Make Your Path

I don't know about you but when I woke up and saw the sun streaming into my kitchen, I felt just a little bit saved. The house and everything around was lit up in a way that I hadn't felt in months.

Drop shoulders. Exhale. Spring is here.

And even though those damn dirt piles are still across the street, Elizabeth has me believing that my neighbor is going to plant a garden; that something beautiful is going to come out of those big old piles of dirt and rock. Okay, I believe. All the rain we've had has at least shrunk the suckers down a couple of feet.

So it's Maundy Thursday. What is that anyway? I should know these things since I'm a certified preacher's kid. Or is that certifiable? I'll ask Dad to explain, again. Mom used to say ,"I'm going to Maundy Thursday service," or something like that, when we'd talk on the phone. I liked the way it sounded, and the way she said it. Very British.

Michael's cooking one of his famous shrimp dinners right now and Dad is with us for a few days. It's April First, April Fool's, Mark's birthday [my brother-in-law out in California]. The forsythia is blazing. And this is a ramble, plain and simple.

I found this quote from a daily Zen calendar page, Friday August 2006. That's the problem with daily calendars; I like most of the quotes so I tear the pages off & stick them inside a book to be discovered years later. Just when I need it.

Here's the quote:

Traveler, there is no path. You make your path as you travel.

~ Antonio Machado

Day 31

Day 31 of This Being Alive...

I'm filled with gratitude for the ups and downs of this sweet life, surrounded by superb family & friends, a cat, some fish, birds, really busy squirrels, deer. And readers like you. I'm going to keep on writing and I hope you'll keep on reading. Peace and blessings to you and yours.

xo b

[Sailing party @ my brother Rob's house in CT! His mailbox is #6]

A Little Bit of Mother Love

I have a small book of daily meditations that belonged to my mother called "The Promise of a New Day." The red cover has been worn down over the past thirty years by her hands, and now mine. On the inside is her signature: Dot Jackson, with a line under it. There are a few pages in the book that Mom took her pencil to; a sentence is underlined, sometimes a whole paragraph. Opening it up to read today's meditation, I noticed a check mark, next to the quote, in the upper left hand corner of the page. That tiny check mark was like a tap on the shoulder, a little bit of mother love coming my way.

If you can imagine it, you can achieve it.

If you can dream it, you can become it.

~ William Arthur Ward

Call It What You Will

Call it what you will:

Spirit

Source Energy

The Universe

God

The Merry Prankster

Ethel?...but I believe this It has a great sense of humor and perfect timing.

You see, yesterday the bra unhooked and I got some breathing room, but didn't allow it to last. I woke up this morning, still quite stuck in my two by four-ness mind/body thing. I admit, sometimes I'm a hard nut to crack. Odd how frequently I point out to my husband how damn stubborn he can be, but now I'm seeing, Hmmmm. Look in the mirror, my pretty, and speaketh to thyself.

Back to Ethel. I found myself in a conversation today that lead to a spiritual slap in the face, for lack of a better description. I took it on the chin with gratitude. Ethel knew I really needed it.

The conversation circled around slogans, mantras, things we say to keep ourselves breathing and heads above water. Easy Does It. Let Go and Let God. Bikers Do It Better. Be Here Now...you get the picture. Gentle reminders that it's okay to be human; in other words, messy.

A friend said, "Oh, before you go, this is a good one. Figure it out is not a slogan." And with that, I exhaled, and said goodbye to my time as a piece of lumber. There was the softest feeling nesting inside me, like God, Merry Prankster, It, sweet Ethel, had dropped the most beautiful apple in my lap and I didn't have to do anything but hold its roundness in my hands and love it.

Two By Four-ness

The past couple of days I've felt like a two by four, hard and straight, no bends anywhere. The ear thing hasn't helped. I just about turned to stone when I went to the pharmacy to get ear drops and the price came to $110. I left without the drops. Fortunately, I got a new script for much less ($18), but the pain has been slow in leaving.

Still, people aren't meant to be boards. It's very uncomfortable. Clearly a good cry would've at least eased my two by four-ness. But I was holding tight. Until today, when I turned to the toaster, beloved toaster, to recover the burnt mini-bagel that I had spaced out while letting the cat out. Or was it in? Eyes welling up I thought, throw the damn thing at the wall, but I needed sustenance, so I made a crunchy sandwich instead; turkey with cheese, easy on the mayo.

After my bagel, I headed to Wilkes University to speak to a small group of grad students about writing, & a few other things like, how I'd managed to shave my legs this very day. I must've mentioned that juicy tidbit at least three times. I wasn't thinking. See next paragraph...

I parked my car, still in two by four mode, and entered Breiseth Hall. Near the stairs I happened by the office of Professor Linda M. Paul, PhD, Philosophy. She had various messages taped on her door. One read, I think therefore I'm dangerous. Immediately, my shoulders dropped. I walked up the stairs to room 209, feeling a little better with each step. As I entered the room, there was a sudden loosening in my back. Ah, I thought, finally, I'm letting go. But it wasn't my tight two by four self. It was my bra, suddenly unhooked in the back.

Note to self: Unhook yourself, kid...let it all hang out.

Balance.

Nobody Bats An Eye

My cousin, John, son of my beloved Aunt Nip, lives the good life on Cape Cod. He's got great kids, a comfy home, and a few gnomes in the yard. His gnome thing is hush hush; the family tries not to make a big deal about it. Anyway, every now and then John and I catch-up via email about the kids, how it can't be possible that we're no longer in our twenties, and the weather.

Since I'm still recovering from the dull, but steady sensation of a butter knife in my left ear, and can't think straight, I lifted his email straight off the page for today's blog. I borrowed it, okay. On his end, I think he was just having a morning muse. He's very smart and often muses about worldly matters. This snippet of an email stopped me in my tracks. 500 - 600 Billion?

"I can’t get over how angry the country seems to be, the great conspiracy theories abound. I had a funny discussion with a colleague about health care, which was capped by a story in the news today. The Air force is building a new jet fighter in which we will spend $1 Trillion dollars over the next 10 years; funny, that is the same amount as health care. The article goes on to say that we will have 20x more planes than anyone (Russia, China) else. We are spending $500-600Billion a year on defense, and nobody bats an eye."

I don't know about you,but my eyes are screaming after reading that...Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat. Bat.

ps. Thanks for the help today, John. (The gnome's in the mail.)