Laborless Labor Day

Many years ago, when I was living in Pennsylvania and studying to become a minister (another story for another blog some day), I filled in for a local pastor who was on vacation. It happened to be the day before Labor Day and the title of my sermon was "Labor-less Labor Day." I spoke about how I grew up thinking that Labor Day wasn't just the official end of summer vacation, but also the day that my Dad, and the dads of all of my friends, used to get stuff done around the house that they hadn't gotten to all summer, including putting away the summer outdoor furniture, giving things a coat of fresh paint before the start of winter, and cutting back foliage in the yard that had gotten out of control. In my sermon, I shared the fact that while the holiday was established to honor the working men and women of this country, it wasn't, in fact, a special day set aside to, well ... labor! I suggested that we should use the day to honor each other and all of the long hours each week we all spend working to provide for our families as well as contributing to our communities and our nation. These are the true fruits of our labors and they are right under our noses. Unfortunately, that's the last place most of us look for them.

The irony of this came to me the other day when I was over at my daughter's house looking to see if anything at all had come from all of our hard work to try and turn her yard into a real garden. It was obvious that it would take much more than the labor of me, my daughter, and my grandchildren to make a paradise out of a jungle that had been neglected for decades (more like a backhoe, five very strong men, and a bottomless wallet). I found that I would probably be able to harvest a little something from my lavender plant, and the Forget-Me-Nots, which had managed to hang in there, might come back next spring. That was about it. All the rest had simply not survived. There would have to be a complete tear down and massive soil amendment before anything but mutant weeds would grow there. Food for thought for next spring.

I went home with some of the cuttings from my lavender plant and was looking for some string to tie them up to dry with when I caught sight of the table-top fairy garden my daughter and grandkids had made for me for Mother's Day. It came complete with a tiny outhouse, birds, a welcome sign, a stone path, and room for a few tiny fairies. I had kept it watered over the summer as it sat next to my writing desk and then had turned my attention to whatever I was currently working on. Today, however, I took a really good look at it and, much to my surprise, realized that the fairies had certainly called in some extra fairy help because it had grown so much that it was hard to find the outhouse, the birds and the stone path.

All I had done was to put my little garden next to my very favorite spot in my home, my writing desk in front of the big window that overlooked the hills beyond, kept it watered, and put on a light over the table on cloudy days. Mother Nature (and the fairies) had taken care of the rest. By giving it a place of honor in a place that I loved, and providing for its' needs, my labor-less labor had produced with abundance and then some!

Sometimes the best work we can do is to set our intentions, have faith in knowing that what is meant to work will work, and what isn't meant to work, won't, and leave the rest up to the Universe to work it's own brand of magic. A little help from the garden fairies always helps, too.

As soon as I am done here, I have to prune back my tiny forest. I'll take the cuttings and root them so that I can replant them in tiny pots and start another tiny garden. Obviously, things grow well that are planted where love is.

And so it is.

And The Days Dwindle Down To A Precious Few

"For it's a long, long while, from May to December,

but the days grow short when you reach September ..."

It's hard to believe that we are heading into the last week of August. Even though Fall does not officially start for a few weeks, most folks look at this time as the actual end of summer, when the kids start back to school and the days grow cooler. Where I live in the northeast, the early mornings begin to start off very foggy right about now, a chilly mist that burns off by around 8 or 9 o'clock. The air, too, takes on a different feel, a different smell. When I was a little girl, I used to tell my mom that it "smelled like time to go back to school."

Where did this summer go? I don't know if it is because this summer in our area was very wet and cooler than normal - I don't think we had more than a couple of days that actually reached 90 - or because the older I get, the faster the seasons seem to come and go. All I know is that one minute I was waiting for the buds on the trees to put in an appearance, and the next minute I looked in amazement as the first tinge of color appeared on the distant hill tops. It felt like summer and I had been speed dating this year. Yesterday when I went out to put my recyclables in the bin behind our complex, several dried, yellow leaves came floating down to land on my head. Sigh!

