Humbled

 I spent yesterday scrubbing my house and getting ready for my neighborhood's Civic Association meeting, which I was hosting.  I was expecting between 10-15 people--and who better to talk up my house to everyone they know who is looking than people who already live in the neighborhood?  I prepared as if it was an Open House but with food.  I went grocery shopping and made my own gorgeous antipasti plates, heaped with cheeses and fruits and painstakingly rolled cold cuts and cheeses... I farmed Jane out to a play date (She was blissfully happy but I, naturally, felt very guilty because that's just what I do) and made Ana help me. I cleaned the whole house, did all of the laundry, windexed all surfaces, stashed clutter, etc. When I tell you my Obsessive Compulsiveness was in full bloom, I am, for once, not exaggerating.

My foot was really hurting but I felt like I had to treat this like a marketing event.  We've had no traffic at all since the Open House this past weekend.

Two people showed up. TWO.  One of whom is a neighbor.  The other is the editor of the neighborhood newsletter for which I do the design and layout each month.

We had a good time and I held it together but afterward, when they'd left, I got teary.  All that work, all that expense, all this pain --for nothing. I was embarrassed to have made such a big deal out of something that really wasn't. My husband was so kind to me.  He gave me a big hug and resorted to the Ultimate Measure of Manly Comfort: the fishing metaphor.  "Sometimes you fish all day and never catch anything.  I hope you had at least a little fun fishing."

I went upstairs to bed about 10:00 and could see Ana (12) still awake in her bed.  I went in to kiss her goodnight, still with tears in my eyes. I explained that I was disappointed and embarrassed and felt sort of silly and sad.

She got out of bed and hugged me and looked at me with great concern as she walked me to my bedroom.

"Wait," she said.  "Don't go anywhere."

She disappeared into her room and came running back with a fresh, unused notebook and a blue Flair pen (my favorite writing pen at the moment).

"Here, Mom," she said. "Write about it.  That's what I do to feel better when I'm sad."

And the best part?

She said, "I learned that from you."

Sometimes the gentle butterfly wings of grace and generosity in my life beat such a rush of gratitude and love that it literally topples me over.

I'm living in that today--in the gentle grace of the amazing person I am lucky enough to call my daughter.

Impatience

I have been scarce.

My husband and I have been wrestling with big decisions lately and after much deliberation and back and forth, we've decided to put our house on the market. We have been really busy spiffing and shining and running amok and, while it is certainly impossible to live anywhere but in the present when resembling a headless chicken, it is very hard to live MINDFULLY.

So, the glory of a new day and a new beginning. Today, I am going to listen to the third session of my on-line course with Geneen Roth (since I was so tired during the live session that I couldn't stay awake until the end) and I'm going to focus on slowing down and being in the moment.

Just now, I took the dogs outside to throw the ball for them and tire them out and I stood among my garden beds and felt this unbelievable impatience as I looked at all of the green tomatoes and the tiny ears of corn. I want home grown garden produce NOW!!

It's a good metaphor for life in the modern world that I want everything fast and on demand. I'd love to be whole and healthy and thin and at peace and I want it all NOW. But Nature knows better, see. Nature knows that everything happens in season and when we mess with growing times and fake additives, you get tasteless tomatoes and genetically modified corn that may or may not kill you sooner.

Everything in its own time. That's my focus today.

Perennials

I have such a good metaphor for today!  I love it when my garden gives me visual aids.

See this?

Those were a total surprise to me this year.

Last year, I planted some lilies after buying one of those foil wrapped little containers of them for my kitchen table.  Once the blooms were spent, I planted them into a pot that was full of annuals and promptly forgot about them.

Until they started poking their little heads out of the dirt in early April this year.

I've been watching them ever since. I've tended them and weeded them and given them a bit of plant food.

Today, they look like this:

It seems to me that Nature herself is reminding me of resilience and renewal. And also? Reminding me that I, too, am a perennial.

Today, I'm going to focus on remembering that I am worth a little care and tending in order to continue to bloom year after year.

Promises Kept

I think my heart may have grown two sizes today.

Somehow-- amidst all that is broken in me, and a world with oil spills, and the inhumanity of people who are often armed with guns-- the fact that my garden is giving me the promise of this tiny green tomato has filled me with hope.

