tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36565568685745261102024-03-27T02:35:44.849-04:00The JourneySARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.comBlogger669125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-16575213262190763552024-03-24T18:30:00.001-04:002024-03-24T18:30:00.276-04:00....deeper connection<p> Yogis,<br />Returning from vacation late last Wednesday, I unpacked, got some sleep, taught
two classes, went through the mail and repacked my suitcase. Thursday I headed
down to watch my three grandchildren.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Last weekend my oldest son and daughter-in-law took a 5 day trip
to Mexico. It was the first real adult vacation they have had post kids. Five
days in the sun doing whatever they felt like doing, whenever they felt like
doing it. The real deal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is a completely different experience to move about the
world as a ‘couple’ vs a ‘family’. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y5cGdCERG21iDf9EHnQsgWo7B76d0MnTq-YK9GaZKV6A4fceagpvaB8SMrgWR735Y2k5EMhwh_ySTsoG1RKrCm94Ctf57mY2F5cQq-vmIvknL8yQpt4509FrD0qKgyD42ghrCvLJnRcKUC4jFbyTes7iMqOLkHIo49ySNPXyRjtvaUi6s0T_FJEl4SS4/s1758/Johnny%20baseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y5cGdCERG21iDf9EHnQsgWo7B76d0MnTq-YK9GaZKV6A4fceagpvaB8SMrgWR735Y2k5EMhwh_ySTsoG1RKrCm94Ctf57mY2F5cQq-vmIvknL8yQpt4509FrD0qKgyD42ghrCvLJnRcKUC4jFbyTes7iMqOLkHIo49ySNPXyRjtvaUi6s0T_FJEl4SS4/w225-h400/Johnny%20baseball.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I know the difference well. Working for Xerox, we went on President’s
Club trips for years, followed by our own weeklong stays on islands. Each time my
parents swooped in to watch the boys. First one son, then two, then three, and
finally three plus a dog.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Those times away from the kids, while complicated and often stressful
to plan, were necessary to my well-being. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weeks where I could be a woman, not a mom.
Carefree vs structured. Wild instead of disciplined. A reset for my soul and a
deeper connection for our partnership. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
turn now to pay it forward. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIXGMNaVGoSfkXwEqwhcVqQpvhEyCod0sx3MmAySBoAw6IXR12mkzeMyJ3wrvyXacW46R6eSNGBIAgnF7blG6KSt-Z_vPsILqlsz2Qkgd5RGpOpy2wShidzjK3d98gisK9I-Zw7_uOExcmBDZgzrfsPjf-oKJ-0pdMO-XFX_KIiilme2Uf3ra6Yb7ghhS/s1758/Abi%20favorite%20tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIXGMNaVGoSfkXwEqwhcVqQpvhEyCod0sx3MmAySBoAw6IXR12mkzeMyJ3wrvyXacW46R6eSNGBIAgnF7blG6KSt-Z_vPsILqlsz2Qkgd5RGpOpy2wShidzjK3d98gisK9I-Zw7_uOExcmBDZgzrfsPjf-oKJ-0pdMO-XFX_KIiilme2Uf3ra6Yb7ghhS/w225-h400/Abi%20favorite%20tree.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Moving as a family instead of a couple again. School drop
offs and homework. Finishing the dishes just as a child walks in and announces
they are hungry. Baseball practices and swim lessons. Diaper changes and middle
of the night tears. Getting three
children ready for an outing. Not easy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My sons are quite close to my mom and dad and I have always
credited that to those weeks when my parents shifted from couple to family. I see
the same happening with my grandchildren. When they have to come to me for the
hug after a fall and I get to tuck them in bed and be the first face they see
as they wake. The connection deepens. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpzQkTSc5J0iI8QiFatiarMJ9gx4rDPQmTU4QcPQlL1dB6fsCivGsRNVKW44LrEBON0ArutNllRd7XnEhQSwZyfQFUcbbHYRYvGfdio-pYMEbpak4BtQdO9LGPypXUx7xJzBGvdvvSlaQP_7HCZXrGV99x2RRsHSselFjTQ6ogn4f0Ocy3Pnw0wwQztA9/s1758/Ben%20raking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpzQkTSc5J0iI8QiFatiarMJ9gx4rDPQmTU4QcPQlL1dB6fsCivGsRNVKW44LrEBON0ArutNllRd7XnEhQSwZyfQFUcbbHYRYvGfdio-pYMEbpak4BtQdO9LGPypXUx7xJzBGvdvvSlaQP_7HCZXrGV99x2RRsHSselFjTQ6ogn4f0Ocy3Pnw0wwQztA9/w225-h400/Ben%20raking.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">On the final morning my oldest grandson came down and said “You
know what Nana? I’m really excited for mom and dad to come home, but then I am
also sad you are leaving.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me too, I told him as I prepared to shift back to life as a
couple. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Deeper,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-49126298757591185042024-03-17T18:30:00.001-04:002024-03-17T18:30:00.365-04:00....never alone<p>Yogis,<br />Fifteen hours. Three taxis. Two ferries. Two planes. And two miles of walking
to accomplish all of the above. This describes my trip home after thirteen days
in the Virgin Islands. My happy place.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When you want to spend time on islands like St John and Anegada
there is effort in the getting to and getting from processes. Even once settled
in there is effort to hiking and even getting to the beach itself. Steep
slopes. Rocks. Uneven terrain. Sand roads. Not for everyone. Which is exactly
its appeal for me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The physical-ness means few people vacation there. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9WQ9Yun_dotfHNRAlRF9jsdQrGTAPFrl4CdYreDD5hF72wZiCUqhgcfPpzscM2O84bQfIyFKVcdhyphenhyphen33-KLW0qLmNQmsvUqe4EIccSZzI1Q-ILOtwt6umulATU5TjSFC7s1JH1POYxRN8mIeAmGFCniathyphenhyphenvTWWMpKQ5eraOZadyVNn0v2J552WS2wecQ/s1758/Anegada%20chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9WQ9Yun_dotfHNRAlRF9jsdQrGTAPFrl4CdYreDD5hF72wZiCUqhgcfPpzscM2O84bQfIyFKVcdhyphenhyphen33-KLW0qLmNQmsvUqe4EIccSZzI1Q-ILOtwt6umulATU5TjSFC7s1JH1POYxRN8mIeAmGFCniathyphenhyphenvTWWMpKQ5eraOZadyVNn0v2J552WS2wecQ/w225-h400/Anegada%20chicken.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">In Anegada our morning routine was walking four miles on the
only road. Narrow and unpaved it offers spectacular views of other islands in
the distance and glimpses of the water in every color of blue imaginable. On a
typical day one lone car would pass. As the roar of the engine would fade in
the distance only sounds of birds and waves remained once again.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was on one of these walks that I realized what defines my
perfect vacation. Natural beauty……and very few humans. Not an easy thing to
find these days. Hence…..the effort. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It isn’t that I don’t like people. I love people! And there
are times I am drawn to venture to cities unseen and follow along with the
crowds to witness monuments, art and views. But when I feel the most like me is
when I am alone with the world and my thoughts. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbr5KRLzrTQWDC0TeAezhpQc6IU1xzMB9-rnKpVecQfYhOD3R30HdGiG3uqY2wt_ZktDU0KuSVVMt8TlfjY67qoHXcMhyK1Hdq_7VswAH0u50l1NH4IBIQdsVL07eH8qLcatMhc_1dVaF854ZKhKmaltyW1yDX8E7hV6Qf5Y_B8U38-oJc8xNEo1ykEtR/s3125/St%20John%20rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbr5KRLzrTQWDC0TeAezhpQc6IU1xzMB9-rnKpVecQfYhOD3R30HdGiG3uqY2wt_ZktDU0KuSVVMt8TlfjY67qoHXcMhyK1Hdq_7VswAH0u50l1NH4IBIQdsVL07eH8qLcatMhc_1dVaF854ZKhKmaltyW1yDX8E7hV6Qf5Y_B8U38-oJc8xNEo1ykEtR/w400-h225/St%20John%20rainbow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Yet the more alone I get, the more I see I am never alone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Each morning I would send a picture to my parents and
sister. On about day five my dad commented that he expected to see more
pictures of margaritas and surf scenes, but he liked this better. I realized
then that all the pictures I shared were of non-human creatures. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A starfish who surprised me with her plumpness. A stingray
in ankle deep water. The rooster who stood beneath our chairs in hopes of
crumbs falling to the ground. The donkeys who amble directly toward the open
window of the jeep when we pull over to take in a view. The cow who stood pensively
on the dune in front of our tent at sunrise to witness the ocean before
rejoining the herd. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzuHc3WM7KmU-sAVsDdI0SbdZzr-iJCNSvm2UyoXEd7Df9obmQKOLwkdJH0i2ZkYBS_fr152ky4p_7RDhc81sMkDT2B8AxhslbtwutmwZJsnVPb8mfVGQbBNUTxfnMWOj_mYYn-lvvcnp5YQibEpOzhZ5T0aY9acCOVRQ9u3qOsLyiap6BxWzI0fklTD0/s1758/Anegada%20beach%20cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzuHc3WM7KmU-sAVsDdI0SbdZzr-iJCNSvm2UyoXEd7Df9obmQKOLwkdJH0i2ZkYBS_fr152ky4p_7RDhc81sMkDT2B8AxhslbtwutmwZJsnVPb8mfVGQbBNUTxfnMWOj_mYYn-lvvcnp5YQibEpOzhZ5T0aY9acCOVRQ9u3qOsLyiap6BxWzI0fklTD0/w225-h400/Anegada%20beach%20cow.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The silly and somewhat phallic cacti which I have fallen in
love with over the years. And oh my, the rainbows………</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Floating in the ocean listening to my breath with no one in
sight, pelicans float overhead. What a gift to experience the wonders of the
world alone. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet never alone,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-59909473678671535092024-02-25T18:30:00.001-05:002024-02-25T18:30:00.244-05:00.....steward<p>Yogis,<br />It’s the time of year where I can’t help but write about English ivy…. Oh, how I wish the issue of her spread would
go away on its own. If only she could offer color during the dreary winter months
but remain sparse on trees. Sigh. Instead she continues her sprint forward, so I
put thoughts to paper once again.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">English ivy, the kind you picture climbing stone buildings,
was brought to the US as early as 1727 by European settlers. Everyone loved how
it’s green all year, fills in bare spots and requires no care. But we loved it
a bit too much, so it is now invasive and threatens our trees. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BdW9AikVR9Jm-OdM6fi3v1XmlOmjXVvTkMSTfeq8Um5iXdB9uFsI_pX2U3DEHhv9KbdqatS7OuHGcfKLhzuMSg1C7L1ZwxxVFcxX-j97NfkqLFmc5IxOQEWVkj_AX9DCdX-e9BcQLG1Ig0uLlB8DLlqANzvJwLylfuq2nNjsZZE6dNMEAHqxrfOPHGKz/s1758/Ivy%20at%20river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BdW9AikVR9Jm-OdM6fi3v1XmlOmjXVvTkMSTfeq8Um5iXdB9uFsI_pX2U3DEHhv9KbdqatS7OuHGcfKLhzuMSg1C7L1ZwxxVFcxX-j97NfkqLFmc5IxOQEWVkj_AX9DCdX-e9BcQLG1Ig0uLlB8DLlqANzvJwLylfuq2nNjsZZE6dNMEAHqxrfOPHGKz/w225-h400/Ivy%20at%20river.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Each late winter, I spend time cutting back ivy and other
invasive vines (of which there are several new ones) from my trees. Last year I
took it further and joined a group called ‘tree friends’, trained by the Park
Service on slowing ivy. The group gathers in county areas to help save trees.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">There isn’t an ivy fairy in
your yard though. Even landscapers ignore ivy unles you specifically ask and
pay for it. Garden centers continue to sell it for planting. Don’t!</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It has me thinking about stewardship. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBUY7fU4-6967jzbJRzz10nZ5l9XwEr-GkTa9Jcl_2-h1h7B-cA8C1UEC2V6qwKKP1gKiWN9YKjCKcmndfdfZGtdcYgaEMeG3UeShxLqhPRClLBIrQvQi9-T5sghdgP690G_Ve7DxDP6pACMM3qQfFnffMP5Sy5GxBjm5LydC8LJtp4anYVHukLdKnCTk/s1758/Ivy%20on%20Macarthur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBUY7fU4-6967jzbJRzz10nZ5l9XwEr-GkTa9Jcl_2-h1h7B-cA8C1UEC2V6qwKKP1gKiWN9YKjCKcmndfdfZGtdcYgaEMeG3UeShxLqhPRClLBIrQvQi9-T5sghdgP690G_Ve7DxDP6pACMM3qQfFnffMP5Sy5GxBjm5LydC8LJtp4anYVHukLdKnCTk/w225-h400/Ivy%20on%20Macarthur.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">For those of us that own a home, the land it sits on which we
claim as ‘ours’ (which isn’t really) deserves our care. The trees, birds,
insects and plants need us to be attentive. To notice when an invasive has
entered and take action. To be a good steward of the incredible gift we have
been given.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Stroll around your property! Check every tree. Look at
bushes and up against the house. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ivy starts innocently enough. It thickens to engulf a trunk.
It soon covers leaves blocking photosynthesis. Limbs begin looking ragged.
Branches fall. The tree is smothered if it isn’t first blown over from weight. A
slow death. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Best to catch it early when it can be removed. However, there
is no need to get it all off. Removing ivy from ankle to knee with clippers or
a small hand saw will kill what is above and the tree will breathe free again. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdMs4h6vBZu_Ktep9oIDv7QFd4xQSJTFif11oy8i7ARCXEoAWelozYKo1kenSZmL7ajueeZh1Ai4TnEZYfgDTB8qsdFbsRvKAakX5UaQWYBR7ZK3cTkMcl1G-OI5uqW-Wa2hQLTEGYkBACcGitomJAWkmlYB0m1Tr7Pd_d4bda5lar7zLmg1vcw_xLQ-l/s640/IMG_1142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="640" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdMs4h6vBZu_Ktep9oIDv7QFd4xQSJTFif11oy8i7ARCXEoAWelozYKo1kenSZmL7ajueeZh1Ai4TnEZYfgDTB8qsdFbsRvKAakX5UaQWYBR7ZK3cTkMcl1G-OI5uqW-Wa2hQLTEGYkBACcGitomJAWkmlYB0m1Tr7Pd_d4bda5lar7zLmg1vcw_xLQ-l/w400-h391/IMG_1142.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">After stewarding your piece of earth, mention it to
neighbors who have ivy on their trees. Most people don’t know. Maybe lend a
hand to a tree in a common area. Earth will be grateful.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Being a steward,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-70182882485011745642024-02-18T18:30:00.002-05:002024-02-18T18:30:00.143-05:00....the silence between<p>Yogis,<br />What caught my attention first this morning was the geese. Flying overhead in formation
they headed inland for their day in the fields. A large V shape slicing through the
morning sky. And they had a lot to say. Soon they faded off into the distance.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Only a moment later I begin to hear another flock. Much
honking ensued above me before they too can no longer be seen or heard. Then another
flock. And another. My run filled with the coming and going of sounds of geese.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Arriving at the boardwalk the geese are now replaced by waves.
