.....covid Christmas

Yogis,
It’s Monday morning and the final car has pulled away. The house is once again quiet as I reflect on the past 4 days…..

Thursday evening. Cookies baked, refrigerator overflowing, wood stacked neatly by the fireplace, covid rapid tests done.  Christmas songs were playing in the background and all that was left to do was wait for the family to begin descending in an hour. The phone rings and it is my youngest son saying that although his test read negative, he is a bit achy. Sigh…… We all agree he should drink plenty of fluids, get a good night’s sleep and retest in the morning.

Morning arrives, and with it his test now reads positive. Covid has joined our holiday celebration without an invitation.

We all whip into action. Hollandaise sauce made and put in a bag with eggs, muffins and ham. Christmas stocking stuffed. Cookies, bagels and presents loaded into the cars and the nine of us head over the river and through the woods to his house, with a quick stop at CVS for a new thermometer (since nothing says Christmas like a thermometer!) Everything is artfully placed on his front stoop as he waves from the window.

He steps out as we mask up and sing carols from afar. Our traveling cooler is opened and beverages are passed around.

Christmas morning as we gather round the tree we add a seat for my computer and although many complain of zoom fatigue, I was once again so grateful for its ability to bring us together. One at a time we opened and oohed and aahed over gifts. The hat we bought him went right on and the slippers from his grandparents quickly replaced the ones on his feet which had holes he could show us.

That night as the tenderloin cooked on the grill and the men donned their caps and scarves for the annual manly men cigar smoking tradition, James was brought in via facetime….. hat and all. He moved through the house with us, heard the jokes and got to see his niece and nephew. If he couldn’t come, Christmas was being brought to him.

Covid was ever present this holiday season. Calls from relatives, my nephews basketball coach and friends that now have it in their home. We masked up when my pregnant daughter-in-law and grandkids were here and popped champagne bottles with others on the front yard as the sun set. Instead of lunch out I built a fire in the firepit and smudged everyone with sage. We hiked, we laughed until our sides hurt and ate way too much.

In early covid days, some of the kids on our street made signs and hung them on poles. Words about kindness and looking for the good. They have been there so long I had stopped noticing them until I kept passing one that had fallen off and was now laying on a lawn. ‘It is what it is’

It is what it is.

Covid came to many of us unannounced this week and doesn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. It is what it is, and like with everything, our response to it is what determines our state of mind. Like the Grinch, covid may have put a halt to certain traditions, rearranged the day and caused gifts to arrive late, but we certainly didn’t allow it to take away the joy of Christmas.

Time to start the six loads of laundry,
SARAH

.....I wasn't going to

Yogis,
Last week I told myself I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t going to allow myself to get caught up in it. This year I was going to take Christmas preparation slow and easy. Let good enough be good enough. Relax……

But I couldn’t help myself.

It began when I noticed for the twentieth time that the chandelier hanging in the foyer was down to one working bulb. The other nineteen times I walked away and thought ‘who needs more than one bulb anyway.’ This time was different.

I went upstairs to the end of the hall which overlooks the foyer. I leaned over and grabbed the end of the chandelier, swung it toward me, held on for dear life and figured out how to get a bulb out so I could see what kind it needed. While holding it I couldn’t help but see the inch of dust in each bowl staring back at me. Shoot.

Once the new bulbs arrived the big ladder had to make its way out of the garage. Between the two of us we managed to remove the bowls, clean it all and get the lights working. Phew! But while up there I see the layer of dirt on the ledge beneath the windows which are yet another two feet up. I find myself texting a neighbor for one of those long handled dusters and as I wait for it I decide to clean the oven, of course.

The sweater comes off as I work up a sweat.

Walking down the upstairs hall I now see how filthy the tops of the beams are over the great room. Step ladder, rags and pan of water. Ready. Up and down….scoot the ladder….up and down….scoot the ladder. Run upstairs to see how it looks from above. An hour later they are now clean, Did I mention the pantry?

You get the idea.

My whole family is coming for Christmas and they haven’t been in the house for two years! With their impending arrival I once again begin to see my house through different eyes. The clutter that has accumulated since we have been virtually alone here throughout covid. Scuffs on the wall. Tired looking arrangements.

Would they care if there was dust in the rafters? No, of course not. But I love my home and owe her the gift of making her shine. Our homes tell a story of who we are. And if not now, when?

The long broom has arrived so time to get back on the ladder…..once we finish using it to change the bulbs in the outdoor deck spotlight.

I have dust bunnies in my hair,
SARAH

.....stillness

Yogis,
Last weekend I took a friend to Glenstone museum, a somewhat unique private contemporary art museum (the largest in the US) located in the middle of a residential area only fifteen minutes from my home. The setting is 230 acres of rolling hills and natural landscape with the largest of the exhibit halls, called the Pavilions, set in the center. This was probably my fifth visit but her first.

