.....synchronicities

Yogis,
I had the joy of spending this past week with my almost six-year-old granddaughter. Leisurely days with no set agenda where I could give her my full attention. Who doesn’t like having someone’s full attention!

The first day we picked oracle cards from my spirit animal deck. Each animal offers a message. I picked one that spoke to the power of synchronicities.

“What are synchronicities?” asked Abigail. I paused to find the right words to describe something that isn’t easy to put in six-year-old terms. I gave examples and felt she had some sense of what I was trying to explain.

Synchronicities. I later looked up the definition. ‘The simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernable causal connection.’  See what I mean?

We both forgot as we moved through the week doing things girls like to do. Yoga and playing with stuffies. Putting hair sparkles in our hair. Riding the carousel, hiking the creek and of course, a dance party. On Thursday I painted our toenails. I chose an orangey color for the beach and she selected a pretty pink.

Friday morning, I asked what she wanted to wear. Holding up a short set with stripes she at first said no. But then she shared that when she put it on for the first time her mother said she looked as cute as a button. Yes, she would wear it after all.

An image flashed on my inner screen. Downstairs I went right to our nail polishes. I called her over to show her the pink bottle. ‘Cute as a button’ it read. She looked at me with surprise and asked where I got the sticker.  No, I told her. That was the name of the polish. Her eyes grew wide!

THAT is a synchronicity. We can define them all day, but it is the inner jolt that can never be fully explained.

Pay attention. The more in the flow of life you are, the more synchronicities appear. Each one like a neon sign indicating you are heading the right way.

And she was indeed cute as a button,
SARAH

....bittersweet

Yogis,
Every year August begs to be put into words. Not this year, I say to myself, yet she keeps pointing out that there is more to notice. She’s right. I love August so I listen and put pen to paper.

I love July too though. The bright days, vivid colors and intensity. A month filled with a partylike atmosphere ushered in by summer. Fireworks and parades. Scorching heat. Sweat and rollercoasters. The sun, like a late-night partier, still hanging out when I head to bed.

August though, feels softer. Quieter. The sense we have gone over the peak. Still summer…..still warm…..still colorful. Yet not quite.

Bittersweet.

I love how August begins to throw in some mornings where the thermometer reads in the 60s and an unexpected cool breeze blows through while dining outside. Blissful to the skin, yet deep inside a knowing that it is a precursor of what lies ahead, even while afternoons climb to the 80s. I push the feeling back down. Not yet.

There are still flowers left to bloom. Goldenrod is on the cusp of her time in the sun. Cardinal flower shines her brilliant red blossoms from the damp corners of my yard. A favorite for hovering hummingbirds. Yet many flowers are beginning to fade. Most of the echinacea is drying now. A bonanza for goldfinches who feast on their seeds.  

Bathing suit departments cleared for school supplies.

Bittersweet.

So, I eat corn on the cob and peaches with a hint of urgency as they too will soon disappear. Pumpkins will replace watermelons in the blink of an eye. Next week glimpses of yellow passing school buses will join the hue of goldenrod.

No, summer is not over. The hum still remains. Peppers, basil and tomatoes continue making August dinners special and I still have a whole week at the beach ahead. Shorts, sandals and t-shirts. I will make time for more ice cream cones and boardwalk games.

But an image of me pulling on jeans for the first time lies just beneath the surface.

Bittersweet,
SARAH

....to know a place

Yogis,
Running on the canal this morning I heard the familiar sound. The Star-Spangled Banner playing over a loudspeaker at the nearby navy’s model basin. A daily ritual. It must be 8 o’clock!

I know this place.

Growing up we moved every couple years. My father worked for Bell Labs and every time he was given a new role we packed up the house and moved to another state. Georgia, Chicago, New Jersey…… New town, new school, new house. As a child you believe that is how life is and pick out the new carpet for your bedroom. I think this is why I am so adaptable today.

Yet I have now lived on the same street in the same town for 37 years. I know this place.

We form relationships with place not unlike the developing of friendships. Each take time, curiosity, patience and a sense of humor.

In the first couple of years, you scratch the surface. Learning the roads and knowing where to shop. It starts to feel familiar but it isn’t until much later that deep connections form.  A relationship where inner secrets are slowly revealed.

After all of this time I know her history. Every curve in her paths. When the hummingbirds arrive and where the deer lie to rest. It took time but now I know my way to the hidden patch of ramps which appear each spring without fail and which of the trees on the river are likely to offer hard to find pawpaw fruits in late summer.

Who to ask when I have garden questions and which mailperson gives out dog treats. The best times of year to climb over to islands usually submerged where Phoebe and I alone can explore terrain that feels other worldly.  Where to sit and where to find shells.

But as with a friendship, you also unearth the challenges. The flight path overhead and buzz of the highway when the wind blows a certain way. The costs and at times stifling humidity. Yet you love them anyway.

A deep relationship with this place. A home. So grateful we met.

Where are you in your relationship?
SARAH

......sounds

Yogis,
The melancholy sound of a train whistle fills the night, and I am brought right back to the bedroom in my grandmother’s apartment. Her building, located in a small town in upstate PA, was a short distance from the railroad crossing. Nestled in bed under her heavy quilts (my favorite) the sound always made me feel safe. It was one of the things that defined Jessup for me.

Every place has its own sounds.

I was reminded last week in the Outer Banks. Crossing the bridge to the island I always roll open my sunroof to let the serenade of insects who vibrate the hot summer air pour in. A symphony. I want not only to hear them but feel them. I have arrived!

The timing of that trip occurs when our bugs back home begin to rev. I return to their hum which is slightly different in tone. The undulating rise and fall in intensity is a soundtrack to my day. As the sun sets, the songs of night bugs waft through the open window next to my bed. I am lulled to sleep. I know it’s August and I know I’m home.

