Mothers, Carnations and Glue

 

 On February 4^th the book “Glitter and Glue” by Kelly Corrigan was released.  I am a fan of memoirs. After reading Kelly’s book “The Middle Place” I was anxious to catch up with my new found friend. In the “Middle Place” Kelly shared her deep rooted, fun loving relationship with her Father and their shared battles with cancer.  It was a cruel twist of fate at the time in Kelly’s life where her biggest cheerleader, her Dad, joined her on the sidelines and they both solicited support.    I wondered what this “Glitter and Glue” journey was about.  During my lunch hour on release day I went to Barnes and Nobler to pick up a copy.

 Once the book was in my hands it became impossible to put it down.  As I finished one page and delved into the next I wanted to continue journeying along with Kelly. In “Glitter and Glue” Kelly delves into her relationship with her Mother and ultimately takes the reader to the same examination room with their own mother.  No matter your race, religion, ethnicity, hair color, political affiliation or choice of Starbucks coffee every single person on this planet has this in common, the seed of our being was planted, nurtured and developed within the womb of a woman.  This is the person who gave us life, the one that we call Mother. Sometimes the woman who delivered us into this world does not retain that designation. It may be the woman who wills us into her life, who has prayed us into her life, covets the title but ultimately the person who chooses to hold our heart wins the role.

  Kelly shares the story of her relationship with her Mother as a child, teen and young adult.   During those years she feels as if her Mother is much too ridged and serious.  She questions her Mother’s motives and decisions.  She wonders why her Mother is not as free willed as her biggest fan, her Dad. During each life experience she files way those seemingly insignificant and yet monumental moments with her Mother. She never fully understands the richness and depth of each one until she is faced with similar experiences.

  It is during a trip around the world in her early twenties that Kelly finds that she needs to find a source of income that will continue to fuel her quest.  In Australia she takes the job as a nanny. She is hired by a widower with two young children, a twenty something step son and an elderly father-in-law.  They all live on the same property but lead separate lives.  Each one is doing their best to navigate through the loss. It is during this time that Kelly comes to understand what a gift her Mother is. 

  As quirky as the title may seem, when you read the sentence that explains it, it makes perfect sense.  “Your Father is the glitter and I am the glue” was how Kelly’s Mom defined the family roles. When I read this it sang to me in volumes!  Mothers are the glue that keeps families together.  Mothers are the ones that we call when we need comfort, seek encouragement and yearn for a hug.  Much like glue their roles are solidified.  Our hearts are bound. Like dried glue Mothers may appear invisible or transparent. But they are always there, filling in the crevices, making sure things adhere whether you can see them or not.

  This book spoke to me for multiple reasons.  First for my relationship with my mother, second my relationship with my children and third my Mother’s relationship with her mother(s). 

  I have always wanted to be the kind of Mother mine is. When I was a child my Mom was the fun one, the cool one.  She would make my friends laugh but if they needed some comfort or advice she was there for that too.  She could be brutally honest and then wrap her arms around you and make you feel as if nothing would harm you. It is no wonder that people are naturally drawn to her strong and comforting spirit. 

  My Mother embraced the title and more significantly the role of mother seriously. Very, very seriously that is.  From a young age I understood the depth from which this evolved.  When my Mother was eight years old her Mother suddenly passed. With a shattered world and multiple loving relatives trying to reassemble the shards, my Mother slogged through her childhood.  If her life was a puzzle it would be defined by the one missing piece.  That would be the one that was to reside in the center. It is the piece from where all the others branched from and interlocked. It is the core, the center, the single one that provides stability.

   It wasn’t until I was well into my thirties that I learned that it was not just me who dreaded my eighth birthday and counted the days until I turned nine years old.  My three sisters did the same.  Secretly we all felt as if we made it past our eighth birthday and into our ninth year our Mother would be alive.  The curse would be broken. I am so happy to report that our childhood fear was just that, an unfounded fear.  Our Mother continued to make our favorite chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and pink writing for our birthdays.  She pressed our Easter dresses, curled our hair (yes with those pink rollers that dug into your scalp as you slept) shined our shoes, made our favorite meals helped us with our college applications, held us close, ran her fingers through our hair and wiped the tears from our eyes when our hearts broke and comforted our children when we ran out of energy to do so ourselves. 

