Connecting the Dots…Challenges, Chariots, Conversations, and Choices

    There are times when events are strung together which open your heart and soul to the connectedness of the human spirit.  Within a recent thirty six hour time span my focus sharpened as to how we as humans interact, trust, distrust and value one another. A Facebook post and three different events strung together challenged me to zoom in and look at the way I live my life. Upon my reflection I have connected the dots.

Two weeks ago a dear friend had asked me to attend her and her classmate’s dinner presentation at the culinary school that she is attending in New York City. Feeling honored and blessed to be asked my “yes” reply was instantaneously sent.

Dot One:  The morning of the dinner presentation this post from an intuitive friend was the first thing that appeared on my Facebook news feed:

Daily Dose of Deborah
Friday, November 7, 2014

Today spontaneously make a connection with a total stranger. Strike up a(n authentic) conversation with someone you meet- Ask them how they are. Ask them about themselves. Take interest in someone outside of your usual circle of family and friends.

So often we are so caught up in our own worlds, that we don't even take the time to acknowledge the community of people all around us. The clerks at the gas stations where you fill up your cars, has a story - a life.. most of it is probably very similar to YOURS. The conductors on the trains you travel on, have families , lives, tragedies, and celebrations.. JUST LIKE YOU DO. The professors at you schools, have deadlines and financial question marks running through their heads.. JUST LIKE YOU DO.

 Start looking around and seeing how similar we are. Notice how hard we are all working to survive. Reconnect with fact that we are all humans running around on this bouncing ball called earth. We are all more the same, than we are different.

 Feel the connection after you have reached out. Feel how good it is to get out of your own heads and simply connect!!

 IT's ALL about connecting!

<3

 Deborah...

 Deborah’s message tugged at my heart…..ledge the community of people all around us. The clerks at the gas stations where you fill up your cars, has a story - a life.. most of it is probably very similar to YOURS. The conductors on the trains you travel on , have families , lives, tragedies, and celebrations.. JUST LIKE YOU DO. The professors at you schools, have deadlines and financial question marks running through their heads.. JUST LIKE YOU DO.

Start looking around and seeing how similar we are. Notice how hard we are all working to survive. Reconnect with fact that we are all humans running around on this bouncing ball called earth. We are all more the same, than we are different.

Feel the connection after you have reached out. Feel how good it is to get out of your own heads and simply connect!!
IT's ALL about connecting!

,
Deborah

 Dot Two: When group travel plans fell apart the night before the culinary school event I decided to drive to a park and ride in New Jersey, take a bus to the city and a taxi to the school. According to the bus schedule I was to arrive in the city an hour and a half before the event. That would be plenty of time to get to the school, or so I thought.  Friday night traffic sucked away half of my time buffer. The taxi line in the front of the Port Authority was twenty plus people deep.  I stood there for fifteen minutes and only one taxi arrived.  My time cushion was deflating!

  There was a casually dressed man asking the people on line where they were going. I overheard him giving advice to someone as to which subway to take as an alternate to a taxi.  I thought this was his job to hail taxis and coordinate transportation for the patrons. 

  He approached me and asked where I was going. 

 “48W 21^st Street” I replied.

 “Between 6^th and 7^th Avenue” he said. “You want to take a bike taxi?” as he pointed to the bicycle on the street corner with a tarp covered rickshaw seat attached to the back.  Not really my style I thought and how safe could this be?

 “How long will it take to get there?” I asked

 “About eighteen minutes.” 

  I looked at my watch again.  I had a half hour to spare.  I looked over at the bike and I figured why not, give it a shot! Sometimes you just have to believe that what is presented to you in a moment of need is a gift, and go with it. 

  I climbed into the back seat and he zipped the canvas tarp around me. He stood upright on the peddles and pressed down in an effort to garner all of his leg strength and off we went.  I wondered how much energy it must take to cart my body around the streets of New York City.  

 

 The only thing separating me from the cars and trucks zooming beside was that canvas tarp covering with cloudy plastic as my windows. There were neither shock absorbers nor any heat.   I trusted that he knew how to safely navigate the streets. I had trusted him with a lot.  During a stop at a traffic light he turned and yelled back to me

“How are you doing back there?” 

