Early Lessons

   Our beginnings stay with us throughout our lives.  It doesn't matter how far we travel from we start, those early memories and lessons go with us.  Thousands of miles and decades away from my childhood there a pieces of that time that are alive and well.  Graciousness in one of those pieces.
  I was born and raised in the Southern United States where graciousness and hospitality are ingrained in the fabric of that culture.  Sometimes those qualities are corrupted and manipulated but at their essence they help society be a be a better kinder place.  When people take the moral high ground without blaming or accusations, when compassion is offered with sincerity, when simple courtesies are offered to everyone,  when people are welcomed with a genuine smile, we all gain.
   Today, to my delight, I discovered that those pieces have passed on to my children.  I am visiting my young adult children who live in a far distant city.  It is a pleasure and joy to be with them.  Each time I am with them I marvel at their growing wisdom and maturity. Today I was struck by how gracious and kind they are with all they meet.  Not only are they gracious and hospitable but so are the partners they have chosen.   I am reminded of my grandparents and parents who passed these pieces on to me.  They would be proud, as I am, of these children who are making a difference day by day in the world.
     

The Shopping Cart Conundrum or How we view the world

  In the area of the world where I live most shopping carts at the grocery store require at least a quarter to use them.  You stick your coin in the slot which then releases your cart from the line. If you choose to return it, instead of wheeling it home to use for a garden trolley, you get your coin back.  Sometimes if you are lucky someone leaves without taking their coin so you don't have pay rent for your shopping cart,
   The question is, do you take the coin that someone else left or do you leave it?  Friends and I were discussing this dilemma the other day.  We had different views.  One of them took the coin each time as a gift from the Universe to add to her rainy day fund. I use the cart and then leave the coin in the cart so that someone else can have a rent free shopping day.  Sometimes I deliberately leave my coin for the next person so they don't have to dig around in their pockets for change.  There are merits on both sides of the issue.  The interesting tidbit was that none of us had considered doing anything differently.  Our way was the only way and it came as a surprise to us that others did something else. 
    So, what do you do?

And it all began with a letter

A few days ago, I phoned one of my best friends for our  daily check in.  After the usual hellos were exchanged, she asked if I had received my pension letter yet.  We are colleagues as well as friends and have worked for the same organizations over the years.

"No," I replied.

"Well," she says "we are never going to be able to retire.  They are are upping the contributions and decreasing the benefits.  By the time we are ready to draw the pension there will be nothing left.  We will barely be able to afford a house to live in."

"Oh, that doesn't sound promising,"  I answered not sure of where this conversation was heading.

"We will have to buy duplexes side by side," she continued.  "Small ones. We can build a connecting door, with a lock, so we won't have to go outside in the winter.  We might fall and break a hip and that would be the end of us.  The next move will be to the nursing home where we will have to be in four person room.  The other two peopl will be men who just shit and fart all the time."

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today?  And by the way, I am not going to a nursing home.   I would rather live in a cardboard box on the sidewalk,' says I.

"You might have to you know, if things continue like this.  I am panicked.  Can you tell?"

"Yes. I got that.  I was fine until you started talking and now I am panicked, even though the financial planner told me this week that I am not hopeless yet."

"Sorry, but this is our reality.  Maybe we should do something drastic when we are eighty-five like rob a bank.  It might be better to be in prison instead of the nursing home.  We aren't to like where we are anyway."

"I am not robbing a bank!  I am not going to the nursing home.!  What is wrong with you today?"

"I am just saying our options are limited.  We need to do some planning."

"Bank robbery and nursing homes!  What on earth was in that letter?  Maybe, I will take the fall for you with the bank job.  I will throw myself in front of the police and you can make a speedy get away in your walker.  Suicide by police, that should take care of me and you are off to the Bahamas with enough money to keep you for the rest of your life, which at this rate will only be two years!"

By this time, we were laughing so hard we could hardly speak.  We decided that this plan might need some fine tuning.  I don't think this conversation was what the financial planner had in mind when he wanted to talk about retirement planning.  Maybe looking at other revenue streams is a better way to go.  In the meantime, Thelma and Louise have nothing on us!

ps. I still haven't gotten letter about the pension.

Truth into the empty space

The last year has seen me downsize my house, help clean and sort out my parent's home and do a significant amount of internal housekeeping.  All of that leaves empty space, space where something new can find a home.

Into this now empty space, I invite the truth to come.  Come dwell with me images of my strength and courage, of my compassion and wisdom, of my capacity for love to give and to receive, of my innate worthiness, of my dignity and creativity, of my ability to achieve whatever I desire, of self-love and healthy self-esteem.  All these I welcome into myself, changing how I view myself at the deepest level.  I am loveable and loving.  Do you hear me Universe?   Or more importantly, am I listening?

procrastination

Most of us have pieces of ourselves that we are constantly trying to improve.  One of my pieces has to do with procrastinating.  I am a procrastinator.  There, I said it.  I confessed it in public.  The question now is what am I going to do about it?  Since my word for the year is commitment, I suppose it includes committing to changing bad habits.  Over the years my procrastination has cost me money, time and strained more than one relationship. It makes life harder, but I persist.  Stubbornness and persistence apparently are in my toolkit too. Those I will save for another bout of self examination.
  I have spent time thinking about why I procrastinate.  Partly, it has to do with the whole theory "If I ignore it, it will go away."  While that theory sounds good, experience has taught me it doesn't work.  Usually it just compounds the issue.  You would think that I would learn.  However, I continue to live in the state called Denial.  
  Another reason I procrastinate has to do with being overwhelmed.  I am a single woman who owns a house, a car and two dogs and works full time. All of the above require time, paper work, attention and money at some point.  When all of them require all of those things at the same time, I tend to behave like a two year old.  I simply stop.  I don't sit in the middle the floor and wail like a toddler, I take to bed or sofa with a book or a good dose of trashy TV.  Usually this behaviour lasts for only a few hours until I regain control.  Unfortunately, in one case it lasted a whole weekend, but that was a long time ago. 
  This week I have taken steps to break the cycle of procrastination.  For the first time in my life, I met with a financial planner.  The week before I saw the doctor about some issues I had been avoiding.  Two points to me.  The downside is the financial planner wants three forms I can't find.  The doctor wants blood tests and I hate needles.  Tackling one task seems to lead to  adding three tasks to my to do list.  Those odds don't encourage me to stop my avoidance tactics.
  My word for the year is commitment, so I am committed to getting my life in order.  Procrastination is being addressed. I am writing daily.  Vegetables and I are getting reacquainted.  Planning for my  financial future is underway.  My health is starting to take some of my attention.  All in all, not a bad start for one month into the new year.
   As I continue this journey, does anyone have any suggestions about how to keep from procrastinating?  I can always use some help!
   Best wishes for your journey!

