.....final act

Yogis,
My mother-in-law Marion passed away last week, three months after celebrating her ninety sixth year on this planet. Her funeral was held Thursday and as the sayings goes, weddings and funerals are what bring everyone together. This one was no exception. Fifty of us made our way to a town just outside the Philadelphia line to remember a life well lived.

I remember vividly the day I met Marion. We had traveled to her house to announce our engagement. I was so nervous, but she welcomed me with open arms and insisted on making me a ‘nice sandwich.’ She was kind to me that day and continued to be so throughout the forty years I have called her family.

One of the themes of the service was that we are given the gift of birth and will inevitably leave here through the passageway of death, but what lies between those two markers is up to us. A life is defined by our moment-to-moment choices. A story is left behind for others to recall and recount. Hers was a good one.

Marion was the baby among ten children. She became a mother to seven children who then went on to give her 12 grandchildren who up to now have produced 17 great grandchildren. And they all loved their Nan. The matriarch. Some people casually say that family is important, but Marion lived and breathed family.

When she first moved into an over 55 building in her early eighties she told me that everyone wanted to get to know her but she didn’t need to make new friends. She had her family and that was enough. Of course, being the social creature that she was, friends were inevitable, but it was the frequent visits from daughters and grandkids that lit up her day.

She was also a role model for being happy and content in a world which tries hard to convince us never to rest there. Within a few months of each of the moves she had to make, due to injuries or the need for more care, she would declare that ‘this is the best place I have ever lived!’ And in a journal found after her death an entry from 1999 expressed how much she loved everyone and how happy she was with her life. She found beauty in the simple.

A love for the ocean flowed through her veins and was passed down to her children, making a leap over to me in the early days. Our annual trip to Stone Harbor, which is still going strong, began in 1985 as a way to surround her with family in her favorite place. At times I would look around and find that she had quietly snuck away, sitting alone at the edge of the water, book in hand and toes in the sand. I took that lesson and find myself doing the same when life becomes a bit too loud.

She made a mean chicken soup, could clear a table in a good friendly (well….usually) game of poker and how she loved the sun on her face.

Surrounded by the extended family on Thursday I saw and felt the connections, joy and love in everyone there. A happiness of being together. This final act of her story was the perfect enactment of how she lived. She would have absolutely loved it!

Funerals remind us to revisit our own story to be sure it is the one we want remembered.

Om,
SARAH

......making soup

Yogis,
Thursday was a wet gloomy day. That kind of day that turns the world quiet and invites you to stay cuddled up inside. In addition, my refrigerator drawer inventory was becoming overstocked with cabbages received over the last few weeks from my CSA. The perfect day for making soup!

I usually make soup weekly in the winter, but this year has been so mild it has not been calling to me. In my mind I see soup being eaten with the winds howling at the window and me sitting in front of a fire. And although Thursday was in the fifties, the gray sky and forecast of plummeting temperatures on Friday spurred me to the kitchen. My bright red dutch oven is always sitting on my stovetop at the ready.

I love to make soup.

The very first step is chopping vegetables. Lots of vegetables. Onions and garlic, of course. Carrots, celery and some parsnip thrown in for good measure. And the cabbage. Lots of vegetables means lots of chopping.

I remember when I became vegetarian over 30 years ago, the first thing I noticed was the amount of chopping required for this lifestyle. I wasn’t used to that. But I did it over, and over, and over, until I began to enjoy it. Everyone insisted I needed a Cuisinart, but I am not a gadget person. I felt that if I was asking these vegetables to nourish me, the least I owed them was my personal attention. My hands on them. Holding them for mindful rinsing. Light peeling. Ready for chopping.

Chopping vegetables is its own spiritual practice. No need to rush. Enjoying the textures of each unique one as the knife slices through. The colors creating artwork on the cutting board.  Herbs torn by hand fill the air with their scent. Tears from onions clear the sinuses. And I can never resist popping a piece of each into my mouth. Preparing a meal with gratitude for the gift of vegetables.

As the onions hit the heated oiled pot they sizzle. Soon garlic joins in. Once soft I slide my hand down the cutting board to push in the carrots, parsnips and celery. Finally the cabbage is sprinkled in….the star of this show. Seasonings added. Some canned tomatoes join and finally the glass quart jar of vegetable stock that I made previously which has been defrosting in the sink. As it simmers the many begin to become one.

The trimmings of the carrots, onion and celery are all saved on the counter with leftover bits of garlic and the hard ends of the cabbage. These too will be used as I simmer them in a crockpot with water overnight to make new stock for my next soup. A complete life cycle.

The soup is finished and the whole house smells amazing. A bowl will warm my belly and my soul……and I often end up with enough to share with friends. Spreading the love cooked into homemade food.

