Day 16,894: Stories

I'm waking up to the stories that I keep telling myself. I am genetically wired to lament any apparent unraveling. (Story.) It is my nature to clutch and defend what I think I can't afford to lose. (Story.)

But how do I know that the glorious mess of any situation isn't the precursor to the clearing of it? Let's face it, sometimes the worst case scenario is that nothing changes. So why not be open to celebrating (or at least mustering a sense of curiosity) when something shifts and uncertainty comes for a stay?

Right now, my real "job" is to take care of business at hand, which means taking next logical steps. Everything softens when I simply and gently acknowledge that things are in transition. I am now an adventurer ... exploring options and opportunities. And, honestly, it's revealing itself to be an interesting and exciting time.

Every day, we write the book of our lives. Let what needs to come, come. Let what needs to go, go.

Day 16,893: The Truth is ...

The truth is that most days begin with no idea of what's worthwhile to capture. How many times is too many ... of the dog, the cats, the Christmas cactus? Yet there never fails to be something within what is before me day to day that beckons my attention ... the light, a line, a possibility. I am helpless to resist.

Day 16,892: Lop-hearted

I try to get out for a walk every week day at lunch time. I don't always want to do it, even on the brightest, bluest days, but I am always better off when I rise to the occasion. I decided to walk today without an iPod. I was mulling over some work-related issues and really wanted to hear myself think.

As I was coming up the butt-kicking hill on State Road, this wee rock caught my eye. Lop-hearted. Yeah, that's me today. I walked a bit further and the sound of cooing caught my attention. Dove lovin', I assumed. I looked around and couldn't see a thing. I looked up and above me was an enormous V-formation of at least two dozen long-necked, wide-winged, spindly-legged birds. At first glance similar to the Canadian geese that frequently fly these skies, but these birds were white, at a higher altitude, and making this strange cooing sound.

I stood there on the sidewalk, staring upward, grinning from ear to ear and undoubtedly perplexing (if not amusing) the passing traffic. Heron? Cranes? I have absolutely no idea. I've never seen anything like them in my life, but whatever they were, they were flying south. A good omen. The sight of them felt like getting really good news. I'm grateful that I was alert, aware and open enough to receive it.

Day 16,891: Ambivalent Emergence

The week after a week's vacation ain't for sissies. When I sat down at my computer yesterday, the first day back after 10 days off, I could not, for the life of me, remember how to log onto my employer's server. The panicked convo of me with me went something like this:

"Is my user name really just my user name or my full e-mail address?"
"Did I change my password before I went on vacation?"
"Is the passcode that four-letter thingy with the six-digit whatchamacallit?"
"Does the token code go first or last?"

All of my questions were met with the sound of crickets chirping in my head. Nobody home. Does not compute. It was eerily reminiscent of my maternity leave when I was journaling and couldn't remember how to spell "should." I could say the word. I knew full well what it meant. But the part of my brain responsible for retrieving the how-to of it was still on leave and would take its sweet ol' time returning.

I spent at least 20 minutes yesterday morning trying to crack those log-in codes. All the while, I would glance longingly at this stack of books and ball of yarn. There was no mistaking what I'd much rather be doing. It's Wednesday and that sentiment still lingers. I suspect it will all week. Maybe beyond.

"Should" is a word well worth forgetting.

Day 16,890: The Art of Avoidance

This is my workshop/studio/treatment room. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in nourishing light. The previous homeowner used it as a nursery for their youngest son many years ago. Knowing that a new being was once nurtured in this space gives me comfort.

It's been months since I've spent more than a few minutes in here. Three months, to be exact. I've periodically turned circles in front of my workbench, for what seemed like good measure, but have been unable to sit and make anything since.

I realize now that the idea for 60-in-60 was borne of my desperation to distract myself from the unmistakable presence of death, pacing the perimeter and biding its time. Caring for the dying and preparing to let them go is hard work. I guess I thought that more time with the stones would be healing and helpful to me as I created tools of them to go forth, heal and help others. I had just forgotten that grief has its own pace and demands, which didn't include room or concern for my previous promises and plans.

I am reacquainting myself with this space, outwardly and inward. I did some dusting ... some rearranging ... some smudging. I cracked a window and invited a fresh perspective inside along with the fresh air. I opened the Reiki table that, for so many months, had been folded away. And, in kind, I felt myself begin to open and unfold.

For today, this was enough. Our demonstrations of graceful, grateful willingness are always more than enough.

Day 16,889: 18 Years, 4 Months

Family gatherings have a way of unearthing photos long forgotten. These are my parents. Look at those smiles. They had logged about two months of marriage when this photo was taken in July, 1964. My mother would have been 18 years and four months old. Exactly the same age as my daughter right now. Mom would go on to have three children in the span of the next seven years. (The first among them, me.) Daughter will proceed to graduate from high school and start college in this new year. I love that, at 18, the future felt and feels bright to them both, despite their very different paths. I am grateful that there are opportunities and options available to my daughter that may not have been available to my mom at that age. And I celebrate that my parents, still together after all of these years, get to enjoy this view with me.

Day 16,888: Anew

Since Fred's passing in September, Garrett has been given increased freedom to roam the house. This is the first winter in his six with us that he's had open access to the fireplace. In fact, last night was the first night. He took to it immediately. Splayed on his back in warm rapture, he would look up at me as if to say, "How is it that I didn't know about this sooner?"

I am not prone to making resolutions. I avoid choosing a word or (since the dreaded "Benefit of the Doubt" debacle of '08) phrase to represent the year ahead. But, like Garrett, I hope that the bowl of 2012 has its crunchberries of rapturous discoveries and opportunities that literally and figuratively leave me splayed on the floor in breathless wonder as to why I didn't know about them sooner.