Choice, Change and Fall

  Summer is moving slowly into Fall in this part of the world. The shimmering heat is giving way to the hint of coolness on the breeze.  Routines are beginning again as children pack their lunches, load their backpacks and head off to school today.  My office goes back to regular hours and another program year is starting.
   This summer has been one filled with lots of travel, new adventures, interesting invitations and experiences that will sustain me for a lifetime.  I move into this new rhythm of the year changed in outlook and commitment.  Instead of dreading the rush of activity and the onslaught of requests I am moving into these days trying on some new ways of being to see if they fit.  I am experimenting in creating a life that I choose, rather than simply responding to what happens around me.
   So often in the midst of the dailiness of our lives, we forget we have choices.  We forget that we can shape our lives, soften the edges, shore up the foundations.  It doesn't require that we leave our lives to do something completely different in a different city with different people.  It does require that we pay attention to ourselves; our emotions, our spirit, our bodies.  Being present to any or all of those pieces may not be easy.  Some practice is usually required.  But as we tune into our being we become more conscious of what choices are available and how simply choosing to do one small thing differently causes change to happen.
   I am convinced as I read, talk with people and look around the world that the most profound action we can take in order to step fully into our lives is to pay attention.  This fall is an invitation to pay attention to my being so I can achieve the peace and change that I so deeply desire.
    Children are not the only ones starting school today!

Traveling partners

If you want to know how strong a relationship is there are two sure fire ways to test it. First, you can try to do a renovation together. Between the dust and the actual work many a relationship have crumbled into pieces. The far more interesting way to see if you have a relationship that can stand the stresses and strains of life is to travel together. If you can negotiate missed directions, food choices, hotel snafus, and wandering through a country where neither of you speak the language, you probably have what it takes.
I am traveling through Europe with two close friends, who happen to be married to each other. I am happy to discover that we travel well together. There is no fussing, arguing or hurt feelings. Laid back, easy going personalities make the trip go smoothly.
The Amazing Race is onto something. Next time you watch notice how the pairs work or don't with each other. You may love someone very much but you are better off not traveling with them. An important fact to know to increase the survival rate of any kind of relationship. Thank you Verna and Bill for your friendship and company!

Roots

Almost every time I talk with someone about what is most important to them they tell me it is family and friends. As they continue to explain, the underlying appreciation of roots and community surface. With very few exceptions, human beings want to belong somewhere. It doesn't matter if you live in downtown Toronto or the jungles of the Amazon, we all want to have a sense of community and place.
Some people live their whole lives in one geographical area. They know the history, people's names, where to shop and have routines which have been honed over a lifetime. I yearn for that. At the age of fifty-four the longest I have lived anywhere is nine years. I am ready for some roots, ready to find a place to spend the rest of my life. That may sound a tad dramatic, but given my age and genetics we are talking thirty years at the most.
So, where will this desire take me? It could be anywhere in the world. But wherever it is it needs to be near water with a few people of like mind. Beyond thst the list gets fuzzy. However, despite my dauther's pleas, I am pretty sure it won't be winnipeg.

I wonder

Every time I travel I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live in the places I visit. Last year I was ready to move to Ecuador. Now I am toying with the idea of residing in a small village in Holland. The narrow brick streets lined with small houses appeals to me. The possibility of riding a bike to the places I need to go appeals to me. The fact that I do not speak a word of Dutch, does present a tiny stumbling block. However, that has never stopped me before.
I have the thought in the back of my head since I read Eat,Pray,Love that I would love to live in Europe for a bit. The history beckons and romance entices. Anything is possible outside of your own backyard.
The question still remains: of all the places in the world, where is it that I would most like to live? What are the important elements a place must possess to make it livable and life giving for me? I do not know the answers. But as I try to figure out the next piece of my life, I am certainly asking those questions. Today Holland seems like a good choice.

The adventure begins

Today the adventure of my 55th year began; a month in France and Holland which includes the wedding of my step son. A great celebration, no matter how you look at it. As wonderful as a trip maybe, and no matter how much I enjoy traveling, there is always a touch of nerves at the beginning.
Wandering away from family, friends, and the comfort of my life reminds me again of my vulnerablity. In my everyday life I labour under the illusion of some control and predictability. Once I leave that arena, anything can happen. That uncertainty is part of what I enjoy about visiting other places in the world. It is also what gives me a small case if butterflies in the belly as I head out to countries whose language I do not know and whose customs and culture are a new experince.
Today I arrived with friends in Amsterdam, a city I have wanted to visit for years. We are staying just outside of Amsterdam in a small village with family of one of my friends. The homes are much smaller here, but our hosts have opened their home to us with grace and welcome.
The butterflies are slowing down their dance. I am ready to settle into a new adventure!

A giggle

Sitting at a stoplight this morning, I took a moment to primp. I put on lipstick and gave my lovely blonde curls another scrunch. Having made sure that I was as put together as I was going to get, I looked to my left to the car next to mine. A man, who looked to be somewhere around early sixties, smiled at me and motioned for me to roll down my window. Assuming he was going to ask for directions, I pushed the button to drop my window. He leaned over and said "Do you know why scuba divers fall backwards out of the boat?" I shook my head. "if they fell forward they would still be in the boat." He laughed at his own joke and drove off as the light changed. I am still laughing at the joke. Some days the oddest things happen!

Nose studs and sons

   In the area where I live lots of women have small discreet nose studs.  For years and years I have looked and admired them.  However, my fear of needles kept me from seriously considering acquiring one.  Needles scare me and make me cry.  I will go to great lengths to avoid coming in contact with them if they are piercing or being used to administer medicine.  It was iffy if I was actually going to get all the required shots for my trip to South America.  Thanks to a lovely tattooed travel nurse named Bob, I got suitably immunized in time.  All this is to say, a nose stud despite a deep yearning for one, was likely never to happen.
    Never say never.  One Saturday afternoon about two years ago I had an attack of courage.  In the space of about fifteen minutes, I decided to get my nose pierced and had made an appointment for that afternoon.  I called my sister to tell her what I had done.  Her response was, and I quote:  "Are you out of your fucking mind?" My daughter didn't believe I would go through with it.  My best friend refused to come with me because she didn't want to have any thing to do with the whole idea.
    So around two in the afternoon I loaded myself in the car and headed to tattoo parlor.  A lovely young woman covered in body art helped me pick out my new jewellery and then ushered me into the room.   Another lovely woman covered with more body art and piercings arrived to do the deed.  She carefully explained what she would do.  She did tell me that my eyes would water because of the shock, but it would all be over in 30 seconds.  At this point, I was wondering what possessed me to do this rash and impulsive thing.  Was it too late to bail?  Yes.  By this point,  the lovely woman had her needle out.   I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.  How bad could it be?
    It wasn't bad at all. I kept my eyes closed but it didn't really hurt and she had my teeny tiny sparkly stud in before I knew it.  I felt like a wild woman, in the best sense of the word.  Very proudly I returned to the car and went to pick up my seventeen year old son at work.  
     He wasn't ready so I popped into the drug store to pick up some saline for stud care.  When I returned to the car,  my son was leaning up against talking on his cell.  I pointed to my nose.  His eyes got big.  He put the phone to his chest and said very seriously "I will deal with you later."   Why do children think they are in charge of the Universe?  He finally got in the car, put on his seat belt and turned towards me. "I don't know what I am going to do with you."  Children.  They are hysterical!
    He doesn't like nose studs.  His girlfriend has one, but that didn't help my case.  He doesn't like hers either. 
     My mother's response when I told her was, "What will your congregation say?"  I told her that if a very small piece of metal was problem, then we had a bigger problem we needed to address.
      The next day at church, it took people at least an hour and half to realize I was sporting nose attire.  The kids thought it was great.  I even had a seventy year old tell me she liked it.
      I still wear it with pride.  It is a visible reminder of my promise to myself to live differently and with purpose.  All that from a little piece of bling.

Blessings

  Every so often I remember how fortunate I am.  Today was filled with reminders of the blessings of my life.   In the midst of trying meetings I encountered friend after friend.  Despite the time and distance that separates us the friendships remain.  In the midst of difficult organizational business there was laughter and joy.  There was time to catch up, to tell stories and to reconnect.
    Lately I have not been able to find my ground and center.  Yesterday I got to spend a blissful three hours with a friend of my heart. We were long overdue for a visit.  Then dinner with another friend of my heart.  They always help me remember who I am and that I am loved.  Sometimes it is hard to remember that there are people in the world who treasure me.  They told me again and my center came back.  It allowed me to enter meetings that make me cranky.  But there were friends there too who greeted me with hugs and smiles.  The world is a lovely place tonight as I go to sleep with the memories of the friends who are part of my life.  (Sisters, that includes you too!)

