A Time And A Season

"For everything there is a time and a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted; "

The leaves are all gone, asleep under a dusting of snow. The skeletons of the trees stand out against the cold December sky. Up on the hilltop, the swaths of brown are dotted with the greens of the pines and evergreens. We say goodbye to autumn, and hello to winter.

So many things have been going through my mind this past week as I saw the seasons change seemingly overnight. I will miss the beauty of the autumn splendor, my very favorite time of year, yet I know I will also rejoice when the first buds of spring are on the trees to live another year, and the first flowers push their way through the last of the snow. 

I was saddened last week by the news that a dear friend had passed away. Even though we were thousands of miles apart - she in England and myself here in New York - our friendship stood the test of time. She was the first one to believe that I could be a writer, the one who was my muse as I began putting pen to paper. She was my teacher, my sister of the heart if not by blood.  A time to be born and a time to die.

I know this is a tough time for many people who have lost loved ones and must face this holiday season without them. For me, it will be the memories we shared, the laughs we shared as well, and her staunch, British boldness that taught me to "keep soldiering on," as her military father and Winston Churchill taught her. 

So this last week I put away all of my autumn decorations and took our my Christmas regalia. My tiny apartment is now filled with the greens of the little trees, the reds and golds of the ornaments, and, of course, my Christmas teddy bears. Most important of all, I took my out my small but precious Nativity set to place beneath my woodland tree decorated with birds and animals, just like the stable would have been decorated on that most important night of all: A time to be born, and a time to die. For every ending there is a new beginning. For every season there is a purpose.

May your Christmas be filled with love, joy, and fond memories. For in this most sacred of seasons, there is a purpose, too.

And so it is. 

May All Be Safe

The other day I was crossing the parking lot behind my apartment building to deposit my trash in the big metal dumpster and proceed to feed my little bird and squirrel friends. I noticed a huge tree branch sticking out of the dumpster and wondered how that had gotten in there. Clearly the trash men were not going to take such a huge branch. It would have to be disposed of  another way. As I was about to put my trash bag in the dumpster, I heard a voice call to me to stop. It was the young man who cleans our building inside and out. He pointed to the tree branch and explained that he'd found two raccoons down inside the dumpster at the bottom. They had probably been trying to take refuge from the cold and find something to eat. Since the dumpster was not even half full, they had nothing to climb up on to get out. So the young man had put the tree limb in to give them a way out. I carefully placed the trash bag inside and backed away. 

Everyone needs a place of refuge. Everyone needs a place to be safe, to be fed, to be well, and to be loved. These sentiments are used, along with others, in what is called "metta prayers." The idea is to first wish these things for yourself, then for your loved ones, then for those you don't know, then for the world. Phrases like:

May I be safe

May I be well

May I be peaceful

May I be happy

May I be free from suffering

Some people might have seen the raccoons as a nuisance, just some pests that needed to be eliminated or removed. I saw them as living, sentient beings who needed food, shelter, and, in the end, a way to freedom. Isn't that what we all want? Isn't that what everyone wants?  No one is more deserving than others. Even the tiniest animals need to be fed, to be warm, to be safe, and to be free, and that goes for the human animals as well. So the next time you sit in prayer or meditation and ask for these things, ask for them for others as well. Who knows? Someday you might need someone to offer you a branch to freedom, too. As for me, I'll keep feeding my animal friends, and keep a lookout for those who need a hand up.

Peace and blessings. 

Reflections On A Rainy Autumn Day

I woke up this morning to a perfect autumn morning. The sky is a soft blue, and the sunlight reflects the brilliant golds, reds, and yellows against it as if Mother Nature chose this vista on purpose in case someone wanted to turn it into a painting. I only wish I had that kind of talent. 

Saturday morning, however, was quite different. I woke up to dark, overcast skies. Wind whipped the rain around and threw big, heavy drops against the window. My beautiful leaves were raining down as well and I grew sad at the thought that if we have more days like this, they will be gone before we know it. As I sat down at my desk with my morning coffee and journal in hand, I saw propped up against the cup that holds my pens and pencils one of my Power Thought Cards from a deck I've had for years. It was invented by one of my greatest teachers, Louise Hay. This is what it said:

"It's only a thought, and a thought can be changed,"

I remember watching Louise on a DVD of her movie, "You Can Heal Your Life." In it she said that by changing how we perceive something, we can change how we feel. Instead of looking out onto a rainy day and saying, "Oh, it's a miserable, lousy day," we can say, "Oh, it's just a rainy day." It changes the emotional charge we get from using negative words. So I decided to use the rainy day to make a list of all the rainy-day things I could do to lift me out of my sadness. This is what I came up with:

