On My Mind Monday

I'll tell you something was once told to me about the way that we weather the storm.  It's not how long the rain falls or how hard the wind blows or how deep is the snow in the road, nor the balance we fake when we feel the ground shake and we think that our world will explode.  It's the help that we give, it's the love that we live, it's our pride and the friendships we form. It's the courage we show facing things we don't know, it's the way that we weather the storm.

Weather the Storm

~ Benjamin Scheuer

Jess and I saw the last performance of The Lion  last night.  Turns out it was the perfect way to end the weekend.  Scheuer is talented and genuine and he bears his soul for all to hear.  There were laughs and there were tears. Cookie Tin Banjo was a favorite of mine.  After the show, we stopped for a night cap even though it was a school night.  The experience was intense and raw, and we needed to wind down.  And it was a beautiful, fun evening  we weren't all too excited to see end.

Years are Minutes

What should I dream about?  she asks me every night as I turn out her light and turn to leave.  It's as if I'm the trusted keeper of the magic of the night. Although so often I'm caught off guard and my suggestions are uninspired or off the cuff. On good nights I might say Africa or Diana Nyad or Heaven.  

Do you actually dream about the people or places I suggest? I've asked. She has affirmed.  This confirmation nudges me to take my invitations on who or where to visit more thoughtfully.  I wonder how much longer she'll ask me this.  I wonder how many more nights she'll look to me with kaleidoscope eyes for a dream prompt.

Slowly and then all at once, they grow up, they go on.  It occurs to you one day that it's been awhile since you've visited playgrounds, kissed boo boos, or looked under beds and in closets for monsters or boogeymen.  Then one night you go to tuck them in and they're already fast asleep holding onto books you cannot believe they are already old enough to read.  

Day by day they need us less and less.  It's so subtle the stealth way childhood slowly slips away.  A mother's sudden realization is stark and sobering though.  I always thought there'd be one more bedtime story, another visit to Santa,  a few more pleas to have tea parties or rounds of hide and seek. We think we have so much time, and suddenly they are tall and wise and driving away as we stand in the driveway and wave while smiling and crying.

Grateful Friday

Today I give thanks for...

Facing fears. Last night Lily had a first swim meet of the season and she was all nerves.  When I told her she was signed up for the IM which includes a lap of the butterfly, I could tell that she was even more worried.  I let the coach know she had trepidation over that one stroke.  She told me that Lily is one of the best kids on the team and one of the only swimmers who could do it.  And she did.  She looked very comfortable too, and was beaming with pride when she finished.  Before we were even home, she was talking about next week's meet and hoping to compete in the IM again.

Going for it.  On the way to get my haircut this week, I decided to cut it all off.  Then before I could change my mind which I am want to do, my stylist cut off my pony tail.  I remained calm even when she cut it chin instead of shoulder-length.  I'm actually loving the new length.  It was time for a change.  I'm finally feeling comfortable stepping out of my comfort zone.

Being open.  I've been not open lately.  I didn't realize the extent of it until I felt myself absorbing instead of repelling.  I cannot say exactly what changed my mood either.  Too many variables were involved at once. I'm reminded of when my kids were first introduced to solids. I was so careful to expose them to one new food at a time so I would know what was the cause of any reaction.  Yea, well, I changed a bunch of things at the same time so I'm left with only hunches.  But maybe I don't need to know why I feel unencumbered emotionally, physically and spiritually...just that I do.

This Thich Nhat Hanh quote:

What happens in the present moment?  In the present moment, you are producing thought, speech, and action.  And they continue in the world.  Every thought you produce, , anything you say, any action you do, it bears your signature.  Action is called karma.  And that's your continuation.  When this body disintegrates, you continue on with your actions.  Like the cloud in the sky.  When the cloud is no longer in the sky, it hasn't died.  The cloud continued in other forms like rain or snow or ice.  Our nature is the nature of no birth and no death.  It is impossible for a cloud to pass from being to nonbeing.  And that is true with a beloved person. They have not died.  They have continued in many new forms and you can look deeply and recognize them in you and around you.

This book.  My overall takeaway from After This is that death does not change love.  It changes us and hopefully in ways that inspire us to live our best lives while we are here.

Hearing.  Lily came home today with hurt feelings and my heart was breaking for her.  She needed me to be a safe place.  To listen.  To hug.  To validate and understand.  The thing is...I do understand. It's hard being a girl even when you're a grown woman.

