The Sounds of Home

There are certain sounds that, when we hear them, immediately bring to mind a childhood memory. One of those sounds for me is the sound of knitting needles clicking against each other as the hands of an experienced knitter fly over the yarn. Those hands belonged to my mother and it was a sure sign of the arrival of fall when her leather knitting needle holder would come out and the sounds of "click, click, click," started flowing forth from the living room of the small apartment we first lived in when I was very young, not yet school age. My mother, father, sister and I shared a one bedroom downstairs apartment in a 4 family home owned by my mother's cousin. My sister and I shared a bed in the only bedroom. My parents camped out in the living room on what was then the height of functional furniture, the Castro Convertible sofa bed. 

When I think about that sound, I can picture my mother sitting on the end of the grey sofa. next to a table and lamp, the yarn unraveling from within her leather bag and the needles clicking back and forth in a gentle, almost rhythmic melody only she could hear. I knew that if my mother was knitting, then the time for sweaters was upon us for that was her favorite thing to make - warm, soft, cuddly sweaters and hats with pom-poms that tied under our chin. No winter wind was going to sneak in and freeze our little ears, not while her hands could still work those needles. There she would sit in her flowered, shirtwaist house dress (no trousers back then, ladies), a cup of coffee at her elbow, and the radio playing her favorite daytime soap operas (did you know that The Guiding Light started on the radio?). 

Now it is oh, so many years later, and there is the beginning of a nip in the air, and my hands itch to pull out my quilted craft bag, and the big wicker container that holds all of my yarn, and see what speaks to me. I an nowhere near the knitter my mother was. I prefer to crochet, something she was also an expert at (no pillow case or handkerchief was complete without that gentle, lacy edge she whipped on). But every once in a while I will pull out a sturdy pair of knitting needles and some nice, warm yarn, and begin a new hat for myself or a grandchild, one that will keep the cold air from nipping our ears. Mostly, it is just for the chance to sit quietly in a room and listen to the gentle "click, click, click," of my needles, and feel my mother's presence in each and every stitch.

And so it is. 

A Blaze Of Glory

I opened the curtains this morning and there it was! The first colors of Autumn had finally begun to peek out. The tree in front of my window seemed to have turned orange overnight, although I suspect that I was just too wrapped up in myself to see the gradual changes. In the distance, the hills are tipped with reds and oranges, like a woman frosting the tips of her hair. I am almost giddy over the discovery. You'd think that it was Christmas, and yet, if you think about it, all this color and blazing glory is just a prelude to a sort of dying as the year draws to a close and all goes silent under a blanket of snow and long, cold, grey days. So why the big finish?

Autumn reminds me of the Dylan Thomas poem: "Do Not Go Gentle In To That Good Night:"

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I love that idea! I understand that the poem is speaking mostly of death and dying, but it also speaks to me of the death of my spirit. It tells me that as I get older, there is nothing holding me back from releasing all of my "colors," those things that make me who I am. There is no longer anyone to impress, or please. I am the aging flower child going into the winter of my life in a blaze of glory. I am the burnt oranges of a sunset, the rich reds of roses in bloom, the golden joy of a sunrise, and the sturdy bronzes of the ages. And, like the trees, once my colors are done for the year, I save my energy for the seeds that sleep under the snow only to burst forth again in Spring with green buds on the very trees I leave naked at the end of Autumn. I use the time to plan, and dream, and wait for the day when the snow is gone, the sun is warm, and my spirit tells me, "Now! Now is the time! Bloom, darling, bloom."

So, yes, I am celebrating this blaze of glory that is Autumn with shouts, and smiles, and love in my heart. I'll collect leaves to make window decorations with the children, and collect pine cones to turn into feeders for the birds and Christmas ornaments, and I'll make applesauce, and drink cider, and always, always, open my curtains in the morning with grace and gratitude for this holy palette before me. 

And so it is. 

Happy Anniversary, Flower Bear!

It's hard to believe that this week we are celebrating 6 years since "Flower Bear's Garden-Growing A Life" was born. I have had so much fun doing this and, along the way, I have grown in so many ways. You are never too old to learn something new, especially about yourself, and that has certainly been the case for me.

I will be forever grateful to meditation teacher, best-selling author, and all-around coolest dude on Earth, Davidji, who advised me that I needed to stop ignoring my intuition and to take a baby step in the direction it was leading me. One week later, the very first Flower Bear blog was published and it has just been a continuing joy ride since.

