Christmas Morning

 

Christmas Morning

We celebrate Christmas as we like getting presents.  Who doesn’t? We don’t quite have the excitement to get out of bed to rush to check out what has been left under the tree.  At our age there are few surprises.  Still, the man grumbled a bit when I asked him to run a tub of water for my bath.

“But it is Christmas,” he said. 

Okay, there are surprises under the tree for him. I am probably the only one not too surprised at what is there for me. After all, I, carefully guide him to various little shops pick out what I want and left him in the caring hands of a friend working in one of the shops to wrap the goodies. Or as we shop for groceries and what nots, I place in the basket items of interest and once home, I place them strategically upon the bed for him to wrap.  

Once again, the age thing.  I admit I did not remember the details of some of things I had picked out over a month ago. Therefore, this morning, I was excited when I tore open some of the packages. This year, I neglected to pull out our stockings, the first time in 42 years. I had gotten them for our first Christmas together. There was a stuffed monkey in the man’s striped red and white stocking.  I don’t know what happened to the monkey but I remember the happiness of being with the one I loved on Christmas morning.

Each day is a blessing, a miracle reminding we do not have to wait until a special designated day to celebrate.  Let us celebrate the miracle of life. We are breathing. Enjoy.

On that note, here is something, I wrote over thirty years ago.

 

 Sleeping Under the Stockings

 

Sometimes the amount of excitement was so strong, that no coaxing could convince the children to crawl between the blankets.  It was after all, the magical night, the night before Christmas. Tired parents placed cozy blankets around the three children as they sat close to the glory of the dazzling tinseled tree.  There was no fire in the fireplace tonight for the children had begged for the jolly elf’s sake.   The house was warm for the fire had burned brightly all day.  In a second room, a pot-bellied black stove was banked and it would warm the house throughout the night.

            Stockings were hung on sturdy nails that were driven into the mantel.  Each one had been carefully knitted by grandmother with loving hands.  A plate of tempting molasses popcorn balls was placed on a three-legged wooden stool which sat close to the slowly cooling fireplace.  Carrots and apples sat on the floor, ready for the magical spirit to take to his waiting reindeer. 

            The mother and father kissed their beloved little girl and two boys, wishing the nodding heads sweet dreams.  The gas lights on the walls were turned down.  The soft remaining light gave the silvery clad tree a mystical beauty.  A beauty that seemed to grow and fill the room.  The sandman quickly took the children to the perfect dreamland. 

            Emily was first to awaken in the stillness of night.  She gazed at the beautiful tree and looked to see that the popcorn balls were safe on the wooden stool.  The room was glowing softly from the feebly burning gaslights on the walls.  The moonlight shone gently through the wooden paned windows to rest on the floor and rugs.  Emily stared at the moonlight coming in the windows and suddenly she sat up and rubbed her eyes with wonder.  In the moonlight, sitting on the floor was a small angel.

            Emily reached over to her right and pinched Ben awake.  Then she turned over to her left and pinched Shawn to wake him.   When that did not work, she pulled on his arm to shake him.  Both boys were groggy.  Emily whispered to them to be quiet and she pointed to the angel who was still sitting on the floor.

            The angel was glowing.  As the angel glowed the room became brighter and brighter until it was nearly as bright as the day. The angel was humming, softly as a light breeze through the tall lilacs that stood by the side of the house.  Standing up, the angel started to pirouette about the room and in the soft moonlight.  The children were entranced by the lightness of the angel’s movements and without knowing it they began to dance by the side of the heavenly being.  Their hearts were so light and filled with happiness that without knowing it, the children started floating in mid-air.   

They continued to dance for quite some time until the angel stopped with a sigh and sank into a graceful pile on the floor.  The children collapsed breathlessly next to the glowing creature of heaven. Carefully, Emily reached out her hand to touch the cheek of the angel.  The blessed being, laughed and stood up.  Then bending over, the angel kissed each of the children on the tops of their heads.  Placing a finger on its lips and nodding its head, the angel beckoned to the children to follow across the room to where the nativity scene was displayed on a low table by the window.  The lovely presence pointed to glowing display which sat in the moonlight.

Before the children’s eyes, the tiny figures became alive.  The figures started to grow until the room was filled and Emily, Ben, and Shawn watched with joy as Mary held in her arms the holy child.  Joseph, stood by her side, and welcomed the three wise men with their gifts.  In the stable, the soft lowing of cows and the bleating of the goats and sheep echoed the joy of the angelic choir that was softly singing Hallelujah.

