Portage

December 30, 2008

Freefall

Filed under: Happiness, Resources — Deborah @ 12:08 pm

Freefalling!Happy Holidays, My Friends!

Our winter white stuff has been falling, falling, and falling. My yard probably has about 4 feet of snow and there seems no end to it. I’ve already shoveled the roof once. Today I go for round two. If these blog entries cease, come find me. Bring shovels!

Relax. This article is not about the stock market, housing prices, the auto industry or any one of the other related 2008 news stories. I’m not standing on any stump or soapbox. In fact, I’m much higher. I’m on the roof.

This winter thus far has brought one very big, delightful surprise, better than any Christmas present I could have imagined. In the middle of more snow than we’ve seen in many, many winters I’ve also taken delivery of a childhood dream. I’ve got a new game called “Jumping off the Roof,” and I’m going to do it as many time as I possibly can while we’ve still got snow. My ladder is propped permanently against the front of the house. At a moments notice, I can make a quick climb, spread my arms wide, and let go, just like those thousands of times I imagined leaping from the roof as a child.

The freefalls I’m indulging in this month are way beyond the ego and its censors. They are beyond the structures we create to contain things. They are intuitive, imaginative, whimsical, with just the right touch of childishness. My body and imaginations have taken flight.

Now I’d be fibbing if I told you I have a clue about what I will do with this December 2008 experience, if anything. I can barely make it into a sensible blog article. But oh, my freefall antics have broken through some internal barriers, inhibitions, and worst-case scenarios that have been building for awhile, allowing the child in me to bubble to the surface.

I bet this childhood dream of taking flight from the roof is pretty common. It seems to have sort of a Peter Pan or Mary Poppins flavor to it. If as a child you had similar longings of jumping off the roof and flying, come on over. I’ve got soft landings, at least until the snow melts. Dreams can come true.

“Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” ~Lewis Carroll

December 25, 2008

A New Year’s Theme

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness, Reflection, Resources — Deborah @ 6:55 am

A New Year’s Theme in an affordable Group Coaching setting

Welcome in 2009 with a New Year’s Theme! Resolutions I’m not so big on. Themes I can embrace. And this year, I’d like to offer some affordable group coaching to those of you who also want to bag the resolutions and embrace your theme. This group will meet once each month for the entire 12 months of 2009. With your new 2009 theme in hand and heart, in monthly group coaching sessions we’ll help each other play out our themes it big ways.

Maybe your theme is the title of this December blog article, “Freefall.” You want to let go of inhibitions, restrictions and ego in 2009. Maybe your theme is more like November’s Thanksgiving article on “Thanks” and you want to be more appreciative of all you have and will become in 2009. Maybe your theme is “Living Light” to reflect your desire to be more open to what comes and let go of what is holding you down, while a fellow caller has chosen a theme like “I Can Do That” in order to move from sidelines into action.

In the spirit of openness, fun and light, I’ve kept requirements to a minimum…

  • Join us when you can
  • Leave us when you feel complete
  • I’d like a minimum of 4 players to start
  • Pay with PayPal, check or credit card, due on the 1st of each month that you intend to join us

Details at my Portage website.

“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” ~Will Rogers

November 29, 2008

A Thanksgiving Thanks

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness, Reflection — Deborah @ 11:33 am

DebAtWinterCreekHappy Thanksgiving All

We’ve got snow; lots of snow. I actually planned to write a Thanksgiving note a little earlier but I’ve been enjoying time with stranded friends instead. Here in the north, we experience November as the bridge between fall and winter, the space between chatter and silence, that place where activity comes to a halt and takes a deep sigh. 

This week, just when my friends from the North decided to stop in for a quick overnight on their way to
warmer southern climates, winter decided to take a direct hit. My sweet friend, Madelenine, left the following behind when Mother Nature stopped to catch her breath and let them make their escape. I’ll see you in the Spring on your way north again, Madeleine, Richard, Nicole and Reg. Bon Voyage!

Stranded by Madeleine Beaupré

Well, we made it as far as Fife Lake, Michigan.
The first leg of our tripbefore the Alberta clipper hit.

Mother Nature had mischievously planned quite a shenanigan
We did arrive safely at Deb’s—But then that wasn’t it.

We got snowed into her ample back yard.
Doing nothing but talking and cheering and feasting.
Becoming more ample ourselves—
She’s a great hostess so it wasn’t hard!

Then curled up comfortably in Deb’s cushy chair,
Drinking in the laughter,the ribbing, the conversation,
I was inspired to jot down some unpolished thoughts,
Plucked from mid-air:

Thank You—A Free-Verse Outpouring

Wow—If I ever get stranded, what better place?
Surrounded by the familiar faces of family 
grouped around Deb’s home fires.
Igniting informal debates, chuckles then post-dinner 
wine and rapid witty repartee.
Thank You, Fate,
for the coincidences you orchestrate.

Look out any window. What do you see,
through the delicate veil
of a windless, densely falling snow?