 “Great” I said.

  He pointed to a shop on the corner “Look over there.  There are puppies in the window.  They are so cute.  You want one?”

  I couldn’t see through the cloudiness of the plastic but I shouted back.  “Awwww, they are so cute, but I think I will pass tonight.” As he started peddling I suddenly began laughing at the vibrancy of this life experience.

 We arrived at my destination.  The driver pulled the nose of the bike between two parked cars.  “Exactly eighteen minutes” he said. 

  I paid the fare, exited my chariot and began rushing towards my destination.  Suddenly I stopped, turned and took a picture of the vehicle and the stranger that I trusted to deliver me safely.

  Dot Three: Once within the culinary school I was directed to the seating for the family and friends of the students.  I surveyed the room for a familiar face but there were none to be found.  There was an older couple seated at the end of a long rectangular table.  The gentleman motioned to me and said my friend’s name.  He asked if I was there for her.  Unbeknownst to me these were my friend’s parents.  I took a seat beside them and we began a magical evening of food and conversation.

  I shared with them my chariot story.   And I realized that my efforts not to be late yielded me the prized seat beside the parents of my friend. Our conversations meandered from cooking to children to sports to common friends and to travel.

  My friend’s Dad shared his travel experiences.  One of his comments struck me, he said

  “As Americans we are afraid to open our doors and hearts to others.  While in Italy I was taken on a back room tour of a restaurant kitchen by the owner.  In Ireland after a night of partying and drinking I was invited back to the bartender’s home for a cup of tea.  In America neither of those events would ever happen.  The truth is we are fearful of one another and the unknown.”

  He was right.  In unknown situations or in the company of strangers American’s defenses are heightened. We latch onto fear first.  Our Trust and compassion are seated at the back of the bus. Forget connecting with some aspect within the stranger as my friend Deborah had written about earlier in the day.

Dot Four: The next day I was grocery shopping in Walmart.  While shopping I decided what I was making for dinner.  I needed a loaf of good Italian bread.  I am not a fan of Walmart’s bakery so I decided to go to Stop and Shop for the bread and a few other fresh ingredients.  A Saturday visit to Stop and Shop was very out of the ordinary for me. 

 When I entered the store I went directly to the baked goods.  As I reached the bread rack there was an older gentleman leaning over his shopping cart asking another shopper and her son to bag six fresh bagels for him. I thought that they were shopping together but as his ramblings continued I realized that they did not know one another.

  “Oh, I am so stupid!  What was I thinking? I’m never going to be able to get home!” The older man rambled.  “I’m dying….I can’t make it home! I’m dying, I’m so stupid!”

  My back was towards him as I focused on which loaf of bread I wanted.  But his words pierced me. I took in all that he was saying.   I could have turned to my left and continued on my way, but I turned towards my right and looked this man in the eye.  He must have been in his late sixties or early seventies.  He was close to six feet tall, heavy set with a red faced speckled with brown spots.  His movements were labored and his clothes were disheveled.  In his shopping cart was a gallon of milk, two, two liter bottles of soda, a twelve pack of toilet paper and the six bagels that the other customer bagged for him.

 I heard myself saying, “Sir, are you okay?”

“No!” He was agitated. “I’m dying. I don’t know what I was thinking I walked here, but I can barely breathe. I don’t know how I am going to get home. I’m dying” And then he asked “Will you drive me home.  It is not that far?”

Without processing or thinking and simply reacting I said “Yes, but I have a few more things to pick up.”

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll check out and wait in the front of the store for you” he turned and leaning heavily on his cart for support made his way to the cashier.

 In produce section my mind began to spin.  While deciding between button and shitake mushrooms my inner voice began screaming at me.  “What, are you crazy?  You were always taught not to pick up hitchhikers or strangers.  This is dangerous!  What would your parents think? You would be mad as hell if your daughter did this?  Just put the groceries down and slip out of the side door and get out of there!” But then the voice of compassion chimed in “This could be your Dad.  Wouldn’t you want someone to help him?”

