Camino de Santiago (Kid Stuff)

In the summer of 2012, Jamie and I were blessed with the opportunity to walk the Camino De Santiago – a traditional pilgrimage across Northern Spain.  500 miles in 35 days – and we’re not even Catholic.  An incredible adventure.  A time to walk with God.  A time to share with Jamie.  A time to reflect upon one’s self.  With sidebars in architecture, communal living, food, culture, religion, art,  language, food, perseverance, nature, exercise, commerce, international relations, interpersonal relations, sports medicine, and food.   

While there are dozens of  routes that one can take on the Way of Saint James, our journey took us from St. John Pied de Port in Southern France, across the Pyrenees Mountains into Northern Spain, and then westerly through Pamplona, Burgos, and Leon until we reached our destination in Santiago de Compostela.

Each day of the journey was unique and a challenge.  At first, I feared we would get lost and envisioned us wandering the bowels of Spain never-ending.  But needless to say those fears were ill founded.  For while we did take a few unintentional detours, each was corrected within a couple hundred yards.  That’s because along the whole length of the Way there were markers indicating the route.  Each town and city had their own unique design and it became our custom to point them out and comment on their features.

The terrain and the climate were another matter.  They would change daily and dictated how far we could progress.  So, while our guide book indicated what to expect “down the road”, we never really knew exactly where we would be “down the road” at any given time.  All conspired to make eating routines unpredictable and sleeping accommodations an uncertainty. Then, there was the constant challenge of communication.  For as soon as we became accustomed to one dialect (read rudimentary at best) we would progress into another region where Spanish was practiced just a wee bit differently.  Needless to say that rapidly sent my quick wits into a state of total confusion but Jamie always managed.  But probably the biggest challenge was our feet.  Blisters early on, followed by a slow, progressive ache.  When I got home, I promised my feet that I would never put wool socks on them again.  And to this day, they remind me of that promise every morning as I get out of bed.  I think they’re still mad at me.

However, those things were to be expected.  And in some perverse sort of way, actually add to the memory rather than detract from it.

Along the way, each town and village seemed to be centered on its own church.  Some of the churches were massive, with amazing architecture and almost garish.  Some simply humble.  

Whenever we could, we would stop and go in.  Our purpose being threefold.  First and foremost, give our feet a rest.  Secondly, marvel at the opulent ornamentation and stained glass that resided in most of the churches – even those that were modest outside.  And finally, stamp our Camino “passports”.  Each church and albergue (pilgrim’s hostel) would have a unique stamp unto itself.

The albergue experience can best be described as just that – an “experience”.  Most were minimal – communal showers, lots of bunk beds in one big room, and sometimes dinner included.  Most were clean although some of the folks we met along the way had some really nasty bites from bed bugs.

With such close quarters, I’m surprised that we never witnessed any fisticuffs.  Not even a single argument.  But then again, these were “pilgrims”.  Or maybe the cordial attitude can be attributed to the fact that there were no rules, save one universal, absolute edict – all shoes off at the door.

What we did witness were varying degrees of modesty.  I still blush.  I came to admire people who are just plain comfortable in their own skin – literally and figuratively.  Although there can definitely be a disconnect between outward beauty and inward esteem.  Nonetheless, in such an atmosphere it was impossible not to meet many wonderful people of all nationalities.  It was always a bonding experience when everyone wanted (make that needed) a shower but the facilities were unbeknownst because nobody could understand anyone else.   

Anyway, we finally reached Santiago and presented our passports to the Church as proof of our journey.  A small room in the back corner of the cathedral.  We were presented with a Compostela – a certificate of accomplishment given to pilgrims who complete the Way.  When Jamie received hers, she began crying.  Tears of relief mixed with joy and fulfillment.  And being the tough guy that I am, I followed suit.  She could only blubber out, “It was sooo hard!”

