a beginning

Under a gray sky
thick with clouds,
dampness brushed
against my legs,
as I put my hand
over my heart
a chorus of birds
joined me in prayer
as I thanked God
for another
day.

Respite

Basking in a bit of weekend respite.  Please come back on Monday to visit travelinma.  Happy weekend! I really appreciate all my dear readers and commenters.  It means a lot to me as I travel this road.

A Plate of Beans-Magic

Over a plate of beans, our eyes met.  His hair tousled from an afternoon nap.  I felt the corner of my eyes knit together as I smiled. My husband, his plate full of beans before him was in heaven.  On our way home from an afternoon of boating, swimming and napping we decided to go to an old fashioned “Comfort Food Church Supper.”  Inside a long table held beans in crock pots, a macaroni and cheese casserole and salads.  At the far end of the table were homemade yeast rolls tucked inside a linen towel.  We sat at a round table draped with red checks and adorned with delicate yellow flowers. We ate; watching the church ladies pass a baby with big cheeks and a hearty cry from arm to arm.  Others swiped the tables clean, bringing stacks of dirty dishes to the back kitchen.  As I sipped a mug of coffee, I thought of how life orchestrates a great symphony of moments.  Who knew Saturday night beans could hold such memories? We’ll be back in a month.

Living

"Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough."

—Emily Dickinson

This morning my niece and I sat quietly in her backyard.  A warm breeze brushing against us, birds perched awaiting their turn to feed and our ears opened to their joyous song. After breakfast we meditated.  The focus of our meditation was finding inspiration.

This routine has helped ground me and reconnect with joy.  There is little responsibility here while visiting.  I am at peace.  How can I find inspiration and joy when I return bombarded by stress and responsibility? It is the inspiration that feeds my connection with Spirit.  It is indeed my lifeblood.  

I have been reading some essays by Andre Dubus.  He speaks of Sacrament. He writes of his little kitchen. He  is making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for his daughters from the confines of his wheelchair. He has mastered maneuvering this tiny space. Clearly, he struggles with the fact that he can no longer walk, but throughout the book he discovers all that he can do to prove that he is living.    This is Sacrament.  Could it be called Grace?  

Life is a gift; nonetheless I must remind myself of this everyday.  I find joy in the inspiration that comes from creating.  I must remember that I too am a Divine creation.

shifting

                                           Photo by travelinma

 The doctor announces, "He was near death when he came in."  A sobering fact.  I sat in the emergency room trying to grasp this message. Thinking shifts.  I almost lost my son.  Anaphylactic shock.  Unknown cause. "We may never know," a health practitioner added.  How do we all live with this possibility?  Without realizing, fear of death may restrict the joy of living.  Until we have more answers, living is cautious.  Carefully measured text messages: How you doing?  I love you.  Do you have your EPI pen on you?   I have awakened from a slumber.  Each moment is precious.

Perfection

Over several days, I have been working on a little publishing project for my daughter.  The original image has been lost, so I have been trying to reformat it into a higher resolution.  I don't want to use any other for I adore the sweet, tender tone of this photo.  With the help of my photo-whiz mentor, Jeff Kirlin I am hoping against all hope that the resolution issue has been resolved. Awaiting another proof.  Have I mentioned how much I love this photo? It is perfection; at least in my mind.

Happy Belated Travelinma!

This image was among the first in a series I posted to Travelinma on May 7, 2007.  Happy Belated Birthday Travelinma. Incidentally this is Post 1231!
                                                                                    Costa Rica-Travelinma Photo (2007

Paradise

The appearance of the cruise ships in Frenchman's Bay marks the beginning of summer.  (That and the black flies. Reports are that they are thick.) This morning we shared the shore path with a few tourists who stopped now and again to take photos.  I wondered if after all these years if I still viewed this place like a wide-eyed tourist.  Most days I think I do. Sometimes I stop walking and just gawk. Struck by the ever-changing beauty.

My adult children have moved away at one point in their lives, but have all returned home; to this. They are drawn to the diverse beauty-the sea, islands, mountains and lakes.  We have it all. Paradise.

Contemplation of a Habit

At this point of the early evening, there ain’t much left.  Like every other working woman; I’ve worked all day rushed to two medical appointments, went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, dropped a kid off, picked another up, wrote 750 words, made a gourmet meal and I now look forward to a walk in a bit to clear my head.  

Once I start the habit of walking, I wonder why I ever stopped.  The routine soothes as does the normal route of travel-along the shore path and through town.  For a stretch of two years, I walked everyday.  Nothing stopped me.  A little grouchy, there were days that my husband would offer to cook supper if I just went for a walk.  My hope in life is always renewed after a walk.

