Catching up

It’s time to brush the dust off my keyboard and begin blogging once again. Truthfully, the dust hasn’t collected, as I’ve spent a great deal of time working on my book. But blogging and writing a book are two different animals. I have missed blogging and connecting with my readers. Last night I decided to take my mask off and begin anew today. And here I am. In ways, I feel as if no time has passed. Yet, many aspects of my life have changed.

Spring is present outside my window, leaving me reminiscent. I had big plans for the spring of 2020. I had hoped to release my first book. I actually printed my promotional material promising a book “coming this spring.” (Really happy I didn’t include a year.) I also had two lovely trips planned with friends, one to Hawaii and the other to Colorado.

One by one, all my plans went by the bye. No trip to Hawaii. No trip to Colorado. And no yogini book on the store shelves or Amazon marketplace. I managed to slip in a post or two throughout 2020, but it became increasingly difficult for me to blog. The world news went from bad to worse. Even though I write about emotional topics, I always try to leave my readers with a positive reason for having ventured with me in a post. It became tough to find much positive to write about. Like the airline instructions before takeoff, I needed to put my mask on first, figuratively speaking and literally.

I had to put my 18-year old Little Cat down right when Covid began. I likely waited too long as she was suffering. But that little gal ate like a horse every day, fighting to stick around. I let her make the call. When she no longer made her way to the food bowl, I didn’t hesitate. I sadly had to drop her off in the parking lot of the vet’s office. The world had turned upside down. Nothing felt familiar. No owners were allowed into the office with their pets. I quickly said my goodbyes to my sweet little companion. My only saving grace is that I trusted the vet completely. We had been in many times over the last few years as Little Cat declined. The vet was kind and gentle, and I knew my kitty would not suffer. Little Cat’s ashes now reside under the large Spanish Oak next to our driveway with her sister, Mattie. We planted daffodils around them and marked the spot with a river rock. Early this spring, the daffodils stood at attention, greeting us every morning, a reminder of all the joy those two cats brought our family over twenty years.

As spring moved toward summer, I decided to use my downtime wisely and get on with rewriting my manuscript, hoping for a spring 2021 release. We also decided to dedicate a great deal of time to our yard in the hopes of creating a sizeable sustainable garden. We built a deer fence around the perimeter of our backyard, and we are still in the process of creating vegetable beds. Rick retired in March, which leaves him much more time to spend in the garden. The project is about halfway complete as I write. We have beds of corn and beans, sunflowers and tomatoes, raspberries and watermelon, and pumpkins. Of course, I’ve managed to squeeze in hydrangeas and black-eyed Susans.

Mid-year we adopted two rescue kittens, Lil Bean and Big Sis. They were about 12 weeks old when we brought them home. On the first day they huddled together shaking in the corner of our washroom. It didn’t take long for them to begin exploring and making our home their new playground. Undoubtedly, they were the highlight of a challenging year. They are sweet as sugar, and they keep us laughing.

As 2021 unfolded, the big question became, to vaccinate or not? We definitely had some reservations, but in the end, we did get vaccinated. And just this week, we made plans for our first trip later this year, flying on a plane, no less. It’s time to make our way back to old friends we have dearly missed, the hugs and the laughter.

While life slowly normalizes, I send thanks toward the heavens for our continued good health and that of all those I love. And also, for the lessons this year brought me. At 65, you think maybe you’ve learned what you came for. Covid reminded me that no matter how long I reside on this planet, there will always be lessons for the taking. It is a wake-up call to enter my senior years with a thirst for learning more and appreciating all the gifts that surround me daily.

My takeaways from 2020…

Not that I ever did really take for granted my health or that of my loved ones, going forward, I will have a newfound appreciation for a healthy body.

Mother Nature is a true healer. As long as I could get outside during 2020, I managed to find healing and contentment.

Hugging my children or Rick close is the best medicine there is.

A place to call home that offers solace is essential.

Every day is a gift.

And last but not least, good food never hurts. Our earth provides such abundance. It’s just up to us to learn how to make the best use of what we harvest.

Looking forward to connecting with my readers going forward. Please respond by sharing some of your thoughts about what you have learned from this past year.

More news on my book, coming soon. Really, it is coming soon this time. I’ve missed spring, but hopefully late summer. I have some fun stories to share regarding the process.

Until then, be well.

What if and If only

A special thanks before I begin this post, to my friend Peter, for sharing his feelings of anguish and fear with me, which opened a door for me to return to writing. I had been struggling in recent weeks and months to share my thoughts.

For those who have lost someone to COVID, or are presently caring for and worried about a loved one, my heart goes out to you. I light my candles, often sending loving thoughts into the universe to those suffering. This post is not for you, only my candlelight.

But, for those of you who might be somewhat like me, mildly depressed, anxious, worrisome, fretful, afraid, angry, unmotivated, who are not sick and don’t have any loved ones who are… read on.

The other day I saw a headline on People magazine about someone who had died from cancer. My first thought was, “oh, thank God they only died of cancer, and not COVID.” Seriously?!? I clearly needed to put myself in check. Had I actually just thought that? My next question was, “Sue, just how skewed has your thinking become? Come on, girl, we need to fix this.”

