.....take for granted

Yogis,
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…….

Now I can call myself a card carrying (or test carrying) member of the infamous covid club.

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.

I notice things with all of this time on my hands.

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.

I can hear the ticking of the second hand on the clock across the room.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I know this will again wear off, but while I am aware………thank you!

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.

The colors even seem brighter,
SARAH

......intimacy with nature

Yogis,
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.

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!

Acadia National Park is only minutes away by car or boat and we tried both.

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.

Eagles, seagulls and cormorants who hold their wings wide to dry. Pods of porpoises diving near harbor seals lazily lounging on nearby rocks.

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.

By day four I feel I am getting to know this place.

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.

'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.’
      ~ CJS fieldnotes

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.

Maine….I now know I have only taken the first baby steps toward intimacy.  I hope to take many more.

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~Laozi
SARAH

.....living

Yogis,
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.

Not all see it this way though. I have decided I am going to incorporate Diane von Furstenberg’s perspective into my own life.

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.  

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.

Because we are not 'aging'. We are living.

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!

My face carries all of my memories. Why would I erase them? 
~ Diane von Furstenberg

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!

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!

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.

Living......not aging,
SARAH

......service

Yogis,
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.

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.

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.  I participated in MS Walks and sat on the board of one of our customers.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What are your unique gifts? Where do your passions lie? Put them in service and watch what happens.  

You also meet the nicest people,
SARAH

......native

Yogis,
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.

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.

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.

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).

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!

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.

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.

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.

Letting the garden be wild,
SARAH

.....first fall

Yogis,
I am on my final beach vacation of the year. By the time I leave after Labor Day, summer 2023 will be a wrap.

This was the week we stepped into our beach house as owners again, while the last renters packed up the car and headed home to get kids back in school and themselves back to work. I organize, I clean, I walk the rooms, rearrange and make the beds.....all to make it mine once again.

Happy to be back.

On my drive down I listened to the podcast Wiser Than Me, where Julia Louis-Dreyfus interviews women who have much wisdom to share. Before she introduces her guest she always speaks about what the theme of the show is and this week's was the beautiful, complicated, sacred, and sometimes messy relationship between a mother and her children. 

These past couple of weeks I have been spending time with my grandchildren and in the process have had the joy of watching my own children now parent. 

Memories flood in of those days with my three young boys. One image in particular came to mind on this final summer week……. Walking the beach alone with my youngest in a snuggly on a morning where we were the renters packing up to head home. My maternity leave was coming to a close. Salty tears rolled down my cheeks as I held him tight.

Julia read this poem and as we begin to see fall off on the horizon I thought I would share it with you. It touched me and I hope it does the same for you.

 

First Fall 

Maggie Smith

 

I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark

morning streets, I point and name.

Look, the sycamores, their mottled,

paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves

rusting and crisping at the edges.

I walk through Schiller Park with you

on my chest. Stars smolder well

into daylight. Look, the pond, the ducks,

the dogs paddling after their prized sticks.

Fall is when the only things you know

because I’ve named them

begin to end. Soon I’ll have another

season to offer you: frost soft

on the window and a porthole

sighed there, ice sleeving the bare

gray branches. The first time you see

something die, you won’t know it might

come back. I’m desperate for you

to love the world because I brought you here.

Om,
SARAH 

.....surprises

Yogis,
When you are a gardener, every year you find that the garden is different. You swear you do the same things each time. But then you have to remember that you are a cocreator. Nature always has the lead role and has some of her own plans.  

The hydrangea in my side yard does beautifully year in and year out, until it didn’t. My fig bush was enormous last year, producing a bounty that had me handing out figs like candy to anyone passing by. This spring not even a leaf grew on two thirds of her stalks. Yet my verbena, which I had nearly given up on, is now topped with delicate purple flowers.

Mother nature also has fun surprises up her sleeve. For example, which volunteers will she throw your way. Those plants that appear unplanned.  Last year it was a perfect white pumpkin that grew along the side of my gravel driveway and graced my counter for over six months. Another year it was a cardinal flower after mentioning that I wanted to grow them. Thank you!

This year it is a tomato plant.

Each year I used to plant tomatoes in the fenced section of my garden. I rarely got to actually eat more than a couple though once the birds and squirrels took their share. Holes from bugs on some, sides that split open. Discouraging. I switched to cherry tomatoes with a bit more success but nothing to write home about. Sort of flavorless.

Early this summer I was changing out the rotted sides of the raised bed when I spotted a few tiny tomato plants growing. Volunteers. I put one of them in the new bed. This is what it looks like now!

Every few days I go out and harvest the small juicy tomatoes. I have gotten hundreds and it doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. New flowers and green tomatoes appear daily. She is now growing so wide I have to drape her branches over other plants who offer her support.

Best of all…..they are delicious.

Placed in a bowl on the counter I pop a couple in my mouth when I walk by. Awesome mixed with chopped basil and mozzarella or cucumber,  avocado and pumpkin seeds. I even have to keep an eye on Phoebe who will gobble them up If I set any down at her level.

A true gift.

Every time I snip off the small bunches, I am sure to throw a few back into the dirt. Hopeful that perhaps I will be surprised again next summer. Only mother nature knows for sure.

I love a good surprise,
SARAH