  I began connecting the dots.  Dot one; I recalled Deborah’s words from the day before about connecting with a stranger. Dot two; what was different between this situation and me getting into that bicycle taxi last night?  I didn’t know that man yet I trusted him to peddle me around the streets of NYC with nothing more than a tarp separating me from the traffic perils and he delivered me safely to my destination. Dot three; my friends Father’s statement echoed in my mind.  “As American’s our first reaction to strangers is fear.”

 I stood facing the fourth dot.  The point of decision, do you connect with a stranger or do you run away in fear? I turned and headed towards the cash registers at the front of the store with the belief that all is as it was to be. He was waiting for me as he said he would be.   With the inner voice of doubt chirping at me in the background I told him to wait for me at the store entrance.  I had parked my car at the outer edges of the lot and there was no need for him to walk that distance. He agreed.

  As I neared my car I decided to not only put my groceries in the third row seat but I would also put my pocketbook there.  By doing so it would be inaccessible to grab quickly.  In the same moment I decided to place my cell phone in the front pocket of the hooded sweatshirt I was wearing.  It was connected to the blue tooth device in my car. I could operate my phone by voice if needed.  These actions were guided by fear, innate fear, and the general distrust of others.  I drove my car to the front of the store, opened the door for my passenger to enter and loaded his groceries into my vehicle. These actions were guided by compassion.

  I would be lying to say that I did not have my doubts as I drove this man home.  I had devised an escape plan in my mind….a fear driven one at that.  Did he ask me for money, yes, and with his promise to repay it on Tuesday. I told him I couldn’t he didn’t ask again. Part of me just wanted to give him a few dollars, but the other part of me said that I was providing what he needed at this moment.  His home was a little over a mile from the store.  There was no way he could have carried his purchases home with him. 

   I pulled into his driveway, exited the car and handed him his grocery bags.  He didn’t want me to carry them to the front door.  Weighed down by his purchases he said “Thank you, you are and angel.”  He turned and walked toward the front door of his neglected home.

 I am humbled by the events of these thirty six hours.  Each and every one of us is part of the community; it is called the human race. Let us continue to connect the dots of our existence.  May our compassionate hearts lead the way, and fear, well, let it sit in the backseat of your bumpy chariot from this moment forward.

 

Fall Green Tomatoes

 

 October 6, 2014.  Tonight I harvested my patio vegetable garden.  It was the last, well actually it was the only harvest of the season.  And in this fact lived a lesson.

 The journey began late during the month of May.  Determined to right my wrong from the last growing season I planted early.  I chose my tomato plants from the expensive garden center. No Home Depot seedlings this year.  I knew these came from hardy stock. I purchased the expensive gardening soil. It had “Miracle” in the name so I knew it was the good stuff.  I made sure to place rocks at the bottom of the pots to allow for proper drainage. Root rot was not to be my destiny. 

 Each morning from the planting day I would water my tomatoes, realign their trajectory in relation to the sun.  June passed and no flowers for the fruit to emerge from. I thought the lack of production had been caused by disrupting the plants and moving the pots from the deck during the house painting.  Maybe they didn’t receive the correct amount of sun. 

  With the house painting completed by late June and the pots back in their appointed spots I thought we were ready for a takeoff.  But, unfortunately still no buds.  I saved the egg shells from my breakfast and crumpled them upon the soil in the pots.  I even added plant vitamin sticks to the soil. No sign of buds.  I thought that the pot housing the plum tomato plants seemed too shallow.  So I replanted them into a deeper pot that allowed for more root expansion. Every morning I watered my garden.

 While my husband and I were away on vacation during the latter part of July our son meticulously watered the tomato plants.  They were healthy and vibrant upon our return.  I continued to care for them and one mid-August morning a single yellow bud appeared.  I felt as if I was exposing my grade school petri dish experiment to the world.  My babies were ready to bloom, expand and move on!

  I dreamed of plucking a juicy, ripe red tomato from the vine, clenching my jaw and lowering my teeth upon its delicate skin.  Thoughts of the warm tomato liquid oozing into my mouth excited me.  This is the freshest of fresh.  Fruits plucked from the vine and enjoyed at that moment.  How divine!

