Sandhill Cranes

I just read a great quote from Bruce Larson Wind and Fire. He wrote about Sandhill Cranes, "These large birds, who fly great distances across continents, have three remarkabe qualities. First, they rotate leadership. No one bird stays out in front all the time. Second, they choose leaders who can handle the turbulence. And then, all during the time one bird is leading, the rest are honking their affirmation."

Love it. These birds grace Flathead Lake in the summer. They sound almost prehistoric when they call out to each other. I will never look at them the same again. 

Professionals

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he stepped off the back of the trailer. He was sleek and his black coat gleamed in the sun. At 17 hands, I could not see over his back as he glided by and into his stall. London was my dream-come-true. Fresh from the race track, he appeared to be more like a gangly teenager than a dressage prospect. The veterinarian that had examined him advised me to get him up another 400 -500 lbs. before the next time he visited. Racing weight is the term that is used for this condition. He would soon be eating 12 quarts a day of sweet feed with his hay to get enough calories.

The first time I tacked him up in my flat seat and road him down a trail, he snorted at every tree and leaf. Here I was perched on top of this behemoth that was jittering like a child. He had only known the track. The woods and pond and all the creatures were new to him. He looked and blew but walked on. He stepped over logs and trampled branches. It was another story when we rounded the corner and he could see a long expanse of dirt road that led back to the barn. It was a perfect curve - smooth and flat. I could sense in an instant what was passing through his brain yet it was too late to haul him in. His feet flew across the ground. I grabbed mane and tucked myself low. If I had one rein pullied him, I could have yanked him over and crashed. We floated above the road and the distance vanished in a second. He came to a complete stop at the top of the hill and seemed exhilarated. I could feel his joy at getting to stretch his legs again. I got off with legs of jelly and kissed the ground.

London was a bouncing, baby boy. He was kind and gentle. He was learning all the time. I trucked him to a show barn to take lessons once a week. The professional horse trainer kept criticizing me and telling me that I did not know how to train a young horse. I could tell when London was afraid and wished to work him through it calmly. Like a child, it does not help to scream and beat a horse when they are afraid. Getting ready for a big show one month, the trainer encouraged me to keep London at the show barn to get more schooling. Only a couple days into the month, I made my daily visit to find London covered in whip marks on his flanks. He was still trembling and had dried sweat on his chest. I ran to the trainer to find out what had occurred and he said he had pushed London to jump higher and get his feet up. I walked him out of his stall and noticed a definite stiffness in his gait. A veterinarian call later, I was to learn that London had “hunter’s bump”. He had a subluxation of the sacroiliac joint. This injury was caused by trauma, the over fencing and a possible fall or twist.

My instinct had been right! This would not have happened if I had trusted my gut and not let myself be told I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew my horse. London had not been avoiding work or been lazy. He required a consistent, tender touch not a whip and spurs. Now I was facing the possibility that my new investment would never regain his fluid gate or jump again. This because I assumed a paid professional knew more than me.

When I was at Cornell, I took the most amazing class called Epistemology, how we come to know what we know. It was fascinating. How we gain knowledge changes as we develop. Some people remain at the authoritative stage where they accept whatever someone in authority tells them or they move on and eventually learn to take bits of information from many sources and synthesize it into something unique and personal. I thought everyone went through these stages and I was to learn that is not true.

We are ultimately responsible for our own knowledge. I was trying to lose weight for a wedding. I exercised at the gym on a treadmill every night after work. I ate less and less each day. My doctor kept telling me eat less, exercise more. Eventually, he put me on diet pills since the weight would not budge. With a few weeks, I was in the hospital with a racing heart rate. I was drugged and connected to a myriad of wires and alarms. My family was called and I could see the fear on everyone’s face. My heart was so quick to jump out of rhythm; I was not allowed to even get up for the restroom. How could this happen? Several weeks later, I was to learn on my own, that I had metabolic syndrome that is caused by not eating enough and over exertion. Without food, each time I stepped on that treadmill, I was tearing apart heart tissue. Within four weeks of adding clean carbs to my diet like fruit and vegetables, my heart was back to normal. I read books and hired a food coach. My heart repaired itself and I lost weight through strength training and adding more protein and carbs to my daily regime.