The unmistakable sound of a wave growing until it reaches a peak. Then the thrill
of the crash. Over and over in a familiar rhythm. I hear the next wave building
as my heartbeat quickens. I wait for it……the crash. Boom.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then there is a moment of silence. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWCwE126KGNSuni45qqjzmXLRGa0C1NUiImJWJwXyvEYYJ4Gl3GrqvfO7viay5cKTHPLlTBW_jlOwfL7EAN2EklKyNOKkhIW_mFjH9HJvisLH98tuoPLD7kP4bHj6sQVY85l6LD0zl6RkiSEw2MAaU3IN2L_IzMlvtUNhYu0ipgz1sjDF_1io2LrQMgOt/s3125/crashing%20wave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWCwE126KGNSuni45qqjzmXLRGa0C1NUiImJWJwXyvEYYJ4Gl3GrqvfO7viay5cKTHPLlTBW_jlOwfL7EAN2EklKyNOKkhIW_mFjH9HJvisLH98tuoPLD7kP4bHj6sQVY85l6LD0zl6RkiSEw2MAaU3IN2L_IzMlvtUNhYu0ipgz1sjDF_1io2LrQMgOt/w400-h225/crashing%20wave.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">It’s so quick it would be easy to miss. The following swell
already revving up. Yet today I notice. My attention now shifts and I begin seeking
out the space between sounds. The gap that exists between the end of one wave
and the formation of another. I listen.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our breath flows the same way. The inhale is the beginning. Building
and expanding until it too reaches a peak. The exhale is the dropping and
letting go. Then there is a pause. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The pause is always there.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qbpAtBqEQccVUw4C0Gc6N0L1uM8Rn3SnalTyi6AjBAqpXi0HU-xKcDOaGdNCmgCZei2GJ51DMV_riTxZ6ObrweME44GVER_EurA4Js_grNcIdL0tcFa6RxXJmICOnbrkqKWuQJsl-pH1Gk73qqaqV31N_n1U-F5wOymw1oQcwwmttH87jY6mfWP5PCAh/s1758/Pine%20trees.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qbpAtBqEQccVUw4C0Gc6N0L1uM8Rn3SnalTyi6AjBAqpXi0HU-xKcDOaGdNCmgCZei2GJ51DMV_riTxZ6ObrweME44GVER_EurA4Js_grNcIdL0tcFa6RxXJmICOnbrkqKWuQJsl-pH1Gk73qqaqV31N_n1U-F5wOymw1oQcwwmttH87jY6mfWP5PCAh/w225-h400/Pine%20trees.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I run back through our patch of woods, startling a squirrel
who makes a rustling sound as he scampers across dried leaves. He stops to look
back. Silence. Again he runs and heads partway up the tree. He pauses with head
cocked. Silence.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everything moves in a cycle and as each reaches its end,
there is a pause. A gap between movements. A space between thoughts. An opening
between breaths. In these voids there is nothing, yet everything comes from
there. In the blink of an eye a new breath rises. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxO5HcKGO6CDd4p7GJidPN5omZQe69qx5hE7pcBg_jmtXfP8N1vTMyh2BI3TCyt4g5nMqkYDS9Ul_UDryTEeMCF_5unidi0bZIz9vS8lGpHjtIUQF3tdgZWzmVRAXHDd5z-lKdUqddc3Qmi5NPqJ2sPYrcCUyqKTH0q1DNFncm-niIuLFJI52AqN8xej_/s2528/Backyard%20in%20fog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="2528" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxO5HcKGO6CDd4p7GJidPN5omZQe69qx5hE7pcBg_jmtXfP8N1vTMyh2BI3TCyt4g5nMqkYDS9Ul_UDryTEeMCF_5unidi0bZIz9vS8lGpHjtIUQF3tdgZWzmVRAXHDd5z-lKdUqddc3Qmi5NPqJ2sPYrcCUyqKTH0q1DNFncm-niIuLFJI52AqN8xej_/w400-h225/Backyard%20in%20fog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I invite you to seek the silence. As you sit here, close
your eyes and begin watching your breath. Observe the building of the inhale
and the release of the exhale. Then wait for the silence. Patience. It is
always there.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is a practice and offers many gifts. In this space, profound
peace can be found. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I hear more geese coming,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-69133389114619812962024-02-11T18:30:00.001-05:002024-02-11T18:30:00.244-05:00.....running girls<p>Yogis,<br />This year I hit several forty-year milestones. Forty years! Wow. That is a long
time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was married in 1984 on a sunny snow-covered January day. Days
after my 22<sup>nd</sup> birthday I said ‘I do’ and I continue to do to this
day. My oldest son turns forty this year. I’m not sure how that is possible. Watching
him with his three brings back memories that feel so recent. And forty years of
owning a home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then there are friendships. Many also coming up to that 40-year
mark as friends are often made during early parenting days when we yearn to
connect with others to share the craziness. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Several of those friendships were developed while wearing
running shoes. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDL7DYEqzqBvD1IGOFzNEpk80ftLVz6EoLHAXzkgfRUA1h4kThP_fdIw3HMV-Flx6pIFZOGlZgAsGK1qrrs5FBqZT9rkBKQiI_LO7T40RXHyMTjk6r7Jq1Ix1GqL3JmsuXKIm6CA8d37aevGGXLlaqYxZ72AhJLwm_zcaQgBQHSLWfudtz4YpjdRLRd6Ik/s1758/Sarah%20running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDL7DYEqzqBvD1IGOFzNEpk80ftLVz6EoLHAXzkgfRUA1h4kThP_fdIw3HMV-Flx6pIFZOGlZgAsGK1qrrs5FBqZT9rkBKQiI_LO7T40RXHyMTjk6r7Jq1Ix1GqL3JmsuXKIm6CA8d37aevGGXLlaqYxZ72AhJLwm_zcaQgBQHSLWfudtz4YpjdRLRd6Ik/w225-h400/Sarah%20running.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I ran off and on in high school, but once I had a baby and full-time
job, I needed a time of day that was mine with no conflicts where I could move
my body. The only time that fit these stringent requirements was 5:30 am.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It began with me and a new friend across the street. Over
the next couple years other women with the same needs joined. Four mornings a
week we met in front of someone’s house in the dark…..with our dogs…..and ran a
few miles. And talked. And laughed. And cried. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We referred to ourselves as the ‘running girls’ and at times
we numbered 7 or 8 runners and 5 dogs. You couldn’t miss us as we ran up ‘the big
hill’.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqjK4Vw7x_QsNcj-UviPZJB7-puqZtTEqiLPqZkWghvw37Bbk5RVG7akklJxzoAm0AUi_PiFJ1VHItMIM-75cQVh9db-095BUAP00oxOX53MgQVoqh40AvOnTMh5_CYWg1tGHr8ZyCkEysCLJh4FrU3n4JTodo5B8931aar3oYs0VIJ8MtKGNhmfgJ_4j/s1021/Running%20Girls%20limo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1021" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqjK4Vw7x_QsNcj-UviPZJB7-puqZtTEqiLPqZkWghvw37Bbk5RVG7akklJxzoAm0AUi_PiFJ1VHItMIM-75cQVh9db-095BUAP00oxOX53MgQVoqh40AvOnTMh5_CYWg1tGHr8ZyCkEysCLJh4FrU3n4JTodo5B8931aar3oYs0VIJ8MtKGNhmfgJ_4j/w400-h251/Running%20Girls%20limo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">We ran through marriages. Divorces. Births and deaths. Illnesses,
injuries and joys. We were charged by a beaver, watched a deer leap over a man passing
on his motorcycle, were flashed (yuck) and learned where the port-o -johns
were. A woman chased us in her car in pajamas to tell us we were too loud and we
have many toenail stories.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We even held a holiday gift exchange breakfast each December
at 5:30 am. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Year after year we arrived and ran. Did some races but what
mattered most was the time spent in quiet mornings. How many people do you get
to talk to for a half hour every day? And no matter how much we talked on the
run, at the end we stood in a circle and talked some more. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmd73YrschPIH94Ok2cRoX3PDIqbevU-xQpoAWjj4Sh6J7HeSyLPWG9CwIkor_pUXnP3zoCHOTUAWrWtBecnFSj3kWe_xp_Zo91E2du_hUKsi2jOuBt_Aq5ZNF9ejJY0j32UgE8hIKW2rp_sX1Q-IiJ0JP9zoSaX7-whqFa9MeLc_hb7QRhuIjHZ2cii2x/s720/Running%20girls%20Christmas%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmd73YrschPIH94Ok2cRoX3PDIqbevU-xQpoAWjj4Sh6J7HeSyLPWG9CwIkor_pUXnP3zoCHOTUAWrWtBecnFSj3kWe_xp_Zo91E2du_hUKsi2jOuBt_Aq5ZNF9ejJY0j32UgE8hIKW2rp_sX1Q-IiJ0JP9zoSaX7-whqFa9MeLc_hb7QRhuIjHZ2cii2x/w400-h300/Running%20girls%20Christmas%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Time and change have scattered us so we don’t see each other
much. Yet when we do, the bond created by running through life together awakens
instantly.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Friendship,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-21115906573216713392024-02-04T18:30:00.001-05:002024-02-04T18:30:00.143-05:00....inconvenient<p>Yogis,<br />It’s hard to believe that it was almost 20 years ago the movie ‘Inconvenient Truth’
was produced. We were bluntly shown how our humanness is affecting the world,
yet here we sit two decades later with plastics so all-pervasive they are found
in our water, bodies and the breast milk our babies ingest in their first
moments of life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Whether you liked, believed, agreed with or even watched the
movie, he did have one thing absolutely right. The truths are inconvenient. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We thrive on convenience. Plastic revolutionized our
culture. Buy it. Use it. Throw it away! Single servings. Vacuum packed.
Portable. Even lettuce comes in plastic. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But wait…..there is recycling! And I have some land I want
to sell you. Or the equipment that is combing plastic out of the ocean? Uh, no.
No one can solve this for us. We are the only solution and it is extremely inconvenient.
We have to stop using plastic. Aaaahhhh!<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSJ5kGwVibjUhiQAvgZNavsQB-aOrioYEsh_zn7U7IICu5Uck19Ai8NhLbIlOE5UYZNb57okzpInBIRAZk3ll2AThBTXecdga84fcNFlUHt1wntuDRvHNFjty9UF4SjhF3NjXp7GMGFCP19zWzcS26MZxbZ_PzuEqOWEGey_Cf_gYaBeeB8Nl7HX2t5aB/s1758/Veggies%20in%20cart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="1758" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSJ5kGwVibjUhiQAvgZNavsQB-aOrioYEsh_zn7U7IICu5Uck19Ai8NhLbIlOE5UYZNb57okzpInBIRAZk3ll2AThBTXecdga84fcNFlUHt1wntuDRvHNFjty9UF4SjhF3NjXp7GMGFCP19zWzcS26MZxbZ_PzuEqOWEGey_Cf_gYaBeeB8Nl7HX2t5aB/w400-h225/Veggies%20in%20cart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I am taking steps but it is painstakingly slow and plastic
still fills my bin. Thought I would
share some of what I learned and found and would love to hear your discoveries.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When shopping I place produce directly in my cart, walking past
those plastic bags. Once home I put them in green reusable produce bags. I use Debbie
Meyers. Once empty I rinse and air dry them. They last months and months and keep
the veggies far fresher.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am on a subscription toothpaste bits program. No plastic
tubes. It only took my mouth a short time to adjust and I love them. A glass
jar is provided for storage with refills sent in a paper envelope. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxTXubYs1cipF94PTWopS-EVbtQHm1_q6L4wNAEfpS7kwGLR92hTb6Jt6kAPHmuFhYVdgaOgdo0XDKT3TPJVFIR79A_hB6zNa9fNRU-M3Y3ktdOEhluOQwD-W-P5iCETphbUe_IEwQMyvEnqwAENrhcYFS_Wl7dBIBEa3_uAh0q3_AbM3sZooLXLF10UB/s1758/Shampoo%20bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxTXubYs1cipF94PTWopS-EVbtQHm1_q6L4wNAEfpS7kwGLR92hTb6Jt6kAPHmuFhYVdgaOgdo0XDKT3TPJVFIR79A_hB6zNa9fNRU-M3Y3ktdOEhluOQwD-W-P5iCETphbUe_IEwQMyvEnqwAENrhcYFS_Wl7dBIBEa3_uAh0q3_AbM3sZooLXLF10UB/s320/Shampoo%20bar.jpg" width="180" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8KlrsfriW_Hr3aG4jAMMyiBFJsUe8TqQZib_hFOOCuAciMRgeH36h4aZJW4YurxuRm3auBXsdNAEesHlNgx9-z6buGQtphSLTXMYY386GyPXT6zflCjWNheD6xUVsnwaQvQebSUnGAnEGxjlOVGl365qL_4Cdeop2vxwrkSdJJ0TIaLj2T3U_Sq2G6qC/s1758/Laundry%20sheets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8KlrsfriW_Hr3aG4jAMMyiBFJsUe8TqQZib_hFOOCuAciMRgeH36h4aZJW4YurxuRm3auBXsdNAEesHlNgx9-z6buGQtphSLTXMYY386GyPXT6zflCjWNheD6xUVsnwaQvQebSUnGAnEGxjlOVGl365qL_4Cdeop2vxwrkSdJJ0TIaLj2T3U_Sq2G6qC/s320/Laundry%20sheets.jpg" width="180" /></a><br /><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">After turning down the detergent aisle at Target and seeing rows
upon rows of enormous bright plastic staring my way, I made the switch to
laundry sheets. They come in a carboard box and I am quite happy. Check.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m in the process of trying out shampoo bars. I like my
newest one. And for the body…….a bar of soap. Remember those?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I won’t buy peppers wrapped in plastic. I have bought glass containers
in many sizes for leftovers (no more plastic wrap or baggies) and silicone lids
for cans and placing cut fruit in. And I have ordered plastic free dishwasher pods
(yes that squishy casing contains plastic). <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSpvFmky2Wh5BmvR7GO5z87zYuxAE7dGfB-stiNtOd3Q61tdJ2Lhb-ORjb3D5-bNoI4iVJes_4ci4WR5RguwJ_aMUkG9Knp1T_ZiTWUIFZdy2Ott-PVPekyHqt-Du_Dct21ehsu4-G15a24Ia9I7f46ijBbDZeDnk2v8T9vZkycHJQsJ1mpFpppUGpc0C/s3125/Laundry%20detergent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSpvFmky2Wh5BmvR7GO5z87zYuxAE7dGfB-stiNtOd3Q61tdJ2Lhb-ORjb3D5-bNoI4iVJes_4ci4WR5RguwJ_aMUkG9Knp1T_ZiTWUIFZdy2Ott-PVPekyHqt-Du_Dct21ehsu4-G15a24Ia9I7f46ijBbDZeDnk2v8T9vZkycHJQsJ1mpFpppUGpc0C/w400-h225/Laundry%20detergent.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">People often say these little changes won’t matter. I choose
not to believe that. If we all stopped buying plastic, companies would stop
making it. Remember, there is no ‘they’. There is only us.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Inconvenienced and ok,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-72025044294412851542024-01-28T18:30:00.013-05:002024-01-28T18:30:00.154-05:00.....a new turn<p>Yogis,<br />Each time I walk Phoebe she has a strong opinion on our route. Early morning she
walks straight ahead to take me down the street. Evenings are a sharp right
turn from the property. If I try a different direction her feet plant, and she
will point her nose toward the preferred route.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The afternoon beach walk is no exception. Going down the
front steps she is already leaning right with downtown her destination. We head
down the north side of Rehoboth Ave and after crossing 1<sup>st</sup> street,
her pace quickens. Thrashers Fries is on the left and with their generous fill everyone
inevitably drops a fry or two while walking away. Score! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxuM3G6OpLtmQIZdaXU6Hy7jJh7LybDPB91L_CreGmq4m0GZREpEZQeSgYFuwxx4RLVriFs2l_zqmpuUAnhrmOCbuGp1v2vnuaEZu737P_qeWr9uuYHFDY_bbL2njJSQp0uoA6iF79Pzf7bjn_W7Ffd2OohGhIs9AkWJyDmlxV7zhzPOllEvMoCrT8T2g/s3125/Thrashers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxuM3G6OpLtmQIZdaXU6Hy7jJh7LybDPB91L_CreGmq4m0GZREpEZQeSgYFuwxx4RLVriFs2l_zqmpuUAnhrmOCbuGp1v2vnuaEZu737P_qeWr9uuYHFDY_bbL2njJSQp0uoA6iF79Pzf7bjn_W7Ffd2OohGhIs9AkWJyDmlxV7zhzPOllEvMoCrT8T2g/w400-h225/Thrashers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">We reach the boardwalk where she takes a right and then
another to lead us up the south side of the street. Within a block her nose
quivers. Grotto pizza leaves a large bowl of dog biscuits in front (and water
which no dog seems to touch). I give her one and on we go.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Next a quick left down Penny Lane, a narrow alley with cute shops,
including a liquor store which also provides a treat bowl. Yes! This one she discovered
only recently but is now a required visit on any stroll. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the end of the alley, she turns right. Freddie’s had a
treat bowl once because it was dinner time, but usually we are much too early.