For weeks now, I have been thinking about going to the gym. The reality is that I am just content to walk outside.  I tend to walk the same route, starting in the same location, but taking an opposite direction each day.  The view remains the same, but from a different perspective.  The tide changes and the light varies with the weather. Boredom is never a threat.

Tonight as I walk the path that winds along the craggy shore, I will contemplate all the good that comes and proceed through the evening content and at peace.

mother earth

Come to think of it, when I was a child I spent much of my time close to the ground or in the trees. Alone. The draw for me in my neighborhood was an expanse of land referred to as Shaw's Hill.  At the edge  was a big estate lined with a thick stand of lilacs that created a natural boundary between the two properties; one manicured and the other wild, overgrown fields and hills leading to the creek and forest.  I spent days on the wild side attempting to fly kites, picking wild berries or sliding down the hill on waxed cardboard or toboggans. Summer days my mother would send me out to pick huckleberries or wild strawberries.  Once my cup was filled, I would lie on my back and watch the cloud formation; lost in the promise that the clouds would move and change. Other times I would just walk randomly through the field and when it felt right, lie on my back. With time I would shift to my side and open my eyes to ants and other creatures as I peered through the tall grass.

The sandy beaches near my home provided another place to connect.  Here the weight of my body was supported by the tiny grains. Comfort was gained from the soft breeze and constant shift of the sea. I was always at peace near the sea with sand between my toes.  It seems that when I was young, instinctually knew what I needed; drifting off to Shaw's Hill or the beach when I needed quiet renewal.

Now, I walk through fields and into the woods and crouch low under the tree branches.  Here I find a soft bed of pine needles and I rest looking up into the blackness of bare branches that nearly obstruct the sky.  I share this space with deer and other creatures. I am surrounded by sea here on this beloved island and I seek refuge taking long walks as the sea collides with the land or is calm and still. Clearly, I am drawn to the earth, the sea and the sky. Mother Earth provides.

slow the days

This time of year we stuff wool sweaters and shorts in our drawers.  It's an odd dance between seasons and I find myself thinking about everything I am going to do during the summer months.  Long walks on the beach.  Camping.  Swimming.  Boating.

I got my first dandelion gift from a student; limp from being held in her hand all through recess. Very soon I anticipate the presentation of a clump of blue-its torn up by their roots; picked with love. How I love spring.

Slow down.  Listen to the peepers.  Wait for the black flies.  Summer will come.  Right now, I am mindful it is spring. I am so grateful.

Growing Accustomed

I am recording everything I eat.  Years ago I lugged food diaries in my pocketbook for easy access.  Today I just use an application on my iphone. Remarkably it can save individual items that I eat and provides a bank of foods that I can choose for future meals. It tracks water intake and exercise too.  Already I feel more in control of my health and that is a good thing.  

 

Here's a view from many of the walks I have taken recently. And why wouldn't I walk?  I live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. This photo was taken with my iphone that was slipped into my pocket.  

Some of my best little poems or thoughts were written on my iphone.  What would I do without it? I have grown accustomed to the ease of organizing a crazy busy life through technology and having fun doing it.

Paradise

Driving along the rolling hills between Bangor and Bucksport, I noticed green. Seconds later I got my first whiff of cut grass.  Near the road a man was on the slant of a hill pushing something. At first I thought it might be one of those grass seed spreaders or push fertilizer mechanisms.  The aroma that never seems to grow old confirmed that he was cutting his grass.  A few doors down, two elderly men were talking as one sat on a ride-on  mower while the other stood near.  They were either contemplating cutting the grass or just taking a break.

Driving along with my driver-side window opened; heightens my senses of smelling and hearing, whether it be the smell of freshly cut grass, the clam flats as I cross the bridge or the sound of cardinal song as he is perched atop the highest branch. These experiences help me to appreciate the ever-changing cycle of time. Truly, we live in paradise.

First Sighting

I stopped mid-sentence, leaving my daughter on the sidewalk as I walked on the grass inching closer and closer.  Bending my head this way and that I wanted to get the optimal view with the blue behind for the perfect image.  My first forsythia sighting is a big deal.  They don't stick around long enough for my liking, yet it is a sure sign of spring.

Birthing

Delicate bursts of new green

Proclaim

What was bare last week

Is now made new.

A  wooded path

Meanders

To a tiny cove with

Chiseled shore.

