---------------------------
Countless texts and phone calls with kindreds who had the courage to share vulnerably.
The lentil soup my mother-in-law Nancy made when I was recovering from covid.
Long runs and hikes along bodies of water called Deschutes, Detroit, Huron, Kansas, Bridge Creek, Still Creek, Tumalo Creek, Twin Lakes, Arroyo Trabuco, Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
Soaking in the grief of learning more specifics of the settler colonial history of my ancestors, in a span of fifty years, moving from PA to OH to MI to the Dakotas to MT to WA—land tended by scores of Indigenous peoples for thousands of years.
The more-than-human world that watched over us: snakes, wild turkeys, magpies, bald eagles, red-tailed hawks, osprey, redwoods, junipers, ponderosas, sycamores, ginkgos, aspens, bucks and does, diving pelicans, seals and dolphins and a 10-foot "baby" great white shark that emptied the waters in San Clemente.
The open sharing shimmering in lectio divina circles.
The beloved community at Brightmoor Connection food pantry and Manna Meal soup kitchen.
Friday nights at the outdoor pizza oven on the Detweiler compound in Bend, Oregon.
The improbable play of Emma Raducanu.
Everything the Golden State Warriors do.
Listening to the audiobook of Kiese Laymon’s “Heavy” while driving through the Rockies.
Listening to podcasts that have blown my mind and opened my heart: Marc Lamont Hill’s “Coffee and Books,” Breana Joy Gray’s “Bad Faith,” Johnathan Alvarado’s “Global Pentecostal Perspectives” and “All the Smoke” with Matt Barnes and Stephen Jackson.
Intimate connections and soul-clarifying conversations with Lindsay: in the Deschutes, on the beach, in the Poconos, on the patio at Sidetrack, on the road through Amish country or the Kansas prairies or the sweltering Nevada desert or the California grapevine or the middle of Missouri, Indiana or Ohio, nursing each other back to health, floating in Nawny’s pool and eating pizza and garlic knots from SoCal to the Jersey Shore.
No comments:
Post a Comment