End of Day

As the day draws its final breaths,
  my thanks I offer for all that has been,
    for work to do, 
       for words to speak,
          for eyes to behold,
             for arms to comfort,
               for food to eat,
                 for wine to drink.
Blessed be this day and its gifts.

Releasing judgement

   Human beings are prone to judgement.  I wish it were not so, but it is a reality of life.  I speak from experience! Judgements come uninvited into my mind with an ease that is frightening.  I am continually engaged in a judgement reduction program which seems to need some fine tuning.  This matter was brought clearly into focus today as I sat in a business meeting.  As the hours passed  I became increasingly cranky and I began to think unflattering and unkind thoughts about my colleagues.  It was unfair and completely out of line.  These are good people with generous spirits who happen to be caught in dying system. The distressed system is the issue and we all are trying to find our way through the transformation without a map or sense of direction. 
     Knowing that an attack of the crankies was a distinct possibility today, I took my knitting and some metallic colored pencils.  The pencils were a great hit at my table.  I promised Play Doh from my magical knitting bag for the next meeting.  Despite my best attempts at distraction, I still found myself making harsh judgements.  It didn't bring any joy to my being but rather left me feeling restless and out of sorts.
    The challenge is, as the Buddhists say, to not attach.  One of my favorite sayings is " Show up.  Be present.  Tell the truth.  Let go of the outcome."  There is great truth in those word when I remember them.  When I remember them life is better, judgements flee and I am more at peace with myself and the world.  No one ever needs a case of the crankies.   Maybe we can start a global campaign to eradicate the crankies  like we did with polio. In the meantime perhaps I will write those words of wisdom in my notes when we gather again.  Between the reminders and the Play Doh I might have a chance!

My Mother's House

My mother's house went up for sale today.  The real estate sign in the yard proclaims to all the passing of an era.  It has evoked a deep well of emotions in me and my sisters.  The following was written by  my middle sister and is posted here with permission.

My Dearest Sisters,

As I was looking at the listing of the house several emotions came to the surface; relief and a profound sadness. Even though it is just a house it has been so much more to all of us for the last forty years. We have grown into teenagers, explored what it means to be us, fallen in love with our first loves, celebrated marriages , births and most precious, the passing of our  beloved  parents. Yes it is just a house. But it has always been our safe haven. When Mom and Dad were there, we knew we could always go home and be loved and protected when everything else seemed to be wrong. It was always ok and nothing could touch us there. It has been our connection and gathering space , a space that has truly  been our space .

Along with sadness , I am scared of not having this place of refuge in my life. I feel as if I have been set adrift in this world with no grounding space to which I can returned for rest and healing. Even though Mom and Dad are not there anymore, I still feel them most intensely in that space. The memories of good and bad and all that connects us. All of our common history seems to to be held in that space. Yes, it is just a house, but it so much more. I feel as if I am witnessing another passing of something precious and special in our lives. I pray some other family can some in and know the peace and security and the specialness of this place and enjoy all of the wonderful energy it provides. And I pray that we can all keep that connection going without our special place. I love you both with all my heart and am truly blessed to have you as my sisters.

Each of us has those places in our lives which hold us and our memories and ground us in ourselves.  They help us remember who we are in the midst of all our change and growth.  When the primary touchstones of lives are gone we are invited to let them go with grace.  If we remain open, new ones will enter our lives bringing with them a deeper sense of who we are and who we are becoming.  My sisters and I are waiting to see what comes next

What shall become of us?

"What shall become of us?" I regularly ask my canine companions.  So far the only responses have been quizzical looks and a kiss on the nose.  It is a real question as opposed to a rhetorical one.  It wonders about what is on the way and how I will choose to respond.  The life we have is a result of the choices we make. 
   Over the years I have watched intelligent, kind people choose to react with anger and bitterness to the inevitable bumps and spills of life.  Those responses begin to  consume them.  The beautiful light that once glowed in them becomes dim and distorted. Their life becomes harder and crowded with obstacles.  Others who are equally intelligent and kind have met the challenges of life and have responded with compassion for themselves and others.  As acceptance and forgiveness are offered wisdom deepens and the light in them grows stronger.
    "What shall become of us?" I ask.  Whatever we choose, is the answer.

Blessing for the Day

Blessing

May we greet this day with open arms,
  may it greet us with joy.
May the passing of the day bring
    wisdom to guide us,
      challenges to engage us,
         and the company of those who love us.
As the day slides to its end
  may peace be ours
     and moonlit sleep
        touch our souls with rest.

why do it?