When you go there you must be prepared to walk. It begins when you park your car between the lines designated by newly planted red oak trees and round river rocks. From there you walk to the reception center where you are checked in and offered information to guide you on your visit. Then it is about another third of a mile walk on pathways uphill to the Pavilions.

Once inside the 204,000 square foot building made of 6 foot precast concrete blocks, you travel through enormous large glass enclosed walkways to each of the thirteen exhibit rooms. Each exhibit hall has a number and contains wide expanses of space from which to view the art. We saw life sized photographs, sculptures, a room with one painting taking up an entire wall and mixed media depicting both the beauty and pain of Black American life.

By the time we arrived in what I believe was room 10, my legs were beginning to beg for rest, so imagine the delight when you enter and a bench that awaits you.   A beautifully crafted smooth wood bench that runs the length of the room facing a wall sized piece of glass framed by the buildings concrete blocks. Here the art is the landscape beyond.

We sit down and discuss the room and what we see and then become quiet. After a few minutes, that predictable inner voice pipes up with its message of ‘ok we have seen this, let’s get up and move on!’ But we didn’t. We sat. And sat. I could feel that moment where the mind finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere and surrendered to the utter stillness

It was only then that I arrived in the space that I was occupying. And with that, an entire new realm opens up.

The glass we looked through was so incredibly clear and pristine that all of the waving grasses beyond it suddenly had definition and depth. A bird silently floated through the air to land on the lone bare tree in our view. The scattered patches of sky visible through the low clouds now appeared baby blue. Looking became seeing. Hearing turned to listening. We sat some more.

At one point my friend turned to me and shared that her late husband had begun to do just this over the last several years. He would stop to look at something and would keep looking and looking and looking…..to the point where it was driving her crazy. We have already seen it. Let’s go! Until the day she realized what he was doing. He was choosing stillness so that he could really see.

With that we sat still some more.

If you look back over your day today, was there any time in which you were perfectly still? Where you surrendered to what is here? Try it now! Complete stillness. Frozen in time. No toe tapping or hands through the hair. What does it feel like to be held by the arms of stillness?

Whenever we choose stillness, clarity arises. Like the glass in the museum, we begin to see life in 3D.

That afternoon we saw millions upon millions of dollars of art, but what I will remember most is sitting still and seeing the sun lowering herself in the winter sky.

As still as in freeze tag,
SARAH

....not easier

Yogis,
Our county comes around twice in the fall to vacuum up leaves that have been put near the street. Over the last several years the first pickup seems almost inconsequential since the leaves appear to be falling a bit later now. However the second pickup is critical if you don’t want to have to bag all your leaves…..and we have a lot!

Several times over the season I set aside an hour or two with the sole intention of raking. Yes, I actually still rake. In the front yard I rake them across the lawn and to the street. In the back I fill large trashcans or use a tarp for those knee-deep areas, to bring them around to the front.

I usually begin with a sweater, coat and hat, but after twenty minutes I am stripping down as I work up a sweat. My heart rate elevates and I can hear my breath. When I finish an area and look back at the now cleared grass, it is so satisfying. I feel like I have done something.

When people see me out there they comment how I need a leaf blower. Landscape companies will stop and ask if I want to hire them. Neighbors will offer to let me use their blowers, which is very kind, but I decline and get back to raking. It’s quickly becoming a lost art and I think I have excellent technique.

 Would it be easier with a leaf blower? Of course! But I don’t always want easier.

My current car is a 2018 so it has all the new safety features including the backup camera. I do love it. However, when I am backing up I look at the screen but then I also always twist and turn my neck to double check that no one is walking nearby. When someone rides with me they inevitably ask if I don’t trust my backup camera. It may be partly that, but it’s mainly because it is one of the few times in daily life I still get to do a full twist of my torso and neck. Our neck is meant to be turned.

Would it be easier to only use the screen? Of course! But I don’t always want easier.

Why is it that we want everything to be easier?

Automatic vacuums. Snow blowers. Remote controls. Smart toothbrushes. Timers. All designed so we don’t have to move our bodies. Add Alexa in and soon we can lie on the couch in our robe and shout voice commands to ‘live’ our life. And when you sit back and think about it, the more life is supposedly being made easier, the more complicated and harder it seems.

These physical bodies we have been gifted are meant to run and jump. Climb and squat. Twirl, twist and skip. You know the old adage…..use it or lose it.

So for now I will keep raking, shoveling, taking the steps and weeding by hand. They are in a way a moving meditation and they keep the blood flowing. They are good old fashioned doing.

We have a new neighbor two doors down. As I was writing this I looked out and saw her with a rake. I like her already!

Easier is not always better,
SARAH

....it's a wrap

Yogis,
Another Thanksgiving is in the books. The week we have set aside as ‘gratitude week’ is officially over tonight. The leftover turkey has dwindled down to that final bone holding sad looking bits of meat, the pumpkin pie is slightly dried out since no one is sealing the plastic wrap down any longer after stolen bites and the remnants of the green bean casserole sit out in the trash. We all expressed our gratitude, saw the posts which pulled our heartstrings and heard the poems. We can now tie a neat bow on top and move on with life. It's a wrap!

