Two 2-Minute or Less Stories

1. For my cat, a call to action: the opening of the fridge door.

2. Today at lunch for a treat, I decided to purchase a tea at a local Tim Hortons. Typically, I would make my own cup of tea at work if I wanted some, but I had forgotten to bring a small amount of cream from home. I ordered a medium-sized tea with bag in and with cream. I got: a white creamy liquid with no evidence of tea colour whatsoever--even after it steeped for 30 minutes! Is there such a thing as a faulty tea bag? As I sat at my desk thinking to myself, what a waste, the idea occurred to me: I made my own cup of tea in-house, then, when ready, poured some of the cream-saturated cup of faulty tea from Tims' into my new cup. The result was for me a "just right" cup of tea, a rather expensive creamer, and a creative solution.

Best wishes to you.

Quotable friends

"There will always be tea," as said today by M.

the popularity of fresh flowers

Yesterday, two black birds wandered through the yard pecking for food. One flew away. The other, before departing, picked a sprig of forget-me-knots from the garden, like a small bouquet, then took to flight transporting it by beak. 

Begin

To write a blog post, or write, or gain increased flexibility, or start a relationship, or learn more about something, you have to begin. So I will do that here--begin--after another month away from posting, and offer you three possibly disparate things. Although, likely they also share threads of connection. If you see one, consider posting what you find. I'm interested to hear your ideas.

Here we go:

1. In March perhaps, I watched an engaging, courageous, creative documentary on copyright and remix culture. It is called, RiP: A Remix Manifesto, written and directed by Canadian, Brett Gaylor. You can watch for free on the web--just follow this link.

2. Tweenbots. I discovered this via someone posting it on a list-serve I am on. Curious? Click here.

3. A quote of words that a friend sent me in a little note today. I had heard it before, perhaps several years ago, and it was excellent to receive it again. (I offer my thanks.) These are words one might benefit from reading each day upon waking and each evening, or when self-doubt or sadness stops by, swimming or storming in.

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. --Martha Graham.

Yesterday, I pondered the question:

What is the best that could happen?

how many fingers?

Yesterday, I went for a long walk in the amazing spring weather Kingston was enjoying. It was not a fancy walk to an exotic location. Rather a simple walk a number of times around a dirt track near where I live. That was just fine: to walk along at a leisurely pace and reflect and enjoy the sun and take in the scenes around me. These were scenes that included many people out walking their dogs--or visiting with each other while their dogs played and tumbled about. A young girl, age four fingers and two thumbs, slowly approached walking with her beautiful, tan-coloured dog. Unfortunately, I forget the dog's name although I was introduced. (I'll use a substitute name here.) I smiled in her direction. She asked, "Would you like to pet my dog, Natasha?". I was honoured of course. The dog, as it turned out, was eight fingers, two thumbs, and two more fingers old--and appeared very gentle, wise, and serene.

On my second attempt...

This is the second whole chicken I have cooked in my life. The first, I cooked about a year ago. It turned out in such a way that it left lots of room for improvement. Today's, however, turned out great. I suspect I would have made my great-grandmother proud--although she might have wondered what took me so long.

Roasting this bird brought me a lot of satisfaction and I wondered why. I enjoy cooking, so that may be what it was about. But I suspect there are at least two other factors: one, I got to experience the thrill of doing something new(er) and the satisfaction that comes from accomplishment and having moved significantly along a learning curve; and two, it was an accomplishment or "contribution" that was concrete, unlike a significant percentage of the work I do as a psychotherpaist working with others: this is work that is satisfying and wonderful for me but it can also seem somewhat elusive or intangible at times, difficult to "see" (or show) the work I have done. I do see it but it's not the kind of work where I can say, "see that gorgeous painting or that product or that sidewalk? I did that." And, by the way, that's okay, and I also have many lovely stories, concrete in their own right. At the end of the day, it's nice for me to be able to experience both: to operate in the realms of the tangibles, like the roast chicken, the workshops I develop (then teach), the garden and in the realm of the intangibles, the things you cannot pick up with your hands but you can know just the same in your heart.

