Battling Buttercups – A Lesson on Weeds


Buttercups“Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby, just to let me down and mess me around, and worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will, but I love you still….” Song by the Foundations  (Want to listen: Clink this link  Buttercup song )

I have liked buttercups since I was a child. I have loved buttercups since Doug and I were married. I should probably say that Doug and I married the weekend after my college graduation.  We had summer jobs and I had a teaching job for the fall, but we had no money. Doug’s beloved uncle, Uncle Jack, had bought two cottages on Lake Chautauqua where for a month every summer Doug’s family vacationed.  So, when Uncle Jack, as part of a wedding present to us, offered us a week at the cottage, we were thrilled. We could have a honeymoon.

ClamXav_2.7.5Doug’s Aunt Carlie did not come with Uncle Jack to our wedding. Traveling was difficult for her, but when we arrived at the cottage, there in the center of the table was an enormous bouquet of buttercups. Aunt Carlie told me that at the moment we were saying our vows she was picking them as a gift for us.

Yellow is my favorite color and, as I said in my last post, I have a fascination with light. Somehow, at the moment we saw them, a shaft of sunlight illuminated their joyous cheerfulness. It seemed like a blessing, a prediction of a sunny life together for us.

Now, after many happy years filled with lots of sunshine and our share of rain, I have been committing sacrilege.

When we moved to Edenton, our backyard was nothing much. Surrounded by trees, including an immense long leaf pine, it had a lot of shade, 2 gardenia bushes, 2 camellias, and a lot of bare chain link fence. As I worked at turning it into a garden, the first buttercup popped up in the grass. I was thrilled…a bit of blessing, I thought, on our life here.

What a mistake!  I always thought of fields of buttercups, but not that they could turn your lawn into a field!  My sister and I would pick them in the meadows behind our house, and hold the flower beneath our chins to see “if we liked butter,” a golden glow from the pollen on our chin a predictor of that. I taught this to my grandchildren as they picked the spring buttercups in my lawn, and we held them under our chins together.

Close buttercup copyOnly now, I know that abundant pollen is a warning: buttercups are invasive weeds, spread by pollen and by nodules below the ground in their roots.  They are almost impossible to kill with herbicides because they intertwine their roots with the roots of the grass. Kill the weed. Kill the grass. Tenacious and treacherous! (…so why did I build you up, buttercup, baby – Why?)

By the end of last summer, I looked around at spots of bare earth and finally acknowledged that my beloved buttercups had reached the point of choking out the grass.

That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks: life is filled with weeds. Not just buttercups. Different weeds. Addictive weeds. Life weeds. And just like my buttercups all are seductive.  Many start by looking like flowers. Bad lovers, toxic family or friends, bad habits, the weeds of cigarettes, alcohol or drugs. overeating, overworking, all seduce us, make us think we need them in our lives, and make false promises of a happy sunny future together. But when anything starts to leave your life bare, taking over in unhealthy ways, it’s time to take action. If it limits you, redefines you, or hurts you, it’s a weed…no matter how much you love the color of its petals.

garden glovesI can fight Buttercups. In the big picture, this is comparatively small and doable . Other weeds, life weeds, or addictions may need real intervention, someone or something to help, real recovery time. But all weeds have to be battled or they take over, do injury, even kill. It may be a step by step, one day at a time battle, but if you keep going you can win, at least today, at least right now.

So, this week, I have been on my knees painfully trying to dig them up individually. Hour after hour, carefully wiggling, leveraging, trying to untangle them from the grass, I have been removing them. It’s been one battle at a time trying not to leave any roots to regenerate while trying to tamp back down dirt around the remaining grass to save it, with the clock ticking down till when the buttercups bloom and blow their pollen everywhere.

After at least 15Dead buttercups hours spent over the last week, I have taken out hundreds, and more hundreds remain. (This is a pile of 2oo – yes, I counted them and this is just one pile of many!)The grass is growing making it harder, and  I wonder how I did not realize this was a problem until it was an enormous one. Battling buttercups is more difficult than I could have ever imagined.

Yet in the midst of my battle, overnight it seemed, one plant managed to bloom. And guess what, despite all my effort, despite my aching back, my heart soared at the sight. Oh, I just couldn’t help it.  You see, buttercup,  “I love you still, you know I have from the start…”

I admit it. I still am so easily seduced. The first step to making a change is to admit the problem, and this is just a simple one.  Real life problems, real addictions are much harder.

