....it's a wrap

Yogis,
Another Thanksgiving is in the books. The week we have set aside as ‘gratitude week’ is officially over tonight. The leftover turkey has dwindled down to that final bone holding sad looking bits of meat, the pumpkin pie is slightly dried out since no one is sealing the plastic wrap down any longer after stolen bites and the remnants of the green bean casserole sit out in the trash. We all expressed our gratitude, saw the posts which pulled our heartstrings and heard the poems. We can now tie a neat bow on top and move on with life. It's a wrap!

Wait a minute. Not so fast……..

It is very gracious, and typical of us to designate a time for gratitude, but it misses the whole point. Gratitude has no calendar. It also isn’t something we can think about, as it doesn’t reside in the mind. No, gratitude is an emotion. An energy that vibrates from the heart and is endless.

Let’s get our gratitude engine started up so we can move into tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the month after that living in gratitude. A simple practice is one that uses the senses (Mr. Mind, you can take a rest now).

I am grateful for these things that I can hear….. Grateful for the geese honking overhead and the squawk of the seagulls. Oh, and grateful for the sound of pounding waves. The sound of laughter. Music, the tinkling of windchimes, my breath, the hum of my heater and church bells.

I am grateful for these things that I can smell…….Grateful for the smell of woodstoves in the night and inhaling the sea air. The smell of French fries cooking on the boardwalk and even the whiff of dried out pumpkin pie each time I open the refrigerator. The smell of a new puppy, my lavender oil, a rose, pine trees in the winter. Thank you, thank you!

I am grateful for these things that I can taste…..Grateful everyday for the first sip of my morning tea latte and blueberries in my yogurt.  And who isn’t grateful for the taste of chocolate? What would life be without lemon or garlic or basil or mint or pound cake? Grateful to be given the gift of tasting them all.

I am grateful for these things that I can see…… I am grateful for the handsome buck carrying his full rack proudly as he greeted us this morning.  The blue of the sky and the waving seagrass. The red of the maples still in their glory here and the hawk circling overhead make my heart soar. Flowers! Grateful to see the clouds and the twinkle in the eyes of the woman we greet as we run by. Grateful for every color because I can’t imagine a world without yellow.

And I am grateful for these things I can feel….. The warmth of the sun and breeze on my face. Grateful for cold and hot, soft and hard. Jumping into a pool, sliding between my sheets each night and lying on the sand.  Fleece, bubbles, a warm bath, stretching my body, my heart pounding. Joy, sorrow, elation. Being hugged.

The engine is beginning to hum…..

Driving through mountains, snowstorms, rumbling thunder, rainbows, the crackle of the fire……

And once it is warmed up the things to be grateful for become infinite.

Grateful for my fingers which take words from my heart on to paper,
SARAH

....contented

Yogis,
It was a cold crisp night. From the deck I watched a big moon lifting herself over a nearly bare tree line. Salmon was cooking on the grill and the smoke filled air mingled with the lingering aroma of smoke in my hair from the firepit I had been sitting around.  

I’m wearing my most comfortable clothes. Jeans with a well-worn sweater and my trusty wool socks. My favorite flannel lined beanie, like an old friend, keeping me warm. Something makes me laugh and in that moment a wave of contentment washes through. Everything exactly as it should be. Needing nothing. Wanting nothing.

Content.

I think of the times where this sensation of fullness visits. When I am sitting on a rock at the edge of the river, sun warming my face and birds overhead. With eyes closed I experience perfection. Or hearing the crunching of leaves under our feet in the otherwise silent woods I am hiking through with my grandchildren. The rest of the world a distant memory as we find hollowed out logs or patches of moss for my little fairy figurine to sit and rest.

I feel it snuggled up on the couch with a blanket, a cup of hot tea in my hands and a good book in my lap. Taking that first spoonful of the soup I have been smelling all afternoon as it simmered on the stove. Sitting on the floor with my paints trying to capture the beauty I see through my window.

Contentment.

The definition of contented is ‘feeling or showing satisfaction with one’s possessions, status or situation.’ I am not sure that accurately describes the depths of peace I experience in these moments that I am recounting.

It isn’t as simple as being satisfied with my situation, but more like falling head over heels with exactly what is. It has no connection to my possessions or status and occurs in the simplest of times. When all else is stripped away and I can be present to the miracle of what is right here, that is when it flows and fills me to my edges.  My feet, my mind, my heart and my breath all in one place.