It became clear to me that I needed the equivalent of a chiropractic adjustment on my brain. As a result of that, I have spent the last few days playing with different scenarios in my mind, which I wanted to share in the hopes it might help a few of my readers.

Gratitude seems to be my go-to in life, and it’s one of the few things during this time that perks me up. I have to work on it these days. I make efforts each day to put aside my fears and thank the heavens above for all that is so wonderful in my life.

I hate to admit this, but when I’m struggling to find gratitude, I sometimes need to look to who and what might be worse than what I’m experiencing, to put myself in an appreciative mindset. It was in that vein that I stumbled upon the subject of this post, what if and if only.

On what would turn out to be a healing journey of the mind, I began by trying to put myself in the shoes of the people who experienced Chernobyl. I watched the HBO series last year when visiting our Matt in Buffalo. I didn’t know much about Chernobyl, truthfully, until I watched the series. I felt like I was watching the worst science fiction/horror movie I’d ever seen, except it was a true story. It stayed with me for weeks, if not months. The suffering and loss were horrific.

The people of Chernobyl lost their homes, their land, their loved ones, all their belongings, and lastly were delivered a death sentence. For some, illness would make its way slowly but make no mistake, death would be waiting in the wings for anyone even remotely close to the site.

What if those people were told that all they needed to do was wear a mask, stay away from big crowds, do a bit of social distancing and wash their hands often? Can you imagine the relief and gratitude they would have experienced if only the solution was that simple?

Next, I thought about the families who find themselves sending their sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, wives, and husbands off to foreign lands to fight world battles. Who knew that it’s possible to hold your breath for so many days, turning into months and ending in years?

What if, those millions of people holding their breath were told, all they had to do was wear a mask, stay out of crowds, do a bit of social distancing, and wash their hands. If they followed these simple instructions, they could rest assured that the odds were very high that their loved ones would return home healthy and safe. If only…

Next, my mind visited the Jewish concentration camps, the prisoners stripped of everything, their families, their possessions, their humanness really, treated worse than animals.

What if the prisoners were told that all they needed to do was wear a mask, stay away from big crowds, do a bit of social distancing and wash their hands often? If they did so, they would be released from their suffering? If only…

My last stop was a cancer ward. I could see every stage of life in my vision. Parents with sick children, no child should have to suffer from cancer. No parent should have to experience their sweet baby’s suffering. I saw friends, husbands and wives, parents and grandparents, and grandchildren, every possible connection, suffering through the crisis of cancer. Sometimes there’s a happy ending. So many times, there isn’t.

What if these cancer patients and their loved ones were told that all they needed to do was wear a mask, stay away from big crowds, do a bit of social distancing and wash their hands often? And if they followed these instructions, they had an excellent chance of remission, or even better yet, full recovery? If only…

I ended my journey back in my home sweet home, so grateful for my health and that of my loved ones and thankful for this moment in time, which is all I can truly call my own. And the good news is, I’m just being asked to wear a mask in public places, distance myself for a while, and wash my hands often. Simple remedies are my reality, not a what-if or an if only. In my thinking, that makes me a pretty lucky woman.

Coronavirus is a serious threat, no doubt about it. But we have power available to us through our actions. That is an amazing gift. Let’s use it, and not get too caught up in our rights. We lost the right years ago to ride in a car without a seatbelt. We lived through that, and many lived on because of that.

Before we know it, our masks will be lying at the bottom of a drawer. I can’t wait.

The secret

Dear God, where are you now?

Religion is not something I write much about much. Perhaps I did not fall far from the tree. I am probably more like my mother than I realize. I only mention God in my writings if I talk about being thankful for my life or nature. I have strong faith, but I am not religious. I have tried religion in my life. I have also lived without religion. I find God in nature, which probably explains why I spend much of my time outdoors. I am happy with my feet in the dirt or the waves, walking under the trees, delighting in all that grows from the earth. Rain and snow falling from the heavens are the gifts that make me feel warm inside.  

Nature has helped me through this time of upheaval. And I’ve been waking up each morning with a Secret that helps me through each day. I spend a short amount of time upon waking to catch up with the world on my phone. But I limit it, and I’m careful about what I choose to read. After about ten minutes, I put my phone down. I can manage to get the headlines in, which provide me enough to understand that those who have the power to work on our situation are doing that. And the rest of us, our job is to shelter in place and spread whatever joy, hope, or love we can to others.

Once I update, I turn to something mindless, like playing games with my favorite game opponent (also known as Rick) on our computer. I usually whip his ass, which puts me in a good mood for the day to come. I think he secretly is a nice guy who gives me the win to help lift my spirits.

Once we are up, it’s not long before we are out the door finding something in our yard that needs tending to. By mid to late morning, we are tracking dirt into our house. We push ourselves physically, these baby boomer bodies, coming in late in the day sore and tired, and so thankful that we are not ill and able to share these blessings together.

I understand that living in dense cities prevents or at least makes it difficult to find nature. But even just going out your front door and looking up at the sunrise or the sunset or later when the stars are out, and spending time watching the show that nature is always putting on, will do the same as my yard does for me. Quiet, reflective time listening to birds, paying attention to the breeze, watching clouds, looking at what might be growing around you… all of these activities take only the space you’re standing in. Nature just needs your attention.