Wait a minute. Not so fast……..

It is very gracious, and typical of us to designate a time for gratitude, but it misses the whole point. Gratitude has no calendar. It also isn’t something we can think about, as it doesn’t reside in the mind. No, gratitude is an emotion. An energy that vibrates from the heart and is endless.

Let’s get our gratitude engine started up so we can move into tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the month after that living in gratitude. A simple practice is one that uses the senses (Mr. Mind, you can take a rest now).

I am grateful for these things that I can hear….. Grateful for the geese honking overhead and the squawk of the seagulls. Oh, and grateful for the sound of pounding waves. The sound of laughter. Music, the tinkling of windchimes, my breath, the hum of my heater and church bells.

I am grateful for these things that I can smell…….Grateful for the smell of woodstoves in the night and inhaling the sea air. The smell of French fries cooking on the boardwalk and even the whiff of dried out pumpkin pie each time I open the refrigerator. The smell of a new puppy, my lavender oil, a rose, pine trees in the winter. Thank you, thank you!

I am grateful for these things that I can taste…..Grateful everyday for the first sip of my morning tea latte and blueberries in my yogurt.  And who isn’t grateful for the taste of chocolate? What would life be without lemon or garlic or basil or mint or pound cake? Grateful to be given the gift of tasting them all.

I am grateful for these things that I can see…… I am grateful for the handsome buck carrying his full rack proudly as he greeted us this morning.  The blue of the sky and the waving seagrass. The red of the maples still in their glory here and the hawk circling overhead make my heart soar. Flowers! Grateful to see the clouds and the twinkle in the eyes of the woman we greet as we run by. Grateful for every color because I can’t imagine a world without yellow.

And I am grateful for these things I can feel….. The warmth of the sun and breeze on my face. Grateful for cold and hot, soft and hard. Jumping into a pool, sliding between my sheets each night and lying on the sand.  Fleece, bubbles, a warm bath, stretching my body, my heart pounding. Joy, sorrow, elation. Being hugged.

The engine is beginning to hum…..

Driving through mountains, snowstorms, rumbling thunder, rainbows, the crackle of the fire……

And once it is warmed up the things to be grateful for become infinite.

Grateful for my fingers which take words from my heart on to paper,
SARAH

....contented

Yogis,
It was a cold crisp night. From the deck I watched a big moon lifting herself over a nearly bare tree line. Salmon was cooking on the grill and the smoke filled air mingled with the lingering aroma of smoke in my hair from the firepit I had been sitting around.  

I’m wearing my most comfortable clothes. Jeans with a well-worn sweater and my trusty wool socks. My favorite flannel lined beanie, like an old friend, keeping me warm. Something makes me laugh and in that moment a wave of contentment washes through. Everything exactly as it should be. Needing nothing. Wanting nothing.

Content.

I think of the times where this sensation of fullness visits. When I am sitting on a rock at the edge of the river, sun warming my face and birds overhead. With eyes closed I experience perfection. Or hearing the crunching of leaves under our feet in the otherwise silent woods I am hiking through with my grandchildren. The rest of the world a distant memory as we find hollowed out logs or patches of moss for my little fairy figurine to sit and rest.

I feel it snuggled up on the couch with a blanket, a cup of hot tea in my hands and a good book in my lap. Taking that first spoonful of the soup I have been smelling all afternoon as it simmered on the stove. Sitting on the floor with my paints trying to capture the beauty I see through my window.

Contentment.

The definition of contented is ‘feeling or showing satisfaction with one’s possessions, status or situation.’ I am not sure that accurately describes the depths of peace I experience in these moments that I am recounting.

It isn’t as simple as being satisfied with my situation, but more like falling head over heels with exactly what is. It has no connection to my possessions or status and occurs in the simplest of times. When all else is stripped away and I can be present to the miracle of what is right here, that is when it flows and fills me to my edges.  My feet, my mind, my heart and my breath all in one place.

As we enter this week of gratitude it occurs to me that when I am content, these are also the times that the most gratitude pours through. Grateful for how things are. Grateful to the sun, birds, moon, smoke, rocks, leaves and my grandkid’s little feet in their boots. No ‘buts,’ or ‘if onlys’, or ‘as soon as.’

Ours is not a culture or economy that appreciates contentment. We have been trained to live from a place of lack. Taught to believe we will feel content once we make that next purchase, visit that country, buy that house or put that next big check in the bank. Or that somehow being content is settling for less. But contentedness is a far cry from a diminished life.

It rises from a well contained within when we stop to notice how exquisitely beautiful life is …….right now…..right here. I’ll ‘settle’ for that anytime!

