Monday, October 31, 2016

Reunion


My heart is a flutter.

My breath comes quickly.

I feel the blood coursing through my veins.

The wait is over; our reunion is at hand.

I hear my name slipping from his lips.

He reaches for me. I am a ship sliding into port.

The days have been endless.

They piled up like drifts across my soul.

My pen is breaking free of the icy stillness.

I feel warmth returning to my body.

A thaw washes over my being.

Months melt away in the blink of an eye.

A blessing is bestowed upon us today.

A healing is at hand.

Time has no meaning right here, right now.

As the sun rises to greet me, I share with him my dreams.

I thank the Divine for giving me this day.

I let him know, I did not waiver. I did not falter.

I held to my heart’s calling.

A quiet encircles me in a peaceful embrace.

Knowing expands in the freedom of this space.

Joy bubbles up gently to tickle my nose.

Soon, I tell myself.

The waiting is over. Our reunion is at hand.

September 15, 2015

Fire



Each evening we gathered sticks, rotten bark and fallen trees and added them to the pile. We talked, we laughed, we shared as we gathered our load. Conversations would blend one into the other, topics often spanning from one night to the next. The effort could take hours on one day and only minutes another. The discussions rode their own wave of calmness interrupted by peaks of emotion. My friend and I, sometimes consoled each other, providing support. Then again, sometimes playing devil’s advocate to see a new perspective. Our branches often aligned but could also cross in disagreement. As the talks grew deeper, the pile became higher. Summer heat and winter cold may have slowed the building but still it progressed year after year. We were eliminating scaffolding material from the forest floor and tending the land. This desire we held in common. Snow would settle on the pile and the wood would shift and groan. The spring melt would reveal that our pile had become stronger and meshed into a solid foundation.

It was not time to set fire to our construction. The conditions were not right. There could be no wind, the soil must be moist, the wood must be dry and there must be time to tend the intensity. So we continued to add brush and open our hearts in friendship. The fire was not the objective. It was the time in the woods, the watching the pond turn to glass, the deer creeping close enough to nibble the moss that clung to the branches at our feet, throwing sticks for Dodge and Aries, and embracing the good fortune of these moments.

Then one day we saw that the pile was smoldering. We did not know how this had started or when. We had been so careful in our actions. Each time my friend and I met to work in the forest, we avoided stirring up the heat that crept under the pile. Water was pored over, soil was dumped on top, and leaves were raked away. Still we could feel it linger.

Then one night, the mountain that we had built, ignited. It started deep within and flamed out in every direction. Instead of fighting the fire, we drew close and relished the warmth. I looked at my friend and he at me. The light from his eyes told me all I needed to hear. The years of building and tending, talking and sharing had secretly prepared us for this moment. Love had crept in like a thief in the night. Quietly without fanfare, sure and true. As I moved into his embrace, passion exploded and would not be extinguished. An inferno burned across my guarded heart melting the walls of defense in an instant. The sparks flew even higher into the starry sky and I knew I was safe at last.

October 16,2015
 

 

 

The Christmas gift





The wainscoting’s surface was cracked and marbled with age. He had removed it piece by piece from his great grandfather’s farmhouse, salvaging a few feet of his heritage from the then vacant homestead. The boards were now even more significant since the house had eventually been destroyed by fire. Each nail had been cut to avoid splintering the wood upon removal. The layers of ivory paint hovered in sections over the original red stain like ice floating on a river during spring break-up, patches moving in assorted sizes and patterns. These precious boards, he cut to size to form the long sides of the shadow box. He had measured the dimensions secretly, using only his arm, to ensure the box fit into its intended space.

The door, he built from an antique window sash rescued from his family’s historic home during an upgrade. He had resized the deep colored molding. Mitered corners and fine sanding made it fit just right. The old varnish was worn with use and darkened over time. Holes from bygone window latches gave it a rustic charm. A single pane of glass had been neatly set into the grooves to provide a perfect view of the treasure to be placed inside, while protecting it from dust or soiled hands.

The top and rear panel was constructed from lumber resurrected from a little red barn where I kept my horse for years. The paint was flaky and bleached by the sun. A mixture of dried wood and faded paint made a flawless background for the anticipated collectible. Exactly where in the barn it came from, I have no idea.