I have gone to counselors during stressful times. I hire tax accountants when needed. I read books, listen to experts, and watch documentaries. These experts add interesting insights and perspectives. I talk over issues with family and friends when I have decisions to make. Ultimately I know the choices are mine. I prefer to gather a variety of opinions and thoughts then digest them for a while. I am not much of a follower and prefer to create my own version of what is right for me. I am learning to listen to my inner knowing more and more. I am respectful of other’s opinions. I know they are offering their best advice from their own experience and point of reference. Even though they have the best of intentions, no one can know what is best for me. It does not matter what kind of paper hangs on their wall or how long they have walked this earth. No one knows what is best for me better than I know myself. When a friend asks my advice, I can share something that I have experienced, or what I have learned for me. I cannot know what is best for my friend. I can only ask the questions that may help them see their answer more clearly. I can support him/her with love and understanding but I do not have the answer.

I caution you to consider the advice of professionals or experts carefully. Some people consider me an expert on certain topics. I tell people, “This has been my experience, or I have seen this.” Then I add that there are many more theories, more trials, and more results out there. Talk to diverse people. Accumulate ideas and sit with them. See what resonates with you. Don’t let anyone intimidate you and tell you that you don’t know what is best for you. Trust in yourself and your process. This will come as you love and respect yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Being paid to do something does not make an individual more qualified to assist you than someone that cares for you. How many marriage counselors are divorced? How many financial advisors have been bankrupt? Does this make them more or less qualified to give advice? I’d say “no”. Just keep your eyes open.

“Know Thyself” inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece.

Only you can know what true for you. It is your movie. It is your life. Create and be happy.

Stuff

Stuff

My sister is currently in the process of selling her lake house. Her boys are off to college and the summer house has served its purpose. Letting the cottage go has not been the challenge, it is the parting with the furniture, the wall decor and the items that filled the shelves that is proving to be painful. It is difficult to part with the paintings our mutual sister created to match the bedspreads, the lamp from my grandmother and the nautical things that were collected and hung over the past 15 years. Each item had been hand selected by her with care and attention to detail to make each room feel inviting and guests feel welcome. My sister was emotionally attached to each memento. It broke her heart to see her things on the front lawn to be picked over by strangers.

When I was home for Christmas this past year, my mother asked me to help her sort out the basement. My girls and I had met from different states to celebrate the holidays and this is not exactly how I wanted to spend my time. We are rarely all in one place at the same time and my mom wanted to go through her old ornaments with the family. My daughters were so kind to their grandmother. They helped her down the stairs, set her up in a rocking chair and brought her boxes to dig through. Each ornament held a special memory for her. She told the story of the origin of each one. Many she had collected on trips with her sister and her mother who are both deceased. I thought of all the parties we had in our house when I was a child, how beautiful our family tree was and how my mother spent hours making sure the tinsel hung just right. My mother uncovered a few hammered brass leaves that had come from Germany with my great-grandmother. She gifted them to my youngest. One ornament I had to save. It reminded me of one of our most comical episodes as teenagers. One of my sisters tipped over the whole Christmas tree within inches of my mother sleeping on the sofa waiting up for us after a school dance. We were hysterical laughing as we righted the tree and attempted to hang everything just the way she had done without waking her up. The only collateral damage was my mother’s favorite ornament. Pinocchio. He had lost a leg and broken his nose. We hung him in the back and she did not notice until she was putting everything away after the holidays. It wasn’t until we girls were in our 30’s that the true story of how Pinocchio lost a leg came out. We laughed with our mom until we cried.