Random Thought

No one looks good in online dating pictures.  Also, we all sound ridiculous.  Bottom line: Everybody wants somebody to love.  It apparently helps the quest if you love to ride motorcycles, camp and shoot things. I am doomed!

Prairie skies

   One of the beautiful pieces of the Canadian prairies is the sky.  It is high and wide.  On a clear day it is scattered with fluffy white clouds on a soft blue background.  In the winter it can be gray and low wrapping the land in a silent cool embrace before the snow falls.  Today as I drove with newly seeded fields on either side of me, the clouds rolled in.  Dark rain clouds with spiky lines of rain travelled both sides of the sky.  I was driving in the center of them underneath blue.  The sun broke open a space in the rain cloud to the west of me.  A beam of light shot through right to me.   At least, it felt like it was directed to me.  I take it as a sign.  It was a sign to remember that even in the darkness light shines.   Light and dark need one another, but the Light always triumphs. 

Trip planning

   Every time I leave home for an overnight stay, it is a production.  First, the laundry has to be done.  Let's face it.  My laundry is never caught up.  I am not my mother's daughter in that respect. After the clothes are clean comes the difficult decision of what wardrobe will be needed .  This process can take quite a while depending on the length of the stay.  Only once I have erred on the side of under packing.  The sister trip to the Galapagos for three weeks found me wanting another couple of tee shirts and a least one more pair of shorts.  Now I know: back to taking more than I can possibly wear.
   Once the contents of the suitcase have been determined, the house needs to be cleaned.  Since I have two canine friends, they have their own live in sitter.   I cannot in all good conscious leave a messy house for the dog sitter. I don't really have much to clean but I manage to turn it into a long drawn out affair.  Of course, sitting down every thirty minutes or so to do something completely unrelated to the task at hand, does add to the time line.
   I have spent the evening getting ready to head out of town for five days.  I am exhausted before I even leave.  Everything seems to be relatively under control.  Tomorrow will tell.  It is two weeks before I leave for Europe.  At least I have the sense to start getting ready now. I have a feeling that the house may look like a tornado hit it before I have my one lone suitcase sorted out.  It will be interesting to see how much can fit in the expandable case.  The shoes maybe the problem.

Purple toes and scratchy eyes

    My body has had a hard day.  Work went well this morning.  There were two meetings after worship which I attended.  I survived.  When everything had been discussed and decisions made, we all headed out into the rainy cold. Most folks were going home, I went to pick up a trial pair of contacts.  Up until recently for people who need progressive lenses the only option in contacts was one for distance in one eye and one for close up in the other.  Supposedly they would work together.  My eyes must be odder than I thought because combination just me dizzy.  Now they have progressive contact lenses.  I must admit  I was skeptical.  However, I ordered a pair to try. 
   I raced home and headed up to the bathroom.  Opening the first package for my right eye, I discovered a problem.  Fishing out very thin plastic from its small saline filled bowl with gel nails is difficult.  It it even difficult to put said lenses in eye with said fingernails, or try to get the lenses out once they are in.  At one point I thought I was going to have to wear the contacts until they disintegrated in my eye because removing them with the long nails almost put my eye out.  I finally did manage to get that tricky issue resolved without ripping the very expensive lenses or damaging my eyesight.
   To my utter amazement, they work. I can see and read with them on.  The only problem was dry eyes which I am not sure whether is a result of a dry climate, ageing eyes or the fact that I had them in too long for the first time.  I will try again tomorrow.
    In all the wandering around my bedroom trying out the new contacts I managed to hit my toe on the bed frame. Not an uncommon occurrence.  I thought nothing of it after the pain subsided.  About an hour later I went to put my socks on.  My toe looked funny.  How did it get so dirty, I wondered.  Taking a wet facecloth I tried to wash it.  No luck.  I peered more closely with my new and improved eye wear.  My toe was purple.  A lovely bruise which covers the whole toe had appeared.  A charming sight, just in time for sandal season.  Do you think purple toes might be a new fashion trend in Europe this summer? 

Love still exists

     Wedding season is upon us.  My calendar is filled with weddings for young couples who have decided they want to be married and share their lives together.  They have also decided that they would like to pledge themselves to each other in an historic church building, that is where I come in.  I am part of the package, the one who will conduct the service.  Often as I stand there with a couple on their wedding day, leading them through their vows, I am amazed that people let me do this. My denomination and the government agree that I have legal status to perform weddings.  It still boggles my mind.
      A vast array of couples have stood in front of me. Some I look at and wonder what will become of them;  if they have the stamina and fortitude to weather what life will bring them.  Most of them don't have any idea of the challenges that living with another human being brings.  Even if they have lived together for years something intangible changes when the vows are spoken, when a public commitment is made.  I worry for some of them.  Others I know will be alright.  Those are fewer than the other category.
      Believe it or not, it is easy to get jaded about love when faced with lots of weddings.  Sometimes I think to myself, "If you just wanted a big party and to wear a beautiful gown, just do it and skip the marriage part."  Don't worry, I don't say it out loud.
      Then there are moments that come along and remind me, that love still exists and is possible.  Today held one of those moments.  Our music director, who is in his mid thirties, got married two weeks ago.  From the initial date to the wedding ceremony was about six months.  No one is pregnant.   They are Mormon and Mormon weddings are a bit different.  Lots of planning but not the same kind of planning.  They pulled it off and today the choir had a party for them to celebrate.  The love radiated out from them.  They sat beside each other holding hands and telling stories about their courtship and the big day itself.  There was a sense a peace and completion in them.  You could tell they had found the place in the world where they are supposed be; beside one another.  
      It is always good to see love in the faces of two people as they look at each other.  May the years  be kind to them and when they celebrate their twenty fifth anniversary may they still look at each other the same way as they did today. 

Shopping Surprises

  The morning was going well. I was up early and dealing with issue of an uncooperative internet. Before 11 am. I had gotten back online, made arrangements for a roaming package for my phone while I am in Europe,  done two loads of laundry, made several work related phone calls,  called to reorder a prescription and eaten breakfast. I was feeling kind of cocky.  Ooops.
    At 11:30 I loaded myself into my car and headed downtown.  I had an appointment with my hair stylist to give me one more remedial lesson in how to make my new hair cut look like I have never run a brush through it.  Thirty minutes later I was at the front desk looking trendy and young with a head full of messy curls.  I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet and pay for the experience and one product to make the curls curl, no wallet.  As big as my purse is the red wallet stands out.  I looked at Sarah with horror.  "I left my wallet at home." "No problem," says she. "I will put it on your account."  Phew.
   I immediately returned home to make sure that my wallet was indeed where I thought was.  Thankfully it sitting very nicely on the bar chair at the kitchen counter, just waiting for my return.  I picked it up, put it back where it belongs and headed out the door again.
   The winter has caused me to put on a few extra pounds.  It was the weather, not the chocolate and potato chips, that made my hips and belly rounder.  This change in shape means my clothes do not fit well.  Since I am off to France for a month in just over two weeks, I need clothes.
  My destination was the mall.  It was my lucky day.  My favorite store had 40% off sale on everything.  Woo hoo!  I loaded up on pants and tee shirts.  With my loot in hand, I wandered further afield.  The next stop yielded two more necessities and a surprise.
   I had taken my potential purchases to the fitting to see if they did fit.  Two of the four did.  Great!  I went  to leave the dressing room and discovered to my surprise the door was locked.  Fiddle, fiddle, bang. 
"Helloooo.  Anybody there?"  Some poor soul answered and said she would go get the fitting room person.  "Oh, dear.  I will go get the manager," she said when she arrived.  I sat down.  No way could I fit under the door.  What would they do?  Call the fire department?  Hunky men was appealing, having to be rescued not so much.  I stood up and went back to the lock.  Fiddle, fiddle, success!  The door opened and I was free!  Good thing, because the manager said she didn't know what to do and the fire department might have been an option.  Good grief!
   Some days the surprises are quite something! Thank goodness it didn't involve men in uniform today.