  Did you ever notice that some weeks have themes?  It can be anything from chocolate to flying pigs or serious subjects like loss or celebration.  You could even title the weeks; ' Frozen Feet' or maybe 'No Rest for the Weary'.   This week I think could be called  'Why  Do It?'  Repeatedly conversations over the last few days have circled around the idea of why we give or do things for others and what expectations are attached to our kindnesses.
     Years ago I read an article in a women's magazine which stated that it was wise to say "I love you"  without expectation of hearing it back.  Love needs to be unconditional.  That idea has embedded itself, an taken root in my psyche.  It has even produced offshoots which are firmly entrenched.   Since I read that statement I have tried to practice saying "I love you" because that is what I feel in the moment.  I have, for the most part, learned not to say it in order to have someone return the favor and relieve my insecurities. If they simply smile or give me hug that is wonderful.  If there is no response, I am fine with that as well.  I say it because it flows out me and comes with no strings attached.   Well, sometimes there maybe a gossamer thread attached. What can I say, I am only human.
    The offshoot of this practice is the practice of generosity and kindness without expectation of thanks.  Once again, practice and more practice is required.  It has taken years and lots of set backs but I am getting into the habit of giving simply to give.   No thanks is expected or needed.  I have been feeling fairly proud of myself about my ability to operate in this manner.  Never a good sign!  Feeling full of myself is a sure sign the Universe will have to get involved and offer a serving of humble pie.  I had a slice this week.
     Over the last few weeks I have spent a number of hours working as an advocate for someone to help get them into subsidised housing.  I have made phone calls,  found out what was needed to complete the application, downloaded forms, made an appointment for the interview and at her additional request accompanied her to the interview.  Fortunately, while we were there she was approved and informed there was an apartment available immediately.  A time was set up for the next day for her to see it.  Great!  Mission accomplished!
     We were walking back to the car when she turned to me and said, " Evelyn (job coach) must have made a phone call.  I am sure that is why I got the apartment."  The joy and celebration fled from my being.  I was the one who had done all the work.  I was the one who had made countless phone calls. I was the one who... the list of what I had done ran through my head.  Thank goodness I had enough sense not to say anything out loud.  I returned the woman to her current residence and headed back to the office.  I was pissed!
     As I was eating my humble pie so graciously supplied by the Universe,  I realized a few things.  Like seeds from the raspberries that get stuck in your teeth, these realizations got stuck in my conscience.   I had made the whole situation about me and it wasn't about me. It was about a woman who needed help negotiating a difficult system to access safe and affordable housing.  The point was that she got what she needed, not who helped her get it.  It didn't matter how I felt.  I did what needed to be done.
     The whole episode raised the question for me again of why we do what we do.  Do we do it for reward or praise?  Do we do it simply because it flows out of us?  Do we care for others because it fills a need in us?  The answers are layered and complex.  However, I think it is a good idea to stop and ponder these questions occasionally.  The exercise puts our motives into perspective and helps us learn a bit more about ourselves.  It helps us become more self-aware and maybe a bit wiser. After all, who couldn't use a bit more wisdom?
   

Miss Turner and Trixie

 I think my Smart Phone is possessed.  I know for a fact it is smarter than I am.  It can do things I can't even begin to image.  Currently it can function as a flashlight, find the cheapest gas in town, and identify that song on the radio that I can't quite name.  It will even tell me who is singing the song for heaven's sake.  It takes pictures better than either of my cameras and can scan receipts into its memory.  Oh, and I can also use it as a phone.
  Tonight I was on my way to a party over on the other side of town.  It was dark and I wasn't really sure of the directions, so I typed the address into my phone.  Lo and behold, the phone began to speak to me.  I have used this app before but it always surprises me to hear the female android voice which is a bit robotic sounding telling me where to go next in  a halting rhythm .  Miss Turner, I call her, powered up and directed me to turn right out of my driveway and proceed three hundred meters and turn left on Ko-di-ak Ro-ad.  She continued to issues directions in this manner for about five minutes.   
     After a few seconds of silence the next direction came and I nearly ran off the road.   The voice was different!  This one was smooth and almost human.  I thought someone must have kidnapped Miss Turner.  Maybe cyber pirates had spirited her away to entertain them on their long voyages.  Perhaps she been suddenly taken ill because the hot dog she had for lunch from the street vendor in Androidville had not agreed with her.  All these scenarios ran through my head as the sultry voice who had replaced her instructed me to turn left on to Anderson Drive.
    It took me a moment to get used to this new navigator, whom I named Trixie.  Just when I was starting to enjoy Trixie's voice and the memory of Miss Turner was fading,  I hear "Turn right on to Co-lum-bia Dr-ive.   Miss Turner was back!  Miss Turner and Trixie fought for the next four turns to see who would be the official voice of my GPS.   Maybe my phone isn't possessed, maybe it simply suffering from  a multiple personality disorder.  It was bound to happen.  When a phone gets to be smarter than person,  a short circuit is bound to occur.  Does anyone know where Miss Turner and Trixie can get some help?

Tired in my clothes

   When my sisters and I were young we lived in Japan for several years.  Our Dad was a missionary to the Chinese immigrants who had escaped mainline China and relocated to the island of Honshu.  On weekends my parents would gather up the three of us and off we would trek to one event or another.  I was never gracious about the adventures.  At the age of ten,  I wanted my grandparents, hamburgers (preferably McDonald's) and to live where I could speak the language.  Fortunately, most of the stomping and fussing was reserved for the family behind closed doors.  In public, I managed to maintain a veneer of politeness, or least as much as a cranky prepubescent girl can.
    One weekend in particular, we traipsed around to a variety of places, smiling and entertaining ourselves while the adults did whatever they were doing.  On our way home, my youngest sister, who was about three at the time started to cry.  When my Mom asked what was wrong,  my sister replied through her tears, "I am tired in my clothes!"
     All these years later, there are days when I am tired in my clothes.  As my work week ends and I head into my weekend,  Friday and Saturday,  I am reminded of my sister's words.  I am tired in my clothes, so the first thing I did when I got home is change into my comfy clothes.  But the tiredness is deeper. It has started to seep into my bones, which is always a clue that self care is in order.
     The trick is to know what rejuvenates me.  It seems as though that should be easy to answer, but it isn't.  I have spent the last several years trying to figure out what it means to care for myself. It has taken awhile but I have discovered a few things.  The first is that a hot bath will cure most anything,  add a small amount of ginger or Epsom salts and the stress just melts away.  A good book brings a bit of respite.  Dinner with friends who make me laugh puts everything in perspective.  Flinging fabric in my studio gets my brain working in a different way.  Playing with the dogs makes me smile.  A piece of chocolate releases the endorphins.  A walk energises the body and soul.  Last but not least,  have a nap will usually restore some sanity!
    I am now learning how to combine several of the above activities. Tonight I managed to have a nap in the bathtub.  Perhaps I need to rethink the multi-tasking!

unknown familiar darkness

As I enter again this unknown familiar darkness

I pray for strength.

