.....go get Danny!

Yogis,
Only six weeks ago I wrote about the passing of my next door neighbor’s wife, Margaret. Today I write again with a heavy heart about Danny, her husband, leaving us too. Danny’s broken heart began breaking down his body in only days. He was 95 and still did his daily squats but his best friend was gone.

After a short stint in the hospital he went to rehab to regain strength and after some initial progress he took a turn for the worse. He was brought home on hospice a week ago Friday. Like deja vu, we all sat by his side, offering comfort, stories, foot rubs and the coke that he managed to express he wanted. His WWII vet cap sitting nearby.

I met Danny when moving onto our street in 1987. I was 25 years old with a 3 year old and Danny became the fixture that I could measure the passing of time by. He was dependable, kind and always knew how to fix things, whether they be objects or situations.

What I soon discovered was that whenever there was trouble my instinct was to yell ‘Go get Danny!’

Once our Christmas tree has been set up with the lights strung and I decided to fiddle with them, pulling the entire Christmas tree over trapping me underneath. It was only me and my now 5 year old home and as I struggled to hold the tree off my head I yelled ‘Go get Danny!’. Five minutes later the tree was back up and I was pulling needles out of my hair.

The discovery of the first bat in the house caused running, shrieking, and locking of doors (as if bats can open a door). But now what? Go get Danny! He instructs us to wait for daylight to scoop it up like a little bird with a towel and set it outside. Soon it flies off unhurt.

A call at work from the nanny screaming that a snake is in the house. Go get Danny!..... I tell her. He arrives with hoe in hand and handles the situation. I was surprised she returned the next day.

It’s snowing and we need a sled……Danny has five to choose from. I need a bedside table in a pinch……he takes me through his sheds and we find the perfect one. Salt shakers, Christmas ornaments, garden fencing……yep! Clogged drain….go get Danny!

Danny was a gardener extraordinaire and gave me the courage to grow from seed. The times I sat with him in his driveway he showed me how to gain the trust of chipmunks and birds while they climbed his pant leg and landed on his hat. He told me when to plant and how to harvest. He was my teacher of how to be a good steward to this earth we all share.

As his spirit left his body on Monday night, a deer passed by soundlessly and the owls hooted in chorus behind his house, late into the night. Jupiter and Saturn sat in the western sky while Mars shined down on us from the east. Nature was wrapping her arms around him and us, to aid in our grieving.

Our street has lost our honorary mayor and I have lost a friend. The passing of Danny and Margaret has left a large hole in our community.  We have big shoes to fill…….

We love you Danny,
SARAH

.....august riches

 

Yogis,
It happens every year. Once August wraps her arms around me, I feel called to write about her! I love May, June and July with their long days, brilliant sun, festive celebrations and rainbows of color, but there is something so rich about August that deserves pen to be put to paper.

The arrival of August, to me, has always been bittersweet. Much of the garden has already reached its peak, with yellow tinged leaves beginning to show through the mass of green. Flowers of lavender, bergamot and motherwort drying on their now leggy stalks as the days become noticeably shorter. The trees releasing their first leaves as a reminder of what is to come.

Yet then I remember.

All of the work has been done. The hours of labor through spring and summer to prepare the garden, sowing of seeds and tending to plants is complete. Daily watering now shifts to every few days as the morning dew keeps the ground moist. It’s time to take off the garden gloves and pause. August offers an invitation to sit, relax and relish the garden.

The animals feel the shift. Birdhouses sit empty as the babies have all flown off, giving the parents a new found freedom. The foxes, no longer having to hunt to feed multiple kits every hour on the hour, once again saunter down the street. The owl who held court behind our house in the spring has returned. 

The yellow finches, like clockwork, begin arriving to eat the seeds of flower heads which sit perched on tall skinny stalks. Hanging on for dear life with their tiny feet as the stems sway wildly from side to side.  I remember that the blast of color from the late blooming goldenrod is still to come and the flavor of the ripe peaches, cucumbers, corn and tomatoes makes any of us a star in the kitchen.