This morning I looked out my window (after limiting myself to the bad news) and realized that the trees have grown incredibly since I last looked at them from my bedroom window. They were so beautiful, displaying their new spring growth. Five years had passed, and they had grown up without me noticing. It’s all about taking the time to see the landscape around us, whether it be trees or our loved ones. It made me think that this Coronavirus experience, even though it has come at a high cost, might just be about slowing down to notice what we’ve created, what has been created for us and around us, and slowing enough to breathe it in. What’s the point of creating a life, a family, a yard, a career, a legacy— if we never slow down enough to bathe in the beauty of what we have created in our life?

I come back to God. I think if I was watching my children strive hard for their dreams, and I had to watch them racing through their lives never slowing enough to enjoy the fruits of their labor, I’d be having a chat with them. Likewise, I think God is having a conversation with us these days.

My mom had a hard life. I often write about her. She was not a religious woman, but I’ve come to understand that she nonetheless considered herself a child of God. I believe she felt shame for much of her life, which created turmoil around the issue of religion. I have some funny stories about her in her last days with the religious Hospice caregivers that visited her. She gave them a what-for in no uncertain terms. She wasn’t having their prayers… she would join hands, but she’d be saying her own prayer. Her prayer was simple, “Thank you, God. Thank you, God.” Enough said.

So today, when I pulled out a small slip of paper written in my mom’s handwriting that had been in the bottom of my basket for who knows how long, I had to wonder if maybe God and my mom were sending down a bit of wisdom in a hard time. I must have set this aside when I was going through her things a few years back. I can’t think it’s a coincidence that today I would pick it up and look at it.

“‘ The Secret’

I met God in the morning when my day was at its best,

And His presence came like sunrise, like a glory in my breast.

All day long the Presence lingered,

All day long He stayed with me,

And we sailed in perfect calmness

O’er a very troubled sea.

So I think I know the secret,

Learned from many a troubled way.

You must seek Him in the morning

If you want Him through the day.”

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me about God, and so much more. And dear God, I know where you are. You’re with Helen, my mom, a character if there ever was one. And I understand you were joined recently with another lovely soul, Billie Jean D’Anna, goes by “B.J.” She will get along great with my mom.

And sadly, for many here on earth, that party upstairs is becoming the gathering of the century.

Please help all those left behind to find “The Secret.”

I close each day with my mother’s prayer, “Thank you, God. Thank you, God.”

A follow up on the women

A follow up seems warranted to my last post, a weekend for the women. First, I just want to thank again all of the people who sent their comments and likes, and for those who know me on a personal level, their texts and emails. I was overwhelmed and so appreciative of the response.

It only confirmed something I already believe—that there is such a light in the world even amidst all of the disturbing news day in and day out. The topics were universal, death, loss of loved ones, illness, healing, moving forward, who can’t relate? And while the post was dedicated to the women in the world, I probably had more men respond than women. I love that.

I believe in that light within each of us, and I also am committed to the idea that we all share an energy that moves through us and on to those around us. Even though it isn’t something we can see or touch, it is ever-present and quite powerful.

With that belief in mind, the responses meant more than one might imagine. 

To update, my friend Ann’s mother, Janet, did pass last week. And my niece Wendy was diagnosed with cancer, but thankfully with an excellent prognosis. 

When we arrived home last Sunday, even before these events occurred in the following days, I threw myself on the bed and didn’t move the rest of the afternoon. My energy had been drained. As the week progressed and we received the updates, it certainly wasn’t the news I had hoped for.

The light, though, is what I began to focus on. Midweek I took my hike to the pond that rests about a mile from our house. I like to say it’s a pond posing as a lake. But while it might lack in size, it has no shortage of wildlife. The birds in the trees make such a great ruckus, the fish are always jumping, and I love watching the ducks. It’s a pretty cool little pond. 

As I made my way back from the pond, I was thinking about all of the responses I was getting from my FB blog post. I was walking the hills with little effort, feeling almost elevated. I realized that I was feeling the light that so many people had graciously sent along. And I knew for a fact that the goodwill and positive energy would pass through me and on to my friend Ann and her family, as well as my niece.

We may not be able to scientifically prove it, because there isn’t a machine yet to measure what we humans are capable of transmitting. But I genuinely believe that Ann and her family, as well as Wendy, will move through their challenges a little bit easier thanks to the many people who took the time to read the post and respond. 

And one final follow up since our dinner on Friday night, Paul and Lisa and I have been in constant contact due to my post. It has felt like a labor of love. Paul was excited to share Carrie’s photo and support my blog post, and Lisa so generous with her kindness and understanding that the dinner was complicated for me just by Carrie’s absence.

It turns out that Lisa, too, lost her husband some eight years ago. I didn’t know that at the time of our dinner. Rick had more opportunity to chat with her due to the noise level in the restaurant and probably my need to talk privately with Paul a bit. In hindsight, I remember only the light at our table, making it easier for all of us, the same light that had me walking on air on my way back from the pond.

The paintings attached to this post are Lisa’s work. She considers herself a novice. Matisse was once a beginner until people began to love his work. The two paintings I have included are of her mother, Sylvia. Lisa painted these from photos after her death. The painting on the beach Lisa remembers as a great day they spent at the ocean, her mom sitting in the sand enjoying a beer. The second one was a picture she liked of her mom, but she decided to add a hat. I love the hat. Even though my favorite actress Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail” mentions that all hats are mistakes, I must disagree. I can hear Carrie in my mind, and she would have liked Lisa’s artwork as well as the hat. Carrie loved art.