I don’t know if you are battling any “weeds,” or love someone who is. If so, be patient with yourselves and them. You cannot remove someone else’s problems or pluck out the weeds in other’s lives. You cannot get rid of your own weeds overnight, and one may pop up again. The battle may be a long one. That’s hard but true. But you can be a truth teller, you can call a weed a weed. You can refuse to plant any more weeds yourself, and you can offer support and caring to someone in the midst of the fight. Not easy, this is not easy…and not every battle will be won.

I have a laborious but easy one, so time to go back to my garden. I hope I win my battle. I pray you win yours.

Info on buttercups by agriculturist

 

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Especially in Spring


sunrise“Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more to day than dawn. The sun is but a morning star.”  Henry David Thoreau

I admit it. I’m a morning person. There is something about the quiet before anyone is up. It seems a delightful time of day to me.

 

Nessa and the birdfeederSitting with my dog in silence on our back porch, watching shadows,  listening to birds, makes me feel at peace. Sometimes, thoughts and story lines float through my mind. Other times, I sit and nurse my coffee, just experiencing the sights and sounds in my garden as the day slowly unfolds until I can’t delay coming inside any longer.

AconiteIt’s lovely, especially in spring. Then every day new life awakens amid the faithful pansies that have bloomed all winter.

Spring NessaDaffodils dance in the breeze with cheerful aconite. Lenten rose pushes up purple bells in the fairy garden along with bashful violet. Then, bushes and trees are wreathed in blossoms overnight, it seems.

But as much as the flowers and the foliage draw my eye, what most fascinates me is the interplay of light and shadow, the progression and change in the shine on the leaves, or the light that highlights the curve of the Japanese magnolia petal, heightening the waxy ivory and pink in the center and intensifying the magenta on the outside of the flower.

IMG_0382Now, I know that this is a really different post for me, but I hope you will find something in it to enjoy…the above is the context of my love affair with light, and to what happened a week ago when we stayed at our son’s home.

That morning, as usual, I was the first up. I sat at the kitchen table with my coffee cup working on my blog. And I had a beautiful moment of light coming through the French doors. And for the first time in many years, it led to expressing my thought in a poem:

Especially in Spring

Coffee cup light copyMy love is inexorable,

Especially in spring.

Stealthy, silent…and slow,

Slinking through the cracks,

Slipping beneath the shades,

Creeping across the floor,

She covers my eyelids and whispers,

“Come for a walk. I’m playing in the wood.”

 

Rainbow light through deck door‘There’s work to do,” my mind protests.

Up, coffee cup filled, trying to concentrate,

A tendril reaches me through the window,

Shadows the panes, breaks into rainbows,

Sliding across the table till it highlights the keys.

My love is irresistible.

She always draws my eye,

Especially in spring.

Cherry tree woods

There she is, playing with the wind,

Fingering the new leaves,

Dappling the edges,

As the wind lifts the tree limbs to her touch.

Suddenly, fractured, she falls,

Slicing the canopy in shafts of gold and grey.

My love always breaks my heart,

Especially in spring.

Just something a little different…enjoy the light, especially this spring.

 

 

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Advancing at the forefront of dreams


green dream“Taking a place at the table is not guaranteed.  Not everyone makes it to a seat of power…Ah…but taking a chair at the forefront of your dreams, that is possible. And, it is necessary, even if our dreams can change and evolve over time, even if our dreams may be a subsidiary to our work life or family life.”   Israelmore Ayivor

puzzleI believe we are called by the world, by our own inner yearnings, and to me, by God, to find a way to live our dreams, to be true to own selves, to find our passions.  I think when we fail to do this we do ourselves injury. Larger than that, when we discount or diminish our dreams, we do a much larger injury as well. For if we hold a missing piece the world needs and we withhold it, the world is diminished by that loss.  It certainly may take incredible effort and commitment to achieve a calling, live a purpose, or fulfill a dream. But whatever the cost of doing that, it is nothing to the cost of not doing it. Proverbs says, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” I think that is personal and communal.

eyes fearPhoebe Coelho says it this way, “It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting……Before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams master the lessons we have learned as we have moved toward that dream. That’s the point at which most people give up…. [At this point] Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.”

castle of dreamsSomeone one said, the most important things we learn are those we already know, and I know all of this. Part of the reason I dedicated this blog to all who are trying “to find and live their call” is that I believe you know it, too. There are literally a million reasons to give up. I have stared accruing mine.

