.....moments become memories

Yogis,
There is something about December that draws memories to the surface. The year winding down, holiday traditions lived once again and the winter quiet all cause me to remember……

This thread began with a gift my father received last year. An online package called Storyworth which emails him questions on a weekly basis, acting as thought starters to, in the purest sense, write his memoir. His answers were shared in real time with the family. We read about his childhood recollections of roaming the streets of Manhattan, his stint in the army where he was stationed with Elvis, meeting my mom in a bar and memories of his ancestors and how theirs paths eventually led to ours.

Memories…..

My dad was finishing his book as Thanksgiving neared and it all got me thinking about the stacks of VHS tapes stored in their couch ottomans, gathering dust. All of those years of him holding that cameraman sized VHS recorder on his shoulder to capture our trips, parties and holidays were at risk of slipping away. I offered to take them and figure out how to get them digitized.

There are new internet companies that sell you a box to ship your tapes in, but after reading the reviews I became nervous. Was I willing to send off all our family memories with the hope that I would A, eventually get a thumb drive back and B, receive it before next summer? Some local digging uncovered a guy in a building in Bethesda who would meet me out front for the hand off, keep me updated via email and have them ready in a week. I chose this. 

While waiting, recollections began rising and I spent the week telling stories of my dad in classes. The more I told, the more I remembered. Diving deeper into some memories which have lain dormant in my cells.

Soon after, two USB drives were in my hands, which I quickly boxed, wrapped and mailed to my parents and sister for Christmas….knowing they would have already forgotten that I had taken the tapes. Sending them memories that we all share.

I sat alone to watch some of them the days leading to Christmas. Tearing up as I watched my young father, sitting with a glass of red wine interviewing his father, making sure that the memories of that generation would be captured. The thread continuing to weave us closer.

On Christmas I ushered our boys into the family room to share scenes of us descending the staircase on early morning Christmas 1993. Watching myself as I carried my 6-month-old and helped the other two decipher who got what. A young mother. Barely room for all of us to gather around the tree in our old house. Remembering that moment, but at the time not realizing it would become a memory.

My grandparents wedding long before any of us were even a thought. Beach vacations which continue to this day. Watching family members laughing and dancing who no longer walk this earth, but in hearing them I remember what they felt like. Realizing how much I look and act like mom.

Watching these moments from afar I know that I was the creator of each of them. Watching how I spun my life.

My grandson watched with me, still a little young to understand how he was seeing his father’s mother’s father’s father, yet some day he will. And the thread will continue on……..

I remember,
SARAH

.....sky season

Yogis,
It’s officially sky season!

For three quarters of the year in my area I see very little sky. If I position myself in a clearing among the trees and bend my neck all the way back, I might be able to watch the clouds float by. The full moon may rise at 8:00 but I won’t spot it for at least an hour when she finally lifts herself above the heavy quilt of leaves covering my grandfather oak.

Spring and summer draw our eyes downward. From the first crocus pushing her head out of from beneath the ice packed ground, until the billowy plumes of the late summer goldenrod begin to fade, our gaze is to the earth and her seemingly endless bounty of gifts. Fall with its palette of reds, yellows and oranges invites us to lift our focus from the ground. The wind swaying the trees in their annual autumn dance.

It isn’t until the final leaves have fallen to our feet and the world quiets that the sky takes center stage. Winter is sky season......

My head still on the pillow, I open my eyes and am welcomed to this new day by the sky. Walking, I notice her. Driving, she catches my eye. When I turn my head to the right, I see sky. When I turn my head to the left, I see sky. Winter brings out the best in her.

Finishing my morning meditation I turn to my east facing window and am awed by the fire of the predawn sky. One evening at the beach I am drawn to pull over so I can sit quietly and take in the miracle of a winter sunset. How can anything be so beautiful. Her colors this time of year cannot be replicated as much as we try.

She also now creates the perfect canvas. Her clear open space allows us an unobstructed view of the heron taking flight. Trees, like sculptures, are on display. Smoke rises from our chimney. The stars twinkle a bit more brightly and gray skies create haunting landscapes, casting a green sheen on the river below. The geese float by beneath her.  

There is also no coincidence that when life appears to be trending in the right direction we claim ‘things are looking up’.  The mere act of looking to the sky gives us hope. Whispering to us that life is not as complicated as it might seem and that we are being watched over.

While earth reminds us that we are supported, held and safe, the sky shows us how infinite life can be. Dreams, wings, flight. Spacious…..boundless. Not tied down or attached. The sky symbolizes freedom and possibilities.

As you move into this new week, be sure to look up! You won’t be disappointed.  

Reaching for the stars,
SARAH

....holidays pandemic style

Yogis,
I love routine, ritual, and tradition. Once I find something that works well, I tend to stick with it for quite some time. May be the Capricorn in me.

Take vacations as an example. We begin the year with a trip to the islands, followed in summer by three weeks at different beaches. Fall is where we boldly go somewhere new. These traditions have each spanned anywhere from 20 to over 30 years. And somehow, we were able to make them all work even in this challenging year. I still love each one for different reasons.