Grateful to you for reading these words,
SARAH

.....mine

Yogis,
I had just returned from a visit to the creek. As I usually do, I wandered into the backyard with Phoebe to do a quick check in. The crows were squawking and leaves were floating gracefully down to rest on the grass. Peaceful as always…..until the calm was broken by a man’s voice from the house on the other side of our ravine.

“GET OUT OF MY YARD RIGHT NOW,” he screamed in a deep angry voice and even though there was quite a bit of distance between us, he was so worked up that it sounded as if he was right next to me. I could imagine steam coming out of his ears. What on earth could be there that would cause him to be so enraged? I see something run.

Silence. I can see his figure through the trees move back toward his house so Phoebe and I head into the woods and down the hill. My first thought was that it was a dog. What if it is lost? Or maybe a fox. We get to the bottom and can hear rustling in the bamboo. We wait patiently. I finally see movement in a clearing. A baby deer passes, followed by her mom.

I personally can’t imagine having that visceral of a reaction to deer, regardless of what they had been doing, and since it is safe to assume they weren’t attacking him, they must have been having their lunch in his garden. And he didn’t want them in ‘my yard’.

My yard.  Is it? Are those lines we draw real?

Mine is a funny concept. Yes, there were some pieces of paper shuffled back and forth between humans, with lawyers (simply other humans) verifying that yes, you own your land. But did the deer who has lived there her entire life have a say? Did the sun who shines faithfully on the front window each morning at dawn give its seal of approval? Did the earth worm committee down below have a time period for comments? And does this mean I own the squirrel who is hunkered down in her nest up above?

This property is not mine. In reality nothing is ‘mine’. An illusion. Not the house I live in or the yard it sits on. Not the clothes in my closet or even the body that is currently inside some of them. Even that will eventually have to be given back. Everything we believe we own is only passing through, allowing us to use it for some period of time, until we don’t. Impermanence.

When we believe something is ours it then requires us to watch it, hold on to it and protect it from being taken. ‘Mine’ creates attachment, fear, worry…….and as witnessed, even intense rage at a baby deer.

Wars are fought, friendships are broken, money is spent, all to hold onto what we insist is ours. But nothing is mine. When we can embrace this truth we become free.

As I was laying in savasana on the deck I gazed up into the trees. I watched the cloud formations float by and felt a breeze brush across my face. How could I possible ever own them. They too aren’t mine. It’s more likely that I am theirs.

Grateful for the presence of all that surrounds me at this moment.

It is home, but it isn’t mine,
SARAH

.....unhurrying

Yogis,
Phoebe and I have been on the road together. Four days at the beach and then loading the car again we headed north to spend time with my parents. I enjoy traveling routes I don’t typically take so I chose to drive up Route 1 in silence. I didn't want to be distracted by words or music. I wanted to notice.

It was a gray day with occasional spits of rain yet the yellow of the cleared farmlands and the occasional vivid red tree framed by my windshield were magnificent. A hawk perched on an overhead wire peered down as I drove underneath and I noted the names of the small local stores as I passed by.

This is a four lane road divided by a large grassy median which makes for comfortable driving. The speed limit is 60 and I was going my typical five to 10 mph over although it would be easy to go much faster as many others were doing. Don’t we all view speed limits as the minimum?

Up ahead I saw one of those electric signs held up with orange poles that can be programmed to display alerts. It was the kind you typically see before construction, but there was no construction in sight. As I got closer, I could read its message.

‘Ya’ll need to relax. You will get there,’ it said. You have to love Delaware.

I realized what a wonderful message it was. It stuck in my mind as I continued my journey. We do need to relax. Why are we in such a hurry? Why is it that we feel the need to go faster than the posted speed? To live life at breakneck speed.

It seems no matter how quickly we do things these days, there is a desire to do them faster. Cell phones as an example….5G is being installed across the country to give us more speed. Do I actually need more speed? In fact almost all new technology is developed to help us get things done quicker.

But where exactly is it that we are going? What is our hurry?

I catch myself rushing around while cleaning up. Carrying too many things down the steps so I don’t have to go back up. Wanting to get in and out of the grocery store and being annoyed if there is a line. If a web page takes longer to load, the toe starts tapping. Faster movement, faster breath, faster mind. And we wonder why we are all anxious.

We are taught this at a young age. Remember being rushed or rushing your own children each morning? Hurry up and eat! Hurry up and dress! Hurry up…..hurry up….hurry up……when as children our instinct is to dawdle. To be and enjoy the space we are occupying at that moment. No time for that!

In a thoughtful book I am reading the author speaks to a need for humans to unlearn hurrying. Slowing down as a path toward reconnection and inner peace.  Could we do that, and will the world even let us?

I took the road message to heart and spent the next three hours of my drive sitting back, shoulders relaxed, not concerned with my arrival time. I would get there when I got there, and the drive felt carefree. I arrived refreshed and ready to enjoy family. The sign was right. I did get there.