She insists we check anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the best
of days, it is a four-treat walk! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We do this over, and over, and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life rewards her for this habit so there is no
deviation. But what if there is something fantastic a mere block over? She may
never find out……<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidhKcqLTuRLkzwD-AJ0eiBXWiOyc8SIDfHOW7Mom_IiiXC7NkYaFsOdJ__rTx_Ks1BkK56L7qxwjCXMzNsNDIXemxrLDNXez-GB_-ujcVsdBFn0qk6MmGS3RLnRod25m65sEOnSgw9A76ihYtkBoAfWXS4g6H_7YXIBGEpQt0_h2h6TLLNqjH9mNRB-u9/s1758/Penny%20Lane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidhKcqLTuRLkzwD-AJ0eiBXWiOyc8SIDfHOW7Mom_IiiXC7NkYaFsOdJ__rTx_Ks1BkK56L7qxwjCXMzNsNDIXemxrLDNXez-GB_-ujcVsdBFn0qk6MmGS3RLnRod25m65sEOnSgw9A76ihYtkBoAfWXS4g6H_7YXIBGEpQt0_h2h6TLLNqjH9mNRB-u9/w225-h400/Penny%20Lane.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Life can feel like this walk. There is nothing wrong with
that. I too feel my routines have ‘treated’ me quite well. I love them. But at
times a voice stirs inside and quietly asks me to take a different turn. This is
one of those times.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Little turns. I add a new workout after my runs (thank you @totalsweat!)
which lifts me physically and mentally. I start my day with matcha. I suddenly like
red wine. I am listening to new music, being a bit more social and …..oh my
gosh getting up a half hour later!<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4Q5Rymabl-0cBykG33q19GbKDi3_-phpIbGqjl-3EZj2DvKHX4_BmvvnFsrA0ovu_5h9tWlM4seRG-gHSLrxZtn6RcDAl8I5T8deJcRzwodVf0MaqchZPLS4h_6jqrV513e8eOwFwb1DNFlsoOm6Ii8noBdsvEqL13Fvue2lCYRQ7vozyFh4VyjDss_O/s1660/Phoebe%20close%20up2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1660" data-original-width="935" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4Q5Rymabl-0cBykG33q19GbKDi3_-phpIbGqjl-3EZj2DvKHX4_BmvvnFsrA0ovu_5h9tWlM4seRG-gHSLrxZtn6RcDAl8I5T8deJcRzwodVf0MaqchZPLS4h_6jqrV513e8eOwFwb1DNFlsoOm6Ii8noBdsvEqL13Fvue2lCYRQ7vozyFh4VyjDss_O/w225-h400/Phoebe%20close%20up2.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Things shift.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today we took Phoebe on a new walk two towns down. Disappointingly
lots of water bowls but not one treat. What! But so many new sights and smells.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exhilarating!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">New turns bring big changes,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-9250859414554199902024-01-21T18:30:00.001-05:002024-01-21T18:30:00.124-05:00....the big hill<p>Yogis,<br />Finally some snow! After 729 snowless days we were blanketed with four inches
on Tuesday, followed quickly by four more on Friday. I had forgotten how truly wonderful
a snow day can feel.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Most of Tuesday’s snow fell overnight which doesn’t have
quite the same impact as a day spent watching snow fall from the sky. But
Friday’s, only forecast to be an inch, began before dawn and continued after
dark. A snow that gloriously trimmed every branch and twig with white. The garden
transformed as the world became quiet. A red cardinal the solitary splash of
color. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Snow days bring back memories. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6SN43r1KLVs4ugUvdL1-Ssxk8KUHmQoSCt7Wd0gqEKRAKDDoGD08gCUnvo6fs4BNiakxUoPC1MUnB2Ztd4iYVZL4JTdpUbn0vbTSPKEYgG1-gz2webUZ8Lcumuw5ulv_V9sA1XCaMoPYpO8oKJPmzfaCiUWbqVBjLIA641es90Sb_5WhnbeW_7vGO6w3/s1758/Birdbath%20in%20show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1145" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6SN43r1KLVs4ugUvdL1-Ssxk8KUHmQoSCt7Wd0gqEKRAKDDoGD08gCUnvo6fs4BNiakxUoPC1MUnB2Ztd4iYVZL4JTdpUbn0vbTSPKEYgG1-gz2webUZ8Lcumuw5ulv_V9sA1XCaMoPYpO8oKJPmzfaCiUWbqVBjLIA641es90Sb_5WhnbeW_7vGO6w3/w260-h400/Birdbath%20in%20show.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Like how there weren’t really snow boots when I was young.
Plastic baggies went over my shoes, held by rubber bands, and the whole ensemble
slid into a rubber boot…..with open tops to ensure snow fell in immediately.
The wood and metal sleds which did more sinking into the ground or causing
serious injury, than actual sledding.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Years later, spending an hour getting all three of my boys
bundled up to hike to the big hill. A perfect wide steep sledding hill in a
magical opening in the woods. Much laughter and tears happened on that big
hill. Then in the blink of an eye they were old enough to go themselves,
bringing friends back and hanging wet clothing on the radiators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Red cheeks, hat hair and starving. They would
go early and often. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday we all went to the big hill once again. Now with sons
and grandkids in tow. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxw_wKi44Cae1V9oWwj-YuauYwApvk07hEEmVjDTp3mlxuBMwq90pB5Gi4qL2uLAOA4UBeXOU6RhudE5juJa_fIY5Q0kWyiLL4Za3gGpdwtRGdYJqgex1pSaMWg78gg1I3vjwo4Vbk-T_cC5-Hou8aT-KyKg85hYrhd4V_rXfsoZBSG12tL2nBArK61kF/s4000/IMG_2188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxw_wKi44Cae1V9oWwj-YuauYwApvk07hEEmVjDTp3mlxuBMwq90pB5Gi4qL2uLAOA4UBeXOU6RhudE5juJa_fIY5Q0kWyiLL4Za3gGpdwtRGdYJqgex1pSaMWg78gg1I3vjwo4Vbk-T_cC5-Hou8aT-KyKg85hYrhd4V_rXfsoZBSG12tL2nBArK61kF/w400-h225/IMG_2188.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Nothing has changed. Trying to get little Ben to put his
thumb into the thumb part of the glove….with no success. Snowpants, snow boots
(although these are now really for snow), coats, scarves, gloves, hats……. A
workout just getting everyone ready.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We all had turns and races. Some fared better than others.
Attempting the jump and avoiding the tree. My sons recounting stories of days spent
on the big hill. Many red cheeks. At least one little one needing to be carried
on the way home.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP4eh2LcvDHi3I-c8UlDVX4NWXtpvChHD6l6Odx0xB4iNqgUd5iI_RIA5EVJdX4yzpcTSpae0ojawM4me-OwTi-HVJibSkvNhAexlXhXItbikbG8ydzpWtOAcjkwEWbIxS5R91otW_ZbGGUV2rmZ6yJBMCTv86bSR40hkVCI1lUU2kDcRrrHj61PyEDtfg/s1758/Ben%20at%20big%20hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP4eh2LcvDHi3I-c8UlDVX4NWXtpvChHD6l6Odx0xB4iNqgUd5iI_RIA5EVJdX4yzpcTSpae0ojawM4me-OwTi-HVJibSkvNhAexlXhXItbikbG8ydzpWtOAcjkwEWbIxS5R91otW_ZbGGUV2rmZ6yJBMCTv86bSR40hkVCI1lUU2kDcRrrHj61PyEDtfg/w225-h400/Ben%20at%20big%20hill.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">On the way back my grandson Johnny exclaimed that he was
starving! All of the wet clothes were strewn across heaters while we heated up
the chili and built a fire. Snow days never get old.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What are your snow memories?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Grateful,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-82166787034708241842024-01-14T18:30:00.002-05:002024-01-14T18:30:00.125-05:00....skyward<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yogis,<br />This week I wasn’t sure what to write about. That happens sometimes. Sunday morning
will arrive and the sheet in front of me is blank with no inner direction on
what words to place there. My heart tightens slightly. Perhaps this is the week
when no words will come.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I head out for my morning run with hopes of inspiration when
a concrete bench facing the small lake nearby catches my eye. Spotlighted by a
golden sun beam it asks me to sit a while. I do. I tell her that in all my
years of passing, I don’t think I ever sat. Eyes closed, I feel both the crisp air
on my skin and the warmth of the sun. What should I write? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I imagine opening the crown of my head, like the car’s
sunroof, trusting that guidance will pour in. As I eventually open my eyes, what
I see first is the expansiveness of a brilliant blue sky. A flock of snow geese
pass noisily overhead, their bellies glistening from the low morning light. Ah
yes. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv_T6we62wgJyD4gLHznM8aAqxFKjL5Kg2En6O_iIZt8HsneZkolr-26HtUbyNZBecYWmwjvNzWsZwpWj8UkNMr-0PzoV2FMtCWPiFtlXCFMZTWJIjd1-pfz9cefrwJMq58Snnw5omNqGkJeg_L39_Mg0TiKv_IVHSRD9J_P1O92AbjW2iegkF85qKQSi/s3125/Colored%20clouds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv_T6we62wgJyD4gLHznM8aAqxFKjL5Kg2En6O_iIZt8HsneZkolr-26HtUbyNZBecYWmwjvNzWsZwpWj8UkNMr-0PzoV2FMtCWPiFtlXCFMZTWJIjd1-pfz9cefrwJMq58Snnw5omNqGkJeg_L39_Mg0TiKv_IVHSRD9J_P1O92AbjW2iegkF85qKQSi/w400-h225/Colored%20clouds.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Winter is when sky becomes the stage.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Arriving at the beach it’s the clouds leading the show. Small
ones float midair as they pass quickly over the ocean. Enormous plumes stream
one after another over the dune. Multicolored they soon fill the sky with
beauty reminding me how small I really am. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Winter is sky season. Look up! With leafless trees and earth
sitting quietly we are given the chance to witness the infinite world beyond. Is
that a hawk I see soaring above? <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGt_XMk9TjjJURw-JguFuqhaRcu0UO8pWcTbbpjW11oGmnZJdwI9TnIapZMdIScAvD7Q4oUZRcOJP11JG-WZmzqKEBgX3efHERZF_07w0RzaNk2Cor8Ok3XDsrL5h6JIGatf23sPRNcmMHJqCj_hc7UAqh2cRJIPjOU83Iphd-CO6LbWQ-4yt48Pslve0/s3125/Clouds%20over%20dune.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGt_XMk9TjjJURw-JguFuqhaRcu0UO8pWcTbbpjW11oGmnZJdwI9TnIapZMdIScAvD7Q4oUZRcOJP11JG-WZmzqKEBgX3efHERZF_07w0RzaNk2Cor8Ok3XDsrL5h6JIGatf23sPRNcmMHJqCj_hc7UAqh2cRJIPjOU83Iphd-CO6LbWQ-4yt48Pslve0/w400-h225/Clouds%20over%20dune.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Yes, there are wonders to behold if you shift your gaze
skyward. But there are other gifts as well. The phrase ‘things are looking up’
didn’t arise from nowhere. When we make a habit of looking upward, our chest
and heart follow and our mood shifts. Unlimited possibilities present
themselves. Gifts, such as inspiration, pour down.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The new crescent moon hangs low in the sky as the sun begins
her descent. Pinks, purples and orange paint the horizon. As she finally leaves
us behind the sky darkens. Walking through the deep black of a winter night you
can’t help but notice the stars. They seem to shine a bit brighter this time of
year. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7r_y1YLOg9p-v_ChnFsM1DUFIe6PFjvkfv-YGJvZdS9nHkUAky15iocxlaj_FqUHnCy8LhVbhwaV6a8LTzccJb6RSfjH8U1l1NMGBZ4a8Hc0sM2SuQGIR_-K3piA-3AaRdUkTB9M8krW_GXFzKJS5Mfq9b4HhuII-kJw0U8NB9Zua-9OiR-BlFCmQLJz/s3125/Shelf%20cloud.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7r_y1YLOg9p-v_ChnFsM1DUFIe6PFjvkfv-YGJvZdS9nHkUAky15iocxlaj_FqUHnCy8LhVbhwaV6a8LTzccJb6RSfjH8U1l1NMGBZ4a8Hc0sM2SuQGIR_-K3piA-3AaRdUkTB9M8krW_GXFzKJS5Mfq9b4HhuII-kJw0U8NB9Zua-9OiR-BlFCmQLJz/w400-h225/Shelf%20cloud.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The big dipper frames the east sky as I look up. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thank you bench,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-69350938807635190692024-01-07T18:30:00.001-05:002024-01-07T18:30:00.138-05:00....the windows<p>Yogis,<br />Our great room faces the back yard and is lined with windows. I always think of these as both my artwork and
movie screen.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I often walk to the windows and peek out to see what’s going
on. Much of the year there is plenty going on. Birds arguing over who gets to nest
in the house attached to the garage. Sparrows standing on the edge of the
birdbath fluffing their wet feathers. Squirrels chasing each other in circles and
deer biting the buds off my black eyed susans. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9aw6MfbEEpbr886j04SQ8UjCcqPOW0v-bHZzY4cyaNJyCmHs3B4MABqcmuWFFakqIElQfQxCKMrDQwU7JRAWVCmgHstxX2VFao-RBuK1-JMZNfO8txDIwn0x4ixy9DEpQt9FAmXt_q4-9_sEiZQoiC82oEpbhSBWCY3DvaZ7x_Mh3RetFYsUyYmU_g_R/s3125/Back%20Windows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9aw6MfbEEpbr886j04SQ8UjCcqPOW0v-bHZzY4cyaNJyCmHs3B4MABqcmuWFFakqIElQfQxCKMrDQwU7JRAWVCmgHstxX2VFao-RBuK1-JMZNfO8txDIwn0x4ixy9DEpQt9FAmXt_q4-9_sEiZQoiC82oEpbhSBWCY3DvaZ7x_Mh3RetFYsUyYmU_g_R/w400-h225/Back%20Windows.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The woods so dense with leaves you would never know anyone
lives beyond. The garden glows with color. Butterflies float and bees take
their work seriously. A flurry of activity.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Winter though, is different.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This morning as I sat at the table something caught my eye out
the window. I turned in time to see a flash of red as our resident woodpecker
flew through the yard. Landing he prepared for pecking. How could I not notice
with a background that now contains only gray?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My windows offer a different glimpse this season. Winter, related
to the element of earth, carries the energies of quiet and stillness. On most
of my visits to the window there is nothing to see. Everything lies at rest. A
hush.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgxLZiYMR8_0DNpLmv34Gx0AZFLrF7hWv3I8t8rElD6qP7zSlMIs-9XkNBZi_y3XhmxWPxRvt3T2E1VyQgCeTk_zmVx6dfrjVQJdm3hNg6ERvn5UHqP5w0XmJzG0rR2G3VFd-hI5ASLYSbVfTs9-63F7xd6jrP_3KtopSHS_cY6YkkVIZfA13w-r93agm/s1758/Bluebird%20house%20winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgxLZiYMR8_0DNpLmv34Gx0AZFLrF7hWv3I8t8rElD6qP7zSlMIs-9XkNBZi_y3XhmxWPxRvt3T2E1VyQgCeTk_zmVx6dfrjVQJdm3hNg6ERvn5UHqP5w0XmJzG0rR2G3VFd-hI5ASLYSbVfTs9-63F7xd6jrP_3KtopSHS_cY6YkkVIZfA13w-r93agm/w225-h400/Bluebird%20house%20winter.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Yet, what better time to notice.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The other day I was thinking of the fox when I looked out to
see one walking the ridge. I could see him clearly in the distance. No brush or
leaves obstructing my view. My gaze followed as he ambled through yards and
into the woods. Stopping to smell. The black of his lower legs resembling boots.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like the woodpecker, in any other season I probably wouldn’t
have noticed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This too is our time to get quiet and still. A pause. The
quieter we are, the more we will notice. In our own lives, in our relationships
and in the world around us. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySNGX4pXDRIiIGvvJqn4J9da8cBxY2cGg8M2miHV2uZoaF6h29Wo37XLGtSOGRDVn2mXVZr6dyDP2yaKRYjx7ZOLzG_L2mGHcyUYbcCC0nhyphenhyphen6MFiy0ysoUXgNOOMdJQPKZ4WfX1DB7sgHJC1eFSAibc0iTXD9m-_E5jIcqB9ZEDRvAxn3GIGpXGSlVINR/s3125/Winter%20garden%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySNGX4pXDRIiIGvvJqn4J9da8cBxY2cGg8M2miHV2uZoaF6h29Wo37XLGtSOGRDVn2mXVZr6dyDP2yaKRYjx7ZOLzG_L2mGHcyUYbcCC0nhyphenhyphen6MFiy0ysoUXgNOOMdJQPKZ4WfX1DB7sgHJC1eFSAibc0iTXD9m-_E5jIcqB9ZEDRvAxn3GIGpXGSlVINR/w400-h225/Winter%20garden%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The other seasons are the symphony. Each instrument playing
its part in unison to surround us with song. Winter though, is the spotlight
shined on the soloist. How we can appreciate the trumpet more. How the violin
brings us to tears.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Noticing,<br />
SARAH <o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-8149593221742581312024-01-01T18:30:00.001-05:002024-01-01T18:30:00.333-05:00....a word<p>Yogis,<br />Here we stand again. Feet on the starting line of a brand-new year. Didn’t we
just do this? Staring into blank space ahead and being asked what it is we want.
