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We head east away from cool coastal fog and drive down the rim of the oblong shaped baking dish which is the valley at California’s center. It is triple digit hot, little vegetation grows on either side of the road; the landscape looks beige and dry. By the time we travel north on Highway 5 towards Stockton, Sacramento and Chico, we are blessing the car air conditioner–a small haven of cold inside a huge and relentless hot.

We do not want to leave our artificial climate, but there is more gas, water, food to buy and rest stops to visit. We arrive at our destination more than 8 hours later, collapsing on the bed in our hotel room. Even the pool does not look inviting since evening shade has not yet arrived. Heat has definitely confronted our sense of normalcy.

We had been invited to dinner and re-enter a hot car to visit family. We marvel at the delightful energy of a 5 year old and a 3 year old. I sit with my welcoming ice water feeling a bit weak from potential heat exhaustion but still the proud grandmother. My daughter encourages me to take a cool shower when a wet washcloth doesn’t seem to help.

Afterwards, I notice my younger grandson had discovered a new phrase, “for the rest of my life,” which he repeats several times, and this makes me smile. It also gives me reason to ponder. What can I say is true “for the rest of my life?”

That night, I have a vivid dream. I am giving a talk which is not being well received by my audience. In the dream, I quickly change course. I do not allow myself to become shy or unnerved. I dig deep into myself and bring forth the truth of that moment. Looking back at that dream, I am thinking, I wish adjusting to challenge were always that easy.

I know for the rest of my life that “change” is both a confrontation and an opportunity. The unexpected often requires difficult re-orientation, and traveling is the type of adventure that often tests our capacity to deal with the variabilities of life.

I have been waiting for weeks to see a dripping wet fog like this in order to safely burn deadwood, gathered from around the property, in our barbecue pit. I remember decades back when park rangers at another property knocked on the door to remind us to finish fire clearance by the beginning of June. Now, due to drought, fire clearance not only has become a year-round job but even in March and April hills look hay-bleached and dry.

The fire burns crisply in spite of dew dropping on my head with startling intensity. Heat from the flames warm a cool, damp early morning. I continue to clean the area around the fire pit, bring a hose closer and make sure the full watering can is within easy reach. I gather leaves and break twigs to a manageable size.

I smile at the log that my son-in-law had placed horizontally near the fire pit as his seat during the last visit. We had been setting logs vertically, when using them as seats, as a way to make it easier for older backs. After my family left, I did not move the horizontal log, because I wanted to test it out for myself, quickly recognizing how extremely stable my son-in-law’s way of placing the log was. I sit there this morning, close to the ground, feeling solid and well focused on the task at hand. In my mind, I call the log, “Zeke’s seat.”

I am reminded of a new meditation path begun by a student. I had wondered, at first, why there? I became aware that walking the start of this newly begun trail was a more gentle experience, compared to the other more steep meditation path. The new path is not yet finished, but I continue to work on it. I call it “Sue’s path.”

Birds fly around the fire pit, dive bombing surprisingly close. What do they see that interests them so close to the flames?

After a couple of hours, I feel tired and remind myself: You’ve been awake since 2:00 am. You have sat for meditation, done yoga and cleaned house in preparation for weekend visitors. It is definitely time to halt, but motion doesn’t want to stop.

What is the solution? I set myself small winding-down goals and create finishing-mode activities like a runner at the end of her race who keeps going but at a slower pace. A week passes. New plans arrive, new visions and new challenges.

Ultimately, I seek to have the wisdom to embrace the unexpected, to accommodate change, and, as a friend said today, to be “welcoming.”

April 30, 2015