Finally. I cannot mention the word August without asking you to listen for one of nature’s most comforting sounds. The hum of the late summer insects. One orchestra plays throughout the day, while another picks up at sunset and serenades us as we sit under the stars and accompanies our dreams. Not a sound to listen to, but to immerse yourself in. Lying back and allowing your vibration to join theirs.

I must admit that while the suddenly cool evenings sprinkled amongst the warm ones provides a sudden sense of reprieve from the heat, memories do flood in and the bittersweet returns. But then again I remember…….

Embraced by August,
SARAH

.....the long haul

 

Yogis,
I am sensing an energy shift. Like a new chapter is coming together within this delightful book being written, aptly titled ‘2020’. My guess is this is now chapter 3.

The opening of the book was one of those scenes that pulled the chair right out from under you before you even had the chance to settle in. Reminiscent of the jaw dropping first episode of Game of Thrones. The giddy elation and hope in January and February of a new year, a new decade, a new era quickly crumbled into a covid mess. Shutdowns, shortages and most of all fear.

During those first few months we knew nothing so we feared everything. Afraid of our mail, paper money, grocery bags and running out of toilet paper. Tied to the news as our lifeline while we checked on everyone we loved. A knock on the door hair raising and every cough a sure sign we were dying.

Then Chapter 2 found us gathering ourselves up and working to create what became known as ‘the new normal’. A time of thinking out of the box and rewriting the rules. Becoming experts on Zoom, our new best friend, with classes, meetings and of course, cocktail gatherings. Curbside pickup, Instacart, work from home and contactless services all springing up in innovative ways. A time of growth and adapting.

Through chapters 1 and 2 it felt to me like we were climbing a new mountain. That inner assurance that if I simply put my head down and climbed, I would reach the peak and then all would be downhill from there.

However, what I have been feeling recently is that we have now reached the summit, but as we look ahead, instead of seeing the path take a downward turn, we find we are on a plateau. That for as far as the eye can see we will be taking small ups and downs as we cross this range with no clear idea of where it ends. That we are in this for the long haul…..

The energetics of something being sustained indefinitely changes things and I am witnessing the beginnings.

Five people I know are looking for homes or land in other areas. A draw to have ‘somewhere to go’ that feels removed. Or safe. Or simpler. Some considering these as second homes, but others looking to this pandemic as an opening to take a leap of faith into something that has been stirring for quite some time. Leaving ‘the way it was’ behind.

Companies have now begun giving up office space and offering the option of working virtually indefinitely. Finding that the adapting we did in chapter 2 is actually working, and suddenly the location of your home is irrelevant. Commutes no longer a factor.

Schools announcing virtual learning for the foreseeable future which can be done from anywhere. Some parents beginning to move their children from school as we know it into other learning modalities. Shifts happening.

Architecture even making a turn. As several family members now need their own work space, open floor plans replaced with separate rooms and doors. Bullpens a thing of the past as individual offices return. Clearly signs that some of the changes we are experiencing are here to stay.

What does this mean for you? Are there changes you want to make? Places you want to go? Previously unthinkable leaps you may now be called to take? 

What is it that you want in the long haul……Only Chapter 4 will tell.

Visualizing
SARAH

.....the covid blues

 Yogis,

Ever had one of these weeks? I am standing at the starting line ready for the week ahead. The starting gun goes off and as I take my first step I realize my shoelaces are tied together. Down I go. From there it is a long slow crawl.

It began with a sty in my eye. I believe I have only had one sty in my entire life and I recall being about 10.  A little unsightly and uncomfortable but, oh well.

That evening, I am sitting in my front yard under the glow of the full moon when I hear sirens in the distance. Closer and closer until finally I see red lights coming up the street and parking in front of my 95 year old next door neighbor’s house.

Running in I find him coherent, but cold and clammy and scared. It is determined that he should go to the hospital and I wave as his tiny body is carted out on a stretcher. Everything will be ok I yell. I get his house in order and turn off the lights.

The next morning I spot this in my garden. She is getting ready.

My phone rings. A call alerting me that I have potentially been exposed to Covid. My heart skips a beat. Images flash across my mind of everyone I have been near over the last several days and dread makes a home inside me as I imagine having to make warning phone calls. The search for testing sites with quick results begins.