Holidays are much the same, but this year we hit our first speed bump at Thanksgiving. Having 16 of us gather at our small beach house for football watching, turkey eating, game playing and outlet shopping, was not in the cards. Instead, we had a much quieter scaled down celebration at home with two of the boys. We had a wonderful time and kept reminding ourselves that next year we would be right back into the craziness that we have come to expect and love.

Now Christmas is staring me in the face, and I am finding it harder to be so stoic.

For 28 years now, my sons, parents, sister, and her family have all traveled down to our house for what is basically a gigantic three-day sleepover. We all know what to do. The same Christmas eve mass routine (which involves sitting on the balcony steps since we arrive too late), knowing whose presents go where under the tree, the men’s traditional cigar smoking around the grill (interesting hats required), champagne toasts and eggs benedict on Christmas morning.

Perhaps it is because this second speed bump is coming so close to the first. Or maybe it is because Christmas has always been my favorite holiday, but I am finding it challenging. When my sister and I finally had the conversation where it had to be said out loud that they all were not coming, it was emotional. I knew in my heart but didn’t want to hear it.

So here I sit, buying presents online. How to get them wrapped? Trying to figure out how to best get the food we will need without big trips to a store.  What time should I go to the post office to send that box to my family of those more personal items where I won’t be standing in an indoor line. Who has to get tested. It seems complicated and as if I am watching it all from afar.

I am having moments where I feel down.  Then I remind myself.

Our mind has expectations. When those expectations aren’t met we struggle. We immediately go to what isn’t happening, bypassing all that is still here. We compare what should be with what is and search out ‘lack’ and it causes us to suffer. This is what is making me low. If I visualize us all coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and determining who wins the bed head contest it makes me teary. And that is absolutely ok. There is a sorrow this year.

But I must also be sure to turn it around by visualizing what will be here.

Seeing us opening gifts with our sons whenever they are able to be there. Playing holiday music. Cuddling on my favorite couch under the new patio lights that are strung across the great room beams, which bring me much joy.  Smelling the Christmas tree, taking long walks….and still making eggs benedict on Christmas morning.

I have so many things to be grateful for, and Christmas, in whatever shape it is meant to have this year, is one of them.

I will miss the last minute errand running with my sister,
SARAH

....rooted in place

Yogis,
In the early days of Covid rearranging our lives, I shifted my running schedule. A few days a week I could now run in daylight, and without a rush hour I was able to run a river loop that requires me to cross the parkway at the edge of town without risking my life. It was then that I first noticed a particular tree.

I would run the roads down to the canal and river entrance, stand by the river for a quick hello, and then follow the hidden trails up to the next lock. There I only have to run along the heavily traveled canal towpath for a short time before heading across the parkway and back home…..a bonus considering Phoebe’s distaste for close encounters with other dogs on leashes.

It was on the lower river trail that I saw her.

She is not remarkable for her height or width. She is slightly crooked as she reaches for the light. A maple tree, she is surrounded by many like her. Most may not even notice her. But she has a gift, that in turning toward the sun as a youngster, she created the perfect seat for allowing tree huggers like me to lie our spines against her trunk.

I began to do just that last spring. A five-minute pause to sit, close my eyes and tune in to the morning, while Phoebe stands close by as my sentry. I continue to do it once or twice a week to this day.

Each time as I feel complete with my ‘sit’ I open my eyes and look around. After a few months of this routine I began to envision what the life of a tree might be like. How having your feet so deeply rooted that there is no movement forward or back forces life to happen to you.

As humans we are constantly going. No rest for the weary is our motto! Not wanting to become stuck or complacent we are on the move, seeking that which we believe will bring happiness. A tree, not so much. Life must come to them. They are the consummate observers of all that happens.

This particular tree has an amazing view. River to one side. Old growth trees, including one sycamore with the girth of a small bus, to the other. A path that travels along its side bringing occasional visitors such as me. I imagine how others over the years may have stopped to rest their weary legs. If nothing else, she hears them laugh and feels their breath as they pass.

The earliest morning rays of the sun shine on her…..every day of every year. The phases of the moon happen above her.  In spring I am sure squirrels travel up her trunk and wrens create nests in her branches. She can watch the geese and ducks with their newly formed families swim by her roots during summer. Fall surrounds her with an explosion of color and winter gifts her with unobstructed views of the river and canal. The deer and fox her companions.

The days go by….the months….the years. It rains on her in the dark of night. Snow swirls and settles on her seat. Occasionally the wind will snap off one of her branches. Planes fly overhead. The river overflows its banks and surrounds her. Rainbows come and go. She quietly observes. Her neighboring trees and she age together. No need to go anywhere. Life comes to her.

Poor tree, we say. She doesn’t get to travel the world and see all of the sites. She is missing out on life.

I will respectfully disagree. This morning I sat in her seat. My pulse harmonizing with hers. Together we watched the world go by.

My teacher,
SARAH