Everyday Simple

The community creeps out of hibernation, slowly but surely.  The sun’s mighty power pulls us all out of our dwelling places.  The crocuses beckon us to look more closely at the earth.  It’s time.

Cold-weather crops.  Garden planning.  Spring cleaning.  It’s time to open the windows and let the fresh air disrupt the winter residue.  If outside, we have to make sure not to be fooled by warm yet cool temperatures; sunburns happen regardless of temp.  It’s a good time to clear out some clutter.  Yesterday I cashed in $100 worth of things laying around that we had collected (aluminum cans), didn’t need (extra movies and video games), or didn’t use (outgrown jeans) anymore, turning excess into something useful (groceries, gas, soccer kleats).  I also gave back to the community with a donation to Goodwill.  To give and receive should be a daily practice, not just a seasonal thought.

And now I cut this post short because while I do want to get kids’ clothes out of the attic to take to the consignment store, I don’t want to miss this morning’s opportunity to take my youngest out in the bike trailer.  Truly, the blue skies are amazing, and the bike trails await.

This evening concludes with church and the bookstudy I mentioned yesterday.  Oh, what a beautiful day.

S  l  o  w  l  y, I am finishing the books on my list and bringing new ones to center focus — some for leisure, some for study/growth.  In a flash, I finished Michael Scott’s The Magician after my daughter bought it and read it first (this is the book after The Alchemist), and my daughter finished the next in the series, The Sorceress, so I have that lovely-looking purple book to read now, a nice television substitute.  (Of course, we don’t have a t.v., but it’s nice to feel like we don’t need one, which we don’t.)*  I’m still reading The Reluctant Saint (a biography of St. Francis), but I only read a couple of pages at a time.  Eventually I will finish it in one fell swoop.  I don’t want the end of his life, riddled with physical maladies, to linger any longer than necessary, but the stories of his devotion and sincerity are truly inspiring.

But the gem of a book we are reading for our Women’s Spirituality Group is Cynthia Bourgeault’s The Wisdom Way of Knowing: Reclaiming an Ancient Tradition to Awaken the Heart.  I’ve only read through Chapter 2, and already I’ve encountered ideas, terminologies, and topics that resonate deeply with me as True and/or are completely new to me.  Bourgeault readily attributes others in her writing, and if I read a fourth of those she mentions, I have enough reading for the rest of the year.  But it will be enlightening reading.  Sufis, mystics, ancient texts, contemporary Wisdom teachers, poets.

Bourgeault delves into the difference between mysticism and Wisdom, the importance of different religious traditions.  She attributes Lynn Bauman, friend and peer, with popularizing Jesus as “a moshel meshalim, a master of Wisdom, teaching a science of transformation that was both ancient and timeless.”  I guess I hadn’t read enough about Sufism to consider that it may likely be the bridge between Christianity and Islam, but I do know I love Rumi’s poetry.  Apparently, Ibn al-’Arabi is another Sufi poet of acclaim.  Of course there is more in the book, and I look forward to reading it and to exploring it  further in our book study.  After receiving the book in the mail, I was skeptical.  This little book for $17?  Buy it new or used or borrow from a friend or library, if you are so lucky; I recommend it so far.  I look forward to finishing it this month and letting her “show (us) how to use the teachings of Wisdom to transform (our lives).”

I’ll be sure to check back and let you know what I think in the end.  Links to above books are in the sidebar to the left.

* Thanks for tolerating my apparent delight in parenthetical asides these days.  I find it a nice way to speak from a different perspective.  (Though it does kind of feel like a lady gossiping, doesn’t it?)  Maybe I should add a re-read of Anne of Green Gables to my list. 

When I tell my kids we’re going to do something, I might as well be forging it into stone or making a blood bond.  In their opinion, I’ve promised them something will be, and they’re counting on it to be done.  I remember those days in my youth.  I looked forward to something, usually doing something out of the ordinary, and felt the anticipation, excitement, and adrenaline mixing up a cocktail within me.  Heaven forbid plans change at the last minute.  I wouldn’t always (if ever) cry about it, but my children go for an Oscar with their dramatic displays of disappointment.   Inevitably, plans do change, and, I’m sorry, but a “maybe” is not a promise.