Coming back to the bird, with thanks to people who provided resources on the internet for others to benefit from:

• the recipe I used for roasting the chicken can be found by clicking here for "Bacon Roasted Chicken" at allrecipes.com (I read some others' comments on the site and modified the recipe a little bit)
  
• a brief lesson in carving a chicken--something I was also needing--can be found in this video, the first one I came across, which made it look easy enough (and it was).
  

And also with thanks to my mom--who gave me the bird to roast--picking it up on a buy one, get one free special. She was a guest for the meal of my first bird--the one that didn't turn out so well, and she and those present ate it graciously and helped supportively. I suppose, giving me another bird to try could be a way of saying "you need more practice" but really, I think it was more a way of saying, "here is some food as a gift," "I got a great deal," and also "I believe in you."

Inspired? Try roasting your own chicken--or, if you are a pro at chickens (or have no desire to cook or eat such a thing), try out something you haven't done before--just for the thrill of it... I'll invite you to consider also how you might in the coming week offer to someone else a gift of nourishment, kindness, or the gift of conveying, "I believe in you". Then, to do this in some concrete way, however large or small.

I am celebrating much today, including the sun that is shining gloriously and unexpected, the spring bulbs that are bursting green sprouts through the soil, friends, kindness, baby steps, and growth...

Best wishes to you.

Tracy

My cat circles the coffee table counter-clockwise...

For at least a few months now, my beautiful, loving, aging white cat has developed a new peculiarity. In my home, the main daytime living area aside from my workspace is a medium to large sized rectangular room divided into two by function. Approximately one half of the room (the south) is dedicated to the kitchen and the other half of the room (the north) is dedicated to the living room. It is in the north half of that room where you will find in my home a blue loveseat that was passed on to me from family who no longer needed it, and a few feet in front of that, a solid wood coffee table (I think it is oak) that was also passed along.

Sadie, my cat, has had many favourite lounging places over the months and years. These seem to change like seasons with old ones fading and new ones coming into view. (This, to me, is similar to some of my own preferences and habits that stay for a while, then fade, with new ones inevitably emerging.) Lying on a cushion on the loveseat or on the back of it, on either the north or south side, has been among those favoured places in Sadie's repertoire over time. Currently, it is the back of the loveseat that draws her interest more than the seat. Why she prefers this, I do not fully understand, since it is cooler up top, being right beside the west facing window against which the winter winds routinely blow. (In contrast, my own preference is to largely avoid sitting on the loveseat for leisure during winter as I find I often feel chilled while sitting there.)

Sadie's current preference for the back of the couch, however, is not the peculiarity. It is the method that has evolved for her getting there. Before making an ascent from the hardwood floor, she circles the coffee table counter-clockwise...several times. She saunters around the table's perimeter and when she arrives at the south side of the loveseat she pauses and looks up toward the seat or the back. I am not sure what happens internally at that point but most often she continues on her walking way, circling the coffee table's perimeter again, then pauses and looks up, then circles again. My observations have not been astute enough to determine if she circles the table the same number of times each time before jumping onto the loveseat or if the number varies.

What this routine is about, I have no idea, though I am intensely curious. Is she assessing when it is the right time to jump? Has she set a goal to get more exercise and these are some of her strategies to do so, something like baby steps in the implementation of the total goal? Is it a feline method of paying homage to... to what?

What are your thoughts? I invite you to share your own hypothesis or explanation for this. All creative, funny, moving, and scientific ideas are welcome.

January greetings!

A Mini Holiday

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of spending time in a toy store. I was on a mission to find an adult-sized hula hoop and had been told this was the place to go. Mission accomplished. I was also looking to find a badminton racquet or two and birdies to supplement my collection. This took me wandering throughout the store. I loved the outdoor games and toys section. This made me miss working at an outdoor centre and camps. There are so many fun things to do outside and toys to play with! I love to play–for me the simple things are just fine. Playing catch in any number of ways, tossing a flying disc around, badminton without a net, horseshoes… Last night, friends were over for a potluck. Sitting in the backyard over good food and conversation, playing catch, badminton (with some raquets that ended up not working too well) was wonderful. The trip to the toy store and subsequent play felt like a mini-vacation–something I haven’t had enough of for quite some time and also crave. On the topic of nourishment and sustenance, it seems to me we need this so much. I look forward to the next gathering for outdoor visiting and play. For those of you in Kingston wanting to practice your hula hooping finesse or play catch with one of those velcro mitts, stop by or drop me a line!