I have no doubt that we will have a last surge of summer weather before autumn officially gets here, a taste of Indian Summer, as it's called. Still, something tells me that autumn will settle in early this year, not that I'm complaining. Autumn is my very favorite season of the whole year and with its arrival comes all things pumpkin: coffee, muffins, pies, you name it - if it's pumpkin, it's mine! Still, it's always sad to see summer come to an end. It takes me back to my youth when summer spelled freedom, and when it ended, so did my freedom, or, at least that's what it felt like.

I remember one end of August in particular some years ago when I took a late-season trip to the beach. There was literally no one there except for a few die-hards and the locals who were finally enjoying their surroundings without all of the crowds and noise. Standing at the shoreline with my toes in the sand, even the ocean seemed a little sadder, a little lonelier, without the excited shouts of the children splashing and building sand castles, and the music from the boardwalk carrying out over the waves. Can an ocean feel sadness? I wonder.

So I say good-bye to August this week, and to summer in general. Next week my precious "almost 11 year old" granddaughter (she would be insulted if I didn't say that) starts junior high. Where did all of those years go? I expect they went the same way as the waves at the beach and the summer fun, into my book of memories.

And so it is.

Messages From Above

This is going to be a short post today. My laptop is having a problem connecting to Blogger's server. Maybe the Eclipse is messing with The Cloud, or however it all works. In any case, I am writing this on my tablet, and I am not the fastest or most patient one - finger typist in the world. I am accepting this as a message from above to not stress out over it, but to just go with the flow and type on.

I've been getting a lot of messages from above lately.  I found a blue jay feather the other day. Blue Jays are my favorite birds. They represent adaptability, something I can certainly use more of in my life. Then I found a nickel on the ground. Whenever I find money, even a penny, I always say the affirmation I learned from Wayne Dyer: "Thank you for this symbol of abundance that flows into my life each and every day." I never take these things for granted. There are messages from above all around us but we're often too busy running around, or looking down at our IPHONE instead of up at the world, to see them. I read a blog post the other day that said if you see someone washing windows while you're out and about, it could mean you need to "get clear" on you priorities and goals. Anything can be a message from above if we just stay awake and present in our lives.

I thought I was getting a message from above over the weekend. Our little town of Endicott, New York, was host to the Dick's Sporting Goods PGA Tournament at the Enjoy Golf Club which is just a few blocks from my home. Thousands of folks rolled past my windows, especially on Friday night when Bon Jovi was there for a concert. Anyway, a small plane was flying around over the area all weekend pulling a banner behind it with some writing on it, but it was too high for me to read. I felt sure that the message held some significance for me. On Sunday, as all the people and news trucks were pulling out and going home, the plane finally flew low enough for me to read the message: "Superior Light Beer." Hey, maybe it's a message about healthy drinking?

And so it is,

Up, Up and Away

Our area recently celebrated it's Annual Speedie Fest and Balloon Rally. The festival has been around for many years and each summer as we get closer to the first weekend in August, you can see people from all over the country converge on our little corner of the world to eat great food and indulge in our fantasies of flight. (Note: What is a "speedie" you may ask? A speedie is our claim to gourmet fame in Broome County, New York. It is chunks of chicken or pork that are marinated in a "secret sauce" and grilled. It is served on a bun, over rice, or in a salad). The big attraction, however, are the balloons.

What is it about our fascination with hot air balloons? Most of us got our first taste of it watching "The Wizard of Oz", or, "Around the World in 80 Days." (Now I'm really showing my age). What is it that speaks to our inner child? Our spirit of adventure? Our wish to fly with the eagles? For most of my adult life, I was afraid of flying. I don't know where the fear came from but since my mother was also afraid of flying, I suppose it is one limiting belief that was passed down to me. I was in my early 50's before I got on a plane for the first time, and once I got past my initial terror and inner dialogue of imminent death, I felt "the wind beneath my wings" in a metaphoric manner of speaking. In a word, I felt free.

