what I found in the silence

This weekend I left my family and my computer behind and retreated with a bunch of wonderful women to LaSalle Manor. 40 hours without kids or responsibilities. 40 hours to be served, to share, to learn, to pray, to read, to be off the Internet, to sleep alone. Although it was all fabulous, one hour stood out. In the middle of Saturday afternoon, the entire group fasted from talking or engaging for one hour. We all agreed to total silence, and it was exquisite.

Sure, I could decide to be quiet at home. But there was something special about being in the midst of 45 other humans also being silent. I didn't wonder what other people were doing, if I was missing out on some fun activity or if I should be doing something else. I just shut my mouth and listened. For one incredible hour, I just was.

For part of the hour, I walked the path around the lake on the property and noticed everything. The way the sun sparkled on the snow. The creaking of the trees in the wind. The burn of the cold on my face. Every inhale, every exhale. For the other part of the hour, I tried to write down what I found in the silence. Words are inadequate, but poetry comes close.

I urge you to try it. Shut your mouth and your mind for one full hour. Take a walk and see what you find in the silence. I hope to do it often.

In the Silence

Cold settles into my bones,
burns my cheeks.
Ice cracks, trees moan, the frozen river flows.
I close my mouth and enter into nothing.

He comes to me:
You are loved.
Let go.
Walk with me until your heart bursts into flame.

For one hour I say no to distraction.
Breath, water, blood,
I need nothing more than this quiet.
No thing.

The sun tosses diamonds at my feet.
The river sings.
The trunks bow.

The unheard voice whispers:
You are alone
and never alone.
Do not worry.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Make space
for more of me.

why I want to see like a child again

If you will cling to Nature, to the simple in Nature, to the little things that hardly anyone sees, and that can so unexpectedly become big and beyond measuring; if you have this love of inconsiderable things and seek quite simply, as one who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier, more coherent and somehow conciliatory for you, not in your intellect, perhaps, which lags marveling behind, but in your inmost consciousness, waking and cognizance. -Rainer Maria Rilke

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Check out my related column in the Tribune today.

right outside our backdoor

Every year or so my college roommate Lauren and her husband come to visit. They run along the Fox River. They ride our bikes. They walk to town. And Lauren never fails to shake her head and say, "Girl, you live in a little paradise here."

I wish I lived like this was true. But too often the dishes pile up, I'm stressing about a work deadline, or it's deep into February and my home turf feels anything but magical. I think how nice it would be to live in the mountains or on the beach or somewhere in Europe. But that's just me trying to escape the ugly parts of me. Laziness. Boredom. Discontent. Not the best reasons to move.

Over the last few months, thanks to my husband's newfound passion for fitness, we have been riding bikes a lot. Nearly every day either me or my husband straps our four year old into the bike trailer and takes off along the Fox River. This breathtaking trail is, quite literally, right outside our backdoor. We ride by the Japanese gardens and the old windmill. We spot ducks and heron and cranes. We stop at parks with an exquisite view of the river. All this for the price of, well, nothing.


We've also been visiting the ballpark. Less than three miles away from our backdoor a Class A minor league baseball team entertains fans for the cost of a movie ticket. Our favorite Cougars game was one we attended with our neighbors Jae and Denton and my boys' beloved little friend Kyle. We ate hot dogs, drank beer and cheered like crazy as our team almost pulled it out in the ninth inning. And we watched our kids watch the fireworks. This is another reason why we live in paradise. So many people we love live here, too.


Speaking of people we love, another neighbor has been leaving big bags of apples right outside our backdoor all season. She is getting older and can't keep up with them anymore. As a result, I've processed more than 20 quarts of free, organic applesauce. I have enough of my mennonite grandma in me to know this: a generous neighbor with an apple tree is reason enough to call my home town paradise.

No matter where you live, be it a city, a suburb or a small town in the middle of nowhere, there is a marvelous world right outside your backdoor. Rivers and trees. Parks and baseball fields. People to love. So, rather than sit around longing to escape somewhere better, go out and look around. I'm betting you find a little paradise just waiting to be discovered.

why our kids need to get out and why we need to let them

America's genius has been nurtured by nature—by space, both physical and mental. What happens to the nation's intrinsic creativity, and therefore the health of our economy, when future generations are so restricted that they no longer have room to stretch? One might argue that the Internet has replaced the woods, in terms of inventive space, but no electronic environment stimulates all the senses. So far, Microsoft sells no match for nature's code.
—Richard Louv, Last Child in the Woods

I'm trying to be brave, buck our fear-based culture and give my first grader room to stretch. Read more in my column in the TribLocal.

in the moment

Last weekend in his standard explorer, mud-pie, weird-contraption-building mode, Liam sighed, "I wish I could find something in this yard." And then he did.

In a week of endless work, worry and waiting, I have been willing myself to remember that little-person awe, the giddy and urgent shrieks to "catch him", the giggles as our new friend hopped out of my inexperienced hands again and again. It was a moment of pure happy.

For a bossy doer who's always looking for the answers, it can be hard to find these gifts. So, I'm thankful this week for two wonder boys and a toad who brought me back to reality, if only just for a moment.

butterfly release

For Liam's birthday his cousin Samantha gave him a butterfly kit - a net home and a postcard that lets you send away for some larvae that will cocoon and transform into painted lady butterflies. We had a great time watching them grow - and go.

Here are a couple things we learned about the painted lady (or Vanessa cardui L for you latin gurus or friends named Vanessa!):

:: Her lifespan is just 2 to 4 weeks and during that time she may travel 1,000 miles.
:: She tastes with her feet.
:: She breathes through her abdomen.
:: She has 10,000 eyes.
:: She can lay up to 500 eggs.

So if you see this butterfly kit and wonder if it would make a good gift for 5 year old - or a 40 year old - know that it does.

capturing the moment

I have two grandparents, one living, one dead, utterly enamored of the natural world. My grandmother Gaye still clucks with pleasure at each new bloom on her oak leaf hydrangea and catches her breath whenever a yellow finch darts around the feeder outside her kitchen window. She brazenly coaxes languishing blossoms with words of encouragement and chats with the birds. I dare to say they all listen to her. My grandpa George was also a naturalist, planting lavish gardens, tending chickadees and drawing, painting and carving exquisite ducks and birds. Today my son revealed his genes, and although I could have photographed a thousand lovely flowers, fish and green things, I couldn't stop trying to capture him capture the moment.



We had a date to the Garfield Park Conservatory, with the added fun of train and el rides. The fern room was my favorite. The variety of green, the lush, velvety fronds and mosses, the waterfalls, the thick, heady air.



But most of all, it was the dappled sunlight in that miniature jungle, and the sweet concentration of my sweaty little companion that stole my heart.


Our world has been grey and barren for so long that this excursion was like a visit to the chocolate factory for poor little Charlie. In order to drink it all in, we toured the entire conservatory three times. We could hardly get enough of the place.

On the way home we had a short layover in Oak Park and stopped into a novelty shop to see about spending a little of the boy's allowance. I think he made a good purchase, and found another creative way to delight his mom.