Enjoying a connection with my food,
SARAH

.....relationship

Yogis,
Recently there was an article in the Washington Post about plants. The discussion was whether it is possible to have a relationship with a plant. There is scientific research being done to determine if plants respond to human touch and voice……since we tend not to trust anything until proven by science (but that’s another whole topic.)

These type of studies have been going on as long as I have been alive as demonstrated in my middle school science fairs. Inevitably at least one student would have conducted an experiment growing plants from seeds, each being raised with different stimuli. Some were sung to, some ignored, while others even yelled at. The potted plants, in different states of growth would be displayed on a folding table with charts, usually next to the kid who had saved his baby teeth and soaked them in Coke.

I remember even at that age having absolutely no doubt that plants benefit from our company…..or that Coke was bad for your teeth.

Fast forward to adulthood and a snake plant someone gifted me about 20 years ago. If I recall, it had four or five stems which were each about 18 inches tall, and was in one of those standard dark green plastic pots. I had a few indoor plants at the time and admit I did not pay them a whole lot of attention.

Five years later we moved next door and I put the snake plant in the basement guest room next to the window. I would go down to water it every week or two, but otherwise, unless we had guests, it sat alone.

The stems grew slightly taller and began to flop over from their weight. I put a wood stake in the pot and loosely tied them upright. I would give it a pep talk and head back upstairs. Until one time when I went down and walked in the room, I swear it looked over at me and said, ‘Are you serious? You are going to leave me in here forever?’ Sigh. Upstairs she came and I placed her next to my ficus in the reiki room.

Recently a client walked in for her first session and exclaimed, ‘that is the biggest snake plant I have ever seen!’

She is now taller than me, has been transplanted three times and is probably comprised of over 50 stems. It is hard to even water her since she is so thick. Then a few years ago she started blooming annually! Who even knew they bloomed?

I talk to her. I play music. I light candles. People come and lie on a table right next to her as we slow our heartbeats. I teach breathing classes in there. She receives my exhales and in turn transforms them into new air for me to breathe. The room has amazing energy and she plays a role in creating that.

Do we have a relationship?

A relationship must flow in both directions. All I know is I finally gave her the environment and attention she needed to flourish and in return she cleans my air, beautifies the space and makes me smile.

Do you have a plant friend? I would love to hear about her.

In a relationship,
SARAH

......the day after

 Yogis,
Today is the day after. The house is quiet again. Beds are empty. The planning and set up are over.

Yesterday I hosted a baby shower for my daughter-in-law who is expecting their first baby April 1. Twelve women traveled to my home from close and far to honor, support and celebrate Bridget’s journey from maiden to mother. The way of the woman.

Today is the day after. I gather all of the small pinecones that I lovingly searched for at the beach this past month. Removing the twine I used to tie them to the cloth napkins, I picture us all around the table enjoying a meal and each other’s company. When women come together, food is shared.

As I sweep out the ashes from the fireplace, the aroma of rose essential oil still lingers from the heart ritual we performed in a sacred circle. Our inner light shining, we sent love from one hand to the next until it made its way back for us to each individually receive. Love is what brought us together. When women gather, light and warmth happen.

I collect the goddess cards that each woman selected from the oracle deck to place them back with the others in their box. I can hear each woman’s unique voice as they read the poem aloud associated with their goddess. When women gather, the goddess within us feels free to be seen and heard.

Placing the folded blanket back on our big overstuffed chair, I can see Bridget…..with our grand dog Ralph…..holding court as she opened gifts. A handmade quilt. A mushroom basket. Onesies covered with drawings of pears. When women gather, we give. And more importantly we receive with open hearts and much gratitude. This baby girl and her mom are deeply loved.

The woodland animal figures I found online are packed away. The greenery I thoughtfully trimmed from evergreens on my street, in parks and in woods is being handed back to the earth. The tea station which warmed both our hands and insides on an unusually frigid day has been cleaned up. Dishes and wine glasses washed, napkins laundered and serving platters back in their cabinets.

It took the last several weeks to prepare for this special event. Not unlike a pregnancy. I visualized….a lot. I planned. I shopped. I gathered. Moments of excitement followed by moments of worry. Will I have enough? Will I be enough? Wanting the guest of honor and all of the family and friends to feel cared for and welcome. As women, we mother life and the milestones it holds.

Yet here I sit taking apart all of it in one brief afternoon. Dismantling. A death.

Governed by the moon and tides, woman live their lives in the rhythm of cycles. One of the women picked the Kali card. Kali is considered the mother of all living beings. Extremely powerful, revered and even feared she is also the destroyer. She cannot be tamed. She reminds us that the feminine energy is fierce and is responsible not only for birth, but for allowing death when the time has come. Completing the cycle.

Finally, I fold up the table that served as an altar for the objects brought that remind us of our own mothers. Pictures, jewelry, lotions and songs sang at bedtime. Memories of mom deep within that made us laugh and of course brought tears.

Being a woman,
SARAH

Motherhood has the greatest potential influence in human life.
~Unknown