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Channel: Wonderings

Dog Day Reads!!!

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Each time I see one of these road-side libraries …. take a book or leave a book…. each exchange requiring nothing….motivated by a simple love of reading and books and sharing, I feel happy!  And this sweet one above gets the cupcake-with-cream-cheese-frosting-on-top prize.  I hope the wonderful someone or two on Lummi Island, Washington who created this are licking the frosting off their lips and fingertips.  A stain-glass window and driftwood handle …… WOW!

If you haven't read a good book or three to or with a child this summer, these Dog Days are the perfect time!  Get at it.

A good place to start is by checking out the Association of Library Service to Children's 2014 list of Notable Books.  This is always where I start. They conveniently break their selections into four categories - Younger Reader (preschool to grade 2), Middle Readers (grades 3-5, ages 8-10), Older Readers (grades 6-8, ages 11-14), and All Ages (has appeal and interest for children in all the above age ranges).  These library specialists choose books of "commendable quality that exhibit venturesome creativity".  Doesn't venturesome creativity seem the perfect description for what kids should be up to in the summer?

Although you aren't likely to find any of the books on that list in the quaint road-side library in your neighborhood,  your public library or independent book store will surely have most of them.

We are taking our grandkids on a train trip for the next two days.  I hope this experience creates opportunities for venturesome creativity…. but I am headed to the library soon to have a few new books to tuck into our backpacks to insure that it does.

Happy Reading!  Happy Dog Days!

A Hat-Tip to Teachers!

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This week I am not wondering, I flat-out know that my hat is off to TEACHERS!


They've been busy lately ….. on these weeks that precede the Labor Day weekend….
  • putting up bulletin boards
  • creating colorful doorways and welcoming signs
  • inventorying supplies 
  • re-stocking their classrooms
  • organizing, organizing, organizing
  • collaborating with colleagues
  • meeting new staff
  • taking student leaders on retreat to plan for the year
  • dreaming those nightmares where they oversleep on the first day of school
  • sighing at class lists that well exceed thirty
  • finding enough desks 
  • wondering where the summer went
  • planning, planning, and planning some more
  • hoping the weather isn't too hot those first few weeks back
but behind all this busyness…. and the worrying, wondering and thinking…. is their biggest gift …. their heart for kids…. translation...
  • their deep belief that all kids can succeed
  • their work ethic that keeps them trying and holding on even when the needs are so daunting
  • their willingness and ability to be flexible 
  • their way of always looking for good intentions
  • their salary measured by the smiles, the aha's, the small forward steps and little successes
  • their patience with setbacks, endless demands, and a culture that puts so much blame on the schools
  • their enthusiasm and willingness to be creative, adventuresome and silly
  • the energy they get from kids
  • their joy when students step up
I am grateful for teachers and their heart for kids.
I know their hearts will be broken open many times during this school year.  I hope that most of the time it is due to deep JOY.

TAKING A BREAK .....

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... from my blog, from my writing, from community service and lists and cleaning house, from life as I know it on a regular basis.....

That's what I have been up to the past month.  Taking a break....in France... sinking into Paris first, then Provence .... the croissants, the streets, the small quaint towns, the markets, the history, the grapes, the people, the olives, the beauty.


I had a long list of must-sees and wanna-dos when I left.  My Rick Steves' and Lonely Planet books were labeled, highlighted and packed.
Many of the Do's and See's got done, but there were delightful afternoons and slow mornings where we didn't hurry to the next thing on the list, not because we were tired or the place was closed or under repair but because sitting and talking, looking at the French countryside, lingering over our plat du jour at lunch, or reading the great books we had brought along trumped our tourist list.

On this vacation to a new place... I took a break. The fill-me-up, breath-in-and-out, look-and-smell-and-wonder kind of break.  The kind of break where we saw and did but also where we allowed ourselves time to wonder about the country we were experiencing, its people and culture and government, how our history has overlapped with theirs, what the future might hold, what we could take home from their ways and perspectives to make our lives richer.

The last leg of our journey took us to the Mediterranean Sea in the south of France.  After a swim in that warm water, I spotted this boy reading on the sea wall below me.


This scene on the last full day of our trip reminded me of my blog and my writing and my passions for kids and reading waiting back home.  I snapped his picture to use for a future blog post with a message perhaps about reading and kid lit the world over.

But once back home when the pace immediately quickened and the loaded calendar of events beckoned,  and I saw my wonderful grandchildren again, this picture held a different message. I started wondering about break-taking.  The need to be intentional about creating and taking breaks .... little simple ones .... here at home.

Are we allowing ourselves enough time for breaks?  And are we encouraging our children to take them too .... the fill-me-up, breath-in-and-out, look-and-smell-and wonder kind?  I hope so.

BEING SILLY :))))))

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It's that time of year when for one day deep in October, dressing up and acting silly is OK!

I wonder why it seems OK to be silly when we are dressed in a costume or hiding behind a mask ---- is it not OK to be silly when we are dressed in our own clothes and don't have a mask on?

I LOVE being silly.  I love to sing silly songs with made-up crazy words.  I love to dance silly dances or walk like a giant or a bird or Cruella de Vil.  I love to talk like Donald Duck.  I love to contort my face into silly expressions.
No wonder there are times when I wish I could return to my childhood ....  when silly somehow seemed more acceptable.

 Merriam/Webster's take on SILLY makes me sad:
having or showing a lack of thought, understanding or good judgement; not practical or sensible, meaningful or important; ridiculous, irrational, frivolous

Well,  Noah Webster and George and Charles Merriam ... I say POOLEYBAH on that !  And yup, that word isn't in your dictionary.