Every time has its own sounds.

I think back to college days when our townhouse sat on a busy intersection with a hospital in one direction and firehouse the other. The abrupt blare of sirens under my bedroom window took some getting used to. How professors knew to pause a lecture when the roar of low flying planes heading in for a landing filled the hall. Remembering puts me back in statistics class.

Visiting my family recently in northern New Jersey I remembered it is the land of chipmunks. Stepping out the door you are greeted by high-pitched chirps. Followed by sounds of tussling under bushes. Reminders of growing up.

Who doesn’t visualize a beach when hearing a seagull? The crash of waves and shrieks of kids on rides. Clanking and ringing of bells from an arcade. The song of Coqui frogs takes me to Puerto Rico. The bleat of goats lands me in St John.

What are the sounds that define a place or time for you? I would love to hear.

Listening,
SARAH

....fun

Yogis,
The word ‘fun’ is thrown around. It’s fun to watch a comedy. It’s fun eating out on the deck. It’s fun to go to the pool or catch up with a friend. But are there degrees of fun? Can two things be fun but one of them more fun?

Well…..when 52 people all agree something is exceptionally fun, you know you are on to something!

We returned Saturday from an incredible 37th Outer Banks trip and the consensus is that this ranks as one of the most fun things we do. Every minute of it. From arriving in the driveway with hugs all around to the last evening’s conversation under the stars. Pure fun.

Why? We were discussing this.

For one thing we have been staying on the same block since the boys were born. They have spent one week of every year of their lives going to the same beach, with the same people, same smells, same activities and the freedom of a place with very few rules. In a world of rules, this is quite refreshing.

There is also someone for everyone to play with! There are fifteen in my age group, twenty-one in the next generation and we are up to sixteen little ones from ages one to nine. Built in friends! And everyone watches out for everyone.

We have the same traditions. From digging a big hole as the kid focal point, to morphing into one big adult circle of beach chairs by late day. A bocce tournament that lasts all week to frozen pineapple pieces soaked in rum brought for the group on Thursday. Olympic games on Olympic years and even impromptu parties at one of the houses (all 52 of us).

We all know what to do and when to do it. No need for planning. No one in charge.

And did I mention laughter? Wow. Lots of it. I think I may have even snorted once or twice. Dancing? Yep. After dinner. Music loud and us singing along. No holding back. Fun!

Even my grand dog has fun.

Life as an adult can get a little serious. Buttoned up. Confined. This week is always a great reminder to let fun in.

Where do you find the fun?

Still giggling,
SARAH  

....front porch

Yogis,
I love a good front porch! They are so welcoming. You walk out the front door, plop down in a comfortable chair and watch the world go by.

Our beach house has a screened front porch. Old pine floors and a bead board ceiling give a relaxed vibe.  A couch, a few chairs and twinkle lights set the mood. It is where I am drawn after filling my first morning mug, sleep still in my eyes.  Facing east, it receives the gentle early morning rays before the day sets in. Bikers ride by while new parents walk babies to get them out of the house.

We added a front porch to our old house next door. Adorned with incredibly comfortable sturdy wicker rockers, it offered a perfect view of our boys playing with friends in the front yard. Facing west, the porch was the place to sit with a beverage and watch afternoon storms roll in….. until Molly our dog let us know it was time to retreat.

The porch of the current house faces south. Thick stone columns.  A fig bush graces the front edge while a holly stands tall at its end. Sitting on it feels like being tucked in a secret garden. A hummingbird visits.

Then there is Cape May. On our annual weekend trip, I was again awed by the porches. Deep and wide. Old and solid. The perfect setting for early morning coffee, late afternoon cocktails and dark evening group hangouts. Candles lit and soft ocean breezes.

They are no longer in our architecture. Focus has moved to behind the house. Decks, patios and pools. New homes that add a porch, do so for show. Too small for any true ‘hangout.’

We value privacy.

Porches harken back to a time before television. No phones. And no air conditioning. Entertained by life as it rolls down the road. Neighbors coming by.  A social thread.

I vote for the return of the front porch!  Front porches lead to connection and we need that right now.

Come sit and talk to me for a while,
SARAH

....judgment

Yogis,
Recently I said something out loud that held quite a bit of judgment. My personal judgment. My feelings on a situation. It was heard by one of the people I was referencing. Someone I love very much. I realized it immediately. Thank goodness.

Thank goodness I had the chance to apologize. Thank goodness I was given the gift of discussion. And thank goodness for a reminder of how unhelpful our mind can be when it is judging. But how often do judgments harm without us knowing?

Our mind is wired to judge pretty much everything, with a training program that begins at birth. We are told what is good and bad. Shown how to act, dress, what to eat and even what to believe. From this groundwork a belief system is built which we internally label ‘correct.’

We go on to experience life which may change our judgments, but often hardens them. ‘I’ did something this way and it went well so this is the right way. We believe it and speak it; sure others will eventually see the error of their ways. Black and white. Laughable when you take a step back to observe yourself.

Judgments do play an important role in our lives. Seeing smoke, we judge something to be hot. Our antennae go up and we judge something to be dangerous. A certain pair of shoes gives me blisters so I judge them to be wrong …..BUT they may be perfect for someone else. That’s the harder part.

Then there are areas where judgment is an obstacle. It has the power to hold us back from potentially deep relationships, adventures that may light a passion or even delicious foods!  Judgments make our world smaller.

Most of this done unconsciously.

Until we are awakened by something turning out to be completely different than we believed….or when our silly thoughts make their way from the mind through the mouth and hurt someone.

I have now been reminded (thank you Universe) to watch my judgments. To question them. To see if I can exhale any away with my next breath.

Thank goodness,
SARAH