New glasses

   We were living in Japan when my first pair of glasses were purchased.  At age ten it was exciting.  They were plastic frames; reddish brown at the top and clear at the bottom.  The color went well with my red hair.  Little did I realize then that forty-five years later I would still be wearing glasses.  Now instead of single vision low prescription lenses I need high index, high prescription, progressive lenses. 
    Day to day this is not an issue.  However, when comes time to buy new glasses it becomes a problem.  Being blind as a bat means that I can't see what I look in the frames unless I am leaving nose prints on the mirror.  It is hard to get a good sense of the overall effect at such close range.  Once I ventured out by myself to purchase a new pair of spectacles.  The saleswoman and I agreed they were stunning.  My sisters and my daughter disagreed, which resulted in a family decree.  I am not allowed to go shopping for glasses without a fashion consultant with me.  My daughter picked out my current frames.  She did a good job. They are purple with no bling.  She now lives two provinces away and I need new glasses.
   Today I prevailed upon the kindness of a friend to help me with a major financial and fashion commitment in form of new glasses.  At the first store, we found three pairs that would work. They were fun, in my price range and looked good.  My friend dutifully took pictures that I could text to my daughter for final approval.  Really, I am grown woman.  Why on earth do I need my daughter to say ok? But pictures I have.  I left the chosen ones on hold until tomorrow.  I need to think and confer.  I can't make such a big decision this quickly.
    Then we went across the street.  A charming man greeted us.  He looked at my prescription, looked at my face and trotted to the other end of the store.  He came back and handed me a pair of frames.  I put them on stuck my nose up to the mirror.  It was love at first sight.  My friend agreed.  "How much," I asked breathlessly.  $369 came the reply.  Gulp.  My lenses are $500.  Out of my budget.  "They are hand made in Italy," says the charming man.  "I have waited four months for them to come in."  Ohhh.  I could tell I was in trouble.  My friend did not help. "I like those the best," says she.  I look again.  I take them off and put my own back on.  I examine the object of my affection closely while the charming man extols their virtues.  It was too late.  They fit my face.  They are fun and funky.  "I'll take them," says I.  "No pictures for my daughter" I tell my friend.  She will have to wait and see them.  I am expecting rave reviews. They are on the cutting edge of trendy says the charming man. How could I resist?
     In ten minutes I decided to spend an extraordinary amount of money with the rationale that I wear them every waking moment of my life.  They will grace my face for at least the next two years.  Sounds good doesn't it?   The deposit was paid. The glasses are ordered. Handcrafted Italian glasses and a new hair do. I have decided that I am officially a fifty-four year old diva.    I am thinking that a tiara might look good with the new specs!

All quiet in my head

   It is late May and true to form I want to find another profession.   As I have said before I would like to find a job that doesn't require me to talk to people.  However, it occurred to me that perhaps I could try keeping my comments to a minimum at my current job.  Mostly people want some one to listen to them.  I can do that.  Besides I am sick of hearing myself talk.  I think I need to be quiet for awhile and let the dust settle in my soul.  I can practice presence and stillness with as few words as possible.  I think I maybe onto something here.  Maybe tomorrow I'll give it a try.  It's a lot less disruptive than a career change.

aurora borealis

   The first time I saw the Northern Lights, they took my breath away.  They filled the sky with dancing green light.  From side to side and up and down they swayed changing shape and size.  Still each time I witness their joy, I am moved.  It is though the Universe has joined in a cosmic dance which sings of peace and joy.  The graceful arcs of light call me into their circle.  They fill me with a deep sense of knowing that all will be well and in that dancing it is well.
    Years ago I traveled across "the bog' just north of Winnipeg on a regular basis.  On the night treks the Northern Lights often accompanied me for the whole thirty minute drive.  As I tried to sort out the intricacies of my life, they would dance and peace would come.  Instead the promise of the rainbow, I hold fast to the promise and comfort of the Aurora Borealis.  Word on the street is they might be out tonight.  I think a glass of wine on the back deck is in order.  It is time to get reacquainted with some old friends!

No people, no problems

   I have recently decided that I would prefer a job where I don't have to talk to people.  Apparently, no such job exists.  I have scoured the internet trying to find something that will pay the bills but does not require me to interact with other human beings during the course of the work day.  Evidently excellent communication is a highly valued skill.  It is a skill I happen to possess but do not wish to exercise any more.  It probably has to do with being tired and encountering cranky folks on a regular basis for the last two weeks. 
   A friend, a number of years ago, in a similar state and in the same vocation stated vehemently "No people, no problems."  I laughed.  Now I think she was onto something.  I want to talk to people I know and like.  I can do that after work.
    I am already planning my revolt for the large organizational meeting that is coming up at the end of the month.  The planning team who always wants to encourage us to mingle assigns us to table groups. Generally speaking there is no one at my table that I know.  This year I have decided to pick my own seat beside one of my friends.   Who knows what chaos will ensue?  However, I am feeling contrary and anti-social.  Though I am quite sure this mood will pass, I am not sure it will be in time for the meetings.
    Thank goodness for holidays which are just a few weeks away, otherwise I don' t know what would happen.  Maybe I would be come a selective mute, unable to speak between eight and five.  What an interesting thought!

Detachment

    One of my greatest challenges is practicing detachment;   " letting go of our need to find pleasure, comfort, or satisfaction in things, people, ideas, customs, etc."  When achieved this state of being allows me to be truly present to the moment and let it exactly what it needs to be.  Unfortunately,  it isn't easy.  The habits of taking things personally, owning responsiblity for every situation,  assigning blame and passing judgement are ingrained.  They seem to be the default settings for reactions, especially when I am tired. 
   As I age, quite gracefully might I add, I am more aware of my responses.  I can often catch myself and name what it is I am doing.  However, unhooking from the emotion is something else altogether.  It requires that I take a step back when what I really want to do is step into it.  Mostly, nothing good comes of it when I enter the fray.  Tempers flare.  Feelings get hurt.  Hearts get broken.  Words which can not be retracted get said.  The goal is to move back into the deepest place where love is the only thing.  A place where the love that is known is the love of the Divine, of the Universe ,which is not dependent on human approval or possessions.  This love is the source of our being; the cradle of our lives.  Immersed in that love,  I remain at peace and am able to deal with others with love and grace. 
   The days are coming, I hope, when that place will be where I spend most of my days.  For now, I visit more and more frequently and am thankful for time spent there.

The promise of stars

    This evening as the sun set,  I lay on my bed reading.  As I turned the pages,  through my window I watched the light change.  From blue to pink and purple streaked, the sun's descent marked the sky.  The orange orb hung suspended for a while.  It disappeared into the inky night to be replaced a bright shining star. 
   With the lights out, the star was clearly visible.  It sparkled and beckoned.  It whispered and sang.  The voice of star trickled through the open window reminding me of endless possibilities, of unlived hope, of unexplored paths.  The promise echoed reaching into the limitless depths of soul dreams. 
   All I need do is follow the starlight.

Grace vs. Grumpy

  Watching groups interact is fascinating.  Some communities are able to navigate thorny issues with wisdom, discernment and patience.  Others are so angry that anything at all has to addressed, combined with their fear about change, makes it virtually impossible for them to succeed.
    I have worked with both kinds of groups.  For those groups who greet bumps in the road as learning experiences, the  process is rich and deep.  For the groups who are angry and fearful, nothing will work and the process becomes a source of deep pain and limited in the scope of change, if any that is effected. 
     I muse about what makes the difference in attitude. What allows some people to live with trust and others with only anger?  Is there a switch that can be turned from grump to grace?  If there is would somebody let me know where it is?  Is there enough love and prayer to move a group from self-destruction to creativity?
    The answers as always are hidden from view at the moment.  Thankfully, as we speak I am working with a group from each category.  They balance each other out.  Their journeys teach me skills that enable my leadership to grow and mature. Ahh.

Mother's Day

  Mother's Day has become a bittersweet day.  This year is the second one without my mom.  Grief eases, but it still comes.  There are moments when I wish I could talk with her, hear her laugh or give her a hug.  It doesn't matter how old you are,  there are times when all you want is your mom.
   I don't know if that is a "girl" thing or if "boys" feel the same way.  But I am girl and that ache for a mother is my truth.
   I am also a mom.  I am blessed with two children to whom I gave birth and two that are children of my heart.  My prayer for them has always been that the love that flowed through my parent's in their parenting might flow through me to my children.
   I am proud of who they are and who they are becoming.  Despite a few bumps every now and then they are moving into their own lives with grace and compassion.  Each time I talk with them I am reminded of what gift it is to a mother.  I have grown into that appreciation.  When they were teenagers, there were days when I wasn't even sure that I liked them!  We have all grown up.
    Today I remember my mother.  I miss her.  Today I remember my children and give thanks that I have an opportunity to be a mother to them.

