Thank You

It goes without saying that this week the majority of Americans will be focused on Thanksgiving Day and all that it means. Some people will have a long list of things to be grateful for. Some won't. Some will be focused on the feast and some will be grateful for whatever food they have that day. Sometimes gratitude is a tough thing to pin down when you're feeling less than grateful for where you are in life.

I've been seeing a particular quote from Meister Eckhart floating around Facebook and other venues in the last week or so: "If the only prayer you said was thank you that would be enough." I think "thank you" and gratitude go hand in hand. So my gratitude list is also a prayer of thanks for all of the good things in my life, like a home, food on the table, a job that pays the bills, a family I love and that loves me, and so much more. There is, however, someone who should be on that thank you list that is usually left off if they are remembered at all. That's kind of hard to believe when you realize that they are the most important person in your  life. You could not live without them. It's you. Whether you believe it or not, you have done more for yourself than you may imagine. You may not always be happy with yourself, but you have always done the very best you could with the experience, knowledge and assets you had at the time. You have always been there for you when no one else was. We're talking the best friend you will ever have.

So this year I am topping off my thank you list with a short but heartfelt note to me in deepest gratitude:

Dear Barb,

Thank you so very much for always being there when I needed  you. You have always looked out for me and done the best you could every day. Some days were better than others, but you never left me, never forgot me, always encouraged me and pushed me to be the very best "me" I could be. I know it's not always easy being my best friend. I know I can be argumentative, frustrating, procrastinating, and downright stubborn a lot of the time. Still, day after day, you did what had to be done to take care of me. You fed me when I was hungry, tucked me in at night, doctored me when I was sick, and rewarded me for every accomplishment however small. I know you will always have my back and with that knowledge I am less afraid to try new things, meet new people and reach for my dreams. Rest assured that when my dreams come true, you will be standing right there with me as we share the glory together. You taught me that I am stronger than I know and braver than I believe myself to be (didn't you say that to Winnie The Pooh, too?).

Thank you. I love you.

And so it is.

Staying Rooted

I've been writing alot about trees lately. There is no other time of the year when I feel their presence and their wisdom as deeply as in Autumn. This morning I sat looking out of the window at the now bare branches of the maples, oaks, ash and birch trees. Here and there woven into the branches are the nests that will stay vacant for the most part until their owners return from their winter homes to the south or wherever they have taken up a safer residence out of the cold. What struck me as I looked at them was that even without the magnificence of their leaves, they were still beautiful. There they stood with their roots deep into the earth and their arms open wide and reaching for the heavens. The winter winds and snow will beat against them in the months to come, but in the spring they will still be there to welcome the birds and squirrels back ... if their roots remain strong.

When I think about all of the storms of my life that I have weathered, I know that I have not come out at this end without some scars. I know that with age comes change both internally and externally. I see so many women who, as they get older, try to find themselves in bottles, jars and lifts. I'm not saying that we shouldn't look and feel out best. What I am saying is that the truth of who we are is not in how we are made up, but in what we are made of. Our personal truths are the roots that we plant deep, the foundations that provides us sacred ground to stand on, that give us strength to lift up our arms wide to the heavens and give thanks while we ask "okay, what's next?"

A few months ago I wrote about a tree that was a special friend to my granddaughter when she was small. When the tree came down after a very harsh winter, she was devastated. But the roots of the tree remained in the ground even as her shattered trunk lay all around her. Out of those roots planted so very deep came a new generation of green, the next ones to offer homes for the animals, and hope for the future. I guess, in the end, that's the message the trees are sending me ... hope, that, after the winter, comes the spring. Always and forever.

And so it is.

Taking Stock

I don't know about you, but right about now I am making a list of all the things we're going to need to make Thanksgiving dinner. I'm checking my stock to see what we have and what we still need. Even beyond the most obvious: the turkey, the green beans, the sweet potatoes and all the ingredients to turn these into family favorites, are the non-food items like table cloths, centerpiece, napkins ... and, of course, a good turkey pan. So many things to think about, so many lists to make.

It goes without saying that another list we all tend to make at this time of year is the list of things we are grateful for. It's a wonderful time to do that as we celebrate the harvest and all the wonderful things the earth has provided us with to feed us body and soul. It's a shame that so many people wait until this one holiday to make a list of things to be thankful for. I start each and every day with a "thank you" to the Universe for everything in my life, every sunrise and every opportunity to greet a new day with infinite possibility.

There is another list that is useful to make when we are taking the time to count our blessings. I call it Taking Stock Of What No Longer Serves Me. I like to do this at this time of year because while I am "taking stock" of things to be grateful for, I am also more aware of those things, events and, yes, even people, who have passed through my life but need to be released for whatever reason. Sometimes people have grown in different directions and need to follow a different path. Sometimes the family has grown so large that you may consider celebrating the holidays on a simpler scale so there will be more time to be together and less time being exhausted. For others, it may be that the family has gotten smaller, scattered across the globe, and new ways to celebrate that give meaning to where you are in your life now need to be created. Whatever needs to be on that list, put it down. Say thank you for the memories and lessons they have given you, and then let them go. Make a ceremony by taking it outside and burning the list, letting the ashes feed the earth. Or, if you live near water, let it take sail into the waters of renewal.

