Fear, you have no power over me.
-Lisa Berry, If I Could Tell You Supernatural 2018 Calendar
Fear, you have no power over me. Lisa Berry as photographed by Dion Johnstone. His copyright (c)2018
[No money made on Ms. Berry and Mr. Johnstone’s work, and no copyright infringement intended.]
April.
Spring has sprung. For a day and then the snow comes again, dumping, flurrying, and then gone in a sweep of wind.
April showers bring May flowers, but I find that the showers come in March with the daffodils, April is mud season, and May is very purple and yellow, at least in my backyard.
April is quiet. The kids are still in school without the end of the year frenzy.
Birds are chirping, bunnies are burrowing, squirrels are fleeing, and mice are leaving garages and attics. The shutter is half falling off and the gate is bent; the driveway is oil-stained and the weeds are limp.
The tea is warm, though.
Reassess. Recharge. Re-emerge.
Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, inky different kinds of good weather.
– John Ruskin
[Editor’s Addition: And March has all of them!]
A Self-Retreat
Right about now, the middle to end of March, I begin to feel the heaviness. The clouds are fat with moisture, lumbering across a grey sky. When the sky is blue, the air is wintry cold. yesterday was grey, but I didn’t wear a jacket. I did, however have on my snood and gloves. That was enough to trick my body into thinking it was warmer than it was.
It’s not just the weather that’s heavy. Things are picking up for school assignments. Drama club has finally ended, but it’s been replaced by notes to parents for help on those end of year assignments, and how can it be the end of the year already? There’s Easter upcoming, full weekends, bills to pay, taxes to do, and nowhere to escape.
I’ve kept busy with my kids, our weekly television viewing, a church breakfast, reading Chernow’s Grant, tagging along to find The Lost Book of Moses, two days of reflection that were everything I’d hoped they would be, and more, and still not enough.
One or two times a year I try to give myself a retreat. A self-guided retreat, some planned out and some spontaneous, encompassing both spiritual and writerly things and if I’m lucky a tiny bit of travel, too.
I am lucky this weekend to be heading out on a spiritual-slash-writing retreat and I hope to bookend the weekend with two days of my own guidance.
If you don’t have a retreat center nearby, I would highly recommend giving yourself a self-retreat.
Begin by blocking out a few days in a row. I would suggest a minimum of three days. If that’s not possible, try and arrange your regular work days off to be two consecutive days.
Choose a theme. What are you trying to get out of this time “away”? Are you looking to get something done? Are you looking to get nothing done? Quiet time? Or contemplation? Meditation and prayer? Silence and solitude?
Will you bring music along?
Will you bring food or eat out?
Will you return home at times or is one of the objects to get away from home except for sleeping?
Be flexible, but plan your itinerary. You don’t want to spend most of your limited time trying to figure out what to do.
Have a map and/or a GPS.
Have a fully charged cell phone and keep the charger in your car in case you run out of battery power.
Even if you don’t normally use one, bring a journal. You can record where you went, the weather, what you saw, what you ate, what stood out to you, what you were thinking.
If you draw, bring a sketchbook and a pencil.
Dress in layers and bring a sweater or shawl. Wherever you are, you will either be too hot or too cold, I guarantee it.
Unless your phone functions as one, bring a camera. Looking at pictures later can highlight a memory.
Most importantly, know what you hope to get out of it before you go.
For awhile last year, I would take myself out to lunch once a month to “write”, and after awhile, it was rote, and I was getting nothing new out of it; nothing helpful. This kind of self-retreat is a good way to jump-start your creativity, your motivation, but also to jump-start your SELF.
[The above photo is from my first self-retreat. On that one, I had a little guidance from Father Jim Martin’s enhanced ebook, Together on Retreat, which can be found on Amazon.]
Dare to be authentically you.
-Amy Gumenick, If I Could Tell You Supernatural 2018 Calendar
Dare to be authentically you. Amy Gumenick as photographed by Travis Hodges. His copyright (c)2018
[No money made on Ms. Gumenick and Mr. Hodges work, and no copyright infringement intended.]
Blustery.
Green.
Wet.
No longer does March come in like a lion and out like a lamb. It is just as likely to come in like a lamb and go out like a a lion. What is happening with our climate and climate changes? Back in 1997, my son was born on March 21st. He had to stay in the hospital for a little less than two weeks, but while he was there, during the first week in April, we had what amounted to a blizzard. In April?
