Processing a weekend

Sam and I flew to San Francisco over the weekend, and had a unique experience.  It was unique for me on a number of levels, and I am still processing it.

First, I think it was the first time Sam and I have left all the kids.  I put a lot of coordination work into that, though, and felt very calm about the plan, and frequently reassured by the Lord that all would be well.  It was very nice to be able to rely on good friends and family, and not worry.

Second, it was the first time I've visited Sam's grandparents' home in Alameda, CA.  His grandfather, David Bernards, died a couple of weeks ago, so I was very grateful for the chance to visit with his (step) grandmother.  Because of a rift between Sam's dad and grandpa, and Sam's grandpa and great-grandparents, the Bernards kids have missed out on a lot of the strength they could have had from a sense of family history, I think.  Helen received us warmly, made us lunch, and showed us album after album of family pictures.  They were wonderful.  I want very much to be able to scan them all, but Sam did the next best thing in taking pictures of the pictures.  Maybe someday we will get to scan them. . .

That was a really good visit for me.  I loved getting to be with Helen, I loved seeing the pictures, and I loved getting to know this family that I married into and whose name I and my children carry.  Yes, it is family full of pain in many ways.  But it is good to know them nonetheless.  There was a picture of grandpa Bernards with his brother and cousin when they were 6-8 years old, eating watermelon, with a back ground of cars from the 1920s.  It is a great picture, and I discovered that grandpa had painted a picture from it, too, so it must have been special to him.  There were several pictures of grandpa with his siblings, who are all members of the church and live in Utah, and I thought it was sad that Sam had never met them and didn't know who they were.  We found a picture of Sam's great-grandparent's graves in Salt Lake, too, as well as a plot map which shows where in the cemetery they are buried.  I challenged Sam to go and find his great-grandparents' graves while he was in Salt Lake (he is there now.)  The time went by too quickly, and we had to leave grandma Helen before she or I was ready, I felt.

Our next stop was the Oakland temple.  I'd never been there before, and it is where my parents were sealed, so I felt a special connection to it.  As we drove through San Fran and Oakland, I kept expressing my feeling to Sam: "this place is toast!"  It was the expression of a feeling that I can't describe about the place--tenuous, perhaps?  I felt like the moral foundations of the area were as weak as the geographical foundations, and the whole place was nearly due to fall into the ocean.  It wasn't pleasant, and Sam laughed at me and told me I was being a bit judgmental.  I didn't mean to be--I wasn't making any comments on anyone in particular, as I didn't know anyone there, but grandma Helen, and I love her.  But the whole place felt unsustainable, nonetheless.

Sam and I enjoyed our time in the temple.  We did sealings, and I thought of my parents (and should have thought of Anna, as she pointed out to me later, because she was sealed to mom and dad there, too.)  The temple is perched at the edge of a cliff, overlooking Oakland and San Francisco.  It was weird to stand there at the edge of that cliff and contemplate what it might be like if everything below were to disappear. . . The temple itself was a little unlike other temples I'd been in, too.  It was darker, being decorated with wood  paneling instead of mirrors and white marble.  It was wonderful to hear the familiar words of the ordinances, nonetheless, and rejoice in that place of holiness.

After the temple, we drove north on Hwy 1 to Bolinas, CA., a little beach town nestled between the Golden Gate recreational area and National Park reserve.  It was an interesting place, belonging, it felt, to the generation of yuppies who descended from hippies and inherited both their "live and let live" attitudes, and the affluence of Silicon Valley.  I'm sure there are other types that inhabit Bolinas, but that is the sort I was able to interact with.  One afternoon I stopped at a yard sale on my way to the beach and wandered in, looking for a hostess gift.  "Everything is very cheap," I was reassured.  "Just ask for the prices, you'll see."  There were pretty things, and when my eye fell on a pair of glass beaded necklaces I thought my girls might like, I inquired.  "Oh, I'll let those go for only $20 a piece," responded the middle-aged woman, draped in shawls.  "They are old crystal."  My eyebrow might have raised imperceptibly, but I simply indicated that perhaps they were not suitable gifts, then, for very young girls.  I did find hostess gifts there, and hope they were received well.

When we arrived at the home of the hosts, we were greeted warmly, both by a smiling, friendly Andy Ruben (wearing a square chalkboard name plate around his neck) and the sumptuous smells of spices and organic, vegan cooking at its best (compliments of Babs and Francine, the chefs of the weekend.)  The "Farmhouse"--the weekend home of Adam and Lynne, the hosts--was a spacious, restored wood building, full of vintage charm and modern comforts. We gathered slowly around the dining table, which could seat 20 with relative ease, and snacked on a variety of cheeses and the most splendid olives I've ever tasted.  (I forgot to ask about those.)  They were cured with something much milder than any olive I've had before, and tasted  faintly sweet with a hint of orange and EVOO.  I ate one after another.

