Plain.White. Envelope.

A few days ago a friend of mine handed me a plain white envelope.  Plain, with my name written rather large on the front in printed font.  I took a moment to admire the front of the envelope;  my first thought.... " how does she consistently make even the most workaday thing look elegant?"  My second.....it must be an assignment I missed or something I dropped when I left class. When I looked up at her puzzled, she smiled excitedly.

Oh, a surprise!!!  I love surprises!

I opened the envelope and
out poured a ton of friendship.

           ( I couldn't even look up at first.  I was so overwhelmed by the kindness and concern streaming like giant sun beams out of that little package, I kind of short circuited for a moment.)


I looked around the small classroom and tried to meet the eye of all those whose names were written inside.  I met most and gave a little nod and mouthed thank you before class started.

But,
inside I was thinking about kindness and thoughtfulness and friendship and how lucky I am that I always tend to run into the very best people doing the very best things and, above all  that I am blessed.
(I was also thinking, I must look totally awkward because my face was trying to convey all these emotions at once and may have looked a bit contorted.)

Last year I wrote a blog entry about the power of being seen.  Wednesday night I got to relearn that lesson.

Luckie, luckie me.

Learning what I thought I knew

  The bunny footprints in the snow were perfectly formed.  In my mind's eye, I could picture the little rabbit pausing by the path to listen closely to the forest's sounds.  Or maybe he paused as I had to simply soak in the winter scene (okay, someone can smack me now for the over personification of the poor rabbit.) :)  Either way the prints were delicate, perfect and..... fleeting.   My dog ran through them thirty seconds later
and I started to cry.

 I cried on my knees,
by myself,
in the snow,
in the middle of nowhere
because I learned things this week that I thought I already knew.  Things like the constancy of change, the temporary nature of all things physical, and just how deep love can go.   I have known all these things in my brain for a very long time but now I know them in every cell.  Would I go back and unlearn them if I could? Absolutely.  But my lens has been shifted and in that moment on frosty knees I decided to make the most of this new perspective.

 
I stood up and looked at the mess that only moments before had been the four pretty little prints.

Good Lord, life is messy! ( It is also delicate and beautiful the forest echoed back.)
Good Lord, life is messy.   (It is also full of love whispered the pines.)

The snow bore signs of my struggle and I wondered what the next hiker would think coming upon the scene.

Then I smiled, because like the bunny prints, the remains of my struggle would eventually melt away. The lessons however will not.

Who would have thought that in the end, the everyday miracle would be that every day is a miracle?
I plan to live accordingly and because I care for each of you. I hope you do too.

a little bling

    I have had many teachers in my life.  Some have taught me to read; others, to cope; others, to do my makeup.  But all have been united in one common lesson plan: be grateful.

So.

When I opened up the window on Saturday and it was snowing and I was snuggled, I took a moment and was grateful down to my toes. (After all, I am a good student.)

God must have gotten my message.  

The snow turned to glitter in the afternoon and soon instead of mud and mess, my yard sparkled.  My eyelashes glistened as I walked the dog. My breath outside was the sophisticated exhale of a 1940's movie star.

There is nothing like a little bling to make a girl's day.


(okay, I was wearing cow colored flannels and big boots, but the sparkle was divine!)

Everyday miracles in 2 degrees.


 

Mommer and Me

  This time of year is very emotional for many people and I am no different.  (In fact, to be perfectly honest, I teared up at a Folgers commercial on Thursday.)  There are people in my life who are grieving this Christmas season for loved ones lost recently and for those lost long ago.  Holiday traditions that are different now by necessity not choice can be difficult to establish and maintain when the heart longs for past traditions.
   Yesterday, while baking cookies with my kids, I missed my grandmother, Mommer,  so much that my heart physically hurt.  She has been gone a lot more than a decade now, but in the moments of the batter flying, I could hear her singing very clearly and I missed her profusely. I remembered the days in her kitchen decorating sugar cookies and making a mess; her happy face accented with flour smudges.  My Mommer was more than a grandmother to me, she was the constant in my chaotic and often drama filled childhood.  She taught me to rollerskate and iron shirts. She taught me how to move through tough situations with a song in my head. She taught me to snap green beans and mow grass.  She taught me how to hold my head high when people said terrible things about my family and I. She gave me the best parenting advice I have ever received when my kids were babies.  She loved me unconditionally and specially even though I was one of thirteen grandkids.  She loved each of us that way.  Throughout the years, I have often woke up thinking, I have to ask Mommer about this only to remember when I was fully awake that I could only do that in my dreams.
  Last night, as I was cleaning up my own cookie mess in my own kitchen, I worked to reframe my missing her and also to come to grips with the enormity of the struggle for those working to reframe larger and more recent losses.  I wish my reframe would have ended in some profound miracle salve for the heart that I could hand out in little boxes with big bows. But it didn't.
   Here is the everyday miracle that I finally landed on.  The everyday miracle is that I was blessed to have Mommer in my life. She made me a better person, mother and friend. I see her influence in my life everyday. I got to hold her hand and now I hold that memory tight. 