As we enter this week of gratitude it occurs to me that when I am content, these are also the times that the most gratitude pours through. Grateful for how things are. Grateful to the sun, birds, moon, smoke, rocks, leaves and my grandkid’s little feet in their boots. No ‘buts,’ or ‘if onlys’, or ‘as soon as.’

Ours is not a culture or economy that appreciates contentment. We have been trained to live from a place of lack. Taught to believe we will feel content once we make that next purchase, visit that country, buy that house or put that next big check in the bank. Or that somehow being content is settling for less. But contentedness is a far cry from a diminished life.

It rises from a well contained within when we stop to notice how exquisitely beautiful life is …….right now…..right here. I’ll ‘settle’ for that anytime!

Grateful to you for reading these words,
SARAH

.....mine

Yogis,
I had just returned from a visit to the creek. As I usually do, I wandered into the backyard with Phoebe to do a quick check in. The crows were squawking and leaves were floating gracefully down to rest on the grass. Peaceful as always…..until the calm was broken by a man’s voice from the house on the other side of our ravine.

“GET OUT OF MY YARD RIGHT NOW,” he screamed in a deep angry voice and even though there was quite a bit of distance between us, he was so worked up that it sounded as if he was right next to me. I could imagine steam coming out of his ears. What on earth could be there that would cause him to be so enraged? I see something run.

Silence. I can see his figure through the trees move back toward his house so Phoebe and I head into the woods and down the hill. My first thought was that it was a dog. What if it is lost? Or maybe a fox. We get to the bottom and can hear rustling in the bamboo. We wait patiently. I finally see movement in a clearing. A baby deer passes, followed by her mom.

I personally can’t imagine having that visceral of a reaction to deer, regardless of what they had been doing, and since it is safe to assume they weren’t attacking him, they must have been having their lunch in his garden. And he didn’t want them in ‘my yard’.

My yard.  Is it? Are those lines we draw real?

Mine is a funny concept. Yes, there were some pieces of paper shuffled back and forth between humans, with lawyers (simply other humans) verifying that yes, you own your land. But did the deer who has lived there her entire life have a say? Did the sun who shines faithfully on the front window each morning at dawn give its seal of approval? Did the earth worm committee down below have a time period for comments? And does this mean I own the squirrel who is hunkered down in her nest up above?

This property is not mine. In reality nothing is ‘mine’. An illusion. Not the house I live in or the yard it sits on. Not the clothes in my closet or even the body that is currently inside some of them. Even that will eventually have to be given back. Everything we believe we own is only passing through, allowing us to use it for some period of time, until we don’t. Impermanence.

When we believe something is ours it then requires us to watch it, hold on to it and protect it from being taken. ‘Mine’ creates attachment, fear, worry…….and as witnessed, even intense rage at a baby deer.

Wars are fought, friendships are broken, money is spent, all to hold onto what we insist is ours. But nothing is mine. When we can embrace this truth we become free.

As I was laying in savasana on the deck I gazed up into the trees. I watched the cloud formations float by and felt a breeze brush across my face. How could I possible ever own them. They too aren’t mine. It’s more likely that I am theirs.

Grateful for the presence of all that surrounds me at this moment.

It is home, but it isn’t mine,
SARAH

.....unhurrying

Yogis,
Phoebe and I have been on the road together. Four days at the beach and then loading the car again we headed north to spend time with my parents. I enjoy traveling routes I don’t typically take so I chose to drive up Route 1 in silence. I didn't want to be distracted by words or music. I wanted to notice.

It was a gray day with occasional spits of rain yet the yellow of the cleared farmlands and the occasional vivid red tree framed by my windshield were magnificent. A hawk perched on an overhead wire peered down as I drove underneath and I noted the names of the small local stores as I passed by.

This is a four lane road divided by a large grassy median which makes for comfortable driving. The speed limit is 60 and I was going my typical five to 10 mph over although it would be easy to go much faster as many others were doing. Don’t we all view speed limits as the minimum?

Up ahead I saw one of those electric signs held up with orange poles that can be programmed to display alerts. It was the kind you typically see before construction, but there was no construction in sight. As I got closer, I could read its message.

‘Ya’ll need to relax. You will get there,’ it said. You have to love Delaware.

I realized what a wonderful message it was. It stuck in my mind as I continued my journey. We do need to relax. Why are we in such a hurry? Why is it that we feel the need to go faster than the posted speed? To live life at breakneck speed.

It seems no matter how quickly we do things these days, there is a desire to do them faster. Cell phones as an example….5G is being installed across the country to give us more speed. Do I actually need more speed? In fact almost all new technology is developed to help us get things done quicker.