What is more fun than a silly joke?  When my granddaughter spends the night, we often hide rubber chickens in an unsuspecting someone's bed.  When she stayed over for two school nights recently I packed a silly something alongside her apples slices and sandwich in her lunch sack each day.  Her second grade friends and even the principal couldn't wait to see what would show up at lunch.  Granted, she acted like it was all a great big fat embarrassment, but deep down inside, I wanna think she got a little giggle from it and maybe even enjoyed the attention a bit.  And most important, I think she knew that I was imagining her sweet smile when I packed that silliness alongside my love into her lunch sack.


 Mr. Webster and both Mr. Merriams, you are probably right ... a baby rubber chicken or plastic glasses with a warty nose attached is not practical or sensible in a school lunch...it is ridiculous and irrational and frivolous, but you will never convince me that when SILLY says I Love You or Please Smile or Goofy Is Good Sometimes, it is not meaningful and important.

We adults often seem hesitant to let our silly sides show.  I wonder why.
 Are we worried that others will think we are having or showing a lack of thought, understanding or good judgement?

Maybe we should rethink that.  After all, don't we want our children to worry less about what others think?

I hope that whenever we get the chance, we allow (and even encourage) our kids and grandkids to find time to be silly!  It's important.






The WONDER of knowing you are loved ....

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I visited my Mom in Arizona last week.  She will be 100 in March!!!   We are planning a big party.... the family will gather.  More than once during our visit she remarked,  "I hope I live long enough so I can come to the party."


I hope she does too.

It was a good visit and though she talked of dying frequently, it often was with a bit of humor or a peacefulness.

Whenever we say good-bye in person or on the phone, we each say "I love you." She said it first this time and after I replied with "I love you too, Mom" she said, "I know you do!"

 That is when my throat closed up (and does again as I type this).  For isn't that, after all, the most wonderful thing of all .... knowing we are loved.

This week I am wondering if those I love know it ....


STUCK !!

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I'm stuck ..... in a place of malaise.  And I don't like it .... one bit.

I sit at my writing desk in the mornings and struggle to be creative or think of  new ideas or get my ideas to go anywhere.  I want to write a fabulous children's book and November is PiBoIdMo (Picture Book Idea Month).    This is the children's writers' equivalent of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  While those novel writers are tossing down 1500+ words per day this month, we children's book writers are to generate oodles of picture book ideas each day of November.

 Sound easy?

My little notebook has only five or six page-fulls ... and it's a damn small notebook!


It's NOT easy ... at least when you are stuck!

Stuck looks and feels yucky!   I am doubting my ability to be goofy or to think like a child or to ever ever come up with the edgy, off the wall, never-thought-of-before stuff that the publishers seem to want.

And then this comes crashing in .... do I need to give this dream up?

Dammit it --- NO!   ( I hope not, anyway).

But I do need to find a way to get un-stuck.  To lift the fog and feel light again.

I am not asking those who love and care about me to rush in with encouragement or platitudes, chicken soup or flowers,  or to humor me with the weird facial hair they have going for Movember.

All I know right now is this..... when I heard myself say I had nothing to blog about this week, this thought appeared ....

My blogspot's title is COURAGEOUS Wonderings.
And I think it takes some courage to say, "I'm in a funk."












"MIRACLE" ... Wonder, Marvel, Sensation ....

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As a grandmother, I am guilty of slipping into that role at times when I think it is one of my "Noni" jobs to "teach" or "guide" or "share nuggets of age-filled wisdom" with my grandchildren ....so I especially love it when they reverse those roles.   It happened ... again .... this past Monday.

Our four year old grandson, George,  wanted to set up the kids' Christmas tree in the library. We are a family that tromps through muddy farm fields, cuts the "perfect" tree,  then strings the lights and adds the ornaments while enjoying that exhilarating scent of pine.  It is often an all day process.

But this extra little tree is an exception.  It is plastic and lives in a box in the basement.   He knew there was a possibility that for the first time this year, we would set up his Bapa's childhood electric train to travel around this small tree so was impatient to get going.

As we trudged the box up from below,  he lamented that it always takes SO long to put the lights on. In full-on Noni, I started to offer "good things take time" ..... but then reminded myself to stow it and instead reminded him that this was an artificial tree that you just plug in .... a fact he appreciated moments later when he got to push the dangling cord into the socket.  He uttered a low "wow",  stared for a bit, then got busy hanging the age-old ornaments.

A full two hours later, long after the tree was complete,  we were playing boats in front of it... waiting.. and waiting... and waiting for Bapa to get the electric train set ready to put around the tree (good things DO take time, I guess.)  George kept stopping his play to look at the tree lights.  Finally....

"Noni, it's amazing about those lights."  I waited.  He looked at the tree again.  Then with a small grin, like he was using a word he'd learned but hadn't tried on yet .... "It's a miracle."

As a typical Grandma, I was proud (as I think he was) of his expanding vocabulary. But what has stayed with me all week was his reminder to me to notice, to look for miracles, to find the sacred while I wait in this Advent Season for Christmas to come.

Without his age-filled wisdom, I might have missed a lot of Wonder.

Thank you, Georgie. 

When the Tingle goes away with the Tinsel ....

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It's the first REAL week of January....when everything goes back to normal.  The meetings, routines, dr appts, schedules and lessons begin again.  All the things we kinda ignored in that delicious month of December.

I look around my decorated house and don't want to start taking things down.  Even the sound of that is depressing ...."taking things down." 

When I plugged the lights of the tree in this morning I crouched low and touched the pine branch shadow designs it made on the hardwood floor .... as if I could soak it into my skin.