My girls heard the story and smiled. It was understandable. You had to be there to place the emotion to the object. To them it was just something to be recycled. My mom had been saving these ornaments hoping the girls would value them the way she did. They were her memories, her stories. The same is for my sister’s belongings. They are her stories, her attachments. A stranger or even your own children will not share your emotions about your stuff.

A friend of mine has been doing everything he can to keep his farm together for his children. He loves the lifestyle. Only time will tell if his kids will want the farm. When they are old enough, they may choose to sell the land and use the cash to pursue their own dreams. They do not share his memories or attachments.

I look around my cabin. My things have been collected over the past 50 years. They are an assortment of memorabilia from my adventures and my childhood; a jewelry box from Hong Kong, baskets and carved animals from Africa, a Belleek teapot from Ireland, cloisonné eggs and a beaded doll from China and ceramic chickens from Spain. In my living room, a century old cherry blanket chest doubles as a coffee table and storage for my jeans. In the past, it has been a tack trunk in a horse barn and then my daughter’s toy box. A blue gas type lamp, that lights my dining room table, was the first home furnishing I bought when I was 19 years old. The stage coach trunk, my father and I found full of antique books when I was a child. It holds even more treasures. In it is a quilt I made when I was about 10 years old. The fabric is from scraps of the clothes my mother sewed for us. There are patches from my sister’s purple skirt, my brother’s baby pillow, the tiger striped dress I made and my father’s blue jeans - complete with paint splatters. When I created this quilt I dreamed of having a house of my own someday and it would be placed on my bed to keep me warm and cozy. My first diary and my first Barbie doll are in that trunk, too. I rocked both of my newborn baby girls to sleep each night in the Boston rocker. My grandmother’s silver tea set is still packed as is the fine china. My china was only unpacked once in the last 34 years. When I was married, china symbolized the Norman Rockwell family life. The pattern selection was one of the most important components of planning our new home. The oriental carpet and the wallpaper were chosen to match the china. My girls are much more practical; I don’t see them using a plate that can’t contact the dishwasher.  

I remember when my oldest and I used to go camping with the horses in the Adirondacks. One day she said, “This is everything anyone would ever need – a horse, a dog, good food, a tent and a toasty sleeping bag.” She was more accurate than she knew. I have everything I require. I have a warm bed, a roof over my head, good food, a horse and a dog. Consumerism runs our economy but how much is enough? People fill their attics, their garages, the basements and then move on to fill offsite storage units. I think each time we make a new purchase we should consider who will and how it will be disposed of when we are gone. If we think, “oh my children will love this thing.” Think again.

There will be a day when my daughters will wonder what the heck to do with my stuff. The value of these things is the emotions I have attached to them. They are my stories, my memories. The dollar value is negligible. When I move again, how many of these things will I sort through and decide to give away? My stuff does not define me.  If my things should disappear tomorrow, I will still have the memories. I am still me. As long as my things serve me, I will be grateful and thank my Creator for having had the pleasure of using them. When it is time for me to let them go, I hope the next owner enjoys them as much as I have. There is no point in holding onto things simply for the sake of maintaining possession. That is a scarcity consciousness that I do not choose to maintain.

I am grateful for what I have. I am grateful for what I will let go of in order to make space for something new. The world is an abundant place and there are always unique items to cherish and appreciate. I am doing my children a favor by carefully considering what I take into my space. I can express my love for them in so many more ways than leaving them stuff. My choice is to spend time with my girls, create memories and allow them to choose the items that will keep the stories alive in their hearts. I demonstrate my love and kindness by simplifying rather than making my life more complex.

Would it be farfetched to offer a service to a loved one for their holiday gift instead of one more item to be saved? How about a dinner, a massage, an evening of dancing or a day of sightseeing? Could you carve out time to make memories instead of adding to the stack of possessions? Turn off the radio, stop the t.v., get past the ads in the newspaper that say, “Buy! Buy! Buy!” After you drop the clothes off at the thrift shop that you haven’t worn for the past 3 years, let’s take a hike and make a day of it.  You’ll feel lighter knowing that your things are going to a good cause. Your kids will thank you.

