The leaves drift and drop from the trees each fall. It is often thought the leaves falling is due to the cooler weather. Simplistically, it is more about the decreasing amount of light as the days become shorter, the chlorophyll which give the leaves their green color breaks down, and the leaves change their color to the many magnificent oranges, yellows, golds, scarlets, amber, rust, and crimson.
It’s about the light.
When I was afraid to go upstairs to my bedroom as a 5 and 6 year old because it was dark and I could not be sure there was no creepy thing lurking. There was not light in the stairway or upper room until I got to my bedroom.
How many times have I been stopped by my own fear and uncertainty? When I didn’t think I could see enough? So it didn’t stop at age 6!
Hydrangea. Photo by MDessein
Ah, when did I not see when I was the light? As my children have become autonomous, amazing adults, I sometimes look back and wish I had known better for times they were in distress and uncertainty. I tended to react to the event, their behavior, and circumstances rather than look at the bigger picture, possible actions, and then respond. Yet, they are both still speaking to me! and I look forward to each time. For the most part, they remember when I stood up for them, taught them, played with them~
Mukilteo sunset. Photo by MDessein
Michael Strassfeld is an author, a rabbi, and thinker. One of his thoughts captured my attention, “Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. It does not seek anything in return; it asks not whether you are friend or foe. It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished.”
photo by Mary Dessein, allowed by BowieAnd Inspector Goatling will be checking. Is he adorable, or what? And Bowie’s twin brother, Gene, poking his inquisitive self right in there, too.
The wonder of animals, as they are so present in the moment. Who knew goats are affectionate and like to be cuddled? The dearest behavior, which I expect from my kitties and just melted me when hugging the goats, was that each goat put his head on my shoulder. Granted, it was for a few seconds, yet they did.
Present in the moment as well as letting go. I am famous for saying I raised my children with wings not strings. Okay fine, famous in my own mind, yet walking that talk is entirely another experience – an ongoing one to boot. My blog nearly three years ago about when my son stepped through the SeaTac airport door at 6 a.m. to go back to Tennessee, was when it felt like my heart was splintering off in shards. Especially when he acknowledged he didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to leave home.
Home. We each have to find our homes. Most of us many times in life. I am again at that point: where is my home now? How do I find it? What opportunities will arise for me?
I watch my daughter and son-in-law, both remarkable, flexible, creative people, search for and find their home. Visiting them (and my grand-goats and grand-puppies!) is such a delight as I witness the struggles, joys, and rewards in the myriad of things they are doing as they work toward the vision they have of their future. And their home.
Looking back, my style at their age was much more of a ‘fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants’ operating system. If it seemed like a good idea at the time, then, “Okay! I’m ready to go.” There is certainly a history to support that, yet lest I go into it now, suffice it to say it was my m.o. for decades. It took me even longer to recognize it as an m.o. I was not an Ennio Morricone or Meryl Streep who knew what they wanted to do at a young age and pursued it single-mindedly.
The term shoplifting is thought to be first documented as such in 1591 by British playwright, Robert Green. Originally called ‘lifting,’ it is obviously not a new phenomenon. Lifting is also raising to a higher position, or perhaps moving to a different position; I get that connection.
When I was with my kiddoes in a fabric store on Friday, the red and white warning sign to shoplifters was reversed in my mind at my first quick glance at it. Hhmm, I knew some prosecutors that could use some lifting back in the day when I worked in the legal system. I digress.
How do I find my home now? It involves the concept of trust. Dang, that is a hard one. To trust, don’t I need some control, some input, some history? This dance of trust and faith fascinates me, as I don’t have it figured out; it is a beautiful concept, yet how to live it. I’ll spend some time on this terpsichorean connection soon.
As to this moment with trust and faith, there is a saying we heard in the Program often, and in the counseling world, attributed to various sources, a prominent one is O.R. Melling, “When you come to the edge of all you know, you must believe one of two things: either ground will appear to stand on or you will learn to fly.”
Really? Trust in what? My intuition. Some message from the Universe. An ad in the personals. Well, two out of three’s pretty good.
So then will I lift or prosecute? Maybe both as prosecute also means continue on a course of action with a view to completion. I am definitely invested in finding where I belong at this chapter of my life… I plan on it containing occasional hugs from goatlings and grand-puppies.
“Life is a journey through a foreign land.” Another from O.R. Melling. That’s an understatement, right?
Michael & Slade 10-29-15
“I love you, momma!” The text arrived at 7:30 on Wednesday evening from my son, Michael. In itself, not unusual. Yet, it was out of our regular pattern. A typical text from him was a picture of the St. Louis arch, or “Hi mom, in Arkansas,” or just a “Hi momma.” And those were generally in response to a text I sent initiating the conversation. Was his intuition perking up, as his face had come to my mind a couple times in the previous hour.
I sent a text back, “Glad to hear that. I was just thinking about you.” No response from him. Also, not unusual. As a long distance truck driver in the mid-West, I never know where he is until I hear from him. And many have been the times on the road when he could not answer me right away.
The next morning, Michael called me as he was unloading the truck at one of the retail bargain stores on his route. “That text last night might have been my last words to you, Mom. I was stuck in a tornado, worst one I’ve been in. Didn’t know if I was going to live through it.”
What? What?
“I texted you and Dorothy, in case I didn’t make it. I wanted you to know I loved you.”
My face froze, my body felt weightless, I felt a veil close around my arms and legs like sleeves.
The voice that spoke was mine, however it surprised me with its calm, even tone.
“Really, Michael. Where were you?”
“In Canton, Missouri. When the hail started, I knew this was it, Mom. The hail stones were as big as ping pong balls.”
“What did you do? Was there a storm cellar?”
“Nope. The employees and I huddled in the little women’s bathroom, one stall and the sink. Even inside the building, the tornado sounded like a stampede of boulders rolling down a hill.”
As I sat, so still, looking out my living room window at the acre of lawn in the park edged with hundred foot tall cottonwoods, I tried to grasp the enormity of what he was telling me and not panic, as I could hear Michael talking to me, and to others as he unloaded the roller carts from the trailer. He was out of danger – he was alive, safe, and on the job.
My job at that moment was containing myself. I was in disbelief, that ever-practical Michael, having recounted being run into by drunk drivers, his truck jack-knifing in a wind on an icey highway, being rammed by an oncoming eighteen wheeler when that driver lost control in a storm, and the list goes on, had been afraid he might die.
Living a sane life has required that I disconnect myself from the reality of the dangers Michael faces every time he gets on the road. I have programmed myself to believe that no news is good news.
I know, I know, I raised my children to have wings not strings.
This same disconnect has other useful applications: do we get on a plane, buckle our seatbelt and say, “I bet this baby is gonna crash.” I think not.
One of the magical powers I have wished for was a protective bubble around those I love. Actually, there have probably only been two powers I’ve wished for. When I’d heard others wish they could fly, or be invisible, or read other people’s thoughts, I didn’t relate to that. Until the prevalence of cell phones, I had abandoned wishing for magical powers.
When I see someone using their cell phone while driving, all I’ll have to do is blink and their phone battery will instantly die. The next time they turn the phone on after re-charging, it will say, accompanied by a tornado siren, “If you ever talk on the phone again, much less text, while driving, this phone and any other phone you will ever have, will implode.”
I’m not asking for much. Consideration and attention to safety.
My friend Char does have an amazing power: when her car alarm goes off, it sets off all the others in a stone’s throw radius. A symphony of protection.
So my protective bubble power must have been working, even six states and two thousand miles away. I’ll keep working on the other one.
