Spring Cleaning

Spring arrived, about a month late.  Sunshine, blue skies, higher temperatures, open windows, people in short sleeves; all signs of a change in the season.  Spring fosters a sense of renewal, an opportunity to sweep away the cobwebs and shoo the dust bunnies out from under the bed. This year, spring cleaning looked very different for me.

First task:  Conduct a series of cleansing rituals to purge the bad vibes from my energy field.  I drew on my metaphysical background to brush away bad energy from my aura.  That was followed by burning of the names of people and issues dragging me down.  Next, I cleaned my chakras.  Finally, I surrounded myself with a shield of white healing light.

It all sounds a little woo-woo and out there.  But it worked.  The nagging sensation in my belly is gone.  I sleep better at night.  If any of the cleansed issues come to mind, I can see them burning, smoke rising and dissipating.

Second task:  Learn how to use my smart TV to eliminate cable.  After one year, the new-customer special pricing evaporated.  Monthly charges increased thirty-three percent, for which I received no additional services or programming.  Cable providers really need a new business model, one that rewards loyal customers.

A collateral result of “cutting the cable cord” is a new way of approaching media input to my brain.  A few days in and I have seriously cut down the amount of news I watch.  In today’s environment, a huge step toward clearing negativity from my world.

Third task:  Take laptop in for a good scrubbing.  Every now and then I byte the bullet and have a professional clean my computer. 

Fourth task:  Complete actual spring cleaning.  Move furniture, sweep, and dust.  The good news about having very few possessions is that it takes little effort to complete this task.

 

What are you doing this spring to reduce clutter in your world?

 

Eagle’s Nest

Safe Zone,[1] Coffee, Food, Folks, and Fun

Anna shook the snow off her boots and waved to Migisi, owner of Eagle’s Nest, as she made her way to the corner booth.  Regular patrons understood the extra-large, corner booth was reserved for the International Relations study group every Tuesday and Thursday morning from ten till noon.  Known as the G-6, the study group represented six different countries, each student a first or second-generation immigrant to the United States.

Dr. Smith, Professor of International Human Rights Law: Migrant Populations class, assigned the G-6 to study and work together on team projects.  They wrestled with syllabus topics of conflict between international legal obligations, domestic politics of citizenship, immigration, asylum, and human trafficking.  Each member brought a unique perspective to the issues covered in class.

Migisi walked over and sat on the edge of the booth, “I thought classes were cancelled today, Anna.  Is the G-6 meeting anyway?”

“Afternoon classes are cancelled, there’s a winter storm on the way.  Administration isn’t ready for a repeat of last year’s fiasco.  Commuter students were housed in the gym for three days during Ice Storm Ilsa.  It was pure chaos, from what I heard.  The rest of G-6 left campus for a long weekend.”

“But you’re here today.”

Anna took a deep breath in and let it out with a big sigh, watery eyes gazed down on the table, “Like the sign on the door says, this is a Safe Zone for me.”

Migisi motioned for the server to bring a carafe of coffee and two mugs to the table.

Over coffee, Anna shared her story.  Words she had been holding back for months tumbled out.

“I came to the United States as an exchange student in my senior year of high school.  My host family was wonderful.  They treated me like one of their own children.  My parents agreed to let me stay in the U.S. to attend university.”

“Last year I married my English professor.  It was a whirlwind courtship with a Las Vegas wedding, no family.  Just the two of us.  It seemed so romantic to a naive girl from Israel.  As soon as I moved into his house, he changed.  He tracks my cell phone so he always knows where I am.  If I change my route or am a few minutes late, he has a fit.  I’m not allowed to call my family in Israel or my American host family.  I have no money of my own and am forced to beg for books, school supplies, new clothes, and shoes. When he has been drinking, it’s even worse.”

“He wasn’t like this when we were dating.  Marrying him was a mistake and I don’t know how to get out.  If he finds out the rest of the group left early today, well, I don’t know what he’ll do.  He knows how to hit me so the bruises don’t show.”

Migisi took Anna’s hands in her own, “Take a breath while I tell you about Eagle’s Nest.”

“Because the Eagle’s Nest is two blocks from the university campus, everyone thinks the name came from the school mascot, the Golden Eagle.  It fits and is one piece of the magic.  Eagles are considered medicine birds with magical powers.

Have you heard the saying, ‘Feathers appear when angels are near?’”

Anna shook her head side to side.

“Feathers have ethereal qualities and come to us as sacred gifts from heaven, from our Angels. They fall on our path as a sign from the Divine, sent to comfort us and place us in a state of joy and higher awareness.”

“My name, Migisi, is the Chippewa word for eagle, the symbol for courage, wisdom, and strength.”