1. Chop up some veggies and make a pot of soup to bubble on the stove to make the place smell yummy.

2. Clean out my bookshelves, give them a dusting, and start a pile of donations for the library sale.

3. Bake some cornbread.

4. Find a really good book to curl up with.

5. Make a pot of tea (to go with the above book).

6. Call someone I haven't seen in a while just to say hello.

7. Write a letter or send a card to someone just to let them know you're thinking about them.

8. Take a nice, long, hot shower, break out that lovely lavender lotion you got for your birthday, and put on something warm and comfy.

9. Journal, meditate, spend time in prayer.

10 Make a list of things you are grateful for. 

Wow, lots of things I could do to lift my spirits. Just writing the list out made me feel better. I didn't even mind when I had to go out in the rain to take out the trash and recycling or collect the mail. Since I'm not the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz, a little rain wasn't going to make me melt. Whatever happened to that child who liked to jump in puddles? Maybe it's time I went looking for her again.

So the next time you wake up to a rainy day, think of some fun, cozy activities you can do to take away that sadness. Change your thought and change your day ... but don't forget to jump in a few puddles now and then!

Peace and blessings. 

Finding True North

There is a small flock of geese that fly over my house every morning on their way to the river, and back again as dusk settles in. These are not part of the bigger flocks that are just now starting their yearly trip south before the cold of winter sets in. No, these birds have it made. They live on a farm not far outside of the town where I live. They spend some of their day on the local golf course, digging for worms and whatever the golfers might leave for them. When school is out, they hang out on the athletic field of the local middle school (kids always drop something edible). When the day warms up they can be seen floating along on the river looking for goodies and just doing what geese do. When the day is done, they head back to the farm, to a nice, warm barn, with hay to curl up in and a supper they don't have to work for. Yep, these geese have definitely found their "true north," like that point on a compass that shows you the way home.

I found my "true north" 31 years ago. It's the place where, when the challenges of the day are done, I can set my compass and find my way to peace, contentment, and rest. It's the place where I can watch the antics of the geese flying over my home twice a day, calling to each other, making a racket as they head for water, and then back home. It took me the majority of my adult life to find it, but when I did, I knew by the way my heart sang out to me, that this was where I belonged. I'm not in the same house as the day I moved up here, nor even in the same town, but I am still happy. I am surrounded by the beauty of Mother Earth, family, friends, and my furry and feathered neighbors. I marvel at the glory in the changing of the seasons and never get tired of them. I'm not one of those winter birds who fly south for warmer climates before the first snowflake falls. I just put on an extra sweater, pull out my gloves, and head out. 

By the way, do you know why geese make so much racket when they fly? A study was done some years ago that said they are really shouting encouragement to each other to keep going, sort of like a pep talk in the locker room before a game, but this one is in the air. When the leader gets tired, he falls back and and another takes his place. If one should have to land because they are sick or hurt, one or two others will go with him and stay with him until he is able to continue and they can catch up with the others. We should all be so lucky to live in such a community.

So the next time you see a flock of geese flying overhead, ask yourself if you know where your true north is. If you do, good for you. If not, maybe it's time to spread your wings.

And so it is. 

The Last Days Of Summer

"Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few ..."

from September Song

The calendar may say that summer ends with the First Day of Autumn, this year falling on September 23rd, but for most of us it ends with Labor Day and the beginning of the new school year. Although summer may not be my most favorite season, I think it deserves a good send-off.

Every year it seems that Back-To-School supplies and Halloween decorations start showing up in stores earlier and earlier. This year I spied the first of these in July. July? Didn't we just celebrate the Fourth of July, and now we're selling notebooks and plastic pumpkins a few weeks later? Why do we rush the seasons by so fast? The older I get, the faster the days seem to go by. I don't need any reminders, believe me. I'm all for businesses being able to make a decent profit, but not at the expense of our lives, our senses, and the opportunity to make memories. 

Our kids will only be kids for a short time. You can buy school supplies any time, but how often will you be able to play on the beach in the sand with them? How much longer will you be able to go camping with them, staring up at the stars in the night-time sky, roasting marshmallows? 

And what about us? We still have time to walk on the beach and collect seashells. We still have time to take a walk in the woods, sit outside on a starry night, throw some hot dogs and burgers on the grill and spend time outdoors together. Let's not be in such a hurry to let that all go. Our time together on this earth is so short as it is. 