  Sending a little box with a big bow to those who need it this Christmas season.  Trying to live as a blessing in the lives of those around me. Everyday miracles in cookie batter and chocolate chips.
 

The smell of thankful

  I am one of those people; those people with sensitive sniffers.  Smell to me is a base sense, connected to memories, people and emotions. In fact, I am so weird about it, I try to live in a bubble of Happy, the perfume.  Ask those around me. They can bear witness to my perfume bubble.
  I remember scents more than faces or words.  I smelled a slightly off apricot last summer and was transported to a summer when I was young and my great aunt thought I should drink apricot brandy to calm my stomach pains. I remember the smell of my hospital rooms when I had my kids, the smell of the floor wax on the first day of school, and the smell of my first boyfriend's cologne in middle school mixed with the smell of sweat from those around us at the school dance. (Wait, maybe that was the smell of his sweat but bear with me.)
   So lately, in the rush that is everyday,  I have not smelled anything exceptional.  I have rushed through each day doing the best I can,  being the best I can and collapsing in bed each night, never once having breathed deeply.

 Until yesterday.
   Yesterday I smelled thankful in big deep gulps of scent with my daughter walking hand in hand through the conservatory at Long Wood Gardens.  We walked into the orchid room and the smell was  sweet and heavy but the moment was light and lovely.
  "Oh, hello sniffer!" my brain thought.  "Are you cataloging this moment?  Are you memorizing the tones of orchid? The look on your daughter's face as she takes that picture? The peace that comes on the waves of fragrance?  Connect these moments.  Be connected to these moments." My brain and my nose are very good friends.

  Thankful may smell different to everyone and that is how it should be.  Thankful can also smell differently at different times- the smell of a baby's head, rain in the spring, that first shovel full of dirt turned over in the garden, your child's cereal breath in the morning, cinnamon on a cold day, and the list goes on and on. ( I, for example, love when my husband has been working outside and comes in smelling of campfire smoke and hard work.)

  Thankful to me this week smelled like orchids, ripe and rich and blooming in December.  Ripe and rich and very special- blooming like it was their job for my daughter and I as we strolled through their midst; deep in conversation about life, love, and education.

A plethora of thankful in intricate blooms of tropical color forever linked in my mind. An everyday miracle thankfully linked in my heart.

 

Greyhound Man

Greyhound man.

Good weather or bad,
You and your lanky, obviously well loved dogs,
Make the trek through my little corner of the world (Past the window, past the parking lot, down the lane- with  your baggie of....) every working day.

We never greet each other, except that one head nod, one time a few years ago, when it was snowing.

Today I thought about you all day though.
I noticed one of your greyhounds was gone.
Replaced with a smaller, albeit still cute, hound.

Your task was the same.
Your time was the same.
But your cadence was off.

I always loved the graceful dance
of the long legged ones on both sides of you.
I bet you did too.

But you will be okay,
Greyhound man.

In the background of your life,
There are people cheering you on.
Wishing you good will.
Thankful that you still walk,
Early and daily.
Even though your groove is different.

Milky Way

Life has been so busy lately but that's nothing new.
It is the asynchrony of it all that has left me unsettled. I have felt like Steve Martin in that famous scene from "The Jerk", trying so hard, so earnestly, but missing the beat.

But then Saturday happened.

Saturday we held hands under the Milky Way and looked up.

And for that moment, and in every moment since,

I have felt awe.

It's as if the universe whispered into my ear,
"look at this great tapestry- do not doubt the weaver."

Stars on a beautiful night, an everyday reminder of one grand miracle.