a piece of me

This is a collage that I created for a woman who is in my yoga teacher training. The tag is fixed by a little brad so you can move it, and if you peak under it, you will find: be you.

She climbs mountains. People who do this create awe in my soul. I think it is amazing. Over the holidays, she is going to africa to climb mt. kilimanjaro. In awe.

(Have I mentioned that I am in the midst of this two year intensive teacher training in viniyoga? we meet one weekend a month - June 2004-June 2006. This is our december weekend. Two afternoons filled with honest conversation, study of the movement of the body, reflection, laughter, growth, sangha.)

I realize that my first attempts in this world of "art" are simply that: first attempts. I share them with you as I (try to) let go of the inner critic. To listen to the other voice inside that says create, give, let go, laugh. To be brave enough to give someone a little piece of me.

Leaving Pieces by Brain Andreas

She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went.
It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said.

gift ideas, take one

Some "stuff" to give (or receive/request) this holiday season:

For the brain:

This secret book (from the creator of the Post Secret website)
Sabrina Ward Harrison's new journal
A book about a wonderful art project full of suggestions for all
And this fantastic boardgame - a game for everyone!

For decorating you, your loved ones, your home:

These charms for you to wear, hang, enjoy. The creative fairy is my favorite. Oh but I also like the silly girl fairy and the artful fairy. And I can relate a bit too much to the TV fairy.
A t-shirt (or find another one from this great site - their $10 sale ends Thursday at noon CST so check them out soon!)
This wacky tote bag - reminds me of my atari days
Unique collars for your loved ones with four legs

Just for fun:
An uglydoll (but they are really quite cute)
Some out of this world creatures
And one splurge (or at least a splurge in my world...)

{I wanted to list a few more here but our internet connection is my current nemesis...so stay tuned for gift ideas, take two...}

SPT 12/6

realize the incredible power you have to choose your attitude at any given moment. this choice, more than anything, guides the course of your life.
jo uhlman
(quote and artwork by jo)

i bow to these words and what they represent. let them seep into my soul. let me remember them as a reflection of my heart's wish for my presence in each moment. i can choose how i react to everything.

night

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

(photo: playing with my camera and the night sky, 12/5/05, canon digital rebel)

drumming

Today we bought our Christmas tree. Always fun picking one out. My husband has endless patience with me as I try to find the one that I know is ours. It takes me a while. And somehow we spent a lot more money than planned because we found the right one - right outside our price range. (His patience is not so much present as we try to get it up in the house...but still, we got it up...at least this year it was smaller than the one we had last year when we had to cut a little of the top so it would fit.)
Then the decorating begins.
I sing to Christmas music as I take out each ornament and soak in the memories.
I love the colors, the shapes, the sparkles, the silly, the serious. The ones from my childhood, my days in college when I put up a tree every year, the ones J. and I purchased together.
And as I sang, this line from the little drummer boy stood out to me:
"I played my drum for him...I played my best for him..."
Now, the little drummer boy is not necessarily my favorite Christmas song. It is a classic, so I like it in an "I have known the words all my life" kind of way. Still, I never really identified with it. But then today, I really heard that line.
The idea that you do the best you can. Even when, in this case, you are playing music for someone who, one day, thousands of people would follow.
To do your best. No matter the audience. All you can do.
To own what you do and do it well. All you can do.
To let go of fear and shame. All you can do.
And just play.

I celebrate Christmas as a tradition. As a time of year when we decorate and sing and share. I try not to get too caught up in the buying part, but that is hard. I want people to feel so good when they open a gift I give them. So many people do not like the holidays, and I want to create a moment of happiness for them. I try to tune out the craziness...as much as possible. Focus instead on the joy. I do the best I can in the midst of the expectations, dreams, hopes, disappointments.
I celebrate Christmas as a story. A beautiful, fantastic story. Of a woman and a man with hopes, dreams, and expectations; a woman and a man who had a baby. A baby boy who grew up and shared a message of peace.
I celebrate Christmas as a part of my spiritual journey. One part. This one fantastic story reminds me of the need for peace, love, joy in my life and in the world. As I travel on this journey, attempting to piece together the puzzle of my understanding of spirit, I do the best I can.
And this year, I want to remember to let go. Of expectations, disappointments. And just play.

snow...snow...snow...snow...snow...