It seemed to the children that the room had disappeared and that they were truly at the stable where the child slept peacefully in the manager where his mother Mary had placed him.  As they looked to the sky, the children saw the glory of the shining star of Bethlehem above the stable where the child was born. They kneeled in the straw with the angel at their side and gave the pure prayers of children in worship to God.  Their little hearts were filled with the holy love and joy of God.  The heavenly choir’s songs of joy grew louder and filled the children to the brim with peace.

The scene before the children grew dim, the holy figures grew small, and the nativity display sat once more upon the table in the soft moonlight.  The angel led sleepy children back to their beds on the floor and gently placed blankets about them.  Quickly, the little ones fell back to sleep and the angel kissed each one upon their foreheads. 

The divine angel stood up, and glowing into a brilliance that flooded the room began to fade away.  As the loving being faded away, the angel turned to the fireplace and winked at red clad gent who was leaving his wares beneath the tinseled tree and to those who were sleeping under the stockings.

 

 

 

 

A Watermelon's Second Life

 

A Watermelon’s Second Life

I was busy cutting up a watermelon and thinking about the drought, and my poor little tree in the front yard when it hit me. Watermelon, water, tree. I changed gears from putting the watermelon in the city compost bin to finely slicing the watermelon. I was going to water my tree with watermelon.  Of course, it is not the deep soak, a tree at the end of summer was needing but it was something, right? The water would drain out of the melon, into the grass and soil and somehow nourish the tree with life giving water. It took me five trips with my little filled blue bowl of watermelon slices, partially crawling under the tree bent over so I resembled the Hunchback of Norte Dame. I flung the precious cargo against the tree. By the end of my efforts with an aching back I wondered what I was doing. It was an act of love.

My husband's only remark was, “So you are fertilizing the tree.” Nothing about my noble and extensive effort to save a tree, feed the bugs and insects. “Well, the raccoons will like it,” was his final remark before he headed into the house. Some of us are the dreamers, the inspiration behind the dreams and others simply headed into a house for dinner.

Often, I find myself deep in philosophical thought and filled with a fantastic belief I can move mountains, save the world, work on changing the weather and without a doubt have another piece of chocolate. It happens in the kitchen. During the period of slicing my vegetables and working on cooking, I am filled with gratitude for the bounty before me. I delight in the colors of the different carrots, peppers, tomatoes, and sample them as I go. I marvel at the firm flesh of potatoes. I am grateful and I feel one with universe. I am in a Zen moment. 

The real magic happens at night as I start figuring out recipes in my mind as I rest in my bed waiting for sleep to overcome me. Not all are masterpieces, truthfully, none are anything to boast about, or share the ideas on Facebook. Simple, hearty, and healthy.  I wish my mind could always be so. There is so much excessive junk in the news. It can be wearing on the spirit.

Spirit, hmm, it is a mouthful whenever you say it or a brain overload when you think it. I believe it to be the real me. Not this body I am in. This blob of organs, muscles, and bones in a unique structure capable of being a miracle each day. Spirit, I am it somehow. Hidden like the redness of a watermelon beneath the green striped rind. The only difference is the watermelon doesn’t worry about what it is, it simply is. For the most part, I don’t worry either but it has taken over half a century for me to reach a point where I can say “This too shall pass.” In the end, I will be like a watermelon thrown beneath a tree undergoing a second life and it will be okay.

 

Eternal Sleep

 

There is a humble bumble asleep in one of the cosmos flowers. In a lovely pink one, the little creature rests on a petal. Or, at least it is what we thought. Three days later, the now named corpse is still there laying in silence. Untouched by the early morning mist, the light wind blowing, part of the bee must be glued on or somehow the flower, the pink cosmos is clinging to the bee’s remains as an afterthought, a tribute to a job well done in the fading days of summer.

It is appropriate the bee has spent its final moments on this beautiful flower with the symbolism of tranquility, peace, innocence, and love. Having picked a pink flower to rest in, enabled this little one to be in universal harmony.  I think it is lovely. Unfortunately, I don’t think I am going to find a large enough flower petal or petals to rest in to drift off into an eternal sleep. I am okay with the idea. Maybe some flowers in the room if I am aware before passing too far to the point of no return. Who knows in thirty years.

I went through a stage of wanting to rid my house and home of excess clutter and things. What I really needed was not to focus on anything. Our son will have to organize the party of getting stuff hauled away. I will be beyond caring. I do think of my beloved husband and hope he will not be the one dealing with the memories sacred only to me. As time passes, less and less is as valuable to me as simply breathing in and out and being aware of it. Miracles, I am surrounded by miracles.

