Walking the Talk

My daughter has been taking ballet for the past few months.  Each week, she pulls on her white tights and pink leotard and we run out the door (always just in the nick of time, of course) to the class, where she spends an hour stretching and jumping and dancing her little heart out.  Last week, however, I took her to a different ballet class, one slightly farther away but a bit more involved, and she loved it. The kids, all of them home schooled, were nicer, the teachers seemed to be more educated in the ways of  ballet, and my daughter was excited when we left to go home.  This past Tuesday, when it was time to get ready for class, she stated flatly that she did not want to go.  Apparently, the other class intrigued her so much that she is "done" with the old one.

I tossed around the idea of letting her stop going; she only had two classes left (now one class).  Then, I considered the message I was sending her by letting her off the hook.  Should I tell her it's okay to drop out of things just because we're tired of them, or is the message that it's best to finish things that we begin a more positive and constructive one (assuming, of course, that the situation one is involved in is a healthy one)?  I called the Hubs for reinforcement of the answer I knew was correct, then talked with the little one about the importance of following through with our plans and sticking with your team until your obligation has been fulfilled.  She wasn't entirely convinced, but she went to the class without much fussing and seemed to have  good time, though she'd hardly admit it to me.

How many things do I follow through on? I try my best most days, but I've felt a lot over the past several months that I could be doing a whole lot better than I have been.  My worst enemy is time; I never seem to have enough of it, but the reason for this problem is largely because I don't manage it well.  My mornings begin early enough, but I find myself caught up in a cycle of email checking, Facebook wandering, and reading that leads me into about three hours of awake time before I'm even considering hitting the shower.

I realize that this is insane, and yet I find myself repeating this habit over and over again, then berating myself when the day is over and my mental "to do" list is still glaringly long and neglected.  My Hub is fond of a saying which I believe to be true but which fills me with dread every time it touches my ears: "Nobody ever found success by leaving the house at noon time."  I understand this, I BELIEVE IT, but still I often find myself leaving the house at 12pm, or 2pm, or sometimes even 3pm, to begin running errands which could have been done at 9am, leaving a great chunk of the day open for engaging in life with Sparkle Fairy, drawing and painting and writing, taking care of our home and our animals.  Today, I squandered away the morning hours and then felt deeply resentful that the work I needed to do for our business took up three precious hours that I wanted to spend doing something crafty with our little girl. Never mind that I could have begun playing with her earlier and then felt absolutely no guilt at doing the work I needed to do in order to help make the money we need so that I can stay home with her in the first place.  And, as if the Universe was in full conspiracy mode against me, our computer chose this particular afternoon to run so slowly and in such a discombobulated way as to make me want to throw it out the window. Our computer is old, and probably needs to be replaced, but it usually doesn't give me so much trouble.  Today, it was as if my own negative energy was seeping through the keyboard and helping perpetuate an afternoon of self-sabotage.  Of course, the real sabotage had occurred much earlier.  It turned out the computer issue was related to the fact that was listening to Pandora Internet radio.  Apparently, the music radio site was too much for the computer to deal with in combination with all of the work programs I needed to have open at the time.  Goddess forbid I work without music, though!
I think it's time for me to begin holding up every moment for just how precious it is.

This means taking into consideration, at the day's beginning, that I have an honest and even extreme desire to make the most of my whole day, and that this might mean cutting back on computer time during the early hours of daylight and displaying a willingness to put the book down before the chapter has been read in full.  I really want to stick to this resolution, because the good stuff that happens when I'm more disciplined with myself is more precious to me than I could ever put into words.

When I prioritize my desires and obligations, life is allowed to take on more meaning, events flow, I don't find myself depressed and defeated at the end of the day, feeling like a failure in every aspect of my life that holds importance for me.  Tomorrow is a new day. I'll rise at 5am, wake up through my Friday morning work out, and then hopefully return home and embark on a new routine.  For now, I need to fold laundry and go to bed.  Otherwise, 5am won't be so happy.