I chose these two paintings of Lisa’s mother in honor of Ann’s mom’s passing. 

A fond farewell to Janet Ryan, who contributed much to the city of Fresno, a small woman in stature who will be leaving a huge legacy. She will be missed.

You can find Lisa on Instagram at FogCItyWatercolor or at FogCItyWatercolor.etsy.com.

Release

After spending a wonderful weekend with our friends, Janet and Lalo, I bid them farewell yesterday morning with gratitude in my heart for the blessing of having friends like them. I’ve always been a crier at the end of anything that I’ve particularly enjoyed, relationships, visits, vacations, jobs, etc. The end of their visit was no exception. My throat closed, and my eyes welled with tears as I stood on our driveway waving goodbye.

I was reminded once again that we can’t hold on to life too tightly. We must let go over and over again and trust in tomorrow. That concept does seem to get more comfortable as I age, which I appreciate.

For the last few weeks, I had been researching yoga classes closer to home, and yesterday was the day I would try a new class right here in our little town of Cool at The Healing Shala, a sweet small yoga studio that opened within the last year. I had done a tiny bit of reading on the teachers and decided I would attend Lynette Masztakowski’s restorative yoga on Monday mornings. After such a lovely weekend, what a fantastic way to carry the goodness into my Monday.

Lynette, as well as the other members of the class, welcomed me with smiles and greetings, a nice benefit to a small group. I felt instantly at home. Lynette asked if I’d ever been to a restorative class, and I answered yes. I thought I had. Turns out, I have never been to a restorative class. I was in for a treat.

Instead of pushing and digging deep physically (which is also great), this experience was about releasing and going inward in a meditative way. I absolutely loved it and just wanted to share a few things that I came away with.

In the first few poses, we laid on our backs with a small roll beneath our ribs, our arms outstretched with palms up. The posture felt so unfamiliar, my head dropping back and my chest reaching for the sky. When I say it felt heavenly, I don’t mean that that it felt physically great, although it did. All those muscles that typically are contracting as I’m hunched over a computer or phone were suddenly stretching in the opposite direction. We would hold each pose for 8-10 minutes providing time to think and meditate. It felt terrific once my muscles settled in.

But what I mean when I say it felt heavenly was that my heart was lifted toward the skies and the heavens beyond, open and trusting, my arms also wide open. There’s no hiding in that pose.

And I must tell you, the thoughts I had for the next twenty or so minutes were pretty profound. I thought about life and God, and surrendering to my fate, something I must do every day of my life, along with the rest of my brothers and sisters on this spinning planet.

Lynette had asked us to select a mantra or a thought for the practice, and I chose “release.” It seemed fitting this day.

As I lay lifting my heart, arms wide open offering whatever “release” resonated within me, I was bombarded by many healing physical feelings as well as a mind full of thoughts about what release actually meant to me. I won’t go into everything as obviously, some moments are mine for the keeping, but here’s what I will share.

What I saw as a vision during my mediation is that release is required over and over and over again in our lives. We don’t release people or subjects just one time. We must continue to release them again and again until we no longer feel the need. 

As I stated at the beginning of this post, goodbyes (which also could be considered releases) are hard for me. I have fought them the better part of my life. During my poses, my mind shifted like a photo shutter showing me what has come of all my releases. And I could see that as difficult as some of them have been, it’s because of them that I have become solid and content and secure. I live my days in love with my family and friends, my home, my life, and maybe most important, myself. I am aware of my body to the degree that I’ve never been. I marvel at our nerve endings, which can produce such pleasurable feelings. And I understand that those same nerve endings can offer the opposite by way of pain, so I give thanks to the goosebumps I experience in a hot shower. What a blessing that is.

I finished my restorative yoga class, having covered quite a distance in my mind. I climbed into my car and drove back down our country road, with a thankfulness for releases and all the changes they offer, an anticipation of the final holidays of the year, and looking forward to many more visits to restorative yoga at The Healing Shala.

Life carries us like a river, and often times we can get displaced if the current moves too quickly. Moving back up the river can be a bitch. Find your way. Mine is yoga and the outdoors. But everyone has their own love, and there are as many choices as there are souls on this earth. No right or wrong. Just pay attention to what wakes up your insides… it’s a personal invitation from God. Accept it.

Spring

I’ve been giving spring a lot of thought the last few weeks, since my book, “Lessons of a Wayward Yogini” is scheduled to be released this spring. My editor, Dennis, www.5editorial.com gave me grief about not putting quotes around the title of my book in a recent post, so he will be thrilled that I’ve corrected this. And I might make major points since I’m also sharing his link. Even though I’m paying him as my editor/publisher, I’m trying everything in my power to encourage him to send along some of his BBQ. He seems to be a jack of all trades, or in this case, a Dennis of all trades, and I’ve heard he makes a pretty mean BBQ.

Back to spring… is there anything better than a bud on your plants as they awaken ever so slowly in early spring? I can’t help myself, I run out to my yard almost every day when the plants are filled with their tiny buds just to peak at them and marvel at their new growth that will in short order be something of delicate beauty. Against all odds, winters filled with freezing temperatures and snow at times, their tiny shoots nevertheless find their way from their dormant state to once again greet a new dawn, a new season.