But let me not pretend that I don’t get that childhood anticipation cocktail these days, too.  It’s just not as frequent.  Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism as we get older so that our hopes aren’t always let down.  Honestly, though, hope and anticipation are not the same thing.  Can’t you feel the difference?

Our days here have been warmer.  I’ve seen daffodil buds and blossoming crocuses.  I re-potted most my houseplants and have spent two afternoons tidying up the yard, assessing what trimming needs to be done.  The forsythias’ buds are swelling, and I know it won’t be long before they burst into brilliant yellow, sunshine reflected.  Spring has been promised, and I know it will come.  That doesn’t mean there won’t be a few more frosts before then, though.  I may have to weather a few more gray days.

We’re also nearing the end of Lent.  Holy Week is just around the corner.  My practices this Lent have been a little out of the ordinary, and I made promises with myself that I have to keep to help me grow.  I also know the meaning of this time of year in my tradition.  Promises were made and continue to be kept.  Upon those promises, we ground a great faith and hope and Love.  Through these we live our days with a great compassion.

If I trust in the assurances of the greater promises, such as Spring and Rebirth, and enjoy the sprinkle of the “smaller” promises made and kept without great attachment, it would seem that being fully present in the moment would come naturally.  Another promise?  More practice.

Chickies!  (As Autumn so gleefully calls them.)

Yes, thanks to a city ordinance, we are allowed to have four hens.  Our hope, of course, is to have eggs sometime after fall and ever after.  But, we are learning very quickly that one doesn’t just get chickens and have eggs.  You get chicks, have to raise them, checking them ever so often to make sure they’re not getting sick or dying, and make sure their living environment isn’t disgusting and that the cat and dog don’t get in.  We’ll have to build a coop outside soon.

Oh, wait?  You didn’t know they have to be kept above 80 degrees F?  Well, they do.  So right now our bathroom feels like a sauna (which has its advantages, if you can get past the scent of chickens).  We have six chicks in our whirlpool tub, and my husband has his giggles about that, for sure.  When they are big enough and when it’s consistently warm enough, we’ll be moving them outside.  Fortunately, Spring Break is right around the corner, so we’ll take this on as a family project.

The first dramatic thing that happened was that one of the chicks had “pasting.”  Before we knew it was dangerous, we just fondly called the chick Dingleberry.  Fortunately, after what I’m sure was traumatic cleaning for the chick, the name is the only thing that stuck.    Autumn has interpreted the name and Jingleberry recently.  Of course, now we don’t know which chick it was since it recovered well and is healthy and thriving like the other three that look the same.  We may just have to come up with two more -berry names!

The next thing wasn’t so much drama as it was wanting to improve their quality of life.  I added a perch to their set-up.  Give them a little diversity, you know?  They loved it immediately.  I do have to check in on them sometimes to make sure they’re not playing king of the mountain.  As they grow, the space available is shrinking.  They are growing rapidly.  In a day it seems like their new feathers get longer.  These photos are from last week.  It really is amazing, and I have to watch myself, making sure I don’t spend too much time checking in on them.  Lucky for me I have at least two kids who are content to watch them for as long as I’ll let them.

Aside from getting all in order to build a coop, our next concern is that they’re about to fly out of the tub.  One has already figured out how to get on top of the waterer (just the water, not the food yet).  Avery said one got out of the tub last night, but I’m hesitant to believe it fully until I see it happen without a child around.  It is possible, though.

Our over-arching concern is that they won’t all be hens.  Roosters aren’t allowed in the city.  Red and Dino are the only two with distinct markings to be able to tell them apart enough to name.  May they all be hens.  We have friends who would be happy to have a couple of hens, too.

If you’re interested in raising some chicks, my dearest found BackyardChickens.com.  Great information there (how we saved Dingleberry’s life!), and good luck to you.  If you’re not interested, you’re welcome to live vicariously through our venture.

There’s something about those moments when you find yourself teaching your kids life lessons.  Not the lectures about how they know what’s right and wrong when you know they aren’t listening to you.  I’m talking about the times when they are open, particularly when they’re really young, particularly when they want to learn.

