join me on the path

the blindside

Anne Lamott more eloquently explains the plight of family and friends who surround a writer, but here's my simple explanation—you, your actions and ideas will turn up somehow, someway in what I write. I'll do my best to protect the innocent but I will tell the truths.  For the truth will set us free.

Today I've been wishing for a Michael Oher to protect my blindside, because the hits that come through unexpectedly feel harder and take longer to heal. Through a series of events over the past few days (that feel like a month!) I've had to pick myself up off the ground with my head spinning and my body feeling as if a Mack truck had hit me. If you're a football fan, picture that image a couple seasons ago of the great Brett Favre crawling on all fours on a snowy gridiron. That's close to what it's been like.

The hit that came through was a perfect storm of work-related stress, family issues reaching a peak, and romance going sour. Perhaps if it had been only one of those issues it wouldn't have pushed me so far off the path, but combined I simply found myself face down in the dirt. It's not a pleasant place to be.

Yet here are the words of wisdom that have come through to my heart, for my wings are made of words:
    ~The only way to go from here is up
    ~This too shall pass
    ~Even though it feels like God slammed a door in your face, He will open a window...be patient
    ~If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it
    ~Faith can move mountains

I am, by prayer and petition and with thanksgiving, presenting my requests to God, but I know today that I must focus my energy outward into service of others. That by offering a helping hand to someone in need I may provide a little blindside protection, and perhaps make a positive difference in the world. Here's a huge THANK YOU to all of you who keep reaching out a hand, and I'll close with a line swiped from the Beatles: I get by with a little help from my friends.

peace & love on the path   

it's in the mail

I get a thrill when I open my mailbox (the snail-mailbox) and sitting in the slot is a hand-lettered envelope with my name on it. As I walk up the three flights of steps to my condo I turn it over to see the return address, and as soon as I'm in the door I drop my briefcase and keys to slide my finger under the flap.

The card I received yesterday said this on the front: Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.~Marcel Proust

My friend had taken the time to choose a card that had special meaning to me. Took the time to write a personal note inside, addressed the envelope and took it to the post office. And now the card sits on my mantel and makes me smile each time I see that quote. For a woman like me whose wings are made of words, the card is a simple pleasure—and a tangible gift to receive in these high-speed days of emails and FB posts. I'm a lucky girl.

wishing you peace on the path

school shoes

The cicadas are singing their end-of-summer song, the grass is burned to a crisp, and even though it's still in the mid-80s temperature wise, there's a distinct feeling that fall is on its way. Maybe the feeling is brought on by the high puffy clouds that occasionally gather. Or how I've been noticing it's dark so much earlier every evening. Perhaps it's the neighborhood pool sitting sparkling in the sunlight but empty because the kids are busy getting ready to go back to their routine of busses and books.

The official end of summer won't come for another month, but change is in the air. About this time every year I have a longing for a new pair of shoes. Habits created early in our lives are hard to break. I loved going shopping every August for that new pair—loafers or saddles. The shoes became the symbol of so much possibility ahead.

Even if I don't add another pair of footwear to my closet, I'm grateful for the fuzzy feeling the memories evoke. I know, too, that I need not have a new pair of shoes to practice being a possibilitarian.

peace on the path

calla lily ponder

In May we planted a garden together, my man and I. In June we spent time tending that garden—watching the plants bloom and falling into an easy, satisfying rhythm of life for which we'd both long been searching. Now it's nearing the end of July and we are vacation, the two of us and his family, in northern Michigan.

We arrived two nights ago around midnight. We hauled our stuff into the cottage and then he took me straight out to the lake, to the end of the dock and we stood in the almost-full brightness of the moon and I whispered happily, We're here.

He went up to bed, comfortably "home" in the cottage he's been visiting for four decades, but I couldn't fall asleep despite the late hour and so I read. I brought The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder by Rebecca Wells (of Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood fame) and the opening lines of the prologue felt serendipitous:

The Moon Lady: I know the moon and the moon knows me. I am the moon and the moon is me. I am life itself ... When they wake and when they sleep, I whisper to them: Don't be afraid, don't be afraid.

Our moon mama will be full this weekend and perhaps the skies will clear so that we can stand again in her light at the end of the dock together. And if not, I'll still say a little prayer of gratitude for the this time together.

peace & love

nuanced

Today at 3:00 p.m. ET I get to make a presentation to the executive committee of our company regarding the Horticulture Community of which I'm the leader. That group includes our CEO, CFO, presidents of the divisions and VPs—it will be quite the gathering of intelligence and power.

Notice I say "get to" and not "have to." My choice of words is nuanced by gratitude. At one point in my preparations for today, early on in the process while I was thinking all about little old me standing in front of the firing squad if you will, I thought I might (quite frankly) puke. But that's because I was letting fear of the unknown overshadow the opportunity.

I know each of these individuals and have had conversations with all of them one on one. Today is not a performance but rather a generosity—they are giving of their time and talent to help me bring the Horticulture dream to life, and I get to share with them the vision that will guide our progress.

My wings are made of words, and oh how I love the subtle power of choosing the right ones—get to, rather than have to. (Oh, and lest you get the impression that I'm feeling like I'm-all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips confident, feel free to send some positive vibes at 3:00. The long-distance love will be gratefully accepted.)

peace & love

p.s. Much thanks to Susan Cohan for snapping this pic of my on my dream porch during our visit to Buffa10 (precursor to Garden Walk Buffalo)

in search of my mother's garden

"In search of my mother's garden, I found my own."