What do you want this year to look like. To feel like. What you want to create
and what you want to walk away from.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As images begin to form, I find it can be quite helpful to frame
it in a word. A word that when you think it or speak it aloud holds the energy of
what you want the year to become. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have been doing this for a while now…..and always invite
you to join me. Naming a word of the year holds much more power than making
resolutions. It states your intention yet gives plenty of space for twists and
turns. Put it out there and then be flexible to where it takes you. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgez9k98eRuvAMuxi-trCm9FYznNu9jZHzwYPdQgHyk2P-eb18vYi8-IOkgbuad5_CiLJ8a6s7ba3KHkYWUTLWdvtf7e-OxPBhNQZl9m04XYxEIXxyjWGAfJK98bLICkYRLxcGRyBJcIJ38fHOct5hcHw671pmkJTKUDhjOcMnDsdhkp5z8gD5BKGX1WSiE/s1758/Feet%20on%20trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgez9k98eRuvAMuxi-trCm9FYznNu9jZHzwYPdQgHyk2P-eb18vYi8-IOkgbuad5_CiLJ8a6s7ba3KHkYWUTLWdvtf7e-OxPBhNQZl9m04XYxEIXxyjWGAfJK98bLICkYRLxcGRyBJcIJ38fHOct5hcHw671pmkJTKUDhjOcMnDsdhkp5z8gD5BKGX1WSiE/w225-h400/Feet%20on%20trail.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Two years ago, I chose responsibility. Wanting to be clear
that I am part of the problem. No finger pointing at ‘they’ and making
conscious changes to be part of the solution. It led to things like composting
and being a bit more open to hearing other points of view. Last year I chose
beauty. Giving attention to the beauty that always sits close. The beauty of
the vase of flowers on my table as much as the beauty of a rainy day. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year the word that came to me was ‘simple.’ <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJ5MW_e2U1sCSQC8VYBwHNL6fy4EDXlyv3mwbmYYVN5aFDSXTngSE_JOpV7egogHAv-indaWC7RQb4aoeCmt13ihZRHkrgMNLVlpY4s8Igwf_mpDCV_AeZTgerxAFLPZDvfmPdbzIecTBhwFuEhbIllqn2GQD0WWhocpk2ouElpa1HG_Uo4GHhEkZ9ftm/s1758/Beach%20fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1108" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJ5MW_e2U1sCSQC8VYBwHNL6fy4EDXlyv3mwbmYYVN5aFDSXTngSE_JOpV7egogHAv-indaWC7RQb4aoeCmt13ihZRHkrgMNLVlpY4s8Igwf_mpDCV_AeZTgerxAFLPZDvfmPdbzIecTBhwFuEhbIllqn2GQD0WWhocpk2ouElpa1HG_Uo4GHhEkZ9ftm/w253-h400/Beach%20fence.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Our world has become complicated. Life has become
complicated. I hear myself bemoaning the fact too often these days. But has it
really? Do the fox in my yard see life becoming more complicated? Does the sun notice?
I realized the world hasn’t changed. It is only us. Adding layer upon layer to
life, which itself is fairly simple.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I intend to see how I can be more simple. Live more simply. Even
writing that feels like a big step. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzwFIFVQ_dizcsbU2Q_smbm82bX72tGJ0GE98zHZkH5adIHN_z8Zd8hsek561OcD5LckNpzwS0pK0rRPbkPCN-lhXsJdWEBEor0O2-qqwRnUmfcL2V4eYB5XO9PH6ItraWIMmtCpI7dNPyd-C3oiVD0RlycGRgxSJ7bQIs7h6LMzbf4-pRIkBKgW77ghr/s1788/Mushroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzwFIFVQ_dizcsbU2Q_smbm82bX72tGJ0GE98zHZkH5adIHN_z8Zd8hsek561OcD5LckNpzwS0pK0rRPbkPCN-lhXsJdWEBEor0O2-qqwRnUmfcL2V4eYB5XO9PH6ItraWIMmtCpI7dNPyd-C3oiVD0RlycGRgxSJ7bQIs7h6LMzbf4-pRIkBKgW77ghr/w225-h400/Mushroom.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Once you have a word it is good to look up definitions. Simple:
Easily understood or done. Basic or uncomplicated in nature or design. Used to
convey that something is straightforward. Post your word where you see it often
or use it on a regular basis to make it part of daily life. If you get my notes
via email you saw that my final picture almost always had a caption of ‘beauty
is everywhere’ this year. Reminding myself.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZU0Z0xa3LVac9uFXqJicjrvz0qZbSfe-16E_-pMswIBzo13gyDOGn0Z_o4uioN0-jAB1rVYM89b6D_FpiASRU5Pk6MCiLAAUl4DMQV0ZGRWavt69csPNcZoXAvRHhYuDMJYdJSH5F2wbtrdsOtvZsWDV6wG5Xno4HBDkBqJ7yF9G8fhsHAOXQRB-ca46/s2343/Winter%20river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="2343" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZU0Z0xa3LVac9uFXqJicjrvz0qZbSfe-16E_-pMswIBzo13gyDOGn0Z_o4uioN0-jAB1rVYM89b6D_FpiASRU5Pk6MCiLAAUl4DMQV0ZGRWavt69csPNcZoXAvRHhYuDMJYdJSH5F2wbtrdsOtvZsWDV6wG5Xno4HBDkBqJ7yF9G8fhsHAOXQRB-ca46/w400-h300/Winter%20river.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">What is your word of the year? Let it rise naturally as it
will be your partner for 365 days.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Simply,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-75422594656372503972023-12-17T18:30:00.002-05:002023-12-17T18:30:00.132-05:00.....notice me<p>Yogis,<br />This Thursday we celebrate the winter solstice. The shortest day and longest
night in the northern hemisphere as the sun drops to her most southern position.
To be more precise, the winter solstice occurs on Thursday at 10:27 pm. The
moment. A pause. While each day forward will then become an almost imperceptible
bit longer, the solstice also ushers in the winter season.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The light and cold arrive hand in hand.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOoNwbnLWEn_0DuA4t8HNqR2rmoy1fhE_xeBsw7aMSWnExoQkT7-lkWmexQVWXc5C4M1l2clMPZ-vzCe8a8Sfk9S9X4BWswr9pO3SRQJzbkSkUKK5K3yK2_YsLf-Y6s2PCxkf-egjHEcSczsKOoR_aCpmHpC07ijilc84vCOh2sxHfqeMc8ORqEnH3xqD/s1434/Oak%20against%20blue%20sky%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1434" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOoNwbnLWEn_0DuA4t8HNqR2rmoy1fhE_xeBsw7aMSWnExoQkT7-lkWmexQVWXc5C4M1l2clMPZ-vzCe8a8Sfk9S9X4BWswr9pO3SRQJzbkSkUKK5K3yK2_YsLf-Y6s2PCxkf-egjHEcSczsKOoR_aCpmHpC07ijilc84vCOh2sxHfqeMc8ORqEnH3xqD/w275-h400/Oak%20against%20blue%20sky%202.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Around here winter has taken her sweet time in approaching,
perhaps waiting for the solstice. Yes, we have had an occasional scraping of
windshields and even an unexpected wake up to a coating of snow. Dandelions,
however, are still surprising me in my gravel driveway with bright cheerful faces
and I spent yesterday raking the last falling leaves, wearing only a long
sleeve shirt.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The trees know though, even if we question, that winter will
indeed set in. They now sit bare.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4VUrT1FBPSRIjQTQhN_erPSGICRFMv1d97YAe6xH2H-BkdgmKCBldyzX2H_oJrji22rbgzDuHbi1IwnytLufu901P14x3GfQyKT1nJuzTkDXExsk05k-h8TkNgrJIthA8k8x3y6xbl8Ti9h-4rKk_5Shko-GPeApaOrzZRDfGunMSlpN6cU0x8XIdT7d/s1688/Sycamore%20in%20sun%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4VUrT1FBPSRIjQTQhN_erPSGICRFMv1d97YAe6xH2H-BkdgmKCBldyzX2H_oJrji22rbgzDuHbi1IwnytLufu901P14x3GfQyKT1nJuzTkDXExsk05k-h8TkNgrJIthA8k8x3y6xbl8Ti9h-4rKk_5Shko-GPeApaOrzZRDfGunMSlpN6cU0x8XIdT7d/w234-h400/Sycamore%20in%20sun%202.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">‘Notice me’, they call as I run to the river. ‘Notice me,’
they whisper as I walk up the driveway. ‘Notice me,’ they say as a posture I
take in my practice twists me toward the window. When I do look, it’s almost as
if they stand taller, spreading their branches wider to beam. Winter beauty.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Towering over me, my mighty oak reaches toward the blue morning
sky. The sycamore spotlighted by the low afternoon sun. A crescent moon peering
through the branches of the walnut tree. Sculptures beyond any we may find in our
manmade world. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKG0i9JGjhQWDKyBzqfGnbAFejo_Qj9UMhE5G3uIJNBIemraH7T5yvMDrIt_UysvwxxrQGQp2V8XmbSCdywbEMqv9hj3gsszFyTezKrPeOFgLf_Wfs_vw3hYGLE9nI6TQrurcvPnZP8p6A36df60PA-B9QuEZeQrkCA_2aREQ6-WaIaKNsFdewFNNepGF7/s833/Night%20tree.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="833" data-original-width="469" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKG0i9JGjhQWDKyBzqfGnbAFejo_Qj9UMhE5G3uIJNBIemraH7T5yvMDrIt_UysvwxxrQGQp2V8XmbSCdywbEMqv9hj3gsszFyTezKrPeOFgLf_Wfs_vw3hYGLE9nI6TQrurcvPnZP8p6A36df60PA-B9QuEZeQrkCA_2aREQ6-WaIaKNsFdewFNNepGF7/w225-h400/Night%20tree.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Naked, we can see the intricacy of their branches resembling
our own lungs. A crow perched at the top peers down on all of us. A tangled
mass of leaves, moss and sticks sits precariously in the crook of the tree. A squirrel’s
head emerges just as the sun rises. The cardinal offers an unexpected flash of
color in an otherwise brown and gray landscape.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdzGL2RGKWa9Hfat3CU8wKmf5lQCmt29nBzCxYhTE4UUE-Qfu6HrdZ5wdBOxazkS7ItbFQj2a2invlyIgX3AhxTkWTpLXtWEAIORwImbwdoa5omutW8DsRYB_1em0bOfkHZ1Ub8o2l0bg3Bk1MGZQUZI43aNPqqD_jzn_5slIOM5h_uP1nnO04LH3riUB/s1605/Trees%20Reflection.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1605" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdzGL2RGKWa9Hfat3CU8wKmf5lQCmt29nBzCxYhTE4UUE-Qfu6HrdZ5wdBOxazkS7ItbFQj2a2invlyIgX3AhxTkWTpLXtWEAIORwImbwdoa5omutW8DsRYB_1em0bOfkHZ1Ub8o2l0bg3Bk1MGZQUZI43aNPqqD_jzn_5slIOM5h_uP1nnO04LH3riUB/w400-h225/Trees%20Reflection.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Winter, with its simplicity, asks us to notice. Without the
trappings and distractions of summer we can see the trees, our lives and one
another more clearly. As we all truly are.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Notice the trees.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Notice me,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-11704286197372098192023-12-10T18:30:00.001-05:002023-12-10T18:30:00.134-05:00....leave behind<p>Yogis,<br />To determine if the tide is high or low at any given point you can always look
for the high tideline. That wavy line that runs along the sand, parallel to the
ocean. A subtle divider that separates the darker, wetter sand from the dry. The
distance it sits from the current water’s edge indicates where the tide is in
her continuous ebb and flow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The line is also recognizable by the variety of items entwined
within it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The moon’s gravitational pull causes the ocean to gradually move
onshore over about a 6-hour window and then draws it back over that same time span.
