A Different Kind of Date

It might have gone something like this...

The retro black wall phone rings in our kitchen.

"Hello."

"Hey, Hi Babe. How would you like to go on a date?"

"I would love to go on a date with you sweetie."

Already visions of bruschetta, homemade ravioli with white sauce and sharing a sinful slice of flourless chocolate cake together are dancing in my head. I can almost smell the garlic and olive oil cooking...

"How about a really different type of date?"

Not even pausing in breath or does my brain take a slide to the left did I hesitate.

"Sounds great. I am always looking for different ways of doing life."

"Well, this is definitely about different ways of doing life and will require staying overnight. Are you still wanting to do it?"

"As long as we are together that is all that matters. Book it. When do I find out what the date is all about?"

"I will let you know on April 29th. Get Ready!"

Life went on, going to art class, laughing with brides and going on strike from all the dirty dishes in my own home. I pondered the mystery date. Temptation was strong to call hotels in the area and "accidentally" rifle through his papers laying right next to my husbands Bible. That black leather Bible pretty much put the brakes on any thoughts I had in the sneaky direction. Bright hot red and yellow flames licking and burning the soles of my feet always came to mind. Nope, better leave all papers alone to save my soul.

The day arrived and patience wore out.

"What should I wear to this date night?"

"Wear very warm comfortable clothes."

That didn't strike me as strange or bizarre. We constantly went out on dates in warm, casual clothes much to the disgust of our daughters. Our daughters strongly believe that a woman should be all glammed up if stepping outside for a date of any type. I don't own any Jimmy Choo's or Steve Madden shoes. I own Keen and have had Birkenstock's for years. My idea of a dream date is jeans, flowery shirt, pearls and a warm Polartec jacket. Not 5th Avenue or the Champs Elysees!

"You will want to pack a sleeping bag, pillow and something to read too."

This made me pause in my step. We are not the big happy camper couple. We have tried it and beat a hasty retreat back home smelling of smoke, campers gritty dirt and raging headaches. My husband must be losing his mind in small little doses to even sign us up for camping. I look at him and he is smiling. Not wanting to be a wimp and hoping they have "cleaned" up campsites and provide heavenly beds (!!!), I packed up my stuff a little more slowly and a lot more reluctantly. Not the date night I and Victoria Secret were planning on!

"Okay, I am ready. Where are we going?"

"We are going right up the street and stopping by a church."

This was not unusual since we pause, pray and attend all sorts of churches locally and whenever we travel to other cities or countries. Everything is chucked into the back of the car and my gut is tightening up with anxiety for the camping portion of this date. 

Note to self: Have a heart to heart with dearly beloved about the big NO on camping unless the Ritz Carlton is opening up campsites.

Driving up to the parking lot of the church, my eyes cannot miss the big white van of EOC. A man is directing the van to park when he spies our car and lopes over to us. A huge smile and warm handshake greet me as I open my car door.

"Hi, I am David Small. Thanks for volunteering at the Overflow Homeless Shelter tonight. Your husband is my hero and it is nice to meet his wife."

"Thanks, its nice to meet you and this is a great way to have a date with my husband."

I really meant it too. 

We had each other, our faith in the Lord and our children to sustain us through life's meandering paths of tall willowing green grass; prickly thorn bushes, foul stagnant waters and symphonic cascading water falls. Thanks to my sweet husband, who knew how to take a woman on a date and make her feel appreciated, blessed and very tired doing something so simple...the gift of warm human connection.

The Fabulous Fifty Day

I began as a mermaid. I swam through warm chlorinated water to pick up the sunken treasure. Blue, green, yellow striped little plastic fish were "swimming" over the brightly colored signs shimmering in the water. Head bopping in the waves breaking on the surface, I am laughing and spitting out water as I dive down to retrieve more of the sunken treasure. I haul my booty onto land, dripping wet, smiling goofy and giggling happily as if I was slurping up my first hot fudge sundae! On deck were the co-conspirator pirates, Miranda and Jake, who had sunk the treasure in the first place. Lined up, the confetti colored signs read, "Happy Birthday Lisa Anne Pimentel Johnson!" Flipping my mermaid tail once more in the chill of the air, the pirates returned back to their ships (home) and I swam on looking for more forgotten treasure.

Arriving home I became a Princess. Draped over my birthday chair festooned with balloons, ribbon streamers and glitter was a silver crown intertwined with a Happy Birthday garland. Poking out from under it was a satin pink sash with fuzzy red letters attached spelling out: Party Princess. Going with the pink/rosy theme, I threw on a rosy shirt with ruffles and lovingly set the crown ontop of my freshly primped hair. Next came the pink sash and I was ready to go out and meet the world in my new beginning of life at 50.