 

  This past Mother’s Day my mother and I spent it the same way, in the car.  My daughter’s college graduation was on the Saturday before the holiday.  My parents made the six (well seven hour drive with traffic) to Virginia to share in her accomplishment.  I loved having my parents with me on that day.  Not just to share in my daughter’s achievements but also because they were unable to attend my college graduation.  Life sometimes deals us difficult blows and my parents were dealt one around the time I graduated from college.  If they could have been there they would have. So this was one of life’s truly circular moments.

  Later that day I called to see if my parents had arrived home and to wish my mother a happy Mother’s Day.  Even though we had spent the prior day together I was happy to hear my Mother’s voice on the other end of the telephone line.   After reliving the graduation ceremony and our travels we began talking about the significance of the day.  From the time I became a mother Mom always made sure that I knew that it was my day too and that I needed to enjoy it. I have always appreciated Mom’s wisdom and unselfish attitude about this day.

  As our conversation continued it turned to flowers, carnations, that is.  Unbeknownst to me when my Mother was a child on Mother’s Day you would wear a carnation on your lapel.  If your Mother was alive you wore a red one in her honor.  If your Mother was deceased you wore a white one. I had never known this and I could only imagine how pinning that white flower to her lapel marked my Mother in multiple ways.

 Kelly eloquently wraps up “Glitter and Glue” with the conclusion that when you no longer have your Mother in your life the game is forever changed.  From my experience as the child of a woman who lost her mother at a very young age I know this to be true.  For many years my Mother wore a white carnation on Mother’s Day, the color that signifies loss.  No, it was not a scarlet letter but one that was equally defining. A white carnation told the world that you did not have what they did. You were different.  However when I think about it wet glue is white and when it is dry it retains that color or turns opaque.  No wonder the carnation color that represented a deceased mother was white………whether you see her or not she is there, loving, securing and binding all of life’s most important connections.

 

Tuesday with Dot

 

  Have you ever prepared a meal with the intent of simply providing nourishment for your body but find that it nourished your soul exponentially?

  A couple of Sundays ago I made a beef stew. It was a six quart cast iron pot of goodness. The usual fare was involved; carrots, onions, peas, potatoes and marinated beef but this recipe also contained mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, garlic and rosemary!  As enjoyable as it was, I knew that my husband and I would never eat all of the leftovers.  Of course freezing them for future use is always an option. But I know myself.  Those containers with the remaining meals are safely tucked away for another day.   Somehow in my house they seem to find a long term or, okay, a retirement home in the back of the freezer. Usually they crystalize beyond recognition and ultimately end up in the garbage.  So I thought, why not share them with someone other than the garbage can.

  At first I thought I would give the leftovers to my parents.  But when I reviewed the list of ingredients I realized that at least three of them were on my Dad’s “do not consume list”!  The next person who crossed my mind is the Mother of a friend.  Through the daily news feed of Facebook I knew that this woman was suffering from a severe back ailment.  Each post screamed with her pain and discomfort. Maybe a little home cooking would lighten her load and brighten her day.

 In the few years that I have known Dot her whit is always sharp, her presence clear and her laughter abundant.  Actually, her family’s interactions always remind me of the television show “Everybody Loves Raymond”.  It is not as much the subject matter that draws the parallel but rather the constant good hearted jabbing that is always supported by an undercurrent of love.  I have witnessed this firsthand both in person and in the cyber world.  More often than not I find myself laughing out loud while I am in their company or reading their passionate and extremely humorous banter.

  With pain consuming her Dot’s presence in the cyber world had been diminished.  That night as I was cleaning the dishes and packing the leftover stew I sent Dot a message and offered to drop some by her place. She lives with her large tabby cat Pachelbel. As many talents that he may possess I know cooking is not one of them! I had remembered that in a Facebook post a week earlier Dot was thanking the people in her life for all they had done to help her during this difficult time.  Chauffeuring, grocery shopping and cleaning were all mentioned, but there was not one mention of cooking.  In response to the post I asked,

  “Who has the cooking covered?”

  Dot joking replied; “That would be you! I am awaiting a bowl of chicken noodle soup.”