But where exactly is it that we are going? What is our hurry?

I catch myself rushing around while cleaning up. Carrying too many things down the steps so I don’t have to go back up. Wanting to get in and out of the grocery store and being annoyed if there is a line. If a web page takes longer to load, the toe starts tapping. Faster movement, faster breath, faster mind. And we wonder why we are all anxious.

We are taught this at a young age. Remember being rushed or rushing your own children each morning? Hurry up and eat! Hurry up and dress! Hurry up…..hurry up….hurry up……when as children our instinct is to dawdle. To be and enjoy the space we are occupying at that moment. No time for that!

In a thoughtful book I am reading the author speaks to a need for humans to unlearn hurrying. Slowing down as a path toward reconnection and inner peace.  Could we do that, and will the world even let us?

I took the road message to heart and spent the next three hours of my drive sitting back, shoulders relaxed, not concerned with my arrival time. I would get there when I got there, and the drive felt carefree. I arrived refreshed and ready to enjoy family. The sign was right. I did get there.

Catch yourself the next time you are hurrying. Notice, take a big conscious exhale and see what happens if you slow down. Life does indeed wait.

Slowing life down to enjoy the ride,
SARAH

.....squirrels

Yogis,
If I were asked to paint a picture of what fall is to me, it would include bright colored leaves, swirling winds, pumpkins, caramel apples and fleece jackets. Acorns, pinecones and sweet potatoes. Also, squirrels.

This is their season. Squirrels darting about digging holes in my lawn and potted plants as they bury nuts and build nests, busily preparing for the cold of winter. Intent on their purpose they zigzag across the streets oblivious to traffic. Tails fluffy and coats thickening, they are fearless in their determination.

This week I will talk about squirrels…….

When I was 4 years old we lived in a small house next to a warm welcoming neighbor who would let me come over to help her bake cookies. One day as I was making my way over a squirrel began to approach me. I stomped my foot but it continued its path forward. This was clearly not right, so I yelled and my mom ran out and the two of us proceeded to scream and run for our house with the squirrel at our heels. We slammed and locked the door (as if a squirrel could leap up and turn a knob) and watched it from the window.

This is a memory we have both recounted many times over the years. Why on earth would a squirrel chase us? Fast forward more than 50 years later to this past Thursday.

In the morning my husband opened the hood of his car to clear off falling pine needles and was startled to find a small squirrel sitting in the engine. The squirrel too was surprised and slid down beneath the battery.

For the next half hour we tried to coax it out. Peanuts, cheerful voices, a little prodding with a stick but little success. At this point we needed the car and were considering the hose when the little guy made a move and we grabbed it with the multi-purpose barbecue tongs. Down onto the driveway he went and off into the brush. Thank goodness!

Off my husband goes and I proceed to my weeding, feeling good. I am leaning over tugging on a stubborn vine when out of the corner of my eye I see a blur and the next thing I know the squirrel is running up my back! I grab it and put it on the ground where it then runs around and crawls up the front of my pant leg. You can only imagine my body language as this all transpires. And lots of ‘Aaahhhs!’

I now have it pinned against my torso with both hands where it settles right in. Now what…..

I try placing it at the edge of the woods. No sooner has its feet hit the ground when it is back on my chest. Squirrels are quick. I put him on a small tree trunk. He hangs on, looking at me as if to say ‘you’re kidding right?’  I slowly back away and make it halfway across the lawn before he jumps down and literally bounds across the grass, leaping into my arms. Squirrels are determined. Oh my.

I can’t go in the house (Phoebe). I can’t use my phone (if I let go with one hand he wants to scurry up to my shoulder). No one is around. I accost a woman walking by, but she has no advice. Finally I find a neighbor who prepares a shoebox for me to use and I get him in, find an organization that rehabs wildlife and the squirrel and I head out for a car ride. He is now safe and being cared for. I kind of miss him.

I look at these two life experiences. The first time I ran away in fear. This time I stayed, in fear.

Going toward,
SARAH

.....visible change

Yogis,
I have an early January birthday.  Right around the time when the hoopla of Christmas and New Year’s has settled down. The house has been cleaned, the tree gone, and presents are all put away. Simplicity has returned and now I am being asked ‘What do you want for your birthday?’ Each year it’s a challenge as I yearn for less.  It was January 2020, and I was facing this yearly dilemma.

Can you remember how you felt that January? We had entered a new year and a new decade and there was hope in the air. A clean slate on which we could create whatever we wanted! So it was from that space that I asked my husband to go to the small crystals shop I had recently discovered to get a stone for my altar. ‘Tell the owner I am looking for a stone for change’ were the only instructions I yelled as he headed out the door. I then asked my parents to get me a book on crystals.