Strength to meet the faces of myself

that inhabit this space.

Those pieces of me

that haunt my living

in the light.

The pieces who try to grab back with a viciousness

the parts I have worked so hard to redeem.

There has been success in the dark.

Hard won battles,

fierce competition

have yielded softer gentler places;

places of deeper compassion,

wiser discerning,

more peaceful acceptance of life.

The light nourishes those pieces,

gives them life and roots

but entry back into their place of birth

always puts them at risk.

The outcome of the dark night battles

are never sure.

All hangs in the balance.

I have come to know

that angels dwell here too.

Ready at the whisper for help

to lend their love

to help tip the scales.

Some believe the darkness

belongs to the evil,

to the despicable,

to the hopeless,

to the forgotten.

True, they wander through the night

clutching at those whose memory of the light has faded.

They catch some now and then,

but not without a battle. T
This place at its end is the domain of the Holy One.

A sacred place of cleansing and new birth.

A holy place where all is made new.

Not a safe place,

not an easy place

but a place where all is possible

if we dare to engage ourselves

to own our shadows

to name our pain

to claim our wounds

and to be healed

and sent back out into the light

to recover and to love.

As I enter again this unknown familiar place

I pray for strength.

Sitting in the mystery

Sitting in the mystery;

bruised heart

impatient waiting.

Trying to be still,

to let go,

to let mystery unfold,

to trust the cradling hands of the Holy One.

Going against the grain of habit,

against the grain of desire,

to the place of knowing

that in the end all shall be well.

Mornings

    The alarm on my cell phone heralds the beginning of the day Monday through Friday at 7 am.  Each morning my daily routine is re-enacted. I roll over, turn off the alarm and promptly refuse to get up.  I have friends who bound out bed in the early morning hours with joy and jubilation.  They can hardly wait to greet the day and see what wonders and adventures it holds for them.  The first words that burst forth from them are: "What a wonderful day to be alive."  I don't like travelling them, at least not unless we have separate rooms.
     I consider myself a basically optimistic woman, a glass half full kind of gal.  I am woman who lives with expectant gratitude, but I do have to work up to it.  Morning is not my best time of day.  Here's a clue: sometimes the first word out of my mouth refers to excrement.  I am not prone to profanity, but the hormones are wreaking havoc with my sleep and producing a fierce case of the growlies in the morning.
    After the swearing is out of the way, the hard part starts.  There is always an internal debate, particularly in the winter, about whether it really is necessary to leave the cosy comfort of my bed.  Couldn't I just power up my laptop and work from my cocoon of pillows and feather bed?  What really has to be done at the office?  I am more productive in my jammies.  Purple sheep on flannel pj's can be very inspiring. Who would I have to convince that this plan is the best for productivity?   I could start a new trend called Bed Work.  The conversation continues in this vein for a while.
       After about twenty minutes of this dialogue, I move on to the next phase; trying to sit up.  This process is done increments by slowing scooting up toward the head of the bed until I am mostly propped upright.  By that point, the radio is within easy reach, so on it goes. This morning I turned it on just as weather person was reporting that the temperature would be -23 c  with a wind chill of -32c.  This news caused a relapse and I had to start the whole process of sitting up from the beginning again.  News of that sort  should be saved at least until my glasses are on my face.
      Once upright,  the radio on, glasses perched on my nose, I am ready to put my feet on the floor.  Rolling over to the edge of the bed, I test my joints to see if they are stiff and require slow movements or if I can flow easily over the side and into my lovely pink slippers.  Today it was a jerky process and took longer that it should have.  I think it was the residual shock of the -32 c wind chill announcement.  Downstairs to let dogs out, take my meds, have a glass of juice, let the dogs back in, and then back to bed.
       This time contemplation is centered on what will I wear today.  That decision requires background information.  What do I have do?  Who am I meeting with today?  Is there manual labour involved or is it simply a desk day?  The questions are essential to the right wardrobe choice.  By this time it is about 8:15.  Up I go again and into the closet I head.  After trying on and discarding at least three tops it is off to the ironing board.  I am a glass half full gal and a strong proponent of the iron as you go theory.  My life would be less hectic in the morning if I would become a card carrying member of the "Iron it the night before" club.  
      On to hair and make-up.  Unfortunately my people are on an extended vacation and have left me to fend for myself.  My hair dresser desperately tries to teach me how to flat iron my hair each time I visit her.  I am in the remedial class.  My make-up instruction comes from the lovely young girls at the Mac counter who tell me sweetly that I need practice eyeshadow application.   Somehow I manage to take care of the grooming requirements, but that leaves the accessories.  By this time, I am perking up.  Earrings, rings, bracelets, pins any shiny bauble will fill me with delight.  And the fun part follows.... shoes.  Unfortunately, that may take a while as I sort through the pile in the closet, the front hall closet and the bag of shoes in the garage which is trying to make its way into the house from the car. 
      Coat, keys, cell phone, computer,  my lunch (which I do make the night before),  treats for the dogs and out the door I go with five minutes to spare.  Those five minutes are essential because inevitably I forget whether I unplugged the flat iron and I have to race back upstairs to check.  The insurance company is not really pleased when members of the remedial hair styling class burn down houses.
     Finally, I manage to make it to the car.  Deep breath. As I pull out of the driveway and see the huge prairie sky my soul exhales with gratitude for the day ahead.  Now, now I am ready to say welcome to the day.

    

Holding space

Holding space for others is a gift and privilege.  Over the years I have held open time and space for children as they grow into themselves,  for friends who are trying to find their way home through twists and turns not anticipated.  I have held space for people to tell their stories in safety and comfort.  I have held space for the ones who have gone before through the memories that inhabit my heart.  All the spaces that I hold, I hold in trust, with deep gratitude for being allowed to be part of other’s lives. 
   Now the time has come for me to hold in trust a space for myself.  Space into which the Holy may enter. Space in which I may grow into the piece of myself I do not yet know.  Space for silence.  Space for joy.  Space for the unexpected.  Holding this space is a gift I give to myself.

