You know that isolation is getting to you when you start looking at mice as kindred spirits!

As I was meditating my way through some Tai Chi movements this morning, I happened to notice a mousetrap set in the corner of the room, and my mind suddenly headed off on a nostalgia trip.   It took me back to some of my early artistic endeavours; children's pictures that included  some of these wee folk dressed up in quaint costumes; happy little pictures, of happy little creatures, in happy little settings.

In this time of isolation, when our individual personal environments are drastically reduced, when our tactile interaction with those we love is interrupted,  I am reminded that we all share a larger family home:  Nature waits, with its arms wide open, to welcome our long-overdue attention and appreciation, and to give back happiness in return - we need look no further than the small, simple things.

  A Mousey Meditation!

As I sat, meditating,

And searching for light,

An ominous mouse trap

Came into my sight;

Off in a corner,

Of my humble house,

Sitting there, waiting

For some little mouse

To come, uninvited,

And fall for the trap;

I winced as I thought of him

Caught with a snap!

Perhaps that wee creature

Was watching me too,

Waiting nearby,

And seeing right through

My frustrated efforts,

As I tried too hard

To find life's deep meaning;

He'd catch me off guard;

Keeping it simple,

He'd gobble the cheese,

And leave with a 'thank you!'

As bold as you please,

Wishing me luck,

As I seemed to be stuck,

Caught in my own mousetrap! 

  Keep it simple -  gobble the love, leave pride in the trap!

I Can't Breathe  

With recent fearful events unfolding around the world, and in particular with the focus on systemic racism that was brought to light so vividly and terribly in Minneapolis this past week, I borrowed the phrase spoken by George Floyd as he died;

I Can't Breathe!

Watching cruelty unfold,

The attack on our soul,

The sliding of hope,

Down a dangerous slope,

We are better than that - aren't we?

I felt the suffocation,

I can't breathe!

The bully and bullied,

Two victims collide,

Coloured by two worlds,

While we stand and chide,

Do we consider ourselves a threat to others?

That's where fear does its best work,

I can't breathe!

Feeling fear taking hold,

Tightening its grip,

Waiting for hope

To falter and slip;

In the grip of depression,

I thrashed in the dark;

I can't breathe!

Afraid of our fellow man,

Afraid for our health,

Afraid for what might come,

The loss of our wealth,

When did  we welcome fear,

Ask it to reign,

I asked my inner child, "How did we get here?”

With a heavy sigh, she cried,

I can't breathe!

Then I felt a tug from my memory,

A tiny child in colours bright,

Reaching up to hold my hand,

No sign of anger or of fright,

Just love in all its innocence,

She poured her joy into my soul,

And took my breath away;

I can't breathe!

All Is Well In The End!

Grandparents' Day is approaching again - September 8th.  In gratitude and humility, I share a few words, some 'wisdom' that I have realized over the course of my rapid journey of nearly 71 years:

In the end, we are who we are, with all of our unique imperfections, but also with the immense potential that resides within us, waiting to be asked to come forward.  We are largely unknown to ourselves; the face that we see in the mirror each morning hides behind it someone that wants to meet us and be included in our day.  Usually, it gets overlooked or covered up with makeup of various kinds, as we look past its expectant and hopeful gaze, and try to form it into some version of ourselves that we think is expected or will be accepted by the world out there.  When we are lucky enough to receive gifts from our grandchildren, or from anyone,  let us remember that there is still a little child dwelling within each of us, waiting and hoping that his gift will be loved. 

Every Word, Every Action Matters!

I made one mark upon a page,

It grew into a word,

Then others came in twos and threes,

Emerged from unknown station,         

Responding with elation

To the voice that they had heard;

They joined hands in a sentence,

 then a paragraph, a rhyme,

A soliloquy, a story, a 'Once upon a time',

Each mark an inspiration,

Adding to a thought  sublime,

And I their humble servant,

Gave thanks for every line.

Words - when we send them flying into the world on the wings of a smile, how uplifting and encouraging a gift they can be to others!

A Mother's Reflection:

My newborn slept against my breast,

And I whispered, "How beautiful."

I held him out to the world,

And it echoed, "How beautiful."

I sent him into the world,

And the world touched him

And I felt pride, and I felt fear.