As Princess I received a lot of funny looks, mass confusion, shy smiles and big rounded eyeballs from my subjects, the public. It seems they do not see many Princess's in their day to day living, much less knew there was one living in San Luis Obispo! My two sweet daughters joined me for a pedicure and then all the family were off to see a movie, Monsters vs Aliens. My mother joining us as we flew out the door. The movie was not what I would at first pick since I do lean heavily towards romance, historical love stories and more romance, but this was the best out there that was not kill 'em, dice'em, vaporize'em movie junk.

Stuffed with candy and stomach muscles sore from rambunctious laughing, I become Queen when we return home. On my chair throne is a flowery sign, "Queen's Throne", inscribed in pink crayon. Looking on my left on the wall is the best type of graffiti...my wonderful husband painted my children as shadows hugging me! I moved into the middle of the hug and felt the love. It felt real good.

The cacophony of dinner being prepared was glorious! I, the Queen, sat in my throne and watched all the drama. Singed finger tips, jostling of dishes, spilled sauces and the clang of cutlery being set on the table. My wonderful husband spinned all my favorite songs and I impetuously grabbed my mother's arms and danced with her to a Beatles tune. Sipping the sparking bubbles of champagne, I felt the sublime thrill of transcendence in the moment of time spent with my family and celebrating this birthday.

Before we sliced into juicy steak and the buttery lobster, we prayed over our food and blessings. Each of my loved ones said a prayer for me. It was humbling and heartwarming to be so loved, so wanted and so blessed. I thanked them all for making me who I was. They had all given me all their best parts and I was very thankful for their love, laughter and prayers over the years. We toasted to life. We toasted to our Creator. We toasted to love...

In the midst of sparkler powder wafting in the air; torn pink, green tissue paper;  glitter twinkling in eyelashes, hair and clothes; I thought about my new life. Life can be waiting for you in someones eyes, in a phrase of music, in a starry night. You can find it. Just keep looking up.

My Queen's advice is this: Start a conversation. Report for volunteer duty. Begin the novel. Move. Roll your eyeballs around. Believe in something larger than yourself. Go to a game. Grab somebody's hand. And, yes, if you do just one thing only....connect with someone. Life will be even greater than you can imagine.

Ode to My Bike

It was a crisp spring day when we went to look,

Filled with excitement on a day off from work.

We looked at red, silver, green and blue,

A nice comfy seat, streamers and basket too.

I got on and off dozens of bikes,

Even fell off a few as well...yikes!

Finally, the silver beauty did beckon me,

To claim it for only a small ransom fee.

I rode it home with bugs catching in my smile,

Over bridges, roads, meadows for a couple of miles.

My sweet little bike was ridden hard by my children,

Flat tires, scraped paint, broken basket was for me to mend.

Screeching brakes, twisted metal and crooked tires,

No longer could I hold my bike together with chicken wire.

Into the bike shop for some magic,

Out of the bike shop with a bill that was tragic.

I loved my purple streamers,

People laughed at them when they drove by in their Beemers.

I loved my banged up rusted basket,

It could go thru ice, snow, sleet or even get sloppy wet.

I loved my super deluxe extra padding seat

Riding so comfy just can't be beat.

It's all gone,

The streamers were left in the gutter,

No trace, no note or letter.

Fare thee well ole bike of mine,

A bike with attitude I will never find.

May the new owner ride you in the wind,

And over the handlebars into the cement do you send.

Four Weddings & A Surprise Concert

It was the tender moment in all weddings. The bride swooshed her way up to the altar, gossamer veil floating behind her with the twinkle of hand sewn crystals trailing after. The tall handsome groom in his pristine black wedding suit and shiny shoes delicately led his bride while being careful not to tread on the soft satin of her dress. The air was scented from the gardenia's in the brides bouquet and the beeswax candles lit around the altar. The priest was smiling while holding the holy water to bless their golden rings and holy union of marriage.

Across from the back of the pews a rumble was heard. The sound was building. Heads swivelled with perplexed frowns. Bodies swayed right and left seeking the sound. The rumble kept building and crashing over the top of the string quartet playing Bach. Bach could not stop it. Nobody could stop it.

I jumped up from my pew and started following the next rumble building to its source. The sound kept taking me further and further back into the church. My steps slow, falter, as I realize where I am headed. I pass the door to the gardens outside and the little goldfish darting under lily pads in the pond. I pass the door to the confessionals where sins are laid to rest and forgiveness eases pain. I pass the door to the music room where Ave Maria can be heard sung on some cloudless summer day. I reach the last pew in the church and behold a middle aged man laying on his back with his mouth open singing his own brand of song. The air is scented with Johnnie Walker and the hard life of living on the streets.

