A Well Lived-In Home

I find fall and winter to be the times of year where I create a well lived-in home.

Spring and summer bring me to want to be outside of my home. It brings open windows or doors that may let some dust and bugs in; the light is different and lasts longer; food is microwaved and grilled more than turning on the heat of the oven.

In the fall and winter, I can cultivate aspects of what I consider my own well lived-in home. Soup or stew in the crock pot; lots of incense, sage or cedar sticks burning; warm air circulating; blankets strewn about; lotions and soaps that smell of lavender, vanilla or almond; books on corners of tables that are finally being gotten around to; quieter music filling the air; new journals filled with life reflections and future plans; coffee set on the morning timer to welcome me to the new day.

What evokes a well lived-in home to you?  In the fall and winter how do you nest and tend to your inner garden?

Letting Go

I remember my wedding rehearsal dinner, which was left to my in-laws due to tradition. They went all out country at the Denver Buffalo Company (when it was around), in full with menus in the shape of cowboy boots. Coming off a life of grunge music and Grateful Dead, me being artsy and Mike being this outdoorsy and adventurous guy- both of us trying to be "individual"- both of us didn’t love the "cowboy style" of the rehearsal dinner.

Fast forward so many years and life has changed. Mike is gone and I am left to my own devices. I don’t know how or why but I am a left winged liberal who loves rural America and I hate contemporary country music but absolutely love Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and line dancing on Tuesday nights at The Grizzly Rose.

What is different?

I guess I have started to learn to let things go. Not hang so tightly to “personal identity” but go more with “what makes me happy.” I love my drives through rural America, and dream of living again in rural America someday. I love walking out of the Grizzly Rose all sweaty because I gave my all to a line dancing lesson to country music I wouldn’t listen to any other time...and screwed up half the dance but had fun doing so anyway.

Where can you identify in your life places where you can let go?  How will letting go serve you for the better? What fear do you have around letting go? And why does hanging on so tightly mean so much?

I ask myself these questions, still, because I still wind myself tight at times. But give me a little music and some room to dance and I hopefully can let it go....

Observer or Participant?

There are times where I find myself feeling as though I am an observer of life, when in reality I am participating in it. I usually experience this when I am off doing some solo travel of some sort. I love taking myself on little trips. I used to go with my husband to a lot of places and I made commitment to myself after he died that I wouldn’t stop exploring. He was an adventurous spirit and he taught me to tap into my own. Although traveling solo can sometimes be lonely, I have always enjoyed the time to do whatever I wanted to do on a little trip somewhere.

I found myself the other day at the Frisco Bay Marina watching all these people enjoying a beautiful day on the water…friends with their dogs ready to take a boat out, people solo kayaking, people picnicking. I thought to myself, “I wish I could be in Frisco with friends or family, on a kayak, or enjoying a carefree picnic”. I also found myself in Georgetown, admiring the darling little historic houses and shops and wishing I could have a little purple house with bright flowers planted in window boxes. I would love to have an old little Victorian house painted purple with a garden of poppies, daisies and lace curtains. 

Why do I go into observer mode? Is it because I think the grass is always greener? But…when I am in observer mode, I am also a participant. Like on this little trip, I walked my dog on the marina down the dock. I snapped colorful photos, I meandered into some old timey little shops in Georgetown. I stopped and picnicked by the water. And I have a lovely little condo with lace curtains, brightly planted containers with geraniums and other flowers, and a balcony where I can enjoy my morning cup of coffee or evening glass of wine. 

Do you ever experience your life like you are just observing it? The one thing I have realized is that it is all about being in the moment. I know,  I know, it sounds cliché. Spiritual leaders, authors, psychologists, doctors, and others often talk about mindfulness and being in the moment as key to enjoying life and to eliminate stress. As I have often times found myself feeling like an observer I have also been accepting more and more my active participation. That means being a part of what I am choosing to do in the moment and just enjoying it.

The next time you find yourself feeling like you are observing life instead of participating, give yourself a nudge. Know that you are an active participant in your life, and the moment is there for you to enjoy!

Revisiting an old personal post

I drove down South Emerson Street the other day and was reminded of an encounter I had 6 years ago, as I was walking my then dogs Chester and Stanley while living one block away on Clarkson Street. This little house is all but gone, a newer, shinier and much more expensive one in its place. I remember having passed this house on foot maybe a year after this encounter, and met the man's daughter who was cleaning up the house as he had passed away. I never did bring him a hummingbird feeder, and now after reading this again I wish I did. Enjoy this little trip down memory lane, as it has helped me appreciate those small encounters that have a big impact on the heart!