Hi Ho! Hi Ho!

Damsel: The Sequel

Yesterday I drove up through Glacier with a male friend of mine. During a rather deep conversation, he said, “You know you are pretty intimidating.” He listed all the things that I do in my job and my new stab at writing. “What are you looking for in a man? What would they need to offer you?” I told him that this was not the first time I had heard this about me. He said, “You don’t see yourself that way, do you?” I said, “No”.

I told him about the Damsel post that I made a few weeks ago. Sometimes I am so tired of doing it all by myself. I did not choose to be so independent and imposing. But upon further examination, have I? I ask myself, how else can a woman take care of herself that is alone? How do you achieve an education, obtain a good job, pay your rent and take care of your house without appearing strong and self-sufficient? I had a boyfriend tell me not long ago, “You do everything for yourself. You don’t need me.” I was under the impression that I was sharing household chores and being an equal partner but it left him feeling emasculated. If I lie around and play the victim, would it make me more desirable? Would I be considered more feminine if I was more needy or clingy?

Several years ago, I was sharing with a female friend a challenge I was having with a woman professor at Cornell. This professor was a temporary supervisor on a project. My friend said, “You know you intimidate other woman.” “What?” “You are capable, take charge, make things happen and men like you. You can make other woman feel inadequate. This professor does not want her assistant showing her up.” That was never my intent. I thought we were a team.

My sister said that I do things that she never could. I disagree. She could figure out how to fix things if she didn’t have her husband. She would have to carry the wood from the basement if it was that or freeze. She could travel alone if there was no choice. She could learn to run the lawn mower and the gas grill. If she had to do these things, she would. This is not rocket science.

When we got to the lake in Glacier my friend easily removed the kayaks from the roof of the SUV. I sighed. I love to watch a man lift things so easily. I’m sure it would have hit the ground with a crash if I had to do it. To a man, it was effortless. It would have taken me an hour to get it back on that vehicle and with a lot of assistance. He did it with ease and grace. I felt totally spoiled by someone carrying the cooler, planning the excursion, providing the boats and being a great conversationalist. Men have unique perspectives. I appreciate their strong character and unusual opinions. Sometimes, we from Venus, feel we need to make men see our point of view when in fact we don’t. We can just listen and learn more about the male psyche.

What am I looking for? I am looking to fully embrace my feminine side. I’d love to have the opportunity to revel in that role. I am looking for a strong man that is sure enough of himself that he does not need me to play small so he can feel less threatened. I can bring all my power and spirit into the relationship and he meets me half way. He is stimulated by my intellect and adds his knowledge to our discussion. I am looking for a man that is consistent and tells me, “I am still here.” He is my rock and my shelter. He provides a roof and a sturdy arm. I can be the Damsel and he can be the bug slayer. At times I am the nurturer and at others he delivers the comfort and physical touch. I welcome turning over half of the household duties. I will shower him with affection and home cooked meals in trade for garbage and lawn detail. I have had to be the man and the woman in my house for a very long time. I am so done with this. I have worked in a male dominated field all my life and have done my best to keep up. I am ready to set aside my boots for a pair of heels any day.

I can be intimidating to some people, I will own this. I do acknowledge that it is also the way that some people choose to see me. I am being me. I am driven and I have a vision. I don't whine, I don't nag, I don't make idle chit chat. I am direct and honest. I am not going to give away a part of me so that someone else feels more secure in their position. I allow those around me total freedom to be who they are choosing to be. Following a path, trusting and being firm in my faith may be interpreted as being intimidating. If so, I am ok with that. I can only choose my thoughts, no one else’s. I welcome the Damsel. She is just another side of me.

