....the birds & the bees, and a goose

Yogis,
I’ve seen many geese in my life, yet I can’t say I have really gotten to know any. I admit I’m a bit afraid. When a goose is not happy, they let you know.

I have several memories of being confronted and I was always the one who backed down. The way they hiss and charge with wings wide is not to be taken lightly. One even bit my young son’s butt one spring day.

Yet last weekend I felt closer to geese.

It began with spotting a goose sitting on what we determined to be a nest, feet from the door of our friend’s house. A circular mound of pine needles, leaves and feathers against the trunk of a holly tree at the lake’s edge. An ideal spot. Dad floating feet away.

As she stood to turn, we saw the eggs. She threw things out of the nest. Pulled in new needles and re-fluffed the area. A gentle roll of the eggs. Housekeeping. Attentive mother.

She then lifted her back tail, curved her wings back and placed her wide warm belly down on the eggs, rocking from side to side until she was firmly nestled deep in the nest. A cool breeze blew overhead.

We read she will sit on the eggs for at least 28 days, leaving only occasionally for food, water and to bathe. The father rarely sits on the eggs. Yet we witnessed how he takes his role as protector quite seriously.

We checked on them all weekend. Once I found that neither were at the nest and I couldn’t see the eggs. We ventured out to get closer. I saw them first….mom and dad taking off from upstream, bee-lining toward us with much to say. ‘Run’ I yelled as old memories returned.

We realized she buries the eggs beneath feathers when she ventures out….but never takes her eyes off them. And as dawn broke, she was sleeping soundly with her head under her wing while Dad stood tall a foot away.

I realized how the qualities of attentiveness, nurturing and protection are innate. In all of us. Even a goose. But where do they come from? What is the source?

Always amazed,
SARAH

.....doing something

Yogis,
When I am at my parent’s house, I help in the yard. Picking up sticks blown down by wind in winter. In spring my dad and I head to the nursery to pick out new plants which I get settled in the ground before leaving. Weeding the herb garden in summer. But probably most importantly, removing ivy from trees.

This is my annual public service announcement.

Their house is surrounded by big old oaks, pines and maples, all there much longer than the 44 years my family has lived among them. Towering over the house providing shade, cleaner air and beauty. Ivy, though, has managed to snake up many of the trunks, threatening to bring them down.

Last weekend we tackled two more trees. Stately pines in the side yard.

Removing ivy from a tree is not nearly as hard as it might seem. With clippers for small vines and a hand saw for roots thickened with age, a tree’s life can be saved in less than an hour.

Ivy should be cut close to the ground and then again about knee height, with only that section removed. Everything above will quickly begin to die back.

I heard yesterday that federal funding for tree planting across our country has been dramatically reduced (if not eliminated). That makes saving our current trees even more critical.

In a world where everything feels overwhelming, there is always something we can do to make a difference. Saving a tree is a perfect example. With only a little effort, the tree will appear to stand taller and thank you. Every time you pass you will know you did something good.

This is the time of year to tackle the job. With bare trees ivy is easy to see and the brush hasn’t thickened yet. And no poison ivy!

Start with your yard, but you can do this for trees along streets or in your parks. Unfortunately, there is no magic ivy fairy. If everyone who reads this saves even one tree, that would be a couple hundred!

Heading out to do something for the Sycamore at the bottom of my street,
SARAH

....signs of spring

Yogis,
He saunters up the middle of the street in broad daylight. Not a care in the world. Rounding the bend, he glances side to side and trots down my driveway, vanishing into the woods. The kits must be born or imminent. Fox sightings become more abundant as hunting picks up with more mouths to feed. A sure sign of spring!

There are the typical signs we expect this time of year. Daffodil greens pushing their heads up through hard winter ground. The return of the robins, the pink tinge on tips of tree branches and the noticeable gift of more daylight. Yet there are also those more subtle signals of the new season.

While taking my walks, the pungent smell of freshly laid mulch almost knocks me over.  An aroma distinctly tied to this time of year. Landscapers rushing through yards pushing wheelbarrows and wielding rakes. Spring cleaning for the outer world.