  I didn’t have soup but I had stew and that would suffice.  We made plans for me to drop by her place on Tuesday during my lunch hour.  When I contacted her Dot was probably wondering “WT*?”.  We had met a few times, shared group meditation experiences, but this an unsolicited offer for sure.  I know Dot through her daughter.  Her daughter came into my life at a time when I realized that the way I have lived for forty plus years no longer brought me joy or peace.  Dot’s daughter is fifteen years my junior but she has been one of my greatest teachers.  Her daughter showed me how to settle my mind and connect with the peace that resides within.  As a professor of life she did not simply lecture about the ways to move to this place of comfort but she traveled along with me.  She was not immune to the pain of the journey actually she too was meandering along a similar river of self-discovery.  We opened the locks and shored the dams and sometimes we resided within the same muck! As time progressed and we arrived at the junction where the rivers intersect she chose to flow with one current and I the other.  I am forever grateful for her teachings and influence on my life. 

So why not share some beef stew with her Mother who was dealing with severe physical pain?  Dot left the front door unlocked for me. Getting up and down is not only time consuming for her but also painful.  I let myself in and was immediately greeted by Pachelbel the guard cat.  As I unpacked my gifts I was never out of his sight. 

 I sat on the couch.  Dot was in her motorized recliner, the kind that can be raised up or the back panel adjusted with the simple touch of a button on a keypad. Pachelbel the guard cat settled on a spot between us.  He was on the couch but close to Dot’s chair.  After a kiss and a hug the conversation began.  I asked how she was feeling and if there was anything that I could do to assist her. She asked about the recent camping adventure that I had posted on Facebook. Every five to ten minutes Dot tapped a button on her remote control and repositioned her chair in the attempt to alleviate her pain.

  Pachelbel allowed me to pet him.  With each stroke he kept me within his gaze.  Suddenly he lifted his paw, extended his claws and sucker “pawed” me with a left to my hand.  Dot yelled “Pachelbel!  Stop!”  I was fine, just a little swipe, but I received the message loud and clear.  He was watching me.  One wrong or hurtful move towards his companion and I would receive much worse!

 Our conversation flowed effortlessly.  There was not one moment of awkward silence.   I asked about her prognosis and treatment options. She listened as I chatted about a few recent life altering trips that I had taken.   We discussed the fears that we have when we meet the major junctures in life’s crossroads and the innate need that we have as women to nurture and renew ourselves. 

  Dot has lived within the comfortable confines of laughter for years but she has existed within hallows of pain for many more.  Before she had the chance to let go of his hand and allow him to board the kindergarten bus, she buried her third child.  It did not matter how deeply she loved him, how tightly she held him or how softly she sang him his favorite lullaby.  Her young son moved on.  She is no stranger to pain physical or emotional.  

  Our time together flew.  I was well over my allotted hour for lunch. I ration each of my vacation hours like a gallon of gas during the energy crisis of the 1970’s.  I’m always looking for the best and most economical use of the gallon or in this case the hour.  When I returned to work I was happy to deduct that extra hour from my bank of allotted vacation. I appeared on this woman’s doorstep with some leftover beef stew, a few books a plant and some chocolate but I left with a full heart.

 Several years back the author Mitch Ablom wrote the book “Tuesdays with Morrie”.   It told the story of the time he spent with his former college professor who was battling ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease).  As the Tuesday visits progressed Mitch realized that what began with his simple intent to assist his mentor became one of the greatest gifts he gave himself.  His story is plural.  He spent many Tuesdays with Morrie.  I spent one Tuesday with Dot but felt equally enriched by our visit.  I hope to spend a few more Tuesday’s in her company.  Maybe I’ll make that chicken noodle soup and stop by to see her again. 

 

“The most important thing in life is learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.”
― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays With Morrie

The Letter Never Written

Stepping Out…Thoughts about life, its stages, its changes and the next steps”, this is what inspired an accountant turned weekend word warrior to put the pen to paper or in the modern age, my fingers to the keyboard.  My intention was to share my thought and insights about life.    This blog was to be positive, upbeat and up lifting.  But this year I find myself writing more about death than life. Death, in a short time has knocked on my door more times than I ever wished it would, a cousin, a great aunt, and an aunt. I want to refuse to answer the call or open the door, but it is not my choice. When I recognize the sound, I listen, I respond. Another loss, this time it was an uncle.

   For so many reasons this one cut deep.