Twice a day. Every day. And every time it leaves different things behind in its
wake.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20re-3b7eSv7Uso7L4LFxQVTfXryxk4AiG9enyKajOgoVyhTaTD3f29XtyqkJzbxFI1sCL3LtbF78Bfi1JxDjQYSLyIW4wPnVAgcLam5GnvlShU9KRBZmUqgtMEkd9Skkd0aMOylc95MYLgazk9elAuXztsqEOsK1I2oHO00X3rRWEuKq9tyKeB786xmP/s3125/feather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20re-3b7eSv7Uso7L4LFxQVTfXryxk4AiG9enyKajOgoVyhTaTD3f29XtyqkJzbxFI1sCL3LtbF78Bfi1JxDjQYSLyIW4wPnVAgcLam5GnvlShU9KRBZmUqgtMEkd9Skkd0aMOylc95MYLgazk9elAuXztsqEOsK1I2oHO00X3rRWEuKq9tyKeB786xmP/w400-h225/feather.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Each morning you find the early risers slowly walking the
tideline with heads down, looking for treasures. Whole unbroken shells. Maybe an
occasional sand dollar or starfish. Polished sea glass and fragments of coral. Driftwood
artfully sculpted by the movement of the waves. Gifts from the ocean. Some
tucked into pockets to find new homes on nightstands and counters.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Other times though, what the ocean leaves behind should
never have entered her in the first place. Plastic water bottles and baggies. Straws,
cans, beach toys or wire. Waste that made its way to the ocean from our homes,
roads and even summer picnics on her edge. As she pulls back, she leaves some
behind. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDyeGmrv8dsDcC833PUimDUS1c3s5AqT_io_a9GiVedCIUsufgy2MmRWAE6s2cy87cilf-G6nTxoAD-iHsWiYLMORFK45VD10ZNjimmQyt-6ziGg2XH2yf6XLQO2qjFhw3hjlXy5ltGR88V_WXEOpUV9rSPPH0iOGoAFL26jQiRplKIu_I8UuY0BAiAbo/s1758/plastic%20bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1205" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDyeGmrv8dsDcC833PUimDUS1c3s5AqT_io_a9GiVedCIUsufgy2MmRWAE6s2cy87cilf-G6nTxoAD-iHsWiYLMORFK45VD10ZNjimmQyt-6ziGg2XH2yf6XLQO2qjFhw3hjlXy5ltGR88V_WXEOpUV9rSPPH0iOGoAFL26jQiRplKIu_I8UuY0BAiAbo/w274-h400/plastic%20bag.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Walking the tideline myself this morning, I was thinking how
we are no different. We enter every day, like a wave, have an impact and then
pull away. We always leave some imprint. What do I leave in the trail behind me?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We can choose to tread lightly and mindfully leaving gifts
in our wake each night as we lie our head on the pillow to pull away. Or we can
stomp heavily and cause suffering. Through words, actions, purchases or even our
thoughts. Those who follow our line the next morning will walk through what we
left behind. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wg5Or168-dvu_557EYU1fsOTMUuCUQM5SPGkhfd-XDjX40euui7KiIeEWNkbrIvKgFHDO_ChVdUGl35Wcj1iNlJ3_CgGERJJe7RnKKcEtOpdQHt8bt8TYVygSS7J5pPFKuW2Wipyq1C5cg47e0SDu3tlYiTN_USe7yL9hCiNXKWQqcUfvqWlAPJbfbVI/s3125/carnation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wg5Or168-dvu_557EYU1fsOTMUuCUQM5SPGkhfd-XDjX40euui7KiIeEWNkbrIvKgFHDO_ChVdUGl35Wcj1iNlJ3_CgGERJJe7RnKKcEtOpdQHt8bt8TYVygSS7J5pPFKuW2Wipyq1C5cg47e0SDu3tlYiTN_USe7yL9hCiNXKWQqcUfvqWlAPJbfbVI/w400-h225/carnation.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I was pondering this while photographing carnations strewn
through the tideline (perhaps a marriage proposal?) when an older couple walked
by with their dogs. I approached to say hello to their dogs who were eager for
attention. As I stood to leave the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out
a handful of colored hearts. ‘Take one’, she said. ‘You were nice to my dogs.’</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had a sudden flashback to my sister once telling me a
woman gifted her a heart at sunrise. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35ZaEDZN2w7L-QVIU_LSY8wmPibs0_FmEeALGdSs8mtqo80y6pfI_SrPVIjyY6w-c2ywdBoWMdNRJoNz0NyHUpPCFwql3fs3OjZG7_gWQdobqXvqUvvD7SsFH2OYeEPjjRf4TzQaTkcRow2nWjg-asHSLVJUvqw5L84wez_2uGw8gjy6d9ILWnbFLrU1U/s1758/heart%20on%20beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35ZaEDZN2w7L-QVIU_LSY8wmPibs0_FmEeALGdSs8mtqo80y6pfI_SrPVIjyY6w-c2ywdBoWMdNRJoNz0NyHUpPCFwql3fs3OjZG7_gWQdobqXvqUvvD7SsFH2OYeEPjjRf4TzQaTkcRow2nWjg-asHSLVJUvqw5L84wez_2uGw8gjy6d9ILWnbFLrU1U/w242-h400/heart%20on%20beach.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">It’s clear what can be found in this women’s tideline,<br />SARAH</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-56880054319025461012023-12-03T18:30:00.001-05:002023-12-03T18:30:00.135-05:00....thinking of you<p>Yogis,<br />Last evening a good friend and I recounted stories from the thirty-three year friendship
we have enjoyed. It began at a preschool back to school night for our two-year-olds.
Two young moms wearing suits and high heels, rushing in from work to get there on
time. Sitting side by side on tiny chairs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We shared memories of our kids, Caribbean vacations, and the
hundreds of hours we sat on hard bleachers watching our boys play soccer… baseball….and
basketball. Where does the time go?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She mentioned an amethyst crystal I gave her one holiday
season. It now sits in her living room and whenever she sees it, she thinks of me.
This is exactly the theme that has been swirling through my mind. Time to put
it to paper.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV410bXB4huZ1H3nEQloNbCRFlBbHp2Gph2jl1jg-xRIUOx74aPFLCOGFEcb_dvX45ALk0XssNzwy-4hRhGGb9PPG-fyaAJqMvoMN1CFr5k1UPasCldaHfwUTxboimAbQ4hiq-NOAgOFLPckwN_ngTYk2KHRTaQ616vZuYKwxHUje-fTQLLiQtTPSx_qU/s3125/Persimmons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV410bXB4huZ1H3nEQloNbCRFlBbHp2Gph2jl1jg-xRIUOx74aPFLCOGFEcb_dvX45ALk0XssNzwy-4hRhGGb9PPG-fyaAJqMvoMN1CFr5k1UPasCldaHfwUTxboimAbQ4hiq-NOAgOFLPckwN_ngTYk2KHRTaQ616vZuYKwxHUje-fTQLLiQtTPSx_qU/w400-h225/Persimmons.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I was cutting bread on a white marble board my cousin gifted
me one Christmas. I noticed the image of her that rose as my knife sliced. I
like that since I rarely get a chance to see her. I turned to put the knife in
the sink and there was a figurine shining her heart energy my way. Another gift
which always brings warm memories of the giver.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Walking through the house and yard is like having visits from
family and friends. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvq2K3eA3hgzNfYbqoWsfRnao8KeDdSFnfoW91eAlLpzL6gvlPpDqPJbmk1oj1ZU95g4zeJ91motX8wviqiUJ2sTiDxfwBVWJ1iP2N59ecaNOy8t4BZ0XLIZj3S-AL68K1e0v5yd_3KyqAJt57_9RBdScq4o421E3ffHxD9q1JSjxyGMqfj_NvOft1OY_/s1758/figurine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvq2K3eA3hgzNfYbqoWsfRnao8KeDdSFnfoW91eAlLpzL6gvlPpDqPJbmk1oj1ZU95g4zeJ91motX8wviqiUJ2sTiDxfwBVWJ1iP2N59ecaNOy8t4BZ0XLIZj3S-AL68K1e0v5yd_3KyqAJt57_9RBdScq4o421E3ffHxD9q1JSjxyGMqfj_NvOft1OY_/w225-h400/figurine.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The persimmons I ate this morning along side energy bread
conjure up two friends. My goddess necklace and many of my earrings are quick
hellos from afar as I dress. My studio is filled with gifts from students…..a
gong, paintings, angels, malas, candles……all adding to the sense of community and
warmth we shared together.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The natural sponge I use daily on dishes. Puzzles I have
spent hours and hours enjoying, bird feeders and the elephant tapestry which
lies beneath every reiki client that comes for healing. I could fill pages. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSasv-g-y83ygMe5wbnUWrU_01gIZYuDMpeENrQ3fwHqO9sy64mjCDZbZQECJV8ihy5TpwibDz19gbm3bxIJq33bcLVuonSSmzFgFhothQ7Z408BSFIpFCS2frioPKOuMJ4XG8O1oZygeeIMSyu_377Xek5_uro5aCsTuivZgLukUO9v5uExa-bg6Bboy/s3125/Mens%20Yoga%20painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSasv-g-y83ygMe5wbnUWrU_01gIZYuDMpeENrQ3fwHqO9sy64mjCDZbZQECJV8ihy5TpwibDz19gbm3bxIJq33bcLVuonSSmzFgFhothQ7Z408BSFIpFCS2frioPKOuMJ4XG8O1oZygeeIMSyu_377Xek5_uro5aCsTuivZgLukUO9v5uExa-bg6Bboy/w400-h225/Mens%20Yoga%20painting.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">This weekend the switch turned on for the gifting season. Often
our attention is focused on what to give, yet every gift requires two
participants. There is the giver but equally important is the receiver. The one
who opens to draw in what is being offered. A current. A connection. That is
not the end of the cycle though. Each time the receiver sees the gift and remembers
the giver, bright energy is sent back their way. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gifting is a never-ending circle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am thinking of you,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-17972024110365537172023-11-26T18:30:00.001-05:002023-11-26T18:30:00.129-05:00....impermanence<p>Yogis,<br />A tree grows on a small island close to the river’s edge. She is the first
thing I notice each time I arrive and over the years I have taken quite a few
pictures of her. It’s hard not to. She looks different every time…… and beautiful.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On this bright crisp November morning, photographing her yet
again, I realized she is one of my teachers on the only thing we can depend on. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Impermanence. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmLCZRxf5JC1tVExEKSe4YZy5_mzXSIadbwsSTaK9LSpnB5wFCWoVveQVDzZbr3VwrS1almRpiMQJf7auCfoLkPTYca0ylZuL3CNCG7Tu1fpEUJOEz8dxmWltzHb-8b7utjpf4jRjwz5pGcHPyaIDVLcu1YQXLqKwy4MQs2Lta07PAx_vNXnAlSR-TF_ZK/s1758/My%20river%20tree%20in%20August.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmLCZRxf5JC1tVExEKSe4YZy5_mzXSIadbwsSTaK9LSpnB5wFCWoVveQVDzZbr3VwrS1almRpiMQJf7auCfoLkPTYca0ylZuL3CNCG7Tu1fpEUJOEz8dxmWltzHb-8b7utjpf4jRjwz5pGcHPyaIDVLcu1YQXLqKwy4MQs2Lta07PAx_vNXnAlSR-TF_ZK/w225-h400/My%20river%20tree%20in%20August.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I’m reading about the Tibetan Buddhist concept of the bardo.
There are many definitions and interpretations, but in simple terms the bardo is
a state of transition. Everything that exists was created, goes through a
period of change, and will die. Nowhere is there any hint of a period where change
stands still. Not even for the length of time it takes you to take your next
breath.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A couple weeks ago my tree’s dried leaves rustled in the
breeze. This morning she sat bare. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpNeEt5v_nWiVuFm3lRMpx2eNR76JzQVWSzOeq_GGMN61qXTapKh2_oqTbe8SfTOsRU9ifMEMj_Q-aWeU9mDYzOqm1vr-Kmf6c44kLiFvwkfkV9uix49G45BydM_Yg-F7JURXdJ6wEoyRcolB_RQyO2JQE_Cd2OB4AXMwemnAzI_BWFqotJgazZWtvmZ6/s1758/My%20river%20tree%20in%20Oct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="1318" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpNeEt5v_nWiVuFm3lRMpx2eNR76JzQVWSzOeq_GGMN61qXTapKh2_oqTbe8SfTOsRU9ifMEMj_Q-aWeU9mDYzOqm1vr-Kmf6c44kLiFvwkfkV9uix49G45BydM_Yg-F7JURXdJ6wEoyRcolB_RQyO2JQE_Cd2OB4AXMwemnAzI_BWFqotJgazZWtvmZ6/w300-h400/My%20river%20tree%20in%20Oct.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I watch an oak leaf float by. This leaf which grew from a
bud, performed its job of drawing nourishment from the sun, clothed itself in a
myriad of colors and finally chose to let go, was once only an idea tucked in a tightly
closed acorn.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The sky above me comes to life as a massive flock of birds swoop
in. A shadow is cast and the air fills with their chatter as they make preparations
to leave. Since arriving in spring, nests have been built, babies born, and bugs
eaten. They aren’t the same birds they were when they came. Where will they go?
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The light shifts. The water changes color.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6nAWGXMZ6-Hxgc-mDGLH69IlYNsKuIe9DAlbMWtc3WMc6qelPotnHtvE9CH9lsSE23l3by27j5sLMZSofin7wm9zCrECDwXKmchMiyTwCBvpCL9HxgGZYNwA5VmzF8k_fUIJcdtc5C-JpVLS6iitCB6zz9JVV9HphnPGLMOgUexMoL5tEU-lgkzF0afk/s3125/My%20river%20tree%20in%20Nov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6nAWGXMZ6-Hxgc-mDGLH69IlYNsKuIe9DAlbMWtc3WMc6qelPotnHtvE9CH9lsSE23l3by27j5sLMZSofin7wm9zCrECDwXKmchMiyTwCBvpCL9HxgGZYNwA5VmzF8k_fUIJcdtc5C-JpVLS6iitCB6zz9JVV9HphnPGLMOgUexMoL5tEU-lgkzF0afk/w400-h225/My%20river%20tree%20in%20Nov.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Not everyone wants to consider the bardo since we, as an
integral part of nature, exist within it. Everything we do is a bardo. I began a run this
morning, experienced the above and upon arriving home it ended. It no longer
exists. If I do the run tomorrow it is impossible for it to be the same. I now
sit within the bardo of writing my Sunday note. It too will end.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My existence is a bardo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The more I notice this though, in nature and in my own moment
to moment living, the more comfortable I become with the beauty of change. Is
there a chance I can loosen my grip on that need to create a sense of control over
the truly uncontrollable? <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hvQole19WEbZEC6eLpLcilX-40l5AlVo0bPyVijGU5kVDjOO2Yt_sl0ySFb4IgOT7j7MwS18dMK7wVy26NfBnsQi6Vb3pM9mVa77lNEQWsgqssa4yPFX6k5qV_aSC1H_l9bE8NBfU5PO8IVLtT7EpIj2uVMawCQMMuhdikP2AJfvI3ciyxfTl5UUBz9B/s1758/My%20river%20tree%20in%20December.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hvQole19WEbZEC6eLpLcilX-40l5AlVo0bPyVijGU5kVDjOO2Yt_sl0ySFb4IgOT7j7MwS18dMK7wVy26NfBnsQi6Vb3pM9mVa77lNEQWsgqssa4yPFX6k5qV_aSC1H_l9bE8NBfU5PO8IVLtT7EpIj2uVMawCQMMuhdikP2AJfvI3ciyxfTl5UUBz9B/w225-h400/My%20river%20tree%20in%20December.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Wouldn’t trusting life be incredibly freeing?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am changing,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-85304146021129624542023-11-19T18:30:00.001-05:002023-11-19T18:30:00.148-05:00.....the gratitude engine<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yogis,<br />
Gratitude season has blown in with the November winds! The time of year where
we are asked to take an honest look at our gratitude skills, dust off any
cobwebs and rev up the engine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I like to picture gratitude as an internal engine. It’s
always there but can get a bit sluggish when it hasn’t been tuned up in a
while. A little rusty with the challenges and grind of daily life. Nothing a
little oil and a gentle foot to the pedal can’t fix though! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon enough it can be humming again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What serves as the oil?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are many gratitude practices. One I like to use is to
select a time when I am alone and still and notice something right in front of
me that I am grateful for. I typically choose to do this outside but there are
unlimited things to be grateful for inside as well. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EnNCOV4XQxAXhA-nyNXuU51qMUQAmwfdE3Fh8XzQr2_c8kwsoaYFrdXmMDN9MagHQqjJfLrU1KA_fhbwcsFXy65GGJv8JxcHn124Oxymp2azOWcv7hasPQElw8mSxKJmcsJMZFxrv7oNtfBFCV4oQ81aKLuTLZQYH8A4FoOeyKnQcll_1rgpZvcQ5Dmt/s3125/Sun%20on%20waves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EnNCOV4XQxAXhA-nyNXuU51qMUQAmwfdE3Fh8XzQr2_c8kwsoaYFrdXmMDN9MagHQqjJfLrU1KA_fhbwcsFXy65GGJv8JxcHn124Oxymp2azOWcv7hasPQElw8mSxKJmcsJMZFxrv7oNtfBFCV4oQ81aKLuTLZQYH8A4FoOeyKnQcll_1rgpZvcQ5Dmt/w400-h225/Sun%20on%20waves.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">You can do this with something as simple as your favorite
chair. An old worn sweater. Your car. A tree in your yard. An afternoon cup of
tea.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After selecting and taking a cursory look, dive deeper. Why
are you grateful for it? Get closer to see what it looks like. The intricacies.
What does it feel like? How long has it been there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does it make you feel?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I chose waves as my focus this morning while standing
witness yet again to the miraculous rise of the sun. I am grateful for waves of
course but let me get closer and see why.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgp-dH4UzSZUWHnuZVTsW2u-NhTOZUE7beiZzfGsVQ8pVuF3JTqyRT8AQW5J8tJ8HPOhnZ1U-I-PzPE0H7VGlQ2n25Tj7PoKDz7U-v-UlxzLevq1dGpU4DM2G-4Tpf_71P_dI91EQNrFjbw7rpXg85qxe4cNOiIe0fBYhrdR_IaZTTTBWcwuVxavDeWgR/s3125/Waves%20hitting%20jetty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgp-dH4UzSZUWHnuZVTsW2u-NhTOZUE7beiZzfGsVQ8pVuF3JTqyRT8AQW5J8tJ8HPOhnZ1U-I-PzPE0H7VGlQ2n25Tj7PoKDz7U-v-UlxzLevq1dGpU4DM2G-4Tpf_71P_dI91EQNrFjbw7rpXg85qxe4cNOiIe0fBYhrdR_IaZTTTBWcwuVxavDeWgR/w400-h225/Waves%20hitting%20jetty.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I am grateful for the way the sun’s rays cause waves to
shimmer. The spray that fills the air when one crashes. The patterns and shells
left behind in the sand. The smell of salt air sent my way. The sound heard not
only by my ears but felt through the soles of my feet. Their incredible power.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Seagulls can always be found standing close and how the
sandpipers chase the waves edge in mass with their short, yet quick little legs
moving in unison. The shifting colors of the water. Her consistent mesmerizing rhythm.