Most of the gang assembled there for the weekend went out on a walk up the hill, where there was a view of the bay, and had a "get to know you" moment.  I worked on my article for Inspirational Women's Magazine, which was already late at that point.  Being exhausted, I didn't get much done before everyone came back for dinner and meetings.

I didn't want to intrude on the meeting,  uninvited as I was, but the topic was interesting to me, and little by little I progressed into the room, sat on the periphery, started taking notes, and finally broke in with questions and comments of my own.  It was an interesting meeting--no agenda, no answers, just a free-flowing discussion.  It was rather frustrating to me.  I prefer a little more structure and concreteness, perhaps.  I ended up making more comments than Sam, though his were certainly approved more, and even applauded (no one else at all was applauded.  Go Sam!)  By midnight (2am, our time) my eyes were closing despite myself, and they called a recess of the meeting wherein Sam took me to bed.

The next morning I was still exhausted, having slept little and dreamed heavily of the ideas we'd been batting around.  After a late breakfast, there was a little recap and then we broke into groups to continue the discussion.  I inserted myself into a group, but the morning meeting was even more frustratingly unguided and ambiguous, and my desire to participate waned to nothing.  After lunch I headed back to our place and tried for a nap, but ended up talking a little tour of the community, reading for a while on the beach, and stopping by a yard sale where I found some beautiful items which I bought as hostess gifts (which I'd tasked Sam with weeks earlier, and he had not deemed necessary.)  At about 5pm I finally fell asleep, missing dinner, the big party with the investors and everything.  But wow, it felt good to sleep!

My birthday passed with blissfully little remembrance that it was that day at all.  Sam said Happy Birthday, but he was the only person I saw all day who knew.

Okay, I'm done with the blow-by-blow that is excruciatingly boring.  In the morning, we said goodbye and left, hit a sacrament meeting on our way to the airport, and then parted ways, Sam for Utah, me for home.  By chance, I sat by a fellow I'd also sat by on the ride out, and we and our row-mate had great conversations both times.  It was such good conversation, in fact, that we traded contact information.  Cool.

I didn't reach home until 2:30am that morning, blurry and wondering what that weekend was all about.  (At last, time to process!)  It was an experience, to be sure, but one which my head had a hard time wrapping around.  Was it fun?  Was it nice to get away?  Was it great to be with Sam?  I'm not sure.

Perhaps it was "important" rather than fun.  It was important to me to get to be with Grandma Helen.  It was important to me to discover that I am (probably unduly) still confident in intellectual/
collaborative settings.  That may have been some of the first "professional" style conversation I've had in a decade, but I felt like I understood enough to contribute, and that my life experience of the last 10 years was worth while.  I felt quite grounded in that setting--I know who I am and what I know and other's opinions of me are not a big deal.  It didn't really phase me that the people assembled were experts in their fields, and some were nationally known, etc. They were just people, to me.  I felt comfortable sitting quietly on the outside and I felt comfortable coming forward and joining into conversations.  There was no feeling of being intimidated or unworthy.  Perhaps that is more of a testament to their graciousness than anything else.  I don't know.  I was glad to be me, in that setting, though, and didn't envy anyone their life, professional or personal.

I'm not sure it was "nice" to get away.  I was exhausted to the point of brain-deadness a lot of the time, and the feeling of San Francisco was not a "nice" one.  I much prefer our own little town of Bentonville.  I felt very calm about being away, and I certainly wouldn't have had the experiences I did without getting away, but still, I'd say I prefer home to "away."

I felt like I actually spent remarkably little time with Sam.  At the "share-a-thon" meetings, we really split up for the most part.  We didn't sit together or talk together.  We got to know different people.  We didn't keep the same schedule.  We didn't eat together.  In fact, as we were leaving on Sunday morning, Babs and Francine (who could see everyone from the kitchen the whole time) exclaimed in surprise that we were a couple.  I don't feel bad about it being that way.  Sam commented that he liked that we both felt comfortable apart, and it was great for networking for each of us to "work" different parts of the group.  I'm pretty sure I wasn't "working" anything, but I did feel confident as a stand alone person, and didn't need to tag along with Sam.  In the moments we were together, it was nice to discuss what was going on, and what we thought of it.  It was nice to share the experience, certainly.

So, there was the weekend.  It was interesting, and I don't know how else to describe it.  I wish I had something more to say to my dear friends who sacrificed to take the kids so I could have a wonderful time.  It was a birthday treat to me, from so many people.

I guess more than anything else, it felt like the weekend tested my metal.  I've felt "[hidden] in the shadow of His hand" (Isaiah 49:2) for a long time, being at home, with the kids, in a very nurturing environment.  And yet, I feel like the Lord has made me "a polished shaft," somehow, rather than a soft weakling.  And when I went out into the world--I think San Fran qualifies as the world as much as anywhere--I felt strong and straight (heh heh) and grounded and confident.  It felt good to be me.  And that is a great birthday treat.