Why does the Tingle have to go away with the Tinsel? How do I hang onto it?

The gatherings, the cards, the gifts, the cookies .... all that could go. It's that "other stuff" I will miss.  The dash of Jolly in the air .... that dose of joyful expectation that sits in my belly and greets me each morning. That tingle of wonder and wonderfulness that I love....all so intangible amidst this tangible stuff.

Perhaps I cross out the other items on my Resolutions list ....
 - do more yoga
 - eat less sugar
 - write every day                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

and replace it with ...... KEEP THE TINGLE!!

I wonder what that would look like?


Honoring M.L.King ... Seeking a vision that serves all beings.

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I am blessed to have a friend who I think is one of the wisest women I know.  Each of us is a writer. We touch base via email each Monday morning as a way to say, "Good morning, is your butt in your chair?" or "This is what I am watching out my window right now" or "Here is something I love." It's an easy and straightforward way we use to inspire, nudge or hug one another into a new week.


Several Monday mornings ago, she sent me a poem from a poetry site she enjoys.  The site is called A Year of Being Here - daily mindfulness poetry by wordsmiths of the here and now.  It's a poem-a-day site  that believes that reading selected poetry promotes mindfulness.  The site suggests that one can't really read a poem without getting into the here and now.  

  "That's what mindfulness poetry does: it calls us home to where we are, and helps us abide there. It helps us pay attention.  It helps us inhabit our lives instead of just going through the motions."


 I decided to subscribe. 


The poem that arrived today .... on this Martin Luther King holiday morning.... certainly called me home to my here and now.  



John Daniel in his verse titled A Poem Among Friends  has left me wondering if I am ....in my Here and Now ..... spending generously the time I have been given... enacting my responsibilities as thoroughly as I am enjoying my pleasures....seeking a vision that serves all beings....honoring the mystery I cannot see. 



I believe Dr. Martin Luther King did that in his Here and Now.  Now it's our turn.

  

A Poem Among Friends
by John Daniel

Among other wonders of our lives, we are alive

with one another, we walk here

in the light of this unlikely world

that isn't ours for long.

May we spend generously

the time we are given.

May we enact our responsibilities

as thoroughly as we enjoy

our pleasures. May we see with clarity,

may we seek a vision

that serves all beings, may we honor

the mystery surpassing our sight,

and may we hold in our hands

the gift of good work

and bear it forth whole, as we

were borne forth by a power we praise

to this one Earth, this homeland of all we love.




In observance of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Day: "A Prayer Among Friends" by John Daniel, from Of Earth: Poems (Lost Horse Press, 2012). Text as presented on The Writer's Almanac (10/19/2012).

Turn to WONDER .....

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When the going gets rough, turn to wonder...


WONDER = being open to learning and seeing with "soft eyes".  WONDER = turning from reaction and judgment to curiosity and compassionate inquiry.  


This was one of the seven touchstones we used to guide our work when I was blessed years ago to participate in the work of Parker Palmer through The Courage to Teach program (now the Center of Courage and Renewal ).  And I carry that precept with me every day because I need to.

Turning to wonder is hard for me.   I tend to go to judgement ... or explanation or even fixing.   It takes intentionality and practice for me to wonder compassionately about why someone is speaking or behaving a certain way (especially when I get my dander up).   And it takes even more intention to turn inward and wonder why I am reacting the way I am!!

Writing for children makes me curious about new kids' books on the market.  This past year the buzz around the middle grade fiction book Wonder by R.J. Palacio grabbed my attention.  Besides, I LOVED the title!

It's been sitting in the stack.  I finally got to it last week and met August Pullman.  Ten years old.

My name is August. I won't describe what I look like. Whatever you're thinking, it's probably worse.

August Pullman wants to be an ordinary ten-year-old. He does ordinary things. He eats ice cream. He plays on his Xbox. He feels ordinary - inside.  But he was born with severe facial abnormalities.

Yes, there have been books like this out there for some time. But R. J. Palacio nails the nuances of kids, and cliques and bullying and acceptance and appearance and being mean and being nice... and in the process, teaches all of us about turning to wonder. 

I want you to read it.  And especially if you have kids or grandkids or a classroom or a family,  I want you to read it out loud and talk  about it.  I want  more teachers to put "Mr. Browne's Precepts" or their own precepts on their classroom white boards each month....


 When given the choice between being right or being kind, choose kind  --- Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

Your deeds are your monuments --- inscription on an Egyptian tomb

I want more teachers to ask their students to come up with their own precepts and have them talk about why they chose it and how it impacts their life.

I obviously loved this book .... it is a WONDER of a book!  For me, it shouts out loud that precept I both embrace and struggle to uphold...

When the going gets rough, turn to wonder.

The Important Things ....

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Thirty family members gathered in Arizona this past weekend to celebrate Mom’s 100th birthday!  Close to one third of those thirty were eight and under. 

Like in any family, there was lots going on (some of it happy, some worrisome).  Lots of opinions, lots of noise, lots of indoor and outdoor fun filled the weekend .... plus chats, games, songs and stories amidst the candle lighting, good wishes, cake and frosting! 


When it came time yesterday to say our goodbyes and head off to our far-flung homes, I felt re-tethered…..and fuller …. from more than just all that birthday cake.



Our family has been deeply blessed by this amazing woman.  Now our matriarch, she decided as an only (and lonely) child, that she would set her sights on having a big family. And after college and teaching school, that is exactly what she did.  Family has always been one of her highest priorities. 


Yet, about fifteen years ago... at age 85-ish, she said to me,


        “What have I accomplished in my life?  What important thing have I done?”