The swatting season

  It is that time of year again, when the beast in me rears its ugly head.  This normally even tempered laid back woman shape shifts into someone no longer recognizable. Today it the change began  and sent me running to the storage closet to dig out my weapon.  The battle is on. 
    The first foray of the enemy came last night as I was soaking in the tub.  It had been a beautiful afternoon and I left the deck door open for the dogs so they could wander in out at will. Why shouldn't they get to enjoy the sun as well?  Back to the tub.  The lavender bubbles were working their magic as I read my latest trashy novel.  Buzz. My ears perked up.  Buzz. Thud. My eyes narrowed.  Buzz. Buzz. Thud.  I could feel my blood pressure rise as I scoured the room.  There.  There in the corner by the mirror was the biggest dumbest house fly I have seen in months.  They are back! 
   Last year the fly community moved in with my boxes.  They insisted on taking up residence in my new house.  Of course it had nothing to do with the fact that I left the back door open for the dogs. In the fly community  an open door evidently  means "Come on in and bring your friends."  They buzz, crash into solid walls and windows repeatedly. They ignore my death threats. I figure it is only polite to warn them before I squish, swat and pummel them.  They only get one warning and then they are fair game.
   I am a lovely sight as I race around the house armed with my trusty red plastic fly swatter.  Splat, splat splat.  A joyous sound to my  ears.  Unfortunately as soon as I kill one, ten more of its cousins appear.  The fly information line is not working here in the South.  They are dumber than dirt and blessedly slow. 
   Today I killed five.  They dared land on the screen in the window next to my desk.  I take perverse pleasure in the annihilation of the critters.  The only problem is that squished flies leave fly guts around.  So far I have not found a company that cleans up after a crime of a flyicide.   Any enterprising soul out there ready to invest in a new start up company?
   I fear the flies are back and my thirst for vengeance has been tapped.  Game on.  Wonder who will win this year.  Last year it was the flies.
    

Response to the falling down the rabbit hole

This is the response I received from a dear friend of mine after the last post.  With his permission, I share his wisdom.

 

I just wanted to say that - well --- rabbit holes are just that - rabbit holes. A way in and a way out - and so we sit in the dark for a while and try to adjust and enjoy our new surroundings for what they are and what they might teach us. They are temporary and that is the wisdom that age teaches us - nothing in this world ever stops changing and evolving or changing. Sooner or later the opening for the rabbit hole appears and out we hop!

There is one thing that does not change however - love. NO matter what we've done, no matter where our life roads have taken us, no matter the seemingly unbearable things we endure - love remains to prop us up and tells us we are never alone in our struggles. There are many 'out there' who love and care for you - always remember that.

At the bottom of the rabbit hole

  As I have said before, emotional rabbit holes litter our lives.  With a bit of care, hard work and friends to help, they can usually be avoided.  Oh, there is certainly circling and dangling of toes into the abyss but more and more I have been just flirting with them in passing.  Well, today I fell in head first and have landed flat on my back at the bottom with the wind knocked out me.  Not sure how I got here.  It has been a long time since I fell all the way down.
    Now I remember why I try so hard to stay away from the pesky things.  It is dark down here.  It is lonely and down here I cry a lot.  Fortunately, I stocked up on Kleenex recently.   Much to my chagrin, I have spent the day wallowing and teary.  There is nothing I can put my finger on as to why I tumbled so fast and so deep.  Maybe sheer exhaustion has something to do with it.
   I suspect that it may take a few days to crawl back into the light.  It will probably be one of those inch by inch deals. Crap!  What I have learned since my last descent is that I will not stay down here.  This pit is not my permanent address.  I reside topside in the fresh air where the sun shines, where laughter flows and friends abound.  Grant me the wisdom to remember that lesson as I start to figure my way out of this rabbit hole. Oh, and pass the Kleenex.

Daily blessing

Bless this day which has been lived.
Bless the places which have challenged us,
   may they nourish the seeds of strength.
Bless the places which have brought us joy,
    may they be reminders of the Creator's grace.
Bless the sleep which welcomes us,
    may it renew us and refresh us
      so that we may welcome the gifts of tomorrow.

Internal Gratitude

  Gratitude is often underrated as an attribute.  However, I think it is one of the more powerful ones.  It ground us, roots us and provides a base for our living.  It is so much nicer to be around someone whose life begins in gratitude instead of beginning in scarcity.
   The difficulty is that when we start listing things for which we are grateful the list is usually comprised of externals.  My list always begins with my children, depending on the day my job makes the list.  Shelter, friends and dogs are in the top ten as well.  Externals are easy.  Internals are hard.
    I think that sometimes it is important to stop and think about ourselves and what we grateful for about who we are.  We can list a hundred things we don't like about ourselves.  We are hard pressed to find five things about ourselves for which we can give thanks.  It is an idea worth pursuing, for indeed no matter who we are we have gifts we offer to the world.  How stronger can those gifts can be if we acknowledge them and give thanks for them.  Better for us and better for the world.
    I think I will start my list, like everyone else, it may take awhile.

The Grandmothers Part 2

  When the Grandmothers come to visit there are at least three who show up on a regular basis.  These are the wonderful woman of my family who shared with me their wisdom while they were alive and now that they have passed to the next life surround and support me with their unending love.  The first of the Grandmothers is my great-grandmother, Grandma Lulu. The second of the trio is Grammy, my maternal grandmother.
    I am the oldest of Grammy's grandchildren.  I was born the day before my grandparent's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  My mother did not make to the party. My father showed up and evidently kept handing out cigars. It was the late fifties and that was the custom.  I always referred to myself as their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present.
  Grammy was a strong, independent, very intelligent woman.  If life had been different she would have made a fine doctor or lawyer.  As it was, she was a very fine secretary.  Now she would be called an administrative assistant.  She organized and kept several executives at Dupont on track for the length of their careers.  A business is only as good as its admin staff!
  Grammy was fearless.  There wasn't anything she wouldn't tackle.  When I was fifteen I saw her wade into the middle of domestic dispute between the neighbours.  The man's fists were flying, the woman was high and my grandmother sashayed right in and broke it up.  I was having a heart attack from across the street. Granted, at the time, we were in the middle of rural South Carolina and at least twenty minutes from the police getting to us, but somebody (my grandmother) could have gotten hurt.
    I would spend weeks with my grandparents without my siblings.  We each had that opportunity.  When I was there we would swim, cook, read, talk during the day when my grandfather was at work.  Grammy retired first.  In the evenings when he came home we would play cards after supper.  We would drink Coke out of glasses filled with ice and have ice cream for a bedtime snack.  It was hot down in July especially before air conditioning!
    Grammy taught me about strength, grace and wisdom.  She also taught me about how much I am loved.  There are times when I need to be reminded of those lessons.  It is then I go to my jewelry box and pull out her baby locket.  It contains a lock of her hair and has teeth marks where she tried to chew it when she was young.  My grandparents gave it to me for my high school graduation.  It brings me comfort and connects me to long line of my grandmothers.  Always a good thing, just like a visit from the Grandmothers.

Multiplying stuff

Less than a year ago I was certain that the physical stuff of my life had been culled.  It was at a manageable level, never again to soar to heights that would overwhelm me with its magnitude.  Alas, I fear I forgot to take into account the fact that stuff breeds in the night.  In the dark, after the lights are turned out, something happens.  I don't the details, but I do know that when I wake in the morning there is more stuff than there was when I went to sleep.  The paperwork seems to have the fastest gestation period.  There is no way that I personally have created this much paperwork or could have brought it into the house.  It is everywhere.
  And where did all those clothes in the bottom of the closet come from? I know some of them jumped off the hangers when I was at work but there are clothes there that aren't familiar.  Some might question my memory or my sanity, while both may be on the edge I still am fairly certain of these facts.
   There must be a way to stop the constant breeding of stuff.  If a deterrent is not found soon my children will be looking for me under the piles of paper, loads of clothes, and stacks of books. Why is it that this phenomenon does not extend to something useful, like fabric?