I think the idea of being released from all of the pain, pressure and burdens of life, and having the ability to soar wherever and whenever we want, is probably at the root of this desire to fly. Yet flying in a hot air balloon also speaks to that little kid inside that still believes in magical adventures and happy endings. If that is so, then the question we have to ask ourselves is what limiting beliefs are keeping us tied to the ground? I don't mean just a fear of flying; I mean a fear of living - living a life that lets us spread our wings and soar? Maybe it's time to stop filling our balloons with hot hair and start filling them with dreams, with a little faith and some magic thrown in for good measure.

Balloons, like life, come in all shapes and sizes. So, what does yours look like, and where is it taking you today?

And so it is.

 

Rainy Days and Mondays

I cannot remember a spring and summer as rainy as the one we've had so far. The weather folks certainly agree with me. It's not even just a wet summer. While we may get the occasional sprinkle, most of the rain we've seen has been in the realm of biblical proportions - deluge, downpour, tropical, well, you get the idea. The lightning has been like something out of the Star Wars special effects vault, and flooding, from just a little to major events in some areas, has become the norm. This isn't the way summer is supposed to be! Here I went and got myself all psyched for those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, and so far all I've been able to experience is the crazy part! It's enough to almost make you wish for winter!

Even my new garden has taken this sodden summer personally. I'm afraid that between the many years of neglect and the repeated soaking, it will take several seasons, not to mention a way bigger investment of time, money and manpower, to turn this jungle into a garden again. I truly believe the weeds and shrubs have mutated into something with a very bad attitude and territorial issues.

So here we are, another Monday with a forecast of - yep, you guessed it - thunderstorms. followed by a "steadier" rain for the rest of the day. No gardening today. No nice, long morning walks (not without storm gear, that is). I don't want a cold breakfast smoothie, I want hot oatmeal and hot cocoa! What's a body to do? Then I am reminded by my better nature of one of my favorite sayings that I picked up  from the creator of Notes From the Universe, author and teacher Mike Dooley: "Do what you can, with what your have, from where you are." Okay, Mike, let's see what we can make of this day.

So I made a list of rainy day activities:

• Clean the apartment - singing to Luke Bryan songs, of course!
• Work on the next chapter of my book
• Give myself the gift of a longer meditation and yoga practice
• Journal
• Listen to relaxing music while coloring in one of my favorite coloring books
• Take a long, hot, sudsy bath
• Make some yummy soup for supper
• Start a new crochet project
• Read for pleasure instead of research

Wow, there are any number of things I can do to lift my spirits, take my mind off my rain soaked summer, and off "the garden that wasn't," and probably wouldn't be, any more this year. And, when the sun makes a come-back, and I can get outside again, I can let my gratitude show by not being envious of other people's gardens, but, instead, to be grateful for the ability to see and enjoy them, and thankful to the neighbors who worked so hard to bring me such pleasure.

Do what you can, with what you have, from where you are.

...and while you're at it, don't forget to be grateful. Gratitude goes a long way to bringing a bit of sunshine into our hearts.

And so it is.

Memories of Summers Past

See that hot looking Italian chick in the middle? Yep, that's me! I was about 15 or 16 years old at the time. The girl on the right is my best friend from the age of 13, also named Barbara. On the left is Carol, sister to the one who is taking the picture, namely Connie, the third member of the Three Amigos. The picture was taken, so I am told, in Central Park. I have no memory of this particular picture but I do know that one summer we spent a great deal of time in Central Park. All of the English rock groups that came over to do the Ed Sullivan Show on a Sunday night (it was all live in those days, folks) always wanted to see the famous New York City Central Park while they were over on this side of the pond. Hence our presence there as well ... plus, you met some cool regular dudes.

