Swimming in the Currents

Lately I've been struck with how the smallest things can create blocks and dams in the currents of our lives. It is a challenge to trust and keep moving forwards, or, perhaps more apt, to keep the pathways clear and open and then just hold on and stay afloat on our little rafts of living. My granna would suggest in her dry, Welsh way, that if we never fell out of the boat, we'd never learn to swim and that currents make us stronger. Think about salmon.

My mum would say, "Just get wet! Jump in and let it wash over, under and through you!" (Which is how she has lived her life)

Either way, I am trying to listen to them both. And rather than just carefully putting in one toe, just diving in and seeing where the currents take me. Fortunately, I've always been a strong swimmer.

Local Library

My computer died a quiet death yesterday. I was less than pleased, to say the least. As a writer, it seems impossible to exist without the darn thing. I can say that for all I love living in Nature, writing, theatre, the classics and cannot live without Shakespeare, I'd "grown accustomed to the face" of my loyal laptop. I went through the usual panic of "did I back up?!" then hit the anger aspect of "stupid technology!" before coming to a kind of acceptance.

And what I discovered was how perfectly delightful it can be to go to the local library. The delicious smell of thousands of books. The hushed tones of people reading, studying, learning.

The Librarian was so helpful and kind and now I am writing this from the center of the library, surrounded by tomes and tomes of books. I am working on a perfectly (if somewhat impersonal) computer, and am reminded of how much I love libraries.

I will eventually fix the old girl at home or (sniff*) get a new one. But for now, I am reminded how to be flexible, to seek out the adventure of a solution rather than wallowing in the muck and mire that can be self perpetuating. And to top it all off, I'm going to wander the rows and rows of books, breathing in all that booky perfume and maybe even check a few out.

Moon Day

I have always loved Mondays. I am aware that this is not necessarily a popular point of view. I know people who refer to Monday as "Moanday" and perhaps that rings true for them.

For me, Mondays are fresh and new with a whole week ahead, for better or worse, filled with the daily flotsam and jetsam of living. The infant day of the week as it begins to age towards the wise and mature Sunday. I love the romance of the name. The origin of Monday came from Moon Day or the day the Goddess of the Moon was honored.

But honestly, I just love beginnings. A clean slate. An empty stage. A blank page. That moment when anything is possible. When something is about to begin. It takes my breath away.

A little bit of earth

In The Secret Garden Mary Lennox asks for a "little bit of earth." I think we all need a spot of our own. Our own secret garden. A place where we can give our imagination full rein.

I remember watching my wise, Welsh Granna in her garden. She would sing and hum and it felt enchanted to me. I would hide behind the elephant ears and ferns and she would pretend to lose me to the fairies.

Her daughter, my grandmummy, was also a gardener. There was always a wild riot of color and scent. And I admit I used to eat her roses. I was a wee thing and I cannot explain why. Only perhaps than growing up with these women saying I was a fairy child might have had something to do with it. That and I loved them. Still do. Something about that fragrant tang on my tongue.

My mum, also loves to put her hands in the earth. As an adult, I still thrill to watch her capable hands, dirt under her nails, face alight with a kind of Grace.

And so I try to live up to these women. And yesterday, found myself buying two pots of bright daisies for my mum which I will plant today in her garden while she conducts me as expertly as if she were conducting a symphony. And the music of her garden will continue to soar and heal and make magic. And if we're very lucky, perhaps a fairy or two will come and visit.

Spin Cycle

I've had insomnia off and on since I was 10. Usually due to too many ideas swirling around in my mind. A proverbial spin cycle. Not always good, nor always bad. But after all that spinning, I would snatch the hour or two of sleep and awaken dizzy to my bones. These days (or should I say nights) it might be due to thoughts regarding a rehearsal or a script. A writing deadline or a snarky character in a story that won't present himself. Or, more recently, worry about my mum. Working and re-working all the variables and possibilities. But this isn't a story I am writing. I don't know what to expect around the next corner.

This morning was another dizzy morning. Deeper than my bones. I know there will be more. But my heart is swollen with love for my mum today. Stretching past all the old scar-tissue of heart ache and break.

This morning I watered my mum's garden while she coached from the side-lines, careful to do it just so.

This morning we laughed at the antics of her cat without the inevitable wince of pain in her eyes.

This morning I am exactly where I am meant to be. Dizzy or no.

All in good time...

There are few things I love more than watching ferns unfurl. It's as if tiny little hands are unclenching, opening, reaching. The ferns on my woody ramble have all been waking up. Well, it's about time, I want to say. We are in June, after all. Still, it's another lesson in patience. (It's an on going lesson for me)

I used to hate it when my Granna would say, "All in good time." What did that mean? I was an eager child who would plant seeds and then watch the earth for hours, waiting. Waiting. Still waiting. And then some more waiting. And ever yet more waiting. I drove my poor family mad, I'm sure. And then I would explode at the first sight of a sprout, joyous, leaping. (It's a miracle they ever let me in the garden)

Now as I watch the ferns, I know they will open in the right amount of time. Just like any of us. We are all unfurling, some more quickly than others, but all, decidedly at our own pace. In our own good time. Whatever that means.

Sunday Musings

Emily Dickinson wrote: "Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul. And sings the tune; Without the words; And never stops at all.

I would like to think that Hope could also have paws or hooves. That the healing power that emanates from our feathered and furry friends is so powerful that it can be life altering.

Gomez the horse simply IS. He's in the moment. He teaches me to just stay present. To trust.

And that regardless of what happens in all our tomorrows, our souls can fly or run or gallop.

And that Hope is always here, keeping me company.

After The Rain

After a heat wave, when the air becomes a living, fire-breathing thing, a summer rain is the most exquisite kind of gift. Though I think my favorite part is actually just after the rain stops. How the lilacs out my window just seem to lift and reach. How they shake off the water and create a kind of floral dance, swaying back and forth, sending out their sun and rain drenched scent. And soon there are bumblebees everywhere!

I have to remember this when life sends the Perfect Storm into my world. When I worry about my Mum's health and well-being. When I wonder if I am doing enough. When the pressures begin to weigh in their opinions. Whether or not I asked for them.

I can be like the lilacs and the bumblebees and lift. And reach. And dance.

Sunrise

There is an elfin quality to those moments just before dawn. A subtle shifting of light and air as if all the magical beings of the night are rustling back to their hiding places. This morning I watched the sun rise and felt surrounded by my thoughts and an unshakable conviction that today was a new day without any mistakes in it. (Which I have to admit is a favorite quote from Anne of Green Gables). And don't we all long for a new day, a clean slate, a fresh beginning? The flowers know and open themselves daily to the sweetness of the sunrise. The birds greet the day with abandon and the rooster down the way vocally stakes out his territory every morning. How will you greet your day? I hope it offers you everything your dreams hinted at minutes before the light changed.

Believing in miracles

Today as I think about things, I am struck with how there are miracles everywhere, raining delicious all around us. A baby's first words, a mother's tireless love, hearing music a certain way with new meaning. And who can argue the miraculous nature of a tiny blossom turning into a delectable treat? As Spring sheds her petals and makes room for Summer's fruit, there are infant berries everywhere I look! Keep an eye out. You will see miracles in the everyday-ness of an otherwise ordinary Wednesday.

June is here!

There is something so lovely and lazy about June that makes one feel the softness of summertime mornings will last forever. My darling cat, Feste, keeper of all secrets, is right here helping me. He's very interested in what I am doing. The sky opened this morning to fluffy clouds chasing one another across the sky and a full opera of bird song out my window. An excellent day to take a ramble up the mountain to look for fairy rings.