Domestic Goddess Reflections

  This morning I awoke to sunshine, blue sky and colder weather.  Winter is beginning to show itself in my part of the world.  Usually it arrives well before now.  There is a promise of snow in the sky, which the Weather Channel proudly announces should arrive tomorrow.  It is a good day, I think to myself, to get the house in order. 
   Something is afoot in my life.  I can tell because the house is strewn with piles.  There are at least ten piles of assorted things, including mail and newspapers, on the kitchen table.  Several piles of sorted laundry dot the floor of my bedroom.  Worst of all, the toilet paper has not been put on the holder but sits precariously on the edge of the bathtub.  When there is something stirring in me, creative or otherwise, my living space reflects it.  Having taken a look a the house I would say that cosmic shifts in my being are brewing.
   As I sort, throw out and clean up I reflect on all the stuff that is scattered about the place. How much does one person need, I ask myself, as the third load of laundry goes in the washer.  Images of women carrying water for their families down dusty roads float in front of my eyes as I turn on the tap to run water to wash the stack of dishes in the sink.  As the clothes from the dryer are folded and put away in drawers already full, I think of the children whose clothes are thin and threadbare.  As I dust, my hands caress the the thin blue-green fluted glass vase that sits on my mantelpiece.  I remember my Grandmother's hands as she dusted it on her mantelpiece years ago.  I make the bed with warm sheets fresh from the dryer.  The soft blue throw pillow my mother made and that sat on her bed for the last few years is placed on my bed as a sign that all is done.
  The day reveals its wisdom. Yes, there is too much stuff, much of which I don't need.  Some one else can use it.  I am blessed by conveniences to which most of the world does not have access.  That privilege calls me to be responsible for the gifts of water, electricity and the like.  The treasures of the generations that have passed before me grace my home and remind me of my connections. Those connections ground me, root me and remind me of how much love surrounds me.
   There is something brewing in my being and it is bigger than I imagined.

For passing from this life

For my children's other Grandmother


May you pass from this life in peace.
As you move closer to the heartbeat of the Holy One,
         let the sorrows of this life fall away,
             let your fear drift off into the stars,
                 and let all pain of your years pass from you.
As your journey brings you closer to the place from which you began,
     may you remember your soul dreams
               and know that soon they will be fulfilled.
For in the end, you will dwell in the arms of Deepest Love,
       and all that will be left is joy.



MCF,
Blessings be yours, now and always.

Benjamin and She

He sat across from her with his gazed fastened to her lips.  He watched the words form as her mouth caressed them and sent them out into the world.  He wasn’t hearing the sounds. No, he was fascinated by how they flowed from her when she was smiling and when she was furious.  It never ceased to amaze him that those same lips could fashion words so completely foreign in sentiment and tone from one another.  Those were the lips he kissed; the lips which whispered in his ear the final words of the day and wakened him each morning with a peck on the tip of his nose.

Gradually, his ears began to detect the soft raspy sound of her voice and the words gave up their silence and took on form and shape. 

“Benjamin “she sighed.“Benjamin, you need to listen, " was all he heard before the silence enveloped him again.  His eyes sought out hers, the vibrant startling green eyes that had drawn him  across the pub sixty years ago in ninety seconds flat.  Through the crowd of Friday night beer drinkers and championship dart players they had pulled him with an intensity quite unknown to him.  The silence had come then too as he moved towards the deep wells of passion and strength shining like a beacon in her eyes.  Startled, friends called out to him as he made a channel through the sea of smelly, sweaty bodies.  Their voices were swallowed up in the edges of his awareness.  All he could see was her.

His breath caught in his chest.  His heart began to skip a beat as it always did when the silence came.  It was her and only her who drew him to this place where clouds lifted and reality faded.  Here in the place to which she drew him  was all that he needed to know, all that he had ever known and all that gave him life.  It was like the first time and every time since then.  Without her, he would have no idea how to capture the silence and sit in it, listening with every cell to the clearness and certainty that he was loved.

As the silence wrapped around him and the memories swirled,  he saw them moving gracefully around the dance floor embraced in each other’s arms. He was dressed in his one and only stiffly starched blue suit and she in a soft ivory concoction which clung to her curves and swished as they turned.  The dancers faded and changed into parents in a hospital room cradling a squalling baby with bright red cheeks and  piercing green eyes like her mother’s.  The air was filled with joy and complete abandonment to the moment as the mother lifted her eyes and met his own.  It was green of her eyes that carried him to yet another place and time. This time they melted in the green of leaves  of the tree under which they sat, hands entwined,  the carefully packed sandwiches  half eaten and long forgotten laying on the blue and yellow blanket now providing an afternoon snack for the trail of busy ants which were taking advantage of their distraction.  He could still smell the  scent of the honeysuckle carried in heat of the late afternoon.  The smoothness of her skin lingered on his rough calloused hands as he knelt before her with the dark velvet box shaking nervously in his grasp.  The light changed and  there she was, mud speckled and smelling of earth and spring, of new life and rebirth as she wiped her hands on the denim overalls stretched tight across her swollen belly.

The silence parted, the words returned.  “Benjamin, “  his name spilled out of her with all the passion and love of a lifetime wrapped in it. “It is almost time.”

He willed for the silence again, prayed in that brief second to be able to find his way back on his own. He did not want to have to hear or bear the burden of those word which held the  promise of what  was coming.  But the silence did not come and as he turned his head tears splashed like tiny raindrops on her hand.The smile which she offered him slowly spread from the edge of her mouth to the corners of her eyes.  The papery thin hand grasped his an firm steady clasp. 

“What will I do?”  the words floated like gossamer on the air.  “What will I do?”  he repeated.

“You will do what you have always done, my dearest. Hold my hand,  and this time when the moment comes you will let it go.”

“I can’t.”  He replied softly as the tears congested in his throat.  “I can’t.  I will come with you.”

”Ah, my love” she whispered as she stroked his gnarled hand still tightly clutching her own.  “You know this piece is mine to do now.” 