I have taken up a new habit which does not have anything to do with breathing, meditation, or any other possible idea I have in order to involve myself to evolve, to grow, or become.  I am wearing a different pair of earrings each day. I feel a bit flirty. I like the swing of the long ones when I turn my head.  The man, my husband, asked me if the extra long wires of one pair poked me.  I told him they would if I napped in them. He would know this if he wore any. 

Being retired, I no longer dress for work, you know, a special haircut, earrings, a new blouse because it is fun to share with friends and co-workers. I decided I missed my earrings. I miss messing with my hair, braiding part of it with the rest loose and hanging.  So as part of my day, I think about what pair of earrings to wear. I will admit it will probably not be a daily thing.  As I sit here typing, I realized I had forgotten to select a pair for the day.  I got involved in chopping vegetables, figuring out what next to put in the soup pot, snacking on fresh ripe plums, nibbling on crisp bell peppers, and sipping a cup of tea as it cooled. I was busy. Almost as busy as our little friend, the bumble bee in the cosmos flower before the end. I am thinking of getting up and going to look for a pair of earrings to finished off the day but then there is the dishwasher to unload, I should probably wash the soup kettle, make another cup of tea and snack on the fresh wild blackberries a friend bought me.

Living my life is catching up with me. I could take a nap and then wait for the miracle of waking up.

Paths not Taken

 

Paths not Taken

Our life is a day-to-day thing.  We wake up if we are lucky, get out of bed, and go about our day.  But if we forget to sit for a moment on the edge of dream and wakefulness, we stumble, lurch, and sway our way to the bathroom, to the first cup of tea or coffee. We are unprepared.

I was unprepared this morning. I didn’t do the ritual of feet over the bed, rotating my ankles, breathing slow breaths and giving gratitude for being. I lost my way, thinking of only getting to the bathroom to pee.  It was unnecessary. My bladder was not full. I could have waited to equalize myself with the world and I would not have spun my way against the walls, the counter in the bathroom to sit down on the toilet.  Just so you know. I am unhurt, there is nothing wrong with my balance, my body but when you are not fully awake you forget how to operate in this so-called reality of dreams. Spirit does not recognize walls. It is after all myself, the wide awake being in this house of miracles' task to set the pace, to make the choices or not for the day. My body needs reminders.

I thought about the stumbling, my unorganized movements during my walk this morning.  Even the loud chatter of the birds did not disrupt my thoughts for maybe a minute. Yes, I gave the morning events before my walk a minute before my attention turned to cacophony of the birds in numerous trees greeting the day. I was equally rewarded by flowers wild and domestic blooming flowers, trees, and shrubs along the way. I thought of how each footstep was a blessing to the earth. I wonder how my blessings could reach the essence of the Mother through the concrete sidewalk until I remember the sand, the rock, the water it takes to make the structures are part of the earth.  I smiled, I walked, I blessed.

Sometimes, I think about the paths not taken, beneath shady trees, along darken roads, places where my path was unclear but somehow, I walked through, I gained ground.  I am still gaining ground. I am adjusting my thoughts, forgetting, and forgoing the stuff thrusted upon me.  How I should be, what I can or not do?  I found a lovely thought.  If I do not get it done now, I will continue down another life among the paths not taken.

Huh, the Things They don't tell you

 

Huh, the Things They don't tell you

This is about personals. If you are shy, easily offended, or just do not want to go there, move on.

I was greatly disturbed a few weeks ago when I realized I was going to be sixty-nine years old. Why? I do not know. I haven’t been worried about the other birthdays; the other age groups now past. It is just well, things are not happy, you know, down there. I figured it was just other thing to annoy me on a day-to-day basis. Now I find out by flipping tv channels, it is an age thing.  On The Drew Barrymore Show was a medical doctor answering questions about important stuff.  A television show actress asked the question about well, down there.  Dryness, irritation, itchiness, and general discomfort.  Bingo! I was winning on all fronts. And it could be helped. 

I disregarded the hormone creams, particularly after looking at the supermarket at things inserted into the depths. Nope, not what I was looking for.  Which meant, it was time to head to the internet to search for natural remedies.  Well, hello.  Aloe Vera.  I got up and walked over to my recently transplanted Aloe.  I started talking to her since this was to be a group effort and to simply prepare the plant for a trimming job. I explained mother was sorry but I needed to try something new and it required a small donation.  I figured I would start with what was close to hand in my house, the plant, olive oil in the kitchen and though I searched there was no coconut oil to be found. No problem, I could see it clearly on the shelf at the store in my mind and would pick it up later. I won’t go into the details of the Aloe Vera experience but the results were immediate.  Comfortable and happy. I am glad to report equal success with both the olive oil and the coconut oil. Plants are food and medicine.

Now for the other thing.  I am happy to be approaching the end of another year.  I can’t complain. I kept waking up. I am still here.  