Olive Oil, Fizzy Pop

While purchasing groceries yesterday, there was an older gentleman standing in line behind me. He had grey hair, a grey moustache that curved up at the ends and a combination of grocery cart items that intrigued me. His purchase consisted of approximately half a dozen 2 litre bottles of pop (something like sprite with lemon flavour) and approximately half a dozen 750 mL to 1 L bottles of extra-virgin olive oil. Nothing more, nothing less. I couldn’t help but wonder: what was the story that went along with that? Your thoughts?

Five Breaths

My invitation to you today is this:

Pause.
In this moment, where you are, as you are.
Notice the sound and feel of your own breath breathing.
Tune in.

What sounds do you hear right now?

What colours do you see around you? What shapes? What textures?

Notice the feel of air on your skin.

Take 5 breaths here while still, while listening, while tuning in…

Bloom

Sometime between when I went to bed last night and when I awoke this morning, these daffodil blooms opened in my yard. I wondered: did they open during the cool and dark of night, or this morning, when the first sliver of sunlight reached out in to the day?

Why Black Umbrellas?

This is a question I ponder from time to time. How has it come to be that on dark, grey, or otherwise overcast, rainy days, so many people are in the habit of pulling out their black umbrellas? Why not red, or purple, or yellow, turquoise, sunny orange, or that gorgeous spring green? I wonder, what might be the impact of adding more drab to all the drab that already exists on such grey days? Of course, for those who do give consideration to this, perhaps sometimes a black umbrella just feels right, maybe reflects some heavy weather in a person’s heart. If this were so, and people consciously chose a black umbrella for occasions limited to when their cells were laden with sadness or suffering, then perhaps, it could be a kind of signal to others–to send some extra comfort or love or warmth their way, for others to offer an encouraging word. For times when suffering or sadness is dominant but we are trying to hold hope, too, maybe a black umbrella with a small spot of colour or colours would be fitting, with the colour acting as a reminder or declaration in faith that there is also colour or the possibility of that–whether we can feel it or believe it that day or not.

Yesterday, was one of those rainy, grey days outside off and on. At one point, I noticed a group of about four people walking together, a unit of people. What I noticed first was their umbrellas. There were red, yellow, blue, and purple umbrellas (or maybe it was green?) huddled happily together as in a bouquet and bopping along. No black. I wondered if this was intentional among them, if they have considered this umbrella quandary, too, and decided to take rectifying action.

A few weeks’ ago, I observed a phenomenon that had a similar effect and was undoubtedly completely intentional. It pertained to a group of joggers running along a city side road one grey Saturday morning. Each one wore a different colour of jacket; all were vibrant in hue. After allowing some traffic to pass, they moved into formation, lining up side by side across the width of the road. There was, in sequence: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple–a complete rainbow. How wonderful, I thought. This buoyed up my spirits and made me smile. I am very curious to know the story behind the jackets and the group. If you know, do send the story along!

You Make A Difference

A colleague sent me the following link today. It is to a short movie well worth watching. I offer thanks to my colleague for thinking of me and sending this along, thanks to the creators of the film–and to each of you, I offer a blue ribbon.

http://www.BlueRibbonMovie.com

Turning Points

A initial title idea for this week’s post, “The Snow Is Melting!” came to me earlier in the week as a lot of snow transformed and receded from view (and my sump pump worked over time in response). This morning, though, after rereading the quote now on the chalkboard, the idea of “turning points” settled in, such that that is what the title (and theme) of this week’s post will be. I suppose there can be a relationship between these two, with the melting snow feeling as a kind of turning point.

Of course, depending on where you live, you may not have snow, or the snow you have may not be going away. I heard briefly on the radio this morning that northern Ontario is forecast to get up to 25 centimeters of snow and that a winter storm warning is in effect for the region. I wondered how I might feel today if I was facing a few hours of snow shoeveling ahead of me? Hopefully, I’d take it in stride but I can see that as the snow is melting so is my winter activities mindset. I wonder if this will be the last post for a while in which I mention snow? Yesterday, I did a small amount of work in the garden (cutting back old stalks). It wouldn’t surprise me if these sorts of things become a “regular guest” on the blog for a while.

