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Archive for the ‘Reflections’ Category

Know joy, feel peace, love well, enjoy excellent health … and remember to nurture your dreams in the year ahead.

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I love this set of Christmas mugs that I’ve had for what seems like forever. They’re made in Germany with a beautiful glaze, and each is different. To tell the truth, the one with the Christmas tree has always been my favorite, but this year, I find myself wanting to use this one the most.

Maybe it’s the way the last two years have gone; maybe it’s just because I’m in the midst of a major life change; or maybe because I believe that the more joy I feel, the more the world feels. Our world can sure use some more, don’t you think?

Of course, that there’s good coffee in that mug is a joy in and of itself, but on a broader scale, I’m taking a few moments to center myself and feel the joy that I know is mine every moment if I just find and embrace it. So now, I’m sending some joy to you, whoever reads this. Pass it on.

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As I sat in the corner of the couch next to the front window, journaling as I do each morning, Jazzy curled up next to me, I looked outside. It was breathtaking. The sun had barely risen and there was a low fog clinging to the ground.

If I were the kind of person to run outside at that hour in my bathrobe, I would have been everywhere, taking pictures of the neighborhood in that ethereal atmosphere. But I am not. I waited until I had showered, made coffee, fed Jazzy, and then I ran out. The sun was just clearing the mist, and casting shadows across a large pine and the leaves along the road’s edge.

At the end of the block, the mist was thinning on the river. This is a view of the Delaware that I never tire of, though I love it most in fall and winter. The white tree – perhaps a sycamore – always just pops in the landscape, like someone took a brush and painted it there.

I walked past this tree that seems aflame. The color is so all-consuming that I honestly can’t remember what it was before, if it was ever green. Even as I write this, I’m smiling, because some of my gardener and blogging friends probably know exactly what all these trees are. Me? I’m by and large a humble fan.

Before I came to this side of the state, I didn’t know what rural delivery was. Sure, you saw mailboxes like those above in movies, but my mail had never been delivered like that. It came in the mailboxes on our houses or in apartment vestibules, and we dropped our mail off in the big, blue mailbox on the corner, or at the post office. Here, I can put outgoing mail in my mailbox, pull up the little red flag, and the postal driver takes it away. I found this convenience magical.

My neighbor texted a photo to me on Halloween, showing me how an ancient tree that had been slowly dropping lower and lower over the nearby street had finally given up and broken. Local traffic could not pass, and this would undoubtedly be a problem for trick-or-treaters. Soon after, I heard the sound of chain saws. This morning I had the first moment to look at the tree, one I’d known and passed by for fifteen years. It was a sad sight, yet I couldn’t help but notice the bright yellow sprout, now visible behind the remains of the aged tree, as if carrying on the torch of the brilliance of life.

I am always awed by the beauty of this river, whether edged with crisping rust leaves, swollen and grey after a storm, or reflecting a bright blue sky on a sunny day. I am so grateful for the richness around me, even that which can be found on a short walk. The simplicity of our natural world is such a balm to all the worries and negativity of the world that might assault us if we’re not careful.

There is so much to be thankful for … in this brief moment of time in which a holiday reminds us to consider our many gifts, but also in every day. We only need to remember and look around us.

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Sometimes change is imposed from without, and outside our control. Our best bet can be to adapt our thoughts and feelings and make the most of it. Sometimes change is completely self-motivated and filled with all the fear and exhilaration that a major shift can bring. And oftentimes, it’s a combination of both.

Change can happen in a moment or evolve over time. Such has been the case in my life where I have recently decided to end a decades-long relationship with a client, who, in all reality, was more like an extended family in many ways. Numerous endeavors of my own have been waiting in the wings to grow and flower, but have always taken a back seat to the immediate demands of fundraising, design, writing, getting to press, and so on. Not to complain. Doing all this on behalf of animals has been an incredibly rich part of my life.

But then things change. New people, new thoughts. Out with the old, in with the new. And change doesn’t always seem the best, especially if we feel differently as to how it deals with a cause that has been near and dear to our hearts. And especially when all these other ideas and wishes and dreams of one’s own have been clamoring for expression, or at least, more of it.

And so change challenges us, heals us, pushes us to take the steps to grow. In my case, to write, to draw, to help new people to grow and change, too. It can all seem to be happening at once, but in the end, we are bright and new, even if a little shaky on our newfound legs.

It seems that the daily advice on my Wayne Dyer desk calendar has been speaking to me. On November 5th, he said, “Go beyond the ideas of succeeding and failing — these are the judgments. Stay in the process and allow the universe to handle the details.” I couldn’t have been given better advice.

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Or maybe I should say `spread thin.’ There are times in all our lives when we have an awful lot of balls in the air, and I’m going to say this is one of mine. And I am juggling – or dancing – as fast as I can.