Geese fly overhead………<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All of this in fifteen minutes. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My chest begins to expand. The heart has more room. An inner
light turns on. I feel happy, as the energy of gratitude awakens joy. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1usv66lV_ufVpQILPbdD0Yf-xUaJnKMiJoRHGHJHYTbJ_5LNfXhUHrBf1cmYuabaiiGE897DPW3Ims1ATP0dgPmgnbIGkuVNTc5l1AsK15pULuq8tx80LgAJAr9yXQjDrv3qkJ1KBu84hxK83AiGmOaCmpmSTq7Z7PxPL4jT0f13d3OnsizS9OwhwnwK/s3125/sandpipers%20at%20waves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1758" data-original-width="3125" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1usv66lV_ufVpQILPbdD0Yf-xUaJnKMiJoRHGHJHYTbJ_5LNfXhUHrBf1cmYuabaiiGE897DPW3Ims1ATP0dgPmgnbIGkuVNTc5l1AsK15pULuq8tx80LgAJAr9yXQjDrv3qkJ1KBu84hxK83AiGmOaCmpmSTq7Z7PxPL4jT0f13d3OnsizS9OwhwnwK/w400-h225/sandpipers%20at%20waves.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">As I run back through the neighborhood, I now notice
everything. Birds chirping. A light breeze. A baby pine tree pushing up through
a crack in the sidewalk. No longer simply grateful for things, but instead
‘being’ gratitude in action. Shining gratitude.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The effort is in greasing the engine on a regular basis. But
once you do you soon find yourself coasting down the gratitude highway…….with
the top down and hair blowing in the wind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Grateful for all of you,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-70884745464669898512023-11-12T18:30:00.002-05:002023-11-12T18:30:00.140-05:00....pink or purple<p class="MsoNormal">Yogis,<br />
All of you mothers out there with only boys may understand what I am about to describe.
I am the mother of three sons. All three loved to play outside, kick the soccer
ball, play video games and thought farts were the most hysterical things ever.
Not having even grown up with any brothers, I learned a whole side of life I
didn’t know while raising my boys. I loved every minute of it!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet through it all I gained no skills in the more feminine
activities. Not that girls don’t do all of what I mention above, but many of
them have that other side where pink or purple tend to fit in. Not being much
of a girly girl growing up myself, I am clueless.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I never wore much makeup after those early teenage years where
blue eyeshadow was the rage. A little mascara here or there and lipstick for a
couple of years, but never feeling like I knew how to apply any of it correctly.
Creative scarf tying…..nope. The ability to use barrettes or clips or swoop my
hair up in a loose cool looking bun….never. I don’t own any pink and am
woefully low on accessories.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X26m2KMmzXyCyxMSSF3dP_6gcAUjH0O7nYD81avZdWBQ7vhlczqie41MscUcfc0QVZfLgjpIE-cbetgYaRjI3lZoRt4f26PwYA8t_VDjt3nKLRfLlthi_wCBZD59nOq72yaAyzAiH4N-wuAR69brrOnR8Ghn8R_3-yBpZoOHsvtY8JEB2rCyus6aRhyM/s2048/Abigail%20fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X26m2KMmzXyCyxMSSF3dP_6gcAUjH0O7nYD81avZdWBQ7vhlczqie41MscUcfc0QVZfLgjpIE-cbetgYaRjI3lZoRt4f26PwYA8t_VDjt3nKLRfLlthi_wCBZD59nOq72yaAyzAiH4N-wuAR69brrOnR8Ghn8R_3-yBpZoOHsvtY8JEB2rCyus6aRhyM/w300-h400/Abigail%20fairy.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Now I have two granddaughters and I have some major catching
up to do! My two daughters-in-law are helping along the way, thank goodness. And
I need a lot of help.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet in only a couple of hours I felt like I had taken a full
semester course in the form of a ‘Fairy and Me’ tea party at Mrs. B’s on Saturday.
It’s a whimsical space that holds small events which teach children manners and
etiquette in a fun lighthearted way. My one daughter in law discovered it and invited
my granddaughter Abigail (her niece) and me to join her. A special ‘girls’ outing.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xkIqkhHS_Ibs1j0r-_f1CkFCaYdOvdKjder_ev6GY-8kjK1-ujuJemgNTs4FQ95xVi8XQYH5TbpaOQu8XH6P06SWXSVc7eaAOlZwgHxzr-E-YhLLiaz9XE6lPmvsP8I_KiyCXxSizTKZFmS4P94J-8nj4yune4CpxwZL9aQTrjPi3JdKi0y9POrfiY5m/s1803/Abigail%20fairy%20table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1015" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xkIqkhHS_Ibs1j0r-_f1CkFCaYdOvdKjder_ev6GY-8kjK1-ujuJemgNTs4FQ95xVi8XQYH5TbpaOQu8XH6P06SWXSVc7eaAOlZwgHxzr-E-YhLLiaz9XE6lPmvsP8I_KiyCXxSizTKZFmS4P94J-8nj4yune4CpxwZL9aQTrjPi3JdKi0y9POrfiY5m/w225-h400/Abigail%20fairy%20table.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Special it was. An exquisitely laid out table welcomed us
with butterflies, fairy houses, flowers and old-fashioned glass teacups with
saucers. Necklaces to pick from, hats to wear and wings to borrow if you didn’t
have your own. We learned to pat our mouths with a napkin and not our hands,
stir our tea quietly and always pass the food treats to the right. Abigail had
her first cup of tea and learned to use tongs to pick up a sugar cube to drop
in for sweetness.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All of this with a full-fledged fairy floating about the room
on her tippy toes, delighting all the young girls……and me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fairy dust was sprinkled on hands. Roses were showered on
heads for fairy wishes. We loved it all. And while I still have much to learn I
feel I’m on the right track. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPIPkpTHkrV1PDbjCi1oNSg6B-GTRPohJMr_IHT73ZlLbve1EZgUdMNW__L7jyB9WDwD2cACxxQR5g2sSM6V00QOIPXQwsOwMPq_KK1Xntc-0zDUy_z57aT4hZ8Xn3rcJYnVrzWgXVXiLqKiN14c3XudvWdP7WEnt1cXxISXJCZNTSz1bzkxWgQBM7e2H/s2048/Fairy%20tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPIPkpTHkrV1PDbjCi1oNSg6B-GTRPohJMr_IHT73ZlLbve1EZgUdMNW__L7jyB9WDwD2cACxxQR5g2sSM6V00QOIPXQwsOwMPq_KK1Xntc-0zDUy_z57aT4hZ8Xn3rcJYnVrzWgXVXiLqKiN14c3XudvWdP7WEnt1cXxISXJCZNTSz1bzkxWgQBM7e2H/w400-h300/Fairy%20tea.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I did realize though that I absolutely need to have some
wings……..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Pinkies up! (from Mrs. B),<br />SARAH </p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-78654443272892143182023-11-05T18:30:00.001-05:002023-11-05T18:30:00.131-05:00.....into the dark<p>Yogis,<br />My Saturday morning run took me to the river’s edge as the sun was rising. My
phone showed 7:38 am. Sunday morning, sitting on a rock halfway across the
water to Virginia, I watched her rise again. This time my phone said 6:40
am. The sun hadn’t changed course. We
had……</p><p class="MsoNormal">
Time. A concept created by humans around which our lives revolve. Time to get
up. Don’t be late for work. Trains every fifteen minutes. The game starts at
four so we should leave by two. Bake for one hour. Time for bed. All of us unconsciously
checking our wrist, phone, pc or wall clocks all day….and at times, all night. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Originally humans lived within the rhythm of the natural
world. The rising and falling sun, change of seasons and movement of the stars.
Until about 3500 – 5000 years ago when the Egyptians created the first sundials
and began constructing a measurement for ‘time.’<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIRjfEmbORzVcrEj8laVo1NvTm0-uRJE43vcGnyASrQVfR8vFhLOEp0kFe7Db62-sxVLvyQZl54qeTHG5rsMivteodkelSVpLYM6GChF0PpOi8659g9q_zhtXNhUyF7BvqcO6dxe9Q34srRTN-DGN4qXNT6T-Z3wvis8cOeSgj92SzlYcqInmjcXHXZBO/s3205/Nov%20sunrise%20on%20river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="3205" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIRjfEmbORzVcrEj8laVo1NvTm0-uRJE43vcGnyASrQVfR8vFhLOEp0kFe7Db62-sxVLvyQZl54qeTHG5rsMivteodkelSVpLYM6GChF0PpOi8659g9q_zhtXNhUyF7BvqcO6dxe9Q34srRTN-DGN4qXNT6T-Z3wvis8cOeSgj92SzlYcqInmjcXHXZBO/w400-h225/Nov%20sunrise%20on%20river.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Centuries passed and the industrial revolution set in motion
a need for agreements on time. Its structure and time zones becoming an important
business and social construct in a more connected world. Standards set on a 24-hour
day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until the intro of daylight savings time. Giving us one
spring day with 23 hours and one fall day of 25.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here we sit on this incredibly long day. The receding daylight
in the evenings has been noticeable, but the return to standard time feels like
a leap from the cliff. Into the dark……<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Can it really be only 2:30?<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduImu3NEa2XZUHCv7x0p-lR7vPPWF90_cst188jI-x7D-RzlRj7UU7zI1eoBbnU5D2whow1dPlVNHXUo2MSJNE_esWIlpivCCZEAclUrbA3o7DaCcwTwGsKryz39iVPuAf-ZEkV3YeZe06oRWGa0m5sBGUD8axEBrk7kk0jkuj_LfmmbLpPQmtMhyphenhyphen3HXl/s3205/River%20at%20sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="3205" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduImu3NEa2XZUHCv7x0p-lR7vPPWF90_cst188jI-x7D-RzlRj7UU7zI1eoBbnU5D2whow1dPlVNHXUo2MSJNE_esWIlpivCCZEAclUrbA3o7DaCcwTwGsKryz39iVPuAf-ZEkV3YeZe06oRWGa0m5sBGUD8axEBrk7kk0jkuj_LfmmbLpPQmtMhyphenhyphen3HXl/w400-h225/River%20at%20sunrise.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Change the clocks before bed or is it better to wait for
morning? Did I remember to adjust my alarm so it goes off at the right time? Did
my car’s clock automatically adjust? And no matter how sure I feel I have
covered it all, one clock will create complete time confusion when I see it a
few days later.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One year the manual clock in my yoga studio stayed off by an
hour for months because the only time I would realize it was wrong was when I
would glance over in the middle of class. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I do the mental calculation of what time it ‘really is.’
Unsettled. Noticing the effect that changing time by a mere hour has on my
sleep and mental state. Time no longer an anchor. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Phoebe doesn’t know the time changed (since it really didn’t)
She begins begging for food at 3:30 which my mind quickly calculates as truly
4:30. Her dinner time. How do I break it to her? I often wonder do the birds
and deer notice we humans all changed our patterns on the same day. It’s all so
confusing. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFebC4MFZQqQyWcG2Gdv0ay8Q1Xwph8_bXtYBKLiDwuWTOHIlPEsIWvxc_p8Y2ZVPOXYznoAdaxAAYRtkEbAq7JJ7mIxxjpWotYTY8BhjWhMXcKBhJiganJtD28gg0KE-h9qcKJP7r-4uw-0X5hlpXLLRKxRXYhKMGQTeFHjrGgUwCnsSsSSO5-SXgyMi/s1803/Twinkle%20lights%20on%20table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1015" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFebC4MFZQqQyWcG2Gdv0ay8Q1Xwph8_bXtYBKLiDwuWTOHIlPEsIWvxc_p8Y2ZVPOXYznoAdaxAAYRtkEbAq7JJ7mIxxjpWotYTY8BhjWhMXcKBhJiganJtD28gg0KE-h9qcKJP7r-4uw-0X5hlpXLLRKxRXYhKMGQTeFHjrGgUwCnsSsSSO5-SXgyMi/w225-h400/Twinkle%20lights%20on%20table.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Yet into the dark we go, marked by a movement of the hour
hand on the clock. A shift. Did you feel it?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I find the best approach is to embrace it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s 5:30 and wondering if I can put pajamas on yet,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-31248784912160908622023-10-29T18:30:00.001-04:002023-10-29T18:30:00.139-04:00.....leaf music<p>Yogis,<br />The leaves have begun to fall in earnest. Over the years it does seem to be
happening later in the season, but one way or another, sooner or later, they
will indeed come down.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the next few weeks it will be the sound of leaves that
fill the air. They will be crunched under foot. Scampering squirrels, sounding
much bigger than they are, will stir them up. Cars crush them and the hum of
leaf blowers pushing them toward the street. Brooms in the morning clear the
walk. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is no sneaking up on someone when the grass is leaf
covered. Every step a melody.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiby2AQT8ZVlK54dUPYj_4cKYIyyDMLRq9iGykDbKDZb5fEii1HGlhjctEL0H7C63VW_zBrRp7vnSB-5JoZdcTUDFhvT9ai-qyEeyBlX4wQ2xp_Zol80q0BsZeqhCNYn1rtEddVVsWFMKKZVLuTUMYMb5uPEmw9AKPa-S9G8PnAKGbK-jF1Z29UCIDBSxYu/s3205/Leaves%20on%20grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="3205" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiby2AQT8ZVlK54dUPYj_4cKYIyyDMLRq9iGykDbKDZb5fEii1HGlhjctEL0H7C63VW_zBrRp7vnSB-5JoZdcTUDFhvT9ai-qyEeyBlX4wQ2xp_Zol80q0BsZeqhCNYn1rtEddVVsWFMKKZVLuTUMYMb5uPEmw9AKPa-S9G8PnAKGbK-jF1Z29UCIDBSxYu/w400-h225/Leaves%20on%20grass.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Running on the bike path today I noticed something. This
time of year, by looking down you can know what is above.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a block my shoes land on maple leaves with their pointy
ends. Bright oranges and yellows. Maple trees must be overhead. Then the large lobed
oak leaves are underfoot, followed by bright red Japanese maple leaves and
those of the pin oak. Tiny leaves of the newly planted and giant ones of the
grandfathers. The leaves offer up a reflection.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A leaf landing on my front steps sounds different than one
that lays itself gracefully on top of the bush. Hitting the metal air handler. On
the wood of the picnic table. The roof. The deck. Each its own note.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly a clearing on a path. Ahhh, I must be under the
evergreens.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pI3Y5G-a38Jz_7SeYr8TbeJhQxer5WQcQWFtIbPfjn2ngv-uGrrZa9wCIMP0T7tDqs3yH_6CHxagWJQswJGVLREXwwxTfpPjU9DqpndM9JjYwxwYApxyQukoffBueFiu299Xx1f6iVp_-zksZrlpZ7h-txsxcJF2b4djjGPHm-yCK_G3jQCCBsH2Xomw/s1803/Big%20Leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1015" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pI3Y5G-a38Jz_7SeYr8TbeJhQxer5WQcQWFtIbPfjn2ngv-uGrrZa9wCIMP0T7tDqs3yH_6CHxagWJQswJGVLREXwwxTfpPjU9DqpndM9JjYwxwYApxyQukoffBueFiu299Xx1f6iVp_-zksZrlpZ7h-txsxcJF2b4djjGPHm-yCK_G3jQCCBsH2Xomw/w225-h400/Big%20Leaf.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Heading up the hill, a car passes by and a trail of leaves
swirl in its wake as they brush the pavement. They rustle. They crunch. They
pop. When burned they crackle. With my eyes to the ground, I am startled when one
lands on my head. They glide. They twirl.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For now I watch out my window as one leaf quietly floats by
at a time, knowing that when the next big winds arrive they will let go in droves
and fill the fall air. Each variety singing a slightly different note as it brushes
itself against the air. The lawn will then be blanketed and the rake will come
out and be dusted off. One more sound will arise as I begin to find my raking rhythm.