   My thoughts immediately returned to the conversation that I had with a friend March 22, 2010.  It was one day removed from my sister’s wedding.  My friend had asked me about the special occasion.  I shared the details about the warm spring day when my sister married her best friend of seventeen years.  I told her about the ceremony, their acute attention to every detail and the deep connection that had now become an official and registered bond, but I also shared regret.  The regret had nothing to do with my sister or the festivities.  It had to do with a letter I had been meaning to write but hadn’t yet…..and I am ashamed to say, I never did. 

  The afternoon of the wedding, while standing beside the dance floor I had a conversation with my Uncle.  My Father’s sister’s husband was far from an ordinary man.  Rather he was an extraordinary man on every front.  That day he looked good, healthy and he seemed happy.  He was wearing a perfectly pressed grey suit, light blue shirt, a keenly accessorized tie, impeccably polished brown shoes, his signature wire rimmed glasses and his always broad and welcoming smile.  I said to him “Uncle Bob you look great!  How are you feeling?”

 At this point my Uncle was fourteen years deep into his battle against lymphoma.  The cancer was attributed to his exposure to Agent Orange during his two tours during the Vietnam War.  In his continual optimistic attitude he said to me. “I have two good weeks a month and two bad ones.  But look at my beautiful wife” he motioned to my Aunt on the other side of the dance floor.  “How could I EVER leave her?

 

  That night three and a half years ago I shared with my friend that I had been meaning to write my Uncle, the retired decorated Marine Colonel, a letter.  Although in recently years we had not been intricately involved in one another’s lives I wanted him to know how he had and continued to inspire me.  I wanted to thank him for his service to our country, for his love, for his strength, for his devotion to humanity and the arts, for his love of fishing and family, his ability to share knowledge and interject a little wisdom along the way, and the uncanny ability he had of leading you in conversation to the solution of an issue or problem without you even realizing it….. And he made you believe that you had resolved it yourself!

  I had time, but I never wrote the letter.

  Several weeks ago I began receiving e-mails from my Mother about my Uncle.  He was back in the hospital.  His white blood cell counts were nonexistent. As each day progressed the health issues compounded. 

  A few Saturday’s ago while I was at a music street fair with a few friends I received the e-mail that the white flag of surrender had been raised.  The mission was not about winning the battle but rather about a peaceful retreat. It would be a matter of days until his tour was complete.

  It was at that moment an older couple took to the street and graced us with a beautifully performed waltz.  With tears brimming at the corners of my eyes I watched.  I imagined that it was my Uncle guiding his beautiful lifelong partner across the street in unison to the music. Even if it was only in my mind, on that day they shared a dance.

    The next evening after finishing washing the dinner dishes I went outside to sip some wine and enjoy the warm October evening.  A three quarter moon was making its accent. The stars speckled the darkness that blanketed the sky above and as I stood outside I became part of the calm.  But for no apparent reason, at that moment, I began sobbing.  Uncontrollable gut wrenching, high pitched searing sobs that seemed to appear from nowhere. It was in that moment I knew.  I simply knew that one of the brightest stars that had walked this earth had now taken his place above us.  I hadn’t received a telephone call or an e-mail.  I simply sensed that the world was darker.  A brilliant light had walked among us had been extinguished and now resided above. 

   The Marines call their best men to battle.   My Uncle’s final battle spanned seventeen years. The enemy would set up camp each time in another of his vital organs.  Each test would become more grueling than boot camp to an eighteen year old newbie. This Marine was a seventy five year old man deep within a seventeen year old war.   And on that night, finally, a truce was called.

 

  I traveled four hundred miles to attend his funeral.  It was the very least I could do and there was no place else that I wanted to be. It gnawed at me.  I never wrote him the letter that I had intended.  I never really told him how I felt about him.

  His funeral service took place in a small modern church perched high upon a hill that had wide open views of the rolling Virginia fields that were cast by the warmth of the red, orange and golden autumn hues.  Reverence was invoked as his oldest son stood at attention and saluted the casket in perfect form as it exited the church. 

  After the service we shared in a luncheon provided by the parishioners of the church.  Each one of my Uncle’s three children spoke of him.  Their emotion was real and raw.  It was heartfelt and truly captured their father’s essence.  I was so moved by each and every word but the story that his daughter shared conveyed her father’s purpose and his true spirit.