Work is a constant (for which I am grateful), and changes are on the horizon. I will be opening my heart and mind to new possibilities and it’s exciting, if not occasionally anxiety-provoking. Depends what day you ask me.

I have a children’s book coming out! – Where Do Butterflies Go at Night? One might think that once you’re done writing the story, you, as a writer, are done, but it couldn’t be further from the truth! With my wonderful publisher, Ethicool Books, we work collaboratively. The illustrator, Stella Mongodi, shares her sketches and illustrations as she goes along, and the publisher and I are able to have input. Stella’s work is beyond fabulous, but being able to share a thought or two here and there is a wonderful gift.

And then … promotion. I want this book to be an amazing success. It’s my debut picture book, and while I would want any book of mine to be so, the first is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So I post – on my blog, website, Instagram (which I am learning and loving), and soon Facebook (which I have avoided, but no longer can.) It’s a lot!

And yes .. the holidays are upon us! Halloween is next week and I haven’t even gotten to take a tour of the neighborhood yet. Then Christmas, for which I hope to have some new Frenchie items in my Etsy shop. Oh … note to self – learn more about Mailchimp! And start thinking about that new website! Yes … and remember to breathe!

We women today are not the same as those of our mother’s generation. We can do so much more, learn so much more, just be so much more! But whew! It can get a little tiring at times. And yet we persist because the world today is a place where we can open our hearts and souls and find kindred spirits whether in friendship, love, or business. It’s a new day.

Yesterday, a quote passed over my screen and I grabbed it. It’s a wonderful word of encouragement from the inventor from New Jersey (!), Thomas Edison, for the moments when we might feel like we’re not “getting there”, wherever that is, or “getting there” fast enough. Take heart – we are all exactly where we are supposed to be at this moment in time, but in case you’re having a doubt –

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.

Have a wonderful day!

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There are so many wonderful quotes by Rumi, a 13th Centure Persian mystic and poet. Here’s one I hope enlightens your day.

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Hurricane Ida, Sept. 1, 2021, had devastating effects on many parts of this country, my state of New Jersey, my county, and my little town. From the flash flooding of our local creek and the 10″ of water that fell in 3-4 hours on already soaked land, our little downtown was under water up to a man’s waist.

I am deeply grateful that my house did not take on water, and after a few falters, the power stayed on. Friday, I wanted to take a walk and see what the Delaware looked like and how some small part of my little town had fared.

The day was bright and sunny, and everything looked as if there had never been a devastating storm barely over a day ago. Gardens were overflowing with perennials of every kind and looking lovely. Our area isn’t real big on formal landscaping, just filled with life. I felt relieved.

Through the trees, you could glimpse the river, a sunlit brown and green, rushing downstream.

Flowers and plants were in full bloom, edging quietly towards fall.

There was such a profusion of life; I could hardly imagine the destruction that I’d seen on the news of so many areas not that far from where I live.

A cover of stormy grey clouds provided a momentary canopy over the Delaware River. The water had reached 8′ above flood stage just the morning before, and even though receding, it had enveloped tree trunks all along its banks. And still, as always, it was stunning.

A shallow shoreline of stones where the tree roots were always visible, gone.

An abundance of sweet-smelling honeysuckle climbing over everything. With the brilliant blue sky behind, it seemed some sort of miracle.

Snowball hydrangea changing into their late summer green phase still evidenced some fresh white blooms, in denial of the coming fall, and the crisp, dry temperatures.

When these cataclysmic events happen, we can easily get overwhelmed with the news, with the images of destruction, knowing in our hearts how much people are suffering in the face of life-changing events … in some cases, the loss of loved ones. I didn’t go into town, not knowing what I might find. And what could I do? So I remained in gratitude for the safety with which I and most of my town had been graced. And tried to find the balance in beauty.

Hoping this finds you all safe and well.

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This past June was the hottest on record in the United States. July saw the issuance of multiple tornado warnings in my state, one specifically for my town and the surrounding areas. Never in my life here in Jersey, have I ever had to seriously sequester myself and animals in either the basement or lowest interior space in the house (my chosen option), in response to serious tornado warnings. And they did hit, too, just, fortunately for me, not here.

But let’s look on the bright side, because there always is one.

One of two dwarf red maples on the property, this one is more a deep bronze than a shade of red. Unless, of course, you’re a little newbie sprout. This close-up doesn’t tell you how tiny the new leaves are in comparison to the whole, which is huge. But it might tell you why it brings a smile every time I look at it.

One morning, I looked out my kitchen window and saw something indiscernible in between two of the ornamental grasses out back. It looked like a face. Oh …. it WAS a face. The face of a very young (and adorable) deer holding very still but just about ready to chow down on a hosta. I went down the porch stairs to gently shoo her away. Maybe only 4-5 months old, she easily cleared the nearly 4′ garden gate. As I returned, I saw she had been on my porch, and had eaten the front half of the impatiens above and a few other potted plants. It’s discouraging, but that little wide-eyed face holding soooo still, trying to be invisible …

For some reason, this pretty pair was spared, and is now starting to bloom.