In my work, I have the opportunity to witness over and over again turning points in people’s lives. I find this deeply moving, something very special and almost beyond words in its impact. I see these turning points in my own life, too, and in friends and others around me when given the opportunity and having the awareness to see. When I speak of turning points this morning, I am thinking of the full range from those that are very subtle to those quite clear and overt, from those that may seem more temporary to those that may seem more permanent (although I might add here I am reluctant to describe things that way). I am thinking also of the things that can contribute to a turning point. These can be virtually anything really: something a person notices on the street, a line they read in a book, a health issue, a song, something a friend or stranger says, the way a tree bends and how it speaks to them, a trip, a physical challenge or activity, a loss… on and on the possibilities go. Sometimes, the things themselves are subtle. We can’t quite put our finger on what they were. There was just something…

When I first read the line a month or two ago that Bill Schefell wrote in Loving Kindness Meditation (2003, p. 10), of how sometimes just to remember loving kindness can support a turning point within us, that is exactly what happened. It connected me again to something very calm and loving and that deep desire to love. This would be an example of a turning point on a small scale, one of the thousands of these inner shifts that can occur in a day, a week, a lifetime. In a small scale but no less poignant way, it offered me renewal, and, in a sense, nourishment for my conviction.

I would love to hear about things that have contributed to a turning point within you. I envision a collection of stories gathered here to inspire and give goosebumps–potential “turning point material” to another as needed. Please feel free to provide a story, a quote, a song, and thus build this collection, by adding a comment to this post.

May you have turning points of hope and renewal this week, exclusively or amidst anything else you may be facing or may come your way.

Today, on the second day of spring...

Today, on the second day of spring, I visited the tree from last week’s post and took a photograph. According to the forecast, the wind chill made it feel like about -7 degrees Celsius today. With my face in the wind, I’d say it felt colder. With my face out of the wind, the sun felt warm. I thought of the transformations happening and the transformations to come. I also met a lovely Newfoundlander dog named Parker.

Sun-filled, spring greetings to you.

From A Severed Trunk

Today, I went for a walk at a nearby conservation area. I walked amid mid-March and mid-afternoon sun, tall trees, and atop a few feet of well packed and gently melting snow. For a little while, I sat on a bench overlooking a frozen but melting river. I observed a tall tree along the riverbank in front of me, how its trunk was severed after several years of growth, the top portion completely broken off, and how growing out from just below the broken place were two long arms, and growing out of those, straight up, were many new branches, like a bush of branches, one standing on top each of the arms. The bushes stretched with strength and innate interest toward the sky and bore hundreds of new leaf buds–indicators of the thousands of things happening inside, sight unseen to us, which will lead soon enough to an amazing burst of green. Maybe, seeing this then, if not before, we might smile, feel a little lightness, a little dance in our step, feel thanks swimming in our skin. The trunk was severed yet the leaves found a way to come.

Trying Something New

While lightly pondering what I might write about this week, more stories and reflections involving snow came to mind. Then I wondered, in the very short life of this blog, how many times exactly have I made references to snow? I don’t know the definitive count but it seems to me “a lot” would be an appropriate summary. Of course, there is good reason for this: snow has been front and center in the landscape this winter. As a dear friend pointed out to me this morning, “we’re practically buried in snow”. Yes.

In the last week, I’ve turned a year older from the perspective that I’ve had another birthday. In reality, over the past week I’ve turned a day older 7 times, a minute older 10 080 times. For my birthday, I decided to spend some time outside among trees and sun (and snow)–something I value and enjoy doing. I also decided to try something new, something I am essentially a beginner at–wanting to also recognize and honour the value in this, which I also value: that of taking (healthy) risks (when appropriate and ready) and stretching oneself a bit outside the bounds of one’s usual zone of comfort or day-to-day norms. It felt symbolically meaningful to me to do this on my birthday–a day marking my birth and emergence as Tracy into this world. So I decided to do something I haven’t done in many, many years. I decided to go cross-country skiing and had the good and gracious fortune to be accompanied by a patient friend who is more experienced on cross-country skis than myself.