This week brought the first rejection to a query letters and if I don’t hear by Friday on another I can infer that agent has taken a pass as well. Failure hurts.  My only answer: learn from it. That translates to revise and tweak my letters and my synopsis, research more agents, and keep going.  I refuse to quit. Failure is just one step on the path to success if you keep going.

yellow dreamsI don’t know where you are in your journey, your understanding of your call, or in your effort to live or fulfill it. I do know that however hard it may be, it is easier together.  So, thanks to all who have been encouraging me, and I hope today brings you a sense of renewal in your efforts.

Can you feel your spine stiffening? Mine is. There’s no time for pity at the forefront of dreams and no more waiting for it. Knocked down…I’m picking myself up. How about you? ……So, ready to begin again? No? Well, we can get ready while we go for it. Come on!         ….Wait, is that a mountain ahead….ok, no stopping us, deep breath, we will just climb it. Now, let’s go…..our dreams are calling us…full pursuit ahead.

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Stress, Lobsters, and Hermit Crabs


lobster“A lobster lives within a rigid shell. As the lobster grows that shell becomes confining. The lobster feels itself under pressure and uncomfortable. It goes under rocks to protect itself, and casts off the shell, replacing it with a new one….which eventually also becomes confining…So, the stimulus for the lobster to grow is that it begins to feel uncomfortable…I think what we have to realize from this is that times of stress are times of growth.” Quote from a video by Dr. Abraham Twerski

tidepoolWhen our children were two and six, my husband’s parents bought a home on Cape Cod. So, our vacations were spent relaxing at Harbor Beach in East Dennis. One of the kids’ favorite activities was to create their own pond, dug in the sand near the water, and then fill the shallow pool they created with whatever “denizens of the deep” we could find..

snail crawling on rocks

With my best recollection of an old Irish Rovers’ song, Gretchen and I would sing  “shellikee, shellikee buukiee, come out and show ur harn, all the ladies are waitin,” to the snails. Chris had a net that he used to catch Blue and Fiddler crabs as they ran sideways in the shallows, some tiny shrimp, and the occasional minnow.bluecrab

All of us would scour the tide-pools left by the retreating tide behind the barnacle covered rocks for hermit crabs. We spent endless hours watching their interactions.

hermit in whelk shell

As the children grew, they ranged farther in the hunt, but I was content to sit and read and “guard our pool.”

 

Now, this included the need to summon the children to dig a new one nearer the water if the tide began to go out, or father back if it began to come in. A tough job, but so is the watchman’s work.

Another part of my job, given me by Gretchen, was to “keep the Hermies from fighting.”

hermit crabUnlike other crustaceans, hermit crabs, to put it kindly, are recyclers, or scavengers if you are less kind to them. They don’t grow their own shell, like lobsters do, for their vulnerable abdomens but rather find abandoned snail shells and move in.  When they are little and first pick a shell, they can retreat all the way in.  To move, they stick out their head, legs, and claws, pick up their new homes and skitter along.

hermit-crab pinchedAs they grow bigger, they no longer fit in their shell, becoming vulnerable. A hunt for a new home is critical.

 

I learned a lot from watching them. Our pond limited their possibilities, but it was not unlike being caught in a tide pool. If they were in a shell-rich environment, (if there were a lot of empty shells and just a few of them), the ones looking for a new place to grow could run from shell to shell trying them on for size.  Of course, this was done thoughtfully, I assume, because when you abandoned a shell you risked some other Hermie taking it.

2 hermitsThose were the risks: keep the shell you knew though more and more of you grew exposed every day, or take a risk of locating a new home that was a good fit and offered more safety. That was tough enough if you had choices.  We also saw what happened if the choices were few.

hermit-crabs fighting over shell

If our pond created a more stress-filled environment by holding few empty shells, what we saw was war.  We didn’t do this deliberately, of course, and it took a while to figure it out. But with limited choice, our hermit crabs fought over what was available.

What set me to thinking about all this is the video on stress I saw yesterday by psychiatrist and rabbi, Dr. Twerski (the quotes above)

In general, as I posted in Finding the Door, I agree with Dr. Twerski. I do believe that crises in life create dangers, but also the opportunity for change. Stress and discomfort can absolutely signal a time of growth. But thinking about lobsters led me to remembering the hermit crabs, then new thoughts on the impact of limited resources. I think stress may be a lot more complex for hermit crabs than it is for lobsters.

ocean lobsterLobsters, when they feel the stress of too small shells, have the ability to grow a new one. They undergo an internal process which is innate and done easily. Lobsters face no competition for shells and fewer risks than the hermit crabs. They go through stress, create new growth, rest for a bit, and resume their lives.

The hermit crabs face the same inevitability. They will outgrow their shell. But they must actively abandon their old confining shells and find another. On some level, there is choice. I have even seen them try out a new shell, find it doesn’t fit them, and return to the old shell. Yet, that choice is only possible if there are shells to be had.