I cautiously walk over to him and whisper to him loudly, 

"Sir, you need to wake up."

One bleary bloodshot eye cranks open and tries to focus. The other eye struggles to come open. His dirt smudged hand raises to rub his eyes and run through his hair but gets entangled in the uncombed knots. The snoring has stopped with the reluctant opening of one eye. He moves to sit upright but gravity does not come easy.

"Sir, you need to move out of the church. There are some benches outside."

The man reaches down and finally grabs his bottle after four attempts. He tosses his travel weary backpack over his shoulder and stumbles out of the church into the sunlight, headed for the nearest bench. I watch him practically collapsing on the bench, his body sagging with relief from having to hold itself up too long. His head drops on the paint chipped wooden bench as his fingers release the half empty Johnnie Walker bottle onto the grass. His backpack never made it to the bench. It is forgotten on the cement walkway. I walk over and move the backpack by his bottle, hoping he will remember it when he reaches for the bottle on his next move to somewhere.

Unfortunately, this will be the "funny story" that happened at the wedding but for me, it is the sad story of our society. The Mission attracts transients like ice cream to chocolate sauce. We keep open our doors every day for everyone. I wonder how much longer we will be able to do this...

Phil Wickham & Charlie Hall Concert

We skidded over to Fresno for the concert at a local Christian church. They had a mega kilowatt sweet sound system, huge eye popping viewer screens and comfy chairs for the fans. One of the pastor's of the church greeted us as soon as we arrived and told us to follow him because he was going to find us some seats. It was five minutes before the show was to start, and he takes us into the front main section of the church and repeatedly asked people if that or this seat was taken. In my head I was thinking that this guy must be nuts to think we were going to find a seat that close to the stage but he did! We sat down with a huge grin on our faces and thankfulness in our hearts.

Charlie Hall was first up and he loves stroking his long Van Dyke! His music is strong, powerful, in your face and has written more popular worship songs than I realized. Listening to his lyrics you understood this was a man who had come from bad mistakes, a lowly lifestyle and was broken. He was gritty, encouraging and used humor to pull you into his life and music.

Phil Wickham came on stage to thunderous whistling, clapping and screaming. His voice has amazing range and he plays a sweet guitar. Reflected in his style are his charismatic ways of leading worship in his childhood church back home. He played some of his biggest hits and swept us up in speechless wonder with new song at the end. He is your all American O.C. man; hip, suave and debonair. He kinda looks like a James Bond 007 type of guy too but packs a bible instead of a Glock.

It was blindingly clear these two men are blessed by God to write, sing and share their music. And I know God was pleased with what He heard last night!

Mountain Top Easter

In the dark I heard ragged breathing on my left. On the right I heard the cascading sound of loose rocks falling. All around me it was dark but on the horizon it was a pale lavender. The sun was making its celestial dance of rising and ribbons of people were wrapped around Madonna Mountain on their way to Easter Sunrise Service.

As the faithful trekked up the mountain, there was a solemn feeling to the upward journey. Some people were thinking about families still at home nestled in their warm beds. Some people were feeling the cold wind and sharp air biting thru the layers of clothes they were wearing. Some people were thinking of a battered, bruised body in a tomb that in moments was going to be resurrected in glory and majesty. 

People would pause on the rocky way, catch their breath and catch an eyeful of the beautiful kaleidoscope of color when a town comes to life with the dawn of a new day. We saw the last twinkling lights of the night street lamps, the milky white wispy clouds rolling away into the emerald green hills and a dark grey train slithering along the tracks as it made its way to the bigger cities. A hawk circled our heads and seemed to bow his head at the cross that was lit up on the top of the mountain.

Reaching the plateau at the top we are greeted by warm smiles, even warmer handshakes and refreshing water to ease our dry throats. Reflected in faces was the awe of being present on what seemed to be the top of the world on Easter Sunday. Music pulled us into sitting down and tapping our feet to the soul thumping drum beat. Warmed up with music and opening prayer, the pastor from a local Christian church delivers his message. His words have a ripple effect of laughter, affirming head nods to hands raised in righteous praise. I feel connected to this community sitting among rocks and brush with cold coastal morning air weaving thru us. Our voices rising in song so close to the heavens it seems, warm the heart and soul. After the last Amen, we pick our way thru boulders, rocks and dirt to the highest point where the Cross has been anchored. Feet firmly planted on granite, I think of all my blessings in family and being alive to witness this sunrise at this moment. 

Walking down the mountain, pebbles spraying out from my steps, wild rosemary and sage scenting the air, I thank God for life and dying for me. He is an awesome God.