Surprised and a bit saddened at her question, I quickly replied,


       “Mom, you raised five children who love you, who love each other, and who love being together!"

I think she took that in at some level back then, but I think she really got it Saturday night as we sang and told stories and surrounded her with the reality and substance of this Important Thing she decided so many years ago to set her sights on and now has accomplished.


She taught us that Family is a huge blessing in our lives.  Do we always agree? No.  Are there grumblings and jealousies? Sure. Are there differing views about life, the way to do things, right and wrong, politics and God....oh my, yes.  


But somehow there is this ever present tether to one another - a bit like the rope a farmer ties between the barn and his back door before the blizzard…something to hold on to, something solid and ever present to give support despite the grumblings, disappointments or differing opinions….and during the blizzards.


 Something solid and sacred and Important. 


Today I am deeply grateful that she did this Important Thing with her life. 

And I am wondering  how I am doing with the Important Things in my life.

Listen to Children

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I've been gimping around with bursitis in my knee from a hard spill I took last month.  Last week I went for a physical therapy appointment to get some strengthening exercises.

As the greeter at the PT clinic led me to the exam room, he made quick pleasantries and then said this:
"I'm trying something new this year. When folks come in for their initial visit,  I am asking this question:
If you were to pass on one piece of advice about anything in life, what would you pass on?"

Huh?
My mind was on my stiff, sore knee...far away from any truisms I'd learned in my 65 years of living.

But as my exam room wasn't even close to the front desk - past three hallways and at the end of a fourth...and as this greeter guy wasn't going to fill the silent space, I had a few minutes to think - especially as my limp kept the pace slow.   Still, I remained stumped.

Once he (who I now know as Seth and who has collected over four pages full of responses so far) had deposited me in the exam room,  I turned and looked at him.  He waited.  His face said, 
"You can't pass."

And suddenly, I heard myself say, LISTEN TO CHILDREN!


He blinked. 
So did I. 
Then he pursed his lips, mumbled Hmmm, paused for what seemed a long few seconds,  and replied,
"No one has ever said that before."

And now I'm the one doing the Hmmm...ing.  Ever since that appointment.  Wondering why I said that.
 It's a fact that I love children and youth --- they feed me.  Why else would I teach for 35 years? But for that to be my answer?  Not something about Love or Family or Giving or God?

The one piece of advice about anything in life that I want to pass on is LISTEN TO CHILDREN?

I do know this .... those words came from deep inside me.

And when that happens, I know they are worth wondering about ....
so here goes....

Why should we LISTEN TO CHILDREN?
Why don't more of us do it better and more often or at all?

Do we adults believe that only experience can teach and because children lack a wide breadth of experience, we have little to learn from them?

Is it because sometimes children struggle to be articulate or to find the right words?

Does it take too much time out of our packed-with-important-things day to be fully present and focused so we can really listen to kids?

Do we think they will be uncomfortable?    Or we will be?
Or do we simply think we don't  know what to talk about with young people?

Or is it this?   That on some level we know that young people have a finely tuned and highly sophisticated crap-detector and if we are not fully present or we have an agenda other than theirs on our mind, they sniff us out in a nano-second!
 And that can make us uncomfortable, or cause us to run out of things to say, or thwart those all important exchanges from the get-go.

I am wondering about all of this.

But there are two things I think I know for sure after this bit of reflection and wondering:
    Number One ....Seth gave me his own version of a strengthening exercise last week.
    Number Two .... Listen to Childrenis about Love and Family and Giving and God, after all.



But there was this Love Story ....

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We will gather to celebrate my brother's life this weekend.  He died in late May...less than a week after turning 74.  And less than three months after being diagnosed with lung cancer.

His wasn't always an easy life ... though you'd never know it from his ever present smile, love of laughter, and great talent as a jokester. Born a twin, he always had a ready side-kick and straight man.  There was almost nothing the two brothers couldn't dream up.  And very little that could stop them .... except cancer.

Contracting polio at nine years old left marks he carried throughout his life.  Isolated in an iron lung in a big hospital an hour from family was a lonely and scary time for a young boy.  Yet it only seemed to make him stronger.

Two failed marriages brought shame he carried about divorce.  For a bit, that shame kept him in a self-imposed exile from family.

When his twin brother and soul mate died of cancer, he stepped in to fill the hole left by that loss in our family as well as in the lives of his twin's children.

Distance, both geographically, and at times emotionally from the sons he was so proud of caused him great heartache.

But ....there was this love story .....



Halfway through his adult life, he met her....and it seemed, started loving himself again because of her love.  She became his straight "woman", his adoring companion, his cheerleader AND the brunt of his effervescent teasing.  She cheered on his hobbies and he, hers.  She loved his family and he, hers. She talked of feelings and he tried to. She gave him the dickens and he listened .... and behaved .... for awhile.

Each of them became more because of the other.  Isn't that what we hope for every couple? Being secure in another's love allows that to happen, it seems.

When illness came and he knew life here on earth was short, he wanted her alone.  Always a private soul who didn't much like showing vulnerability, it was in her care and her arms he felt safest.

On the evening of the day he died, she said to me, "We had quite a love story."

Indeed they did.  And it was a gift to all of us.

Grow, Grow!

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Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, “Grow, grow.”


I love this quote from the Talmud.  It is a long-time favorite.  

But last week I was cursing those whispering angels when my lawn needed mowing AGAIN!
I have an old push mower  - my patch of grass is small and I enjoy the exercise – but last week it was cold and I had a long TO-DO list and it was almost Thanksgiving, for crying out loud.  

“Stop, already,” I wanted to yell down to those tall, green blades as I pushed that old mower.