Catch yourself the next time you are hurrying. Notice, take a big conscious exhale and see what happens if you slow down. Life does indeed wait.

Slowing life down to enjoy the ride,
SARAH

.....squirrels

Yogis,
If I were asked to paint a picture of what fall is to me, it would include bright colored leaves, swirling winds, pumpkins, caramel apples and fleece jackets. Acorns, pinecones and sweet potatoes. Also, squirrels.

This is their season. Squirrels darting about digging holes in my lawn and potted plants as they bury nuts and build nests, busily preparing for the cold of winter. Intent on their purpose they zigzag across the streets oblivious to traffic. Tails fluffy and coats thickening, they are fearless in their determination.

This week I will talk about squirrels…….

When I was 4 years old we lived in a small house next to a warm welcoming neighbor who would let me come over to help her bake cookies. One day as I was making my way over a squirrel began to approach me. I stomped my foot but it continued its path forward. This was clearly not right, so I yelled and my mom ran out and the two of us proceeded to scream and run for our house with the squirrel at our heels. We slammed and locked the door (as if a squirrel could leap up and turn a knob) and watched it from the window.

This is a memory we have both recounted many times over the years. Why on earth would a squirrel chase us? Fast forward more than 50 years later to this past Thursday.

In the morning my husband opened the hood of his car to clear off falling pine needles and was startled to find a small squirrel sitting in the engine. The squirrel too was surprised and slid down beneath the battery.

For the next half hour we tried to coax it out. Peanuts, cheerful voices, a little prodding with a stick but little success. At this point we needed the car and were considering the hose when the little guy made a move and we grabbed it with the multi-purpose barbecue tongs. Down onto the driveway he went and off into the brush. Thank goodness!

Off my husband goes and I proceed to my weeding, feeling good. I am leaning over tugging on a stubborn vine when out of the corner of my eye I see a blur and the next thing I know the squirrel is running up my back! I grab it and put it on the ground where it then runs around and crawls up the front of my pant leg. You can only imagine my body language as this all transpires. And lots of ‘Aaahhhs!’

I now have it pinned against my torso with both hands where it settles right in. Now what…..

I try placing it at the edge of the woods. No sooner has its feet hit the ground when it is back on my chest. Squirrels are quick. I put him on a small tree trunk. He hangs on, looking at me as if to say ‘you’re kidding right?’  I slowly back away and make it halfway across the lawn before he jumps down and literally bounds across the grass, leaping into my arms. Squirrels are determined. Oh my.

I can’t go in the house (Phoebe). I can’t use my phone (if I let go with one hand he wants to scurry up to my shoulder). No one is around. I accost a woman walking by, but she has no advice. Finally I find a neighbor who prepares a shoebox for me to use and I get him in, find an organization that rehabs wildlife and the squirrel and I head out for a car ride. He is now safe and being cared for. I kind of miss him.

I look at these two life experiences. The first time I ran away in fear. This time I stayed, in fear.

Going toward,
SARAH

.....visible change

Yogis,
I have an early January birthday.  Right around the time when the hoopla of Christmas and New Year’s has settled down. The house has been cleaned, the tree gone, and presents are all put away. Simplicity has returned and now I am being asked ‘What do you want for your birthday?’ Each year it’s a challenge as I yearn for less.  It was January 2020, and I was facing this yearly dilemma.

Can you remember how you felt that January? We had entered a new year and a new decade and there was hope in the air. A clean slate on which we could create whatever we wanted! So it was from that space that I asked my husband to go to the small crystals shop I had recently discovered to get a stone for my altar. ‘Tell the owner I am looking for a stone for change’ were the only instructions I yelled as he headed out the door. I then asked my parents to get me a book on crystals.

On my birthday I opened a box to find a large….and quite heavy….beautiful piece of Malachite. A deep emerald green filled with swirls that pull you in and make it appear different each time it’s near. Ok, now let me look Malachite up! I turn to the page and the very first thing I see is:

NOTE: This is a very powerful stone and should only be used under the guidance of a certified crystal therapist.

Yikes!

It went on to describe the stone’s qualities, healing properties and effects. Finally, it stated that Malachite is ‘the stone of transformation’. Onto my altar it went. ……Well, we all know what happened over those next 6 weeks. Not only my life, but the whole world was transformed. And even though we keep thinking we sense a finish line, eighteen months later the changes continue.

Lately it feels like one of those flights where you begin the final descent, all buckled up with tray tables in their upright and locked position, when the plane unexpectedly changes course and heads back up. Circling with no clear message from the captain on exactly when or even where you will finally land.

I am finding it hard to make plans. Should I move forward with changes to the beach house? Should I hold classes in person? Is a warm winter vacation in the cards this year? Will I be able to get toilet paper?............. Where do I even want to land? The uncertainty that comes hand in hand with change. Feeling stuck.