This year we are coming together as a family and doing Thanksgiving dinner together rather than have the burden on just one person. Each member is contributing something even if it is just their time and their kitchen to help cook the meal. With so many loving hands working together, we'll all be able to take time to watch Santa come down Broadway at the end of the parade to usher in the holiday season. And won't that be something to be thankful for?

And so it is.

Endings And Beginnings

As I sit here writing this, the morning sky outside is crystal blue. After a weekend of rain and wind (and a few snow flurries), the trees are almost bare now. A few die-hards are hanging on and the contrast is startling. The trees look like skeletons of their former selves. This is the time of the year that is hard for many gardeners as they prepare to get their gardens ready for the long winter sleep to come. Just like the trees outside of my window, the garden is a skeleton of its former self. The withered, brown stalks, the yellowed leaves, the few veggies that did not make it in before the first, hard freeze. We pull things out, turn things over, rake things smooth. We make it ready for the next stop on its journey.

A friend was posting on Facebook about raking the leaves that had turned his garden into such a colorful carpet. Those leaves may no longer have a life on the trees, but they will be turned into the garden beds as compost and start a new life as nourishment for the soil. Endings and beginnings.

As we go through the seasons of our lives, we experience many endings and beginnings, especially as we arrive at the crossroads of adulthood and wisdom years. We wake up one day and it feels as if our lives are like those trees, just a skeleton of the life we once had. Maybe those things that represented the colorful leaves on our trees, like family and friends, have fallen away for one reason or another and we stand there waiting for directions to the next leg of the journey. This is when it helps to take some time out and rake in the memories, those people and events that nourished our lives up to this point, and turn them over into the fertile soil of our hearts. That is the place where new lives take root.

Right now, even though I no longer garden on a big scale, I still have gardening chores to do. I take down all of the porch planters and empty them, make sure I've harvested all of the herbs for drying indoors, pull down the summer decorations and replace them with colorful gourds, mini pumpkins, garlands of autumn leaves and plastic geese taking wing. Before long even these will be replaced with snowmen and Santas, pine wreaths and garlands. Nothing stays the same. The seasons come whether we want them to or not. When one ends, another begins, and brings with it new sights, sounds and smells, even as we incorporate those from the past that make moving forward a little less scary.

Endings don't have to be sad. Without them we would never have the gift of new beginnings, new experiences, new journeys to make. How dull life would be if it were one season forever.

And so it is.

Going With The Flow

I started a new job last week. At the age of 64 it was the last thing I thought I would be doing. I had pretty much accepted that I would stay at the job I was at until I was financially able to retire full time (I only work part time), or until the funding for our program was cut and I had to make a decision. It was not the ideal set of options especially when you stop to consider that A). I really, really no longer liked my job ... I hesitate to use the world "hate" as that is such a strong vibration, but "strongly disliked" or, "no longer fulfilling" doesn't quite say it. Possibly "spiritually draining" would come closer, and B. I "hated" (sorry it's the only one that works here) getting up at 5:15 in the morning to make a 50 minute bus trip to work only to repeat the process again in the afternoon. Still, after looking around at the job situation in my neck of the woods which was discouraging, to say the least, and knowing that every day through my job I spoke with women who were over 50 and had been out of work for over a year or more, I finally decided to make peace with where I was. In essence, I changed the way I experienced the situation and then let go of the outcome.

It started with getting up in the morning and saying "thank you" for the day, the job, the opportunity to earn enough money to support my needs, and using the affirmation: "Out of this situation only good will come. All is well in my world." I started carrying my MP3 player on the bus to listen to guided meditations and inspirational music to make the trip less of a nightmare and make better use of the time. When I got to work I blessed the building, the people, even the paperclips, and asked that everyone who passed through the front doors be helped. Then I just let go and "let God."

...and the most amazing thing happened.After doing this for about 6 weeks, not only did I not "hate" anything anymore,but I received a gift I could never have imagined on my own.  I received a phone call from my niece. She was working part-time and needed full-time (daughter, mortgage, car payments, etc.). The work was something I had done in the past and just needed to brush up on. The office was in a lovely old house that had once been the manse for the church next door. The people were wonderful to work with and very spiritually based ... and it was across the street from my apartment! Needless to say I dug out my resume, rounded up some referrals, and trusted that this would not be happening if it was not where I was meant to be ... and my commute is 4 minutes on foot!

As I write this I am looking out of the window at big, fluffy clouds flowing by in a pale, blue sky as the wind pushes them along. It makes me think about how the clouds do not fight the wind, do not complain about which direction they are being pushed in, or how long it takes them to get from one place to another. They just go with the flow and accept that where they are is where they are supposed to be.

Nobody really likes change, especially as we get older. It is hard to imagine starting something brand new at a time when you are ready to kick back and feel as if you are in control of your life for a change. I have found, however, that whenever I stop trying to control everything and "go with the flow," I am led to where I am supposed to be and I know it because of how I feel inside: happy, at peace, and grateful. Who wouldn't like a life like that?

And so it is.