 Celebrating National Women's Day

My husband and I just finished a movie, "Women Talking" and it reminded me of a short story I had published in an anthology many, many years ago.  I thought it was relevant for the day.  Here it is for your reading.  

 

Learning to Fly 

Opal wore long stockings and long sleeves with her long dress.  A scarf covered her head.  All the other girls and the women wore the same wrappings.  All the women changed their clothes in a small dark room that was in each house.  Everyone always changed alone. No one smiled or laughed unless you were not a girl or woman.  Opal’s memories were of silence since no one was allowed to talk with another unless you were not a girl or a woman.

            One day, something wonderful happen to Opal.  A small white feather floated down from the sky and landed on the back of her hand.  It tickled and Opal felt a stirring in her heart.  A shudder ran up from her hand to her body.  The corner of her lips started to turn upwards in a smile.  A small laugh came out; it sang like chimes in the wind.  Opal looked around.  No one had seen the feather or heard her laughter.  The girl gently covered the feather with her hand and wondered.

            One day when the men and the boys left the town to do whatever they did, Opal did a brave thing.  She took the feather and walked down to the river.  She removed her shoes and stockings and touched her feet and legs

with the feather.  It tickled.  Her lips smiled and the small laugh returned, tinkling like bells hung on a string Opal removed her scarf and a little breeze played on her hair.  Another laugh struggled out.  Her long dress followed her scarf and remained on the ground.  Opal held the feather in one hand and stretched her arms up to the sky.  She felt different.

            The girl noticed for the first time the soft hair on her arms and legs.  The wind felt delicious as it blew across her body.

            Opal was smiling and laughing.  She was unaware of the girls and women that were huddled in a group near her.  Their eyes were full of awe and confusion.  They came closer.  The soft “ohs” coming from their throats began to grow into a long note of joy as they began to remove their wrappings.  The air was filled with flowing hair and singing laughter.  The girls and women surrounded Opal in a large circle and joined hands.  They felt different.

            They were unaware of the men and boys who were beginning to stand around them.  Their faces were full of dismay and anger.  They wanted to stop the women. They shouted.  Opal and the girls and the women began to sway and to dance in their circle.  They could not see the men’s and boys’

anger or hear their shouting.  The songs of joy were so loud that the men and boys put their hands over their ears to keep from hearing the songs.

            Opal grew brighter and taller, the girls and women grew brighter and taller.  The men and the boys covered their eyes to keep from seeing the girls and women grow brighter.  Opal and the girls and the women grew brighter.  They were different.  They marveled that they could feel so light and felt themselves slowly drift upward into the sky.  The men and the boys cried for them to return but Opal and the girls and the women drifted higher into the sky, for they were different and learning to fly.

As I shared this I am filled with gratitude I have been loved and cherished for all of my life by both men and women in my immediate family and treated with kindness by other men who came briefly into my life.  I am a miracle.  I am strong.  I am complete and I am enough.  

Reflections of Light

 

Reflections of Light

 

Sometimes we are reminded of the light of the world when we see it shining in front of us. I live in Oregon where most of our days during a normal year is overcast if not rainy. So, it is a really a delight to experience the light of the sun streaming in the windows illuminating the carpet on the floor, showing the dust on bookcases, bits of lint and what-not on various surfaces untouched and forgotten by a cleaning rag or the swoosh of the vacuum. 

It was one such day this January when I walked into the kitchen to find bands of light on my kitchen cupboards. I was transfixed. I stood unmoving, not breathing for fear of it disappearing before I grasped all its beauty and warmth. It bought to the front of my mind other days of light and sunshine and I sank into the moment being present. I did not worry about outside the kitchen, outside my door, in the neighborhood, across the bridge, the ocean or anywhere. A bit of the light hit my back and though I couldn’t see the light I felt its gentle warmth. A slightly surprised warmth being drawn from millions of miles to me at this moment lingering without an agenda as if it was saying, “So there you are.”

It is hard in this present day world to find a light, a purpose with so much being thrown in the thought cloud of the world. Thought cloud, I like that. I try and adjust my thought cloud on a day-to-day basis. I work on the little thoughts. Letting them come and go until I find something I like or think I like. It is hard to tell sometimes. Particularly, when so many of the thoughts are twirling and whirling about. They are restless, some are lonely, others passionate with some screaming to be heard. I try to let them settle, to find a safe corner, a high pinnacle, to hide until they are ready. 

The important thing for me is to let them, my wayward thoughts know they are loved, the experiences we shared are all good as we have survived, we exist and just like the light on cupboards we have our moments in the sun and it is glorious.