six cities by Friday.  My job has been to make contacts in each city, set up interviews with the local media, radio and newspaper, arrange meetings with the mayors, influential community groups and individuals, unions, as well as an Indian tribe and to find someone to host an open house or reception which is open to the public for a meet and greet.  All of this is to set the stage for her return visits and also to inspire people to get out and vote in the Primary Election and certainly in the General Election.

One of the radio interviews I had scheduled for this morning was with La Ley, the Hispanic radio station in Hermiston.  Yesterday, I spoke with the CEO of the station, in Spanish, to introduce Aelea and arrange this interview.

This morning, I was out with the animals, pulling carts and rushing around to get my chores done before heading to an early dentist appointment.  My phone rang.

It was Martín, one of the political news reporters from La Ley who would be joining the interview and who wanted to ask a few questions to fill himself in on the campaign.  There I was, pulling a cart full of hay and being pressed for time, continuing to fill feed buckets and bags, redirecting two bad boy goats who wanted to cut me off so they could stop the cart and eat, meanwhile keeping an eye on Pinkie who was attempting to break into the dry lot to nip at the roaming horses, all the while holding the phone with one gloved hand attempting to refocus my thoughts on the campaign to keep up with the conversation, in Spanish, in a very winded breath.

Me preguntó Martín:  "Está corriendo?"
Yo le contesté:  "No, no, estoy afuera con mis animales."

Pausa.

Question mark lingering in the air.

Oh how I laughed!  I shall add this to my list of language learning humor along with:

"Why do they keep saying thank you good bye?" and "Oh!  You mean tresmedialunas is actually the number of media lunas I can order and not the name of a very big breakfast?"

I love language.  I love how forgiving we can be when speaking with someone in another language.  I love that laughter is universal.

Translation:
Martin asked me, "Are you running?"
I said, "No, no, I'm outside with my animals."

Hush

The irrigation water has been turned off for the season

The canal is quiet

Sounds are traveling differently now

Wildlife will alter their paths

A point in time has been marked

As we head toward winter hibernation

June 3: Peace

Life has been full of unexpected, not entirely, and surprising turns these past few months.  You could say that what was my life six months ago is nothing like it is now.

Truthfully, I am grateful for the major shift; it needed to happen.  I am at peace with the concept of the shift.  The details, hitches, twists and turns; however, leave me feeling less than at peace.  In fact, I am probably the most ungrounded as I have been in a very long time.  It takes a lot to get air between my feet and the earth.

There have been so many posts related to peace, healing, love, moving forward, transition, on Facebook lately.  Each one makes it sound so simple and easy.  I read the post, smile, embrace the content, nod my head in full agreement and then click "share" so maybe someone else can experience that refreshing clarity--as fleeting as it may be.

And yet, no sooner do I share that post than do I return to that previous state of uncertainty.

Today, as I do in the mornings, I reached over to read the inspirational thought for the day from my book Spiritual Diary.  I share it with you here.

"Live each present moment completely and the future will take care of itself.  Fully enjoy the wonder and beauty of each instant.  Practice the presence of peace.  The more you do that, the more you will feel the presence of that power in your life."    ~~~ Paramahansa Yogananda, SRF Lessons

I have read this multiple times today.  A year ago, I completely resonated with this.  This is where I spent my days.  How did I wander off so far?  I am an eternal traveler, but how could I leave such a secure space?

We know "things happen for a reason."  I do believe this.  More than that, I believe everything that happens in our lives, every choice we make and the ensuing consequence, is a lesson.  We are here to learn those lessons and whether or not we learn them is our karma.

I am making the most concerted effort every day to open my heart and mind to this current life lesson.  There is something mighty big in there for me to learn because otherwise, it wouldn't be this difficult.

That little paragraph above that I shared with you is my key.  Now to find the matching keyhole in my soul.

Peace.





 

Happy Sweet 16, Pooker!

It's hard to believe...Pooker is 16 today. She is a healthy, happy, assertive and very pretty cockatiel.

It was 1994 and I was in Seattle over the winter holidays visiting my friend, Justine. My parakeet of 8 years, Misha, had died that spring. That was quite sad. It was the first time (unfortunately not the last) that I had to make the decision to euthanize an animal. Besides being sad, it was traumatic.

So Justine in her just get it done manner took me to this parrot market "just to look" at birds. I really was in no mood to acquire another bird. Until I met the girl. She was just a month old and the parrot porter was taking her out of a box and putting her in a cage. Younger than this, they do not have the dexterity and strength to hold themselves up on a perch.

He put her on my hand and she immediately scurried up my arm and onto my shoulder and as many birds will, she nestled deep into the nape of my neck. It was darling. There I stayed with her for some time.

The next day, we went back: "just to look." We opened the cage and she did the same thing. Trouble. I really wanted to take this bird home but I was living in the dorm at Mt. Holyoke at the time, sharing a suite with Jill. Oh, and there was a no pets rule (Misha excluded.)

I called Jill from Justine's land line--my cell phone only worked in my car-- "what do you think?" Jill was easy going and a mom of 4 and was quite open to a new addition to our sunny 2 bedroom suite overlooking the apple orchard. Then there was the flight back to Boston to consider. Mind you, it was 1994, pre-TSA.

We took her, well first let me say this, the parrot porter said he was almost certain Pooker was a he. Anyway, we bought the necessary accessories for my new cockatiel and took her back to Justine's house. I had fantasized about another bird and had a few names already picked out. We tried calling her Colvin. Nah. Miles. Nope. And she cried and cried. What had I done?! A baby bird who eats formula from a syringe! To comfort her I made cooing sounds and out came Pooker.

Oh, the story of getting her back to Boston. I had to ask the flight attendant for hot water so I could make her formula during our layover. Then I had to defend my new bird when another flight attendant into Boston insisted that I put her cage under the seat in front of me in freezing winter weather. I most certainly did not. No air marshals or vigilante passengers to worry about.

Pooker became a love to all, or most, who lived at Dickinson Hall. Anne-Sophie would come get her and bring her to her room while she studied. For the most part, we all denied any knowledge of a bird living amongst us.

She stayed with friends and family while I went on a 6 week cross country trip with Alina. The next year Pooker moved with me back to Boston. She stayed with my folks while I lived in Argentina and still when I returned to the US and traveled for work for 2 more years. Then my folks brought her out to me in Long Beach. Now here in Bend she is back to her Pacific Northwest roots.

Yes, Pooker is a she. Sometimes it still catches those who knew her back then off guard; they want to say "he." But when I uncovered her one morning and found an egg and then found another 8 over the course of 2 weeks, we were pretty sure she was a girl.

She has given us many stories and laughs. She is an affectionate creature who loves to be kissed and cuddled. A cockatiel can fit in the palm of your hand, and there she will sit perfectly comfortable and unafraid.

To all of you who have cared for her or played with her or just know her through stories, she joyously celebrated her 16th year full of all of our love and kindness.

Happy Birthday girl!