<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj5dI6ggL3H1y-haopy7bN8WY5kLRhJO2TRVbkzDiSOManXh_t7hnRq6evAb2yCGh51ABbKa3coCnnEWeapkcMyTUEQVddMXFFF5Z_rbILgBpD9srysXe_qiLcuVRxJRrYcyIGOjcEfB2r_zVt5KSKsYOmoBou-pYMvHqfPx7uq6ySnlSfmErhfBEFnL4/s3283/Leaves%20on%20steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="3283" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj5dI6ggL3H1y-haopy7bN8WY5kLRhJO2TRVbkzDiSOManXh_t7hnRq6evAb2yCGh51ABbKa3coCnnEWeapkcMyTUEQVddMXFFF5Z_rbILgBpD9srysXe_qiLcuVRxJRrYcyIGOjcEfB2r_zVt5KSKsYOmoBou-pYMvHqfPx7uq6ySnlSfmErhfBEFnL4/w400-h220/Leaves%20on%20steps.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Can you hear the leaf music?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Crunch,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-69459169584729597992023-10-22T18:30:00.001-04:002023-10-22T18:30:00.141-04:00....a feast for all<p>Yogis,<br />After meditating in the mornings, I often lie back and drift into a dreamworld.
Could be fifteen minutes. Or a half hour. Then something pulls me back. Maybe
the brightening sky or an activity that is quickly approaching.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This morning it was the raucous calls of the crows. Caw……Caw…..Caw<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">First, they were woven into my dream, but eventually I sensed
them outside my window. Several of them, by the sound of it, squawking as they
swooped back and forth between low branches and the roof peak over my head.
Something had them riled up.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfufqaCEKPy8vPSSGyJsZjQgojP9zgHiFaf4b_fQed6ZgjhVJzPgJ7wGNuyOf1deGJ3CftkyzlyrITfGVdzbdCOMNaVyg-JTYQ335YOiDA_DmoskuKP0hNrhaBpbKM7XOGb8RlVCfcr42mpzhRjYMvHDehDR8Oot92IfH_UslyX8FWUyrq2_Ke0RZxxGbv/s4000/Fox%20in%20garden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfufqaCEKPy8vPSSGyJsZjQgojP9zgHiFaf4b_fQed6ZgjhVJzPgJ7wGNuyOf1deGJ3CftkyzlyrITfGVdzbdCOMNaVyg-JTYQ335YOiDA_DmoskuKP0hNrhaBpbKM7XOGb8RlVCfcr42mpzhRjYMvHDehDR8Oot92IfH_UslyX8FWUyrq2_Ke0RZxxGbv/w400-h225/Fox%20in%20garden.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Pushing back the covers I swing my feet around and gaze out.
Ahhhhh, now I see. Mr fox stands beneath the feeder, filling up on seed knocked
to the ground the previous day. This is by no means the first time he has wandered
by on his way home from a night out.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He keeps an eye to the sky and subtly flinches when a crow
dives yet seems to know they don’t have the courage to get close. His head goes
back down. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In my fascination with the fox I haven’t noticed the doe
standing off to the side. She watches the scene in front of her. Crows, fox and
the bird feeder, which is where she would like to head. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The deer too, use my bird feeder as a rest stop. Sometimes
lowering their heads to the ground, but more often, reaching their long tongues
to lick seed from the tray. I can sense her indecision. A step forward. A few
steps back. She stomps her hoof but neither the fox nor the crows care. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MyZWokd9HjPerSL3_vcURvvg560Miur9chhKN_LIRYkYP-YqB2LWBoy3oaGD2Bjr5uQWrP78cvybguK57tzH7rg7TCuoQufhQ7XxLvS_0C1IODiyy79pLI7xYl8uE7kjw7BisRhcryPlcnpgndvgHHBvfDazU1DAeDscVwwgXiKFm9HnhiH8ViOZ92PT/s1803/Bird%20feeder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1015" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MyZWokd9HjPerSL3_vcURvvg560Miur9chhKN_LIRYkYP-YqB2LWBoy3oaGD2Bjr5uQWrP78cvybguK57tzH7rg7TCuoQufhQ7XxLvS_0C1IODiyy79pLI7xYl8uE7kjw7BisRhcryPlcnpgndvgHHBvfDazU1DAeDscVwwgXiKFm9HnhiH8ViOZ92PT/w225-h400/Bird%20feeder.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">She finally tires of waiting her turn and vanishes into the
woods.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fox, now done, steps away from the feeder and watches the
crows for a moment. Thoughts of lunch perhaps? He then too silently trots off
into the trees. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At last, the crows have a clear approach. Four of them form
a circle and proceed to feast. It is quiet once again. Squirrels should arrive
any minute. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTD-bM-O8ylFhpzdI2jn9rkQE8DdoPaXbDLnVGtLIRyYD_oBW8UGoQaZkS7CBQDncAjaPqfhyIFuBWjTWpdrppoxJVr9-VXxCGnOCgAchotNtnTZyiNk1Eb-1-UlcSn0TEj0UeQnvmGvSPmv9fzQomYDB3JQuvElqB3p01iP-j0ONdFl7EjT4jz7LUyy0/s3205/Bird%20Seed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="3205" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTD-bM-O8ylFhpzdI2jn9rkQE8DdoPaXbDLnVGtLIRyYD_oBW8UGoQaZkS7CBQDncAjaPqfhyIFuBWjTWpdrppoxJVr9-VXxCGnOCgAchotNtnTZyiNk1Eb-1-UlcSn0TEj0UeQnvmGvSPmv9fzQomYDB3JQuvElqB3p01iP-j0ONdFl7EjT4jz7LUyy0/w400-h225/Bird%20Seed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Each morning I fill the bird feeder with my gourmet blend.
Some standard seeds for the sparrows and chickadees, sprinkled with a fruit and
nut blend loved by cardinals and blue jays. Then all mixed with mealworms to
keep my bluebirds happy and healthy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I hang it, I realize I will be feeding much more than the
birds. And that makes me happy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All are welcome,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-73352427830918714222023-10-15T18:30:00.004-04:002023-10-15T18:30:00.135-04:00.....take for granted<p>Yogis,<br />Somehow, I dodged the bullet in 2020. Then again in 2021. I sailed through 2022
and was beginning to feel invincible! Until this past week…….</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now I can call myself a card carrying (or test carrying) member
of the infamous covid club. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvXq4pPbsDSWltzyFrPX6tJTyTGgpVPTF2DmBW2BoLUFICdvBAXY7KiO8nLKXWg2tRk42oWKGVkaDLHvpftK7K38-JdHJwYBG2OUVvyenC6IXdZpdiNci6KiLGKLIlb_61VC8ftgljlc6tdkQzvbqgjhSv9SiwvIRdBKMWTAxOrze6CMLEWdkmoUj1LgF/s1788/Covid%20test.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvXq4pPbsDSWltzyFrPX6tJTyTGgpVPTF2DmBW2BoLUFICdvBAXY7KiO8nLKXWg2tRk42oWKGVkaDLHvpftK7K38-JdHJwYBG2OUVvyenC6IXdZpdiNci6KiLGKLIlb_61VC8ftgljlc6tdkQzvbqgjhSv9SiwvIRdBKMWTAxOrze6CMLEWdkmoUj1LgF/s320/Covid%20test.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Creating a little ‘sick cave’ for myself, I dragged a
comfortable mattress into my reiki room and surrounded myself with drinks, a
thermometer, a portable heater, tissues and blankets. I crawled in, pulled the
covers up and closed my eyes. Minutes turned into hours which then turned into
days.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I notice things with all of this time on my hands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When you are sick your world becomes very small. With
classes, hair appointments and tutoring taken off the schedule my biggest
concerns switch to when to take advil and making sure I am staying hydrated. It’s
amazing how quickly the frenzy of everyday life, which appears unstoppable, can
indeed be stopped in its tracks. Life suddenly quiet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can hear the ticking of the second hand on the clock across
the room.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When sick there is the body and there is the one noticing.
Watching as layers go on for chills and then get ripped right back off. Wanting
something from the other room but deciding it isn’t worth the burst of energy
required. Wanting to read but finding the eyes can’t focus. Feeling your own
heartbeat. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikg6KJ68-a_S6ADfSDdiUYOkJ0Cp2KxXfx5wjXseGNwXxMDcBTbqF6t5dCS07lFKzs-1GlCgmRQ_D5Vuyvl9qcZHZoULK855iFmzqLpNVWog_PZAl2XoM0WIhk6pd_HYAqY9PWVkH5tmuRalBce-cgsFaVelTRScLfAujB7XCM6nT4nVR3PNFvoowmejq2/s1788/Covid%20room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikg6KJ68-a_S6ADfSDdiUYOkJ0Cp2KxXfx5wjXseGNwXxMDcBTbqF6t5dCS07lFKzs-1GlCgmRQ_D5Vuyvl9qcZHZoULK855iFmzqLpNVWog_PZAl2XoM0WIhk6pd_HYAqY9PWVkH5tmuRalBce-cgsFaVelTRScLfAujB7XCM6nT4nVR3PNFvoowmejq2/w225-h400/Covid%20room.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Each morning as my eyes opened, I would lie still to notice
if I felt like ‘me’ yet. Not remembering exactly what that feels like, but knowing
I would recognize it upon arrival…..which it did on Friday.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That wonderful healthy feeling of ‘me’ which I take for
granted. Yes, I am mentally grateful for my health when I stop to think about it,
but it isn’t until I am sick and come out the other end that I truly feel the
gratitude. It always takes a contrast for us to put things in perspective. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Grateful that my body knows how to control its own
temperature moment to moment. Grateful for the hunger mechanism that tells me
its time to eat. Grateful to draw in breath through a clear nose. For a body
without pain. For energy to do as I choose. To be able to walk outside.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1myVHuNeF0Rz20_BGZUZkrALvMTfavQz4oOy4tQeLrATdi7bg7z7dDvlCDIfmoTc7AJf_43gS3cd_G3GgKFwUwKyXxRuJkVQO7-8Nh-f_v_MMQKLLeBrV3s8dxqFmOcj-E_-_TXO_UC1l6eMkzShziTcQ6xrQGxpOb1vvezVpuTyfT5Xda2zewX_qFr2/s1788/Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1myVHuNeF0Rz20_BGZUZkrALvMTfavQz4oOy4tQeLrATdi7bg7z7dDvlCDIfmoTc7AJf_43gS3cd_G3GgKFwUwKyXxRuJkVQO7-8Nh-f_v_MMQKLLeBrV3s8dxqFmOcj-E_-_TXO_UC1l6eMkzShziTcQ6xrQGxpOb1vvezVpuTyfT5Xda2zewX_qFr2/w225-h400/Tree.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I know this will again wear off, but while I am aware………thank
you!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I walked Phoebe late last night. We moved slowly in the cool
night air, thick with mist. A breeze brushed my face. I looked up and
suddenly the world was large once again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The colors even seem brighter,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-81130801752460743022023-10-08T18:30:00.001-04:002023-10-08T18:30:00.133-04:00......intimacy with nature<p>Yogis,<br />There are many places right here in the United States that I have never been with
Maine being one of them. With that in mind we flew to Bangor to meet up with
friends who also hadn’t experienced Maine. A quick four-day trip to begin the
process of getting to know our northern neighbor.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">An old third floor walkup space converted to an Airbnb
apartment became our Bar Harbor home base. The aroma of freshly baked croissants,
scones and good strong Maine coffee wafted up to greet us each morning from the
charming bakery below. Teeth brushed, backpacks loaded, water bottles filled
and off we went. Nature…..here we come!<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0o-Y3pUg6-I1lmN7FdDFH1pV3NG6eVEh3TuukL2d9aL79wjtfzG0xGAVuP3sSExUNbQWWbVkXixzalx4KwGlxJPX5O5l9VfJtnSKfrPRqpLT6rEaTqP1TB24MAm4c-Btu-QvzloIiKzO92ioE1-QPpHvPjkyEAanBxeHpR7wn61AcVZOz9KyuasTndvK/s3178/Airbnb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="3178" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0o-Y3pUg6-I1lmN7FdDFH1pV3NG6eVEh3TuukL2d9aL79wjtfzG0xGAVuP3sSExUNbQWWbVkXixzalx4KwGlxJPX5O5l9VfJtnSKfrPRqpLT6rEaTqP1TB24MAm4c-Btu-QvzloIiKzO92ioE1-QPpHvPjkyEAanBxeHpR7wn61AcVZOz9KyuasTndvK/w400-h225/Airbnb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Acadia National Park is only minutes away by car or boat and
we tried both.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we motor across the water to the next peninsula, the
first thing I notice is the abundance of stately evergreens against foggy
shores. Scents of spruce, pine and cedar fill the air. Once on land my feet gradually
become accustomed to the hard granite surfaces, interrupted by soft interwoven layers
of moss and pine needles. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eagles, seagulls and cormorants who hold their wings wide to
dry. Pods of porpoises diving near harbor seals lazily lounging on nearby rocks.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Violet colored asters with their bright golden centers blend
seamlessly with stalks of goldenrod draped over them, acting as cheerful greeters
wherever we wandered. Lichens create abstracts with various hues on rock faces.