I feel like a kid at Christmas, those buds are like presents wrapped under the tree. There is such a feeling of anticipation in the air, as well as such a sweet fragrance. It lifts me inches off the ground as I walk through my garden, if only in my mind. The scent definitely encourages a deep yogini breath, and brings a smile to my face and a contentment deep in my soul.

Spring to me, is the promise of rejuvenation, of another season, a second chance (or in some cases a third chance if we are speaking about the deer eating the plants in my yard for two seasons in a row, until we developed deer fencing 4.0.) And even the word spring, its synonyms are leap, jump, bound and vault… obviously a time of year with great potential for advancing all that needs advancing or healing.

I think we humans are no different, we need a new beginning every year or so, to rise up and bloom again. Our earth offers all that we need by way of nature and our fellow humans. It’s up to us to embrace the energy and support that surrounds us on any given day. Without that connection, it can be somewhat easy to feel alone, even when we are anything but.

I’m dedicating this post to a few of my friends who are a bit under the weather. If you have to be ill, I can’t think of a better time of the year to do it.

Here’s to spring… Namaste

Turkey talk

I’ve had a fire softly burning  this week to put my thoughts to this post. I’ve been thinking about kids and young adults making their way in the world.  Growing up is no easy task for, I would guess, many people.  There are a few lucky souls I believe who can say they had a blessed and happy childhood.  But I know far more people who can’t really say that.

When I came of age finally able to strike out on my own, while that was heavenly in many ways, personally I was a mess.  I think back to my twenties, and of all the decades, my twenties would be my least favorite, hands down.  In retrospect, I might have been one of the lucky ones, I found my therapist, Ron, by the time I was 23, so by 26 I was beginning to blossom.  But looking back, I was far from healed truly.  In a much bigger picture that can only be seen in retrospect, I was beginning my life, and in the early stages of shedding the drama that my parents left me with.

Years ago I read a book by Lillian Hellman entitled Pentimento.  The title means “a visible trace of an earlier painting beneath a layer or layers of paint on a canvas.”  Do you love that as much as I do?  The meaning  speaks to me of our lives … that girl I was at 26 only exists today as a trace beneath the layers of paint that have been applied over the years. I love my painting these days, but by golly, it’s been a work of art that has taken every minute of every day of every year since then.  And if my guess is right, it will continue until my painting is done, also known as until my life is over.  The work of creating and defining and improving myself I don’t think will ever end until I leave for higher ground.

As I thought about writing this post, I kept thinking about the turkeys that roam around our home.  Rick and I always call them a gaggle of turkeys , but I just looked it up, and it seems that a group of turkeys should more accurately be called a rafter of turkeys?  Gaggle … rafter … whichever, I couldn’t help thinking about how they travel together and the sounds they make with each other.  What a racket they make.

We as humans act much like those turkeys.  We  come into the world so pure and sweet, but from about day one, we are being bombarded by our loved ones and all they come to our story with.  We begin learning from a tender age about our parents’ sorrows and their insecurities, and in most cases, about their parents’, and so on.  The lessons aren’t taught necessarily in actual words.  In probably more cases than not, they are taught by actions.  There is no doubt that we continue to learn painful lessons from our parents for the following 20 or so years.  And not because our parents don’t love us, quite the opposite.  I think in most cases they are trying to save us from their sorrows and disappointments, so they warn us over and over again.

If my mom told me once, she told me one hundred times, that if I didn’t slow down, I would have a nervous breakdown just like she did.  I knew from my young twenties, that she wasn’t right about that belief, just like I knew she didn’t know how to drive on the freeway.  Years later I would congratulate myself on a basic instinct that told me her pain (nor her lack of driving abilities) did not need to be mine.

Back to those turkeys,  I always say,  we  just need to look to nature to understand our actions and behaviors as humans.  Families tend to act like a gaggle of turkeys, each gobbling louder than the next, working so hard to be heard and understood and above all, WARN our youth about what we have endured in the hopes that they won’t go down the same road.  As  I said, the gobble gobble starts in the minute we are born from a whole host of loving souls … otherwise known as our family.

Is there any wonder by the time we are about twenty heading out into the world that we are a bit confused and conflicted.  In most cases, we are just happy to be away from the incessant gobble gobble.  I believe it’s then the true journey of the soul begins.  It’s where we learn what of the gobble gobble resonates with us, and we begin to slowly but surely leave the excess non relevant gobble gobble behind.  It is no easy task.  And it doesn’t mean we leave those loved ones behind, we just choose not to carry their sorrows, their beliefs, their dreams with us, as we need room for our own dreams that we will be developing along the way.

Here I am at 62 still finding new dreams.  What a gift life is.  And while it might have been amazing to know in my twenties what I know now, I’d probably be long gone by now, as I  do so fervently believe life is about lessons.   My painting would not be nearly as beautiful had I finished it years ago.