There are snowball hydrangeas all over this property. They bloom snow white, and are now in their green phase, to turn a stunning rust as the summer wears on, and it becomes cooler.

Hello, little fella. This very young praying mantis greeted me one morning on a kitchen window screen. Soon after, he disappeared. But he hadn’t gone very far, I later discovered. It was turning out to be a very hot afternoon, but I managed to find myself a little time to sit on the back porch and read while there was still some shade nearest the house. And there he was. Not far from me on the decking, in the very hot, bright sun.

I thought to make his way a little easier by moving him into the shade. I offered him a large hydrangea leaf to climb on, as I didn’t want to handle and frighten him. He very calmly walked right over the leaf, and into the shadow of the railing. “Thanks, ma’am, but I’ve got this,” I imagined he said as he found his own shade. And then over the next half hour or so, he slowly made his way across the length of the porch and disappeared.

All I could think of was that that must be what `biological imperative’ means. He knew where he was going and what he had to do, because at the other end of the porch is where I often see adult green praying mantises, like the one next to Pumpkin in a photo from a few years ago.

I know for myself, and most everyone I know, that the last year and change has had a lingering impact in one way or another. And yet, we find, there are still always bright spots. Hope you keep finding yours.

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As much as I like the moon photo I took below, it just isn’t clicking with how I’m feeling now … that there actually may be a Spring around the corner. So until I have the time to be out and about taking photos, I thought I would share two thoughts with you. They are timely in the respect that both were from March from past day-to-day calendars by Wayne Dyer.

They are timely always as reminders that we are more special than we often think, and that we often lose much valuable time in our lives worrying about things that won’t happen.

I took photos of these two pages because they were – and are – important reminders to me on my own personal path. But I know so many who struggle with these same issues, that perhaps they would be a touch of enlightenment or comfort to some of you, too.

We are all unique and wonderful beings on this planet. We do well in trusting that things are going exactly the way they are supposed to be going, even if it doesn’t always feel like it or we’d like it otherwise. Happy soon-to-be-Spring.

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There was a time, somewhere in my past, when that term referred to winter clothing – white woolen slacks or a white sweater or blazer. I’d say a long time ago. Right now, winter white is the color of the sky, the ice, the snow, the everything. But a lot of white sky. That and grey.

A few weeks ago, in my part of the state, we had between a foot and a half to two feet of snow. Pretty, but more than anyone would ever want. Just looking outside made me want to run for the covers. And digging out is, of course, in between work. Or maybe work was in between digging out. It was exhausting and that was even with a neighbor clearing my driveway with his snow blower. I suspect, without him, my driveway would still look like this.

Inside in the evening, things were much calmer. I’d been gifted a Crate and Barrel flameless candle for Christmas and it looks so lovely in this lantern. You can forget – at least until the next morning – that this is what’s waiting outside …

Icicles. Yes, long dagger-y icicles that dare you to walk beneath them. There was just enough warmth and/or blunted sun to have them start breaking, and as I sat at my desk working, or journaling in the morning, you could hear them occasionally crashing to the ground below. When my oil delivery fellow came, I went outside to tell him to stay flush against the house, pointing up. He did …  and flattened himself. But being young, he then skated across the ice on the ground, yelling “Wheeeeee!” as he slid to the driveway and went back to his truck. I could only smile.

These, may I mention, are equal-opportunity icicles – they’re on every side of the house, and on just about everyone’s house in town, and beyond, I’m sure. They are quite beautiful, but do make it advisable to consider which entry to the house is the safest.

The last few weeks have had an unexpected perk. My neighbor next door has been experimenting making challah bread, trying different numbers of braids, and more recently, a different type of flour, too. I’ve had the occasional text alerts on my phone asking first if I liked challah, and on a few subsequent occasions, if I’d like some. You bet! Above, it made great challah French toast. I decided to make a marble cheesecake, a large hunk of which was gratefully received by these neighbors.

An unseasonably warm day yesterday and a boatload of sunshine today – finally! – has much of the snow on the rooftops melting and receding. Just in time for another snowstorm starting tomorrow morning. Oh boy! But at least for tomorrow, they’re only predicting 5-8″, After the previous storm, that almost sounds like a coating.

But the sky was glorious, and though it was quite chilly out, the day was a brilliant respite to the many, many white and grey days we’ve had for the last few weeks.

