....a birth and a death

Yogis,
On a rainy day in May two women showed me which of the community garden spaces that run along our town’s main road would fall under my purview. You may remember my post where I spoke of the insistence of two particular unwanted weeds. Or one where I shared my vision for transforming the area into both a feast for the eyes and a home to our neighborhood bees and butterflies.

A beginning. A birth…..

Since then I have planted, weeded, trimmed, sweated, and watered weekly. All while falling in love. On morning runs I stopped to visit. Pictures taken, friends visited and the oregano I grew there graced many of my salads.

This past Sunday I even went to the nursery and found another perennial to plant in preparation for winter with a vision toward spring. Tuesday morning at 6 am I ran by and waved. Four hours later it was all gone…….

A friend called me in a panic. A county truck was there and men in vests were cutting everything down to the dirt. They then packed up and left.  A miscommunication between a citizen and the county.

An ending. A death……

As I mourned, I thought back over the fleeting five months the garden and I shared and the many lessons it gifted me. Here are two.

Importance of words – I run by and zinnia faces smile at me, even in the dark. ‘You guys look beautiful!’ I shout. And then I catch myself. Guys???  Calling flowers, which are one of the most exquisite feminine aspects of nature, guys? 
I know better. I have been taught better. Guys has become a figure of speech to cover men and women, like man was chosen as the inclusive word for humans. I can assure you a man decided that.
Woman on the other hand includes both the womb and the man, which last time I checked were both required.
Words matter, a truth becoming clearer than ever this year. Because ‘we always said it’ does not count. ‘I don’t mean anything by it’ doesn’t excuse it. I am woman, goddess, feminine, shakti. I stand in that power and must mindfully use words that empower me and women of every color, size, nationality, and religion. And flowers, of course. Thank you, garden!

Kindness – The garden was always giving. Every visit provided a joy. The volunteer marigold that showed up, transforming into a stunning bush swathed with vivid red blooms. The zinnias in bud vases that I scattered throughout the house made me smile. 

The more I received the more I was spurred to give. Plastic cups filled with blooms which I occasionally set on the elderly women’s porch across the path. Asking children passing by if they would like a flower and watching their eyes widen as I got the scissors and asked what color they wanted. Sharing gardening tips with those who stopped to see what I was doing.
In return I was then given more. ‘Beautiful flowers!’ yells a biker. ‘Thank you for doing this’ I hear from a passing car. ‘My son always wants me to stop the stroller here so he can look at the flowers’, a young mom shares.
Gardens teach kindness.  Thank you, garden!

Everything has a birth and a death, but it isn’t always easy.

Thank you garden,
SARAH

.....a virtual Lobsterfest

Yogis,
Many years on this particular Sunday I have written about the annual event that happened the night before. The 3^rd Saturday in October. An evening where ten of us eat great food, have a few drinks (wink, wink), dance, laugh and generally lose ourselves in togetherness.

This week I had no inkling this would be my topic for today. In fact, I already had another note halfway finished. Photos and all. This year Lobsterfest would be on pause.

During 2020 we have come to realize, and in most cases accept, that many of our get togethers most likely won’t occur. In this instance, not one of us even asked the question. We all instinctively knew that this 32 year tradition was not on the calendar this October. An energetic nod that didn’t need our words.

Yet on Wednesday an email landed in our inboxes. A craving for lemon iced pound cake (or is it iced lemon pound cake?) was the title. An idea proposed. Since there could be no physical visit, especially with flights required for some, should we perhaps mark the evening with a Zoom call to say hi while enjoying our individual drinks and appetizers?

Lobster Goddesses 2007

With the weekend only a few days ahead and clear calendars all around (one of the benefits of the pandemic….easy to get on someone’s calendar) we heartily agreed to meet on Saturday at 6 pm. I, of course, would be the zoom leader (just like I was always the one in charge of dividing up the lunch tab and collecting the money, or organizing and buying the coworker gift, when we all worked together.)

For those of you who have been ‘zooming’ quite a bit, you know the challenges. Ten people on a call all using different technologies, different volumes and different personalities. It doesn’t always ‘work’ well and we were trying to create a substitute for an evening that is typically one of the highlights of our year. I was looking forward to it but not holding high expectations.

Well….I was proven wrong.

Late night dancing 2019

After the initial awkwardness and some fumbling with the mute button, we found our rhythm with each person doing exactly what we love them for, and I hope they each know what that is. Old stories repeated for the 32^nd time. Sharing the transitions we are now in the midst of…..new babies, weddings, the pure joy of grandchildren. And oh, how we laughed. For a moment I could feel everyone there in the room with me.

And somehow, by the end we had all raised our glasses to hitting the road next year for Lobsterfest, to the home of the Colorado couple. Three nights max we were sternly warned, which seemed fair. We all hope they remembered the invitation in the morning cause we are coming……..

Once again I was reminded that when you have a deep relationship with others, while physical presence and hugs are unmatchable,  you can connect in profoundly meaningful ways,  whether by phone, zoom or texts, or even by simply closing your eyes and visualizing them there. Especially poignant this year.

That was 2 hours of a whole lot of fun!