“I was married to a controlling man for twelve years.  It took courage and the help of a special place called The Haven for me to leave him and start a new life.  They can help you too.”

Migisi pulled a gold feather from the arrangement on the table and placed it in front of Anna.

“I will drive you to The Haven myself.  When you are ready, place a gold feather on the bar as you walk by on your way to the restroom.”

Back behind the bar, Migisi took orders and served customers while keeping an eye on Anna.

Ten minutes before noon, Anna walked past the bar and left the gold feather next to the cash register.

[1] Safe Zone – An area in which a human being feels safe, usually some place familiar, where they feel they have some control over what happens.  A “safe zone” can be a physical place or even a state of mind. A safe zone is a neutral territory possessing no hostile energies. violence is not possible in these places. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=safe%20zone

 

Sargasm

I set a personal goal to write six blogs in the first quarter of this year.  My mind is blank, and the end of the quarter is a few days away.  So, I Googled “word of the day.”  I was delighted to find a new word to add to my vocabulary.  It seems oh so very useful.

I need to add one more post this week.  Any words, ideas, or topics you would like me to riff on are welcomed.

Go ahead, roll your eyes.  Grunt.  Now you have a word for it.

Shedding

 

 

According to the calendar, Spring has arrived.
According to the thermostat, Spring is evolving.
Slowly, daily low and high temperatures increase.
Slowly, shed heavy coats, scarves, hats, gloves.

According to the scale, thirty plus pounds down.
According to my goal, twenty more pounds to go, plus or minus.
Slowly, pounds shed.
Slowly, size markers on clothes drop.

According to the dozens of empty hangers, wardrobe options shrink.
According to the number of wardrobe options, loads of laundry increase.
Slowly, shed unwearable clothes.
Slowly, donate bags of clothes to a local charity.

Slowly shedding old habits,
Slowly shedding protective layers,
Slowly unbecoming,
Slowly evolving.

Stalwart Women of the Pool

Stalwart women and a few men enter the elementary school
Through the cafeteria door.
Dressed in winter scarves, hats, gloves, and boots, or
A tee-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.
Whatever the weather, the stalwart make their way.
A brief stop in the locker room,
Shed the outer layer.

Stalwart exercisers descend the steps
Tip-toe then gently dip past the sensitive parts.
Warm-up by walking, skipping, and various forms of stepping
From the shallow end to the rope marking the deep end.
“Find your spot,” shouts the instructor.
Shorter people congregate in the shallow end.
Webbed gloves or foam weights
Or no weights at all.

Stalwart swimmers include cancer survivors,
Widows, Grandmothers, Great Grandmothers,
Seniors, a few under sixty, all shades of skin, and
A shared desire to look better, feel better,
Improved health and do it in a social environment.

Stalwart women of the pool invite you to join them
Everyone is welcome.

 

Haircut

My stylist calls me over.  Feeling the cool basin against my neck as I lean back signals my mind to surrender.  Warm water pours down over my head.  All the stress and issues cluttering my mind are washed down the drain as I feel firm but gentle fingers massage my scalp.

Sitting upright, the sound of scissors snipping away, white wisps float down onto the black cape and slide to floor, reminders of time passing:  only four weeks since my last trim, but years since the puddle of hair swept into the dust pan was dark.

Hair blown dry and styled, I put on my glasses, look in the mirror, and ninety-nine percent of the time I say, “there’s my mother.”

I spent most of my early years trying to be NOT my mother.  But over the years, I learned to appreciate my mother’s best qualities.  I want to be like that woman.

She was kind and generous with her time and worldly possessions.  She never met a stranger, and once in her circle of friends, you were a member for life.

Mom left this world eleven years ago to join my dad on their next adventure.  I doubt a day goes by that I don’t think of them.  Yes, I get hints of my mother every time I look in the mirror.  But the resemblance is most striking on hair-cut day, when my hair is given the care and attention she gave her beautiful, curly, white hair every day.

Seeing her reflection, I am reminded that the best way to keep her alive is through my actions.  Be kind to everyone.  Give of myself.  Share what I have.  Look for the good in everyone I meet.

Mom was so good about dealing with an issue at the time it came up.  I need work on this.

Mom found it difficult to sit still.  If she had nothing planned, she would make up an errand, someplace to go.  My wanderlust is more global, but the desire to keep moving is in my genes.

I do not want to be a clone of my mother.  The best version of me will reflect the best version of her while maintaining those characteristics that are uniquely me.

It is with great joy and anticipation that I go to my hair appointments.  Most of all, I look forward to seeing my mother in the mirror.