Words and power

           The words and the stories ripen inside me.  They dance and sway, skitter across my consciousness until finally they take shape and start to grow.  When they reach a certain point they spill out like juice spurting from a overripe orange when you pierce its skin.  I knew this once, that words were trying to escape through my fingers, but I had forgotten it.  The knowledge got lost in the years of trying to be a good wife,  making sure my children knew they were loved, develop my career and keep my sanity in midst of the unfolding chaos of life.  No wonder I forgot that I have something to say.  But now that the flurry of activity is dying down; husbands and I have long since parted ways,  the children are loved into adulthood, my career has taken root,  and the chaos has ceased its chatter, the memory is returning.  The familiar feeling of fullness which is only relieved by the actual act of putting pen to paper or fingers to keys is back and recognizable.  I know what I need to do, that very thing which I have for so long avoided; open the channel and let it flow.

                  These words are the record of my journey to get to a place deep inside myself where I rarely go.  When I stand in this place and listen to the silence,  I know my power and love myself.  When I stand in this place in the center of my being,  I am enough.

An Ordinary Day

  The rain is falling rhythmically outside my window.  Such a soothing sound to guide me into rest.  The day has been full with wonder, blessing, gifts and pain.  In one way I feel battered and bruised and in another I feel fed and renewed.  Tonight I celebrated Beltane with friends in Circle.  The ritual, the words, the community offered the healing antidote to all that had gone before on this day.  It was balm to a words which stung and hope to renew a flagging spirit.
  The drive across the prairies yielded the gifts of soaring hawks, golden fields and the view of rain storms in the distance.  The promise life after a visit with one who is nearing death.  Life is so often filled with contradictions living side by side.  I suppose that we need the balance to understand, appreciate and grow.  I still am pulling for the gift side to win!

Care of the Earth

  The planet is in crisis.  You hear it everywhere you turn.  The news is filled with stories of global warming, dying oceans, vanishing species, and receding ice packs.  Whether or not you believe in climate change it is clear something is happening.  Many of us continue to life as though our choices have no impact on the earth.  I certainly am guilty of being thoughtless in that regard. 
  Today I listened to someone talk about these issues and what we can do about them. He also talked about environmental issues being spiritual issues.  The questions that are raised are: what are humans for, how do we live together in harmony, and how do we live with respect for creation?  They are soul issues.  Being stewards of creation speaks to who we are in relationship to the Creator.  It is different way of looking at environmental concerns.  I have to take a serious look at all my choices including food, recycling, carbon print etc.  Certainly something to ponder.

Veggies or not?

  Tonight I had dinner with some lovely, politically aware, social activists.  As you can imagine, the talk was lively and extremely interesting.  From the fracking in the Alberta tar sands to the Peace Fairy of Calgary, the conversation covered a fair bit of ground.  One the topics was food.  The meal had been prepared with food all locally grown.  Several at the table have food issues so the meal was also gluten, dairy, sugar and seed free.  It is a wonder I could eat anything!  I must admit it was delicious. 
    One of the guests grew up on a farm.  He said that if we actually saw the conditions in which the cattle and chicken were raised, we would never eat meat again.  I have been toying with the idea of becoming vegetarian for exactly that reason.  I do believe that the stress and angst of the animals is held in the bodies and thus in the meat produced.  Passing a full truck of cows with their pink noses sticking out on their way to the slaughterhouse yesterday, I pondered again the source of my food.
   The problem is, I don't like vegetables much.  Any root vegetable besides carrots, ugh.  Tofu looks slimy. Raw tomatoes and okra, yuck.  You can see the problem.
  I don't eat a lot of red meat but I love a good hamburger.  But it appears even that is being ruined by the addition of pink slime.  Sigh.  Maybe a nice piece of gluten free, dairy free, sugar free bread and a glass of water will do me, or maybe I will just have to suck it up and eat my veggies !

Creating your reality

  Life is what we create it to be according to some folks who should know about these things.  If you believe that, it places the responsibility for your life squarely on your shoulders, something I have been trying to avoid.  I have been stepping up, making decisions, taking action but it is quite time consuming and tiring, if truth be told.  Though I must admit some of it is fun and energizing.  
  However, I have discovered over the years when I create I make a mess.  Fabric gets flung.  Paint gets splattered.  Paper gets strewn.  Basically the house is turned upside down.  My life is like that too.  I can tell when something important is happening.  Life gets a bit messy.  I would prefer it to be straightforward and easy but the most interesting things happen in the detours. 
  Today I am circling, right on the edge of making a mess. I am trying to be creative and come up with a decent story line.  The joy of writing fiction is that you can create the world as you would like it to be and inhabit it with people of your choosing.  If I can create an imaginary world that I love, how hard should it be to create a real life that I love?

Pity Parties

  There is something in the air, or the Universe is simply out of sorts.  Pity parties are taking place across North America.  I myself hosted a small one today with select guests: the dogs.  We sat together as they licked my ankles and I relayed a litany of complaints.  Mostly I was whining about being tired and being in urgent need of a personal assistant.  Someone said I needed a wife.  Having been a wife more than once, I think that devalues the role.  However, I still could use an extra pair of hands around the house. 
   The other pity parties that I overheard also included tales of exhaustion, feelings of being overwhelmed and stuck.  Oh, stuck was part of my tirade too.  The sense of trying to do things differently but not getting anywhere was also a common theme.
   I think we should petition the Universe to add vitamins to the air to help with fatigue. Perhaps we could also ask for a more immediate response to hard work and an all expenses paid vacation to the South Pacific.  While we are petitioning, why not go for it?
   Mostly what I hear and what I spout off about is not having time to care for self.  Time has become a precious commodity and we are running out.  Many of us are working long hours at our paid job and then returning home to family or in my case, dogs.  There is as much to do at home as there is at work.  Where are spaces of quiet?  Where are the places of refreshment and renewal?
    Each of us has different ways to rejuvenate.  The challenge is to clear time for those rituals.  In the meantime maybe the wind will blow this season of pity parties into the sunset and usher in a time of peace and joy.  Oh, may it be so!

The Grandmas Part 1

   The memories of the grandmothers have been visiting this week.  Sometimes they gather just to remind me of my roots and sometimes they come because I call them.  This visit is because they wanted to come.  The Grandmas span several generations.  The oldest is my Great Grandmother known to me as Grandma Lulu.  Lulu was 4 ft. 8 in. if she stood up straight.  At her heaviest, she weighed about 98 lbs. soaking wet.  Life was hard for her.  She was married to an abusive man whom she divorced in age when divorce was shameful.  She married my great grandfather, Smitty and together they had two daughters.  Pauline died as a toddler from German measles.  Amelia, my grandmother, died in childbirth with my father.  The story goes that the doctor was drunk and Amelia started to hemorrhage.  The doctor didn't respond appropriately resulting in Amelia's death. 
    Life threw Lulu more than her share of grief but it didn't dampen her playfulness.  When I was little we would play dress up and have tea parties.  We would dance around the living room in our finery as she sang "Sidewalks of New York" or "The Band Played On."  These dance sessions usually ended in gales of laughter.
   Lulu had an imaginary boyfriend named Mr. Snicklefritz.  She would make up wonderful stories about this extraordinary suitor.  One Halloween when I was about eight years old I dressed up in one of my father's old jackets.  I put a hat on and rang the doorbell and announced Mr. Snicklefritz had come to call.  Despite the fact I was laughing so hard I could barely speak,  Grandma Lulu went right along with the charade.
   Another one of Lulu's charms was the the third drawer in her dresser.   It was devoted entirely to candy, any kind you can imagine.  Lulu lived with us down South in the winter because the Boston snow was too much for her at her age.  She would ask my mother, "Can the girls have some c-a-n-d-y?"  Guess what was the first word I learned to spell.
   Lulu was also addicted to the soap operas which my sisters and I were not allowed to watch.  My mother and great-grandmother would argue about this point.  Lulu thought they taught us about life.  My mother thought they were trash. Mom won. No soap operas for us until we were out on our own.
   The National Enquirer was a grand source of news for Grandma Lulu.  She loved that newspaper.  Never an approved reading choice by my parents for their daughters.  It says alot about my mother that Grandma Lulu brought that tabloid into the house, watched her shows and had a bottle of medicinal brandy stashed in the laundry room of a tea totalling house. 
    You couldn't help but love this quirky, delightful woman.  She was charming and endearing, frustrating and opinionated.  I think it is because of her I have bubbles in my office which I blow on a regular basis.  Thanks to her my imagination runs wild at the slightest whiff of a good story.  Life fascinated her and she passed that curiosity on to me.
   I am glad she has stopped by this week to remind me that it might be time to let my inner child out for  a walk in the park or dance around the living room.  That is her gift when she visits.  But she never comes alone.  She hauls along the other Grandmas with her when she drops by.  It is always good to see the Grandmas.  They make laugh and remind me that I am loved.
    Stay tuned.  I'll tell you about the other Grandmas tomorrow.