We are always living with change, but usually it is more subtle, happening under the radar and seeming to sneak up on us. Like those new wrinkles we catch in the mirror as we rub our eyes open on a Monday morning or the glance at a wall that suddenly makes it clear a new coat of paint is way overdue. But what we have all experienced as a collective this last year and a half is so visible. Affecting every part of life. Does the stone need to go outside for a while?

Visible change next door

What would it feel like to let go and ride the change without a clear destination? To trust the pilot to land us safely, exactly where we are supposed to be? To not have to have a plan. To not know and be ok with that.

I take a conscious exhale, spread my heart open and take the next baby step forward.

I am paying more attention to my Malachite,
SARAH

.....destination dinner

Yogis,
Last week I took a break from writing while visiting Denver Colorado. This was only my second visit to the Mile High city, but like the first time, I loved it. Beautiful weather with autumn leaves gold against a deep blue sky. Pleasant temperatures with clear air, low humidity and a light breeze.

This trip I got the opportunity to experience Boulder where we did some hiking, walked the town and ate wood grilled pizzas in an outdoor café. We visited Red Rocks the next day where both the scenery and people watching were incredible. Good draft beers, fresh local food and spectacular mountain views made for a great getaway.

Then add in the reason for the visit and the long weekend turns into a special event. ‘Lobsterfest’, as we have all coined it, is an annual event among ten of us. I have written about it over the years recounting the rituals we have created, the dedication each year to making it happen and the bat that swooped into the dining room one time after dinner, causing shrieks and cowering in the bathroom for many.

About 10 years ago one of the couples moved to Denver and we have all toyed with the idea of someday having it there, and that someday was last week…….

You have heard of a destination wedding…..this was a destination dinner.

Now in a typical year, Lobsterfest is a six hour event. Everyone arrives promptly at 6 pm. Appetizers are followed by lobster, tenderloin, potatoes and Caesar salad, which is then followed by loud music, wild dancing and finally dessert. Someone then glances at their watch, announces it is almost midnight and we wrap it up. This year however it was a three day extravaganza!

Our hosts had made it clear that three days was the limit back when the idea was floated. We could come to Denver for more days, but their involvement had limits. Yet for those three days they invited us all into their lovely home for meals, football watching, walks through town and a signature cocktail……the poisoned apple. We laughed and told old stories. Shared pictures of family. Talked about where we are and where we are heading. Old friends.

How long have we been doing this? The annual discussion and debate while cracking our lobster claws and passing the potatoes had us settled on 33 years by the end of the evening. Or was it 34? It matters not because we will discuss again next year. And the year after that.

On the last evening our hostess shared a teaching she had received at a young age from her beloved Nona. ‘Bern,’ she said,’ whenever you visit any family or friends you only stay three days. After that you begin to smell like a fish.’

It is a true gift to have friends like these that you are not only able, but excited to spend three days with. The fact that we made this Lobsterfest West happen, speaks volumes of our long lasting bond which began so many years ago in a sales bullpen at Xerox.

The table setting was gorgeous. The food amazing. We ate. We danced. We hugged. And as one friend said…..I think we made it out of there just in time to not leave a stink.

Friends.

This will not be our last time there,
SARAH 

Good Friends

....time to let go

Yogis,
This year the first day of fall on the calendar and the first day of fall in the air held hands. It was as if fall had been waiting for the green light to blow in. The on switch was flipped and cool nights, clear skies and light breezes arrived in our lives.

It also seems like once fall crosses your threshold, there is no ushering her back out. She is here to stay. Even the eighty-degree days that have been sprinkled in, while warm, do not resemble summer days in the least. Spend a few minutes in the shade and that short-sleeved shirt you pulled out of the drawer in the morning no longer seems like the wisest choice. An undercurrent of cool sits below the surface.

I have run in long pants and even seen my breath. My jeans, pulled from the bottom of the closet, are washed and seeing the light of day. I have been resisting socks but my feet are having moments where they long for warmth as I watch the house temperature drop one degree each day. The change is upon us whether we are ready or not.

Fall does not ask our permission. She arrives, taps us on the shoulder and reminds us it’s time to let go…..

The leaves have begun their initial descent. Few enough in numbers now that when one lands on my head while gardening, I am startled, but the wave is clearly on its way. Pinecones, acorns, helicopter seeds from the oak. The trees will let them all go……

The farmers are busy in the fields again, not planting or tending, but taking down. Corn stalks mowed, shredded and given back to the earth. Fields turned over. The farmers know they must let them go…..

My suntan, a cloak I have worn all summer, sewn from the sun’s rays, begins to fade. Let it go……

The garden dries into a beautiful hue of yellow. Birds begin to flock overhead signaling their departure time is close. They will leave us. Let them go…..

The sun now slow to lift over the horizon at daybreak seems almost chased down by the night sky as daylight hours shorten in a hurry. Peaches, plums and tomatoes disappearing from the market.  Students have left their homes and are settled back in dorms. Butterflies, ice cream cones and bare feet……. Let them go.