   As late August arrived my friends were harvesting their red bounty, but I could not.  There was nothing to harvest. This year, that experience was not to be mine.  No spur of the moment pleasure just continued nurturing.  Each and every morning I watered my plants.  I believed in their promise.  I celebrated their joy and I knew if I loving cared for them they would achieve all that they could be.   And I enjoyed the ruby red tomatoes from the local farm stand.

 Time moved on by mid-September there was no red ripeness on my vine, just a few small green tomatoes. I continued to shower my love upon them.  The nights were getting cooler.  I worried about their survival but continued to nourish them.

  October quietly crept in.  The days grew shorter and the nights colder. Morning frost crystals coated the blades of grass and the tree leaves.  Maybe it is time to accept that I did all that I could do for these plants. Maybe green tomatoes are all that these vines can give me.  My nourishment, caring and compassion has gotten this crop to the place where it is. The exact place where it was supposed to be.   

  Tonight, with a sense of sadness I plucked the green tomatoes from the vines and I placed them into a brown paper bag.   The tomatoes may be green and housed in a brown paper bag, but the lesson they shared is golden. As much love, effort and understanding that you give to someone or something you cannot control the outcome.  Everything ripens at its own pace.   And sometimes it simply doesn’t ripen at all.

  My hope is that my green tomatoes find in the dark that which they could not find in the summer sunshine. Each of us grow into ourselves at our own pace.  Maybe my green tomatoes need to spend some time in the dark, in a place of self-reflection and go within to find their light.  My summer patio garden did not yield a harvest of fruits or vegetables, but it was not an exercise in futility. Rather it was one of love, patience, caring and revelation.  When we arrive at the understanding that things may not always turn out the way that we want them to, but they are as they should, we find peace. 

 Sometime the path of growth through darkness yields the greatest gifts and brightest lights.....Or maybe it simply means that I am destined to have a fried green tomato party!

Tags and Transitions

 

    For the past twenty years or so my end of the summer focus has been on readying my kids for their ride on the big yellow school bus. It seems like it was only a few moments ago that I pinned a manila tag to their clothing before they stepped on that bus for the first time.  The kindergarten kids were always identifiable by those tags.  The information contained on them; the child’s name, the teacher’s name, the bus route number and the bus stop location ensured that they would be returned to me at the end of the day.

 

  For the first week or so of school I would pin that tag to my child in a place of prominence.  Inevitably the day would come when my child would push back about wearing it.  After all they were grown up now and knew which bus to ride.  They protested.  I protested more.  In retrospect I wonder if those tags were more for the parent’s peace of mind than for the child’s wellbeing. That manila piece of paper had been my insurance policy.  I simply had to trust that my children would find their way home to me.  They did. 

 

 

  Parenting is hard work.  It requires an immense amount of patience and an equal amount of resolve.  When our children are placed in our arms we are smitten for life.  However, this object of my attention did not arrive with an instruction manual.  Parents are both overjoyed and overwhelmed with the required daily tasks. We breathe, dig deep and carry on.  Some days are easier than others.  And some days are just plain hard.

  Through the years the words “When is this ever going to end” became my mantra. While in the parenting trenches there have been many occasions where I have whispered, spoken and, yes screamed these words. 

   I remember dragging myself out of bed for those two and three o’clock in the morning feedings. They could have been times of quiet connection but exhausted I did my best to stay awake for the feeding and I wished my baby back to sleep.

    There were the countess diaper changes. My pocketbook begged for relief.  It seemed as if Pampers and Huggies had a direct pipeline to my bank account and a standing order to drain it. I thought my diaper days would never end. Eventually they did and the monetary change went virtually unnoticed. 

  So many nights I would lie beside my child to help them fall asleep and I too would end up visiting slumber town. During the night I would awake with a stiff neck and sore back and move to my bed. 

 Then there were the two a.m. visitors who tapped my shoulder until I awoke and said, “Mommy I’m scared”.   I would pull them into bed with me and bear the brunt of the wayward elbow to my chest, the arm across my head and the stray foot to my stomach.  When morning would arrive I would sneak out of bed exhausted from a night of little sleep. On occasion I would steal a few moments to marvel at their tiny cusped lips, their chest slowly rising and falling with each breath and their dimpled hands wrapped around their favorite stuffed animal.  And somehow those times ended too.

