....rocks

Yogis,
His five-year-old grandson was with him for the day. Adorable and bursting with little boy energy. I asked what his grandson likes to do and he told me he was always trying to bring rocks in the house.

‘That’s great!’ I exclaimed. Not the answer he expected……

It’s that time of year again when we shift clothing. Down coat moves to spring jacket. Thick  jeans begin to transition to cuter lightweight pants. Inevitably during this time my hand will enter a pocket and bump into a rock. Pulling it out I often remember exactly where I picked it up. It sat waiting in the closet for months to be rediscovered. Rocks are patient.

I have rocks everywhere!

Some on my altar. A few on kitchen counters. On a shelf in my closet, on end tables and on many window ledges. Even on the dining room table. All of them rocks that one day caught my eye, ended up in a pocket and then found their place in my home. Rocks make a home more grounded.

I’m talking everyday rocks here. Not crystals…..although I have plenty of those as well. Rocks found on the beach, in the woods and along streets across many years. There are so many kinds! And if you have a couple in your pocket they make a pretty clicking sound when you roll them about. Rocks are long lasting.

I have inside and outside rocks. The ones I place in the garden are used as a focal point. A change of texture from the softness of plants. They are also fantastic holders of garden tools and when big enough are a great perch for me to rest and admire my work. Rocks are dependable and sturdy.

I photograph rocks. A lot.

Imagine my delight when I learned a new fact. There are many reasons I love otters, but did you know that they have a pocket in their skin? They use it to keep food while diving, but also their favorite rock. A special rock used for opening shellfish. Rocks are helpful.

Rocks carry many qualities I want to instill in my life.

Do you have a favorite rock?

Rocks are quiet and still,
SARAH

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

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

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

Yet last weekend I felt closer to geese.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always amazed,
SARAH

.....doing something

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

This is my annual public service announcement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

....signs of spring

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

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

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

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

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

A rabbit nibbles the grass as I go by.

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

What makes you feel her approach?

Noticing,
SARAH

...nana's house

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

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

 Nana Jackson

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

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

 Nana Cardoni

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

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

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

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

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

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

Om,
SARAH

....doula

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

Hello to here.    ~ Padraig O Tuama

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

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

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

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

Death is the only thing that is certain.

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

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

Hello to here.    ~ Padraig O Tuama

Back to class,
SARAH

....puzzle

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

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

Physically and mentally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, there you are!

Learning her lessons,
SARAH