Resiliancy

Life isn't always easy, though some days I find myself kicking and screaming and demanding what I feel would be the better option.  This past Monday, my daughter needed to have four baby teeth extracted (I hate the word "pull" with it's connotations of violence) because her adult teeth are trying desperately to come down, but the baby teeth refused to leave their comfy gummy homes.  Words were spoken between parents and dentists, x-rays were viewed, decisions were made, and Mommy worried and worried and worried about the trauma this experience might be to her little one.  While the visit to the dentist on Monday didn't make it to the top ten list of fun things to do at the beginning of the week, it went much better than I'd anticipated.  The nitrous oxide worked it's magic, the little one calmed, the teeth came out very quickly, and soon we were back home, Sparkle Fairy gazing in the mirror at her new smile.  At first, she seemed annoyed that she was missing the front teeth. By Tuesday, however, life had returned to normal. When I asked her how her gums felt, she announced that she hardly remembered her teeth had been taken out.  Pulling her small top lip upward gently, I could see the adult teeth like two tiny white crowns, read to grow downward.  Hopefully now they will take their rightful positions and we won't have any further trouble. The Tooth Fairie made her silver sparkle appearance on Monday night, and all was well in the world on Tuesday morning.   I'm amazed at the way young children are able to bounce back from life's smaller challenges (which, to little ones and sometimes to us big people too, seem huge), and even to life's larger issues.  My daughter really inspired me this week.

This morning, while sitting outside in the rose garden reading my morning books, I was dive bombed by a crazy dragon fly.   He flew in my face briefly before spiraling upward, over the wooden fence that borders the front yard, and past the big black olive tree.  As I  was smiling in startled glee at that encounter, a tiny, tiny bee buzzed my ear and began to hover directly in front of my face.  We were eye to eye for a moment, little bee eyes gazing curiously into my own green orbs before she hummed once again around my head and flew off.  As my eyes turned downward to my book again, a squabble arose in the huge palm tree by the lake.  Several birds were arguing about something, flapping out of the enormous fronds and then disappearing in the leafy arms again, squawking at one another about some sort of avian issue.  The noise and disruption actually added depth to my morning.  It made me take notice of everything around me, of the life that was happening while I sat in my chair, attempting to steal a quiet moment from the morning.   

In the midst of the clamor, life is good.

Friday and Heading into the Weekend....

This morning I sat outside on our dock, a cool breeze blowing across the lake, reading my morning books.  I don't always sit out there (sometimes the dock is cluttered with fishing poles, tackle boxes, and remnants from the previous day's play activities) but this morning I really wanted to immerse myself in the quiet that I always find when I sit out there.  It's funny that the dock isn't that far from our garden patio (it's not like we live in Maine, on a huge lake-this is a South Florida neighborhood and what we have is more a pond than a lake, truthfully, but it's still pretty and very serene) but the vibe is completely different.  Sitting on those wooden planks, the water element is close, and it's the perfect area of the yard to wake up in.

Alternately, I'll sit at the patio table, an old battered number scavenged from our across the way neighbor's rejected furniture pile on the sidewalk.

I have several different morning meditation-type books, but my favorite is Patricia Monaghan's "The Goddess Companion".  Each day offers insights inspired by a different Goddess; the author offers us glimpses of the feminine spirit from many different traditions; I credit her for helping me to realize that I could gain a lot by not just dismissing a particular religion simply because I couldn't subscribe to all of its tenets. I can learn something from the roots I grow from while still following the wonderful path I've discovered.  Yesterday's reading was about Judith.

 
I love that I can offer our daughter such powerful images of women and incorporate them into our spiritual path.  Also, I'm intrigued by the idea of a connection between Goddess worship and the Hebrews-makes me feel like my Judaism and my Paganism can reside together somewhat.  Of course, I'm mostly Irish with a bit of Welsh mixed in and there's a liberal amount of Catholicism in our family as well, so the Irish Goddesses hugely appeal to me, as well as other things Celtic and/or Irish.

Tomorrow, my girl has her last Pee Wee class-the year and a day ceremony which closes the school year of this beautiful youth group which has meant so much to Sparkle Fairy.  The women who started and who facilitate the classes are amazing, dedicated people who are very active in the local community.  The kids participated in lots of classes this year which included arts and crafts, drumming, exploring nature, and child centered rituals.  I'm very proud of all of the kids for staying dedicated and being a part of the group.  Lucky for me, the women who are responsible for the group are also founding members of the Sisterhood to which I belong, so I will have the opportunity to enjoy their company over the summer.   

