SPT 12/27

A reunion.

On Christmas, I opened a box that held this framed photograph.
A gift from my father.
A window to the past.
Two people I never knew who helped to create me.
A woman my father loved dearly. His grandmother.
Before she died, she knew my mother was pregnant with me.
She said not being able to meet me was going to be one of her regrets.
The cup is from her Fostoria collection that was given to me by my grandmother, her daughter.
I know her through these dishes and glasses that fill my china cupboard.
Now, I put a face with the feeling.
And even though we did not meet face to face, we can meet in the melding of energy from past and present.
We can meet in the love that is passed from her to my father to me.

See other SPT reflections here.

senses. christmas.

See.
The tree sparkles with lights as the sun begins to come up. Everyone wears their Christmas Eve pajamas (a tradition I started last year - if you are at our house Christmas Eve, you get new pjs). Presents wrapped in green, red, blue. Bows and gift tags inviting us all to take a peek. The annoyed look on my brother's face as he walks into the living room "what time is it?" and the laughter on his face as he opens his Mr. T in your pocket. Seeing my mother act out lightning while we play cranium (it doesn't get any better than that). Tired content faces ready for bed.

Hear.
Christmas music, Millie's sighs, my brother's sarcasm, my mother's laughter, the table being set, the timer dings, packages are opened!, thank you's, exclaims of surprise, the voices of my in-laws on the phone as they share their happiness about their gifts and their day, my brother's voice "I'm going to go take a nap," Jon saying "I think I am going to open up this chocolate," my mother saying "what else can I do here," my new polaroid camera talks as it hands me my first picture, laughter as we act out tofu and hum these boots are made for walking, the good nights before bed.

Taste.
Shortbread cookies, chocolate, earl grey tea, cinnamon rolls, sausage and cheddar strata, artichoke dip, bread, gouda and Beecher's flagship cheese, smoked salmon rich with flavor, cream cheese, salted almonds.

Feel.
The smooth surface of wrapping paper. Slipping my fingers through the little holes in my new warm mittens that I can wear when I am out in the cold and want to take pictures. Wrapping the soft cashmere scarf around my neck. Trying on a new vest and feeling the warm quilted fabric. Millie's soft fur as she wiggles with excitement as I put her new collar on her.

Smell.
A cinnamon candle, evergreen and eucalyptus, new candles, mango tea, the wool of my new scarf (grateful for the gift of a neti pot from my husband's awesome grandmother, Gram, so I can hopefully add more smells over the next few days).

And know.
Be thankful for the laughter. Hold it in your heart. Remind yourself that you heard it, felt it, lived it. When you feel the stress whisper in your ear and mind, inviting you back to the past, say no. And spend some time back in the moment when you laughed and laughed with those you love. And remember that they laughed too.

a little gratitude

grateful for...
moments with my mom and my brother who are here.
my mother's laughter (watching Cisco the garden guy on tv)...I never hear it enough.
my brother's honesty. outlook. kindness.
my husband's patience. sense of humor. gentle soul.
little moments where i let go of the need for the perfect holiday.
the way millie curled up with my brother on the air mattress he is sleeping on. she didn't move all night. first time she has ever done that.
my father's health. (a little scare this week but it seems like all may be ok. still in limbo but hopeful limbo)
the tradition of everyone in the house gets new pajamas on christmas eve. jonny and i just started it last year...but i can't wait until everyone opens them tonight.
the words of a wonderful book that focus on life and death and letting go (summer of the great-grandmother by Madeleine L'Engle)
you. my friends in the blog world. i feel like there are people out there in the world who get me. really get me. i am amazed that is this year of learning about grief i have been given the gift of friends in the blogging community. thank you. for your kind words. friendship. amazing, human posts on your blogs. thank you.

shine brightly

This post and this post have invited me to think about the winter solstice this evening.

I have always been drawn to the solstices. They are like bookends in midst of my year. I love the images of the world turning as my corner becomes full of light or full of night. I am drawn to the idea of the ancients and the way they celebrated the solstice (something my husband brought up to me today). And in the winter, I reflect on the hope that sits in the fact that the days begin to lengthen.

The idea that winter can be a journey inward. In a time of year when everything is about the opposite. The shopping, travel, buying, expectation, disappoint, singing, joy, togetherness. Instead, it could be about spending a few moments alone, quiet, in reflection, just for you.