Taking My Breath Away

There is something so beautiful in the golden light of an Autumn sunrise that it takes my breath away. Even later on in the day as the sun rises higher in the sky, the contact of light on the red, orange and gold leaves against a crystal blue sky is so brilliant that it almost hurts. Finally, as the sun sets in that ball of fire as only it can at this time of year, the world explodes with so much color that it reaches in and burnishes itself on our souls. No other season touches us as deeply as this one does, and I thank the powers that be every day for the eyes to experience this precious gift.

As I have gotten older I have found myself taking more time to stop and contemplate moments like these. All the things I spent my life chasing after or trying to get done are no longer the priorities in my life. One of the gifts of getting older is the chance to savor the moments and experiences that take our breath away and to allow ourselves the time and the mindset (and the spirit-set) to soak them in and make them our own. These are the gifts of our wisdom years.

There is even beauty to be found in the garden at this time of  year. Most people would only see the spent, brown plants, all of the veggies harvested and the skeleton of the garden laying down awaiting the first snow. When I look at the garden in this light, I get a warm feeling of a job well done, of the blessings of  nourishment  that the earth provides for us, and the wonder of it all from seed to my plate.

This morning during our church service, as the minister was presenting her message, a flock of birds numbering in the hundreds chose that moment to swoop down on the lawn and proceeded to entertain us through the windows with an aerial ballet that had us all in a state of wonder and appreciation. It was as if they had decided to be the backdrop to her message which was about creating the life we want by paying attention to our thoughts and choosing those thoughts that would bring us happiness and peace. What better thoughts could we have then to choose thoughts of wonder, beauty, appreciation and gratitude for those "take our breath away" moments. Imagine what kind of a life we can create with thoughts like those.

What are the things that take your breath away? When was the last time you allowed yourself the time to experience them? What are you waiting for? 

And so it is.

The School of Life

If I've learned anything during the last 64 years, it's this: first, we never stop learning regardless of how old we get; second, more often than not the lessons come to us from unexpected places and unexpected teachers.

Case in point. I have a little bird sanctuary kind of thing going on outside the back bedroom to my apartment which I used as my den. It is a third floor walk-up and there is a small wooden porch out back ... too small to sit on but just the right size to erect a bird feeder and small bowls of seed and water for the ground feeders like morning doves and squirrels. The feeder hangs on a shepherds crook that is stuck in a patio planter filled with dirt and stones. Depending on what kind of seeds I put out for the animals, I have had many beautiful and unusual things growing in that pot from sunflowers to my current corn stalk! I think of it as the animals' way of saying thank you by planting me something I can enjoy every time I look out of the window.

Being a writer, I have a tendency towards the fanciful, so I name the "regulars" who come to the feeder. There are two pairs of morning doves: a couple that I refer to as Angelo and Angie, and two females I call Doris and Louise. Then there are the male and female cardinals I just call Mr and Mrs C, and a big, clumsy blue jay I have named Freddy who crashes into everything like a teenager who hasn't quite figured out how to control himself yet.

In addition to the birds, I have a couple of squirrels who come and go. My current visitor is my newest and most interesting teacher. Her name is Belle. She has been coming to the feeder for many months now. She came after she had her babies as was evident every time she stood up to scoop out the last handful of seeds. She is very smart and very resourceful. When the bowls of seeds get caught in a downpour and turn into seed soup, Belle carefully grabs a handful of seeds, lets the water seep out between her claws, and eats the seeds. Belle, however, became handicapped about a month ago and has taught me a great deal about courage and overcoming obstacles. Belle lost her tail. One day she showed up at the feeder with a tail that was hanging on by a thread after being severed almost in half, most likely by a predator, perhaps from a pair of sharp talons. I kept hoping it would somehow heal itself and wished I could just reach out through the window and take care of her, but I knew that she was a wild animal and had probably already been spooked enough for one lifetime. Every day I looked for her, checking on the wound when she got close enough to the window for me to see it clearly. After several days she returned and, alas, the tail was gone. What was left was a short stump that still wiggled back and forth, but couldn't do much else.

For those who may not know this, a squirrel's tail isn't just there for adornment. They use it for balance as they fly from tree to tree, as a means of communication with other animals, and to keep warm/cool/dry depending on the weather. For a while after the tail fell off, I witnessed the most amazing things from that little grey creature. She had to re-learn how to balance herself so she wouldn't fall off the wooden railing when she stood to collect her food. More than once she almost went over the side but she got right back up and tried again. This went on for several weeks until she moved about as good as new. One day another squirrel appeared when she was there and she stood her ground, flicking her little stump around to let him know in no uncertain terms that this was her territory and he had better scram. I was so proud of her that I almost cried like a proud parent when their child finally learns how to walk.

Belle taught me a lot this summer. She taught me that I may be developing some physical limitations as I get older, but that does not define who I am and is in no way an obstacle to achieving what I set out to do. She taught me that courage comes in all shapes, colors, and species, and that there is more than one way to accomplish my goals. Most of all, she taught me how fulfilling it can be to root for someone you don't even know and celebrate when they make it.

I wonder, now ... is that what it means when they say, "we are all one?"

And so it is.