Last week in upstate New York it was seventy degrees. Two days ago it was fourteen. Today it is thirty-five. The sun is shining, the sky is blue after two days of rain, freezing rain and snow. I wear my capri pants year round now.
But despite the wind, the rain, the leftover snow, and of course, mud season, we think of March as green. It really isn’t, but it still has that perception. I think St. Patrick’s Day has a hand in that. We’re also wearing our bright colors before we have to don our duller and sullen Good Friday wear. Even for non-Christians, the feelings are there: attempted brightness and joy until we look outside and see the mud, the carnage in the snow. Right now, my backyard looks like a Bil Keane cartoon.
(c)2018
Courtesy of The Comic Journal, 2011. (c)Bil Keane, Jeff Keane, 2018
The climate may change, and we need to change with it, but the seasons will set their own agenda, and they will arrive like clockwork.
Blustery to green in twenty-one days.
On this last day of the shortest month, I share some always apt advice:
“The greatest of all mistakes is to do nothing because you can only do a little. Do what you can.”
– Sydney Smith
(c)2018
(c)2018
I’ve made this for dinner twice now, and it came out perfectly both times. I imagine that you could put this together the night before and then put it in the crock pot/slow cooker in the morning, but I haven’t tried that.
I would estimate that this takes about thirty minutes of prep time. Follow the link to the actual recipe, and modify what you like. For example, I used about 1 1/2 pounds of ground beef. I used Italian seasoning instead of parsley to mix with the ricotta, and I added some shredded mozarella as well. I only used 3/4 of the 16oz. container of ricotta. So make it your own as I did.
The prep includes chopping half an onion, a garlic clove, sauteéing and then cooking the meat and sauce. Layer as directed, and cook in the crock pot for 4-5 hours.
I was surprised at how moist the whole thing was, even as a leftover the next day. It was so easy, and tasted amazing! We paired it with pull apart garlic knots, again with my modifications.
Recipe from Delish: Crock Pot Lasagna
Preparing and layering the lasagna in the crock pot. (c)2018
The final, beautiful and delicious product! (c)2018
“…the road that we seek is often the road we have already found.”
– Fr. James Martin, SJ, My Life with the Saints
I sometimes find that I need to get away, but I still want some familiarity. It’s less running away and more running to. Or strolling. It’s not always hurrying along, but slowing, not sloth-like but cautious optimism, observant, and taking it all in.
In those familiar places, taking it all in comes in spurts, a little at a time. At first, we see the big things, the vibrant colors, the loud sounds, the people’s clothes, and then each time after, we pick up something new. The running water of a stream, the steepness of a hill, the beep of the French fry fryer, the cheek’s freckles, the light that won’t stop flickering.
For some, familiarity breeds contempt; for others, comfort.
We have two nearby shrines – four saints that I’ve tried to visit each year. I’ve heard talk that it may be sold. That would make me sad.
While I was in Ireland, the chapel was unfamiliar but the shrines, while different in saint and location was familiar enough. I lie a candle fort the first time in prayer.
In Wales (and Ireland) I gathered my own holy water. The feel of the water was familiar as was the air I breathed and yet, still new.
My three favorite eateries are familiar even when I travel away from my regular joints.
Our habits can make the places familiar and they are different, changed enough to make the experience e, the visit, the meditation something new.
A breeze in a community park can feel the same as at a shrine or at St. Patrick’s Park in Dublin.
The feeling conjured by the 9/11 memorial in Belfast can be just as moving as others away from New York City.
Signing a condolence book as I did as an American in Belfast for Barcelona joined me with the prayers of others across the world and across City Hall.
When I’m not seeking I often feel that I should have just stayed home, made a pot of tea, lit a candle and sat in my office that I modeled so carefully. Easy chair and ottoman, tea mug, and flickering candle guiding the reading or the writing or the praying.
The candle doesn’t light the darkness, but guides the holy spirit to where it is needed, requested, its purpose unknown until it arrives.
Visit a few of your familiar places: the shopping mall, the library, your church in the off hours, a porch chair on a quiet morning, the sun glimmering through bare branches or glowing through full green ones.
Where is that road that you seek?
Where does it lead?
Is it rough or easy terrain?
Is it new yet familiar? Or so new it sets your heart pounding, your breath quickening?
Have you found what you’ve been looking for?
Are you still continuing to look?
Griffins and Ginger Snaps 