He ached for the silence again, but now the night was filled with sound.  The hiss of the radiator, the sound of her breathing softly, the gentle tap of the overgrown tree outside their window.  Anyone else would say it was silent, but they did not know the silence of the soul, of that deep place where stillness lived, the place to which he traveled in his beloved gaze.

The sound of their lives lay between them for long moments, then she spoke again.  “ Remember. Remember  it all. All that has made us, all that has kept us."

Quietly and in the space between his tears, her breath left and her hand relaxed its embrace and she was gone.   Still clinging to her, his head dropped to the bed beside her and the tears found their way from the deepest corners of his heart out to wrinkles and curves of his cheeks.

“What will I do? What will I do?” 

Then as the large oak branch tapped against the pane again,  he saw her  with arms outstretched towards him .  As he reached towards her the silence returned and in that moment he knew. He knew that the way to that place would be forever open for his return. It was her love, which was not bound by time or space which made it so.

Ordinary Thankfulness

Some days are ordinary days.  Days where seemingly not much happens.  Phone calls are made and emails are sent.  Dinner is cooked and the domestic goddess duties are done.  At the end of the day life has been lived quietly with no muss or fuss and some tasks were accomplished.  Those days are grace.

Occasionally they come in a group, one following upon another.  Sometimes they just show up in the middle of mind boggling busyness.  Whenever they arrive, they are moments to take a deep breath and remember to say thank you to the Universe.  Thank you for the breathing space.  Thank you for the richness of our living. Thank you for the opportunities that come along and bring with them great joy.  Thank you for the tears that remind us we are human and capable of deep emotion.  Thank you ...... thank you.....thank you.

What are you thankful for today?

Interested in living a grateful life?  Have a look at this wonderful site  http://www.gratefulness.org. Light a candle or walk the labyrinth and let me know what you think about it!

Mistakes

Human beings are given to making mistakes. It is simply part of being alive. Mistakes teach us about ourselves; what we like and what we don't, what we are capable of, and what we must never do again.  The reality is that we spend a great deal of time obsessing about what went wrong and feeling badly about whatever we did.  The more we think about the mistake, the bigger it becomes.  Soon we are dealing with a situation which has global consequences and well may threaten the future of the generations which follow us.  It sounds silly doesn't it?  But we all do it.  We blow mistakes out of proportion.  Granted, some are magnificent and grand, but for the most part they are minor. I as move deeper into my fifties I am starting to gain some perspective about the daily mistakes of my life.  I have learned that the end world will not arrive because I forgot to return a phone call, or
decided to be frank when everyone would have benefited by my silence. The brooding about mistakes is  taking up less time that it did in the past.

I am also learning to give more attention and acknowledgement to the small steps I take towards health and joy.  Wallowing in the joy of having done something to move forward is much better way to spend my allotted obsessing time.  If I pay attention, there are increasing moments when I make choices that are in my best interest.  When  I pass up the opportunity for a fast food hamburger and opt to eat my tuna sandwich, that is a choice worth celebrating.  When I make sure the car gets an oil change on time that is a reason to be pleased with myself. Those small choices feed each other and soon the focus of my life has changed from how horrible and incapable I am to how wise and responsible I am, and that is a much nicer village in which to live.

"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change"
                  Wayne Dyer

( Christine, thanks for reminding me about this quote.)

When the wind blows

The wind has stopped.  For the last two days it has whipped the trees around and sent lost plastic bags soaring high into the air. It has caused white knuckle driving on the highways as it buffets the cars and trucks making their way to unknown destinations.  It isn't uncommon for the wind to blow here.  Along with dust it brings the warm chinook temperatures that are so welcome this time of year.  I am always curious about what else the wind will bring my way.

I am a woman of the ocean whose greatest joy is walk the sand and discover what the tide has brought as gifts for the day. Yet I find myself living in foothills of the Canadian Rockies where the wind blows.  I wonder if the wind is like the waves and brings gifts to lay on my doorstep.  Does it bring change to my spirit?  Does it bring  bits of wisdom and knowledge from the other places over which it has traveled to drop in my lap?  Does it call my name as invitation to follow it to new places and new adventures?

I suppose what comes sailing on the wind gusts depends on the day and on my ability to receive what is offered.  Today it brought kind words,  supportive friends and affirmations that the new road I have chosen to travel is worth the journey.  As an added gift it gathered up and took with it a bit a of doubt and uncertainty.

It is always an interesting day when the wind blows.  Interesting too is the silence that comes when the wind moves on and leaves behind a  place to ponder the treasures of its visit.

Small Stones

Being present in one's own life is tricky business.  It is easy to get distracted by shiny baubles like daydreams about the trip to Tahiti that is so far out of the budget it inhabits a different planet.  Who can resist providing advice and commentary on another person's life?  We don't need to know them.  We can pontificate about how Angelia Jolie should put on some weight or which woman the Bachelor should pick as a wife.  We are experts on about  everything but our own lives.

It is frightening to be aware of ourselves, of what is happening in us and around us.  In the Power of Now  Eckhart Tolle talks about being present.  Historically, I have not been particularly skilled in this area.  A friend of mine used to call me a flight risk.  Several years ago the two of us decided to conduct an experiment.  We both had to attend a weekend long business meeting.  We agreed that instead of our usual daydreaming and doodling we would try to be present.  It was struggle!  After about an hour I was ready to throw in the towel.  I did not feel better. I felt worse. To describe my mood at that point as cranky is being generous and kind.  I was ready to start a revolt to overthrow the president and fire the planning committee.  Needless to say, this attitude was not helpful to the task at hand.  To be fair, my friend was in no better shape.  But we persevered.  We paid attention and tapped our feet.  We listened to the reports and rolled our eyes.  Then at the end of the day we allowed ourselves one hour to vent.  The next day we started again. The good news is that no blood was shed, no one was ousted from their job and we began the practice of paying attention.

It has gotten easier over the last few years.  There are relapses.  Committee meetings still test the my resolve and skill, but for the most part I have learned to be present to my life.  It is an ongoing process.


