Angels Watching Over

     In late March, I was in Washington DC helping friends take care of their newborn twin girls.  I spent most of February - May, 2010, tending our twin grandson and granddaughter, so I have experience these new parents could use.  While I was there the dad's parents came by for a Sunday afternoon visit. They brought a delicious lunch from a swanky market, and his mother carried in a large, framed piece held close against her chest.  After lunch, when the babies were down for yet another nap, the new grandmother presented her gift. The hanging was a stylized angel of subtle colors. She hooks rugs and other things and had made this image for her grandchildren.  I asked if she had created the image, and she said that some years ago she had found a small tile of an angel on a trip to Miami.  Last fall, she decided to see if she could create a hooked piece of that angel. She had lost the tile, but she had a photo and went to her local yarn shop for help in enlarging the angel and choosing the colors. She had already begun work on it when her son announced that she would be a grandmother, so she decided to give it to the new family.
     While she was telling this story, recognition set in. I smiled with delight. Over ten years ago, a dear friend gave me a small colorful tile angel she found in Sienna, Italy. I had just built and created a new home office, so I hung the little tile outside my office door as a welcome to visitors who arrive and a blessing when they depart.  The angel hooked and framed is the very same image!

Love and loss

In less than forty-eight hours, two magnificent friends left this earth. Enormous holes appear in my world. The grief and loss tugs at my core, heavy and cruel. I cannot eat. In forty-eight hours from now my precious daughter-in-law goes into surgery for the removal of her breasts. She turns 34 tomorrow. My heart is full of love for these three people and all those who love them. Life feels especially fragile, like a porcelain plate balancing on a tight robe in the wind above a city street. Every greening bush, flowering cherry tree, swaying daffodil sings to me, "life, life, live it today." 

Flora was ninety years old, struggling at the loss of mobility and increasing pain. We shared thirty-six years of loving friendship that began when we were hired to support the secondary Gifted and Talented program for the public schools in Charlotte. She was fifty-four, mother of three adult children, a seasoned professional educator. I was twenty-six, newly married and full of opinions and creative ideas.  We gave each other respectful space that turned into unconditional love and support. Her wisdom and care sustained me all of my adult life.

Tim was not yet sixty, a gifted musician and creator of community. As I write, I listen to his songs and yearn for the cd that is ready to be printed thanks to his valiant last efforts just a couple of weeks ago before his strength gave out. His years' long struggle with cancers and chemo, trials and trauma will continue to inspire me.  The songs he left give us the gift of his unique voice and wisdom words to hold us in the days ahead. His life gives us courage and strength for our own.

My beautiful daughter-in-love shows a strong love of life as she approaches surgery. Her resolve and acceptance of the reality ahead sustains those of us who surround her. Her commitment to a long, healthy life starting immediately after the surgery informs everything she does. She is calm and reassuring,  keeps a positive outlook, and maintains her focus on the future because her heart is grateful.

The lives of these three teachers invite me to give more of myself, to bring my gifts forward, not to be afraid, to live from my heart with love and gratitude, every day.

Walking the Path. . .

. . . or not walking the path which is what i am doing right now. Last fall my shins began screaming at me; well, actually I know they spoke up before that but I was being vigilant in walking my dog and me, so I kept on going up and then down the very steep hills in our mountain neighborhood. Walking provides me time and space to process and refresh. Being in nature, moving in nature makes me feel more connected and at peace. In late October I took my last long walks down the terminals at the Charlotte and Sarasota airports. By the time I got to my parents' home I could hardly be civil without crying in pain.

So I stopped walking. I told Mom I thought I would rest for the weekend. Now it has been nearly four months of watching others walk their dogs as I sit with my legs up. I walk as little as possible, go to physical therapy and pray that one day i can walk and play with everyone else. In the meantime, I notice what needs to be done in my house and garden, read and work on my computer.  I don't feel very productive but remind myself that the hosta is not always producing either.

I wonder about walking the path when you can't walk.  I know I am still on it. I sure am still. The way is being opened ahead of me.  I sit and listen. Not much chatter from the Universe. I pray for our daughter-in-law who at 33 has been diagnosed with breast cancer. And for our son. I send as much love as I can to a very pregnant friend who realizes her life is about to change forever and wonders how she can be the mother her daughters need.  I celebrate the life of a musician friend who continues, despite all odds, to rally heroically to play music one more time for those who love him as the cancer invades. On and on we all walk even though the walking is painful, slow, awkward and long, or short.

So I walk in my mind along the gravel road, down the rhododendron path, across the mossy rocks and watch for deer. I ask for patience and wisdom. I remember what matters most to me and make efforts to be whole-hearted about family, friendships and my spiritual growth. I feel pretty clumsy, awkward and off balance. Is it any wonder, I think, given that my world has been thrown off by these struggles and others around me right now.   I remember this poem and hunt it down. . . and feel grounded.

            Lost

Stand still.

The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost.

Wherever you are is called here

And you must treat it

As a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it

And be known.

Listen: The forest breathes,

It whispers,

“I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back again

Saying, Here.

No two trees are the same to raven,

No two branches are the same to wren –

If what a tree or a branch does is lost on you

Then you are surely lost.

Stand still.

The forest knows where you are.

You must let it find you.

                                    ~ Translated by David Wagoner from

                                        a Northwest Indian Teaching Tale

Evening Visitors

At first I did not know what I was seeing. I stood at the second story porch rail at dusk, looking out at the mountain and valley view. Something black moved below. Make that four somethings. . . black bears! We knew a mother and her three cubs had been making the rounds of the mountain ridge, but we had not seen them. Now they were on our property, ambling along toward our neighbor's full peach tree. For fifteen minutes the cubs climbed and jumped while Mom stood on her hind legs to pull branches down to her snout. She scarfed up peaches and shook the branches making a dozen ripening peaches roll down the hill. I was surprised how peaceful and serene the scene was. They were so quiet. If I had not happened to look over the rail at just the right time, we would have missed the whole thing. For months I had wondered if I would run across this family on my daily morning and evening walks with our Cavalier spaniel. How grateful I was to watch them from the safety of my porch two stories up with her safely inside the house. I took pictures but the dark shadows under the tree and the dimming light prevented a great shot. The pictures in my mind are very clear! It was one of those times when I felt insignificant and small. We were in their territory. I might think I am in control of my little world, but it is not true. The wonders of the natural world-- the mountain range and misty valleys, the clouds that roll in for days or catch the sunset colors on a spring evening, and the beauty of these bears who roam the mountain just as their ancestors did--all this surrounds me and reminds me of the power of life beyond humans.

In Memory

I light a candle to brighten this mountain house which is surrounded by fog and to commemorate the fifth anniversary of my mother-in-law's death. She and I had a lovingly close relationship for nearly 35 years. Her presence in my life gave me confidence and a sense of belonging. She took me for who I was, never challenging or ignoring me, always offering unconditional love. Being with her taught me to slow down, to create a beautiful table, to freshen up for dinner. We shared a love of fine novels, antique china and silver and flower gardens. We enjoyed a summer trip to Ireland with her son and my husband, dozens of visits to her Baltimore and Florida homes and many hours of easy conversation about life, children and friends. Her loyalty and generosity impacted all who knew her. I have missed her and still ask her for wisdom in trying moments. These five years have brought blessings she would have loved to share, especially our sons' completion of graduate school in fields they love and the recent arrival of her twin great-grandchildren. Her husband of 60 years has learned to iron and wash clothes and now understands in new ways all that she did to help him be successful. I honor and celebrate the life and influence Florence Tarr has had on my life and my spirit.