Monday, May 14, 2018
I suspect that many of us are feeling an undercurrent of fear and foreboding these days. No matter your political persuasion, there is a lot to worry about. For me it's a constant battle to be positive and hopeful. My non-negotiable morning meditations have been a lifesaver in that regard.
And Bill and I are so fortunate to have both new and young life in our family. I'd forgotten just how small and helpless a baby is as well as how insistent they can be when something is needed!
I love this photo of my son-in-law: his face is full of joy, contentment and pride. Often I am deeply moved by the love he and Emily show each other and their 2 young sons.
Eight days after Ari's birth a bris was held. This ancient ritual linked Ari to his ancestors from centuries past. Beautiful prayers were said, including my favorite which asked that the world be a better place because of Ari. Isn't that something we should all wish for ourselves? Many treasured keepsakes were part of the bris, including crystal candlesticks that belonged to my grandmother.
Here's Zev watching the mohel as she prepares to perform the circumcision. He seemed a little uneasy that afternoon, but a trip to get an ice cream with Nana seemed to help.
When the weight of war, ugly words, poverty, pollution and politics weigh me down I think of my responsibility to future generations. And I do what I can, as I soak up every bit of love and hope from these two little boys.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
You may have heard the term thin places- it's a Celtic idea which suggests that we can experience both heaven and earth at the same time. Usually it's a reference to a specific, inspiring location, such as the island of Iona in Scotland or Croagh Patrick in western Ireland. In these places the barrier between earth and heaven seems to collapse.
I feel that I'm in a different sort of thin place this week, waiting for the birth of our new grandson on Friday. Time is moving slowly and I am ever so aware that our lives are about to be changed as new life enters the world. Both earth and heaven, yes.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Mother Nature is either confused or has quite the sense of humor- she has sent us several inches of snow today and I have the uncommon luxury of a free day. Our blooming croci and just-about-to-open daffodils are buried and the forsythia looks as if it is trying to retract its blooms. The town is quiet and peaceful-I love it. But of course Bill put the shovels away too quickly...
Leave it to my favorite Jane Kenyon to have just the right poem for this sort of day:
A thoughtful snow comes falling...
seems to hang in the air before
concluding that it must fall
here. Huge aggregate flakes
alight on the muddy ruts
of March, and the standing
water that thaws by day
and freezes by night.
Venus is content to shine unseen
this evening, having risen serene
above springs, and false springs.
But I, restless after supper, pace
the long porch while the snow falls,
dodging the clothesline I won't
use until peonies send up red,
plump, irrepressible spears.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Thanksgiving, dinner at daughter's
keeper now of the wedding china
received from far and near 40 years ago.
Such anticipation, such promise
service for 12, sterling and crystal as well
That dream, gone in a blaze of hurt and despair
New life, resurrected
My own, and generations to come.
Monday, January 1, 2018
As I think back on 2017 I am almost overwhelmed with the meaning of friendship and family. Looking thru our holiday cards yesterday I was struck by the many relationships we have, ranging from childhood friends to new Maryland friends to many in-between. I am grateful for them all.
In a year when I often felt utter dismay at the state of our country and world, love sustained me. The love I received and witnessed from family, friends, strangers, pets, nature, the Spirit. And music. I hope that I am able to pass that on, to show that life indeed is worth living.
It was a year of great travel adventures, meaningful music-making and taking the first steps to become a spiritual director. The year brought sobering news about Bill's health and the realization of what aging entails.
Throughout the ups and downs I have been blessed to be a part of new life, in dear little Zev. To see our world anew, with no preconceptions, is a gift and a lesson.
My wish for the new year is that we be kind to each other. Even when it means reaching across the aisle, the divide-let's treat each other as human beings, with love and kindness.
Blessings on your new year.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Earlier this month I traveled to Inis Mor, the largest of the Aran islands off the west coast of Ireland. I was part of a spiritual pilgrimage with a writing emphasis, led by Christine and John Valters Painter of Abbey of the Arts.
Inis Mor is basically a large piece of granite protruding out of the sea with a year round population of about 850. For centuries it has been a place of pilgrimage, contemplation and rest. The landscape, mostly pasture dotted with miles and miles of stone walls, is home to dozens of ancient Celtic and Christian ruins.
There were twelve of us pilgrims, hailing from the US, Canada and Britain, plus one lucky American ex-pat living in France. We spent six lovely nights at the Kilmurvey House, which was the base for our trip, and each day consisted of ample writing opportunities, group excursions and a generous amount of free time (yes!).
One afternoon, in a steady rain, we headed to the ruins of the church of St. Kieran. A hawthorne tree ablaze with ribbons greeted us and we each had the chance to tie our own ribbon to the tree. To me this was similar to lighting a candle in a church-a prayer for self, loved one, peace. Next to the tree was a holy well and we were invited to take seven small stones from a container and then walk around the well seven times while depositing one stone back in the container each time. What did we want to leave behind? What could we give up? Assign that to one of the stones. A short stroll away was the church ruin, full of the spirits of many pilgrims and saints visiting before.
My traveling companion was my good friend Pamela from Maine. About a year ago she lost her beloved partner to cancer and brought ashes with her to spread. We hiked the steep path to Dun Aungus, a stone fort from about 1100 BC, and from the high cliffs scattered Sarah's ashes. Sarah was my good friend, too, and I could sense her smiling at us as we laughed and cried at yet another farewell.
Free time every day was a blessing-I read, wrote, slept and wandered the back roads. Every bend brought another breathtaking view.
This horse and I became good buddies. His pasture was near our guest house and we just hit it off-maybe it had something to do with my slipping sugar cubes to him?
The challenge now is how to keep the sense of balance and peace that I felt while in Ireland. Coming back to a busy life and a country in turmoil are at odds with that. What a blessing to have had that time.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
I think something unusual happened at the concert I attended on Thursday night...
My Sewanee friend Lyn was visiting DC and we met for some good food, culture and conversation. That included the National Symphony concert shown above, an all-American program. After a spirited national anthem ( it looked like everyone stood) a man three rows in front of us got up, pumped his fist and yelled God save Donald Trump! Rather disconcerting, to say the least. There were a few murmurs throughout the hall, but that was all.
John Adams' Short Ride in a Fast Machine was exciting and a great way to start off a concert. Unfortunately I found Copland's piece for organ and orchestra rather ho-hum, despite the presence of Cameron Carpenter, bad boy of the organ. There was pleasant, respectful applause.
And then...after intermission Copland's Appalachian Spring...I have heard that piece many times and have even played the piano part, yet never has it affected me the way it did on Thursday evening. It is quintessentially an American piece-I daresay just about anyone could hear it and know that it's by an American composer. Yes, it has Copland's signature sound, but it's more than that-hopeful, wistful, innocent, playful and just plain gorgeous. I shut my eyes and let the sounds just roll over my entire being.
And then, at the end, a brave woman near the front stood up, quickly followed by another and another until we were all on our feet, clapping. A standing ovation in the middle of a concert? That's what it was, but oh, it was also so much more.
The divisiveness of our time is tearing us apart and I am yearning for peace, for beauty, for my country to heal. I am worried sick. I know I am not alone...at the concert the Copland touched that part of our souls, reminded us of what America can be and we stood up to acknowledge that in unity.