Thinking back through my life up to present day, the journey has and continues to require a few necessary requirements, a dream or goal, perseverance, faith in a higher power as well as myself, and the willingness to work hard to achieve what I need.  It still remains sometimes easy to neglect what I need to do for myself, even when I know what  it is.  I think it might always be a little like that.  After all, if life was that easy, this world would be a much different place.  It’s not easy.  So, it’s up to us to figure out what makes us tick, what feels like a tick, and what tickles us.  They are three different things, each important in their own right.

I know yoga makes me happy, makes my heart soar truly, and yet over the last month when I have felt so down, I didn’t turn to yoga to help.  I’d like to say it’s just not ingrained enough, but I think that’s a cop out.  I am, once again, just human.  And sometimes I don’t gravitate to what I know I need.  And maybe that’s enough for where I have been, getting over being sick and anticipating the end of something I have felt a passion for, my job at Virgin America.

In the end, I return to the fact that, we humans are a puzzle.  I have faith in something higher than us, waiting for the time when we do choose to help ourselves.  That’s where our life changes and also the path where I believe we start to feel the higher powers lifting us along our journey.

I will close with a story about my dad, someone you readers have not heard much about yet.  I’m sure you will in time.  My dad probably taught me the best lesson ever about never taking my passions for granted, and more importantly, never wasting any blessing waiting for another day.  (I’m still human and overlook this lesson at times, but there will always come the time I remember…I love his voice reminding me.)

Without going into too much detail at this point about my father’s youth, suffice it to say he suffered true heartbreak as a child. He developed a love for music as a young boy, and it became his passion.  His father, for whatever reasons, rejected my father, and blatantly favored my father’s sister.   Thank goodness his mother took an opposite stance and from what I know supported him at every turn.  He worked at paper routes as a boy and any odd jobs he could muster up to pay for his music lessons.

He made his dreams come true, becoming in time an accomplished musician.  He played both violin and sax.   Family pictures line my hallway, treasures that I stop often to visit.  I have a number of pictures of him as a young man in various bands, and another in a group that played on a cruise ship, in the era of Titanic, so nostalgic.  I will use one of them as my post picture.

His passion came to a tragic halt when in his twenties, traveling in a storm, he crashed his car traveling over black ice, his arm out the window.  He spent a number of months in the hospital healing, and in the end they were able to save his hand, but his fingers would never again play music.

As a child, this story was lost on me.  He was just my dad, with the funny scar on his stomach from the skin they used to graft his wrist, and the stiff and missing fingers.  I think in retrospect his heart was broken beyond repair, but he never let me see that.  He had his demons for sure when he drank, but when he was sober, he was a light-hearted man for all he had been through.  He never passed up a chance at playing a practical joke.  As a child, the dog, the bird and I fought for his attention when he walked through  the door at the end of his work day.  He took his time with each of us.

I never knew my dad to be a musician … tragic really.  I didn’t see that underbelly that most likely defined my dad.  I was left with a man who never complained, but always had his music playing.

I loved him more than I could ever put to words, until he broke my heart.  And that’s what I mean when I refer to the gaggle of turkeys.  They can’t help themselves traveling together making so much goddamn noise … neither can we as humans.  We will all hurt each other in time.  That’s a given.  What’s much more important is what we learn to forgive both in ourselves as well as others.

My dad taught me more lessons than I will ever be able to count, but one that stays with me consistently, is this … never take for granted your gifts, whatever they may be.  Make the best of them every day, because you just never know when that passion or that gift will become only a memory.

Celebrate life … celebrate yourself with every single solitary flaw you possess … they will all come together to make a beautiful painting one day.

With love and namaste …

 

Concoctions

Gosh, I haven’t been sick like this in years.  I start to get better, then relapse.  Nothing to do but wait it out.  With that said, our friends, Janet and Lalo, arrived for a visit on Wednesday.  I thought I was getting better, but when they arrived on Wednesday was about the time I was starting back downhill again.
I have a sneaking suspicion they are really angels,  just posing as humans (a couple of posers).  They just happened to be here visiting last year when my mom and I were going through so much, just about the worst time of it.  They helped so much at that time, both so supportive.  Hmmm, seems a little coincidental.
When they arrived yesterday, they assessed the situation here and each in their own way, went into help mode.  In two days time,  I can’t even count the foods they’ve made, the concoctions created to help me heal.  They’ve cleaned and worked in the yard.  (I’ve started discussions with them about moving in.)
Seriously, friends are God sent, for sure.  Janet and Lalo both love to cook, and I’d be hard pressed to say which one is a better chef.  They rival each other.  Yesterday we had home-made chicken soup for lunch made by Janet, and then chili relenos made by Lalo last night for dinner, along with fruits and salads and tasty treats after dinner.
All day Lalo made me concoctions to heal, things his mother and grandmother had made for him as a youth growing up in Mexico.  I have to say, they really helped, and were so much nicer to take than the over the counter meds I was taking.  By the end of the day I felt a lot better, and this morning woke up feeling even better yet.
I never grew up with a grandmother like that, but I’m sure many of you did.  We need to remember their ways, and from here on out, I think I”ll remember Lalo’s family’s ways.  That’s the beauty of life, we can chose to be whatever we want and adopt traditions that fit us, no matter who we are or how we grew up.
Last night we wanted them to watch a program we had already watched and loved, Chef’s Table, Season 3, Episode 1, Jeong Kwan.  I didn’t realize when we put it on, how much it would tie into the blessed day I had just had.
The program is about a South Korean Buddhist nun, and is such an inspiring show.  I quote, “With food … we can share and communicate our emotions.”
“It’s that mindset of sharing that is really what you’re eating.”
“There is no difference between cooking … and pursuing Buddha’s way.”
I’d say that pretty much sums up my day, as I received so much more from these kind souls than food.  They shared with me their history, their stories, and in that, their love.
It may go down as one of my nicest sick days ever.
They helped me feel better just in time for our celebration of the end of the class.  My kids wanted to come up and have a nice little celebration, include my classmates, and also adopted son, Peter.  Was worrying that I might not be up to it, but after yesterday, I’m feeling confident tomorrow will be great.
Windows are all open airing out the house.  Time for fun.
Back next week to finally tell about the end of class.
Namaste
 