There was a lot of slipping and sliding around on my part, some impressive wipe outs, many more near wipe outs, somewhat exhilarating moments, and fear, and a few particularly lovely moments when we stopped under a canopy of coniferous trees and listened to the quiet of the day at that particular moment in that particular spot.

I will share one particularly humorous (and terrifying and embarrassing) scene and one just plain warm and fuzzy one adapted from a letter I wrote after the experience and about the day.

Scene One.

Setting: a conservation area near Kingston that had groomed trails for skiing (though also some openly ploughed parts, that is, ploughed and without neat little tracks for your skis). The trails were generally slippery, particularly on the open, trackless parts.

The scene basically begins with me heading down a hilly section without my full awareness — or any awareness at all — that I had just started skiing downhill. An implication of this is that I had neither prepared myself psychologically or physically for what had just begun. I had not had the chance to even try to remember how to approach this decline and quickly picked up speed. I likely let out a kind of semi-scream–though this was more likely a fusion of something between a groan and a scream. I was doing my best to slow down or have some control over what was happening with limited success. I was sure this was going to end in a solo crash, which was bad enough. Then, though, I looked ahead and realized that there was a tall man standing aways in front of me on the other track and at the top of a bit of an incline. He was standing, stopped, and taking all of this in. I was headed straight for him and realized I may very well plough right into him. That’s when I called out, “I am so sorry. I do not know what I’m doing.”

Somehow I managed to stop not too far from him and without falling–a truly amazing feat given my previous falls and speed and total clumsiness on these long sliding wings. I was feeling a combination of things: embarrassment; a certain energy coursing through me, the kind the comes in these situations when you are feeling out of control, going way too fast, and anticipating a crash ahead; slightly giddy–the whole thing was also quite humorous. I had my friend behind me, observing from the top of the decline. She had seen it coming. I hadn’t. She said, she thought I did great. She also undoubtedly found the situation entertaining; at the same time her support of me remained fully in tact. I cannot say the same of the man.

It was evident that the man didn’t seem to think it was particularly funny or even slightly amusing. Understandable, really. I got myself back on my side of the tracks and proceeded to begin making my way up the hill toward where he was standing. He proceeded to glide down the hill toward me. On the way past, he said to me, “Bend your knees.” He said this in such a tone as to imply: “if you just bend your knees, all your problems will be solved. It will be completely smooth sailing, no sweat.” To give myself credit here, I believe there was at least some bend in my knees, but I did make it a goal to bend my knees more. Anyway, he sailed passed me, knees nicely bent to prove, or proving, his point.

Then, though, there was a woman standing behind him, also waiting, also observing. She was completely stone-faced and seemed to refuse to make eye contact with me–though I also had to hike my way past her. She gave off the very clear look and vibe of: “I am not amused.” I tried to make contact, offered a smile, but her stern expression and lack of eye contact with me remained. She stayed right where she was, staring straight ahead as I shuffled my way up this little incline past her. However wrong I might be, I felt like she was trying to put me in my place–no beginners, near wipe outs, apologies, cheers, or laughter allowed. To be fair, and as the friend who was with me pointed out, it would be unfair of me to assume the woman was giving that expression because she was annoyed with me. There could have been other things going on.

I had to don courage and dignity and a sense of humour, I suppose. Then, off I was like Bambi to the next near wipe out or slip; or brief, sweet, tiny moment where I actually seemed to glide; or anxiety-provoking hill.

Scene Two.

Setting: another slippery hill. Action: another very near wipe-out on the way down.

This time, though, while I was getting myself untangled and trying to figure out how I was possibly going to get myself going again and get to the bottom of the hill okay, a two-person line up collected behind me–people waiting to proceed down the hill. I politey said to the first person in line that I would move out of the way. He had been observing my best attempts at getting myself organized to go down the hill again (read: he had observed me keeping myself upright and gripping the bank with struggle and substantial effort as if my life depended on it). I was untangling and organizing myself in tiny increments of movement and adjustment. Unlike in Scene One, he kindly, gently, and politely responded, “No, that’s okay. Just keep on doing what you’re doing.” So I did and, eventually, when I got to the bottom–miraculously still standing–and the coast was clear, he easily and comfortably glided down and past. He was pleasant toward another passer-by and seemed to be quite relaxed about it all and in a good mood. He gave off the vibe of warmth, compassion, and patience. I offer him my thanks for that.