Bless and Release

 

Bless and release is a phrase I learned while soliciting donations for a non-profit.  When it is clear a donor is not interested – bless and release them.  Spend time with people and organizations that believe in your cause.

2017 – a year of bless and release lessons in my personal life.  The same lesson confronted me multiple times in a variety of formats and venues.  Sometimes it was decisions I made that did not work out.  Sometimes it was thrust upon me.  I think I finally got it.

2018 will be a year of Joy.  I choose to associate with people and organizations who accept me for who I am and what I have to offer, warts and all.  I choose to be with people who see the world in a positive light.  All others, I choose to bless and release.

A collage of images that express my feelings so much better than I can:

 

Small Stuff

Currently I work in the deli of a large grocery store, not my dream job, but it serves the purpose for now.  The store is going through a major renovation that involves relocating the deli.  After lots of preparation and migrating of merchandise, the move would take place over night.

On the last day in the old location, we stopped baking and frying chicken a couple of hours earlier than usual.  Items that had been in one location were moved to the “other side” of the temporary wall.  I’m sure there are many stories of upset customers not finding what they wanted.  Here are two I know of.

Customer number one wanted her oven-roasted savory chicken.  Normally they are made fresh every two hours, every day between nine and five.  We stopped early and were sold out by the time she arrived.  Nothing would make her happy.  A “Manager” had to be called.  I’m sure he did something to appease her.  But seriously, the dark meat of those same chickens is sold as leg quarters and the breasts are cut up and sold as pulled chicken.  If savory chicken is you what you came in for, we most certainly had chicken available.  And it’s a huge store.  There are literally thousands of alternatives if you are open to the possibilities and willing to think outside the chicken coop.

Customer number two wanted a very specific mustard dipping sauce.  When a deli clerk explained to the man that it had been relocated to the “other side” he copped an attitude and said in a very snarky way, “You mean I can’t have it.”  I had been cleaning the new area all day.  I did not know exactly where his brand of mustard dipping sauce was, but offered to look for it.  Fortunately, I found it and received a “your awesome” from the customer.  I never knew awesome was so easy to achieve.

Both incidents reminded me that life is made of lots of small stuff, most of which is not worth getting your knickers in a knot.  I hope that I never get caught up in the small stuff but am fearless and open to the possibilities if things do not go as planned.

Sunshine and Lemon Balm

“Six twenty-three,” Lorna guessed rolling over to bring the clock on the bedside table into focus.  No matter the season, her internal clock never failed; six twenty-three on the nose.  Mid-summer sun, filtered by plantation blinds on the east-facing window, reflected the warm subtle glow Lorna felt in her heart as she visualized the day blossoming before her: a day of sunshine and lemon balm.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting left then right; a deep breath in, arching her back; exhale, rounding her spine, chin to her chest; sitting tall, shoulders down, tummy tucked in, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

Feet glide into her slippers, or house shoes as her mother called them.  Lorna walked into the kitchen, put a kettle of water on the stove and opened the door to her condo balcony.  Scissors in hand, snip, snip, a couple of leaves for tea. 

 

Lorna’s daughter gave her the original lemon balm sprig.

“Plant it in the garden.  The leaves are great for brewing tea, flavoring fruit salad or green salad, and for seasoning fish. Add stems to bouquets of summer flowers from the farmer’s market.  Your whole house will smell lemony fresh.  You’ll love it.”

Lorna spent the next five summers trying to control lemon balm from taking over her garden.

“You said it’s not supposed to spread,” she said to her daughter.

“If you keep it cut back, the flowers won’t produce seeds that sprout new plants.  Trim the plant way back a few times each summer.  That’s what I do.”

“Now you tell me.  Who’s going to help me dig up some of the volunteer plants?  I like the scent of lemon, but enough is enough.”

 

Before Lorna sold her house and moved into the condo, she transplanted fifteen lemon balm plants and delivered them to the Alzheimer’s unit of the assisted living facility where her father spent the last two years of his life.

“For the resident’s,” the card said.  “Lemon balm is good for digestion, headaches, Alzheimer’s restlessness, and insomnia.  If you plant them outside, cut them back often to keep them under control.  If you leave them in pots, place them around the facility and they will add a fresh scent to the rooms.”

Sitting in her favorite rocker, Lorna inhaled the scent of lemon from the potted plant she kept for herself.  As the sun peeked over the balcony wall warming her toes, Lorna remembered her last volunteer assignment at the Alzheimer’s unit.  She was assigned to keep an eye on the residents in the fenced-in yard.

Edna, a new resident, wandered through the garden stopping at every lemon balm plant.  She picked a stem, held it to her nose, took a deep breath in and moved on to the next plant.

Edna made her way around to Lorna and held out a bouquet of lemon balm.