The Elderly Man on Emerson Street

There is an elderly man that lives on Emerson Street. I would venture to guess he is in his late 80's. He lives in a house that needs a lot of TLC-the paint is chipping, there is mis-matched furniture on the porch, and the yard is overgrown with weeds. Sometimes I walk Ches and Stan down that block during the day. He may be asleep on his front porch, but when he is awake we smile and wave to one another.

The other day I was walking down his street and he was standing at his front door with a walker and watering can. His belt was unbuckled and it looked as though his pants were falling down. I wasn't sure what was happening in this moment, and when I looked again he said, "I need your help." Not sure what kind of help he needed, I tied the boys to his tree and went up the porch stairs. "I am caught on the door handle. I think it is my belt but I am not sure." Well, it wasn't his belt that was caught, but the belt loop. I coaxed him to move around a bit as I jimmied his belt loop loose. While I was doing so, I caught a glimpse of a few things: The inside of his entry was filled with old books and papers; his skin was permanently tan, the tan that let me know his work in life was hard work, maybe outside work; his teeth were rotted; his hair thin. Once I set him free from his predicament, he gave me a smile and said, "My, what an awkward situation to be in." I told him no worries, that I have been in similar situations myself (even though I couldn't conjure up any of this caliber). He went on to tell me he was coming out to water his plants. I was skeptical as the state of his yard wasn't conducive to plants.

He pointed me to three store bought red salvias that stood along his front porch. "I bought these the other day. They are supposed to attract hummingbirds. I need to water them so they will live and attract the birds." I told him how pretty the flowers were and how, yes, red attracts hummingbirds. He didn't continue to engage me, rather, he picked up his watering can and got his walker and continued his work. I got the boys from the tree and told him to have a nice day. He thanked me again for helping him.

I was struck by this encounter for a variety of reasons. The most notable one was the idea that the joys of life are found in the small things. Life can be hard, especially when you are a single elderly man, trying to hang on to a house and all that symbolizes. Here is this house, in shambles, with a yard to match, and probably too much for this man to manage...and the small joy this man could muster for himself manifested itself in three, store bought red salvia meant to attract hummingbirds. It made me want to buy him a hummingbird feeder and put it on his porch with a note that says, "From the girl who rescued you from the door handle." Maybe I still will.

Connections

I picked this up someplace, and I can't quite recall where. I was going through an old journal today and find the typewritten pages. Upon reading it, I feel that the reason I found it today was this is how I have been feeling lately. Some days, though, I find it easier to brush off such intense connection. When your heart can stand it, face your day in a purposeful way, and see what connections you may make in the most simple of locations: a grocery store, a restaurant...

Today I Feel the Pain of the World

By Mark Nepo, from Surviving Has Made Me Crazy

My dog's hips grind where no one can see.

She wants to keep up, but has to sit.

I take her home, pet her a while,

and go for groceries where

the old man packing bags

is staring off. I know by his heavy

silver eyes that he is a widower 

and just as he lifts my no-fat cottage cheese

he sees her floating somewhere before him

and the soda and the swordfish and the English muffins 

are piling up as the black belt keeps

moving, and I gently take the cottage cheese

from his hand and he returns, looking at

me, a bit dizzy to still be here.

He sighs, rubs his eye, and asks, "Paper 

or plastic?" I help him bag

what no one can bag.

After putting soda in the fridge

I eat out anyway, and next to me

a small woman trying to be heard

while her larger partner pretends nothing is wrong.

She knocks over the salt as he butters

his bread. He shakes his head

and wonders who she is.

Beyond them, in a booth by a window,

an elderly couple. It is clear they can't speak.

They sign each other and their faces 

are lively with yes and no and in between.

Suddenly over coffee, the man sees something across the road.

He's full of joy, pointing and smiling, wanting

his wife to see. It could be a hawk opening its wings 

or a burst of light budding a thin maple.

His wife never really sees

be he thinks she does

and he feels relieved.

I realize we are all this way.

Whether seeing dead faces at the register

or butterflies behind the light poles, sometimes

the skin of mind is torn and we are not 

separate beings. Once the talking is done,

we point and point at the proofs of love

for all we're worth.

I feel more today

than one being should

and can't tell

if I'm in trouble

or on holy ground.

Skateboard

The other night outside of my condo building, as I took Rene on a walk to relieve herself, I noticed a little girl with a skateboard in the empty parking lot of the medical building that sits diagonal to my building. She looked about 9 years old, with long blond hair partially covered with a helmet and was wearing her leg and elbow protection pads. I had noticed her and her little sister a few days before, this girl trying out her new skateboard and her sister trying out her roller blades. I remember smiling, remembering what it was like to get a new bike or skateboard when I was a kid.