  As the years passed we moved onto bigger things.  Athletic competitions and academic pursuits consumed our lives.  I developed a severe case of bleacher butt from sitting in the stands.  We spent many a weekend on the road and most weeknights hurrying from one activity or school function. Whatever were my children’s interests, I encouraged them. 

  During those years I forged a kinship with that hamster that runs around on her wheel.  Both of us were in constant motion and neither of us seemed to be reaching our destination, wherever that was supposed to be.  I remember one Sunday afternoon when I was completing my routine of slicing and grilling vegetables to make sandwiches for my daughter’s lunch (she and cold cuts never formed a bond).   I would take an hour or so from my Sunday schedule to grill the vegetables for the week.  One particular Sunday I stood by the grill turning the vegetables to get the perfect grill marks and hoping that I did not drop them in between the grill grates. Frustrated and tired I repeated my saying of choice; “When is this ever going to end?”  And you know what? In a blink of an eye the end came. I found that my Sunday’s no longer required vegetable grilling duties.   

  My parent’s advice began whispering to me “Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.” 

   This summer has been different in many ways. Mother Nature decided to scale back on those hot and hazy days. Crazy and carefree times have been in short supply.  Summer in my family has been about milestones and movement.

  It began with my daughter finishing a long term substitute teaching job in her college town. With an expiring apartment lease in one town and a dream of settling in another she moved her belongings into a storage unit and headed off to her camp counseling job for the season.  In the midst of her summer position she interviewed for and secured a teaching job in the area of Virginia that she longed to be.  Instantly I became an apartment hunter and logistics specialist.  Thankfully, I Successfully completed my assignments.  My daughter finished her camp obligations on the 11^th of August and was settled and ready to begin her teacher training eight hours south of our New York home on the 14^th.  Whew!

  June my son graduated from high school. He attended his college orientation the first week of July.  My focus turned to graduation party planning, FAFSA forms and shopping for dorm room and school supplies.  Somehow from the clearness of the summer days and the coolness of the nights we reached the end of August.   Tomorrow is move in college move in day.

 

 

   Shortly the calendar will turn and we will be in the month of September. The big yellow school busses will resume their routes through the neighborhood.  For the first year in many I will not have a child boarding them. They have moved on.  Each is readying to write their own story and live into their reality.  I find myself wishing that I could pin that manila tag to them, the one that contains the instructions as to how to return them to me.  But I can’t. 

  Now I wear a tag but it is not visible.  It is etched upon my heart. The routing instructions have not changed from the ones that were printed on the tag and pinned to their shirts so many years ago.  No matter where their lives take them I trust that they know “home” is merely a thought away. My heart is always ready to meet them and my arms remain open and yearn to embrace them.  

 

Life's Wisdom

 

Today......

I realized that I have spent more days in anger than in peace.

I have allowed perfectly good moments slip away because they weren’t perfect.

I know I have been critical at times where comfort was needed.

I spent time wishing for thing that were neither important nor in my control.

I outwardly searched for happiness when all the time she was my mute companion just waiting for the moment when I allowed her to speak.

I have hurried past the blooming spring lilacs, turning my nose, not allowing myself a moment to embrace the scent their blissful perfume.

I have devoured a meal without savoring the richness of the flavors or acknowledging the loving hands that prepared it.

I have said no when I should have said yes.

I have said yes when I should have said no. My priorities were out of alignment.

However, for all of the times I have miss stepped, I have recovered, realigned and readjusted.

Believe it or not, yes, age is accompanied by many gifts, and they are welcomed.

Wisdom

Patience

Insight

Clarity

Comfort with yourself

And compassion for others

I now understand that sustenance comes not from how well we feed ourselves, but how well we feed others.

Today I watched a friend arrive at church. He was wheeled in, but not in a chair.

He arrived in a box draped with a cloth that spoke of his devotion.

Prayers were said, hymns were sung, stories were told, tears were shed and comfort was given.

Sadness and grief were so very prevalent, but so was deep love.

This story had a sad ending, as all of ours will.
 

