Tapestry

Equanimity is not the same thing as numbness. Rather, it’s taking the stance of an observer who, with compassion, sees and feels all of life without succumbing to despair or euphoria, allowing what is to weave life like a tapestry.

TODAY,

A beloved wife, mother and teacher died.

A friend entered the manic phase of her disorder.

Roses bloomed.

A puppy learned to follow a lead.

A much-loved daughter arrived for a visit.

A beloved daughter called.

A young deer ate the lower blooms of the pink yucca.

Rats in the attic delayed a trip.

The white dog sleeps in, under covers.

Least Effort for Best Results

Last week’s blog about Colt reminded me of an incident that occurred during a leadership retreat I led several years ago. My friend, Lindy Segall, assisted me by taking retreat participants into a “round pen” with a horse. As each participant came forward for his/her time with the horse, Lindy coached them on what to ask the horse to do and how to get the results they wanted.

One man, the president of an engineering company, had difficulty. “Ask the horse to come to you,” Lindy said. The man said, “Come here.” The horse just stood there. Lindy said, “Try again.” This time louder, the man said, “Come here!!!!” Still, the horse just stood there. In fact, he backed away. Point made. I don’t think this guy was ever successful with the horse.

But there was a young lady up next. Lindy’s instructions were the same. “Ask the horse to come to you.” She said nothing. She held out her hand. The horse came to her. She had tears in her eyes. So did we.

You write it: How did you learn that sometimes the least effort yields the best results?

A Lesson from Colt

Colt is my one and one-half year-old Bichon. This morning I let him out to do his thing in my fenced back yard. After ten minutes, he had done nothing. Figuring he needed more time, I went back into the house because I had to get dressed for Serenity Meditation, which occurs every Monday morning. Colt followed me back in and, when my back was turned, pooped in my closet.

Furious, I was. I screamed at him, put him in the crate, and didn’t speak to him when I left.

When I checked online to see why he might have this behavior, I learned two things: (1) He might have had a digestion problem. (2) There might be something outside he’s afraid of (like coyotes).

Even though our yard is fenced, twice a coyote has come right up to the fence. He is understandably frightened. In fact, sometimes he stands just outside the door, puts his nose in the air to smell, and then turns around to go right back into the house. I get it.

AND he did have digestion problems from eating the whole bag of cooked chicken I had put out to thaw for my lunch yesterday! He jumped up as high as the counter until he could reach it to knock it on the floor.

I’ve been told I need to send him away for a month and pay $2,000 for him to be trained. I think I need to remember he is not human. (I also need to remember not to put food too near the edge of the counter!) Together, we can work this out—if I stay out of anger and unreasonable expectations.

You write or draw it: Is there anything going on with you in which your expectations may be unreasonable?

Fresh Morning

Fresh morning, full of possibility.

My invisible windshield wipers

Disappear yesterday’s worries.

I embrace the wonder of a new day.

Energy of Prayer

The words we choose for prayer make a difference. “God help me” is weaker than “God, do this for me.” Do you see why? The former is exhausting. The latter is liberating. Words make a difference.

You write or draw it: What is your experience with words making a difference in prayer?

Red Carpet

My stepson, daughter-in-law, and I made a trip to Nicholls State University in Thibodaux, Louisiana, Harlan’s alma mater. Our purpose was to give them letters he wrote to his parents in Saint Charles, Missouri, during his freshman year.

“Red carpet treatment” is what we experienced. People my husband knew gathered to share stories about Harlan, deepening our knowledge of what college was like for him. We had a personal tour of the campus, including the gym where he played, the business building, and the library—the triangle of his college world.

I came away with the warm feeling that in this place Harlan was welcomed and nurtured, as were we.

You write it: When have you had red carpet treatment? How did you feel?

What Will It Be?

I have come to the end of the list—lists, actually—that I made when my husband died.

Wrapping up his affairs and beginning life without him. Sorrow mixed with gratitude.

I have come to the end of my lists—as he did—ready for a new beginning.

I wonder what it will be.

Peonies

Mother had a peony bush in her back yard and would always gather a bouquet for the house when I was visiting in the springtime. I thought it was the most beautiful flower I had ever seen. Still do.

A few years after I moved to Sedona, I began to wonder if peonies would grow here. Then I was invited to dinner at a friend’s home. She had several peonies in her flower beds!

I ordered one bulb, planted it in the fall, and waited. To my amazement, it came up in the spring and had one pink bloom. “Lucky me,” I thought.

Then I cleared a space in the back yard and ordered six peony bulbs. I planted them last fall. As the snow melted and spring suggested it might arrive, I kept checking that bed. I worried that it had gotten too much water during the winter and the bulbs might have rotted. Then I spotted the first shoots. Long story short, all six peonies in that bed are coming up.

What is the moral of this story? Maybe if you want it, go for it. Maybe have faith. Maybe take risks.

You write it: What is the moral of this story for you?

Grief

Today is a beautiful day. Sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. Brisk but undeniably early spring.

In my home, spring cleaning is underway. Today is the day for the window washers. Carpet cleaners come next week. Last week was deep cleaning the house.

It is almost six months since my husband died. In that time I’ve learned that gratitude is mightier than grief, and most of my time has been spent being grateful for our marriage and the experiences we shared.

But today I’m just sad. Sad that he’s not here to enjoy the beautiful day, clean windows and refreshed house, the new fence and improved outdoor grill area.

I know this sadness won’t last. But instead of brushing it away or overpowering it, I’m just going to let it be. For today.

You write or draw it: What do you want to let be—just for today?

Back to Basics

Cooking and writing. That’s what I’m up to these days.

Saturday morning two friends came for German pancakes. Saturday evening a few neighbors came for rouladen and German potato salad that I had made well in advance so that there was no fuss and no worry.

