Remembering a walk on the beach

This morning I was awakened by the sound of a vase rattling on my dresser, a picture shifting on the wall, and my first thought, which I spoke aloud, was "Earthquake?"

A second later, when the movement stopped, I realized, no, it was just the dog scratching as he often does when he thinks it's time for us to wake up and feed him; he just happened to be leaning against the dresser. Phew!

So many things are in flux right now, it's probably not surprising that I assumed the worst. But as my brain did its womanly trick of running through all the possible disasters that might face us, I found myself thinking, well, if we lose everything we could always go back to Shaw. It was a very comforting thought, but when I realized it was just the dog my heart and brain slowed to their normal pace and I set that thought aside and returned to my normal morning routine.

But then, when I came to my computer after meditation, it was open to a folder full of photographs of Shaw, and I found myself reminiscing about my time on that little island. It was in the early 90's; I had been working for the church and had grown thoroughly disillusioned, and, encouraged (thankfully) by my husband, I had quit my job, bundled up our daughters, then 7 and 9, and moved us up to a little cabin on the waterfront.

My husband became a weekend dad, the girls got to go to Shaw's two-room schoolhouse with 10 kids, 2 teachers, and a computer for every child, and I spent my days reading, writing, walking the beaches, and trying to make sense of what had happened to my job and my church.

It was a challenging time: in the space of a year I had lost three friends and a mother-in-law to cancer, had stepped away from a lifetime of employment (and what I had thought would be the job of a lifetime), and, to add to the mix, my own mother died unexpectedly of a heart attack shortly after we moved to the island. I, who rarely cooked, struggled with the task of providing three meals a day for myself and two picky eaters, and I, who had entrusted the care of my children to others for most of their lives, was responsible for keeping two bright little girls busy and occupied, entertained and educated in a rental home with a bare minimum of toys, no computer, and no television. And all this on an island with only one part-time little grocery store, a part-time library, a part-time museum, 150 residents and no gas station or other stores.

It was, of course, totally magical, and despite the challenges and adjustments still stands as one of the key transformational periods in all three of our lives. And at times like this, when everything seems to be shifting, Shaw holds a special place in my heart as an enduring reminder of the soul's ability to survive and of the capacity of peace, nature, patience and time to heal the deepest wounds.

This afternoon I will head off to one of my other favorite places in the northwest, a little cottage that sits on stilts over the Hood Canal. I've decided to take along my journals from my time on Shaw, and perhaps some photo albums from there as well, to see if it might be time to sit down and re-examine the blessings of that period in our lives; to take another look at that walk on the beach, from the distance that time and space provide.

I'm looking forward to it!

PS: My husband just emailed me: it WAS an earthquake, after all -- in nearby Kingston, a 4.5! If you felt it, too, you can report what you experienced here:
http://earthquake.usgs.gov/eqcenter/dyfi/events/uw/01301325/us/index.html