I think it may be that most of us are lobsters.  We have resources. So while growth may be uncomfortable for a bit and somewhat stressful, we handle it relatively easily.

red hermit crabBut some of us are more like hermit crabs. Change and growth may be very risky. In a world of limited resources, striking out in the hope that the choice will result in a new future can be like playing musical chairs and being the one without a chair in the end. Having worked with impoverished people with limited educations and unsupportive families, with the homeless, and those fighting mental illness, I have watched this struggle. Yet, many lobsters think everyone is a lobster and opportunities and stress are equal for all. They’re not.

shell copyGiven that I saw the video yesterday and that yesterday was Super Tuesday, that may have shaped my thought. Sometimes it feels like everyone in our world is fighting over the same shell and our politicians tell us there aren’t enough shells to go around. Some of them even tell us our shells feel too small because someone else wants them.

But there really are enough shells. Gretchen and I found a way to stop the hermit crab wars. The answer was to add empty shells. It really is a big ocean. There are lots of shells. My children and I brought them home by the box load. I guess we are lobsters. But if we don’t insist on keeping them all to ourselves, everyone can at least be safe.

snail on top of snailWe could go first. I don’t know about you, but though I would like to hide out in a comfortable shell for a while, I know growth is coming. It always does. I don’t know if you feel more like a lobster or a hermit crab. Maybe you have enough resources for the next change you face and just want to move forward. But I’ll take my place with the hermits, and go one step farther. I’ll give you my shell. All I ask is for you to have my back while I look for another, or maybe you have one to spare? Maybe, just maybe, you’ll help me look? And I can’t help thinking, if we all worked together, we could probably find one for all of us.

 

 

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On Leap Year and Red Petticoats


february-29“In many European countries, especially in the upper classes of society, tradition dictates that a woman may propose to a man on February 29th. If he refuses, he has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves. The intention is that the woman can wear the gloves to hide the embarrassment of not having an engagement ring.”  timeanddate.com

 

mittensOn Leap Year Day in Scotland, a woman can propose to the man she wishes to marry, but to be successful she must wear a red petticoat and allow a bit of it to show!  Queen Margaret of Scotland passed a law that made any man who declined this invitation award the woman who asked a kiss and a silk dress.

medieval dressSo, though this is not about romance, just an update: I pushed the button again…the query letter send button. One agent last week, another one week later.  By Friday, I will be working on my third try!  No requests for a date yet…but my chapters are here, ready and waiting.

As for me, just wanted you to know, I’m wearing my red dress…doing a Polka…showing my petticoats and crossing my fingers. Here’s hoping that a request for some chapters and a date with an agent is in my near future.

Confused….please read last week’s post! I am querying my novel and think it’s a lot like on-line dating.

Ok, friends out there…thinking about getting an agent?  Come on! Take a leap with me…shouldn’t we all leap in leap year?  …heck, I’ll even loan you my petticoat!

 

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Resolutions and Queries – Let the Dating Begin


mountain-climbing“Go for it, while you can. I know you have it in you. And I can’t promise you’ll get everything you want, but I can promise nothing will change if you don’t try.”
― J.M. Darhower, Sempre

I recently read somewhere that February 10th is a turning point in resolutions. After that, the majority are pretty much abandoned. I don’t know how you are doing with yours, if you made any, but mine hit a few bumps.

lighteningIn my New Year’s Eve post, I resolved that I would do one thing each week toward my goal of getting an agent and getting my book published. Of course, achieving that goal is like trying to find lightning, captivate it, and entice it into a jar.  But that is my resolution, and I am still working on it. Take that, February 10th.

Computer dateAnd working on it has led to this observation: I have decided that the whole process of querying an agent is a lot like on-line dating. You create a profile, in this case a query letter, intended to show who you are (your book) in such a way that an agent falls in love …ok..ok.. maybe not love yet…but so they are intrigued enough to date you.

piece of my heartAdditional individual requirements may vary by dating service…I mean literary agency and agent. For some you send, three, or five or ten pages of your book…for some a synopsis, for some both. If enticed into getting to know your book better, you may get asked for chapters, a real date. If the attraction grows, then, the whole manuscript. And if love blooms…a proposal, or a contract. But remember to be published, not only does your agent have to fall in love with your book, s/he has to think they can make a publisher fall in love as well….(wedding bells…lightning striking twice!)

book and glassesBut that is my resolution and the only guarantee of failure is not to try! So my research says: the best way to encourage the lightening to strike is to get to know your agent. That is the key on the kite.  Start on their agency page.  Does s/he like English majors, (your genre).  If not move on to someone who does.  Does s/he like English majors, but prefer brunettes to blonds? So, for example, likes fantasy but really only wants hard science fiction, (that would not be a fit for me.) So first genre and a fit there….but you aren’t done researching yet.