As for the writing, I allow it to “well up” within me. When it’s ready, I sit down and flow the words out of my fingers onto the keyboard.

Simplicity. Clarity. Fulfillment. Release.

You write it: What are you up to these days?

Right for Me

My mother used to say, “Just because it’s right for someone else doesn’t make it right for you.” Her words get more true as I age.

My friends move hurriedly from one meeting to the next. Not right for me.

My neighbor lets her puppy outside the fence without a leash. Not right for me.

The list could go on and on, but you get the point.

What works for me is setting an intention for how I want to live each day and then following my heart.

You write or draw it: How do you know what’s right for you?

New Beginning

From my bout with Covid, I have emerged strong and five pounds lighter. I’m making a new beginning.

To celebrate, I freshened my bedding: washed the mattress pad, replaced the feather pillows and the comforter, washed the coverlet and decorative pillow covers, and added an adorable throw pillow just the right shade of blue.

I’ve been singing, to the tune from South Pacific, “I’m gonna wash that Covid right out of my hair.” And I did.

That’s how I make a new beginning.

You write or draw it: How do you make a new beginning?

Covid

I tested positive for Covid on Sunday. After a restless night, I impatiently waited for 8:00 a.m. so I could call my medical provider. I got voicemail.

More than two hours went by, and my anxiety flew sky high. This is the first time I’ve had an illness since Harlan died. I had no nurse; no advocate. My worst imaginings took over. Finally, I called a different provider, minutes before my return call came.

Before noon, I had a hot meal at my door from a friend, and I had meds picked up by another friend. My anxiety lowered.

The Al-Anon program teaches that when I am “Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired,” I should HALT. Instead, this morning I panicked.

But that moment is past. This afternoon the sun is shining, I know I will be well soon, and I am so grateful to be supported by loving friends.

Wildflowers

Yesterday I spread yellow wildflower seeds, a gift from a neighbor who harvested the seeds from her plants. Then I put up two signs: “Wildflowers growing. Do not enter. Thank you.”

Early in the pandemic, I spread wildflower seeds, a mixture, beside my office window. The blues, reds, whites, yellows, golds lift my spirits when they bloom. But right now they are mostly brown, so today I prune and pull to make room for the color that awaits.

A time for planting. A time for pruning. All for the same end—beauty that lifts my spirit.

You write it: What are you doing to lift your spirit?

Everything I Need

Quite a few years ago I hired a style consultant. First she interviewed me about my activities, which subsequently determined my wardrobe. Then we went to my closet to see how well it matched my life. After she left, I took three large leaf bags full of work clothes to donate—a visible symbol of how obsessed with work I was at the time.

Then she took me shopping to fill the gaps—something fun, something dressy, something sporty/relaxing.

A few months later, I called her because my stepson’s wedding was approaching, and I thought I needed new clothing. So I called the style consultant to take me shopping.

Instead, she said, “Everything you need is hanging in your closet.” Then she named what I should wear to each separate event.

Hiring her is one of my best investments. Her teaching extends far beyond my wardrobe into every area of my life. Everything I need is right here. Right now.

Do What's Right for You

“Now tell me again why you are selling your car that you claim to love?” This question from a friend made me realize I was about to do something that wasn’t right for me.

Quite a few years ago someone taught me to surround myself with what I love—to save until I could afford what I truly wanted—to eliminate everything from my environment and my wardrobe that did not bring me joy.

I am always amazed by the buoyant feeling I have when I am surrounded by what I love. I decided to keep the car I love. My stepson wanted to buy his dad’s car. It was an effortless transaction. When it feels effortless, it’s usually right.

You write or draw it: Are you surrounded by what you love? What needs to go? What needs to come in?

FULFILLED

In meditation this morning, a word came to me. Fulfilled.

In mourning the unexpected death of my husband, I have been saying to myself, “Gone too soon.” Those words, full of resentment, perpetuate my grief and steal my energy to live my best life.

My husband’s life had been fulfilled. He had done everything he wanted to do. He had made a positive difference for other people. Two months before he died, he wrote a most beautiful message to me that said, in different words, “I am fulfilled.”

Therefore, I am content.

This Could Be the Last Snow of the Year

This could be the last snow of the year,

So I sit here to savor it.

Snow from branches falls in clumps

As sun so slowly warms it.

This could be the last snow of the year,

So I sit here to savor it.

You write it: What are you savoring today?

Managing Grief

For two and a half months I’ve been away from this blog, grieving my husband’s sudden, unexpected death. Only now am I ready to share what’s working for me as I step into my new reality. I share these ways that have brought me through difficult days and that I trust will carry me forward.

1. Express gratitude. For even the most basic things. Like running water. Oxygen. Blue sky.

2. Make a list, but don’t let it take charge. Let the items on the list “float” and do them when the timing seems right. Always be open for spontaneity and changing the list. Make progress. Keep moving forward.

3. Plan something to look forward to that involves being with people I love.

4. Pour love into everything.

5. Be open to spirit. Messages may come from beyond. Recognize and embrace them.

6. Meditate daily.

Gratitude and love are stronger than grief. The grief is still here, like an underground river. While it’s flowing and healing what needs to be healed, I keep my focus on gratitude for 26+ years of marriage and amazing experiences with a good man whom I deeply loved. I’m also grateful for this chair I’m sitting on right now.

Presence

Most of us have heard the admonition to “be in the moment.” What in the world does that mean? In twelve-step recovery groups, I’ve heard it said like this, “Be where your feet are.” I’m going through a major life change right now, and this morning, when I said to myself, “Be where your feet are,” it helped. That’s all I know.

You write or draw it: What keeps you in the moment and away from imaginings?