YIKES!  What if someone said that to me?  
What if someone said, Stop already!  Stop growing ……stop developing, improving, evolving.

I’d want to stand at my highest height and shout in my loudest voice, How dare you
Even at 65 years old, I'd shout that.    Wait! Especially at 65 years old.

Sure, by now I may be done growing more bone and muscle – isn’t it just our cartilage that keeps growing at this age?   So basically, my nose and ears are getting bigger ….. lovely! 

But I'm certainly NOT done with that critical, crucial kind of growing!  Conscious growth.

Rabbi Alan Lurie talks about this Talmudic quote and conscious growth in an article titled Listening to the Call of Growth….

“….. we can grow in consciousness – in our ability to connect to others, to live meaningfully, and to have a positive impact. This force of conscious growth is what drives us forward to create a personal and communal future that is better than what we had yesterday and what we have today.

We can choose to hear and to act on this call to conscious growth, or we can ignore it, drowning out the angelic whispers with the noisy external distractions of constant entertainment, the internal chatter of our mental judgments, or the drone of our unconscious routine ways of thinking and reacting. We resist the call of conscious growth in order to feel safe and to avoid the discomfort of change, but this strategy inevitably backfires.

Conscious growth begins when we choose to listen to its call, and invite it in.  We invite growth when we are willing to examine our fixed beliefs: who we think that we are, why others behave as they do, and how the world works. “


It seems especially important to do this as we age ... to watch for places where our unconscious routine ways of thinking and reacting might be causing us to stumble,  or closing doors of opportunity, or affecting the growth of new relationships, or keeping us stuck in old broken ways. We all know folks like this.  It's not pretty.

But it seems important to do this at any age, really.... and especially important now when the world so desperately needs all of us to quiet the chatter of our mental judgements.  To stop always picking sides and living in US and THEM thinking. To step away from fear.

  Maybe these angels are whispering us into new ways of thinking and being and loving and living. And accepting.

I feel gratitude for their urgent and persistent whispers to GROW.

I wonder if I am listening with an open heart.

.....And I think I owe my lawn an apology.

What STAR will you follow?

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Stars are a big part of my holiday decor....a large one greets visitors outside our front door, a plethora of different sized stars dance across our mantel, and of course one tops our tree ---- an aged wooden star we chose when the kids were little.  Our first family star.  It has a hole in the center ---- right where the fat ends of the points all start their journey outward.  There's a heart in that hole.


For many Christmases I added more ... I put them out and up and about .... their simplicity and beauty appealing to me. Until this year, that's been about the extent of it .... simple, beautiful stars.  And certainly that is enough.  I am grateful for that.

But this season, the stars gave me more than simple beauty.

On Epiphany Sunday last January our minister asked us to think about what STAR we would follow this year.  She challenged us to find a STAR that called us, one that we would give more to than an Oh-that's-pretty glance .... to watch for holy moments to guide us in our journey toward our chosen STAR .... and to be able, in January of 2016, to reflect on our Star-led journey of 2015.

Kind of a sacred way of setting a New Year's resolution.

So ..... what STAR would I follow?

Seeking an answer to that question led me to my generosity .... or specifically, my lack of it.  Not so much in my giving or my actions, but in my thinking!  I wanted to think more generously.
Yes,  that was it .... I would follow the kind-and-generous-thoughts STAR.....

I looked for Wise words to guide me.... words to give me a leg up as I took the first steps towards that star.....

Parker Palmer has always been my go-to.  His touchstone  When things get rough, GO TO WONDER is on the wall by my desk.  I love those words.  It's always a challenge for me to go to Wonder .... to wonder why another did or said something ..... to wonder why I reacted the way I did ....  to go to wonder instead of to judgement.

But I needed some new words too .....

When I found this quote by Franciscan Friar Richard Rohr...."An alternative orthodoxy is never stingy with grace and inclusion because it has surrendered to a God who is infinitely magnanimous and creative in the ways of love and mercy,"  I thought, YUP .... and YIKES.

YUP !  I no longer wanted to be stingy with grace!  Bingo.  That's it.
But YIKES.... all the time?  Even when someone really bugged the heck out of me?

And this "infinitely magnanimous and creative with my love" part .....whew, tall order.
I remember thinking I was glad I had 12 months for this journey.....
ha .... 12 decades or lifetimes maybe.

So, it's almost January 2016 .... my journey to the kind-and-generous-thoughts STAR has had its successful days and its failed-badly days. But what I have loved is noticing how I feel when I am stingy with grace .....and how I feel when I am magnanimous with love.  Loving creatively comes easily some days and is downright impossible on others.
I plan to keep following this star in 2016.  I have work left to do.

As the simple and beautiful STARS came out of their boxes earlier this month and went up and about and on top, they each held a reminder of this star I am trying to follow.  They were more than simply beautiful.

And when that old wooden star went on top of the tree this year and I saw its red wooden heart in the cutout center where the points begin their journey outward and where it's been for lo, these past thirty  something years, I saw that old STAR and this journey I am on with brand new eyes.



May your 2016 be full of wonder and blessed with magnanimous and creative love!




She Wonders Why she's still here.....

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My Mother is days away from celebrating her 101st birthday.   Macular degeneration has taken much of her sight; very little hearing is left in either ear.  Her world has become  small and narrow.

She wonders almost daily why she is still here with us.

I understand.  I've even wondered this too at times .....

But after walking alongside her for the past six months, I think now I know why she is still here.



To teach me about affirmations and the power they hold to lift a person up .

To teach me about appreciation and how even when you can't see well, or hear well, or understand much of the why, and you hurt a-plenty .... you can still say a warm and sincere thank you for a kindness done.