What are his/her specific interests? (Ask their friends as in: Read their blog!) sunset dateDo you write epic fantasy when s/he wants dystopian? Does s/he want a little craziness when you write from a realistic perspective?  Does s/he want some darkness, when you are all about coming into the light?  No yenta in the world can make a match like that, no matter how hard the fiddler plays!  I am also pretty sure that if what you read about them doesn’t entice you, a date is equally unlikely. Ignoring this and adopting a scattershot approach to this Dating Game is like expecting the worst blind date you ever had to work.

typeset fontSo for my update:  January:  I decided on two agents I wanted to query by the end of the month.  (For non-writers, a query is the one page pitch letter, with an intro paragraph tailored to the agent, then description of the new love of his or her life, your book, the three summary paragraphs, moving to an individualized conclusion.)  I researched them, read their blogs and started the individual parts of the query letters, started the enticing summary stuff, and almost finished the synopsis one of them wanted. Then intermission – first bump – my husband went to the hospital.

calendarSo February: This month I finished the three pithy, tantalizing, irresistible middle paragraphs of my query intended to capture the critical elements of the book, introduce the main protagonists, and the intriguing conflict that they face. (Ok, I am a fantasy person!) These paragraphs are crucial. Not only may they entice the agent to ask for a date, but become the text on the back of a paperback (…or the flyleaf of a hardcover!) that convince someone to buy and read your book. So….I labored over them, writing, editing, rewriting, running them past my friend and writing partner, William Walton, and responding to his critiques as he pushed me on my deadline. (For more about writing partners and William, see his page on this blog)

We also fine-tuned the beginning and ending paragraphs to the agent that seemed most likely to love The Call. This is my opening paragraph:

pen“Your description on the XYZ Agency web page made me think, miało być, it’s meant to be! A liking for realistic high fantasy, medieval if not English, and a desire for Polish culture: I believe The Call meets your request. An epic fantasy set within a political struggle, laced with Polish words and wisdom, The Call draws on the history and folklore of Poland. Your blog portrays you as offering straight forward representation. That is what I seek.”

So, for the ultimate in holding myself accountable: On Friday, I hit the send button on my query to this agent. He reviews within 3 weeks.  So now the music is playing (I can hear the Jeopardy theme: Da dah, Da dah, Da dah dah,…) and I am waiting to see if it really is meant to be. Hopefully, he will ask for a date…and at least to get to know me better..

Cross your fingers for me or say a prayer for me….and if you made a resolution, I hope you are still trying, working away at it, fine tuning it.  I am rooting for you, too…and I know you have it in you.

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The Great Creek Adventure


mist in tress“Character develops in the stream of life.”  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Study how water flows in a valley streams, smoothly and freely between the rocks. Also learn from holy books and wise people. Everything – even mountains, rivers, plants and trees – should be your teacher.”   Morihei Ueshiba

girl red dress creekWhen we moved to Upstate New York, it was to the very beginning of a development in what had been farmland.  We were the third house on he street. All around the cleared lots and partially built houses were woods and open fields. I was about to start First Grade.

The woods became my magic place. Other kids cut through them as a shortcut to school. I would wander, exploring overcome by wonder. The first summer we moved there, after finding my way through a thorn-filled, damp section, I found an area of particularly tall trees which stretched away from me as far as I could see. Beneath them, every inch was filled with violet plants, the heart-shaped leaves soft and inviting.

violetI couldn’t wait for spring. I think it took one or two to figure out exactly when the violets would bloom, but most years found us stooped beneath dappled sunlight picking violets.  The slender, fragile, almost translucent stems were carefully cradled at first. Ultimately, we picked so many we jammed them in until we couldn’t close our hands. The sweet airy smell was ephemeral, yet magnified by their abundance. What most amazed me was that not only were there purple and white flowers, but occasionally tiny, delicate, yellow flowers and more rare, green ones as well. Not as abundant, but there if you looked hard enough.

pussy willowSpring was also the time to bring home pussy willows branches, the first indication that winter was finally over.  Upstate New York specializes in winter!  When the trees limbs were covered with the icing sugar snow of winter, they looked especially magical…and I can actually remember walking through them singing “Winter Wonderland” wondering why the snowman was “parse and brown.”  Then one day, when the sticks of sear winter-barren weeds poked through patches of yellowed grass, we would run to check the pussy willow grove and see that the buds had finally swollen and popped open. We knew spring had arrived.