It can be hard to let go. Nature makes it look so easy.

I have set the intention to follow nature’s lead over these next few months in preparation for the barren simplicity of winter. This week I have gone through dresser drawers and retried on all of my pants. Watching as I put something in the ‘give away’ pile only to second guess the decision moments later. Standing my inner ground and leaving it there. Let it go…..

I have cleaned out a mud room area, an activity which has hung over my head for months. I moved quickly, holding on to only what I need and use. Releasing attachments. An hour later, space and a lightness look back at me. Freedom. Let them go…..

I will go drawer, by drawer. Room by room. My books will challenge me. Items soaked in memories will demand to stay. Why am I so attached to my things….  

Can I let them go?

Let go, have less, be free,
SARAH

.....a wonderful world

Yogis,
On a picture perfect day under a brilliantly blue sky, my son Patrick placed a ring on the finger of my newest daughter-in-law Bridget. Last Sunday they said ‘I do’ while a butterfly fluttered by.

‘I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself….What a wonderful world.’

The wedding was held in Dewey Beach at a hotel which backs to the bay. With our toes in the sand and tears trickling down from beneath our sunglasses, we witnessed love in action. My sister officiated the ceremony with words that were personal and touching, so eloquently sharing her love for them, their love for each other and our collective love for not only them, but all those seated around us. We wore freshly pressed dresses and suits, but love was the fabric of the day.

 ‘I see skies of blue, and clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.’

If you were to describe the weather you want for a wedding you would have described last Sunday. Seventy-seven degrees, low humidity with a cloudless sky. The groomsman’s sand colored suits and the bridesmaids muted sunset colors were set aglow by the rays of the sun. Dinner was served on an open deck while the air turned crisp and the sun began her slow descent, painting the sky with the hues of the table settings. Candles were lit and toasts were shared. And while we danced the full moon paused over our heads to smile.

‘The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of the people going by. I see friends shaking hands, Saying, “How do you do?” They’re really saying “I love you”

As mother of the groom, one of the traditions is the dance with your son. We had gone back and forth on a song selection. None of them seeming quite right for the emotions we both were experiencing. Then I remembered the song I had danced with my eldest. We agreed that it was perfect, so it is now a Cahill tradition. And as I held my son’s hands and felt his heartbeat, the north star shone brightly.

‘I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.’

Patrick has always been an amazing human. Honest, warm, kind, generous and grounded. He is a gentle soul and was drawn toward someone who is his perfect complement. We are blessed to have beautiful Bridget joining the Cahill clan…..and of course their dog Ralph who himself shined in the ceremony with his sporty bow tie. I am excited to witness their journey forward which I know will be filled with adventure, laughter and of course, love.

‘Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world…..Oh yeah’

I told my youngest son that he can check off choosing our song from his to-do list when he is getting married, as that has already been decided.

I am still floating,
SARAH

'What A Wonderful World' by Louis Armstrong

A Fairytale......

....beauty

Yogis,
I’m not sure if it’s because of the time of year. Or how the sun is now sitting a bit lower in the sky. Maybe it’s the cooler nights or it could be the change in the air, but something has the word ‘beauty’ coming to me over and over this week.

Making my way through my days,  I keep finding something that will suddenly catch my eye and my breath, and all I want to do is tell it how beautiful it is. It started me wondering what is beauty.

Here is how the Oxford dictionary defines it. “A combination of qualities, such as shape, color or form that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially sight.” Ok, but seems a bit dry. Too superficial. Beauty feels deeper to me than simply being pleased. I check another source. The Webster dictionary starts with this definition. “The quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses.” About the same, but then it goes on…….

“or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit.” Exalts the spirit. Yes! Now that gets more to the depth of what I have been experiencing. An inner stirring. More of an emotion than a thought.

I started consciously watching for beauty as I walked yesterday. I was heading down a street that had suffered major tree damage in the woods along the walkway. Trees and branches, with leaves all now brittle and brown, snapped and twisted, laying crisscrossed over each other in a pile. But right in the middle something bright catches my eye and my heart. A patch of vivid orange flowers sitting on tall stalks amongst the devastation. The type of flower that would typically be found in someone’s well-tended landscape, blooming here in the destruction.

My next door neighbor’s house that was sold when he died last year sits sold but vacant. The grasses now as tall as me, as the house is slowly being consumed by the ivy. The earth will eventually take back what we borrowed from her. But amidst it all rises a plume of pink. His crape myrtle bush surrounded and almost buried, yet sharing her beauty with all that walk by. Beauty cannot be held down.

The way the sun catches the flowers in a flower pot a few doors down. How my neighbor installed a memorial bench in her yard for our lost friend. Beauty.

Its everywhere. Birds flying in perfect formation. The coo of the morning doves. How details of trees appear traced against a blue sky. Dark cloud formations of an incoming storm.