When you walk into any grocery store now you can expect asparagus to be the star of the show.  Abundant and relatively cheap for the short window in which it is in season. Strawberries deep red once more and nothing says spring like seeing artichokes for sale! A spring tradition, which began when I was a child, is eating whole artichokes for dinner one night….. dipping the leaves in melted butter and scraping them between my front teeth.

While sitting in my parent’s sunroom I noticed a bird flying in and out of the bush against the back window. Hhmmmm…. A nest must be in progress. I search and spot a mourning dove hunkered down in the branches. The cardinals must be doing the same back at home. Will have to watch when I return.

A rabbit nibbles the grass as I go by.

I have the urge to pick up sticks around the yard. Electric and gas bills drop dramatically (thank goodness). I slide the sunroof open for the first time and my thinner socks get pulled from the dark recesses of my drawer. Spring is in the air!

What makes you feel her approach?

Noticing,
SARAH

...nana's house

Yogis,
Someone asked what my grandchildren like to do when they come over. Immediately I had an image of each one and exactly where they head as they come through the front door and kick off their shoes.

Today we had everyone over and I got to watch it in action.

 Nana Jackson

I can remember going to my grandparents. At Nana Jackson’s I loved to play with the old Barbie dolls (including a Ken with only one leg) that my aunt had left behind. I can picture the case that held them and various garments. At Nana Cardoni’s I was in love with her quilts. Stacked in a wardrobe I would climb in to feel and smell them. They defined safety for me.

I even have memories of my great grandma Pilosi's home. Tall, mullioned glass kitchen cabinets that I mimicked in each of our kitchens. And, of course, the etched glass candy dish from which I was always offered hard candy.

 Nana Cardoni

As a grandmother my hope has been to instill those same feelings of familiarity, comfort and safety in my grandkids. Things they will remember when they are my age.

My oldest grandson heads right for the camera and binoculars that I keep on the window ledges along the back. He has become quite good with the camera and loves to discuss birds. Today a Pileated Woodpecker visited.

My oldest granddaughter runs to my reiki room to get the Animal Spirit oracle cards. She and I sit together to pick cards and discuss their messages. Today was the first time she was able to read them to me on her own.

My youngest grandson is the worker. He can always find our heavy metal shovel no matter how buried it has gotten in the garage and immediately begins to dig. In the yard. In the woods. In the driveway. It doesn’t leave his hand often.

And my youngest granddaughter inherited my love of baby dolls. She pulls me to the toy closet to get the babies, one of which is Sally, my doll as a child. She likes us to make them beds and feed them.

It warms my heart. Do you have memories of a Nana’s house?

Om,
SARAH

....doula

Yogis,
This is the quote that opened the training as we settled into our seats for a four day intensive…..

Hello to here.    ~ Padraig O Tuama

As I write this I am deeply immersed in a class for certification as a death doula/end of life doula. I didn’t know such a role existed until the last couple years. I didn’t even know of birth doulas until my daughter-in-law used one for the birth of my grandchild. The word doula is new to me.

What is a doula? It comes from the Greek word doule which translates to female helper or maidservant. Yet in practice today it is anyone, typically without formal medical training, who provides guidance and support either to a mother during the birth process or to a dying person as they navigate their final path of this current journey on earth.

For four days I am deep in conversations on my own mortality, the deaths I have been witness to or impacted by, and all of the feelings, thoughts and emotions that arise around death. In a society that avoids the topic, there is a lot to discuss when one is willing to take the chance.

Isn’t it depressing? I am asked this. Sad at times, yes. Tears come up. That lump in the throat. The fear that if I talk about it, I may be creating it. Yet for many years I have been drawn to learn about death, read about it, follow hospice nurses on social media, and speak to those who have died and come back.

Death is the only thing that is certain.

We are learning about the physical aspects and all of the options now available in the process on which we can guide people, but what we keep being told over and over and over is that what is most important for this role is deep listening. Being present for the dying. Seeing them. Supporting them.

Not a role for fixing which is my natural instinct, but being the companion for the hard work….the labor….of dying. All of this requires being fully in the moment. Being here.