 
 

Lighting the world, one candle at a time

Good morning.  Another week, but a special week indeed, as I have completed my training … oh my, I think I’ll be posting about this for quite some time, just so much to share.  The weekend came and went in a heartbeat.  Each drive in, Friday, Saturday and Sunday I spent reflecting, remembering all the pieces of this journey that went together to bring me to the ending of our class.  Like a projection on a screen, my mind replayed image after image of the moments that made up this journey, the faces and hearts of those I shared this experience with, the personal triumphs I enjoyed myself, and the triumphs I watched others experience.  Like any good movie, our story did not come without the instances that surely felt like failure, but in the end there is no such thing as failure.  There is only growth, a need to keep trying, and keep trying and never give up trying until you have reached your goal.
I can’t really even put into words what a unique experience this has been, getting to know these wondrous spirits, their stories, (who doesn’t have a story?) their sorrows and their joys.  Fifteen special souls came together and created a divinely positive force, lifting each other, but if I know anything about it, helping lift more than just ourselves.  We did our tiny tiny part toward raising the universe’s vibration, because we each will take that love and positivity and share it with those we encounter going forward, our loved ones and friends, but also strangers.
I keep thinking about the 70-year old gentleman I told you about in an earlier post, the fellow who does work at our house once a year, this being our third year, who told me in our phone call how happy I sounded.  When he came out a few days later, he seemed so genuinely happy to see me.  I have to wonder … was this because I shared my happy heart with him in our phone call?  Maybe.
All I know is that this stranger, for all intents and purposes, offered me a hug after he finished his work with us.  I gladly accepted even though he was covered in dirt and I was dressed to go out.  I was not going to pass up that gift.  How many workers that come to your home want a hug when they leave?  I’ve had a ton of people work on my houses over the years.  They’ve never been in the habit of hugging me when they left.  I have to think this nice man felt what’s filling me these days, and took a chance at asking me to share a bit of that with him.  I was more than happy to oblige.
I’ve always loved math, and I find myself contemplating the possibilities … all the billions and trillions of individual spirits, if united with other kindred spirits toward a common positive goal, taking the risk of being vulnerable, sharing their tender hearts, working together helping each other to heal and create and inspire and conquer, and then taking that back out into the world, compounding exponentially, what could we accomplish?  I’m a dreamer, I know, but I do believe there is nothing we humans united could not accomplish, no hurt in the world we could not heal.  Our united hearts could light the world.
Just the beginning of the end … will be back soon.  I have so many thoughts swirling around inside the waves of my mind.  It’s high tide and there is much activity.  I have nothing but gratitude for this time in my life.
Namaste
 
Photo:  Candle made by my classmate, Kim, Tipsysisterscandles@tipsysisterscandles.com

Enough

One of the major themes throughout our two weeks in class has been self-acceptance.  Our instructors have done a fabulous job of teaching us to look at how we speak to others as well as ourselves.  It’s a bit surprising to realize just how much I apologize, for this, that and the other.  In the first few days, our teachers would stop us in our tracks when the words  “I’m sorry” came out of our mouths.  By the second weekend, the teachers didn’t even need to say a word.  If one of us was speaking in front of the group and began to say “I’m sorry” you’d see the speaker’s face flinch as if they’d been jolted with a small amount of electricity.  We looked like a bunch of Pavlov’s dogs.

It’s not as easy as you’d think to stop saying you’re sorry.  Tess, our female teacher, is such a little spitfire, I just love her.  And man, she just peers into your face and asks you, “WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR?  WHY ARE YOU SORRY?”  And she means it, she wants an explanation for why you are sorry.  In most cases, I find myself realizing I’m not really sorry at all.

There has been a major focus on the idea of being enough, and accepting that we are always enough at all times, regardless of what we can and can’t do, what we do and don’t have, that we are right where we need to be at that moment in time.  Interesting concept for some of us.  It’s so easy to always have my eye on something I think I want or need, or something I need to change about myself.  And not enough time is spent appreciating what is, right now, just this, just me, nothing more, nothing less, this moment being perfect.

The instructors have definitely gotten their point across in a short time, as  I am finding myself contemplating the concept of acceptance and enough throughout my days.  I think of myself as a pretty confident and happy person, but I have to be honest, I say I’m sorry a lot now that I pay attention.  The hike I talked about in my last post, I spent the whole way up saying I was sorry and thanking my angels.  They kept saying, no need to be sorry.  And they were right.  Why would I need to be sorry to someone else for my fear, and needing to take breaks to catch my breath when I’m not used to a hike like that.   WHY WOULD I BE SORRY FOR THAT?  Yet, there I was … sorry.