I want to thank Mother Nature who has been my greatest teacher. Flower Bear's Garden could not have been born without the lessons I've learned from nature and spending time in the garden. Here I thought I was just playing in the dirt and growing things. Little did I know that I was growing myself and that there is nothing we need to know that nature cannot teach us. 

I also want to thank my mother who let me play among the roses and lilacs in our backyard (the rest was dirt and grass that just wouldn't grow). In fact, the face of Flower Bear's Garden, dear Flower Bear herself, came from the sweet bear that sat on my mom's dresser for years before her passing, and which came to me after. When I was looking for a face that said: wisdom and love, my mom's bear was the natural choice.

It seems so appropriate that the anniversary of Flower Bear's Garden should "fall" right after the first day of Autumn. It is a time for harvesting our blessings, learning from what blossomed and what didn't, and savoring the gifts from the earth. 

To all of my family, friends, and loyal fans, I send a heartfelt "thank you" from Flower Bear and myself. I am truly blessed. May all of your harvests in life reap your hearts' desires. 

And so it is. 

The Wonder Of It All

I am an aficionado of sunsets. I love a good sunset like other people love a perfect glass of wine or an excellent meal. Sunsets take my breath away. They fill me with wonder. They put life in perspective for me. They remind me that we need to spend less time in our heads and more time in our hearts. They stop me in my tracks and pull my attention away from the things that don't matter to things that do. They cause me to think about all the other places where I have seen something that brings me the same sense of wonder and awe in the world. Where might that be?

I see wonder in sunrises as well as sunsets. I hear wonder in the sound of my great-grandson's laugh, or the feel of his arms around my neck in a hug. I see wonder when I look into the eyes of my fur babies when they show me what unconditional love looks like. I feel wonder at how clouds sailing overhead can look like angels or birds one minute, and Snoopy sleeping on top of his dog house the next minute! I feel wonder when the first touch of color teases the tips of the trees as the air starts to cool and pumpkins come out to play. I feel wonder when I see a total stranger being kind to another stranger, or when I hear the sounds of geese flying overhead, urging each other on.

Wonder is everywhere, every minute, if we just take the time to stop, look, and listen. Like last night. As I went to close my curtains at dusk before turning on the living room lights, I caught the magnificence of a sky filled with awesome shades of pink, purple, and gold. At that moment I didn't need to know the why or how of how that sunset got to be so beautiful. It was enough to be grateful for the gift itself and breathe in that feeling of wonder. Really, what else do we need?

And so it is.

Hurricane Season

It seems that we don't get to start enjoying the start of the school year, with autumn not far behind it, without first having to deal with hurricane season. I think Mother Nature could have done a little better with her timing than to throw wind, rain and storm surges on us just when we're trying to get the kids (and us) back into the rhythm of things. Take this week, for example. Our kids went back to school last week during a week that was so warm and humid, they had to put out heat advisories. The children sat in the dark because the lights made the rooms hotter. Some of the older schools only had fans. Over the weekend, a cold front moved in, and when I say cold, I mean 48 degree overnight temperatures and a high yesterday of only 59 degrees! So what's on tap for today, the beginning of a new school/work week? The remnants of one hurricane and the approach of another later in the week. These are the kinds of days you find yourself saying: "I just can't win."

How often do we go through a period where everything we touch just seems to fall apart, where no matter what we do or where we go (or, as in my case, what we touch ... a.k.a. electronics and streaming systems which have all decided to die at the same time), nothing works out for us. It's enough to make us throw up our hands, grab that pint of Ben and Jerry's, and zone out on Netflix (if it works, that is). 

Here's the real scoop (excuse the Ben and Jerry's pun) on this line of reasoning: no storm lasts forever. Even in nature, sooner or later the rain stops and the sun comes back out again. We know that, so why do we act as if we didn't? Because we don't like what we can't control, and we can't control the weather, or the technical glitches (darn that cloud!), or the actions of others. All we can do is remind ourselves of all the other times we ranted about our seemingly never-ending run of back luck only to wake up one day to sunshine and all problems somehow having solved themselves!

So when you feel as if you're getting hit with one storm after another, just remember that this, too, shall pass, and the sun will shine again, and you will survive once again. The proof of that? You're still here!  Good job! Keep up the good work!

And so it is. 