The next morning I notice her again.

In my reflection I see the bags under my eyes are larger than usual and there are several spots on my face. Oh no! Covid rash! I google it and keep checking in the mirror. A patch appears on my arm. Should I be cowering in my bedroom? Vitamin C. Zinc.

Finally, it begins to pop up in rows letting me know she is not covid……only poison ivy. Yikes! Around my eyes, along my nose, down my arm and on my thigh. Angry itchy red bumps. And no, I did not miss the irony of her visit immediately following my ‘I love to weed’ blog. I wasn’t laughing. The only saving grace was that I could wear a mask all day to cover it without anyone thinking I was weird!

And then there was her.

At this point it was clear that the long-planned trip to finally see my parents for the weekend was going to have to be rescheduled. Sigh.

At last a few steps forward. My test results were negative. Thank you Universe!!! My neighbor gets moved to rehab. Thank you Universe!

Then Phoebe begins coughing…….  A trip to the vet and a prescription in case it is bacterial is given. My face is now swollen so I decide to try out a tele-visit (I give it a thumbs up) and get my own prescription. Together she and I are the walking wounded as we stay clear of others.

She continues to open to the light.

Friday night a friend texts to ask if I ever get the Covid blues. Oh yeah. Each of the things above alone would have been manageable. But when thrown together and wrapped up neatly inside a pandemic, it becomes a lot. Everything more complicated. More serious.

I respond that indeed I do. But once I notice, I head outside to tune my frequency to that of the August bugs and watch a blooming zinnia to remember that everything is exactly as it is supposed to be.

She was my teacher this week and for that I am grateful,
SARAH

.....I love to weed

Yogis,
I don’t believe it is the actual pulling of the plant from the ground. Probably not the fact that as soon as I have finished an area it is time to start back at the beginning again. And definitely not the sensitive feeling I have in my back after a solid weeding session. But I realized I love to weed.

I came to this conclusion while telling one of my stories during a zoom class (I love to tell stories). I had been weeding that afternoon and I shared my epiphany with everyone. Later someone commented that I am the only person they know who likes to weed. I go even a step further. I love to weed.

What is this all about? I decided to become the observer of my own life to get to the bottom of this revelation and here is what I uncovered.

As you know I have a large medicine wheel garden. Twenty-four feet in diameter and taking up almost half of the backyard, there is a lot that goes on in there. I can see the whole circle from my bedroom window, from the back deck and from the great room. I can walk around it in the yard and marvel at the colors and textures. I can give tours and take pictures. Yet it isn’t until I get down on my hands and knees and crawl in at weed level that I truly ‘see’ the garden.

Once I plop myself down and train my eyes on the earth to begin determining what stays and what goes, it is as if a curtain is drawn back and another whole world is unveiled. A world teaming with life that I would never get the chance to experience otherwise if I chose to farm out my weeding. I love to weed.

If I didn’t climb in among the lemon balm she wouldn’t coat my hands so that when I brush my hair back from my sweat drenched face a burst of lemon aroma engulfs me. Only when I lean into the passionflower to reach behind her does her intoxicating scent force an audible sigh to escape my lips. And blue spice basil, oh my. What she does when brushed against makes me close my eyes to immerse myself in her fully.

If I wasn’t diving under the zinnias, I would never spot the sleeping bee on the anise hyssop or the silly google eyed green grasshopper. I would never notice how the dragonfly keeps landing nearby trying to get my attention. How a small tomato plant has emerged, presumably from a scattered seed buried last summer or the arugula growing amidst the bergamot. How did you get there?

A chrysalis hanging on a leaf from a recently emerged butterfly. The hoof marks that tattle on the deer. I love to weed.

And best of all, while weeding I am still and quiet. Present. Aware and open to receive. And it is in those moments that inspiration pours in. Ideas for these writings. Answers to dilemmas. Guidance on my life’s purpose. So whenever I feel disconnected, worried or confused…..I head out to weed. Choosing what remains and what needs to go.

I love to weed,
SARAH