  She told the story of a former boyfriend’s job interview.  She conveyed that one of the questions this boyfriend was asked was “What would you like your tomb stone to say about you?”  My cousin responded to her boyfriend, “What do I care what is says about me.  I will be gone at that time.  It doesn’t matter.” 

  Little did she realize that her Dad, my Uncle, was within ear shot of this conversation. Not wanting to interfere he waited until later that night to reveal that he had overheard the conversation.  He told her.

 “It does matter what is written on your tomb stone.”

  Once again she replied “I will be gone, who cares what it says.”

  Her Dad said. “I want mine to say, “He made a difference.””

  Four simple words, but a life time of living and cultivating.

   For the past few weeks I have been mulling around these thoughts in my mind.  I didn’t nor couldn’t write anything about it.  Today I realized why.  It was because I had not yet made the connection.  This morning it became abundantly clear.  I had so wanted to share with my Uncle my thoughts about him.  I had beaten myself up about NOT doing so.  But what was it that I really needed to say?  He made a HUGE difference in this world and in my life.  I have never wanted to contradict his thoughts or wisdom, but the truth is that in the end, those words didn’t need to be engraved on a headstone. He etched them with his actions, words and commitment to the people he loved. His essence is engraved upon the countless hearts that he had touched every day of his life.

  Yes Uncle Bob, without a doubt I can say……”You made a difference!”  Semper Fi……Always faithful!

 

A Tale of Two Hearts

 

  A long distance friend and a fellow heart hunter celebrated a birthday last week.  I thought I would send her a little gift.  One of my heart shaped rocks from Sedona.  As I reached my hand into the brown paper bag containing my treasures I pulled out a perfectly formed heart shaped rock. It reminded not only of my trip but of a peacefully connected morning I had spent in Boynton Vista. 

  Each of Sedona’s rock formations, vistas and canyons are breathtakingly beautiful. If you have been there you know that each one holds its own feel and its own energy.  My friend who introduced me to Sedona wrote this about Boynton Vista.

 “The center of oneness, the perfect balance of shadow and light; love and fear.  It is here where you touch the deep love of earth with violet rays from the sky, simply knowing you are part of All That Is.  Much like self-love, the short uphill hike is rocky yet accessible to everyone.  It takes a little strength to participate and accept you are worthy to receive.  It takes a little faith to know you are part of All That Is simply because you were born.”…Dorinda Gay.

 

   I spent that June morning in Boynton Vista hiking the trails, taking photos, resting and reflecting at times along the way, picking up heart shaped rocks and absorbing the feelings that my friend had written about. As I was hiking back down I encountered a gentleman heading up the trail.  I recognized him from my first trip to Sedona in 2011.  He is a local who hikes the vista regularly.  He climbs to the top of one of the spires and sits upon the rock and plays his wooden wind instrument.  The notes and tones bounce from rock to rock and they seep into your soul like the warm southing rays of the sun.  When our paths converged he put his hand in his backpack and handed me the perfectly shaped heart rock.  He said.  “This is a gift for you from Mother Earth.”

  Today while holding the perfectly shaped heart rock along with one that I picked up during my hike I couldn’t ignore the message they contained.  The rock that I picked up was definitely heart shaped but it came into its shape naturally.  It began as part of a bigger rock that had broken off from the formation, in its travels it rolled along the mountain side, bounced around from one plateau to another, been stepped on, rained on, and settled under a juniper tree where I spotted it.  All of these conditions and circumstances nicked it and molded it into the heart shape that caught my eye that day.

 

  The perfectly shaped heart rock began much the same way. It was part of a larger formation that broke off, traveled on its own.  But this rock at some point was picked up and lovingly carved into the perfect shape that was handed to me. 

 

  Isn’t that how we live our lives?  We are part of a larger formation, a family, but the time ultimately arrives when we break off and travel in our own direction.  There are instances when we simply follow the flow of life.  Wherever the path leads we follow. We get bounced around a bit and experience nicks our beliefs and thoughts.  All this movement serves to shape us into who we are and defines our life purpose.  

 Then there are times when we have to take out our carving knife and whittle away at our life with the intent of shaping its path.  Loss has a way of impeding the natural flow.  The loss of a loved one, a job, a home, health or a relationship creates confusion.  The result of the upheaval pushes us to carve a distinct form in our new found reality.  I would love to say that this carving process produces a perfectly shaped life.  It doesn’t. But it does move us more in alignment with our desired outcome.