Chasing The Last Breath Of Summer

I was sitting at my desk writing the other day when I heard that unmistakable sound of kids laughing and shouting to one another. When I looked up I saw three boys racing down the street on their bikes, heading towards the park and ball field. It was a picture perfect summer day, with a warm breeze blowing comfortably so that I could shut off the AC and enjoy open windows. Birdsong accompanied the sounds of the boys and, in the distance, what sounded like an angry squirrel was giving someone a piece of their mind ... probably one of the neighborhood cats who patrols the yards around here.

As I watched the boys chasing each other down the street, and inhaled the aroma that only a summer afternoon can bring, I couldn't help thinking that, with summer coming to an end in just a few days, it almost felt as if the boys were chasing after that last breath of summer, as if they were trying to catch up to it and hold on before they were pulled back into the world of classrooms and homework. I totally understood.

It's not like we had a spectacular summer weather-wise this year in my neck of the woods, far from it. It also wasn't as it I did anything spectacular, either. It's just something about the lazy, hazy days of summer that we hold in our hearts and long for each year, especially after a long and cold winter. There's a spirit to summer that dictates slowing down, feeling the sun on your face, and enjoying the fruits of the season. Somehow a nice, juicy slice of watermelon doesn't taste as good in February, or even April, as it does on a hot summer day. The ocean waves welcome us with open arms in July and August before they close them and move on to warmer climates. Grass smells sweeter. It's a summer thing.

Next weekend is Labor Day weekend, the official end of summer even though the calendar says fall is still a few weeks off. We'll pull out all the stops for the last barbecue of the season, grill that beautiful yellow corn just harvested, and, yes, slice up that last watermelon. Breathe in deep, friends. Breathe in that last, golden breath of summer and chase it all the way to the first day of school. Then put this year's collections of sea shells and summer memories away until next year when the sound of laughter calls us back out to play again.

And so it is. 

Okay, Who's In Charge Here?

Remember how I wrote last week ... and the week before ... and the week before ... about all the rain we've been having? About how I was sure Noah was returning and at any moment I would see the Ark floating past my window? Well I was wrong. It wasn't last week, or any of the weeks before ... it was this week. This week we went from heavy rain and downpours to actual walls of rain so heavy it was like trying to look through thick fog. Roads and streets were flooded not to mention basements. Our annual big-deal attraction, the Dick's Sport Goods Open Golf Tournament, which takes place just down the street from me was in danger of being cancelled since there was 6 inches of water on half the golf course. Blake Shelton was coming in to do an outdoor concert and it was anybody's guess whether it would go off as planned. The worst of it was being stuck in the house day after day. A little rain I can handle. You just put on your sneakers, grab an umbrella and head out. Walls of water - not so much. And if my being stuck in the house was frustrating, imagine the kids, home from school, also stuck in the house. My grandchildren's day camp was cancelled because the facility was flooded. Parents all over the area were seriously wondering if they would make it until school started again in a few weeks. 

Well, somebody had to do something, so I sat down at my desk and had a conversation with whoever might be listening in the world beyond this one. "Okay, who's in charge here? Have we upset you in some way that you think summer swimming meant swimming in your basement? Where on the list of outdoor activities did water rescue fall? Kids are crying, parents are screaming, and my internet reception has slowed down to a crawl ... what's up? " I know, sounds a bit strange even to me now that I see it in print, but I was beyond angry at seeing my summer come to an end prematurely with a natural disaster. Suddenly, at that moment, for some reason, the Serenity Prayer, of all things, popped into my head:

God grant me the serenity 

to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Only true madness brought on by a severe case of cabin fever can make one imagine that they can change the weather by yelling at God. Perhaps a better way to "weather" the storms (pun intended) of life was to turn my attention to the things I can change for the better. Maybe I can call someone else who is stuck in the house and cheer them up. Maybe I can write a letter (yes, I said a letter, not an email or a text) to someone I haven't seen in a long time just to say hi and catch up. Maybe I can clean out that linen closet that has become a haven for everything I don't know what to do with. Maybe I can put on YouTube and dance away my frustration. Maybe I can accept that I am not in charge of the weather and that I need to let go and let God, or Mother Nature, of whoever is responsible for pulling the plug and letting the water drain out do their job ... 

... which, of course, they did eventually. Today the sun is out, the morning is cool and promising, and my trusty new walking stick is sitting by the door waiting for me to lace up my sneakers and hit the pavement. See, the hardest part of that prayer is not "accept the things I cannot change," but, "the wisdom to know the difference." Once we master that, the rest is easy. 

And so it is. 

P.S. The concert went off as planned. My 11 year old granddaughter got to go and said it was a blast!