As Rene sniffed around I saw the little girl looking as though she was practicing on and off the skateboard. She cruised for a bit and then fell off after losing her balance. She took the skateboard and slammed it to the ground about 5 times screaming “No, No No!” and a final throw to the ground, as she sat on the asphalt and looked forlorn.

Then she got back up, got back on, and cruised my direction back toward her house. I gave her a smile and asked if she just got this skateboard and she said yes. I told her for a new boarder she was doing really great and to keep at it. She gave me a quizzical smile and said "thanks, I will".

Obviously this image sat with me as I am writing about it today. How many times do we watch our friends or family members falter and say nothing? How many times do we watch our loved ones struggle and tell them what they should do differently? How many times do we shame, either privately or publicly, the people in our lives if they don’t act or do what we expect them to do?

I could have told that little girl “not to be frustrated or get so angry.” I could have told her how to gain better balance. I could of told her “skateboards are for boys” (I don’t actually believe that!). Instead, I gave her a few encouraging words, and I hope they stick with her to keep on trying.

Today, let’s encourage each other. Let’s not criticize or find fault. Let’s not shame others to make ourselves feel good. Let’s wrap each other in blankets of support and love as we all embark on our own life journeys. Because, you are going to need it yourself one day. You are going to try your hand at your own skateboard and you may falter and fall, too. You are going to need your loved ones to encourage you to keep going, even though you don’t want to. And then you will ride.

Spring brings feelings of the in-between

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said;

The recent buds relax and spread,

Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again

And we grow old? No, they die too,

Their yearly trick of looking new

Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh

In fullgrown thickness every May.

Last year is dead, they seem to say,

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh. - Philip Larkin

Every year, I feel like I have been waiting for spring for all my life. The grays and browns of winter begin to take their toll in the early days of March, when snowflakes still fall and the green blades of grass peeking out of their dormancy are covered in a light frost. Trees are still brown with no signs of life, and often by March I am feeling like my own signs of life are lost in the gray days.

By late March and early April I am woken up by the buds on the trees, the lilac bushes coming to life, the bulbs bursting forth from the earth their crocus, tulip, hyacinth, and daffodil splendor. My fingers are always crossed that there will not be a freeze or heavy snow to stop the visual signs of life spewing forth. Some years the finger crossing works, other years the heavy snows may break branches but the extensive moisture brings forth a more vibrant spring than ever imagined.

In this dichotomy of life, I also find the grips of grief around my heart. The past few years the grip is loosened more and gives me more room to breathe...but it is still there as I remember this time of year as a married woman, a homeowner, planning vacations and all the house projects and spending meaningful time with my now deceased spouse.

We used to take our dogs for long walks in the neighborhood after work or on weekends when the light of day began to last longer and the mornings were warmer and not so chilly. We would notice the crocus, the tulips, the other bulbs and landscapes coming to life. We would start talking of our plans for our own landscape and yard, seeing what our neighbors have done that we liked and noticing what we would do different. I begin visiting garden stores or just make that quick trip to Home Depot to spend just a little bit of money on some porch friendly plants that I could bring inside in case there was another freeze. And then May would come and, after Mother's Day, we would have nature's official "OK" to plant and landscape after the final frost.

But, I noticed something different the past few years. I no longer have that spouse, I am no longer in that same home, and I no longer have a yard to landscape. I live in a community where much of the landscape isn't personal; it is pre-planned by our "Master Association" and many people do more on their patios than in their yards. I have developed a love for my condominium balcony, where I start itching to clean the debris from the winter, plant pots and and get it all ready for long nights sitting out on it. Although I don't see many bulbs popping up, my community does a great job planting annuals and such for beautiful community gardens all summer. I coincide my morning walks with the vibrancy of the sunrise that hovers over open spaces and skies where I live. My condo has extensive natural light so I enjoy the light coming in the many windows and not having to turn on any artificial bulbs.

Seasons changing are a time for holding…holding the tensions between past and present, holding memories with living in the moment, holding that space of what if versus what is, holding grief and letting it go….

As spring settles itself into our souls for the time being, here are some questions you can ask yourself to get through any unsettling feelings related to seasons changing…

1) Where do you feel most connected right now? Where do you feel disconnected? How can you feel connected to those aspects of life where you are skimming the surface?

2) Seasons always indicate change. During this season, what can you develop for yourself that will bring newness to your life?

3) What do you need to resolve in your life that you need to let go of?

4) What joys in your life will this new season bring forth?