Paperwork gone wild

  There is a theory that says paperwork, especially financial papers, should be filed carefully and stored in one place.  I personally, do not subscribe to this school of thought.  I am more of a "the pile it unopened around the house" kind of woman.
   Piles work for me.  My desk has to have at least one pile on it for me to be able think coherently.  Granted, it is neatly stacked and not too high. From time to time I am seized  with a "clear the clutter" virus, which leads me to do what I call filing and the end results being a bare desk.  The sleek minimalist look lasts for about five minutes until a new pile mysteriously is born in the same place like a phoenix rising from the ashes.  There is no getting around it, my desk comes with a regenerating pile spell.  I have finally accepted the reality and merely try to keep control of the height of the pile.
   Personal financial papers are filed the same way.  Unfortunately, when tax time rolls around I turn into a raving lunatic.  The frantic hunt for those papers that are needed to file out my tax return correctly is on.  It is important note that my procrastination gene means that the hunt begins very close to the April 30th filing deadline.  Last night the annual hunt took place.  Every nook and cranny, every drawer, every pile paper was rummaged through.  My dining room table is littered with paper, not even in piles this time.  This sad state is a testimony to my desperation.  But on the bright side, I found most of what I needed.  The crucial real estate statement is still missing in action.  I hope the lovely receptionist at my lawyer's office will be able to find me a copy.  I know I had it.  I saw it a couple of weeks ago and put in a safe place.  Translation:  safe place is code for never to be seen again.  My son has four copies of his birth certificate in a safe place yet to be rediscovered.
   With my assorted papers I went to deliver them to a lovely accountant who agreed to do my taxes for me.  I have always filed my own since they have been fairly straightforward.  This year they are beyond my capabilities.  A very patient young woman took my pile of receipts and sorted through them.  Smiling, she told me that some one would be in touch with me soon.  Not to worry, everything will be fine.
    My apologies to the brave soul who has undertaken this Herculean task.  I have learned my lesson.  I can't handle the stress anymore.  An organized filing system is headed in my direction.  Of course, it will need to include piles.

Reflections on a life for sale

  Recently Ian Usher made the news again with the publication of his new book, A Life for Sale.  He is the man who put his life up for sale on e-bay.  He auctioned off everything he owned in June 2008.  His house, its contents, his car, his jet ski, it all went into one big auction lot to be sold to the highest bidder.  He opted for the sale after his marriage fell apart.  Having been through two divorces, I understand the pain and grief that comes with the end of that kind of partnership.  However, it never occurred to me, not once, that I should sell everything and travel the world. Of course, I had two small children at the time. Now they are grown and I am at another crossroad in my life, it might be a possibility.
   Mr. Usher garnered 300K for his life.  Apparently satisfied, he set off to travel around the world. I wonder how much my life would be worth at auction. More importantly, who would buy someone else's life?  It is someone who is so unsatisfied with their own existence they would trade it for a stranger's? Maybe they had more money than they needed and were intrigued by the idea. Maybe they bought it for a child's birthday present.  "Here you go, honey.  Happy Birthday!  Enjoy your new life."
   He had great time.  He swam with humpback whales off the coast of Japan.  He walked on the Great Wall of China.  He went dog sledding in the far north of Canada.  Life has not turned out too badly for Mr. Usher.  He had an adventure, wrote a book, fell in love with a beautiful Canadian woman, sold the rights to the book to Disney and bought an island in the Caribbean.   I think he may be on to something.  E-bay anyone?

Soul food or I love witches!

My spiritual quest has wandered down many paths. I have studied two in depth beyond my own root tradition of Christianity; Native Spirituality and Wicca.  They each provide a place where my spirit is nurtured, my soul is blessed and I encounter the Holy One again.  When one is concerned about the spiritual health and growth of a community, it is important to be able to find places where your own spirit finds rest and renewal.
    It has been far too long since I have attended a Wiccan ritual.  Since I have moved out of the big city, I haven't been able to be part of many of the gatherings.  Tonight, however, the witches come here!  Thanks to a beautiful, graceful woman, a witchy sister, part of the clan gathered in our town.  She opened her home to about seven of us.  We shared a meal.  We did a ritual which she had planned with much love and creativity.  As we sat together amid the glow of the candles, enveloped in the gentle aroma of the incense, we sang and talked.  I sat between two strong wise women whom I love.  Their grace circled around me and held me as I soaked in the holiness of the time.  My battered and bruised soul needed exactly what was offered this night; the company of friends, the grace of sacred space and time and the profound presence of the Divine.  What a blessed gift to receive!

A small miracle

  He wandered into the office a couple of weeks ago asking to see the minister.  I happened to be in but on the phone.  He waited patiently on the old pew just outside of the office area.  A few minutes later, I wandered out and invited him in.  He took a seat on one of burgundy wing chairs placed for visitors. I sat on the other one opposite him.  After our names were exchanged, he began to tell me his story.  I have heard hundreds over the years.  People needing bus tickets, food, diapers, gas money etc.  Each time someone comes asking for help I marvel at their courage to ask and my despair at my limited resources which can't even begin to make a difference.  I am a soft touch and give what I can.
  The office administrators screen who actually makes it into to see me.  They know my secret.   Not long after I had arrived at this church I gave $20 to a mother who said she needed medicine for her child.  The next day found me at meetings out of the city all day.  Later in the week when I showed up again in the office I was greeted with "You gave out money the other day, didn't you?"  Evidently, word had gotten out that the new minister was giving out cash.  A number of the regular street folks had stopped by.  Once they encountered Linda, they left.
   This man, I will call him James, was new to the city. He had a job but he had been out sick for a few days so his paycheck was short.  He needed some money, whatever I could spare to buy some food until the next check came.  I rummaged around in my desk drawer where I keep that kind of funding.  I came up with a ten dollar bill, which I gave him. James thanked me profusely and promised to repay it.  "Don't worry about it,'" I said. "In the twenty-five years that I have been doing this no one has ever paid it back.  It's fine."  "I will bring it back," James said. "I promise."  I had my doubts.  As I said, not once has anyone returned with the money that they given.  Cynical perhaps, but experience is a stern teacher.
    Today was my day off, but I had a wedding rehearsal at 5 pm.  When I went in, there was a note on my desk from Linda.  It read "James Redmond was in today.  He left this for you.  He said to tell you 'I came back.'"  Attached was a ten dollar bill.

Broken bowl, broken heart

  Today my heart was broken.  It will sound silly when I say how it happened, but it is still the truth.  About a month ago the ancient roof over the gym/hall of the church sprang a leak.  Not just a tiny one, but a waterfall like one.  Buckets big and small stretched across the width of the space.  They were replaced the next day by troughs that looked like they could be used to feed pigs.  Over the last few weeks the roof has been repaired, the wet insulation removed and the drying out process has begun. However, the hall is dusty, smelly and not a very nice place to be. 
   Before this afternoon I had not been back in there since the water began to flow.  As I wandered around the space with several other folks looking at the possibilities for how we might re-vision the use of that area, I noticed something.  Sitting on a table layered with dust was the cover to the baptismal font.  The font is what holds the water for baptism, which is a sacred rite in my tradition.  It is when we say "yes" to God's "yes".  It is where the community is born as we are connected to one another through our faith.  I was astonished that a piece of the font would be treated in that manner; stuck in a dirty, smelly room instead of being in the sanctuary where it belonged.  Then I saw the font itself, a  large, beautiful. shallow blue pottery bowl turned upside down next to the cover.  The bowl was broken and someone was trying to repair it and the repair was sloppy. 
   My heart broke as I looked at the font.  It isn't just a bowl.  It is a symbol of where we encounter the Holy One in water and community.  When I stand with a baby in my arms and say the words and as I anoint the child with water the veil thins.  It is a sacred moment.  My call is to be a keeper of those moments for the community.  I am keeper of the stories and symbols; font and table.  The font was broken and no cared.  No one told me. It wasn't important enough to mention. It became another piece of furniture to be repaired.  The significance of what happened went unnoticed. 
     It isn't just a broken bowl.  It is broken symbol.  It is a piece of my call and my keeping broken.  The questions that flow for me become; what symbols are important to our spiritual lives? Are there any?  If there are, how do we handle and treat the sacred, holy symbols of our lives?  I don't know the answers, but I know wanted to weep as I looked at that magnificent bowl on a dirty dusty table in pieces.