Today, I am going to live inside that hope. I'm going to return to it whenever I feel knocked back. 

Today, I choose hope.

Rest

I spent a great deal of yesterday just resting.

I had a lot to do but since I was in so much pain, I was kind of wiped out so I just rested.

Today, I am still in a bit of pain, but nothing like yesterday and apparently, my sense of humor and appreciation for the absurdity of life is intact again.

It's something to think about, this idea of actually resting.  Our world and lives are so crazy and there is so little downtime.  I think we need it. I KNOW I do.

I wonder what ways I can build rest into my lifestyle so it doesn't take a day of pain to make me slow down?

Shards

It was stormy and windy last night and when I came down this morning, our umbrella was by the side of the house and our patio table had blown over, dumping all of its contents on the stone pavers. The delicate pots of impatiens I had planted were broken, the luminarias were strewn about, a small blue vase that my daughters used to gather fallen buds from the trees had shattered.

I felt...sick. Honestly, it looked like some horrible act of destruction had been wreaked on my little patio.

I sat with my coffee and felt so sad.

Resigned, I put on my sneakers and I went out to address the carnage.

I righted the table and chased the umbrella.  I picked up the chairs and stepped back.  Really, the mess wasn't so bad.  I picked up the luminarias and then found that the only really damage was the two Italian ceramic pots that held impatiens.

(Warning: Big Metaphor for Life Ahead:)  Isn't it amazing that what seemed like an insurmountable, depressing tragedy turned out to be only a small bit of damage under scrutiny?  And that by taking each piece of the mess and examining what needed to be done to each piece, the work needed to reclaim my patio was actually not so overwhelming?

Today, I'm going to concentrate on taking baby steps in reclaiming the joy of my life.

Rain

It's a rainy and humid day here and I couldn't be more excited.

Instead of letting the gray invade my very soul today, I am concentrating on what all of this gentle rain is doing for my garden. On my way to drive my daughters to their schools, I imagined the grateful conversations of the flowers and grass.  (This is VASTLY different from hearing voices in one's head.  No.  Really.  I don't actually think the shrubbery talks--I was just imagining what it would say if it COULD. See, not crazy.)  (Much.)

Isn't it amazing how one's mindset determines so much of the day's outcome?  On days like today, nothing can keep me down.  On other days that may look exactly the same as today, I find it hard to get out of bed and every single raindrop is an annoyance.  I think the trick may be figuring out how to get to this mindset ON PURPOSE.

Eyes

We've had house guests this weekend.

The best sort of house guests--old friends coming for some male bonding time with my husband.  It was the first time they'd been to our house in New York.

Somehow, seeing the house through their eyes made me even more appreciative of the home we've made here.  It's just spectacular weather here, too, which adds to the expansive feeling of contentment.

I'm going to try to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible and capture it for those days when my contentment is hard to find.

Phoebe

There is this fabulous live web camera trained on a hummingbird in California named Phoebe.

I got interested in her back in February because she had laid two eggs and it seemed like the world was waiting for them to hatch.  One egg proved nonviable and the other chick died trying to hatch.

So Phoebe laid two more eggs.

Those eggs were stolen by a crow.

So Phoebe laid two more eggs.

Those eggs hatched this week.

I almost couldn't bear to watch.  My heart was just broken after the first eggs I saw and I was worried the whole event would send me right over the edge and into depression.

But Phoebe, see, she never gave up.  She didn't let her past sorrows get in the way of being fully present and trying again.  The past can't hurt Phoebe. The past is past.

And now the world is richer by two little hummingbirds.

Today, I'm going to remember that the past is in the past, and the only way it can hurt me is if I let it. I'm going to just keep moving forward.

(Photo of Phoebe from her Facebook page.)

Forgiveness

Yesterday was not my best day.

I didn't succeed in living mindfully, in treating my body as worthy of my care, nor in letting go of past mistakes. My inner turmoil spilled out, spoiling a perfectly good day.

Today I'm going to embrace the concept of renewal and rebirth that is inherent in each new day.  What a blessing to have a chance every morning* to begin again!  I'm so grateful for the sunshine and another chance to sow some happiness.

How will we make today better than yesterday?

(*My daughter Ana once said, "I LIKE mornings --I just wish they started later.")