To teach me the importance of allowing people in - to care for you and love you ---- that vulnerability  brings closeness.

To teach the young ones in our family about giving love.... about stretching to accommodate the needs of those you love .... like speaking slower and louder so she can hear.

To tell her stories again so the children can hear them and we can all keep them alive when she is gone.

To remind me about appreciating - every single day - those that I live with and love .... and to tell them that I do ....

....and so so so much more that I either can't articulate or don't know yet that I have learned.

She has been teaching me things all my life.  But somehow she is doing the underlining.... adding the Caps and the bold font right now .....

I am no longer wondering why she is still here.
I know why.
I will stay alert for the rich lessons.



Ideas are All Around .....

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I am having trouble concentrating on my writing .....



THIS MIGHT BE WHY!!!!

We are rejoicing in a week of warm, stunning weather here in the Pacific Northwest!  After a wet and rainy past few months, this tantalizing spring-time beauty and longed-for warmth has come exactly when I took myself on a three day writing retreat.....to a spot where the beauty and the warmth is especially stunning.  I am in a full-out fist fight with myself to stay indoors writing lit for kids when this weather screams at my window to come out and play.

 I want to walk the beach ..... poke in the nearby village ....  sip pinot gris on the deck .... and chat with my writing buddies.
And..... I want fresh, fun ideas and creative inspiration to abound in my brain.

This morning when the third-in-a-row bright sunny day dawned, promising to be warmer still than its two predecessors, I thought of this wonderful new kid lit book I bought last week.  TitledIdeas are All Around,  it is by the enormously talented Philip C Stead (think A Sick Day for Amos McGee) and his wife, Erin E Stead.  Philip Stead needs to be spending the day writing but hasn't any ideas and his dog, Wednesday, wants to take a walk.  So off they go ..... into the sunshine, the neighborhood, the neighbors,  the turtles at the pond,  the spilled blue paint that looks like a horse, and find that IDEAS are all around  ---- you just have to find them.

So I went for a walk .....      
                                                               

     I returned thinking about WallyDing, a bell-ringing Orca whale.

Thank you, Philip and Erin Stead.

Orange Cake

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Orange Cake


A slice of the orange "W" cake sits before me.
Ice cream pools at its edges.
My fork lifts a bite.
I chew and swallow....not tasting.

Bubbles rise in the champagne along with the emotions inside me.
Toasts, tears, poetry bring memories of that day seven years ago.

His siblings, eating orange cake alongside us, watch, listen, ask questions, take it in.

We are two families, strengthened, perhaps even bonded, by this grief....
Gathered as one
Around an orange cake,
Longing for a little boy.



A Soul Place

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We'd been hearing about this place of hers in South Dakota ever since we met her ....back in the 80's.

This place.... two small cabins, one large shed, one double-holer outhouse....her father's former hunting camp .... on a piece of land near the itty bitty town where she grew up.... deep in the ruralness of the Black Hills.

As a married couple, they spent each summer here in this place...with their children, then their grandsons....connecting and reconnecting with relations, friends, swimming holes, hiking trails, and quiet.  It was a long trek each year, both geographically and otherwise, from their involved lives as university professor and public school teacher in a sizable town up in northwest Washington.

We knew, from the stories, this place held rich memories laced with history. For years we wanted to take her up on the invitation to visit.

Finally. This was the year.....this was the summer.

She told us to watch for the county line sign, then a big tin shed on our right... their driveway would bend off that narrow winding road just past the shed.

And there she was on the red porch, waving through the dust our tires kicked up .... smiling her love and hellos from every bit of her small but sturdy, almost 82 year old frame.

Three days ...with her... in this place.  Wildly wonderful, but not enough.  Not nearly enough.



                    On our first night there, as we lay back into the dark of the lower cabin amidst the hooty hoot of the owls outside, while half of me remained on alert recalling her comment, 'I hope you're OK with rodents!" my husband said across the quilt, "Well, this certainly is her soul place!"

Yup.  True.  We both knew it and felt its embrace.

For those three wonderful days ... (and still, actually),  I wondered about what defines a Soul Place .... what bullet-pointed items fall under that heading ....  what descriptions get the blur out.... what words articulate the experience....that palpable yet intangible experience that shouts Soul Place.

Was it that we were snugged in amongst family photos, memorabilia, tale after rich tale, furniture and artifacts from times past, abundant quiet, new faces that understood and shared our love for her, longings for a dear husband and father now gone from this earthly place, bird song, pine smell and breath-catching beauty?

Certainly it was present in that visit to the six building town where her Mom and Dad had run both the only store and the only gas station while she grew up with a beloved Grandmother some distance away.....and at the visit to the ranch that was home for her earliest years where we couldn't distinguish which weather-weary-but-still-beautiful building had been the house and which the barn... and at the visit to that peaceful ponderosa pine-smelling cemetery high on a hill where she and her husband will rest alongside one another some day....

Was it present here,  I wondered,  because internet, cell phone service and television reception were not?

Was it present here, I wondered,  because this strong wise woman has, it seems, done her own version of the Australian Aboriginal Walkabout... alone on this wild land much of each summer since her husband passed away?

I started a new book the night before we left ... one I had picked up on the trip.  In A Singular Notion, Renee Carrier describes her ranch outside the small town of Hulett, Wyoming as "not a ranch, not a farm per se, it is a place." 
"I love," she continues, "the Muiresque definition of a place as being a part of the environment claimed by feeling."

I dog-eared that page.

Certainly, my friend has deep and strong feelings for this place. It seems to breathe the very values she holds dear.
Or could it be the other way around?  Did her values come from this place?
Sort of a chicken and egg kind of question.