Our three-year-old has taken to counting the feet of our pets.  “Bodhi has four feet!” she exclaims excitedly.  “Cosmo has four feet, too!”  After breakfast this morning, while she was petting the cat, I asked how many ears he had.  She looked at me, and we entered the teachable moment.  What ensued was an exchange of information, imitation, question and response. I learned that she wanted to match holding up fingers to the amount of numbers.  I also learned that she holds up two fingers like a Vulcan or like a scout.  She’s learning about math, and I’m learning about her.

But teachable moments aren’t just happening for my kids.  I’m getting them, too. I have teachers guiding me, teaching me, nudging me into new and unchartered territory.  There’s nothing like jumping into something familiar and experiencing it as new.  There’s nothing like humility to keep you grounded and appreciative.  There’s nothing like raw experience, beautiful and awful as it may be, to keep you in the present moment.  I’m learning, too, and my teachers are learning about me with their own mother’s patience.

The underlying truth behind all this is that every moment is teachable.  We just may not know whether we are the teacher or the student.  The fact may be that we are both, and the lesson therein being that we have much to learn from both sides.

Again, thank you for teaching me and allowing me to teach you.

A busy day all around, and driving home in the dark, I realize I’ve missed my kids.  Lots of good work done during the day, lots of love and laughter shared, but I miss those waiting for me at home.  Knowing that a taste of chaos awaits me, with all of one hour to have the kids fed and in bed, I also know I don’t have time to make dinner.

At least it’s half-price burger night at Sonic.  Four burgers + two fries = 5 hungry bodies fed for under $15.  Plus, I don’t have to cook and can make the conference call.  I know.  We cringe at the thought of what the “beef” might include, but we don’t do this terribly often.  Well, maybe more often than I’d like to admit . . .

Sitting at the table, realizing this is the first glass of water I’ve had all day, I notice our icon in the middle of the table.  A family-size bottle of ORGANIC ketchup.  Yep.  Sonic on our plates, served with a side of organic ketchup.

I let the kids excitedly talk to me all at once.  I feel too much caffeine pulsing through my system.  Somehow I manage to get three of four kids in bed while participating in the conference call.  I love my family.

It’s the effort that counts, right? 

A friend of ours has neighbors who just opened a skating rink here in town, and would we like to join him for a skating and pizza party?  It’s one of those things that didn’t fit in our schedule, but I made it work.  Yes, we would love to.

While husband took the older kids to piano, I took the younger two to Starlight Skatorium.  After visiting with our dear friend, I spent what seemed like 20 minutes getting skates on the two restless ones and then crammed my feet into skates, too.

Oh.  My.  Goodness.

My six-year-old took off onto the rink, straight out into the flow of traffic, and then turned to move against the flow!  It was painful to watch, and I gave thanks that the place wasn’t busy, being a Wednesday night.  I couldn’t yell at him over the loud music — not that he would have listened to me anyway. He crawled part of the way to the middle of the rink.  I just had to wish him luck as I turned my attention to my three-year-old whom I was holding up on skates.  We made it a sixth of the way around the rink (basically to the next exit opportunity) before she was done.  I have to admit I was grateful because I wasn’t sure my core and arms could have made it all the way, either!  While taking off her skates, my 6yo reappeared and informed me he was done, too.

Are you sure?

Yes!

Skates off, it was time for Sprite and pizza, a double treat.  I had yet to make it around the rink myself.  Would I even be able to do it, or would I end up busting my butt?  The older kids arrived after lessons, ready to don their skates.  Of course now the younger two were ready again.  Another 20 minute venture.  Fortunately, I had just kept my skates on.

I suppose I fully embraced the craziness of it all.  Now I had four kids on skates. I let them drink soda and have carry-out pizza for dinner.  Hubby had another appointment, so I was skating solo.  Could I have done this even with one child eight years ago?  Probably not.

I realize that to some, I probably seemed like the 6yo jumping out into the middle of the rink, full of adventure, a devil-may-care attitude . . . sheer audacity. With the two older kids warming up to making it all the way around the rink and the other two using the skate-helpers to roll down an entrance ramp, I finally got to make a couple of rounds myself, totally recalling memories of my younger days.  Skating to loud music, disco lights, hokey-pokey, and 50s dress-up contests.  Good times (even though one time cost me a front tooth!).  Sometimes we just have to let go and enjoy the moment for what it is, trusting that all is well.

I hope our audacity continues to enrich our lives.