Being present isn't always easy.  It means I have to be present to the pain as well as the joy.  When a crying child is comforted they settle more quickly than when left alone.  The pain dissipates more quickly when attended to with compassion and attention.  It is counter intuitive, but for me it is true.

Much to my delight I discovered a site recently which combines the practice of being present with a writing challenge.  Kaspar and Fiona, who are the hosts of Writing Our Way Home, have developed the idea of small stones.  Small stones are short pieces of focused writing which capture a moment.  To write a small stone you have to keep your eyes open and be aware,  otherwise the stone might pass you by.  The challenge has been issued to write a small stone a day for the month of January.  I have accepted the challenge.  It helps me pay attention and gives me another focus for writing.

I have added another page to the blog devoted to the small stones.  If you click on it you will find a link to Kaspar and Fiona's site with instructions for writing and posting small stones.  You will also find my small stones.  Feel free to join in!


May your journey of being present in your life be graced with joy!

The Republicans and Fear

The tendrils of fear are creeping everywhere.  Fear seems to have taken root in our collective psyche and is intent on spreading to every corner of the earth.  The truly sad part is that we seem to be encouraging it's growth. My concern stems from my attempted watching of the Republican Presidential Debate tonight. I should have known better.  In the five minutes that I could stomach, I am quite sure my blood pressure went up.  I got angry.  I was saddened. I didn't want to be a Christian anymore, perhaps one of the tribes in the Amazon is taking new members.

It was not their politics, though I do not agree with them on any point, but their intolerance and fear that caused me such distress. Fear was oozing out of all of them. The fear was about losing something, about the unknown, about the stranger who is different.  There was no room for grace to make a home.  There was no place for compassion to find a resting spot.  There was no welcome for a person of colour, a Muslim, or a gay man.

The debate was a clear reminder of the daily choices I make about how I will live.  I can choose to live with fear and suspicion or I  can choose to live with love and trust.  Love and trust are the way to go.  Of course that doesn't mean fear isn't present daily, but I get choose whether to embrace it as a friend or struggle to banish it.  The more of us that choose a world where fear is not in control the closer we are to living in a world that is stronger, more vibrant and more just.  Maybe I should send a note to the Republican candidates, a new platform to explore!

















 

Wild Abandon

Into the mystery of life
I fling myself
    with wild abandon.
Uncertain of the
     landing place
unknowing of the
      flying pattern
only sure
   that in the falling
       I am held.

The Adventures of Online Dating

 I wrote this a few months ago, but thought you might enjoy it.

I am writing because I don’t know what else to do. Really, I don’t know if I want to get out of bed or go to work.  Breakfast is iffy.  The idea of staying in bed with the covers pulled up over my head is definitely appealing.  I have been reading about writing as I start to stumble and crash my way through to something written on the page that someday might be worth someone reading.  Everyone talks about how hard it is to write, how isolating it is and what it does to your ego.  They have never experienced online dating.  People flip through the profiles looking for one face, one smile that appeals to them.  Then they read the profile, which for my age group usually contains a picture of potential object of my desire standing next to an enormous motorcycle.  Conceding  that an inordinate number of middle age men find their sexual identity boosted by a big machine between their legs, I move onto to what they acutally wrote about themselves and who they think they want.  Their description of a potential mate inevitably includes the phrases : “is equally at home in jeans or dressed up for an evening out on the town’” , “must like to hunt, camp and enjoy an active lifestlye’ and last but by no means least  “someone who takes care of themselves.”  That particular phrase makes my blood boil and red spots form in front of my eyes and if truth be told, I probably foam a little at the mouth.  It is code for size two.  But really… really at a size larger than two, I take care of myself.  The last time I left the house minus my pants and my hair in disarray was in the summertime when I was three and wanted to play in the sprinkler in my diapers.  I pay my bills, I  maintain my car.  I have raised four children.   I make sure there is food in the fridge so neither I nor my dogs go hungry.  Last I checked the house is  not up for a spot on Hoarders.  Oh and also…. I hold down a full time job at which I am in fact very competent. Just say you are shallow and want a Barbie doll, that I can live with, but otherwise the foaming starts.

What men do not realize is that the sexiest part of their profile is if it is written in complete sentences with correctly spelled words and  capital letters in the right place.  Ahh for a man who is literate.  Mrs. Dickinson, my grade 10 English teacher, always said spelling and grammar count.  Well, so did Mr. King, my university grammar professor,  turns out they were right.  Those things combined with absence of dancing pickle emotiocons is a winner every time in my  books. 

Having identified the quarry, now comes the initial parry, an email, because if you wait for a man who can spell to write you might be waiting a very long time.  They are still fixated on women who take care of themselves.  They obviously aren’t aware of my sexy shoe collection,  fabulous jewelry assortment and the gel nails that I invest time and money in each month.  See still foaming.

The first email must be  eye catching,  just the right touch of humour, flattery and specific references to the content of the coherent profile which you have just read.  Usually, I choose not to refer to the giant machine they have been posing against.  It is just too easy.  It must be chatty with just a hint of the physical.  It is important to remember that what sounded hilarious after a bottle of wine with your girlfriend may not be quite as hilarious to someone who has no idea of the context.  In fact, it can come across and just plain creepy or weird.    One poor soul wrote a particularly hilarious profile in which he referred to his love of cheese.   I know, it is already strange, but it was funny at the time. My friend replied.  Her reply started off with the line 

“ I like cheese too. But not the stinky kind, that is wrong on so many levels.”  We thought we were clever and witty but the very funny Scotsman didn’t seem to get it.  He wrote back that he was pursuing a relationship with someone he had met online.    He continues to show up online on a regular basis.  Obviously he really doesn’t have a sense of humour!

No matter how pity and witty the email might be, it takes sending out somewhere between eight and ten to get one reply.   Out of  five replies might come a coffee date.  You see how the work is piling up.  You could make a full time job out of this endeavor, which is not a bad idea.  For the aspiring writer, what better training than writing emails for people who don’t have the skill or time to devote to finding a suitable date.  Charge by the word, not by the response…. Hmm….. possibilities and dollar signs are starting to float in front of my eyes. There ought to be some reward for all this creative effort!

