Out of Quicksand

When I was about four years old, I dreamed I was in my backyard in quicksand up to my chest. My mom called out to me from the backdoor. I couldn’t see her. I didn’t yell out. I’ve had that dream twice more in my life, and this week I had it again, but I was awake.

Getting stuck in quicksand is really dumb. First of all, if you watch where you’re going, you can avoid it completely. When your first step is soft and sinky, it’s common sense not to take the next step. If you’re alone, then you’ve got to use all your senses to avoid traps, right? But if someone is traveling with you, chances are you won’t get stuck. Your pal will be there to pull you out, or better yet, with a wide eye and open mouth, tell you, “Uh oh! Don’t go there.”

While traveling alone through life this week, I found myself spread eagle in two different bogs. Really dumb. I think I was so focused on the first bog, I didn’t have any sense about stepping carefully into unknown territory.

Since visiting a secondary school in Tanzania, I have been motivated to establish a sister school relationship. I envisioned a club dedicated to maintaining connections, holding fund raisers and a book drive, and sending a student and a teacher to Tanzania next summer, with gifts in hand, ready to help build the girl’s dormitory they so need. A week before the school year started, I found a $5000 grant staring me in the face in my email inbox. It could cover the cost of airfare and additional baggage of books and supplies. The principal was behind me and I was psyched. The grant was vague, I thought, and I have no experience in grant writing. I got started. I sifted through materials and wrote goals and objectives. But now what? So much I didn’t know. And the more I looked at the requirements with a deadline approaching in one week, the more I lost confidence, and so, motivation. I was that little four year old girl, silent, alone and stuck. But there was my mom calling me. Well, not my mom. All these teachers and staff around me had branches and ropes. Oh! I just have to ask. One of the teachers told me, “It’s all in the details.” She rattled off the possible details to provide faster than the speed of sound. Brilliant, she is. Another teacher gave me some ideas on creative uses of technology. After I climbed out of my mucky isolation and cleaned myself off, I buzzed through every prep period planning, researching and writing, making great progress, believing more and more in my mission. I even stayed late yesterday, a Friday. Not that I deserve a medal; a lot of teachers stay late every day, even Fridays, Rahm.

When I got home from school yesterday, I stepped into my next trap. I saw the sand in front of me but took the step anyway just to see how deep my foot would sink. I said something that opened up an old sore for me and someone I love. I expected that enough time had passed so that remorse and maturity had set firm ground. But I was shocked to find that wasn’t the case. I was angry that this person I care about was not remorseful about the past. And I was scared that we might so easily go back to the nightmare of that time. I struggled in the quicksand, which, as we all know, only makes us sink faster. But I learned from that first bog to ask for a rope. I called my friend Jan, a mother who is successful at detaching with love. She was nurturing and wise. “Relationships, she said, “aren’t linear. They don’t travel in a straight line.” Right away, I’m not kidding, those words worked like a rope of faith and eased me right out of the pit. I pictured that relationship like a slinky, spiraling up. I grabbed on to my faith in goodness and progress rising like bubbles in the sea.

My caring son overheard part of my phone call and came to meet me at the swamp’s edge with a warm, wet cloth. He handed me an interesting piece of wisdom he gathered from a gross movie. The characters in the movie had visible veins, runny noses, greasy hair, really disgusting. He thought the director may see people like that. “The director is correct, but that’s not what I see when I look at them.” Riley said that all those things are in us: urine, snot, blood, but we don’t have to concentrate on them. He suggested that when you look, see the good, but still know the junk is there. I like that. He also pointed out that my loved one was defensive, which, he said, shows some remorse. That made sense: remorse, yes; just not enough self-esteem to use it yet. Looking back at the some of the details of the past, I realize now that, to some extent, that must be true of me too. Hmm. We both have some maturing to do.

So come with me back to this grant. This morning, while filling in the budget chart, I opened my eyes to a detail I hadn’t seen. “This grant may not be used for travel.” I sunk. For only a moment I thought, after all this work. But instantly I perked up. Not only will I have my day free to write and play, I learned a lot about grant writing. All is not lost. I can still shop around for another grant and possibly use some of what I’ve written or revise my vision. I also learned a little better how to keep my eyes open to the details, to my own needs for growth, and to call out for help to friends with strong lifelines.

In honor of Jan, and with her permission, we grant you her recipe for authentic Scottish Shortbread. It’s out of this world, well, at least this country.

Scottish Shortbread

1 lb. butter, softened

4 c. unbleached flour

1 c. sugar

Cream butter and sugar. Add all the flour and use your fingers as a mixer to make crumbles, all even in size, like biscuit dough. Press in the dough in a 9 by 12 inch pan, but not too hard. Sprinkle extra sugar over the entire pan. Use a fork to puncture the dough all over. Now here’s a detail you want to know. The point is to get the sugar in, so placing the fork between two fingers will prevent the dough and sugar from popping up. Bake at 325 degrees for about 40 minutes, or until the top is lightly brown. You’ll need to cut into squares while it’s still hot and quicksandy. It will be impossible when it cools.

You’ll want to keep eating these, so be sure to hand these out to plenty of friends. Big butts don’t stand a chance in quicksand.