Link to: The Pilgrim (God Moments) 

Jamie Lynne (God Moments)

This is my favorite picture of Jamie and me.  For two reasons.  First off, it captures the better side of my profile.  And secondly, because it says so much about us as individuals.  So much about us as a couple.  Me, always watching for rogue waves that never quite materialize.  And Jamie, just living life for the moment and trying to take hold of every second.  Very much opposites – but always holding tight when it comes to the big stuff.

We met in my 40^th year.  I had never married previously. So, not surprisingly, there’s a different picture of me in Webster’s.  They placed it next to the definition of “loser in love”.  Now, by my count, I dated a lot of women in my 20’s and 30’s. Actually, too many lots to count.  But the fingers on one hand are more than adequate to count the women that became special to me.  Nonetheless, my relationships can be described as short, far between, and inevitably ending with fond memories and a hurting heart.  And the really sad part in hindsight - I doubt that those special ladies would even characterize their time with me as a “relationship”.  So, at this point, I had pretty much accepted the fact that “love” simply wasn’t in God’s plan for me.  Although I confess that a degree of that acceptance was somewhat begrudging.

Now, there’s a part of me that would like to say that I walked through the door that first day, saw Jamie sitting at her desk, and it was love at first sight.  And part of me would like to say that I swept Jamie off her feet.  But I won’t insult your intelligence.  No, for a time, it seemed destined that this “relationship” would be like the others – ending before it even started.  The woman has brains.

And so it went for a time.  I once again resigned myself to being alone.  And perhaps I was even OK with that this time.  But God’s timing, His methods are unfathomable.  With the suddenness of a breaking wave He washed our lives with a deep, abiding love for one-another.   And boom, we were married.

Now, 21 years later, Jamie remains my best friend and confidant, help-mate and partner.  My love and my joy.  I can’t imagine life without her.

Sometimes, out of the blue, rogue waves wash over a life like a ton of bricks.

The Chase (Kid Stuff)

 

When I was very young living in Bremerton, Mom and Carol (my sister) called me inside one day.  They asked me to go back out and bury a mysterious something next to the chimney of the house.  And after digging deeply, maybe two inches, I found a jar with a paper inside.  Well, I was a little slow so they needed to explain to me that the paper was indeed a treasure map that had long since been left by pirates plying the waters of Phinney Bay.  It had a big red “X” on it and even a crudely drawn skull and cross bones.  Well, I spent the rest of day climbing over fences and crawling through underbrush trying to get to that “X”.  And low and behold, I finally turned over a rock and there was another jar with a shiny piece of treasure in it.  Wow!  Not until I got the jar open did I realize that the “treasure” was a sequined button that I had seen a hundred times in Mom’s sewing drawer.  I’d been duped. 

More recently, I’ve been watching “Gold Rush” on the Discovery channel every Friday night.  Not for the personal interaction part or big equipment part or the logistics part.  It’s the commitment to search that intrigues me.  And after every show, I would comment something to Jamie like “Boy, if I were forty years younger, I would just love to do that.” or “Prospecting like that would be really fun but those days are long gone” or “I should invest in a metal detector – that would be really fun”.  Every episode. 

Be careful what you ask for – God hears.  One evening we were watching the nightly news and they had a segment about this guy named Forrest Fenn and how he had hidden a treasure chest somewhere in the mountains north of Santa Fe.  The key to finding the treasure was in a 24 line poem.  After dinner, I Googled “Thrill of the Chase” and the hook was set.

So, as I write this, my chase is entering its fourth year.  And I’m somewhat chagrined to report that the chest of gold is still out there somewhere.  Although I do say with some pride that I have found stuff.  Stuff that I just know to be clues………but can’t prove.  So while discouragement does knock, perseverance holds the key.  The whole endeavor is an amazing puzzle.  It’s just that I don’t solve anything - I just rearrange the mystery.

So, the pathway to gold would appear to be long and winding, hot and dusty.

But all is not lost, treasure is everywhere.