For any writer wanting to hone their writing skills, online dating emails is the way to go. You can try out different personalities,  new story lines and try your hand a creative writing.  Now that may sound a bit callous and cold hearted since we are dealing with people at the other end of the missive.  Just remember,  only one out of ten emails get a response.  An explanation can certainly be offered to the lone  brave soul that is intrigued enough to answer.  Perhaps they will be delighted to meet a true genius who is yet unpublished.  Tell them what a great story they will have when you are famous.  “You know she wrote me once on an online dating site.  I thought she was crazy, but I should have saved the email.”

So what do I know?

Sometimes the Universe answers prayers in very unexpected, but pointed, grace filled ways.  A few months ago I attended a round table discussion about poverty reduction in our city.  It was an interesting afternoon as professionals from all areas came together to begin to talk about the issues and priorities for this new municipal initiative.  It was inspiring as we heard about how poverty had been addressed in communities across Canada.  With some creative thinking poverty is being reduced.  Despite the enormity of the issue,  change is possible.  I left wanting to part of that change, to offer my time and talent to make a difference in people's lives.  "Please", I prayed, "show me how to be part of the change that is needed."

Over the next few weeks, I kept repeating the request to be an agent of change. But work began to pile up as it does so often and I forgot my prayer.  One week in particular was filled to overflowing with meetings, deadlines, and appointments.  I wasn't quite sure how all of it was going to get done until on Tuesday afternoon I realised I had a gap of unscheduled time on Wednesday.  "Great," I thought to myself.  "I can work at home in my pj's and get the laundry done at the same time.  No one will interrupt me and I can get all my writing done."  The plan sounded even better when the weather forecast predicted snow for Wednesday.   Pleased with my plan, I headed back to the office.  When I checked in for messages,  the office administrator handed me a stack.  Most of them were simply requests for information which could be easily dealt with from home the next day.  The plan was still looking good.  It looked good until the last message.  It read, " Michelle needs you to take her to the food bank in the morning." Damn. Grumbling commenced.  No jammies, no warm house and uninterrupted time to write.  Why do I have to take her to the food bank?  My job description is wide and varied but no where does it say I am a chauffeur.  I couldn't phone her and make other arrangements because she didn't have a phone.  Arrggh.

The next morning at the designated time and place, I showed up.  With a bit of slipping and sliding through the promised snow, we made it to the food bank and back to Michelle's temporary housing.  I dropped her off and headed to the office.  Over the following weeks, Michelle became a weekly visitor to my office.  It was clear that she was struggling with some mental illness which caused a repetition of stories and rigidity of thought that was not helped by my attempts to reason with her.  Safe housing and employment were at the top of the list of Michelle's immediate needs.  I agreed to help.  Some days she sorely tested my patience, especially when she tried to tell me what I needed to do.  But determined to follow through, I persisted.  We have made progress.  It has been a bit of challenge for both us, but we have persevered.

Much to my dismay I am sometimes slow on the uptake.  It became clear over time that the Universe had answered my request to make a difference.  I was thinking a committee or a grand design process. Something that would cause the local paper to interview me.  Lofty grand thoughts I was having. I thought a committee but the Universe sent Michelle.  Michelle, a face of poverty, who needed real and tangible help.  Help I could offer because of my job, my education and my fortune in life.  In a flash of insight, I knew that chauffeur had been added to my job description.  Not only had it been added, but it was important,  if not glamorous.  Grace is humbling.

On we go!

Let's be clear.  It is only the third day of the year and I am exhausted!  Commitment was the word I chose to work with for the three hundred and sixty-five days of 2012.  After three of those days the three hundred and sixty-two left are looking iffy.  Committing to oneself takes a huge amount of work.  There is the physical to attend to:  nutrition, grooming, remembering to take my old people meds, finding the correct shoes for the outfit of the day etc.  Oh, and where and when am I going to start exercising? The emotional and spiritual realm must not be forgotten either;  prayer, talking with friends, playing the dogs, writing, and quilting. When I have attended to all the needs of my being, it is time to go to work!  I need to show up and be present.  Occasionally I am required to think profound thoughts,  to dispense wisdom, create innovative material, and walk with people through the ups and downs of their living. No wonder I am tired.   Good thing tomorrow is another day and another chance to get it right.  Three hundred sixty-two and counting!

Happy New Year

The New Year has arrived and with it our desire to change ourselves.  The air is littered with resolutions about organization, exercise, weight loss, romance and parenting.  With determined faces and good intentions we declare that this year we will follow through.  Alas, most of us fall by the wayside usually by the first of February.  Good for us for looking at what we want to do, to be, to achieve. However, most of the time we decide everything has to be changed at once.  It is the "your eyes are bigger than your stomach" syndrome.

One thing, just one thing is all we really need to focus on if we are serious about change.  I stumbled across a great resource one night when I was surfing the web during a increasingly familiar bout of sleeplessness.  Christine Kane has a nifty, free little e-book to help people pick a word for the year.   The word is one that will challenge you, shape you, focus you during the year as you explore what it means in your life.  If you want to download it for yourself, the link is http://christinekane.com/blog/category/intention/word-of-the-year-intention/

I picked commitment for my word.  I need to commit to myself by doing things that foster health and growth.  At the top of the list is writing.  Somehow the process of putting thoughts, ideas and stories down on paper, or in this day and age, on the screen seems to release something in me.  I have friend who can tell by looking at me whether or not I have been writing.  Apparently, I look better and am much funnier when words start flowing.  Who knew?

I think all of us have something that our deepest self needs to do daily to keep us headed in the right direction with a modicum of joy.  A life line of sorts, which allows the life we are called to to keep flowing.  When we don't do whatever it is, life gets backed up, we get cranky and everything goes to hell in hand basket.  It really is simple.  Just do whatever your life line requires.  Do it daily.  Do it joyfully if you can. If not, do it and complain bitterly about it.  The results are the same.  Life gets better, not easier, just better.  Try it yourself and see what you think.

Happy New Year!