We had snow on Friday...snow.
The first time my little VW Bug has seen the white stuff in at least 18 months. And here everything stops when there is snow. Many schools closed for the day. So at 6:00 a.m. J. and I sat out in the family room watching for his school (he is a teacher).
It was just like being 10 again hoping for a snow day.
At 6:30 we learned they had a 2 hour delay. A little more time to cuddle and watch the Today Show...

(if you know the movie White Christmas, and you should, please sing the title of this post in your head, or out loud, like they do on the train on the way to Vermont..."It won't be long before we'll all be there with snow")

(photo: snow on our street, 12/2/05, canon digital rebel)

seeking grace

as soon as the guitar begins, my heart soars. i love this song. love it. the simplicity of the words. the complexity of the message. beautiful.
open your heart to this...

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin’ home to a place he’d never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin’ by a song
But the string’s already broken and he doesn’t really care
It keeps changin’ fast and it don’t last for long
But the colorado rocky mountain high
I’ve seen it rainin’ fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high, rocky mountain high
He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say he got crazy once, and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory
Now he walks in quiet solitude the forests and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
And the colorado rocky mountain high
I’ve seen it rainin’ fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high, rocky mountain high
Now his life is full of wonder but his heart still knows some fear
Of a simple thing he cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more
More people, more scars upon the land
And the colorado rocky mountain high
I’ve seen it rainin’ fire in the sky
I know he’d be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly
Rocky mountain high
It’s a colorado rocky mountain high
I’ve seen it rainin’ fire in the sky
Friends around the campfire and everybody’s high
Rocky mountain high, rocky mountain high
Rocky mountain high, rocky mountain high

Rocky Mountain High, words by John Denver

(photo: colorado, july 3/05, canon digital rebel)

traveler

Today I miss Traveler.
My dear golden friend who passed away in February.
He taught me how to love. How to open my heart and let my life be something I never thought it would be.
Me. Someone who was just a little afraid of dogs. Suddenly "I am rescuing a golden." I knew that something had to shift. He was the catalyst.
A woman from the rescue called and said she had read my application and that Traveler had found his forever home.
He helped me to create space in my heart. Space to love and know that I could be loved. Unconditionally. Space to learn to love myself. Space for J. to come into my life.
I miss how he would jump up on the bed with me every morning. J. would take him out while I stayed in bed. Then after eating, Trav would climb up into bed with me and curl up in the crook of my bent knees. He would rest his head on my leg and sigh. I miss that.
This time last year we were doing everything we could to fight cancer. My grandparents were both sick - my grandfather with cancer and my grandmother was becoming ill. A dear friend was diagnosed with cancer. Then another friend. Then another. Then Traveler wasn't feeling well and I sat there in total bewilderment when they said that he had cancer too. It seemed beyond unfair. And the only thing I could control was that we would do all that we could for him. To cure him. To make his life a little better.
But he passed away. And in a way I know he gave me a gift. I started to grieve. I had glimpsed grief so that when my grandmother died I had some frame of reference. Some understanding of the crazy, empty, irrational, heart-slowing feeling that the death of someone creates.

And yes we have another golden child. Millie. Another rescue dog. With a little more baggage (so she fits right in). I am learning from her as well. Sometimes she jumps up on the bed and rests her head on my leg and sighs. And it feels like all might be right in the world for that brief moment.

But I can't help but wish that J. would come home one day and say "hey, look who was outside in the backyard." And there would stand Traveler, squeaker toy at his feet, ready to play.

(a thank you to Maureen for writing such a beautiful post about her dog Sam - encouraged me to spend some time with Trav's memory today)