Visualizing us all dancing to Happy next year,
SARAH

....well worn habits

Yogis,
Fall is a season of transition. Tshirts one day and jeans with a sweater the next. The table at the farm stand filled with late summer corn only last week now converted to a festive pumpkin display. Do I turn the heat or the AC on? Is it time to pack away the sunscreen? Is it cold enough for a fire?

With outer transition comes the opportunity for inner transition. A change to the daily routine. A chance to change habits.

Habits are created over time and can be tough to shift. Like well worn paths they are comfortable and known with little chance for the unexpected. Yet sometimes our own habits are what cause us the greatest suffering. Several months ago, I began noticing my own eating habits.

Where ten years ago I had mindfully chosen a clean healthy diet, over this last year or two, like a pair of well-worn jeans, it was showing some wear. The small piece of dark chocolate I ate daily had morphed into a hardy sized chunk right after breakfast. Then the sweet taste in my mouth craved salt so I rounded out the meal with a few pretzels.

Desserts that I never even glanced at before, I suddenly find my hand raising when asked ‘who wants a piece?’  A little too much of this and more than usual of that….. None of it bad necessarily but throw all of it together and stir in menopause with a dash of pandemic, and gradually I was feeling it in my body. Pants a little tighter. Catching a glimpse of myself in a window and wondering where that new roll had come from. I kept noticing. I wished I was back to my previous way of eating and how I felt in this skin I’m in…..but habits are stubborn. I didn’t ‘want’ it enough.

Then a turning point arrived. Sitting over tea and catching up on life with two close friends, we found we had all slid back into a sugar habit. We discussed how the best way to shift it was cold turkey. A couple of weeks without sugar and the cravings retreat. Nice to know I thought.

Later that night one of them sent a text asking if we wanted to begin tomorrow. No sweets. Checking in on each other. Ugh…. Tomorrow? So soon? Shouldn’t I think about this longer? Ok, Sarah….do you WANT this or not?

Yes! I responded back. My wish finally took the critical step over the starting line to a want.

There are many things we wish were different. Unfortunately wishing holds little weight. Now a want on the other hand! When I want something from deep within, the mind can try to derail me at every turn, but I outsmart it with compassion, yet firmness.

As soon as I finish breakfast, I quickly clean up and leave the room. Moving onto another activity. A couple hours later when I begin to think I am hungry, I stop and breathe. Am I really hungry or am I bored.  Cabinets now stocked with satisfying healthy snacks. Effort required – yes. Hard – no. I visualize how I will feel in a month.

For me right now it is about food, but these rules of creating change apply to everything. Nail biting, overspending, negative thoughts. First you must notice what is happening and see it clearly with no drama or blame. Seeing what is. Then you must want to change it. In your bones. Once those two are done, the rest is one foot in front of the other.

Next on my habit changing agenda……stop checking the news so much. Ugh. Can I wait until after the election?

I am choosing change,
SARAH

.....grandma pose

Yogis,
Earlier this week I learned that my grandson would be coming for a sleepover on Saturday night. Over these last few months I have seen him, but this would be his first visit to my house and first sleepover since the start of Covid. Hurray!

I would once again get to use my grandma pose……

In one of my classes we have been spending a couple minutes in this posture every week.  Working to strengthen our feet, keep our knees flexible and gain better balance by taking the hands off the floor. This summer I decided it needed a name that I could use to direct us into it and then it came to me! This is the position that is required in the line of grandma duty. Thus, the grandma pose was born.  

I have been a grandmother for five years now and I go by the name ‘Nana’, following my family’s tradition. It’s a role that has no training or preparation. A unique relationship where you can be with someone you love so much that your heart feels like it is going to burst, yet unlike with your own children, you get to give them back at the end of the weekend. A role in which you can share your passions, teach based on what’s happening in the present moment and wiggle a bit outside the rules.

And I love to do all of this while down at eye level. Sitting on the floor or crouching into grandma pose to see the world from their eyes. Remembering how it feels to be so innocent and open. Every day a chance not only for something amazing, but for your whole world to be rocked. New tastes, smells and never before experienced ideas.  

Saturday night I showed him how to build a fire in the firepit and as we sat around it we discussed trees, birds, and how to roast a marshmallow…..a first for him. After demonstrating the various techniques of slow cook, evenly browned, engulfed in flames before blowing out, or flattened into a smore, he determined his favorite was marshmallows right out of the bag. He knows what he likes.

At the river we removed our shoes and rolled up our pants to wade across to a small island. A bold Nana suggestion. Carefully stepping through rocks and moss while mud squeezed between our toes we worked to stay upright. He was beaming as we reached land.

Whether crawling on hands and knees behind him with our Hess fire trucks as we headed to two alarm fires, sitting on the floor for I don’t know how many car races in the yoga room, or grabbing the big shovel to help him dig his hole, I was grateful for the time on my mat that allows me to dive in to my Nana time with both feet.  

Until you are knocked off balance……

Dropping him off on Sunday I squatted down into Grandma pose to give him a goodbye kiss. Grateful to be Nana…..

I will sleep well tonight,
SARAH