blackberry copyIn the summer, there was a field where we played ball, and moss to lie in and tickle our toes with, and a berry patch at the edge of an abandoned farm where we picked buckets full of blackberries. Fall brought brightly colored leaves that we collected and waxed. Our woods really were a fairy tale come to life…but as I got older, I wanted to push the limits, go farther. I knew every inch of the nearby woods, but at the end of the fields that would ultimately define the very end of our street when I reached high school, there were more trees and a different kind of magic.

creek with crossingFirst, on the edge of the fields was an embankment. The ancient trees on its edge held hanging ropes, thicker than my wrists, aged vines of wild grapevine, black and fibrous. We would hold on to them and leap over the edge making Tarzan yells, then swing down to the lower forest floor on the natural ropes. There some of the vines formed swings created by their gigantic loops, and we each could swing to our heart’s content kicking our feet against the ferns that carpeted the forest floor. But better even than these wonders, the next path led to “The Creek.”‘

No matter what the season of the year, there was something to discover at the “Crick.”  I called it that with the southern accent I had grown up with and learned from our “housekeeper,” Jessie who was from Kentucky. (She was my favorite “nanny” until Ms. Hassett…but that is another story.)

forest creekAt the crick, spring started with rivulets tricking in the snow, then growing faster, whirling dangerously. As the melting water grew, it twisted and turned in narrow, rocky spaces and flowed beneath the ice of wider, smoother pools where only weeks before we skated. Spring at the crick was frigid, as the fast, furious water filled every bit of space.

In summer, the crick was a magnet to me, filled with treasure. There was a small cache of clay in a depression at the edge of the big pool where we waded. We could sit on the banks in the cool grass and make pinch pots to take home to paint once they dried in the sun. Mushrooms and bugs and butterflies  invited and enticed at every twist, around every bend.

But it was the Crick, itself, that captured me. Where did it come from? Where was it going to? The older I got the more I wondered.

autumn creek copySo, one late summer day, as I teetered at the edge of childhood, I got everyone to agree to the great Crick Adventure. We would be Columbus, or Champlain, or Magellan. We would discover the source of the water…and still be back in time for dinner.With lunches packed we set off early, fearless explorers ready for anything!

Hours later, the sun low on the horizon, hungry, scraped and scratched, with a bruised ego, I led us out through unknown fields, that led to a friend’s housing development.  In real world “space” we had traveled a bit more than two miles. I called my parents from her house.

I never tried it again. The Crick 1, Jo 0.  Oh, it wasn’t because of the spanking I got for taking my sister into danger. The reason was the magic had gotten lost somewhere. The exploration was endless and dirty and hard. My sister cried and was scared. And I wasn’t sure if we should keep going forward or try to go back.  Worst of all, the adventure, with all its sacrifice, got us nowhere. We had twisted and turned and gone in loops and somewhere along our way, while we were doing that, I grew up.

Before the Great Crick Adventure, I was excited by the idea that in stories at the edge of maps on the border of the unknown. it simply said, “There be dragons.”  Now, I knew, I could deal with dragons, but I had to know what the dragons looked like and even what they wanted for lunch before I would risk them. I had to actually be completely prepared.

The magic of my childhood had taught me to dream….the Great Creek Adventure taught me I had to plan, that it must be well thought through, safe for any I would lead. Ah, back to many posts on balance. I guess.

One thing I am sure of….the woods, the creek, the magic in my childhood have been great teachers. They are a part of who I am and who I will be…even if they now only live in my imagination. Since then, life has been the adventure….sometimes twisting and turning. Time after time, the lessons from my childhood have kept me on the right path.

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Amateur Day


roseLove is something you can’t describe.                                                                                               Like the Look of a Rose,                                                                                                                     The Smell of the Rain,                                                                                                                       The Feeling of Forever.

Author Unknown

It’s Valentine’s Day or, as my husband calls it,  Amateur Day.

valentine cardValentine’s Day is about elegant paper cards that seek to capture the nuances of love. It’s about big bouquets of flowers meant to impress your friends…and melt your heart. Women, including me, love it.

But, as Doug says, “If you wait for February 14th to let the person you love know it, or only try to use someone else’s words to express it, you are an amateur.”

Doug is no amateur, and I have known that since I was 19 years old.

red heartsHe knew I was the one when we met. He says he decided then and there that he was going to marry me. He told me he could even envision me having his child.

