Adventure Mom

No Epiphanies, Please Faith, doubt, hippies and sugar snap peas in Canada She said 'No Mascara' God told me this morning to skip eye makeup. “You’re at family camp, for God’s, I mean, My sake. Besides, you’ll want to swim later. Forget it.” She was right. I thanked her later for the tip. I’m sitting at the outdoor chapel at Sorrento Centre, an Anglican retreat on the shores of Lake Shuswap, in the middle of British Columbia. The day is clear and bright – the sun can sear un-lotioned flesh, even at 9am. This is when I start crying. Fortunately, I’m wearing sunglasses (possibly another tip from her Almighty-ness, or from years of habit – I can’t be sure). I wasn’t even going to attend this service. I’m not here for an epiphany. I’m not making time for a spiritual experience. I want to write, run and do a load of laundry or two, because after five days on the road, the dirty clothes bag stinks. And I’ve neglected the writing. And I’m moving to New Zealand...

What Now? Camp Cross, Lake Coeur d'Alene Coming back is the thing that enables you to see how all the dots in your life are connected, how one decision leads you to another, how one twist of fate, good or bad, brings you to a door that later takes you to another door, which, aided by several detours—long hallways and unforeseen stairwells—eventually puts you in the place you are now. Every choice lays down a trail of bread crumbs, so that when you look behind you there appears to be a very clear path that points straight to the place where you now stand. .. -Ann Patchett, from her commencement address, “What Now?”  I recently had what hosts on National Public Radio call a “driveway moment” while listening to author Ann Patchett in my van. That quote describes poetically and completely what it means to come back and why we must do it. But Ann didn’t mention anything about a four-month return. A last backward glance takes – how long? A weekend? Maybe a couple week...

Camp Cross RSS Fiona 'fishes' off the dock at Camp Cross Everyone needs a Camp Cross. It’s the place you return once or twice a year or every few years for R & R (Rest and Relaxation, or, since it’s an Episcopal Church camp, Rejoicing and Renewal, or maybe Reflection and Reconciliation…). I didn’t put the puzzle pieces together until this year, but you also come to camp for RSS – not R eal S imple S yndication (where an online feed alerts you to new blog posts or news articles), but R emarkable S haring S essions. Swapping stories with other campers is like getting an audio/video version of Chicken Soup for the Soul . This moment is all you have First, some background: Our family’s visited camp at Lake Coeur d’Alene since 2005, when Fiona was 17 months old and Finley was a burgeoning tummy bump. I lie on the rocky beach in Loff’s Bay, belly imprisoned in maternity spandex, reading Ina May Gaskin’s natural childbirth manifesto, Spiritual Midwifery ...

Father’s Day June, 2004 “I had a premonition about you even before we found out your mom was pregnant. I see a big head of dark hair like your mother. You are going to be so cute…” July 14, 2003: Sean wrote in a journal after seeing the first ultrasound of Fiona in utero. He wanted to write often and eventually give Fiona the journal when she was 16. June 17, 2012: I used to love Father’s Day. That first holiday after Fiona was born, I imprinted her chubby hands in a clay craft store kit attached to a picture frame. The photo displays Fiona’s apple cheeks, thick, dark hair and white cotton stripey dress. That bambina’s face would turn any daddy’s heart to Cream of Wheat. Fiona and Sean were smitten.  She would plant her toothless mouth on Daddy’s chin and gum him as if sucking milk from a breast. Sean would laugh and say, “Look – she’s eating me!” We learned one year after Fiona was born we were pregnant again. We waited several weeks after the five months’ ...

Where do You Love? Spokane River, Downtown A friend asked me today, during a walk along the Spokane River, if I loved New Zealand beyond Pete. Meaning, do I love the place? Its people? The rhythm of its days, the smell of the air, the potential it holds for me and my kids? I've answered this question many times, and the reply usually goes like this: "I do love the country. It's beautiful; I have good friends there; I can run outside year-round. I don't like unheated homes, the high cost of living and hanging wash on a line to dry, but I think I can work around those challenges." After my friend and I parted ways, a new-ish thought hit me as my minivan and I bounced along the frontage road that leads to I-90: Loving a place and its people has more to do with how it helps you grow during a particular time in your life than anything else. Set aside the statistical abstract, including your job, cost of living, home and daily routine. Why do you love (or not ...

Back to En Zed Part Two I haven’t told Kiwi friends about this brief return to The Mount. My priority is spending time with Pete. My plan: tiptoe into the country unnoticed. Ha. I’m waiting at the Auckland domestic terminal for the flight to Tauranga when I spot a familiar-looking Kiwi bloke. I can’t place him immediately.                 “Dawn?” he says. “What are you doing here? It’s Matt. Michelle’s husband.” Of course. Michelle’s one of my Jogger friends. I laugh and tell him I’m in for a quick trip to see The Partner.                 “I couldn’t stay away,” I say, as we approach the jetway to board the plane. Buckled into my window seat, I gaze at grayness outside. Propellers on the aircraft’s twin engines chug to life, dispersing a circle of rain water beneath. We’re nearly on our way. Excitement builds in...

Back to En Zed  Part One She was never so happy to see such a big bird. Its long white body and ocean-blue tail with white whirls gleams in the twilight. She peers into its glassy eye, imagining she knows its soul – understands its path – can predict its next flight. I’m about to land at Los Angeles International Airport when I spot the Air New Zealand plane. I feel my mouth stretch wide in an ear-to-ear grin: the Maori design –swirls of white against blue - on the plane’s tail look like home. I’m going home. Home. I think I may finally know where home is. I’ve lasted nearly two months – 55 days - in Spokane before returning to New Zealand. I probably would’ve fled sooner, if I didn’t have to organize care for Fiona and Finley. My poor kiddos. Without their mom for a week while I visit The Partner. I couldn’t stand to be away from Pete any longer. Fool for love. I’ve spent $1400 for one week of kid-free time with The Partner. I bought my ticket about six weeks ago ...