Seeing...

End of day.

Beginning of night.

Smelling...

 The last remaining leaves.

The end of the bouquet.

Feeling...ready for some family time.

Faith

I'm almost finished with After This. Bidwell Smith's exploration of the question of where we go when we die is a weighty one.  A controversial one.  And for me it is a question that I don't need an exact answer to.  I have strong faith that our souls live on.  This strength comes down to the word faith for me.  Faith is not needing to know empirically or rationally or absolutely.  Faith is belief suspended. My proof lives within me. It is something I know by not knowing.

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I feel at peace in my faith even as it exists in relation to my religious beliefs.  Religion and spirituality are not mutually exclusive. I can be religious and not spiritual.  I can be spiritual and not religious.  I am both, and I have found that they are rather compatible believe it or not.  The longer my religious and spiritual journeys are the less often I find myself asking questions like Why? or How? I'm a spiritual being having a human experience and that's the crux of what I need to know. 

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My friend Rose said goodbye to her mother on Saturday.  She was with her when she took her last breath. I was on my couch reading After This and thinking of Rose.  I was thinking of her because I knew her Mom was near her end, but also because Rose took me to my first and only experience with a medium a little over 5 years ago. Incidentally, Rose visited a medium before the end of the day Saturday, and what she shared with me about that experience brought tears to my eyes. 

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When Rose suggested the physic circle led by her friend, a medium, what feels like a lifetime ago, I was just a little apprehensive.  My trepidation attributable not to any preconceived notions about conjuring the dead, but that my Mom wouldn't come through...couldn't come through.  Before she died, I beseeched her to send me signs.  She said she would if she could.  We never agreed on a singular talisman.  I didn't want to limit the possibilities.  Within days, it became clear to me to pay attention to birds like the owl prone on a branch in the middle of the day watching me like a hawk as I hiked hurting over my loss and humbled that life goes on.  The truth is I'd had many signs in the months after her death so I didn't want to be greedy.  There was a circle complete with loved ones looking for comfort and connection.  Why shouldn't it be one of them?

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My Mom was never a wallflower is why.  She came through with a couple of messages that brought me incredible happiness and healing.  She let me know that she would be at my brother's upcoming wedding, that she is with my children often and then she told me that she knows I miss her only Martina said it like this, "She KNOWS you miss her (alright already).  She hears you EVERY night."  I didn't see or hear my Mom that night, but I felt her.  I truly felt her.  Our reading was cut short when my friend's mother came through with a message for her.  What she said concerned me at the time, but gives me chills now knowing what I know.

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I know what I know.  Knowing is a double-edged sword.  There is healing in knowing that our loved ones are with us, but it is hard to reconcile that they are so close and still so out of reach.  The thing is that they come closer when we open our minds, when we talk to them, ask of them, invite them.  I haven't been doing that lately.  That's going to change.

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I had a dream of my Mom before waking the other early morning.  It woke me.  I was still in the dark for a minute or two replaying it in my head...committing it to memory.  It felt like much more than a dream.  I told myself that I needed to remember it when the day dawned.  I promised to figure out what it meant.  The only thing I remembered an hour later was my Mom telling me that it wasn't a dream, but then I knew that.

October Inventory

Reading I recently read and was very much inspired by  Life From Scratch. There are many recipes I'm anxious to try when I have a new and fully functional kitchen. I finally finished The Rocks this past week and all I can say is 'meh.'  The characters were poorly developed and unlikable, and the story had potential, but it never delivered.  I was bored and at times annoyed, but stuck with it.  I wanted to find out what the big secret was.  The climax never came.  It was all hype.  Do yourself a favor and skip this one.  There are too many other gems waiting to enlighten or at least entertain.  Now I'm reading After This: When Life is Over Where do we go? and I'm finding it to be the right book at the right time.  Bidwell Smith explores this question that so intrigues me with a mostly open mind.  Read this if you are open to life after death.

Wondering what I'll read next.  I've got a growing stack, but I haven't had much time to devote to it lately.  I've read 30 books so far this year, I only wish I had time to double that.

Noticing that a weight has been lifted.  I am making decisions and changes that have alluded me for much longer than I care to admit.  

Watching DWTS and rooting for Bindi, that ball of energy and positivity.  I have to admit that I'm usually repelled by Pollyannas, but I feel she is authentic and genuine, and my heart goes out to her for losing her father at such a young age.  I have tickets to see The Lion this week.  They were for tonight, but now I have a funeral.  I so want to see this show that I turned them in and paid 50% more to go at the very convenient time of 7:00 on Sunday night.  