It took me a bit longer since I had just broken up with someone else, also named…Doug. So, he waited a month and then pursued me through a friend.

fire heart with couple

 

We went to a bookstore, (how perfect for us), and literally reached for the same book. Then, I did know. His hand touched mine, and it really did send a shock wave through me. It still does.

heart puzzle

 

We have been best friends and an unshakeable team ever since. It is his craziness and his corny jokes that make even the worse events bearable, and the best events joy. It is his happiness that makes my soul rejoice.

At this point in my life, it feels as if there has never been a moment I haven’t loved him, and I know, no matter what, there will never be a moment in the future when that will change.

valentines chocolatesSo, don’t misunderstand, I love Valentine’s Day. Doug’s has cultivated florists and sent me gorgeous flowers for untold years. Of course, he has also accompanied them with things like a poem written on toilet paper!  But what really made me the envy of my friends was that he not only sent flowers all year long, but that he left no doubt for anyone about how much I am loved. So, please, do enjoy this Valentine’s Day. Relish the smell of the roses, the lusciousness of the chocolates. Tear up at the sentiment in the cards. I will. Valentine’s Day is great! It’s fun and it can be very romantic.

heart in the snowBut what I wish for all those I love, for all my friends, and for everyone who reads this, is more. I wish that you know real love – love from the depths of a “professional” heart that makes you feel treasured and special and complete.

What I hope you find today is the feeling of… forever.

And Doug, this is for you. I love you more than I can say. I love you…forever. Happy Amateur Day.

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One Hand Clapping


hands dustWhat is the sound of one hand clapping?

This is a classic Zen meditation question, a koan exercise or contemplation of a question to which there is no answer.  Its purpose is to leave the “logical” mind behind and go beyond thinking to enlightenment.

mindful spiralSo, it is not about thinking anything, especially not puzzling it out as if there is an answer, i.e. Sarcastic “the same as the sound of two hands,” clever “fingers popping against the palm of your hand,” or oppositional “whatever you want it to sound like.” It’s about knowing or experiencing.

While I am not at all a Zen expert, I have studied meditation. My answer is simple, but something that has deeply changed me.  It is to let go of the question… to open my death grip on all my questions and problems and reach my hand out to the holy, to the universe, to let my spirit…my hand, rejoice with the hand of God and clap together in joy over my life and the life of the world.  It is to feel at one with the Spirit until clapping fills my soul and echoes back to the world.

I don’t know if a Zen master would approve.  I don’t know it you all will think I’ve gone round the bend and lost a firm footing in reality.

I do know, at my bestwomans' hands raised copy, when I pray and meditate, the world with all its problems drops away, stress drains from my body, and energy and joy fill my heart. I am at peace. It both feels mindless (not fixated on self, problems, mind) and mindful (very aware, but with an awareness focused outward.)

Zen practitioners believe enlightenment cannot be taught.  In my belief context, faith cannot be. It is a profound experience, a “knowing” that for me is a knowing of God, (or Christ, or karma, or the universe, or higher self…or whatever works for you), a sense that God is there within me and without, that I am surrounded by grace.

And while as an experience of going beyond self,  it perhaps can’t be taught, it nonetheless can be shared.

I have taught meditation techniques. I have given simple exercises to students for test taking anxiety. I have taught breath counting as stress reduction. I have shared visualization techniques. And I have used it successfully with clients suffering from anxiety and PTSD. I teach the science of it to skeptics, as we know from tests on Buddhist priests, it can lower blood pressure and heart rate, (simply deepening and slowing breathing can do that), and change brain wave patterns to almost look like sleep patterns. Usually, teaching is accompanied by a practice of the experience. I will use my voice, sometimes soft music, to provide a focus for a more meditative state and lead “students” through a meditation.

meditation candleThe last step, doing this for yourself, I obviously can’t do. But a focus, or focal point tool can help.  That’s not quite doing it entirely on your own….but can help get there by moving focus outward. Some people can watch a candle flame or stroke a smooth stone. Some chant a word to keep other words out of their mind (which really doesn’t work for me.) For some of my anxious clients, I have even given recordings of my voice to help use as an anchor to a previously relaxing meditation I have done with them.

water-liliesI remember a retreat I once led where I was paired with a woman who had MS. When we discussed meditation, she said it didn’t work for her. She couldn’t “shut off her mind” or close off thoughts or worries or fears that popped into her consciousness when she tried it. I said my mind did that to me, too, but I stuck with my breathing, deepened and slowed it. Then, almost like I was a separate being from my brain, I could think, “Oh, ok,I need to remember to do that report at work tomorrow” and let that thought go…along with any other interruption bubbling up into my brain, “Yes, and Johnny needs me to sign his permission slip.”  I imagine those thoughts drifting away from me, the ‘person’ breathing in the chair, as if a gentle stream flowed past me taking those thoughts away. I am aware of them, but let them recede from me.