I hope ya'll have a great weekend!

Watching Things Get Built

I've heard it said that human beings don't need religion, that we do just fine left to our own devices, that we will instinctively make ethical decisions without the guidance of this or that spiritual teaching.  I don't believe it, at least, not from where I stand.  I think I'd hardly be able to face the day without any spiritual guidance.  Maybe I'm just that sick, or maybe we all crave a spiritual nectar of some sort.  We might not all reach for the same brew, and some of us might abstain due to the nature of faith having much less to do with intellect than it does to trust.  I think we all need something, though, even if we won't admit it to ourselves. 

This morning, I've forgotten where my feet are.  Bills pile up and payment for work done is promised by others again and again, and the savings account drops as we try to support our business, hoping every day to get paid what we're due so we can replenish and thus keep that net of security underneath our dangling feet.  Today, I feel like I'm swinging from a tree branch, and my feet can't find the limb below.  I'm in the open air, with just a few leaves overhead as a canopy and too much sun burning my pale Irish skin.  I take a deep breath in an attempt to find some calm but take in the bitter ashes of fear. 

In the early morning hours, I noticed that the hummingbird feeder, which we placed in the garden to attract those beautiful flying jewels of birds, is attracting a colony of fat red ants.  Very happily, they are winding their way up a path of bougainvillea leaves and entering the small metal flowers, imbibing of the sugar water that to them has become an easily found blessing. 

Sometimes we have gifts meant for some but later find they're better given to others.  Sometimes, when we're staring at the tiny bud, we can't envision the gorgeous flower to come.  Sometimes we place nectar for birds by our doorstep only to discover that ants are the one appreciating the sugar water we've boiled and poured into the feeder. The universe has a plan unfolding, but oftentimes we're unable to see it and find peace, so caught up are we in the way that "things are supposed to be". 

Last weekend I attended a class, at the end of which was a guided meditation.  Guided through the woods to a cabin, I met with the Crone of the forest, and she whispered to me that I have need to be a healer. She also provided me with a clear and very definite message: listen.  I'm not sure if I've been listening today.

My husband and a friend are next door working on the kids' clubhouse, which over the years has become dilapidated and, lately, quite unsafe.  It's old, having enjoyed the laughter and raucous play of many children.  It's worn, but still wanting more laughter and play, a little more life.  I stand in the bathroom after my shower, listening to the sound of boards being ripped from boards, saws cutting, the clatter of wood bouncing on grass. If I didn't know better, I'd think that I was listening to the sound of destruction.  If I listen more closely, however, I might hear the sound of creation, nails being pounded into wood, the clack of boards being laid against boards, safety in the making.  A few grains of ash fall from my eye, and I shake my head.  Peering out the tiny bathroom window I can see the whole scene a little bit better from my vantage point now but it's really in the listening that I know what's going on.  
 
Listen.

I read from all sorts of spiritual sources, believing that different paths bear the fruits of different trees.  They all lead to the ultimate source, but sometimes the scenery changes.  This morning I sipped coffee and read about how, in order to receive the spiritual guidance we need, we must be able to really hear what is being said.  We must be able to listen and understand what we're hearing.  Really listen. In spite of the preconceived ideas we possess with regard to how things should be moving forward, we have to stop and listen.  In spite of bills that are due and promises which seem to be failing, we have to stop and find some trust. 

The class on Saturday also reminded me of the great lie which has been foisted on us by men filled with fear.  Some would lead us to believe that nature alone has nothing to teach us, that she's a cruel and senseless mistress whose creatures we should lord over and attempt to control. Foolishness! I perceive us to be stewards rather than lorders, brothers and sisters of creation rather than superior beings whose main purpose is to mold and shape and change what doesn't immediately suit our fancies.  This last bit doesn't seem to be working out so well, does it? I believe that, if we're watching and listening, nature has a whole lot to teach us.  Nature isn't separate from spirituality, but an integral part of it.  At least, that's what I heard this morning as I watched ants finding sweet food where they could, noisy birds over head advising me that sometimes softer speech is better received than wild cawing, the swaying of the mango tree reminding me that gentle bending and swaying  can sometimes prevent a snapping of my limbs (both physical and emotional).  Exclusive patriarchy has tried to take away the beauty of the Goddess and of nature, and left us starved for something we're unable to find because the food we need has been made to look like poison.  We've been thrown fertilizer instead, and even though it's half toxic we're so hungry we gobble it up, gaining what nourishment we can but still reeling, slightly sick from the unhealthy combination of truth and harmful misleading.  There is a great deal of truth in the teachings of different faiths, but sometimes it's difficult to disentangle the gems from the webs of words. Here too we sometimes need to locate the beauty from within the ugliness. Sometimes, too,  we need to just walk away.  Listen.   