Return

Even though it is still August, the air was crisp like an autumn morning today. Droplets of dew hung heavily on the long grasses and glistened as the early rays of sun peeked over the back hill. It was the first morning in ages I was able to settle into my camp chair without the harassment of wasps. On cold mornings, this is the place I choose to drink in the first dose of warmth. My feet find the prefect ottoman on the concrete wall and coffee slides down sensuously. This is the time of day I feel closest to my Creator, my Source. As the day makes its debut, I am filled with gratitude and a sense of peace. I am intoxicated by the sun rises over the Atlantic, swept away by the colors of the early morning over the Kalahari and I anticipate the grandeur of watching the sunrise over the Glacier peaks. The cabin sits in a canyon and I do not observe the sun until it is fairly high in the sky but the pleasure is still palpable.

As I say my morning prayers, I am filled with love and appreciation for the people that come in and out of my life. I see how each interaction has added to the tapestry of my life with its own unique color and texture. "God has sent us only angels." Conversations with God, Neale Donald Walsh. I let the images of people, places and situations percolate through my being and gave thanks to their contributions for assisting me in developing into the person that am today. My awareness dove into my heart center; I felt a finger of light and love reach out from my heart to all of those I have cherished, both past and present. Compassion, healing, understanding and deep affection poured from my center to theirs.

What came to me is that "freedom is the highest expression of love". That made sense, no judgements, no boundaries, no needing to meet someone else's needs. Ok. So, I am sitting feeling content that I have come to a place where I have emotionally set all these people free. I have sent them love and light and come to a feeling of peace. Then, I think of the Return. Wouldn't absolute freedom and therefore the highest form of love include the allowing of reconnection with the same love and light?

A friend of mine posed a thought provoking question. He asked, "do you think it is spiritual to allow your partner total freedom in the relationship even if it means spending time with another?" Wow. My conditioning tells me one answer but my being knows the reality. We are love. That is all we are, it is all we can ever be. Anything that stands in the way of knowing that truth is fear based on conditioning and outdated belief systems. Recognizing that all the people that I have interacted with are pure love, some are simply more in alignment with their knowing of this fact, allows me a new perspective. Marriages disintegrate, friendships crumble, families disown each other - because they are unwilling to allow the return. Blame, shame and guilt is heaped on one party or both and there is no compassion. The story of the prodigal son in the Bible has more meaning to me in this light.

What if one of the people that I have "set free" came back and stood on my porch asking to renew our connection? Would I be able to see past the old story to accept them as the loving being that they are? Would I remember the mirror that they were for me and how they helped me along my path? Would I recognize the gifts that they provided at just the time I required them? It comes back to self knowledge. It comes back to seeing our roles in a new light. There is no forgiveness when we realize that these individuals all came to us for our growth. The pain, the hurt, the conflict was all an illusion we created to demonstrate where we still needed work.

Allowing the return does not mean opening up ourselves to abuse, or sexual coercion or struggle. I feel it as absolute acceptance of the God inside the other. It is the laying down of barriers, weapons and walls in order to see their Divinity. I trust myself and love myself enough to know that I will make choices that are for my highest good in this new dynamic. There are many wonderful people that have come and gone from my life. Their presence was a blessing even if I did not always see their contribution at the time. I have learned so much from them. I have been on both sides of this equation. I have attempted to reconnect friendships and been turned away. I have also been afraid to allow another's return in fear of a repeat of old patterns. When I declined, I see it is me again I didn't trust to design new parameters. By holding onto the past, I have been shooting the messenger for the awareness that they brought. Those lessons can be painful if resisted. I now realize I can open my heart and create unlimited possibilities of interaction. People who push me away do not wish to hear the message that I bring or uncover the wounds they have hidden from themselves. I cannot possibly know what my role is in their lives just as I am not fully conscious of theirs in mine. It is not personal. When there is a lesson they are requiring, if I don't bring it, the next person will. Have no doubt. The same situations will keep appearing with different faces until we finally see. This is the "pie in the face place".