I have been reminded to
 

Let go of the anger

Find the beauty

Open my heart
 

Trust my instincts
 

Slow down
 

Release judgment
 

Savor each day and embrace the journey.

The Flames of Life

Fulfillment requires two things.  First a deep desire and second the unbridled passion to make it happen.  One of my recent fulfilling life experiences evolved over a cup of coffee with a dear friend.

  I am fortunate to live just over a mile away from a woman who has rescued me in more ways that I can share.   If you examine our birth certificates she is nine years my senior.  According to her actions she is at least nine years my junior!  If the truth be told, I am happy living in the shadow of a junior who is really my senior.  She evokes uncontrollable laughter from me.  And through the years she has gently pointed out the simple joys in life when I did not believe any existed. 

  How, you ask?  Well, I have the toys to prove it!  They include a cherry red kayak, a pair of snow shoes with matching trekking poles and a sleeping bag that has a lifetime prepaid pass that entitles me to a bed where I can unfurl my sleeping bag in her pop up camper.

  Fran and I lived three townhouses away from one another in the late 1980’s.  It wasn’t until our toddling children wandered into one another’s yard in the early 1990’s that our friendship began.  With each flip of the calendar our connection grew. In recent years something shifted. The wander lust that our children had possessed in the 1990’s had now become part of our DNA.

  A few months ago while out for a Saturday morning walk I stopped at Fran’s for a cup of coffee and some conversation. Still in the throes of very cold and snowy winter our talk turned to sunshine, warmth, kayaking, camping and beaches.  Once again Fran shared her lifelong dream of having a campfire on the beach. That morning, along with the coffee, ideas and possibilities for adventure were brewing.

  “This year Michael and I have different spring breaks” Fran shared.  “I would love to go camping and find a place where I can have a campfire on the beach”.  “But the only place I have found is at the far end of Cape Cod and that is a five and a half hour ride.  That is too far to drive for a few days.”

  Her though pattern didn’t sit right with me. “Really, five and a half hours is too far to drive to live a dream?  How can you place limits on something that you have always wanted to do?  We have had this conversation many times before.  It is obviously something that you really wants, not to mention it is on my list too.”

  As I shared those thoughts I could sense a shift in Fran’s demeanor.  It was as if the sunshine was pushing through to burn off a heavy dense fog. With the thought clenched tightly within her heart her passion was like storm waters on the brink of bursting the dam.    Yup, I can sense it.  The trip was going to happen.

 So the campsite in Truro, MA was secured and the planning commenced.  There were three of us signed up for the adventure among the woods, wind, sand and surf!  Perfect!

  Within three hours of arrival camp was setup.  We began our exploration.  The first stop was the beach.  All it took was one breath of the briny ocean air and I was instantly at peace.  Next we visited the light house and we decided to watch the sun set and dine in Provincetown. It was a full Saturday but Sunday was the designated campfire on the beach day.

  The next morning after breakfast was cleaned up we ventured into town to secure our permit for the beach fire.  With the paper in hand and the instructions to call in for a final authorization between four and six o’clock (due to high winds) we headed out to explore the neighboring towns and beaches.

  We enjoyed our adventures and savored the laughter.  We did not rush the day but the thoughts of our planned evening activity burned within.  With each beach and bluff we visited not one of us uttered a word about the strong whipping winds.  Silently we all worried about the possibility of our dream being postponed.

   After an early dinner with fingers, toes and minds crossed the call was placed to the fire station. The camper canopy was flapping in the breeze the thumbs up sign was given! Yes, tonight desire and passion were going collide to fulfill a dream!

  It was one of those “ready, set, go” moments. The car was instantly packed with snacks, clothes, fire wood, chairs and whatever else we believed we were going to need.  Okay, we probably had half of the camp in tow but we didn’t want to forget anything. 

  Once at the beach giddy and gabbing we carried everything from the car (well, Fran threw the firewood down the dunes) to the beach and we selected a spot to set up camp. It was six o’clock the sun was just beginning its decent for the day.  The tides were gently and rhythmically rolling upon the shore and a sense of calm settled in.