Either way ....what a joy to have and know a place that sings the very song your heart sings ....a place that calls you to remember what it is that brings you closer to your sacred self.

I treasure the gift of those three days with her in that place. They reminded me to live more fully into Rumi's words ....

Wherever you stand
Be the soul of that place.

   Rumi 













"One Nation....Indivisible"

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Today is Election Day.  2016.


I awoke early ... my head and heart troubled and angst-filled.
I sit with it.  And know I need to get out for a walk.  But I must wait for the light to reach the sky so I sit with it some more.

 I grab Parker Palmer's book, Healing the Heart of Democracy, from the shelf and scan the pages.   I want hope.  I want wisdom.  I want answers.

The words on the page ..."One Nation, Indivisible" feel long forgotten .....  far from me ....  far from our country .... almost unreachable.

I read on.

              "If we aim to be "one nation, indivisible,"he writes, the capacity to imagine ourselves as members of one another, despite all that separates us, is essential."

He reminds us that we belong to one another..... so we cannot be as "self-centered as we please" but must understand the necessity of differences and respect.  Respect, he reminds us,  takes imagination ..... that ability to really see one another ..... across our inevitable differences.

I look up from the page to find that the sky is now pink .... there is a sharp wind blowing .... but the walk will do me good.




Give. Grow. Receive.

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A wise friend wrote me last month about a minister who told her that the mission statement for his church is Give.  Grow.  Receive.  Spot on,  I thought.  So simple.....so complete.

 I want to adopt that mission statement as my own.  Give.  Grow.  Receive. What more is there really?

He also told her that his church finds that last one ....  the Receive part ....  the hardest.

And when I lay those words beside my life ....I think it's that third one that is out of balance for me too.  Possibly, many of us could say the same.

This past month, when a Monday commitment I had made to another got cancelled, I tucked myself into the big cozy chair beside the window with an afghan and a charming novel.... ALL morning long.  It was deliciously indulgent.  Not undeserved.  And I loved every minute of it.
BUT .... that is rare.

Now that I am retired, I do have entire days where I can give myself those delightful breaks....but other than trips away,  I rarely schedule them into my calendar like I do the lessons or the volunteering or, or, or!  Even when I know how important that is to do.

As excuses, I have a litany of blather....
            I still want to contribute... to make a difference .....
             The needs are so huge, after all ....  
             It's important to keep learning and growing and not stagnate...
Blah dee blah.  But I venture there is something unsaid here.

I simply think it is dang hard to receive. I struggle mightily to give myself permission to receive... even from myself.  Growing up, when I'd wrestle with a decision, my Mother would weigh options with me, but often say, "Well, you don't want to be Selfish!"

And then there's that whole other level ....  ASKING to receive from others.

Talk about being vulnerable. To say.....I am really struggling, could we go to coffee and could you simply listen to me?  Or.... I have a rotten cold,  could you make a meal and deliver it this week,  or pick up the kids, or the groceries, or walk the dog?  My head says,  How presumptuous of me!

Am I saving the ASK for when I truly have a need ..... am hospitalized with a terminal illness or lose a loved one?  And while I wait for that day, do I miss out on the authenticity and community that comes when we ask and receive on a more regular basis?   Do I lose out on the fullness... the wholeness perhaps, of my relationships ... am I limiting their depth and richness when I make this choice?

It's a good thing it's the dead of winter.  I have lots of time to wonder about this.  I am putting myself on Time-Out.








Gratitude for the YES.

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It has long been a part of me.  It fills me.  Centers me. Rights my soul.  Yet now, a couple years from 70, I don’t do it much anymore.  Except at the occasional wedding reception or with my granddaughter when she visits.  

So, when a friend called two months ago asking me  to choreograph and perform a solo in a production she was putting together, I hesitated on my way to NO.   She seized my moment of pause  …. "How about if I just send the song so you can listen to it?".  
Wise woman. 
The haunting words and soothing melody reached in and touched my heart ….and I said Yes.  

A week after that YES, I departed on a three week vacation to Greece and Crete and quickly forgot all about it….exactly what vacations are designed to do. 

Upon returning, after the jet lag abated,  and some sort of normal returned,  a reminder email popped into view ...the production is two weeks away - hope you have been practicing - here is the rehearsal schedule.  
Wait - what?  Did I really say yes to this?  To dancing in this production ?   What was I thinking?  My body is older and thicker and weaker ... AND .... I just spent three weeks eating baklava and moussaka! 

All of that, followed by …. I gotta get OUT of this.
Then, as I can be prone to do when faced with hard stuff (and the potential of disappointing someone), I got busy with minutia and  avoided even thinking about it ....for days.
When more emails arrived about shifting rehearsal times, an unexpected surgery requiring that a cast member step away ….  my angst built... and did battle with my inner compass....READ ..... “when you commit to something, follow through”.  

It was poop or get off the pot time.    

Unenthusiastically, I scrolled through old emails to find the music....all the while plotting a well-crafted exit. 

I've heard science folk say that music speaks to our body's molecules. I believe them now. I listened to this beautiful song again …. and my molecules started to move. 

IF this were a Disney blog, the most beautiful and flowing movements would have lifted my aging body along with the words of this song right on up into the starry heavens.  But this isn't Disney .....and while I felt joy in the movement,  I hit  wall after wall when my creativity got stuck or my body wobbled .  At one point,  I even wished to suddenly require surgery, myself.

 But each time I thought, "BAIL. Get out now!......TAKE THIS RISK" was a little louder.  It out-shouted you’re older and thicker and weaker, and this choreography looks older and thicker and weaker too.