Listening to music for the first time in awhile.  It's part of feeling lighter and inspired and open.  This morning it is Rickie Lee Jones and Simon and Garfunkel.  I thought about breaking out the Christmas tunes the other day, but it's been 70 degrees every day this week.  That just doesn't jive.  I'm getting out my Vince Guaraldi in honor of the Peanuts movie opening up this weekend.

Eating thoughtfully.  It's what has to happen when your kitchen is disassembled.  The frig is in the garage and our makeshift (yet rather functional) kitchen is in the basement.  I thought we'd have to eat out so much more, but we've been able to prepare most of our meals just a little more simply.  

Drinking coffee from my new Keurig with a new to me almond milk creamer I found.  I'm picky about what goes in my coffee.  This is healthy and it tastes delish!

Wanting nothing.  I feel satisfied and I'm embracing the spirit of 'enough.'  We need so much less than we have and we want so much more than we have.  It's not healthy.  And I'm not just referencing material things. We crave experiences, we covet characteristics, we yearn for more time, more sleep, more happiness, more more more.  What if we come from the place that we have all that we need?

Wearing summer clothes still and not complaining.  There'll be plenty of time for boots and sweaters and scarves.

Hoping the rain holds off until I get out for a walk soon. It's another grey Wednesday and that is what I love.  I don't, however, love getting caught in the rain.

Thinking about the thin veil between the living and the dead.  I experienced it when I went to a psychic circle about 5 years ago.  It was an amazing experience, but I haven't gone again.  I'm wondering if it's time.  I'm thinking this deserves a post of its own.

Enjoying the sublime fall we have had here in the midwest, curling up at the end of the day with Lily and the cats to snuggle and read, Jimmy Fallon's trick or treat candy pranks, forward motion and decision over indecision, and also trusting intuition.

Loving  showing up to write again, the word hiraeth and what it means, and this Anne Dillard quote, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."  It's a reminder to make it all count.

two day pass

the weekend was a long exhale after a frenetic week of illness and chaos.

it was the kind of week that had me questioning how much more we could take aloud and angry.

it was the kind of weekend that reminded me that there are always people to turn to and count on.

family and friends who show up where and when you most need them.

friday my brother and sil came bearing bags full of snacks and libations for happy hour.

it was so thoughtful and appreciated along with my sil's design advice.

it was the perfect send off for the week and segue into the weekend.

saturday i woke at the crack of dawn although it was hard to tell.

it was a dark and dismal scene.

perfect for a slow and lazy entry.

the sky spit all day long.

normally i see this and i smile, but i knew it would put a damper on trick or treat.

mike and i met our contractor and designer at a showroom first thing and made some more choices.

plumbing and lighting this time.

i don't see myself ever building a house for the record.  

jess came at my urging invitation to help get lily witched in the afternoon.

a little rain was not going to put a stop to her candy canvasing. 

for years many years ago, my mom was beside me on this day so it can be a rough one for me.

it's much less so with jess here.

ted decided not that he's too old for trick or treat, but that it was too wet.

he went to work out and hang out with friends.

completely age appropriate behavior.

we ordered chinese for dinner.

it was a takeout smorgasbord and food coma inducing. 

sunday i woke early again, but to an entirely different day.

it was bright and billowy...beautiful.

i may even like the lighter morning hour more than i miss the longer day.

the high point of the weekend for me was returning to mass on sunday.

it set the tone for the day.

my dad met us at home after church with his heavy duty leaf blower.

in an hour and half flat, our yard looked like a putting green.

it was a lifesaver.

he was a lifesaver.

we came together for sunday lunch before going our separate ways.

then we gathered again for sunday dinner: grilled tenderloin, roasted brussels sprouts and buttery garlic bread made for a simple, but satisfying meal.

the lessons for the weekend were as easy as: say 'yes,' say 'no', say 'i'm sorry' and say 'thank you.'

i said them all on repeat.

On My Mind Monday

You don't have a soul.  You are a soul.  You have a body.