Mosses I have never encountered dripping from branches and mushrooms sprouting
from long ago fallen logs. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By day four I feel I am getting to know this place. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcasl_ibroqQrM_wJuUjdW6auas1Xow_O0il_NySCs_YRodXjrvrdxc2amqvTJRRm-kfBd4lkWsHbiypPsJv2dEawPHtwpq2SuCbV8TTaaBX7jy5uueIeKLrqgpIbCCbT-6uN9GvA_BgVx4aThb7MkdZ6skWRotO-7r4ZUGqTnZRcta3Ct3bBQT3UXIGjK/s2383/Sarah%20beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="2383" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcasl_ibroqQrM_wJuUjdW6auas1Xow_O0il_NySCs_YRodXjrvrdxc2amqvTJRRm-kfBd4lkWsHbiypPsJv2dEawPHtwpq2SuCbV8TTaaBX7jy5uueIeKLrqgpIbCCbT-6uN9GvA_BgVx4aThb7MkdZ6skWRotO-7r4ZUGqTnZRcta3Ct3bBQT3UXIGjK/w400-h300/Sarah%20beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">One final stop was the old Stanwood homestead laced with nature
trails and a bird sanctuary. Established in the 1850’s, the oldest daughter Cordelia
spent the last fifty years of her life wandering the property, photographing
and taking meticulous and often poetic field notes. A keen observer of nature. As
we followed the trails established by the placement of her feet, wood planks on
trees held quotes from her journal. All spoke to me, but a particular one held
my attention.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior4maorhDsWIGuQ5VRc6wB4JZedBqXNAynu3k0JZZoom3Yo7dEsRlIWKpfWsTYT_SaZTEyRuAE-3RJzdBlsvfKUY4PkzvBf-i8vDRkoItym8VHaijHpDULJMpB-s3d96ls2IYv_zpF8bXLto2Y-KizrU-AT9U_mwAe7AInMIOzUTlJHMKBw1pOlUKc6HZ/s3178/Cordelia%20quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="3178" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEior4maorhDsWIGuQ5VRc6wB4JZedBqXNAynu3k0JZZoom3Yo7dEsRlIWKpfWsTYT_SaZTEyRuAE-3RJzdBlsvfKUY4PkzvBf-i8vDRkoItym8VHaijHpDULJMpB-s3d96ls2IYv_zpF8bXLto2Y-KizrU-AT9U_mwAe7AInMIOzUTlJHMKBw1pOlUKc6HZ/w400-h225/Cordelia%20quote.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">'Intimacy with nature is acquired slowly. It comes not with
one year out of doors or with two. You look and listen, beware your stupidity, feel
that you have acquired little new information; yet are determined never to
despair or give up. All at once you know what you never dreamed you knew
before.’<br /> ~ CJS fieldnotes</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes. Yes. I myself have wandered the woods, trails and river
paths of my town for close to forty years and yet I discover new every time I
enter that space of not-knowing. Of curiosity. Of childlike wonder. Intimacy,
whether with nature or in relationships, follows a meandering trail of
footsteps taken with patience, reverence and awe. To be intimate is a gift slowly
unveiled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maine….I now know I have only taken the first baby steps
toward intimacy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope to take many more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~Laozi<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-57442978990071868802023-09-24T18:30:00.013-04:002023-09-24T18:30:00.141-04:00.....living<p>Yogis,<br />There are many myths and stereotypes on aging out there. Our culture doesn’t
hold the same honor and respect for elders shown in many other countries. Older
years are often viewed here as something to dread. A lessening of the good things
in life. A decline. Even more so for women.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not all see it this way though. I have decided I am going to incorporate
Diane von Furstenberg’s perspective into my own life. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Diane is the clothes designer who shook up the women’s
clothing world in 1976 with her introduction of the wrap dress. Now at 76 she
says she is entering her winter, but boy is she doing it with class and beliefs
that turn our outdated and superficial view of aging right on its head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSA42Z95FuR0PR41PwWRQLMDIjXzXnb7FVLu92qzSoxUvnMvEdUqtz44ZUIvpmD3Qo_9C4zSKSB-ihbZTPwFt2l4FknrqyQ7IXCO_Xl6Ms5At6Lk6pqYnn3K_kAPQu7UeJ7Z96rHN3EKFKVBi8Mj5OXhl9ud1DR1ZIVtp4gR9ItkNygtwCr0m_bSwdGHm/s564/older%20women%205.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSA42Z95FuR0PR41PwWRQLMDIjXzXnb7FVLu92qzSoxUvnMvEdUqtz44ZUIvpmD3Qo_9C4zSKSB-ihbZTPwFt2l4FknrqyQ7IXCO_Xl6Ms5At6Lk6pqYnn3K_kAPQu7UeJ7Z96rHN3EKFKVBi8Mj5OXhl9ud1DR1ZIVtp4gR9ItkNygtwCr0m_bSwdGHm/s320/older%20women%205.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Ask her how old she is and she responds that the question
should be rephrased. We should be asking her how many years she has lived. How
many glorious days she has been given the gift of walking on this magnificent
earth we call home. Wow.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because we are not 'aging'. We are living.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Whether you are thirty, sixty or eighty-nine, if you pause
to see what you are doing at this moment, you are living. Breathing, feeling,
smelling, seeing…….. Life is here for you at every moment without regard for age, so
live each one to the fullest! <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzWAI0lVOls-tg6IRCwao0xmx2ATucbkwfgSFSMPJJQIDfMgD8tCQVbJIzRpU8ApqFxpw4H3TdCvuXcsTwpLdiSfkuNcW1coIXEoVrW4tSFF1k2CuQ2CKqOlrALFcuLb30qja4Z0qU3AdJ0hnQ4ejmuPy6wbHe8Y_WUof-YOvNlQfXEBK-gVLi6QeXZwF/s540/older%20man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzWAI0lVOls-tg6IRCwao0xmx2ATucbkwfgSFSMPJJQIDfMgD8tCQVbJIzRpU8ApqFxpw4H3TdCvuXcsTwpLdiSfkuNcW1coIXEoVrW4tSFF1k2CuQ2CKqOlrALFcuLb30qja4Z0qU3AdJ0hnQ4ejmuPy6wbHe8Y_WUof-YOvNlQfXEBK-gVLi6QeXZwF/w400-h266/older%20man.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>My face carries all of my memories. Why would I erase them? <br />~ Diane von Furstenberg</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another phenomenon we experience is not feeling the age we
are turning. My mom and I have talked about this often, including last
week. After some thought I told her I felt 50 even though it says sixty-one
on my driver’s license. Now I am rethinking that. Society has given us beliefs
of what fifty feels like. What 80 feels like. But that’s nonsense!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Am I willing to exclude the wisdom I have accumulated,
things I have learned and joys I have felt over these past eleven years from my
life? When Diane is asked, she says she could be 300 for how full her life has
been. Yes! <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlX4LhUsL61O_WRjtwpW8-R8Ebdjbxp6heyT03iYOpMfTOM08aRpgUxmmV9zjp821lerz-OHAehRT0WE-Yk2UBlFXscM5NdVnl2mfT2L7_F3A8Fk0bRIxQ0ZaqVM8epijEkdTfw8kG8McfiJ6KV-I6dcvRD77YkDSRNu3dXh98e_Fcwl5svu48EdWfptBT/s720/Older%20women%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="720" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlX4LhUsL61O_WRjtwpW8-R8Ebdjbxp6heyT03iYOpMfTOM08aRpgUxmmV9zjp821lerz-OHAehRT0WE-Yk2UBlFXscM5NdVnl2mfT2L7_F3A8Fk0bRIxQ0ZaqVM8epijEkdTfw8kG8McfiJ6KV-I6dcvRD77YkDSRNu3dXh98e_Fcwl5svu48EdWfptBT/w400-h350/Older%20women%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">When I see you next, I won’t ask how old you are. I will ask
how many years you have lived, and I will be awed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Living......not aging,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-76458698512352743372023-09-17T18:30:00.001-04:002023-09-17T18:30:00.135-04:00......service<p>Yogis,<br />Through my life I have done a variety of volunteer jobs. It was as a candy
striper (remember those?) in a NJ county hospital that I learned to fold a
proper hospital corner on a bed, a skill I use to this day. I was fourteen at
the time and yes, I did wear a red and white striped uniform.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Once I had kids, I did PTA and ran the annual bingo night.
For Mayfair I raised my hand for buying the thousands of trinkets from the
Oriental Trading company catalog, unwrapping each one, organizing them and
distributing to all the booths at the fair to be used as prizes. I managed
soccer teams, sold athletic stadium seat cushions that sat in boxes which
filled our basement, and set my clock for 3 am to work after-prom on the cleanup
committee. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the workplace I was always the money collector for
coworker gifts and in charge of figuring out the bill for team lunches. In
both, you always end up a little short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I participated in MS Walks and sat on the board of one of our customers.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcbVNjI--m3gqxifpZlUv-FXx1BPXMT2esqCUGlVuj2mVPkvyidIQcIdK5f2i-y1MRia2IeHyWcz3jtE4SY1HUwV1vZFExM2hIEIdZaI2AFpxmsRp3J4r-pqkPsxUD6UGMlOWakloqBkmrK3GHHPpFIt1-XkptYggiNJyyQXecvRJBk2iQzCfHMzjx2a5T/s2048/104-0417_IMG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Supporting our mailroom attendant on her MS Walk" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcbVNjI--m3gqxifpZlUv-FXx1BPXMT2esqCUGlVuj2mVPkvyidIQcIdK5f2i-y1MRia2IeHyWcz3jtE4SY1HUwV1vZFExM2hIEIdZaI2AFpxmsRp3J4r-pqkPsxUD6UGMlOWakloqBkmrK3GHHPpFIt1-XkptYggiNJyyQXecvRJBk2iQzCfHMzjx2a5T/w400-h300/104-0417_IMG.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">It was sitting at a board meeting that I had an insight.
There are volunteer roles that feel like they are made for you. Match your
skills and feel empowering. Then there are those that don’t. Board member fell
into that second category. I realized I had said yes because I thought I was
supposed to. I noticed I was dreading meetings and was not going to be of much
value, so I stepped down.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Volunteering, when selected mindfully, is a gratifying and
fulfilling role. The act of doing for others gives back over and over. However,
when chosen because of pressure, expectations or its easier to just say
yes…..not so much.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I have gotten wiser I only volunteer for those that fall
in line with my passions. I have always wanted to teach so I am tutoring reading
in a city elementary school. I love to spend time at our creek so I now do
water testing. And of course, there is the garden I planted and maintain down
on our main street. These fit beautifully within my gifts. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeA3CLmNxxAHRHcOQ1JGO7FGgnOCkj-HSBnu1LW1gXrQD-nMR5s63tYpYHCGdLUe-KpVFY79Yx8D-q5M5rAGoeEF4NeZNuHBVh3dNXi5BFiA9Uk0hId8IihqZ3tJExNJ7yTe0bQjhZepTCwnN2qsREqlHdyTj5hGfT7HIWm6wdmabQ57pwuaO0F9fw_aio/s1788/Macarthur%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeA3CLmNxxAHRHcOQ1JGO7FGgnOCkj-HSBnu1LW1gXrQD-nMR5s63tYpYHCGdLUe-KpVFY79Yx8D-q5M5rAGoeEF4NeZNuHBVh3dNXi5BFiA9Uk0hId8IihqZ3tJExNJ7yTe0bQjhZepTCwnN2qsREqlHdyTj5hGfT7HIWm6wdmabQ57pwuaO0F9fw_aio/w225-h400/Macarthur%20garden.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">There is a concept in
yoga which speaks to this. Dharma. That each of us has unique gifts. There are
things we do differently than anyone else in the world. We are to use these
gifts to live our own life but also in service to others. In doing so, we
fulfill our life’s purpose. Serving others, when in alignment, feels effortless
and pays in the currency of joy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While tending my garden there is no sense of time. People pause
to chat. Cars honk. Children smell the flowers. Butterflies float by. The sun
shines down. I feel like I am in a fairy tale, yet the community and wildlife benefit.
Dharma.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOz4eVk5-_t64S1HaxyCcEbKaPl6Nt8N-OXEuZz3-lmjXe_8KU9MRePSS_xwKRfl_LOsl1BOJJ4kXUOuQIB-_cfRpmMzMyL9akItYyDbz8AhL6oTlyO0TPRl0XotY1P5wN2b2WKckG3krJGbGvMTXjzu908aI06vlJUCLdMUPoBh2fHnrxw2Q1iRQY4ruL/s1600/Sarah%20testing%20creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOz4eVk5-_t64S1HaxyCcEbKaPl6Nt8N-OXEuZz3-lmjXe_8KU9MRePSS_xwKRfl_LOsl1BOJJ4kXUOuQIB-_cfRpmMzMyL9akItYyDbz8AhL6oTlyO0TPRl0XotY1P5wN2b2WKckG3krJGbGvMTXjzu908aI06vlJUCLdMUPoBh2fHnrxw2Q1iRQY4ruL/w400-h300/Sarah%20testing%20creek.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">What are your unique gifts? Where do your passions lie? Put
them in service and watch what happens. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You also meet the nicest people,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656556868574526110.post-30271752462415412152023-09-10T18:30:00.001-04:002023-09-10T18:30:00.143-04:00......native<p>Yogis,<br />I looked up the definition for native. ‘An original or indigenous inhabitant.’ When
applied to a plant the term native indicates it has been growing in a
particular region for thousands of years. Plants that occur naturally in a habitat
without human intervention. Because of this, they are well adapted to the light,
soil and climate of their home. They require very little care.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You can’t help but hear the push for planting natives in
your yard. When placed appropriately according to their likes and dislikes the
droughts are tolerated using significantly less of our precious water whose
access appears to be our looming crisis. Running a sprinkler daily to keep
grass looking like a carpet is really no longer sustainable. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQTAG96gNTfB0AQ5OTyTI_CxXe0oY0p4M5RBi48mJ2VFau1ALZnRuP3E0gcIkuKfIX5IqnCHmhZheUvBX8TwxeQ74XGQ2SwllAjF6ICssxD6_OylYSHxpJAqRvzpXBBuuJ0xDhqyQoPhepupaCmHLU4huDPxmTnuvtac5diVon1dqsk7X8qmRC3BkhvSE/s1788/Common%20hibiscus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1005" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQTAG96gNTfB0AQ5OTyTI_CxXe0oY0p4M5RBi48mJ2VFau1ALZnRuP3E0gcIkuKfIX5IqnCHmhZheUvBX8TwxeQ74XGQ2SwllAjF6ICssxD6_OylYSHxpJAqRvzpXBBuuJ0xDhqyQoPhepupaCmHLU4huDPxmTnuvtac5diVon1dqsk7X8qmRC3BkhvSE/w360-h640/Common%20hibiscus.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">On the other hand, plants like cardinal flower are happy to
have their feet wet as these more common torrential rains dump their buckets in
mere minutes. Joe Pye’s weed, while it appreciates some sun, is also quite content
to sit up against the north side of my house where it’s always in a shadow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I heeded the call to go native and began shopping in the
native sections of our local nurseries, which by the way are getting larger
each year. Here I have found plants that settled in nicely to my steep dry
rocky slope under pine trees. Alumroot was the first plant I found that could survive
happily in the sandy soil along the driveway at the beach house……which btw gets
absolutely no watering all summer since weekly renters are more concerned with
hitting the beach than watering my plants (even though I ask nicely on a sign
on the frig).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Natives, however, do a whole lot more than make our weekend
to-do list shorter. My garden has a buzz of activity from bees, butterflies and
hummingbirds. Needed shelter, food and habitat are all provided for native wildlife.
A greater variety of birds come through. A symbiotic relationship with nature. And,
by the way, natives are beautiful!<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYH_99rrXS9CW36xP8uoNnGyADJ_B6tVDmjJxRTprrx9YgduDkGI_QWa6Hevv-U3BgAHR5AlmAsmH42lQQbzQ-mT9IE90rEmwe0fNGYuLPXcDFgywSud_3Wwg6C74qC9WHFYWb8OU3f89YC950tT6z-ckeP3d8WC-TQInT87c-OE-ZkHRFEKDqfiHrTV2l/s4000/Butterfly.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYH_99rrXS9CW36xP8uoNnGyADJ_B6tVDmjJxRTprrx9YgduDkGI_QWa6Hevv-U3BgAHR5AlmAsmH42lQQbzQ-mT9IE90rEmwe0fNGYuLPXcDFgywSud_3Wwg6C74qC9WHFYWb8OU3f89YC950tT6z-ckeP3d8WC-TQInT87c-OE-ZkHRFEKDqfiHrTV2l/w640-h360/Butterfly.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">This year though, I am noticing another interesting effect. The
more natives I plant, the more natives are showing up on the property. It’s as
if I sent out an open invitation through my actions and intentions and unexpected
guests are beginning to arrive.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I now have three hibiscus plants which are blooming beautifully
and I am noticing they are beginning to multiply. Last year a boneset appeared
in my medicinal garden and this year another has joined the plants I added on
my rocky slope. Three batches of sensitive fern suddenly showed up, all in my
moistest spots where most plants won’t grow. And northern spicebush is popping
up through my wooded and shady areas which provide a nice splash of yellow in
early spring and supply high energy berries.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm4SxgZIoYdtRWNRkD98IGx812S7qxXzbF04nefkb0tN27TdB31Dkow3P0lQCHsZe6PvuAuR-SfXONstmvDopc7niW92V3ffsfiz-1NrJi1Wo85ls4UNY8-s9DeXgueY4grD7h1VcJsKULjDCejrfNnTlEHX0LUiscAJMKQnffvcwGMNUsKxtfqZYCq7P/s3178/Late%20boneset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="3178" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm4SxgZIoYdtRWNRkD98IGx812S7qxXzbF04nefkb0tN27TdB31Dkow3P0lQCHsZe6PvuAuR-SfXONstmvDopc7niW92V3ffsfiz-1NrJi1Wo85ls4UNY8-s9DeXgueY4grD7h1VcJsKULjDCejrfNnTlEHX0LUiscAJMKQnffvcwGMNUsKxtfqZYCq7P/w640-h360/Late%20boneset.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">Next time you take a walk through your area, instead of
noticing your neighbors’ yards, look to your natural parks, woodlands, sides of
roads and empty fields to see what is growing. These are truly your natives and
if you begin to plant the intention of welcoming them, they might just show up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Letting the garden be wild,<br />
SARAH<o:p></o:p></p>SARAHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13759126959029847056noreply@blogger.com0