Ripple effect

  Today a bride called me.  She was supposed to get married on Saturday.  Can you tell by the use of the past tense what is coming?  She was phoning to tell me that they wouldn't be getting married this weekend. The groom has cold feet or mid life crisis, it was unclear which one or both was troubling him.  Unfortunately, he did not come to this epiphany until after all of the bride's family had arrived for the celebration.  The hall is booked, the dresses are bought, flights have been arranged and now there will be no party.  On one hand, good for him for backing out if this decision is not the right one for him.  However, I was reminded again of how far the impact of our actions travel.  Family and friends certainly, in this case  feel the repercussions of his decision.  But it travels farther; to me, the organist, the wedding hostess, the servers who were going to serve at the reception, the d.j. and who knows where it goes from there.
    Last night was the team meeting for the Victim Services Unit that I volunteer with here in town.  We were debriefing four big incidents to which we were called.  Though I was not directly involved with any of them, I had connections to three of them. One of the witnesses' mother appeared in my office distraught about how close her son had come to dying.  The funeral for one was held in our church, though I did not preside.  One of the people I work with had a cousin who was involved in another one of the incidents.  What happened each time touched not only those directly involved but the first responders, the VSU advocates, the families of the victims and their friends and on it goes.
   Our actions, even the seemingly insignificant ones, are like a pebble dropping into the still water of a lake's surface.  The stone breaks through the water and in doing so produces ripples that spread and disturb the stillness.  I need to keep reminding myself, that what I do matters.  My actions can harm or heal far beyond what I can imagine.  It is a humbling thought and when I remember it, it calls me to offer the best that I am to world.  Some days that is easier than others!

PS. This post is #100!!

Re-entry

After a lovely weekend off, I returned to reality this morning.  Re-entry always takes some time to do successfully.  Holidays take us out of our normal routines.  They provide distraction, rest and a moment in time to regroup.  Most of us slip easily into the flow of life outside of work.  Our attitude when we return back to work tells us a lot about where we are in relation to our work life. 
   The best case scenario is that we are excited and glad to get back to the rhythms our working life.  The worst is that we burst into tears in the car on the way to work.  Thankfully, most of us seem to fall somewhere in the middle.  If we are on the crying end of the spectrum, it is probably time to reassess whether or not we need to be looking for a career change.  Life is too short to spend it crying in the car.
   Re-entry today was fast.  All too soon the phone calls began, the emails arrived and the calendar for the week was filled.  Without the few days break I would have simply shut the office door and hibernated!  As it was I managed to deal with everything that crossed my desk or came through my door.   However,  I am working on a countdown to the next time off.  Anticipation is always good motivation to move through the ordinary pieces of living that inhabit the spaces between holidays.  Come on June!  I can hardly wait!

How much will it cost?

  Today was a shopping day in the April snow.  As the fat wet snowflakes flew across the parking lot, my friend, Deidre and I climbed the stairs into a swanky decorator store.  Deidre's beloved had sent us on a mission to pick out a new table for her writing room in his house.  We started in the sale section, because that is where she always starts and usually finishes.  I usually start there but rarely end up where I started.  We looked at the damaged discounted tables.  We completely snubbed the sales person who was trying to show us some intact lovely pieces. "Far too expensive", declared Deidre.  It didn't matter that her beloved would have gladly paid for whatever she picked out.  But she had a budget and was sticking to it. 
    I, on the other hand, am distracted by shiny things and care not a fig about how much they cost. The fact that I am going to France for month was not a factor as I caressed a large beautiful down throw cushion embroidered with peacock feathers.  It was only $229. "Put that down," said Deidre, "you are going to France."  "Bah, humbug" I replied and continued to fondle the cushion. Finally, she pulled me away and off we went table hunting.  I must admit, I did keep looking longingly over my shoulder in the direction of that incredible but utterly useless pillow.
    Finally, we discovered tucked away in the corner behind a wing chair and a dresser, a lovely shelf unit with three drawers.  It was perfect.  Exactly what she was looking for.  It was a bit more than she had thought about paying but within her comfort zone.   She went to the till to get it ordered and I cruised around the counter with the smelly stuff.  I finally decided on a $8 scented candle.
  Tables and candles purchased we headed out into the snowflakes and onto to lunch.  Of course, we can not let a simple outing be a simple outing. Oh no, we analyse and draw meaning from the most ordinary things in life.  Today we reached a new level.  We realized that everything in life has a cost, mostly emotional cost.  Deidre always assumes the cost will be more than she can afford.  I blithely assume that whatever it is will cost me less than it will.   Both of those perceptions have landed us over the years in more trouble than we care to remember.  We are both wrong.  Deidre has missed out on opportunities and I have been left in a crumpled heap spent from the exhaustion and pain. As we sipped our Miami Ice drinks over brunch, we concluded there needs to be a happy medium.  There needs to be a point where we enter into relationships or situations with a realistic understanding of the cost.  It will cost us something.  The question is how much will it cost and are we willing to pay the price? 

No good can come of this

  Into each life a little rain must fall.  Sometimes the rain turns out to be a downpour.  Other times it is a fine drizzle.  It comes as disappointment, sorrow, or grief. Whatever shape it takes, it brings with it a gray sense of doom.  Nothing in the world will ever be right again.  Life is destined to be parked under the never ending rain cloud.  The saying "There is no such thing as a permanent mood" sounds like wishful thinking.
   Into this swamp of despair lumbers the art of the ultimatizing.  Ultimatizing is the best friend of one caught in a rain storm of life.  "I will never work again."  "No one will ever love me."  "I will never be able to fit into this dress again." "I will never get rid of this cough."  "I will never be able to be seen in public because of this zit the size of Texas on my nose which will never leave."  You know the patter.  We all do it.  We turn one moment in time into the standard by which the rest of life will be lived.  As friend of mine wisely counsels when am I prone to such proclamations, "Oh just stop it."  She is right. No good can come of this type of comment.  Of course, life will change. It has probably changed in the ten seconds it has taken you to read this blog.  Life changes in a heart beat.  You never know what is right around the corner and out of sight just watching to catch you with joy or excitement.  The next time the temptation to make ultimate statements looms, just remember, no good can come of it.  So,  look at yourself in the mirror and smile.  Try to catch a passing cloud of grace and let it carry you on out into the sunshine.  Who knows what will appear between the bouts of rain?

Pamper the Crones

 When days are long and bodies are tired, it is good to have friends.  Especially ones who will feed you, listen to you with compassion and care and then tell you to "Snap out of it." Friends like that come in the form of sisters or  non-relatives who have journeyed with you for years.  After years of sharing the ups and downs of the human experience you get to see the best and worst of someone.  Thank goodness for the ones who love you in spite of your worst and always seem to cheer on the best.
   Tonight I have landed amidst an April snow storm on the doorstep of a dear friend who is providing shelter, sustenance, conversation and quilting space for the next few days.  We both have the weekend off and are planning a "Pamper the Crones" event.  It will involve wine, oracle cards, lots of fabric flinging, perhaps a pedicure and Sunday brunch.  The boyfriend of the friend is invited to brunch. He is afraid is missing all the fun, which of course he is.  However, he is not a Crone and he wouldn't understand most of what will be happening.  If he only knew about the Faerie Cards he might never be heard from again!  So, we won't tell him.  It is a Crone secret because my friend is quite of fond of him and he really is a keeper.
    So off to the secret rituals of the exhausted Crones!  First on the agenda; a nap!
 