Two women clappingThen, when there is finally only me, only silence, only breath, I can pour my spirit outward and let God’s spirit pour in. It is a moment of infinity in the finite.

So, this is a reminder for me, and an invitation for you, to let stress go, to embrace that which is greater than ourselves, to let go and let God. It is an opportunity to be half with me, one hand yours, one hand mine, clapping out the universe’s celebration of who we are.

Will you let go of all that hurts and holds you? Will you clap with me? A standing ovation can’t be far behind.

A link to a YouTube talk if you are interested:  Zen Master explains koan meditation

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Rescue Dogs – On Firefighters and Social Workers


search and rescue dog“Disaster Strikes. Almost before the dust settles, the dog and handler teams are there, searching for victims alive and dead. With a sense of smell far more powerful than man’s and an ability to probe nooks and crannies that humans cannot penetrate, these dogs save lives and bring comfort to the families whose friends and relatives succumbed in the tragedy.” Canis Major.com

FDNY chiefOn September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center Twin Towers were attacked and fell.

On September 14th, a group of volunteers, staff, and officers from The Salvation Army in upstate NY went to provide support to the first responders at Ground Zero.  My husband and I were among them.

deputy chief 911By the 15th, we were working at an aide station set up on a dust-covered girder that had fallen from the South Tower (WTC2) providing food, water, and a listening ear when weary firefighters came down from “the pile” where, assisted by rescue dog teams, they dug with shovels and carried debris in buckets, urgently searching to find survivors.

I was reminded of this by two recent events…and the first led to the title and thought behind this post.

sheepdogOver the last few years, my husband has had a number of health issues which may have been caused by our exposure to the dust and toxic air at Ground Zero. Last week brought a trip to the ER and a hospital admission.

One of Doug’s doctors expressed admiration for our service in New York.  In trying to compliment our work there, he told us that in the movie, American Sniper, when Kyle was still a young boy, his father tells him that there are three kinds of people: wolves, sheep, and sheepdogs.  The doctor then thanked us for being sheepdogs.

When I heard this, I thought it was a great compliment. I think of sheepdogs the way good shepherds are described in the Bible: as those who care for the sheep, who guide and protect them, and if they are lost go and find them. Those are the pictures in my mind, though I know sheepdogs will also fight wolves and other predators to protect their flock.

police officersThen, I looked up the quote.  As used in the movie, I learned the sheepdog reference was intended to indicate those willing to use violence to protect people. That is certainly true of our police and military, but not a real fit for Doug and me.

As I thought on it more, I realized that it did fit the NYPD and PAPD who served and died on 911, as well as passengers on United Flight 93 who attacked the hijackers, and the military who went on to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan. They are those kind of sheepdogs in the truest and most noble way.

German ShepherdDoug and I, like the firefighters of FDNY, are more search and rescue dogs.  We go after the sheep. We lead them to safety even if we risk our own lives. At our best, that is what firefighters, ministers, and social workers do.

It reminded me that in those early post-disaster days, when I told firefighters how much I admired their brotherhood, their commitment to each other and their work, they told me that I was their adopted sister. It felt true. They did feel like family, an extended pack of search and rescue dogs, committed to the same kind of work.

911firemanThe other event that really brought this metaphor home to me was a trip to the 911 Memorial.  Right after Doug was discharged from the hospital, Gretchen and I went to New York City.  (I went to have a medical consult there, last Thursday, again a possible residual from my time at Ground Zero.)

The next day, we went to the 911 Museum.  Our visit was profoundly moving to me, and I will post more on that later. Being able to see all they have preserved, from a damaged fire truck, to a fallen firefighter’s helmet encased in a glass box, to the remaining support beams that upheld the North Tower (WTC1) was both emotional and healing. Walking the ground there with my daughter and showing her where I was during my time there meant the world to me.

firemans 911 memorial wallFirefighters, clergyman, police, FBI, iron workers, social workers, volunteers, and the military were everywhere working at Ground Zero.  Noble dogs…ready to lay down their lives for the sheep. It is the greatest honor of my life to be among them…it was a gift to share that experience with Doug and all who served.

A link to a post about my experience:  911: In the Ashes of My Brothers

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