He came home wounded,

And I held him against my breast,

And I whispered,  "How unfair."

Then I sent him out again,

Armed with tools that I hoped would help:

Love, faith, patience, tolerance, kindness, listening skills,

And I said to him, "Be my peacemaker."

He came back home confused and wounded,

And I said to him, "Don't despair, you are growing, and I am so proud of you,

This pain will be part of your strengthening."

And he went back into the world,

Bruised, but determined and hopeful.

Then he laughed,

And the heart of the world skipped a beat,

For he had touched the world, and it had responded,

He became aware of a unique something within that he possessed,

That was his to build, develop, and share.

He wondered aloud, "Who am I?"

And a voice answered;

He knew that voice,

It whispered, "How beautiful."

And again,

"You are mine, you are more precious

Than you can possibly imagine."

And this mother echoed in gratitude,

"How beautiful!"

The Power Of A Quilt!

I know I wasn't feeling cold last night - perhaps it's the onset of Fall weather, and the promise of Winter, with all of its uncertainties, but I awoke at  3am, thinking about the multi-coloured crazy quilt that used to cover Mom & Dad's bed so many years ago.   I can remember sitting on that quilt with my sisters and playing travelling games on the beautiful landscape that we saw there; so many vibrant colours and textures - it fuelled our young imaginations!   I began wondering who had stitched that quilt - where all of the patches had originated - what clothing had been transformed.   As I wrapped myself in that warm memory, my older imagination kicked in and, lost in contemplation, I wrote the following poem:

My Crazy Quilt

Memories fade, and friends move on,

But in my heart they're bound;

I've pulled them into my crazy quilt

And stitched them all around.

I've pricked my finger many times,

But I soon forget the pain,

For my crazy quilt is a wondrous quilt,

That can never be made again.

I pull it 'round me every night

And I feel the love that's there,

All stitched up in my crazy quilt,

Each friend, a colour rare.

I've  travelled tracks, this way and that,

All up and down my life,

Those crooked stitches, funny patches,

Daughter, mother, wife.

My fingers trace the criss-cross path

That joins each memory,

And I wonder at the landscape fair

That my life has come to be.

As I live each day, I'll find a way

To gather patches new,

I'll pull them into my crazy quilt,

And I'll stitch them carefully too.

When the world seems scary, dark and dim,

I won't despair or moan,

For I'll feel the warmth of my crazy quilt,

And know I'm not alone.

A Great Big Warm 'Boot To The Head'!

A Great Big Warm ‘Boot To The Head’!

We could all use one, every once in awhile!  Listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing ‘Grow Old Along With Me’ and along came that big fuzzy boot – knocking me on the side of the head and giving my heart a good kick in the process.   It’s amazing what music can do: jolt you back to exact times and places, and bring the people that you love into sharper focus.  My memory, not great at the best of times, (and don’t get me started on names!) is somehow given turbo boost when music is playing.  So many beautiful lives and events come in and out of focus, like precious flowering herbs – balms that have been there to feed and heal my life.

As we get further from our starting point, the map becomes very complicated – and in my case, fuzzy - and we forget where we started out, where we stood when that seed of love was planted in us, encasing a child’s hopeful faith that everything would be bright and beautiful.  It was planted in each of us, and left in our care to nurture and protect – and to fall absolutely in love with.

Lately, my mind is pulling on its own boots, kicking up a fuss and telling me that I’d better add some colour to this grey matter - fast!  Just when I think I have figured out some of the big issues, my spirit gives a big sigh, picks up one of those boots and whack!  ‘Sorry, you have landed on a snake and have to go back and try again to figure life out.’  So, I pick up my humility card and start out afresh with my little bag of hope in tow, picking up new perspectives, new colours for my garden.

That original plant is still calling out as well and patiently waiting for me to stop covering my head, and to notice the ‘with love’ salutations that accompany the boots.

‘Don’t worry about those weeds’, it is saying – ‘just pour on the nourishment!’

Though the road may bring twists, turns, sorrows and challenges, love, wearing its great big fuzzy boots, is ready to take on all challengers.  

“Don’t be afraid of the odd kick, and don’t worry – I am custom-sized just for you – Stay with me - ‘The best is yet to be’.”