  Following our natural existence and the carving of one overlap and intertwine and create our human experience.  Some of us may follow the flow more often, while other keep their knives sharpened at all times and are ready to meticulously form their desired outcome.

  The past few years my friend had to vacate the natural flow approach and begin carving out her life within a new reality.  May this gift be a reminder to her of the strength, grace and resilience that she possesses.  When necessary she picked up the carving knife and created success from adversity.

  I’ve decided to send my friend both of these rocks.  I know I am such a big spender!  But there are times when gifts that have no monetary value contain unimaginable worth.

 

Simple Joyful Moments

The oppressive heat that had blanketed the Northeast for the better part of July finally broke last week.  Wednesday was actually on the cooler side.  The thermometer was no longer registering triple digits but settled on a comfortable number in the low seventies.  This welcomed weather change meant one thing for me.  A lunch time walk!  It was time to vacate my appointed post behind the desk, allow the computer to enter sleep mode and let the phone calls be answered by voice mail. Unlike the prior several weeks on this Wednesday I would not be working through my lunch hour but rather enjoying a long overdue date with Mother Nature.

  I traded my high heel sandals for the pair of sneakers that I keep in my car and headed up the hill behind the office to enjoy my respite from obligations, questions and problem solving. But as I exited the building a lovely creature was waiting to greet me. A Luna moth was resting on the brick entrance.  I wondered how many others had entered and exited the building without taking notice of the beauty that was perched upon the wall.

   I began my trek up the hill that leads to my quiet lunch hour retreat.  Or so I thought.  I knew that the townhouse construction project was continuing on the street to my left, but the road straight ahead has always been peaceful and devoid of activity.  As I reached the crest of the hill and walked another hundred feet or so I began to hear music.  It was not something I recognized from the current top Billboard 100 and it was not coming from a car radio or a boom box.  The sound was ancient and distinctive.  The tones were soulful.  The music was being created by bagpipes.  I stopped and stood by the side of the road and allowed each tone of this unexpected gift to fill my soul.

 Without actually seeing who was sending these magical tones into the air I assumed I would find an older gentleman blowing into the bagpipe mouthpiece and coaxing the tones from the bag and reeds. As I grew closer the source of the music I realized I was wrong. It was a young woman dressed in medical scrubs that was sending that beautiful music out for all to hear.  She too must have been on her lunch break as there is a medical building in front of the one that I work in. I smiled for her to see because I wanted her to know how much I appreciated her gift.  I realized that she was spending her lunch hour doing the same thing that I was doing. This woman too was experiencing her joy.  I saw, heard and felt it. 

 This unexpected and deeply appreciated encounter got me thinking. And I was thinking about joy.  We all have our obligations and chores but if within those moments we can escape and connect with our joy we have struck gold. My smiled widened even more and it was not just displayed on my face but it resonated from deep within my soul.

 As I continued on my walk the musical tones faded.  I could no longer hear, but I could see. I found a butterfly, a dragonfly and a heart shaped rock.  Each one possessed simple elegance.  But the impact of their unencumbered grace touched me.  These are small and pure moments of connectedness…..moments of simple joy.  And you know what?  Each and every day they present themselves to us, we just have to choose to see them and more importantly accept them for the gift that they are.  I retreated to my desk and finished my work day with a full and grateful heart.

 

 

 The past several months my dear friend has been asking me to join her and another friend on a camping adventure.  Camping is not really my thing…well at least it had not been for the first fifty years of my life.   After much internal bickering I decided to just get out of my own way and embrace a new experience.  So I packed my gear and after work on Friday I drove an hour north to a serene spot called North South Lake and settled into camp.

  Yes, I was a bit of a fish out of water but my friends were very accommodating.  Dinner was deliciously prepared over the campfire.  On the menu, French onion soup, chicken speedie sandwiches and roasted corn.  I must say there is something very grounding about cooking over a campfire.

  The night continued with much laughter and the flickering warmth of the campfire was alluring.  When we finally headed off to bed (and no we weren’t in tents we enjoyed the comforts of the Clipper, a pop of camper) the chatter continued. It was if we were ten year old girls at a slumber party. Only we did not talk of boys rather we laughed at ourselves.  And, no Fran, John “Boy” Walton did not live in a chimney! With the lights out and sleepiness sinking in we drifted off to sleep.  It was a simple and joyful night.