On my birthday I opened a box to find a large….and quite heavy….beautiful piece of Malachite. A deep emerald green filled with swirls that pull you in and make it appear different each time it’s near. Ok, now let me look Malachite up! I turn to the page and the very first thing I see is:

NOTE: This is a very powerful stone and should only be used under the guidance of a certified crystal therapist.

Yikes!

It went on to describe the stone’s qualities, healing properties and effects. Finally, it stated that Malachite is ‘the stone of transformation’. Onto my altar it went. ……Well, we all know what happened over those next 6 weeks. Not only my life, but the whole world was transformed. And even though we keep thinking we sense a finish line, eighteen months later the changes continue.

Lately it feels like one of those flights where you begin the final descent, all buckled up with tray tables in their upright and locked position, when the plane unexpectedly changes course and heads back up. Circling with no clear message from the captain on exactly when or even where you will finally land.

I am finding it hard to make plans. Should I move forward with changes to the beach house? Should I hold classes in person? Is a warm winter vacation in the cards this year? Will I be able to get toilet paper?............. Where do I even want to land? The uncertainty that comes hand in hand with change. Feeling stuck.

We are always living with change, but usually it is more subtle, happening under the radar and seeming to sneak up on us. Like those new wrinkles we catch in the mirror as we rub our eyes open on a Monday morning or the glance at a wall that suddenly makes it clear a new coat of paint is way overdue. But what we have all experienced as a collective this last year and a half is so visible. Affecting every part of life. Does the stone need to go outside for a while?

Visible change next door

What would it feel like to let go and ride the change without a clear destination? To trust the pilot to land us safely, exactly where we are supposed to be? To not have to have a plan. To not know and be ok with that.

I take a conscious exhale, spread my heart open and take the next baby step forward.

I am paying more attention to my Malachite,
SARAH

.....destination dinner

Yogis,
Last week I took a break from writing while visiting Denver Colorado. This was only my second visit to the Mile High city, but like the first time, I loved it. Beautiful weather with autumn leaves gold against a deep blue sky. Pleasant temperatures with clear air, low humidity and a light breeze.

This trip I got the opportunity to experience Boulder where we did some hiking, walked the town and ate wood grilled pizzas in an outdoor café. We visited Red Rocks the next day where both the scenery and people watching were incredible. Good draft beers, fresh local food and spectacular mountain views made for a great getaway.

Then add in the reason for the visit and the long weekend turns into a special event. ‘Lobsterfest’, as we have all coined it, is an annual event among ten of us. I have written about it over the years recounting the rituals we have created, the dedication each year to making it happen and the bat that swooped into the dining room one time after dinner, causing shrieks and cowering in the bathroom for many.

About 10 years ago one of the couples moved to Denver and we have all toyed with the idea of someday having it there, and that someday was last week…….

You have heard of a destination wedding…..this was a destination dinner.

Now in a typical year, Lobsterfest is a six hour event. Everyone arrives promptly at 6 pm. Appetizers are followed by lobster, tenderloin, potatoes and Caesar salad, which is then followed by loud music, wild dancing and finally dessert. Someone then glances at their watch, announces it is almost midnight and we wrap it up. This year however it was a three day extravaganza!

Our hosts had made it clear that three days was the limit back when the idea was floated. We could come to Denver for more days, but their involvement had limits. Yet for those three days they invited us all into their lovely home for meals, football watching, walks through town and a signature cocktail……the poisoned apple. We laughed and told old stories. Shared pictures of family. Talked about where we are and where we are heading. Old friends.

How long have we been doing this? The annual discussion and debate while cracking our lobster claws and passing the potatoes had us settled on 33 years by the end of the evening. Or was it 34? It matters not because we will discuss again next year. And the year after that.

On the last evening our hostess shared a teaching she had received at a young age from her beloved Nona. ‘Bern,’ she said,’ whenever you visit any family or friends you only stay three days. After that you begin to smell like a fish.’

It is a true gift to have friends like these that you are not only able, but excited to spend three days with. The fact that we made this Lobsterfest West happen, speaks volumes of our long lasting bond which began so many years ago in a sales bullpen at Xerox.

The table setting was gorgeous. The food amazing. We ate. We danced. We hugged. And as one friend said…..I think we made it out of there just in time to not leave a stink.

Friends.

This will not be our last time there,
SARAH 

Good Friends