He couldn’t wait until Christmas. The gift was delivered on a snowy evening three days early. It was for me. Newspaper embraced the box, sheet after sheet. The handcrafted gift stood straight and proud, as the wrapping was torn away. Astonishment and appreciation overwhelmed me. I could feel the love that poured from the box and emanated from his soft, brown eyes. Night after freezing night had been spent creating the gift, he, warmed only by the wood stove in the shop. Beaming, he recounted the history of each component and what it had meant to him. I was receiving not only his love but a gift of his past and his future; where he had been and where he was going.

Along with my horse hair bridle, I keep the cards and sentiments he has written to me in the shadow box. It has become my most precious belonging, made with love, deep understanding and friendship. It is a place to keep each token of affection. Our bond has matured, as we have, over the years. First strangers, then friends, and when the time was right, so much more. We are like the box, a compilation of weathered pieces that have come together to form something that serves a new purpose. The construction has had its challenges but the result is a thing of beauty. If I ever doubt our relationship, or if we are separated by time or space, I touch the box and I know. This is for forever.

Gifts from the heart, last the test of time. It is not the most expensive or the most lavish presents that linger in our memory. Often it is a simple act of kindness or support when we are down, a thoughtful gesture, remembering an anniversary or birthday, a car repair or a dish to eat and conversation. Allowing our fellow man to feel acknowledged and valued is what we can offer every day, an ear to listen, a smile to say, “I see you.” Let us offer forgiveness to those who may have wronged us as they followed their path; let us forgive ourselves for seeing them this way. Remember each time someone has gifted you, no matter how small and take that forward into the world. Let’s take the holiday spirit into our being, magnify it, and pass it to all we meet.

Many blessings for a season of love, light and laughter.






Gifts from Life



My holiday gift list is lying on the table before me. In turn, my children ask me what I would like for Christmas. They don’t realize that they are themselves one of the greatest gifts I have received from Life.

Throughout my years, Life has brought me everything I need. Just yesterday, I returned from a meeting in Bozeman. I had quickly grabbed four audio books from the library in Kalispell before the long drive. One of the books, I had read as a hard copy years ago. On the way to the university, I listened to two of the books, one about eating a more healthy, plant based diet and the other about living as the “dangerous, wise old woman” archetype. Turning the car around and heading home, I listened to Eckhart Tolle, the book I had read in the past. It was exactly what I needed to hear. His words began pulling aside the veil of resistance I have had towards Life lately. Deeply buried resentments began to surface and dissolve. My unwillingness to accept my Life as it is, had created a wall of separation between me and everyone I met. I would remain safe behind my barricade until Life appeared the way I imagined it should. This translated into ever increasing isolation and despair. Questioning my choice in career, my home and my town, I had been considering moving to escape from this anxiety. Allowing me to see my resistance and face the shadow I had been feeding, brought a feeling of calm to my being. I stopped feeling the need to run away. Peace had found me. This book, at just the right time, was my latest gift from Life.

My home is a rustic cabin that Life gave to me. Sometimes I mutter to myself as I drag the forty pound bags of wood pellets up the stairs from the basement to fill the stove every morning. Yet, whenever I have looked at homes to purchase in town, they cannot compete with the view from my front porch of the park, the quiet of 40 acres of trees and meadows, the enjoyment of seeing my cats romp up and over the ancient apple trees or the delicious taste of the well water fed by mountain springs. Living simply in my cabin, affords me the pleasure of owning, Lakota, my wonderful horse. My landlord built a garage for me this summer. I have never had a garage in my life and for this, I am so grateful. If I need help carrying heavy loads, plowing my driveway, fixing the plumbing or picking me up when my car breaks down, I can call my landlord, who after all these years feels more like a brother. I plant flowers, keep the cabin clean and tidy, maintain the lawn and honor his family’s memory while living here. I am sure his mother and his grandmother are pleased to see one more lady tending to the cottage gardens and keeping the weeds at bay. This cabin suits me perfectly and only Life knew the happiness it would provide. 