Check it out yourself, just pay attention to your thoughts, how many negative thoughts run through your brain in an hour, or a day?  We humans can be damn tough on ourselves.

With this philosophy in mind, I will share a really nice realization I had on Saturday evening when I left yoga.  Part of our homework has been to clean and clear our spaces, both internally and externally.  We were asked to purge our surroundings of unnecessary objects.  Since Rick and I moved in the last few years, I don’t have very many items left that need purging, but I did have a pile of old videos from my mom’s stuff sitting on my dresser.  It seemed the perfect place to start my assignment.

On Thursday night after dinner, I got comfortable and started to play each video.  Some were my kids from their preschool years, but there were two in particular that were films my mother had transferred onto video, and they dated back to when I was a toddler.  It was a collection of images, no sound, myself and my cousins going down a slide at the San Francisco zoo, our parents dressed in their Sunday best laughing among themselves, chasing after us, and others with just my parents and I.

I sat somewhat mesmerized studying the films, yearning to see more, searching their faces and actions for some clue as to how these seemingly happy people became what I would remember them as, two very unhappy and unfulfilled souls.  I finished looking at the tapes and went to sleep that night feeling so sad.

As I drove to yoga on Friday night, I was listening to the Beatles station on Sirius radio.  They were playing a collection all weekend of the Beatles’ top 50 love songs as voted on by the listeners, I’m sure in honor of Valentine’s Day.  For anyone who hasn’t listened to the station, they will put together a collection and then play it over and over all weekend, it just loops around and around.  I came in at the beginning of the songs working down from No. 50.  As I came through the canyon they played Julia, which is a song written for John’s mom, I believe, after her death.

I couldn’t help thinking about my mom, and still feeling melancholy from watching the tapes.  I found myself thinking how sad our life together had been, so much unhappiness and turmoil, and feeling like we had wasted our precious time on this earth together.  The mood hung in most of the night, and when I drove home around 9:30 coming through the canyon, Julia played again.  And then again the next morning, and then again the following evening. Coincidence?  I’m only in my car 20-40 minutes depending on where the class is, Auburn or Roseville.  I’m not sure what the odds are of coming into the rotation at the same place every time I get in the car, but I thought about heading to Reno to do a little gambling since my mom seemed to be in my back pocket.

Saturday morning my mood shifted and I welcomed the song, enjoyed my drive through the canyon and greeted the new day with an open heart.   What would day five of this adventure bring?  It was an eventful day in class, lots of yoga and instruction, but what would be the most important part of the day would come as Julia once again played on my way home (of course it did).

Instead of thinking my mom and I had wasted our time together, I asked myself “what if what we had together was enough? What if it was just what it was supposed to be?”  With that door open, my mind raced remembering what I’ve always believed, that we come here to learn and that sometimes our lessons are hard.  With that thinking in mind, then truly my mom and I kicked some ass in this lifetime.  We’d hiked our own trail straight up a rock hill and parachuted down to the river below.  Just maybe I had this all wrong.  Amazing.

And if all that is true, then it would explain my reaction when my mom did finally pass. Hospice had called early that morning to let me know she was close.  She’s been close for three months, but this day was different and I knew it the moment I walked into her room.  I settled into the big blue chair next to her bed with my book.  I’d pretty much said everything I needed to her in the previous three months, so there was no need for words at this point.  She was already somewhere far away.  I watched her breathing all morning, reading a page or two, and glancing up.  Although her breathing was labored, she was interestingly very quiet.  I could not rely on sound to monitor her.

At some point mid morning, I glanced up and found she had made her way ever so peacefully after such an arduous journey.  I sat watching her for a few moments and once I knew for sure her chest would not rise again, I said, “Mom, I didn’t even hear you leave.” I let the tears come, and after a few minutes, the next words out of my mouth were, “We made it, Mom.  We did it.”

They are interesting words for someone who has just lost her mother.  They were not words prepared or thought about beforehand.  They were the words of my heart, and what I was feeling.  And I don’t know about you readers, but to me, they sound like the words of a gal who made it with her mom to the top of the lookout.

I will close with the words of one of my favorite songs from You’ve Got Mail, hauntingly beautiful lyrics and melody.  For some reason, I do believe,  in this lifetime we choose to forget what we know in order to learn our lessons.  It’s nice when we remember …

“Long ago, far away

Life was clear, close your eyes

Remember is a place from long ago

Remember FILLED WITH EVERYTHING YOU KNOW

Remember when you’re sad and feelin’ down

REMEMBER TURN AROUND

Remember life is just a memory

Remember close your eyes and you can see

Remember think of all that life can be

Remember-

Dream, love is only in a dream, remember –

Remember life is never as it seems. Dream

Long ago, far away

Life was clear, close your eyes”

 

Remember lyrics – Harry Nilsson

http://www.harrynilsson.com/

 

If I walk away from this class with nothing more than this realization, it will be enough. But between you and me, I’m not thinking that I’m done.  Until we meet next week,

Namaste

 
Picture taken on our sunrise hike to the outlook over the American River, Overlook Park, Auburn, Ca.