Even in death there is beauty…… Driving to the beach I passed mile after mile of cornfields. Thousands of dried brown stalks sitting in perfect rows, their tops being blown in unison by the breeze. Beauty.

What exalts your spirit? The more you look for beauty, the more she rolls to your feet.

Being stirred,
SARAH

....the giving season

Yogis,
It is subtle but unmistakable. Another full earth transformation has been set in motion. Impermanence. The dense moist tree cover which for months lay like a blanket overhead protecting us from the harsh side of summer is thinning. Turning a corner, you catch a glimpse of leaves tinged with yellow. Grasses all going to seed. The downhill march of fall is underway.

Many plants in my garden are now dotted with dried brown leaves. They too have started the slow process of withdrawal. Decline. Yet at the same time another opposing energy is at play. One of plenty, as it is now harvest season.

On my return from the beach, I visited with my garden to see how everyone was doing. When I came to cucumber she was heavy with fruit. ‘Here,’ she said as I removed four and counted the other eight growing. Pickles will soon be on the menu.

  

Arriving at fig, she too was ready to share. A small bush that I received as a clipping from a friend finally took off this year, quadrupling in size with a glorious display of figs. ‘Climb in’ she says as I duck beneath her branches to find the ones turning red and come out with six figs and sticky fingers. I’ve received more every day. She has become a matriarch standing proud at the edge of my front yard.

Each year at this time I hunt for paw paw fruit without much success. Before leaving for the beach I had spotted my very first one though, high in a tree while hiking.  I go back with a friend on Friday to see how it was doing. We look up as we walk. ‘Look below me’ she says with a smile. An hour later we are driving home with five paw paws in a bag! They sit on my counter to soften. She gives, and gives and gives……

Basil gathered and blended into pesto. Rosemary and sage chopped into salt for seasoning that will nourish me until next summer. Plantain cut and soaking in oil for salves to soothe dry winter skin. The zinnias which continue blooming in every color, but on legs that are getting shaky, I give as gifts. Plump pumpkins make their first appearance in farm stands.

The gifts of late summer.

It’s as if nature is saying ‘I am going to be leaving you soon, so I am working hard on your behalf now. Please, please take all that I offer before I must lay down to rest’. Her final surge of energy used to give and give and give.  

Before we know it the earth will be quiet once again. The landscape barren. But for now, I welcome her offerings with open arms and a deep humble gratitude.

Thank you,
SARAH

....shell stories

Yogis,
A father and young daughter walk by at the beach. She is clutching a pile of shells scooped up in her tiny little arms. She needs a bag, we all decide, so I quickly grab the newspaper wrapper I have tied to Phoebe’s leash and offer it up. We watch as she carefully drops them in one by one. ‘Now you can get more’ her father tells her.

‘You can never have enough shells!’ I remark. You can never have enough shells.

I have a lot of shells. Bowls of shells in my studio. Shells scattered around the beach house. Shells on my kitchen counter and near my jewelry box. I have shells from the Virgin Islands and shells from Greece. I find them whenever I clean out the beach bag and occasionally in my jean shorts pockets.

Yet every time I walk the beach my eyes instinctively drop to scan for shells. Oh, there’s a different color! Look, a scallop shell! By the time I am heading home at least a couple are making the trip back with me. How can I resist when they are all so different?

Like a fingerprint, every shell is unique. Whether it’s the way the grooves spiral through, the light brushstrokes of color, or that broken edge, each different from any other. Some tiny and others, like Caribbean conch shells, almost hard to carry. Like us, each drawn from a new mold.

Every shell also has a story. I run my thumb down an edge smoothed by waves. I hold the conch shell to my ear and listen while it whispers of the ocean’s secrets. I visualize the clam shell in my hand being carried by a creature who called it home and wonder where her other half lies now. Each shell having been created, lived in, bearing a loss, broken down, washed ashore and finally becoming the sand between our toes (unless they come home with me). Like us, each one on its own life journey.

                     

Imagine the millions of shells which fill our oceans and beaches, and you can begin to sense the immensity of the creative power of the Universe. That every day, not only shells, but unique leaves, clouds, shadows and flowers are formed. Gifts that pour down on us in an ever-changing landscape that we, the lucky recipients, get to bask within. The Universe’s infinite ability to express herself in all of these glorious forms is nothing short of astounding.

People have always been drawn to gathering shells. I read that the earliest recorded shell collection dates from 74 AD in Pompeii.  Over the years they have been used as currency and formed into jewelry and musical instruments. There is even a recent discovery that perhaps the first artwork created on shells dates back to our Homo Erectus ancestors. I wonder if they found them in their pockets.

When I see shells, I see beauty. When I hold shells, I feel connection. When I smell shells, I am brought right back to my beach chair with the wind on my face and sand between my toes. I am awed by shells…….

What will I find today,
SARAH