After a rare full day of snow, we couldn’t stay inside.  Unfortunately, no sticky snow with which to get too creative, but there’s lots of lovely powder to play in!

Crepe myrtles galore.

Thank goodness no metal poles in sight!

"I wasn't just getting icicles off the roof." Yeah, right!

Amazing the difference from last weekend when she was sick in bed.

Our handsome Bodhi joining the fun.

Not one of mine, but a friend snowed in with us.

I didn't mean to hit her in the face with a snowball . . . her brother moved!

Yes, he's eating it.

His face matches what he told his dad the other day: "I don't like this planet!"

Yes, she's eating it, too.

There is something magical about the white blanket . . .

. . . and a silent stillness to be observed and respected, after spreading a little seed for those chirping and singing in the chilly air.

We had barely pulled into the bank drive-through when my daughter behind me started asking for a sucker in her croaky, congested voice.  I couldn’t help but smile because she sounded so cute — a survival of the species tactic.  Fortunately, my maternal sense kicked in.

“Suckers are full of sugar, and sugar is not good for you when you’re sick,” I told her.

“I’m not sick, Mom,” she said slowly, deliberately, downright emphatically.

I tried not to laugh out loud.  After I made my deposit, I gave her the little dum-dum.

“Of course you’re not, sweetheart,” I told her, and I decided to hope that at least for a little while she would stop coughing and make herself well by sheer virtue of will.

With her strong will, anything’s possible.

Have I written about faith before? (Sorry, I can’t help the sweet sarcasm!)  I know I have.  I know I’ve mentioned that faith becomes most apparent when we take the leap from security, routine, and stability and plunge into unchartered territory.  Often this happens when we act on our intuition, trying to follow our hearts, trying to live into what we perceive as our “call.”

Well, my friends, we’ve taken that plunge and have been free-flying for a few months now.  There are a few things we have learned thus far.

• If you thought you knew how you would react if you “failed,” prepare to be wrong. I expected to be bitter, angry, resentful if we spent all our savings and extended our credit to its outer limits.  Thankfully, for the sake of the family, I’m not.  Also, perception of failure is a tricky thing.  Our greatest success in this venture is probably our change of perspective, our new understandings.
• Expect most of the growth to be within. As mentioned above, most of the changes we have experience are that of understanding, perspective, appreciation and joy.  Our relationships deepened.  What makes our life most rich has become apparent.
• Attachments are attachments. Mainly I mean attachments to material things.  We get attached to having the biggest and best, fancy this and highest quality that.  We have to let go of some things, deciding what is best for us individually and as a whole — a whole family and a whole world.    We learn what we can live without, and we learn what is truly worth the effort for quality.  Mostly, we want a quality life; this doesn’t always mean we have a top-of-the-line hi-def t.v.  “Live simply that other may simply live” applies to us all.
• You never go back to where you were before. Even if our daily routine looks the same as it was six months ago, it’s not.  Even if my husband goes back to a “desk job” (in quotes because technically he’s been working at a desk in his “time off”), he’s going back with his new understandings, renewed or even new appreciation.  Once we’ve attained a new level of understanding, once we know something as true, we can’t un-know something.  In time, I’m sure this new level will open other doors for growth as we continue to learn more about the life we live.
• Don’t underestimate your time. Be realistic about your needs.  Keep track of the bills.  Know how much debt you’re willing to accumulate, how much money it takes to live.  We’ve not been very good about this, honestly.  The lessons above were learned in enough time that we could have returned to the work status of before, before a financial crisis hit.  Be aware of this.  Give yourself a cushion, and if not, be willing to face the consequences.
• Take responsibility. We choose our way individually.  If we don’t necessarily have control of our environment and what happens, we have the choice on how we respond.  As in my first point, I thought I would choose to be angry if this business venture didn’t succeed at the rate projected.  When it became apparent that deadlines and projections weren’t being met, I had a choice.  For my own benefit and for the benefit of those around me, I choose love.

These are just a few of the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve taken flight.  It’s been an experience, a defining moment in our lives.  I know that in this past year, I have been pulled, if not called, deeper into my true nature.  Part of the magic of the leap may be that we get a clearer glimpse of what the kingdom of heaven is like, through the lens of faith and trust.