Electronics

 I would not consider myself a technologically savvy woman.  Ask my son about how well I navigate the tricky waters of connecting a DVD player or sorting out the new remote controls for the TV and he will simply roll his eyes.  He did, in fact, declare that I was not allowed to go shopping for a computer alone.  Evidently, my last two choices did not live up to his standards.  He did go with me the last time I had to pick out a new laptop.  I tend to be hard on them.  Their life expectancy in my house is less than two years.  I have no idea why.
  Despite my lack of knowledge about electronic gadgets, I seem to have a number of them.  I started looking around the house.  In my possession are the following: an Android phone, e-reader, Ipod touch, two digital cameras and a laptop.  The thought I need a Ipad crossed my mind.  My son assured me that I don't need one, even to travel in Europe.  My sister suggested a Kindle Fire which apparently is an e-reader and a tablet combined.  Now really, do I need another e-reader?  Is a tablet absolutely necessary for me to travel with so I can stay in touch?  Not likely, but I can feel a bout of cruising the electronic stores coming on.  It is only to assure myself that I do not need/want another thing for which to lose the charging cords.  Please disregard the Best Buy bag in the backseat of my car.
   Everything that needs to be charged in my house has to have two chargers, one with which to travel and leave wherever I go and one to stay at home. Another gadget means two more chargers. The idea of more cords is a more effective deterrent than the stern look from my son.  There must be other ways to spend my money.  Perhaps I would be better served by a new pair of shoes to add to my collection.    They don't need to be charged.

The end of the day has come

The day which began early and ended late has come to a close.  Finally, I have returned to the place from which I began; my bed.  What a treat to slide into the clean sheets!  I have made my nest of pillows.  The window is open with a gentle spring breeze blowing in, just enough to make the curtains sway.  One dog is curled up beside me guarding a bone.  The littlest one has given up harassing the damp towel on the bathroom floor and has decided to join the rest of us on the bed.  All is well.
   The day was crowded with unexpected appointments which kept cropping up out of nowhere.  Most were important.  Some were not.  What struck me though was the contrast in people's courtesy levels.  A number of folks were polite and asked if was convenient to come in and see me. Others simply informed about what I would doing tomorrow or next week.  They didn't bother to ask if I were free, could I possibly make time for them or would I be available to do a graveside service for their family.  Those are the people that make a good Southern woman want to curse like a sailor.  I managed to bite my tongue and graciously negotiated what I wanted.  It takes a toll on a spirit to continually navigate through the tricky waters of rudeness without succumbing to it yourself.  Needless to say, my bed is a welcome respite from the day.
    A good night's sleep and off I go again tomorrow. Woo hoo!

Eating crow

   Six weeks ago I made a grand pronouncement that I was writing a book.  I also announced it would be done by Easter.  Well, I have confession to make.  I am still writing the book, but it isn't done.  There are several reasons for it still being in outline form.
   First, it harder a write a book than I thought.  O the arrogance of a novice writer!  I discovered that you need to have a plot mapped out, a least a little bit.   Knowing the main point of the story helps too.  Second,  I didn't have much time when I wasn't completely exhausted.  Somehow I forget from year to year how tiring Lent is.  During this six weeks, even closest friends have not received phone calls or emails.   Once home all I could do was sit and watch mindless TV.  The thought of talking to someone else had me hiding under the quilts.  I like my friends and miss the interaction, but running on empty makes it difficult to connect.  Baking bread as a spiritual practice is so much easier! Third, I am chicken.  What if in fact, I did write a book, what would happen?  How much energy would it take?  Success vs. failure.  Success is scary.  However, I have not given up.  The writing still continues.  Now it has more realistic goals.  I keep telling myself lots of people write books and so can I.  The first step is to get the words on the paper.  Big sigh!  Off to stare at the computer screen until inspiration strikes! Let's see how long it does take to write a novel.

Rabbit holes

  Being a grown up is not a destination.  You don't suddenly wake up one morning and know that you are grown up.  It is a process, always we are growing up.  It is journey fraught with obstacles, distractions and detours.  The biggest danger along the way seems to be the rabbit holes.
   Rabbit holes call out your name and then whisper of your darkest fear.  The trouble is, you catch a hint of its voice on the wind and you lean in closer to hear more clearly.  Before you know it you have tumbled down into the inky void.  As you fall you can hear the voice.  "You won't ever succeed.  You are wasting your time.  No one will ever love you."  You get the drift.  Unfortunately, as you fall you can gather speed.  The voice becomes louder.  However, it also becomes more ridiculous.  "I am lonely," turns into "I am going to die alone having fallen off a chair changing the light bulb in the upper hallway.  I am going to tumble down the stairs, break my neck, and when they find me six weeks later, the dogs will have licked what is left of me clean down to my bones."  Really? 
   There are certainly pity parties on the descent into the rabbit hole.  The saving grace is that after a good wallow, it starts to become silly.  When you realize what nonsense is spouting out of your mouth, the laughter comes.  It is what brings you back to the surface, to the light. 
   The path of growing up is littered with rabbit holes.  To think that you can avoid them is naive. They serve their purpose; to humble you and to remind you how far you have traveled.  If you  are wise and alert, you  can see them coming and perhaps just make do with sticking your head in instead of jumping right on down.  A measure of growing up is the ability to recognize when you have tripped into a rabbit hole and pull yourself back up before you hit the bottom.
    Just for the record, some weeks are filled with more than their share of the pesky things.  Watch out!  You are growing up!

The first step

  Life lessons come from all sorts of places.  Our parents teach us things we need to know to survive in the world.  Friends show us the good, the bad and ugly about ourselves so we can adjust accordingly.  Sometimes we read a book that moves us and stays with us informing our choices and decisions.  Then there is Indiana Jones who has shown me one of the most important life lessons that I know.  Okay, he just reinforces one of my favorite spiritual truths, but he looks so good doing it. 
    The scene is from the "Last Crusade".  It takes place towards the end of the movie.  Indy is trying to get to the Holy Grail to bring back healing water for his father (Sean Connery.  Big sigh. Also good looking) who has been shot by the bad guy.  He makes it through the booby trapped entryway and finds himself on the edge of a great abyss which separates him from the cave which houses the Grail.  There is no apparent way to get to the other side. What is required is that he step out into an almost certain fall to his death.  As soon as he steps out, a bridge appears.  A leap of faith is all it takes.  It sounds so simple, but so often taking that step appears as though it will bring certain death or at least huge failure.  The wonder and mystery of it all is that when we step out in trust, all that we need is provided,  It is counter intuitive but it true.  Thanks Indy for reminding me to take a deep breath and step out even when my heart is pounding and my palms are sweating.  The Grail is waiting on the other side. 

For Good Friday

How much can a soul take?

How much can a body bear, of darkness, of solitude, of everything going the opposite direction of joy?

Someone said that there a certain of amount of sorrow

      that is sufficient for one life time.

Sufficient,  how can sorrow be sufficient? 

Too much.

    It can be too much.

Yet carrying the burden of sorrow

     we gather here on this day….

A day which calls us deeper into the darkness,

  deeper into the sorrow.

How much can a soul take?

    How much can a body bear   

         before it begins to bend and break

             before it begins to sway and bow

       in the wind of the gathering storm?

Yet you call us to this day,

  Beckon us further into the shadows, into the mystery

    Luring us with promises of light and joy,

                        as the darkness grows.

Do we dare trust you?

  Do we dare let ourselves be enveloped in the pain

        with only a possibility held out before us?

Who are you that we should follow?

  Who are you that we should trust

        our very lives to your keeping,

           O One who hangs on a cross

              and gasps for a final breath of air?

   Who are you?

Who are you?

   Stranger yet familiar?

            Unknown yet known?

Your voice seems to remind us

     of a place we once called home

            where life was safe and we were loved.

Are you the one who took us there?

Are you the one who left the gate open,

   Leaving us free to wander or to stay?

Wander we did,

    out from the peace and safety of our home.

  We wandered out,

    so far we lost even the scent  of you on the air,

      home a distant memory.

Now we are here, in this place on this day,

  and we hear the echo of our truest selves

      and the whisper of unfathomable love

            on the air that sweeps from the hill where you hang.

Through the darkness, through the sorrow,

     we catch the scent of home.

How much can a soul take?

   How much can a body bear?

     How much do we ache

        to return to the place from which from which we came?

So on this day as you beckon,

     we dare to wrap our courage around us,

            summon hope,

                join hands

and follow into the darkness, 

    the scent of you,

          the whisper of promise,

you who  comes to guide us home.