I had thought to post something for Valentine’s Day, but didn’t get to it. Here is what I wanted to say:

Love yourself. Through thick and thin, we are who we live with. Loving ourselves, contrary to what I was taught growing up, is the essence of being able to love others, to give to others, and at the end of the day, however grey or white, knowing that everything is really okay. This is my Valentine to you – to all of you who stop by, who write, who love, who persevere in these difficult times, and who believe in a better world. Be good to yourself.

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Or at least, that’s what they say. The news has been nothing to write home about (sorry, just filled with clichés here), for quite some time. However, I have never tuned in to the news more than I have starting with the run-up to this November’s election in my life that I can recall. Or at least not in recent memory. It’s been something we all have experienced – like a car accident we pass by – we know we shouldn’t look, yet we can’t turn away. Has it helped me any? Hard to say.

I am a firm believer in not watching – or absorbing in any manner – the news before going to bed. By and large, the news is filled with negativity and violence, and we risk taking it into our dream state. Our dreams have the very important job of helping us process our day’s events, and throwing in a dose of craziness at the last minute can’t help. I also don’t tend to watch news on TV as the snippets presented don’t begin to cover what the issues really are about, though some stations are better than others, and have less bias than some others. So yes, by and large, I read.

When I first got my iPhone, I took it with me to my morning journaling spot, along with Jazzy, my journaling companion pictured here. It was handy, and I was getting used to the idea of having it with me now that I had forsaken my cordless. Soon I discovered that I could quickly check the weather – reported from just miles away from where I live – and know how to dress for the day without booting up the Mac, or hoping that the “local weather” I heard on morning radio might also apply to me, weather recorded who knows how many miles away. And of course, I could keep my eye on the time. Here’s what I was relying on before that.

Then I realized I could tune in to my favorite calming music channels on YouTube while I journaled. Oh boy, this was just getting better and better.

Then the black day came when I realized (I knew it, but had been avoiding it) that I could also catch the news on my phone while I sat there. That was a dark day because the whole reason I journal every morning is to get crap out of my head before I embark upon my day, and now I was looking at taking in an even greater amount of crap. What’s a poor girl to do?

It’s been a challenge. There were days when I told myself I could scroll through real quick and read only the most pressing stories; days when I told myself I could do that after I was done journaling. (How counter-productive is that?) Days when I told myself I could scroll down and pick only one story. It was getting crazy – like bargaining with the devil.

Finally I had to get really no-nonsense with myself. If I couldn’t control myself from being sucked in by the news, I would have to bring the dragon back, start the music, and leave my phone on the other side of the room. I could hear it, but once settled, knew I wouldn’t get up to fetch it.

How’s that working? Pretty well, actually. I mean, no one likes being threatened, especially by your own self.

But here’s the thing I try and hold on to when I feel that compulsive newsy urge in the morning – I have been told by numerous people wiser than I over the years that I will always hear all the news that I am supposed to hear. And I have always found that to be true. And on the days when I can’t get a handle on that? I can always bring the dragon back.

 

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Perhaps more than at any time in recent memory, joy has been pretty hard to come by in this past year. At the moment, I am feeling contemplative.

Christmas, usually a time for excitement, celebration, and sharing, has been very quiet. Not without its bright spots, but quiet.

Advised to stay home, spend time only with immediate family/housemates, many of us have felt isolated, bored, lonely, and hungry for the company of others and the fun that always accompanied the season. But sometimes the bright spots came right to our doors.

In small town New Jersey, Santa Claus still came through our streets, courtesy of our local fire department. It was different this year; traditionally, Santa has come through in the evening accompanied by 5 or 6 fire engines, sirens wailing, lights flashing in the dark, and Santa hopped off the truck to give out candy canes to all the little ones. It may have been a smaller appearance, but it still lit up our hearts and smiles.

We had snow … the wet, heavy kind that’s hard to shovel, but beautiful none the less, especially after the driveways and walkways were cleared. It’s still a bit of a fairyland, if just we put our worries to the side.

We are told in so many ways to forget the past – it’s over – and not to worry about tomorrow – it’s not promised to us – but to find our joy in the moment. 2020 has been one long challenge to that idea. I need not enumerate the global, national, or individual tolls that have been paid this year, and yet, for those of us who continue to write, and for those of us who continue to read each other’s posts, and for so many more around the world, we’re still here.

Maybe worn and frayed about the edges, but we’re still here. Let’s celebrate that.

If we have roofs over our heads, warmth, and enough to eat, let’s celebrate that.

If we have people who care about us – and we are always loved by someone – let’s celebrate that.

Tonight, before the clock strikes 12, I plan to make a list of at least ten truly wonderful moments I’ve known in 2020, no matter how big or small. If I feel like writing more, I will, but at least that, because the way to find the joy in so many moments is to be grateful for them. And I will try to be more conscious of the many gifts that are mine in the moment, right here, right now.

May 2021 bring you many joyous moments of all sizes and kinds. May you know peace within your heart, and know you are always safe.

Cheers.

 

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