 I was greeted Saturday by a breakfast of pancakes, bacon and fresh brewed coffee and then we headed to the lake for a kayaking adventure.   I paddled along the lake snapping pictures of all the gifts that Mother Nature had provided.  I captured a turtle and a dragonfly hanging out together.  

 

There were geese, birds, butterflies, dragonflies, turtles and ducks.  Each was simply enjoying being in their element.

 

 As I paddled around the lake I found myself drawn more toward the people.  Not only were there other boaters and kayakers upon the lake, but there were people fishing from the shore, young boys, middle aged and older men and a few young girls too. They may have believed that they were just fishing, but in reality they were touching their joy.  They found comfort in the moment and connecting with a source greater than all. 

 There was an artist recreating the scene and a curious little girl compelled to catch a glimpse of the work in progress.

   Much like my Wednesday walk my Saturday paddle around the lake opened my eyes to people purely connecting to their joy.  Life is full of challenges and obstructions but if we can move ourselves beyond those moments and connect to what it is that make our hearts sing we will find moments of peace. 

 Tonight as I was collecting my thoughts I took a break to sit outside in the cool night air and enjoy the dance of the fireflies.  The wooded area behind my house is aglow with a constant flickering of light.  Each and every summer night the light show amazes me. The fireflies remind me of the profound thoughts of an insightful and amazing woman, Dr. Brene Brown.  Several years ago I was led to her TED TV talk about vulnerability.  After which I purchased her book “The Gifts of Imperfection.  Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are”.  It is a wonderfully written book that includes not only the results of her research on the subject, but her own heartfelt inspirational insights. When I first read this passage I paused and reread it and then reread it again.  It captures the essence of joy.

“Twinkle lights are the perfect metaphor for joy.  Joy is not a constant.  It comes to us in moments—often ordinary moments.  Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we’re too busy chasing down extraordinary moments.  Other times we’re so afraid of the dark that we don’t dare let ourselves enjoy the light.

  A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy.  That would eventually become unbearable.

  I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, inspiration and faith.”…….Brene Brown

  Revel in the ordinary moments of joy that grace your life, don’t allow them to pass you by but rather breathe them in and savor each gift for what it is.

I Hear, I See....

This afternoon I needed to run a few errands.  Gas up the car, pick up a bottle of wine and go to the grocery store for the fixings for a fresh summer grilled dinner.  Before I left my house I had a thought that I should detour to the local “summer hot spot” Weir’s Ice Cream Bar.  It has been a staple in Washingtonville as long as I can remember.  As a kid and along with my kids I can recall many a summer night standing on a line that snaked and touched the outer edge of the road as I waited to order my chocolate soft serve ice cream cone with chocolate sprinkles.  The long wait made my ice cream taste that much sweeter and it was also advantageous for the mosquitos ….we both feasted on our favorite treats….mine was the ice cream, and theirs was my flesh! 

 With that familiar gnawing feeling in my gut I ran my errands.  First the liquor store, then the gas station, and finally off to the grocery store.  I put my bags of fresh vegetables and steak into the car and headed towards Weirs Ice Cream Stand.  I’ve been trying to watch what I eat, but really how bad can a small twist (vanilla and chocolate) ice cream cone be for you? Honestly the pull that I felt to go to this childhood favorite spot was overwhelming.  If I have learned anything over these past five years it is to trust my instincts…..better known as my inner guidance.

  I pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car engine. As I was getting out of the car I noticed a teen aged boy with brilliant red hair and mirrored aviator sunglasses walking from the counter towards the picnic tables in the neighboring field. I recognized him immediately.  His Mother is one of my Facebook friends.  When I was in high school her mother taught in the school that I attended. And although I never sat in Mrs. Fox’s classroom through her kind spirit and compassionate soul she became a mentor, a confidant and a friend.  For an a six foot tall awkward girl in high school who just didn’t fit in with the other students a friendly, compassionate and understanding face was truly a gift sent from above. And today she was sent to reconnect with me via an ice cream cone!  Not only were my Facebook friend and her family enjoying a sweet summer treat, her parents (my Mrs. Fox) was with her too!