Hello to here.    ~ Padraig O Tuama

Back to class,
SARAH

....puzzle

Yogis,
I am halfway through my second 1000 piece puzzle! My puzzle sum is always a good barometer of the winter we are having. What’s your barometer?

For perspective, last winter was extremely mild and I didn’t even open a box to start one. This winter though has brought ice, frigid temps and winds. For me to devote the time required to complete a puzzle, and have the desire to do so, the weather has to force me inside.

Physically and mentally.

Doing a puzzle requires a shift. It is a mental activity and every time I get into one, I am reminded of life lessons mirrored in its successful completion.  

The first is slowing down. A puzzle, like life, is not a race. You can’t start a puzzle and set a timer. It moves at its own pace. I find the slower I approach it, the more successful I am.

The next, which goes hand in hand with slowing down, is patience. In a world brimming with annoyances, the ability to consciously turn patience on is powerful. Patience allows steady forward progress. When impatience rises, it’s time to walk away.

When I stand up and look from afar the blues all look the same. The sky section will be impossible! I lean in and get closer. Subtle differences in the shades. Differing patterns I hadn’t noticed. To get to know something…..get close.

Another is being present. Immersed in ‘now’. When I decide to work on the puzzle I have to detach from outer activities. For that time my full attention must be on the table. Hearing my breath. I can tell when I get distracted because progress halts. I must notice and pull my awareness back to this moment.

And finally, my favorite……letting go. There will be a particular piece I am looking for. Green stem with brown edge on side. I look and look. Trying hard to find it. Deciding the piece must be missing. It’s not here…….until I let go. Shoulders dropped and gaze softened. No longer trying. Shifting from looking to seeing the table as it is.

Oh, there you are!

Learning her lessons,
SARAH

....believe

Yogis,
A neighbor at the beach placed a new sign in their yard. I have now run past it twice. It has one simple phrase.

Believe there is good in the world.

We are at an inflection point. Yet if you pay attention, we are always at an inflection point. There are always jolts that shake our sense of equilibrium. A pandemic. Wars. Fires. Every moment is a moment for change, it’s just that some rock us more than others. It is how we live our lives within them that matters.

Over the last few weeks I have had several people say this is the end of our democracy. When words are spoken out loud it indicates that a belief has set in and has become strong enough to send itself out through the lips. From inner to outer.

I do not believe this. I do not choose to believe this.

Humans are odd. We love what is negative. We click on it, stream it, and talk about it. So that is what we are provided. It isn’t media’s fault. They give us what we ask for and then we build a belief system around it.

Beliefs become things. A belief has a vibration which alters our own vibration. Once we believe anything and then speak it, feel it, see it…….others will feel it and some will instill it until it becomes a group consciousness and becomes real.

I choose instead to believe the words in the sign.

It can be hard to find the good, not because it isn’t there, but it doesn’t sell. Believing in good requires a desire to want to, and then a practice of looking.

Today on my run I looked for the good. There was plenty!! A sunbeam shone down on the ocean at the same moment church bells rang in the distant. It gave me chills. The warm open smile from a woman made me feel seen. Phoebe’s full body greeting on my return. A text from a friend.

I believe the world is inherently good. This is where I will consciously hold my awareness. By believing it, I create it.

See and believe what you want……not what you don’t want. Beliefs become things.

Using my power,
SARAH

....as if they know

Yogis,
It’s like the plants know. As December arrives with its northerly winds and lack of light, hard frosts finally turn any remaining green a brittle brown. I look out the back windows to watch my garden enter her period of deep, well-deserved rest.

I too get a rest when the garden sleeps. Nothing to weed or water. My garden tools stored neatly in the garage as there is no need to check on everyone each day, or prune or even clean up. Dried seeds and berries left to hang from bent stems offer needed nourishment for birds and deer as the snows arrive.

No growth. No color. No scents. Quiet.

Yet at the same time my indoor plants are watching out my south facing windows at their ice covered friends. It’s as if they talk amongst themselves and decide it is now their time to shine. One by one they stir.

Christmas cactus is always first. Solid green all year, the ends or her leaves become adorned with bright red shoots. When they all open, she is transformed to a thing of beauty.