Letting someone go in love and light is noble, but allowing them to return to share in our love and friendship takes it a whole step beyond. This takes the expression "freedom is the highest form of love" to a higher level and acknowledges the God within all of us. For me, the answer to my friend's question is, "absolutely". To love your partner or a friend enough, to feel secure enough in your own being, to trust yourself completely and to give them their freedom to come and go is an enlightened, spiritual individual. This is my work in progress.

I just heard the call of the red tailed hawk and went outside to find him sitting in the tree next to my house. He was telling me to get outside on such a gorgeous day and stop wasting daylight. There will be more time to contemplate. Cherries are ripe on the trees and ready for harvest!

Reflection

It is a rainy summer night.The Earth is drinking in the long awaited moisture. I can almost hear the trees breathing a sigh of relief and see them flexing their limbs. The hummingbirds dart under the porch roof to sip at the feeders before night falls. I pull my fleecy sweatshirt closer to my chin and feel the cool, damp air kiss my face. I let this week float through my mind and allow the wisdom to rise to the top.

I am aware that relationships are an opportunity for measuring how far we have journeyed along our spiritual path. We cannot know ourselves in a void. Often it is a way of acknowledging who we are not, as much as who we are choosing to be. Relationship can be with a co-worker, a friend, a child or a parent. Bringing another person into our space allows us to have a mirror of our internal process. I have read many times, "if there is something about another person that you don't like, look inside yourself and find it there." I did not find that useful. If I saw or read about someone who stole, or cheated or lied, I would say, "not me. I don't do that." Lately, I have been looking deeper. It's not the action, it's the fear or emotion behind the action. I may not make racist remarks but do I harbor judgement? I may not outwardly criticize but am I afraid that I am not good enough? If I feel a charge, then I know I must look at my reflection.

My cabin affords me the luxury of letting very few people into my space. I have chosen not to have radio, television or newspaper. This place has been my monastery of isolation to propel my inner exploration. When someone enters my life, it is because they have something to teach me. I am aware enough to realize I must watch and listen. When someone acts from a place of fear by withdrawing, or creating conflict or needing to create outcomes, I must look deep inside myself. My actions may not be the same but this person is here to show me something I have asked to see. I have to be especially careful when I want to find fault or blame the other, they are my mirror.

Some authors will refer to old, emotional wounds as stuck emotions or thorns or hot buttons. It is an inescapable part of life to carry at least a few. I remember getting very defensive about a letter I wrote to an academic administrator. I was not criticized for the content, but for not passing the letter through the proper chain of command. I was upset because I thought he was attempting to "put me in my place." What took me awhile to see was that I was not feeling worthy of respect; I was not coming from a place of empowerment; I was doubting my own ideas. It was me putting me in my place.

In the same vein, when a partner has left the relationship, I have been forced to look at my own feelings surrounding the situation. Instead of pointing a finger at their fear of commitment, I see my own. I am so positive I am ready and yet my mirror shows me that I am afraid of losing my freedom. My intellect would certainly deny this accusation. My outside reality reflects my inner truth. I had not come to fully trust myself to balance commitment with independence. I think that I am afraid the other person will take control when in fact it has been me that does not trust me to not give up my power. The other is simply being my mirror reflecting back what I need to see.

When I see the things I love about another person - like generosity, kindness, a gentle spirit - I also know that these are the things I can see in myself. It has been a bumpy road to get to this place of Self love. I cannot expect to truly love another until I can accept all of me. I see the places that still need work and I see the places that really shine. I am a work in progress. Several years ago, my oldest said, "Mom, I think you are looking for a male version of you." I thought that was so funny when only a short time before I had been looking for all the things I thought I wasn't. It took much of my life to come to a space of appreciation about the person that I am. When the time is right I will once again ask to have a relationship teach me more. The other will reflect who I am. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.

August Issue

August issue of Montana Woman magazine hit the stands today! Here's a story from my Ithaca days. It wasn't all partying. There was much studying and contemplation, really.