A year ago, I met with my yoga teacher for a private session. I wanted to integrate chanting and meditation into my daily practice. She gave me a beautiful chant that evokes the idea of spinning all the petals of your heart; it has become my favorite and I sing it often. My heart, mind, spirit soar as I sing. The meditation was to breathe in suffering and exhale compassion. At the time, two loved one were sick with cancer and I wanted to bring my love for them into my practice. She said on days when I felt strong enough, I could breathe in their suffering and then exhale compassion for them. But the most important part was that I first had to do this for myself. Inhale my suffering, exhale compassion for myself. Even though I could not heal the cancer, I could reach out to them in this way. One of them died in February; the other is almost cancer-free.

Now, I work with breathing in compassion and breathing out compassion. I have not felt strong enough to "take on" the suffering of another. In my moments of quiet, I am trying to feel the creation of this compassion inside me. My heart is trying to heal. My grandmother was not one of the loved ones I thought about during my meditation practice. She did not seem to be ill; my grandfather was the one with cancer. Even though I rationally understand that it is not my fault that she died and that with my very life I was sending her love and energy daily because of our relationship, I still think "if only I had realized..." With this winter solstice, my hope for myself is that I will begin to let go of this. As a new cycle begins with the light of the day, a new cycle might begin inside of me, with my light. My hope is that my light will begin to grow stronger, brighter, fuller through this gift of self-compassion.

My hope for you is that you will feel your light. That you will sit in the quiet long enough to find it, feel it, see it inside of you. As the days lengthen, let go of some of your darkness, and let your light shine brightly.

SPT 12/20

I see
what you would see
if you were to look in
on me during the day.
My little room
where I work, create, meditate.
I surround myself with art
from past and present,
books for work and play,
glimmers of inspiration
for all parts of me.
The reflection sees
what I usually see
as I sit here
working, writing, creating.
The backyard, birdfeeders, trees, the garage.
A view into my world.

See other SPT photos here.

(An afterthought.
But if you do want to look
in on me during the day,
please just knock on the door.
I will let you in
and you can join me
to play, work, create, and meditate.
If you were to really stand at the window
and look in at me
and I didn't know you were stopping by
or I didn't recognize you...
well, that is a fear of mine.
So please,
drop me a line
to let me know you might stop by
and you are welcome to spend
some time in my world.)

hope

our prayer is that
people everywhere will
finally learn to live
as brothers (and sisters),
to respect each other's
differences, to heal
each other's wounds,
to promote each other's
progress and to
benefit from each
other's knowledge.

adlai stevenson

rest in peace john spencer

i am saddened at the loss of someone i looked forward to seeing every week. for 6 years i would spend time with him every wednesday night from 9-10; this year, i would see him on sundays from 8-9.
he played leo mcgarry on my favorite show. the west wing. his integrity, sense of humor, honesty, courage made my heart soar every week.
tonight i will spend some time thinking about john spencer and his family.
we invite people into our homes through television, movies, books, art, music. we invite them into our hearts. we learn from them, sing with them, laugh at and with them. often, we become better people from having "known" them.
i am happy to have invited john spencer into my home every week for years now. his character reminded me that i am proud to live in the country.

senses. tonight.

See...
The lights are low, candles burn in every corner, on every table. Paintings on the walls. Garland, baubles, lights adorn the hearth. Faces captivated by sound. People holding mugs of coffee, tea, wine glasses, forks poised over coconut cake and brownies. Musicians enraptured by the music they create. Little girls become friends as they dance together. Clapping hands, tapping toes. A woman with long white hair and a ladybug hairpin bobs her head up and down like a jack in the box keeping time with the music. Sometimes it is as though she thinks she is the bow the fiddle player uses; she seems as though she creates the music. Her foot kicks in the air under the table. Families, couples, friends...community.

Taste...
Coffee, milk, chocolate, mint. Peppermint mocha.

Hear...
Piano, fiddle, flute, banjo, drum. Laughter. Snippets of conversation. Coffee grinding. Espresso machine. Singing, clapping, children giggling. An Irish lilt in song.

Smell...
Coffee beans, candlewax, chocolate, warmth.

Touch...
The velvet of my skirt; the soft cashmere of my sweater. The warmth of my husband's hand. The hot, smooth, steaming mug. The floor beneath my feet as I tap my heel and dance in small movements in my chair.

And know...
You may have moments when your heart feels small. Invite music, laughter, dance inside and you will remember how big your heart has always been.