                        ~Alice Walker

Dear Mom,

When we had the chance to garden together, I was a sullen teenager who dumped her negativity all over your plots—but they grew thanks to the love you countered with.

Then off I went in search something or someone that would fill the hole from which that negativity spewed. Little did I know that what I needed was what I already had.

Thank you for planting the seeds that saved me, for in my search I found my own garden and it is there that I'm closest to you and to feeling whole again.

Peace & love,

Patricia

to the committee

Don't know if you can relate, but I have this committee that resides inside my head whose job, it seems, is to keep me from being present in the only place that life can really be lived...in this moment. It's a committee of just two who go by the names: Past and Future. They're not loud and aggressive but rather subtle and insidious. It is their common goal to try and pull me back into the past and engage me in futile and unnecessary reviews of events I cannot change no matter how long I ponder them, or to push me into tomorrow trying to plan scenarios that revolve around me getting what I think I want or need. A friend reminded me recently, and I should heed her advice: Don't go inside your head alone because it's not a safe neighborhood. (Indeed!)

It's so much easier for me to help someone else struggling with this same push-me-pull-me situation. So easy to suggest that by wallowing in the past or fantasizing the future that they're missing their real life that is happening right now. So easy to suggest they simply 'be where their feet are.' So easy to suggest [if I'm feeling particularly cheesy] that yesterday is gone and tomorrow never arrives and that's why they call today the present because it's such a gift [feel free to smack me if I ever suggest this to you].

Of course, memories of past experiences can inform our future decisions, but I'm not talking about simple recall. I'm talking about remembering situations and spending a great deal of wasted time trying to somehow rewrite that outcome. It's futile, my friends, trust me. And planning for tomorrow is necessary in many areas of our lives, like at work, but I can get obsessed with details of events and it's not pretty.

The first time I heard someone share about this same phenomenon in a way that helped me identify that I do the same thing I was with a group of friends. The story the guy was sharing reminded me so much of my frequent struggles with yesterday and tomorrow, and he shared what he did to try and stay present in the now. And then he laughed and said, 'Go ahead and take my advice because quite frankly I'm not using it.' The knowing laughter that rippled around the room reminded me I'm never alone on this journey called life. And I was grateful to have found fellow travelers who were facing the same challenges and who were willing to share their stories.

Perhaps having taken this time to get outside of that sketchy neighborhood that lies between my ears and sharing with you the frustration of trying to time travel I'll be able to be where my feet are today. I hope so because today I know that I am deeply loved, that I have gifts to share that will make the world a better place if only by the smallest degrees and that today is all there really is.

peace & love on the path, my friends

hiking naked

Folklore has it that on the summer solstice those hardy souls hiking on the Appalachian Trail celebrate the day by hiking naked. That's just not a pretty picture any way you turn the image! In honor of the first day of summer, I rode my bike...fully clothed, thank you very much.

Tonight it was close to 9:00 p.m. before I got over to my sister's place where I keep my bike, and as I pedaled the lightening bugs were coming out. I felt like a kid—the worries of the day slipped off my shoulders and I was in the moment. The wind was blowing my hair, I stood up on the pedals and felt my legs burn a little as I listened to the tires on the pavement. It was definitely a life-is-good moment.

I saw a bunny running through one of the neighbor's yards, a cat stalking something in the grass (she didn't even acknowledge me as I rode by), a blue heron majestically winging her way home, and a gaggle of preteen boys doing what boys do on skateboards and bikes.

I almost didn't go ride, having gotten home later than I'd planned. But thanks to a gentle nudge in the healthy direction from my beau, I got to end my day doing that which I'd wanted to do all along.

Happy first day of summer.

peace & love

begin again

No matter how old I get, the Memorial Day weekend brings with it a sense of a new beginning. The potential for summer adventures seems endless, and life seems to take on a new rhythm with a focus on family, friends and fun. School's out, summer hours at work commence with early Friday "dismissal," and sunshine gains a magnetic pull on my soul.

This Memorial Day weekend I'm blessed to be at the beginning of a new relationship. In opposition to never letting go of that childlike thrill that summer vacation brings, I've learned to embrace the truth that relationships (whether romantic, friendship, business) take time to develop. I've learned to keep my heart open to love, but to also remember that  "when people show you who they are, believe them" and therefore acknowledge red flags as well as positive signs.

My new beau gets high marks for this: He and I will be digging up a small area around his patio tomorrow and installing a perennial garden (at least getting started on it). While he's not an avid gardener, he recognizes that I AM passionate about it. He's willing to join me in the dirt and no matter how the garden turns out, a huge reward will be that we'll share the workload and reap the rewards together. The process seems to offer a strong building block to support that which lies ahead.

Hope you and yours have a peaceful and safe holiday weekend. Wishing y'all peace & love.

that which matters most

On Facebook my tagline is: My wings are made of words. But lately I've felt a bit grounded in that I've not made time to write and fly high on the process. Oh, I write in my journal almost nightly before bed, recounting events large and small—the whims of the weather, the Bean's latest achievement or struggle, work developments, the trials and tribulations of friends, what my sibs are up to. But I've not made time to let my ideas and dreams take flight into essays or poems.

It's important for me to remind myself that there IS time to write and that simply I must honor my need to do so and make it a priority right along with eating, sleeping, working, exercising, praying, etc. For if we do not honor that which matters most can we truly say we are living our best lives?

peace & love