Another Path

My friend Karen is a lovely lady, so poised, soft-spoken and articulate.  When she told me recently that she had stumbled upon my blog and learned that we (and my late mom) had a mutual love for the works of author Gladys Taber, I wasn't surprised.  Gladys Taber's writing seems to sum up Karen's gentle spirit and respect for the natural world.  Karen offered to loan me a particular book of Gladys Taber's, Another Path, published in 1963 after the death of her good friend Jill.  The book is Gladys' (I feel as if she is so familiar, like an old friend, that I can call her by her first name) personal and intimate journey through her grief.  In one part of the book, the author refers to Jill's death as her "storm."  Wise as always, Gladys allows herself to grieve but also works through her grief, letting go of the wishes about what could have been and mourning the life with Jill that was now left behind. Change is inevitable, she asserts, and we must accept it, while still acknowledging and appreciating those things unchanged -- love, a new day, the passing of the storm to sunshine once again.  My grief since my mom passed away has seemed like a storm at times or, at the very least, a dark night.  But, like each new day, light slowly makes its presence on the horizon and, like Gladys, I am beginning to see the light of all that is truly everlasting.

A Joyful Noise

It's been over two years since I last sang, other than the hymns from the pew each Sunday.  But, today, I had the opportunity to make a joyful noise once again.  My friend Charlene selected a piece of music, "Make a Joyful Noise," for us to sing as an a cappella duet at church.  I love to sing with Charlene.  She has a happy, vibrant countenance and it shows in her music.  She is definitely the brains behind our a cappella endeavors.  I just need to show up with my voice.  A professional musician and choral director, Charlene has the knowledge and skill to select just the right music and she often makes recommendations as to how we can maximize each piece.  I bask in the experience of singing with her and learning all that she has to teach and share.  This musical experience was healing for me.  After two years of being consumed with personal illness and the illness and passing of my mom, it all pretty much but silenced the song that was in my heart.  But, today, I knew I was ready to make a joyful noise once again.

Crooked Paths

Mom had a friend who always said that God's paths are crooked.  Just when you think the path is obvious and straight ahead of you, when you become complacent and used to the path you're on, it suddenly becomes apparent that it wasn't so straight after all.  Nor perhaps should it be.  When I think about it, the curved line is more interesting to my eye than the linear one.  I have a friend who oversaw the design and construction of a building where many of the interior walls are curved.  The effects are quite calming and pleasing.  A spring garden of tulips and daffodils was planted at our church last fall.  It's definitely agreeable -- and visually more interesting -- to see how the bed meanders like a snake's path across the lawn.  While I am sometimes prone to linear thinking and putting one foot in front of the other down the so-called straight and narrow path, I'm comforted in knowing that my straight path doesn't necessarily match God's and that those crooked paths are really often where I belong.

One Person's Trash, Well, is Trash

Larry and I are avid recyclers, but one recent week, the pile to take to the curb was almost ridiculous.  Thanks to Larry's efforts to clean and organize his home office, we had a tall stack of collapsed cardboard boxes bundled with twine, a city recycling bin full to the brim and at least a dozen plastic recycling bags filled with papers and other items that at one time seemed to be necessities but were now easily discarded.  That same week, we gave old, but still usable, cans of paint and stain to Habitat for Humanity and we divested ourselves of three carloads of stuff that benefited the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store.  We shredded.  We vacuumed.  We purged.  We organized.  Afterward, I truly felt lighter, almost buoyant.  I was pleased with our accomplishments, but I still have some concern:  I hope we can continue with our "green" way of living by curbing our desire for future accumulation.

In Focus

In a world filled with distractions, it is such a welcome and rare treat these days to be focused on one thing.  How many times have I been at meetings where people are surreptitiously reading emails on their phones instead of listening to a speaker?  Or driving in the car while talking on the phone?  I've read that when we are fully present to a meal, we tend to chew more slowly, savoring the flavors and textures, and consequently eating less.  When I honor the moment, the person speaking, the meal in front of me, my senses become heightened.  I'm more alert.  I observe more.  So it was when Larry and I took a walk in our neighborhood one recent evening.  Quietly walking side by side allowed us to be fully present to each other and to our environment.  At one point along our route, Larry commented about the beauty of a male cardinal as it flew to a lilac bush, while I offered the observation a little later that the chickadees were certainly chattering.  Slowing down, honoring the moment, being present to another person, and savoring the blessing of Now are gifts I can give myself and, in turn, to others.

Wild Bunch

I must admit that I was a little disappointed and felt even a tad guilty.  It seems that within hours after cutting lilacs from the bush outside of our kitchen window, they began to wilt.  I'd been lured by the song of their fragrance, wanting the pleasure of capturing a bit of it indoors.  I'd been moved by the nostalgia of having lilac bouquets all over our house when I was a girl.  But, I'd forgotten how ephemeral they are when snipped from the stem and brought inside.  Perhaps some things are meant to be enjoyed where they are, where they can flourish and be their true selves.  Having access to them is better than trying to own them. The lesson for me: To possess something is far less important than to simply appreciate it.

Milestone

Tah-dah!  This is my 200th blog post! And what better day to achieve such a milestone than on May 1, the first day of what I consider to be the most glorious of the 12 months!  'Tis May Day!  No, not the warning that ships give when in distress.  I mean the day when May baskets are given and when those of us in northern climes say "Hurray for Spring!" and wish we could find a maypole anywhere to dance around!  How many of us remember giving and receiving May baskets?  The object was to move ever-so-quietly and swiftly and surprise the recipient by placing a little basket of flowers and treats by his or her door.  Such anonymous gifts always pleased this recipient.  Alas, I haven't given or received a May basket in eons.  That quaint idea has likely fallen out of fashion.   Wouldn't it be fun to resurrect the notion of giving May baskets again, just to bring a smile on the surprised recipient's face, just to bring sweet joy to someone's day?  So, as I personally celebrate the milestone of my 200th blog post today, I'll contemplate the loveliness of May and May basket memories.