Another summer memory came to me the other day as I was in the grocery store. I was holding a fresh fig in my hand and suddenly I was transported back to my cousin's garden out on Long Island. I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 at the time. In the late 50's, Long Island was still in the process of becoming the suburban capital of the world. The GI Bill had allowed men returning from the war to purchase brand new homes and Long Island was sprouting new home developments like weeds. My cousins lived in the town of Plainview, in a development that was so new you could look out of the back windows and still see farmers working in their potato fields near by. My older sister and I would take turns spending a week each at their house in the summer, and my cousins, both girls around our own ages, would come to Queens so we could take them into the city sightseeing.

My attraction to their house was all the open space and, especially, their garden. My Uncle Vince had a golden touch with vegetables and the tomatoes we picked were still the best I have ever eaten even now. They were so juicy! You had to hold your hand under your mouth or it would drip down your chin! The greens were crisp and tasty, and the garlic was robust, but what I loved the best were the figs. Uncle Vince had brought a fig tree back from Italy when he last visited his mother (these were the days when you could bring plants back from Europe without an Act of Congress) and it was thriving in his garden. I don't think I have ever tasted figs so meaty and delicious as the ones from his tree. I have even gone so far as to spend a small fortune for fresh, organically grown figs in a health food store, and they never did compare from the ones that he grew. I think what I learned from him, besides what a passion for gardening looked like, was that when you grew things with love, they just tasted better.

Wow, so many memories, so many years gone by. It's funny the things we remember, like hanging out with our best buddies, or tastes, sights and smells from our childhood. How I wish I could bring them all back. Luckily, I still get to keep in touch with my other two amigos via Facebook as they live on the opposite coast. Sadly, my uncle passed many years ago. One of my cousins also lives in California but the other one lives just a few hours north of me here in upstate New York. The last time I saw her was for a surprise birthday party my kids threw for me a few years ago. We stayed up late into the night talking about those summers we spent together: chasing fireflies, running through the sprinklers, visiting new places together ... and tasting love.

Memories don't get any better than that, folks.

And so it is.

Sacred Gifts

This week, Tuesday to be exact, is my birthday. I am turning 68 years old. Every time I look in the mirror, I am amazed to see the face looking back at me. Some days I think I see an old woman. Other days I see a woman who looks "pretty good for her age". Most days, I see my mother, and I feel blessed. I still can't believe that 68 years has flown by like a passing cloud.

People keep asking me what I want for my birthday this year. I tell them to feed me. Being a vegan, I spend a great deal of time cooking for myself since most places near where I live still do not have many vegan alternatives on their menu, if they have any at all, that is. Since I make most of my own food, it is a treat when someone cooks for me. They don't think it's such a big deal, but I do. Most of the time, it's the small things that I find are the greatest gifts. Gifts that come from the heart, gifts that say the giver really knows who I am and what makes me smile. Sure, I wouldn't turn down something big like a new car, new furniture, or a shopping spree, but the gifts that are priceless to me are the ones that are made of experiences, not things.

The thing is, Creator already gave me everything I could ask for. So on Tuesday morning, I'll wake up to the song of the female cardinal singing in the little tree outside my window as she searches for her mate. I'll watch the morning mist burn off and the sun bathe the distant hills in light. I'll be entertained by the crazy antics of the blue jay family as they zip back and forth around my window. I'll watch big, fat, fluffy clouds slowly float across a pearly blue sky and wonder what it would be like to ride on one. I'll feel the warm, sultry breeze kiss my cheeks through the open window and breathe in the smell of dew on morning grass. I'll hear a neighbor start up his lawn mower, the Main St. bus stop right out front to pick someone up, and the freight train a few blocks away blow it's whistle as it passes through town. These are the sacred gifts of a life well lived, a life filled with peace, joy and contentment.

However, just in case you were asking, I'd love a copper colored PT Cruiser, a comfy futon and a gift card to L.L. Bean. Just saying.

And so it is.