“Take this.  I think it smells like sunshine.  I guarantee it will brighten our day.”

Edna repeated her trip around the garden gathering sunshine as if it was her first trip.  She presented each new bouquet to the next person she saw.  By the end of the day, every visitor to the garden caught a glimpse of Edna’s world:  a place of unending sunshine and lemon balm.

Treasure Hunt

Emily surprised no one when she used her death to orchestrate one final treasure hunt.

“The prize at the end will taste sweeter for having worked for it,” she would tell to her grandchildren.

Emily beamed watching each child decipher clues and relished in exuberant expressions of joy when they figured out where the treat was hidden.

Whenever they visited, Emily handed each child a clue leading to another clue. Each clue took them closer to a treat, almost always round, pink candies or vanilla wafers. On hot summer days, the treat might be a popsicle.

Some days the prize was a quarter to be spent at the corner store. The first time a child found a quarter at the end of the trail sent them spinning and doing a happy dance. Your first quarter meant you were old enough to walk to the corner store on your own.

Upon entering the store, a glass counter to the right displayed all varieties of penny and nickel candy. Deciding how to spend twenty-five cents might take longer than eating the candy. Each time, the same internal dialogue: Hard candies last longer. Chocolate is better. Maybe a Tootsie Roll Pop. Mom doesn’t let us have candy bars, maybe a Snickers is the way to go.

Whatever the decision, the spoils from the treasure hunt went back to Grandma’s to be eaten on the front porch or under the big tree in the back yard.

* * *

At Emily’s funeral, the grandchildren sat in a circle sharing a favorite treasure-hunt memory. Nathan recalled the time he clambered up the big tree to find a clue.

“How did Grandma hide the clue up there?”

“I hid the clue in the tree.”

Mike revealed how as the oldest, he often assisted in placing clues around for the younger kids.

“As Grandma got older, the stairs to the attic or basement gave her trouble. I doubt Grandma ever climbed the tree. One year she promoted me to be her assistant and swore me to secrecy. Now you know. Whew! I’m glad to get that out in the open.”

At the reading of the will, each grandchild received an envelope with a clue to finding one last treasure.

“I have selected a something special for you. As you complete one more trek, remember, the joy is in the journey.”

All heads turned toward Mike.

“Don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it.”

Everyone’s first clue led to the same place and included instructions to complete the quest together. Stacked with boxes of all sizes, Emily’s eight grandchildren each found a box with their name on it in the attic. The prize inside included a letter and photographs of the two of them together.

Tammy received antique broach she liked to wear when she visited Emily.

“I used to think I was sophisticated wearing Grandma’s fancy jewelry.”

Kathy found a crystal vase Emily brought from Ireland as a teenager.

“I used to pick wild flowers out of the field behind Grandma’s house. She always put them in this vase as if I presented her the most precious flowers on earth.”

Mike found his grandfather’s leather bomber jacket and a key to the antique motor cycle in the garage.

“I used to love hearing Grandpa tell me stories about riding with his brother.  I Can’t believe she gave me his bike.”

Roger opened his box to find Grandpa’s war medals and the flag used to adorn his grandfather’s casket at his funeral.  Overcome with emotion, tears in his eyes, Roger turned the flag over, smoothing out the corners.

Amanda started sobbing as she unfolded the quilt Emily made from aprons she’d worn over the years.

“Grandma used to let me bake cookies with her. I made such a mess, she always put one of her aprons on me.”

Nathan fell to his knees when he found his Grandfather’s baseball card collection.

“I spent hours poring over these with Grandpa. He came to every game I played from little league to high school state finals.”

Samantha showed off a hand-beaded clutch.

“Grandma let me carry her evening bag around when we played dress-up. I think that’s when I discovered my love for all things vintage.”

“Okay Cinda, last, but not least. We all know you were Grandma’s favorite. Look at the size of that box,” Roger teased.

All eyes on her, Cinda gingerly unwrapped an antique bird cage, fragile from the dry attic air. Detached from its hinges, the door lay on the bottom of the cage.

“What does it mean? I don’t remember Grandma ever having a bird,” Amanda asked.

“Grandma had scarlet fever as a child. Her father gave her this cage and a song bird to keep her company during her recovery. She told me she always felt bad for the bird, locked up in a cage all the time. The day the doctor said she could go outside, Grandma set the bird free. Let’s see what the note says.”

“Cinda,

You are my youngest grandchild, the one most like me, in spirit. My wish is that you see the world for both of us. I removed the door on this cage to remind you to remain open to all life offers. Be audacious in your pursuit of adventure. Fly, little bird, fly, and I will soar with you.

Grandma Emily”