Listen.  Listen to it all, and decide what makes sense to the ears within your soul, what sounds vibrate within not just your mind but also in your heart.

Don't discount the beauty of the moment just because, at first glance, things look ugly.  There will be time to slap on a little paint later, after the dismantling and reconstruction has lead to something far more secure than what previously existed. 

Bibbles and Baubles

I know that, on any given day, I need to try as much as possible to stay in the moment, to remember that the most important place for me to be is right here, right where I'm standing.  I need sometimes to just take a deep breathe, soak up every bit of beauty that lies before me, and find a tiny piece of stillness in my soul.

Some days, however, the voices of longing are just a bit too loud to ignore.  There is a place in my heart that wants from the deepest part of desire to be home again, back up north, where the pines whisper in the wind of an October night, and the summer sun doesn't make me feel like a chicken in a rotisserie oven.  I want to take our daughter apple picking in the fall and to her Grandmother's house on Christmas day, to the beach in the midst of July (my skin can't tolerate the sun here at that time of year) and into the cool of an upper Cape lake without worry of an alligator trying to chomp her up.  I worry that my longing might be construed by God/dess as an ungrateful attitude, that I might mess up all of the good we have going here in our life right now today.  But I don't feel an "unwant" for what I have.  I just feel a very deep pain at what has been lost, like a wound that has healed over but just. The skin is still raw in spite of the years between when I left New England and now. 

Pictures of the past show up in unexpected places, such as earrings spilled from my jewelry box, a gift from a friend years ago, when the heaviest question on my mind was what I was going to wear to the senior prom, or the pocket watch that used to belong to my brother but somehow became mine;  or the watch my grandparents gifted me with at High School graduation.  Mixed in with these things are hoop earrings my daughter created with her own tiny hands one year, when a dear friend's daughter came to visit from California.  My daughter adored her, and they spent an afternoon painting and creating beaded jewelry.  How I treasure those priceless circles of blue and green baubles, more precious than sapphires and emeralds! They were the most treasured of all the gifts I received that holiday. 

Since I've been so pulled in this direction, and since the longing refuses to leave, I began creating a vision board.  So far, it boasts magazine photos of various New England scenes: the craggy seashore, a serene lake on which floats a bright red skiff (this one chosen for my husband, who loves to fish), outdoor stone fireplaces, back yard docks in Maine, a bookcase packed from end to end and top to bottom with brightly colored books, in honor of my desire to to become a published author.  Every picture selected for this board will represent an element of life that one of us would enjoy having.  Even looking at it now, with so many white gaps staring me in the face, the vision board makes me smile, and have hope that some little (and pleasant) twist of life will allow us to make a positive change in that direction.

Of course, there are people I love here, and activities we're engaged in which we'd both be sad to leave.  I don't know where the gravel road of life is going to lead us, if we'll be here in Florida forever or if we'll head northward somewhere in the next few years.  I'm not pining away my days, but am enjoying every moment that's placed before me now.  Being homesick and desiring a move back to my roots isn't impinging on the current situation, but it is driving me toward achieving some of my goals.  Today I spent a little time working on my book.  Later in the week I hope to purchase the coveted airplane tickets to Massachusetts, the ones that will ensure (barring any unforeseen and unwelcome events) yet another summer's end trip of very deep joy, nestled in the arms of the landscape that helped raise me, sharing the sights and sounds and laughter with the little one. 

Until then, life is here for me to attend to, and it's a blessed life. It's a full life, much more than I'd ever hoped for. There are sea shells from the Bimini to appreciate:

Gifts from friends to treasure:

And the warmth of a home filled with love and blessings beyond compare.