And then the best thing of all happened …. I asked my eleven year old grand-daughter - who studies dance three times each week -for guidance and help. 

Her suggestions were gentle ... with clear explanations behind them.  She  was encouraging and kind. And, I think perhaps, she was even a wee bit proud of me.

I am a wee bit proud of me too. I danced to that beautiful music - written by a beautiful woman and sung by her lovely daughter.  No starry heavens were reached.  Wobbles happened.  But the YES gave me gifts I didn't know I was seeking.

And for that I am grateful.










A "God" in our Palm

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I see us waiting…..for the bus, the boat, our coffee, our turn with the doctor…. 
head down, palm up - in an almost prayer-like posture.…  
to a persistent God. 
This Diety sucks us in. Glues us to itself.  Holds our souls.  
Connects us…. to what?  
more news?
 friends' and family’s needs?
 work demands? 
schedules?
 time chunks?
 music to soothe us? 
movies to entertain us? 
podcast info?
 rants?
 feuds?
 laughs?
 tears?
  Certainly not, it would seem, to those waiting alongside us, 
or….
 to ourselves.

Is this the new public hiding place?  The replacement for  books, magazines or newspapers….but with endless articles, titles, and features …. so you never ever need even look up? (Unless….oh my…. the battery goes dead….and the coveted spots in the coffee shop or airport where outlets live, are taken).   
I suppose it might seem a bit predatory these days to simply sit and look…or people watch. 

Is this our new safe space?  A place where we can be alone?   Where nothing is asked of us?  No one awaits our response or our smile or our opinion or our action….
unless we choose to engage?

Perhaps this Diety… this Force with whom we are spending so much of our day is benevolent….. protecting the shy teen from the angst of not being included in the circle of conversation next to them.  Lovingly providing needed relief to the introvert who has had enough of the party…or assurance to the socialite who needs to hear frequent pings.
  Perhaps ….

And while we wait with our head bowed down to this "God" in our palm,  does another Force wait for us
 to leave the competition in our coat pocket or purse…and spend time…
 in silence,
 in emptiness,
 in noticing, 
in breathing, 
in conversation, 
in wonder,
and yes, in rants, feuds, laughter and tears….

 In simple Connection… 
with others…

 and with ourselves?

My Heart is an Off-Road Vehicle

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We drive that stunner of a North Cascades Highway headed for our annual family reunion and the curious four year old grandson in the back seat peers through his car window while he volleys forward his usual plethora of questions.  

What made the fire start that burned all the trees?

How did the fire get across the river to the other side?

Where does the water come from in that waterfall?

What animals live in this forest?

Which ones live way up on the top of that top mountain?

What makes the water so green?

And when there are still miles to cover, and he is DONE with the car,  and he wants to BE there…..

Bapa, is this an off-road vehicle?

When the answer isn’t affirmative, his imagination describes the last of our journey if it were….

“We’d jump the river, zoom through the forest, rev straight up to the top of the mountain, then bump all the way down…. and we’d BE THERE!”

********


Now, three days later at the close of this family reunion…..I sit at the lake’s shore - the tea in my mug and the sweet birdsong bringing me and the day awake…..And suddenly, I am crying …. not simply from the beauty I sit in, but the realization that my heart is that off-road vehicle.

It feels giant-sized, super strong, unsurpassable!

Pumped by the relentless squirt gun battles, whiffleball games, soccer matches and gut-busting laughter. .....Revved from the catch up conversations with each beloved..... Set into a steady rhythm by the “signal-less” surroundings free of texts, emails, and troublesome news.... bumped into steadiness by the magic that is our history and years-long legacy, it is filled up and broken open.  

It could jump a river!





"In-the-Weeds"

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“In-the-Weeds”

“In-the-Weeds” my family called me. Till I was well beyond forty….and still, occasionally. 

This had absolutely nothing to do with weeds (though I loved playing in wild backyards), or my rather messy appearance.  Sitting still didn’t come easily and my mother’s refrain of “I couldn’t do a thing with her hair - it had a mind of its own” still echoes through my fond memories of her. 


Funny how this moniker that stuck for who-knows-what reasons came to be mine BEFORE I grew hair, and while I was still swaddled and suckled and kept away from any weeds. 

It was my sister’s invention.  Two and a half when I arrived home from the hospital, she struggled with the consonant and vowel blends of my given name - Margaret Louise is a mouthful for a toddler . 
 My family found my sister’s “In-the-Weeds” endearing and fun … which it is.... and so repeated and shared it often. And perhaps, over time, as that bald, swaddled baby grew into me, and after my sister was fully able to pronounce my name, “In-the-Weeds” stuck because it fit.  

I am kind of unmanicured and all over the place.  I still struggle to sit still and my hair continues to have a mind of its own. And though, I would love to think “In-the-Weeds” stuck because I was endearing and fun, I think my family thought it fit for lots of other reasons.  
And I’m OK with that, because though I'll always remember the nick-name, what stays with me the most and the deepest, is the love and smile in their eyes when they called me “In-the-Weeds.”

Today I am uneasy with the nick names being given right and left to others, often opponents,  by fully grown adults acting far less mature than most toddlers.  These nicknames are given to belittle and demean.  There is NO desire that they be endearing ....funny perhaps, but always  at the expense of another (and to me,  there is NOTHING funny in that).   The nicknamer's intent is Not to endear.... there is no smile or warmth.  They are meant to hurt and put-down.  

 I am wondering what our children and youth are thinking as they observe this. 


I wonder too what they think about their own nick-names. Do they sense love and warmth and endearment when they hear them?   I sure hope so. 








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