An early morning walk

Reveals

Changes

As this island births

Another season.

the quest

The winter layers finally shed, we walk in the woods dressed like spring,  REAL spring.  Tails in wag, nose in sniff, hyper-vigilant puppies in a quest to not miss a thing. Each step  slows to the present.  Birds welcome in song.  Trees dormant all winter wear buds tightly wrapped, just in case it snows in May.  Uncertain times.  We press forward along the path of mottled light, trees cast shadows, but the sun warms.  My eyes and ears open to this moment. The only one that matters.  Now.  This day. And all is perfectly as it meant to be.

Ode to the Egg

Unlikely place to find comfort
In the sink while water runs
Between white and membrane
With gentle hand the shell releases
Presenting a perfect protein,
Gifts from our hens.

top ten things I love today

10.  The fact that I still have wool socks in my top drawer for a quick change of "season."

9.   Watching how a charcoal sketch develops when I really don’t have a clue.

8.   Seeing a dear friend who kisses me on the head after a long, long hug.

7.   A hot cup of tea with soy, sometimes honey.

6.   Being surrounded by photos, paintings, sketches, carvings and pottery.

5.   Learning new things and recognizing the incredible capacity of my brain.

      (It still works!)

4.   Sunny, warm days, without black flies.

3.   Kitties, doggies and husbands who snuggle.

2.   Sunday morning waffles with a big crowd-my family.

1.   Rainy day naps.

In Celebration

 Animated, my co-worker was telling me yesterday about early life in his marriage.   He surprised his wife with two little calico kittens.  He carried each in his large pea coat pockets from the old barn where they had lived.  Presenting one in the palm of his hand, his wife cooed in delight.  As she was bonding with one, he surprised her with the other. He had never been a cat person, but I think that experience converted him. Paul proceeded to tell me about every cat he and his wife have loved in their long marriage.

As he was sharing, I was thinking about all of our cats.  Growing up we had a multitude of cats.  Always.  Like Polly who got stuck in the chimney and George who survived a through and through wound (we think from an arrow) or Frosty who lived to be more than twenty years old. My brother remembers them all and the stories bind us in our love.  The tales go on forever.

My husband and daughter through the years have brought home nine cats.  They each have their own personalities and quirks. For instance, Maggie likes to drink directly out of the faucet and gives kisses when I ask on my nose and lips.  Abbie, a tiny calico  squeaks rather than meows and gave birth to Harry (named after my father) a long sleek gray beauty who can’t seem to get enough of me. Our big calico Julie Jewels robs shiny things. We had named her Julie long before we discovered her affinity for jewels.  What a delightful alliteration: Julie Jewels-and so appropriate too. 

Then there is Charlie, our gentle old-timer is thirteen years old. Duke a long haired marmalade is a bit of a brute swatting others away from the food dish. The last to join our family is Lilly, a feral born in a wall.  She is more than two years old, but remains the size of a kitten. She has adjusted just fine to our crazy house filled with teenagers.

Each morning we are surrounded by cats. We wouldn’t want it any other way.

An Unexpected Journey

The sleet pings against the window. The ground is white again. The wind howls. It is the last day of March.  The calendar tricked us all into thinking it was spring more than ten days ago.   There are some things you just can’t change.  So why complain? Yet, I sit here on my hands trying to stay warm and control myself.  This yucky weather is getting to me.

A few years ago when I began reading, Ann Voskamp’s A Thousand Gifts: Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are, I had no idea how it would begin to shape me.  In short, Ann was going through a difficult passage in her life.  At the time, she was a young mother, wife and the daughter of a minister.  She felt unhappy and unfulfilled.   Ann began the practice of documenting images, sounds and events in her life that filled her with gratitude.  Her goal was to accumulate 1,000 life-bites of gratitude.

Three years ago, I began the same practice.  When my heart stirs with discontent or sadness, I reach for my Gratitude Journal.  I may simply begin to connect with gratitude by reading my posts. I slow down, heighten my senses and begin to write.  Here are a few excerpts from my journal:

#1:  The pungent flavor, texture and smell of freshly ground pepper scattered across the surface of my omelet.

#4:  The perfect roll of cuff on my favorite wool sweater.

#183:  A forest path mottled with light.

#449: Scraping the windshield produces ribbons of frost.

#731:  Hugs from former students who are now taller than me.

#759:  Warm floorboards.

#831:  Husband’s whistling as he comes through the door.

Consciously for me, there are no guidelines or rules associated with this journal.  I don’t write in it everyday. As a matter of fact, I have misplaced the journal for days, weeks and  months. When I find it-I begin the practice again.

This has allowed me to focus on the good in my life. Gratitude opens my heart to love and the possibilities available to me.