~ CS Lewis

Yesterday was the first mass I've attended in much longer than I intended.  I think it was rather fitting that it was All Saints Day.  That was just a coincidence.  Today is All Souls Day. I was nervous to go back, and my anxiety was amplified when I realized I had my copy of After This: When Life is Over Where Do We Go? in my purse.  I come to church to get answers and to find comfort, but there are questions and pains that are never affirmed or abated.  I'm not afraid to look elsewhere.  Everywhere.  *************************

I was baptized Catholic soon after I was born, and then my parents migrated away from the church.  Their all encompassing religious upbringings resulted in my rather pagan childhood.  They attended Catholic schools K-12 and mass several times a week.  They had plenty of Catholic guilt.  Just this weekend my Dad confirmed that he attended the seminary for two years.  I was shocked to learn that my Dad seeking to join the priesthood was not just a family myth.  Miss Bit thought that a priest for a Grandpa was "cool" until I clued her in that then none of us would be here.  

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When I attended church as a child, it was for weddings, funerals or with my Grandma Rose on a random Saturday night.  We would walk down the alley to St. Al's for 4 o'clock mass, a mass I didn't understand or feel connected to, but I could tell she did.  Her connection awed me, and impacted my religious journey for sure.  I would sit beside her in the stony pew while leaning into her softness sucking on the endless stash of hard candy she stuffed in her handbag, an unnecessary bribe.  I could hear her singing unfamiliar hymns and reciting responses and prayers that sounded and felt important even though I didn't know how or why at that time.  The truth is I spent more time in temples than cathedrals when I was growing up.

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I started attending mass when I was in college. A group from the dorm went on Saturday nights before going out and I started tagging along.  The more I went, the less an impostor I felt.  I took art history and philosophy courses that touched on religion.  It was fascinating to me and missing from my life.  You see I always had faith, but I didn't have religion.  I didn't have religion until I was a young woman.  I chose my church when I was preparing for marriage.  I chose my church because it is the prettiest church in the city and within walking distance to our reception.  I would choose this church today, but for entirely different reasons.  In order to receive the sacraments of Reconciliation, Communion and Confirmation, I took classes.  No one was happier than my Grandma Rose when I received them and was able to marry in the church. A part of me did it for her.  A part of me did it for myself.

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Mike and I were religious about going before and then shortly after our wedding.  Our attendance ebbed and flowed until we found out we were expecting.  News of that miracle was all it took for us to resume the ritual.  Teddy was born and baptized and then he started to walk and talk, so we fell out of it again because it became a hassle and an impossibility to keep him contained or quiet.  The cycle repeated itself  again with Lily.

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I knew I wanted my children to have religion in their lives, but it just wasn't convenient.  It nagged at me that we were those people who only went on holidays and occasions, but that's the truth.  Then my Mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness when Lily was 3 and Teddy was 6.  She was 59 and I was 39, but I felt like I was just a lost little girl dealing with doctors and doubt.  Before long my Mom was dealing with death.  A friend suggested I call Father Tim who happened to be the relatively new priest at my parish.  I had no clue because I hadn't been in so long.  She knew he would come visit my Mom in her home and help her have some much deserved peace.

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He came the next week.  We both liked him instantly.  He felt like an old friend.  He made us laugh until we cried and cry until we laughed.  He was honest and he was kind.  He spoke candidly about life and death and grace.  He took one look at my Mom and said she was glowing with God's grace, and she was.  He welcomed her back to the church, gave her Reconciliation and Communion, and then he asked me where I belonged.  When I told him, he was a little shocked that we had yet to meet.  Before he left, he told me he'd see me on Sunday so I could bring her Communion.  He did.  I did.  The next week I signed the kids up for Sunday School and we began to attend mass as a family.

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When my Mom passed a month later, Father Tim officiated at her funeral which took place at our church.  He started his homily singing To Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral.  My Mom sang that Irish Lullaby to Teddy soon after he was born, and countless times in his colicky days.  She swore it was the only thing that would soothe him.  The lullaby was sung again when Lily was born, Father Tim later told me he felt compelled by the Holy Spirit to sing that song that held so much meaning for our family about which he had no firsthand knowledge.  I felt such peace knowing that she had peace, and ever since that funeral mass the church has been even more of a sanctuary for me.

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Yesterday's mass filled me up in ways I didn't even know I needed.  I sang loud, prayed thoughtfully and cried involuntarily after Communion.  I cried because I could feel the grace of God when I needed it most.  When I felt weak and undeserving. I've had a lightness in spirit and a clarity in mind ever since. I feel unstuck and have a freedom that I haven't known for months.  I will be at church next week.  And the week after.