 The imprint that Nancy Fox had upon my life thirty some years ago has stayed with me to this day.  Be yourself and you will be seen.  Never ever underestimate your value in this life because even if you don’t see it, you are valuable.  And cleanliness is next to godliness!  (An inside joke as she assisted me in starting a little house cleaning service)

  With my small twist ice cream cone in hand I joined Nancy and her family.  It had been over four years since I had seen her and these past four years have been particularly significant for me. Today was simply the time to sit at the picnic table enjoy our cold summer treats and catch up on the, who, what and where of our lives. Another time we will catch up on the deep details that have etched the passing years.   Nancy asked if I still kayaked, which I do. I believe that one day this summer she and I will share a paddle upon a picturesque lake and fill in the blanks that occurred in between the years.  I am so grateful that I listened to that voice within that guided me to the ice cream stand this afternoon.  Not before my chores but after, when she would be there!

 That has been the story of my life these past few years…..I see, or I sense or I am guided, however the message comes.  In the past I have shrugged it off as nonsense, but now I listen and trust. On a Saturday in January of 2012 I wrote a blog post called “Love Letters”.  It was about the different ways that heart shaped images appear to me and that they, along with other “coincidences” are really love letters sent to us from our love ones now residing above. 

  After posting that blog I was compelled to send it to a distant Facebook friend who is an accomplished TV News Reporter, a writer, (she has written two books, Stay Tuned, Conversations with Dad, and I’m Spiritual Damit!) interviewed many spiritual leaders of our time, performed a one woman show and currently writes for the Chicago Tribune.  A full and diverse resume for sure and why I thought she would have any interest in a blog from a controller of a lumber and building supply cooperative about signs and connections from beyond escapes me, but something told me to send it.  So I did. Within a half hour I received a response from Jen she said “this was exactly what I needed to hear!  Thank you!”

  From then on each time I encountered another heart I sent it to her.  They appeared in rocks, gum, shells, flowers, clouds, tar, leaves and even tomato soup!  I never knew for sure if she truly appreciated the connective images or she was just a very kind soul humoring me.  That was until she asked to use my photos in her third book.  A few weeks ago her book was released digitally and after enough digital copies are sold it will be printed. I believe that one day I will hold her book, accompanied by my pictures introducing each chapter, in my hand.

  This long distance connection nurtured through the World Wide Web has been a gift to me.  Through it I have realized that the little things that I do and share with others really do matter.

  On June 2^nd as I was sitting in the Phoenix airport waiting for my flight that was to take off at 10:30 am and was rescheduled to take off twelve hours later at 10:30 p.m. I was reflecting on my magical and enriching trip to Sedona that week. And I wrote these words…

 ”Until you fully love yourself you cannot truly love someone else. We enter relationships with the expectations that they will complete us, make us whole, but the truth is that we need to embrace who we are first and be comfortable with that because it is not our partner’s job to do it for us.  It is only when we begin a relationship with an unencumbered heart that we will be able to fully and completely love another.”

  So back to connections.  Jenniffer Weigel’s third book is titled “This Is Not the Life I Ordered….Setting Sail When Your Relationship Fails.”  It may be a book that chronicles her life post-divorce, but it is really a book about learning to love yourself first….I love the parallel thoughts and themes.  We are all truly connected.  You just have to be open to hear and see. Down load it on Kindle, Nook or Vook (for your PC).  Jen is witty, honest and real…..you will feel as if you are sitting with a girlfriend sharing a cup of coffee or glass of wine and talking about what is going on in your life. (And if I must say the pictures are pretty good too!!­)

 These past several years I continue to trust what I hear and what I see.  Many times I am guided to take a picture and at the time I may not really see the gift captured within the image.  As I returned from a trip to Chicago in March to meet Jenniffer Weigel and another friend conducting a joint event I landed in Newark New Jersey.  As I was wheeling my suitcase to my car I was drawn to the sky and stopped to take several pictures….here is the image that appeared on the camera.

  Last week while out walking in my neighborhood once again I was drawn to the sky.  A mystical and magical image for sure that confirms we always have someone above watching out for us…..

….and today without seeing what was contained within the clouds I was compelled so to snap picture after picture……Maybe you too see why. 

 It has taken me many years to trust what I hear, see and sometimes only sense, but it is there…..listen to what you hear and drawn to do.  Your inner guidance is more acute than any GPS you can purchase and it will lead you to people and places that you never imagined.