Life has gifted me with animals of every shape and size. Each one has its own story, its own purpose and we have had a unique connection. For seven years in upstate New York, I was the creator and director of Farm on Wheels, Inc. It was a non-profit organization designed to teach urban school children about the source of their food and fiber. I hauled a sixteen foot stock trailer into inner city schools and set up on the playgrounds, baseball field or parking lot. I taught agriculture lessons, aligned with the New York State learning standards, using my dairy cow, horse, sheep, goats, ducks, chickens and rabbits. I also taught a federally funded violence prevention program in the toughest middle schools with a border collie and a chicken – but that’s a whole other story. My barn was overflowing with animals that were children friendly and would load themselves in the trailer. Not one of these animals was purchased. I never went searching or reading ads. Life would send them. Each animal had an interesting background; each one needed to be there. This was the most rewarding work of my life. Every time an inner city child, raised on concrete and asphalt, set foot on the pasture grass at my farm or wrapped his arms around the neck of a fuzzy sheep and beamed an ecstatic smile, tears would well up in my eyes. I could feel the students resonate with the love that flowed between my animals and me. What a gift I received from Life. We titled my Jersey cow, Maybelline, a “professional kid kisser.” Her long, black tongue could slurp a child’s cheek three feet past the fence. She lived to go to schools and teach children. I was so fortunate to have been the facilitator that enabled these farm animals to connect and educate urban youth about respecting all of earth’s creatures. Every animal and every interaction with these children was a gift.

Life has chosen for me all my dogs, cats and horses. Even Aries, my faithful companion at this time, was dropped into my car with a bag of food and a warm hug by my dear friend and veterinarian, David. I wasn’t looking for a dog or feeling ready to take on that level of commitment. Searching for a career path, after obtaining my Ph.D., I was not ready to take on a dog, in case I ended up with employment in a metropolitan area and lived in an apartment. No, was not an option, as he plunked the puppy into my front seat. “Consider that you are fostering her for me,” he said. That was over nine years ago. It’s impossible to describe what a gift Aries has been to me.

How do I begin to categorize all of the people who have been and are a gift to me? Some are still here and some have moved on along their journey. My sweet ex-neighbor who watches Aries when I travel, enjoys Costco and going to the movies on rainy, Sunday afternoons also helps me with home maintenance projects. He is always there, dependable as clockwork. The woman that is my horse trainer and cares for Lakota, is my friend and confidence booster. She encouraged me to keep trying when I was convinced I had to sell the horse. I watch and learn from her trust building exercises every time we ride. I will always treasure the cattle drives I shared with my rancher friend and the nights at the symphony. He exemplified living each moment with passion and joy. I learned about Mozart, stringed instruments, navy seal secret missions and how to deliver and breached calf from him. What a gift he was. I have a group of lady friends that are always up for a beer on Friday night, if it’s been one of those weeks and a shoulder to cry on, if that should be needed. I have a self-proclaimed Montana Dad that I adore. He treats me with all of the respect and affection any daughter could desire. I have friends from 20 years ago, that encouraged me to join them on a trip of a lifetime through the United Kingdom this past year. We visited sacred sites for two weeks and I will forever carry the magic and energy we experienced. I would have missed that trip, if they hadn’t kept nudging me. My closest confidant is someone who listens to my stories before I publish, shares my most intimate thoughts and dreams, creates wooden keepsakes and accepts me unconditionally. This person reminds me to keep play in my life and that we are never too old to giggle. I am continually grateful for the gift of my family- mother, brothers and sisters. They are my foundation, my touch stone and cheer leaders through life. Last but not least, are my daughters, the greatest gift Life has given to me. I am honored to have had the privilege of caring for them while they grew and blossomed into the incredible adults they are.

More and more gifts flow into my mind as I conclude, vying to be added to the list. My blessings are endless. Thank you, thank you, Life. Let me always recognize the gifts that have been sent to me, not in paper and ribbons, but in each person I meet. Allow me to be a gift to others, not in what I purchase but in the support and energy I offer. Let me be a light in the dark, as so many have been for me. I have all that I need and am eternally grateful.

Peace. May the gift of the holiday spirit be always with you.