Now, if I'm being honest, I have to admit that Fall is, indeed, my favorite season, but that doesn't mean we should give summer a shorter time. Even though this particular summer wasn't the greatest weather-wise in my neck of the woods, I'll still miss waking up to the sounds of birds calling to each other, squirrels chattering, and a morning sun that beckons me outside. We still have a few last days to make the most of the summer we have left. Let's give summer the send-off it deserves.

And so it is. 

Faith In A Seed

 

"Though I do not believe that a

plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed."

Henry David Thoreau

This is my geranium plant. I've a had it for the last five years. Over the winter it suffered greatly and at one point I thought I'd just have to toss it. Then I thought, "why not give it one more chance?" If there is anything I've learned from my years gardening both outdoors and indoors, it's that one should never underestimate the power of something to grow, to fight it's way back into the light. So I cut it all the way back to a stump, gave it light, water and love, and now she's blooming again.

This summer has been devastating in terms of my indoor garden. In late May we had a 10-day heat wave with temperatures well up in the 90's that forced things to bloom way before they usually do. This was followed by terrible air quality issues from the wildfires in Canada which necessitated either leaving windows open and letting it all inside, or closing the windows and having the air conditioning running 24/7. Even with grow lights going, my seedlings and new plants just couldn't cope. Even the ones I bought from trusted nurseries couldn't handle it. One by one they just gave up the fight. The only plants to survive were the old ones that I've had for several years, like the giant bamboo plant I showcased in my last blog post. These older plants have acclimated themselves to this environment and have absorbed that wisdom right down to their roots. 

I can't think of a better analogy than this one when it comes to getting older. Sure, we may be a bit rough around the edges, and sometimes our bodies let us know in no uncertain terms that it's time to rest, cut back, and give ourselves some extra love. We know, deep down in our roots, what we need to to do thrive. We've been through all the storms and changes in life, and we know how to fight our way back to the surface and into the sun once more. Now, every time I look at that geranium blooming and reaching for the sky, I have an overwhelming urge to stand up, stretch, and do the same thing! Faith can grow lots of things, even us.

And so it is. 

Putting Down Roots

This is Bertha. She is a bamboo plant. Notice I said "plant" instead of "tree." Bertha measures almost 5 feet tall. She is approximately 9 years old. 

I purchased Bertha at a marked-down plant sale at Walmart. She was only a few inches tall and was planted in a tiny ceramic pot in very little soil and lots of horticultural grit which improves the pH balance of the soil in plants. I paid $5.00 for her. Bertha followed me from home to home, apartment to apartment and was placed in various locations trying to find the right light, exposure, and moisture for her to grow. Over time I can to accept that she would never grow bigger than about a foot despite all of my best efforts at re-potting and care. Then we moved to my present location, and dear, sweet Bertha came into her own.

From the start, Bertha took to her new home and it didn't take long before she was looking pretty cramped in her pot. I decided to put her in a big planter and position her at a diagonal in front of the window so she would get a southwestern exposure. It was there, through the next 5 years, that Berta finally put down roots and reached for the sky. She had found her home.

Life is so much like gardening. In the garden, we often have to move plants around to find the place where they can put down roots and thrive. Some like a southern exposure, some not. Some need lots of sun, some need partial shade. Some like moist soil, others do not. I have lost count of how many moves I've made in my life, from the time I was a young bride in my 20's, to exploring life in a new state, to becoming a mom and needing to find the best place for my children to put down their own roots, and now, in what I like to call my "third age" (I hate the terms "senior" and "golden years"), I feel as though I have finally found the place where I can put down my own roots. 

I turned 74 this week. Since I've been living in my sweet, cozy, studio apartment with the killer view, I have successfully gone through three joint replacement surgeries, written and published two novels, and am working on a third. I have created a welcoming nest for myself and love coming home to it when I've been away. My creative juices thrive here. If I want exercise, I have a lovely neighborhood to walk around, and 21 steps from the lobby to my apartment (who needs a gym?). I've developed new and improved  plant-based cooking skills in my tiny kitchen just as successfully as if it were a full-sized one. I am content. I feel rooted. 

It doesn't matter if we live in a huge, fancy home with all the bells and whistles, or a tiny apartment with a killer view. What matters is if it is a place where we can put down roots and thrive. Like Bertha, it needs to be a place where we can reach for the sky!

And so it is.