  Fran dug a hole in the sand that would act as our fire pit.  The kindling was arranged in a teepee along with some dryer lint in a toilet paper holder as a homemade starting agent.  But as the daylight diminished for a short while so did out hopes.  The fire was giving us fits. It would ignite for a moment then go out.  It could have been the wind or it may have been the dampness but we weren’t going to be defeated. After lighting, relighting and realigning we tossed a store bought “fire starter” into the mix.  It was simply a reminder that life does not unfold to our predesigned plan.  We must be willing to shift our course. That fire starter did the trick.  It was the catalyst that ignited our dream.

       The fire was finally burning. The sun was setting in the west as the moon was rising in the east.  The blueness of the sky was deepening.

Soon dark blue melded in black.

Fran was holding one of her sneakers in her hand.  She shook it around and told each of us to select an item from within.  We protested.  Touching something that was in Fran shoe was a no-no.  But after much laughter and many protests we obliged.

  From that sneaker each of us selected a white circular shell; each shell was in a different place of its evolution.  Fran asked us to examine the shell and relate it to our life.  We were asked to those thoughts for later discussion.

  I looked at my shell. The tip of it was broken off but the spire in the center, its core, was still steadfast in its direction.  Hmmm, yes, I thought.  Some area of my life may be chipped but at my core I am still steadfast and strong.

  Our fire was burning wood at a pace faster than we had anticipated. Not wanting the evening to end too soon we each took turns scouring the beach and dunes for more wood.   As I wandered from the fire for my wood gathering mission I could hear my friends discussing life events, worthiness and perceptions.  I hesitated.  Should rejoin the group or should I walk away?  I opted to return.    

 As the fire heated up so did our conversation.  It would not be fair to share the details here.  Some things are bound to reside between friends, but suffice it to say you know the topics we touched upon, worthiness, acceptance, entitlement, connection, freedom and living a heartfelt life.  In the darkness that was graced by the moon light from above and the fire below we shared the scars that have been etched upon our souls. With each rolling wave each of us released a hurt, a disappointment or a fear.  On this evening Mother Nature not only held our hearts but refueled them.

 The clock was now nearing ten.  We knew our time on the beach with fire was drawing near.                           

 As required by the permit we brought a jug of water to cool the burning embers.   Fran opened the jar and poured the water on the burning embers. As the water met the smoldering fire remains a burst of scorching steam erupted. The loud sizzling and bold hissing was a dramatic crescendo accentuating the culmination of a perfect evening. As the elements intermingled and the melded entity rose above so did any heart heaviness that we had brought along with us.   

  For my friend this evening was a check mark engraved on her “bucket list” for me the check mark was etched on my “life list”.  I prefer to focus on the positive, living rather than the ending, dying.  As the fire waned we all sensed that it was time to go. It is usually at this moment of realization that the experience is approaching its end that I become sad that it is over.  However, on that night I did not feel sadness.  I was full with gratitude for every beautiful moment, each stiff breeze, rolling tide and grain of sand. More importantly I was thankful for my friends.  We shared our stuff, all of it, the giddy, the silly, the painful and most importantly, the heartfelt.  Like the flames we were burning to feel alive.

  When we returned to camp we found that the high winds that miraculously did not interfere with our campfire on the beach had dislodged the screened tent houses lead ropes.  Fran decided to tie the loosened ropes to an adjoining tree for the night.  As I held the screened tent and she tied the rope we were serenaded by a southing hooting.  It was a perfect ending to the night….. The wisdom that we had gathered at the beach was being reinforced from the wise owl perched above.  This is what we heard:

 

  Girlfriends connect with the very best in us and call us on the weight of our baggage.  They hold our hearts while we find our way and help us lighten our load.

  Pursue your dreams, don’t sit back and hope that they will materialize. Action creates reality.

  Meaningful experience materialized from connection not from material possessions or wealth.

  When you truly live in the present moment, time becomes expansive.

  Don’t put two quarters in the shower timer.  Six minutes is more than enough time to clean up.  The other six minutes you paid for simply pours down the drain.  It is a waste of time and resources.

  Most importantly, women need their girlfriends because they will be beside you as you chase your dreams.

 

  May you too have your “campfire on the beach”.