....hearing spring coming

Yogis,
My consciousness begins to be drawn from the deep dream it had so intricately woven in my mind. A myriad of colors, sensations and layers of a story that feel as real as me sitting here writing you this note. I can feel myself being extracted. That internal tug of war between longing to stay and the outer world calling for my attention. Something out there was pulling their end stronger than my urge to stay removed from the challenges of daily life.  

The birds…….

I’ve noticed over these past two weeks that the sound of early morning has changed. Where silence so recently sat, bird song now fills the air. As I lie there with my eyes still closed, I hear the singing of the wren and I know she has begun the search for this year’s home. The quiet chip of the cardinal and the excited boisterous chatter of my sparrows. They are excited to be up and out.

Spring must be coming……

I yawn, stretch, swing my legs off the bed and take my first step into the new day. I look at the clock. It is 7:12. It is 19 degrees out.

I hear the raspy caw of the crow and look out my window. He is standing in the grass under my birdfeeder, methodically cleaning up the spillage from yesterday’s feeding frenzy. Occasionally he looks up and squawks, puffing out his chest and lifting his wings in the process, making sure everyone within earshot knows that for this moment, this space is his alone.

Bundling up I add in my mittens and face warmer, mentally prepare myself, and head for the river. As I start down the street I hear something scurrying and watch a chipmunk run down a tire from inside a car engine and head towards the brush. Braving the cold like me instead of hibernating in her protected burrow.

Spring must be coming…….

Walking the path that traces the river’s edge a large group of ducks and I startle each other. In unison they spread their wings and lift from the water. Much quacking ensues and the geese nearby respond with their deep nasally honks. With the warmth of the sun on my face, when I close my eyes, it could be April.

I hear the squirrels busy digging through dried leaves trying to remember where the heck they buried those nuts last fall. And the sound of me picking up sticks to begin filling lawn bags.

Although we have cold days ahead, the movement toward to a new season has clearly begun. I can hear it. Can you?

Listening,
SARAH

....watching the sun rise

Yogis,
When was the last time you sat with the sun to watch her rise? I had the pleasure of doing just that these last four mornings.

I arrived at the beach house on Wednesday to meet with workers who are going to replace our kitchen countertop. That night as I was setting my alarm and visualizing the morning I decided, why not? It had probably been a year since I witnessed the beginning of a new day and the weather forecast showed clear skies.

Alarm goes off at 6:10. Clothes on, Phoebe fed, phone in pocket. Out the door by 6:25. It’s still dark but there is that nearness of day you can feel. Houses silent as we run by. No cars on the road. No planes in the sky. We head through the neighborhoods and onto the beach path, which only two weeks ago was thigh high with snow. Scrub bushes surround the path, and my shoes press fresh prints in the sand next to those of both humans and dogs who had passed through here last night.

We crest the dune and there’s a catch in my breath.  As the path widens and opens to the beach it’s as if I am being welcomed. Open arms. Layers of color hint at what’s to come. Something big is about to happen.

It’s 6:38. Not another soul in sight as we run the brightening shoreline. The tide is rolling in and seagulls spot the beach. They too seem to be waiting. The tidal pools created on the beach reflect the colors of the sky as orange, gold and red begin to swirl together against the horizon. A ball of fire seems to lift from the ocean. I stand in awe. It’s 6:57.

The next day I do it again. This time there is a small cloud in the path where she rises, her rays shooting out to the sides letting me know she is there. 6:56. The next day I do it again. A thin sheen of haze along the horizon causes variations in her colors as she arrives at 6:54. Tide higher. Two people walk by. Finally today I do it one last time. Cloudy with snow on the way. I can’t see her, but know she is there at 6:53 as the beach brightens and the gulls begun to squawk.

Every day she came! Every day at exactly the time she was expected. How many other things in our lives are as dependable as her?

The rise of the sun is an event. Magical. Unlike other events though, you can always get a front row seat, it starts on time, its different every single time, it’s never crowded, it happens every day and best of all, it’s free!

I am heading back up the beach toward the path and can feel her warmth on my back. I realize I almost forgot an important part of being witness…….

I turn to face her and spread my arms and heart open. ‘You are beautiful, awesome, magnificent, incredible, dependable, powerful, life giving, warm and bright’ I tell her….out loud. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

As we run back through the neighborhood I have a new found lightness. I can see people stirring in their homes. A car drives by. An albino squirrel crosses our path. Robins line the telephone wires, warming themselves by the first rays. A New Day has begun.

In a relationship with the sun,
SARAH

....what does 60 feel like

Yogis,
I turned the big 6-0 in early January. With the hoopla of Christmas winding down I marked the day with a simple family gathering. Home made fajitas at our house with my sons, daughter-in-law, sister in laws and grandkids. Even tiny one week old baby Ben joined in. Grateful for my family.

Everyone started asking me how it felt to be 60…..

My sister in the background continued nudging me to come up with an additional way to celebrate ‘me’ and this milestone. I don’t always find this easy, so she suggested we all meet at the beach and she would cook a special dinner. My sister happens to be an amazing cook, so yes!

Last weekend was the date we put on the calendar. Last weekend was also the date a blizzard put a bulls eye on her calendar for the mid-Atlantic coast.

Boots, snow shovels, enough food for a week, candles, flashlights……packed. Off we go!

Friday, we arrive and go into town for a drink. You can feel the electricity in the air. Everyone waiting for that first flake. The weatherman said it should begin at 7. Then moved it to 8. At 8:30 nothing. I had the house ready, the fire burning in the fireplace. Twinkle lights turned on. Eagerly waiting. The same giddy anticipation I felt as a child with my face pressed against the cold window.

I walked out to the deck and can feel it. Then I smell it. I now see flakes lit by the light. Memories flood in. I remember this sensation. There is something about the beginning of a snowstorm that tells you when it is going to be a big one. My heart beats faster and I yell into the house that it has begun!

I woke every hour and looked out the window. The later it got the harder it was to see through the windblown snow stuck to the window screens. The streetlight my gauge of intensity. By morning there is a foot of snow on the ground with swirling winds.

I want to be out in it! Boots, long coat, neck warmer, hat, mittens. Remembering my pink snow coat and baggies over my shoes inside rubber boots from when I was young. Being so bundled up you couldn’t bend your joints.  It’s coming down hard as we walk the neighborhood and head for the beach. Every tree a piece of art. The air so silent we can hear our breath.

The candy store’s brightly colored sign on the boardwalk blanketed in snow. The sound of waves mixed with wind. I discover that the fencing used to hold in sand dunes also does an excellent job of holding in snow. As we walk through it is up to our thighs and I start laughing. I felt like the 5 years old me walking in Chicago during a blizzard. Struggling to lift each leg enough to take another step. Knowing if I fall down, it will be a struggle to get up.

That night, like teenagers, we braved the roads to get to the dinner. Nothing like a blizzard to set the mood! We ate, played games and danced to a playlist of 60 dance songs under the disco ball hung from the beams. Sensations of college.

We wrapped up the weekend on Sunday by watching football games while eating grilled cheese sandwiches and Campbell’s tomato soup. Images of my mom in the kitchen when I was young and me dotting the bread with butter when my boys were young. The tastes in my mouth haven’t changed.

So how does it feel to be 60? Honestly no different than when I was 5…..or 15…..or 25…..or 40.  Yes the body has changed. I know more. I’ve experienced more. But the me on the inside, that quiet part that lies below the thoughts, below the emotions, below the doing….never changes. It is what makes me, me, and is eternally young.  

And I don’t have to shave my legs as much,
SARAH