TODAY'S MESSAGE:

Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that back on September 5, I questioned the advisability of eating a can of Pillar Rock Pink Salmon I found at the back of one of my cabinet shelves.

Rather than a simple "use by" or expiration date, the lid had two series of numbers and letters stamped into it, none that made sense as a date. I couldn't remember buying the stuff, and/or for what, although I suspected memories of a long-ago buried era of "salmon patties" was at the root. (Remember when those were "in"? Show of hands!) 

Times are hard. Budgets are tight. Wasting food is high on my list of no-nos. However, visions of bathroom dancing, so to speak, and/or DEATH danced in my head. Best not eat it until I found out if it was safe, so a-Googling I went to find a phone number.

The person at Ocean Beauty Seafoods in Seattle, the employee reported by the receptionist to know what the numbers meant, wasn't in, so I left a voice message. Shortly after, I made my FB post. Respondents' pleas of DON'T EAT IT were overwhelming. A day later, I still hadn't heard from Ocean Beauty, so I posted that update as well, letting folks know I was still alive. :-)  

After my second FB post, I received a call The CAll from a woman asking me to read her the code. She advised me that one number told her what she needed to know. The 5 in the middle of a series of numbers and letters meant the can of salmon was packaged in 2005. They recommend nothing over a six-year shelf life (I was surprised it was that long!), which meant the can officially expired last year.

Now, I've eaten lots of expired things and as of yet, I haven't expired, and it was only a year past date, so .... Still, I decided this risk wasn't worth it. And yet, two months later, the can still sat on my desk. Although I had no plans to eat it, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away either.

Wassup with that, Charlene?

For the next couple weeks, life went on. As many of you know, fall is my favorite season. This year I determined I wasn't going to miss a second of it, and I didn't. Beauty, energy ....

In the fall, I always feel like I'm finally waking from a long summer's sleep. September 2012, each leaf, each flutter, each expansive view, whether it be a field ready for harvest or a table full of friends, registered as a holy moment, landing on me softly, further awakening my desire and capacity to view slices of glory, swallow them deep into my emotional soul.

Still, there was this, um ... I just couldn't put my finger on it other than to know "it" was unfamiliar to me, at least to such a depth. The can of salmon had become an icon or touchstone for this "whatever." I knew I'd

write about it one day, after I discovered the mystery, or wrote until I figured it out (I write to process), because that's the way creativity, prayer and life swirl together for me.

Then came my September 23 birthday. A grand sixty-seventh occasion it was, filled with party, family, phone calls, gifts, good company and good food. That birthday night, long after I started yawning and well past my 10 p.m. bedtime, I couldn't quite make myself head up the stairs. I sat at my computer dinking with random this-and-that's, watching as 10:30, then 11:00, [mega yawns, eyes watering] then 11:35 ticked by.

Why aren't you going to bed, Charlene? What's UP with that?

Birthday fingers resting on my keyboard, head all but nodding, eyes nearly closing on their own, it finally dawned on me: I didn't want to let go of my birthday. I recalled the exact moment (down to where I was and what I was doing) that I'd looked at the calendar and thought, "Oh! Your birthday is exactly three months from today!" And then [FINGERSNAP], it was over. Only 25 minutes from then, my birthday would end and it wouldn't come around again for another entire year.  

Which would arrive Very Quickly. The older you get, the faster time flies. Clich� but oh, so true.

One day you buy a can of salmon; seemingly the next moment it's six years old. From salmon cans to birthdays and many things in between, as of late, I've had a hard time letting go. This moving-on, down-the-road, gypsy-spirited, do-the-new-thing, never-look-back gal feels oddly and melancholy-ly clingy. Not in a bad way, exactly. With clinging also  comes--can come, at least, and in my case did (does)-- an acute attentiveness. A determination to savor, to think through, to make decisions carefully. To let go of nothing before its time. To fully experience enough golden moments in my life so that when they are gone, I will forever remember then.

This has always been my inclination. But now, now there was (is) a whole new urgency to the savoring part. 

Historically, I'm a knee-jerk, gut-reaction, spontaneous responder and for the most part, I still am. But now I must claim this new layer, one that considers if tossing a can of salmon is prudent or wasteful. And just to be absolutely sure, that can of salmon must stay in place until I stare it down. Let. It. Go.

Or figure out what it symbolizes. And in this case, it was letting something--anything go--before its time, including my birthday. 

A few days ago, I lost a dear friend to cancer. She was under hospice care for barely 48 hours. Given a choice, I would have hung on to her, in the flesh, for decades longer. Today, I again noticed the can of salmon and tossed it in the garbage. Somehow, this makes perfect sense. The balance of life. What really matters. 

I encourage you to take a moment right here and now to consider patterns in your life. What are you clinging to that needs to go? How much stuff do you move from here to there that in the end does nothing more than zap your energy?

On the other hand, what, or who, might you be passing by that needs a long, slow study, an indulged ponder and appreciation for you to hang onto long after that whatever or whomever is gone?

Jot a few notes. Take some action. Give thanks.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful.

~~Colossians 3:15

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