End of scene two.

In briefest closing: yes, I was sore after that outing and yes, I was glad I went. I would, however, like to learn how to manage going down hills, and how, in general, to ski with more mastery of skill and with grace. Perhaps then, one day, while making my way downhill, I might instead call out with calm, “I am soaring like a seagull, ordinary and beautiful. I will not wipe out. I will simply land.”

What are five new things you might like to try? Make a list.

Penny Whistle Love

One late afternoon last weekend, I went for a short, meandering walk through the neighbourhood before the sun quietly tucked below the horizon tugging along with it the light of day. Nearing a few blocks before my home, I heard the sweet sound of a wind instrument floating though the air. The source was a man standing on top of a very tall pile of snow playing a cheerful tune on what appeared to be a penny whistle or a recorder while children tobogganed down around him. The backdrop was a gray day and a rather unloved looking municipal lot. It has a large grass field (now covered with snow) and a gravel track that used to be used for horse-racing several years ago. Though somewhat unkempt in appearance, the space is frequented by many including myself to play, run, cross-country ski, take in the sunset, or walk with the dogs.

I wished that afternoon to give this person a thumb’s up, the musical magic maker, to thank him. The music was refreshing, nourishing, beautiful. Shyness took over and I regret that I didn’t say thanks. I wished that the music would go on for a long, long time and that this would be a more frequent site, that people would bring their instruments out into the streets more often and play, offering solace and beauty, celebrating creativity and life. I wished I had the courage to do this more myself.

I would like to say if you are one of the people in your neighbourhood who plays the penny whistle outside, or the guitar, some drums, or the enchanting french horn, thank you so much. Please keep playing. Your offering is a gift.

Snow Days

It has snowed a lot in Kingston over the past week as in many other places. I love the snow. I love how it makes indoor spaces brighter on gray days (and we have had many of those with gray days far outnumbering sunny ones). I love how snow can seem to make everything quieter, especially during those days and times of days when there are already not so many people driving cars around. I love the sound of snow crunching under foot while walking (a phenomenon reserved usually for crisper, colder days). I love snowmen and snow forts, long stretches of pristine fields and forests covered in glistening snow. I love the moon on the snow and colourful mittens that go with snow–especially hand-made ones. I love snow angels and the giddiness that can come alive in snow as commonly witnessed in children and dogs though something that has also been elicited in adults as I have observed, for example, among colleagues at work in the wonder and dazzle in their chatter and expressions after a particularly beautiful falling of snow.

A tip I might offer to anyone who feels the excitement of snow but finds they often hold back from enjoying it: acquire snowpants. Uninsulated or insulated, they are, in my opinion, a *must* for any adult wardrobe where snow is part of the climate. They make being in the snow much more pleasant and fun. They also serve as a gateway to filling the lands with snow angels, as one example. When you have snowpants, it is much easier to follow the impulse to lie down in the snow, start up your wings (quoting Kat Goldman here from her album, sing your song), and enjoy the peacefulness and expanse of sky. When you have snowpants, it is much easier to leave that unmistakable, magical imprint of flying, icon of life and hope for all who may pass by.

That there has been a lot of snow lately means that there has also been a lot of shoveling. After the last large snowfall, I realized as I began to shovel that my body was still physically tired after the previous shoveling adventures. I realized that I was going to have to complete the task a bit at a time with breaks in between, which made me think of that theme of perseverance bit by bit, one small step at a time. I did. Thankfully, it all worked out just fine. I might mention here, however, words from my 80-plus year old neighbour last weekend one evening when she was shoveling her walk in the midst of a LARGE snowfall and I went over to help her. After a few minutes, she essentially indicated that what we had done (what she had done mostly) was enough for today. Tomorrow is another day, she said and I thought, yes. God willing, good luck, and me doing my part–yes indeed.

As I look out my window right now, I see a series of snow ploughs and sanders have parked across the street from my house–tea time, perhaps–and also that there are thousands of white velvet flakes falling from the grand expanse of gray sky, each one completely unique, each one completely its own entity, all coming together to glisten and dazzle the heart, soften the harsh sounds, and brighten the land once again.

Winter tip number two: a snow shovel is a very good investment.

Kind, warm, bright regards,

tracy