Next, I notice a new stem of one of the orchids peeking out from the leaves. Quickly it arches toward the light and sends out tight buds. The other orchid, not to be outdone, sends up her new growth, blooming first in deep magenta. Her white cohort moves more slowly, spreading out the winter show.

Last winter a friend gave me a plant covered in gorgeous orange blooms. Lovely…..yet I knew that often a gifted plant never blooms again…..and I am ok with that. I kept watching with a tinge of hope though, because you never know. Well, about to give up I glanced over to find buds everywhere. She is now again in full bloom!

My studio dotted with purples, reds and orange, while the outer world sleeps.

Yet only days from now, my Lenten Rose buried beneath snow in the front yard will offer a spark of pink to the barren landscape and start the process all over again.

Continually awed,
SARAH

.....forts

Yogis,
This week we had what you would refer to as a real snowstorm. The kind where for days snow boots are the only shoe wear appropriate when leaving the house. Mindful planting of each foot on slippery sidewalks and keeping an eye overhead for dagger like icicles hanging precariously over doorways.

If you grew up in a cold climate, snowstorms bring back memories. Bundling up to the point where bending at the waist to pick something up is a feat. Ears so covered that the world sounds muffled. Scarves, mittens and wool socks. Red noses.

Yet another memory resurfaced this weekend while at my sister’s house in Rehoboth. Forts.

Her large backyard, dotted with magnificent oaks and pines, is a deer superhighway. Each dawn and dusk they follow their well-traveled diagonal path from the woods behind her, through the yard and out to the street. Hundreds of hoof prints dot the snowy landscape, at one point passing through an area where numerous bushes and evergreens converge.

Here is where you can tell they rest. Out of the wind and hidden beneath heavy branches. I decided to crawl in to get a better look. I found areas where the snow had been kicked aside exposing the warmer fallen leaves beneath. Oval nest like spaces created, perfect for sleep.  A fort.

My body remembers this. Finding those hidden nooks under the brush where I too could get out of the wind and sit hidden beneath heavy branches. The smell of pine and the hush. A secret world that I was drawn to, much like my soul friends, the deer. Feeling loved and safe. Held by nature.

I would declare it a fort and quickly decide which area was the bedroom and which was for hanging out. Tidying up to make it just so.

Like the deer……

Even in my home I find I have created a fort. A tucked away corner in the great room with a comfy couch, blankets and lots of books. Where my footsteps lead when I want to take a nap, don’t feel well, or simply need an escape from the noise of life.

Remembering,
SARAH

....another word

Yogis,
How could it be time again? Seems I wrote about selecting ‘simple’ as my word for 2024 only a few months ago. At this point in my life a year does not seem enough time to fully integrate all of the aspects one word can contain. There were shifts, but certainly ample opportunity remains.

Perhaps I need a word of the decade! How did you do with your word?

I will keep traveling the path of simple, but also want to add a word for 2025 to take along on the ride. This year it has been challenging. Words came to mind but didn’t feel right. Your word shouldn’t be something you think up or wish you could do. Not what others are doing, but one that stirs something inside.

I asked the Universe for a message on my drive back from the beach and after about an hour was irritated that I didn’t get a response.

Ok, I need to get quiet so I can hear the guidance. I turn off the radio. I drive in silence for the next two hours. Quiet. Maybe that’s my word? No way, that can’t be it. Not a lot of pizzazz to it. Is that really what I hope to create this year?

The Universe kept speaking though. People said quiet in our conversations. It was one of the words in a game I played this morning. I began to feel it and see it. It definitely is my word, and I am embracing it fully.

The world has become loud and that isn’t changing anytime soon. It is challenging to participate and be engaged without allowing the noise to seep in. I haven’t been doing that well recently.

So…… I poured 1000 puzzle pieces on a table which I will do in silence. I pulled out all of my colored pencils and paints and will get back to sitting on the floor in a quiet room to create.

Less noise. Leaving the radio off. Less social media. Less news. Not even turning on music while I move through my day.

Instead listening to birds and the wind. Walking and sitting quietly without a constant reach for distraction. Hearing the voice within.

Listen to silence. It has much to say.  ~Rumi

What is your word? Would love to hear.

Quietly,
SARAH