A babbling brook, a Winter-scape
straight out of a school text book.
A magical scene,
complete with overhanging snow-laden boughs
so muted and breath-taking, it leaves me in awe.

Thank You, Mother Earth,
for providing this oasis of gentleness.
Is this your way of saying I Love You, to us?
Well then,
Thank You once more!
We love you too!

Unbelievably, as if to confirm my thoughts,
she sends a lone, fragile fawn
down to drink from the stream!
How amazing is that?
It moves closer to the window—
we can see it clearly.
It raises its beautiful head,
and gazes right at us with those
soft doe-eyes, unafraid
before wandering away slowly,
taking a sip here, chewing on a twig there.

Again, Thank You!
For the gift of this simple pleasure of this sighting.

The new season is suddenly upon us.
The snow falls steadily overnight, gently
piling itself onto all surfaces in high, rounded mounds,
bestowing onto familiar objects an 
otherworldly appearance.
But—another world it is!
A world of calm, and quietude,
and looking inward.
And forcibly slowing down all the 
madness and the rush,
so that one may pause and say…

Thank You
for all this.
And everything else we neglect
to stop for a moment and appreciate.
The only real voyage consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes; in seeing the universe through the eyes of another, one hundred others—in seeing the hundred universes that each of them sees.” ~Marcel Proust

October 27, 2008

The Sands of Time

Filed under: Reflection, Time — Deborah @ 8:13 am

These days, there is not much space outside of the time I spend with my mother. So I have found when I do not hand over my writing to others, what I am compelled to write about becomes an extension of my conversations and reflections with Mom. The two of us are spending a lot of time looking back. That’s where she’s most comfortable. The farther back we go, the better her memory. Ask her about an event or person in her childhood and you’ll get minute details. Ask her what she had for lunch the minute she finished the last morsel, and you’ll get a shrug. 

Mom grew up on the Atlantic Ocean just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. Her summers were spent with family on Cape Cod. Her only move was to Michigan and the shores of a much smaller body of water but still huge in its own right, Lake Michigan. This is where Mom has spent the last 68 years of her life and where I grew up.

The other day we talked about spending so much of one’s life on or near a beach. There are many wonderful and interesting things about beach life. Watching wildlife, digging clams, and flying kites have been some of our favorites. But in our conversation, Mom seemed to want to focus on sand. We agreed that our beach days will always be a part of us and will forever be most defined by sand. Oh, such a tiny thing for such a long life!

We’ve concluded that our hair, toes, belly buttons and many other unmentionable crevices will always contain at least a few grains of sand. A total cleaning is not possible. We’ll both die with sand in some crack. Likewise, we’ll forever have sand in our bed. 

We are still astounded at how possessions can get lost for a long, long time as the sand shifts and inches forward and backward with the wind and the waves. And that often, with that same shifting, the treasures are unearthed and things long lost return. I remember that vividly with a stuffed toy cat that disappeared for a good three months, only to return with no more damage than need of a good washing.

We agreed that sleeping on the sand makes the best nap. Long after the day has cooled, that patch of sand is still quite warm having absorbed the sun all day. Warm sand, properly piled and molded, will allow for rest so deep you’ll drool in your sleep and wake with sand plastered to the side of your face.

We sighed as we remembered the experience of standing at the water’s edge and wiggling our feet in the sand. Better than any foot massage we’ve ever had, our feet emerged baby fresh and buffed. 

I serve up this reflection about sand as an opportunity for you to remember the environment that forever defines you. What simple geography has played a big role in defining who you are today? Prairie grasses, a cool and quite pine forest, rocks, an orchard, a pasture? Search for that place in your own life journey. Your eternity is as simple as a grain of sand. I’d love to hear your reflections as you discover your own sands of time.

 “To see a world in a grain of sand
And Heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of you hand
And eternity in an hour.”
Auguries of Innocence ~William Blake 

“They dined on mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.”
~Edward Lear 

September 14, 2008

Lawnless

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness, Humor, Time — Deborah @ 9:06 am

Oh, sacred September, one of my all time favorite months. Just the right balance of warmth and crispness, don’t you think?

I’m messin’ about in the garden these days. I’ve decided to pull up all the iris and day lilies. They need to be separated and replanted, with leftovers going to a couple of good friends. It may be the wrong time of year for digging up garden flowers for all I know. My gardening knowledge is very tiny, indeed. I know a lot about sitting, resting, musing and enjoying my garden…or a lake…or a tree…or even a rock for that matter. Its just one of the many ways I notice all the abundance that is around me. So if you see my digging and replanting this time of year as a gardening mistake, keep it to yourself please. I’m on a roll.

It was only a year ago, last October, when I wrote about The Speed of Life. The article was inspired by a sign that read: “Life is too short to wear matching socks.” From there, I created my own “Life is Too Short” list. And top on my list was “Life is too short to mow the lawn.” My friend, Madeleine, has taken this sentiment to a judicial, logical, and immaculate RANT. Mad takes it to the extreme. She not only says life is too short to mow the lawn, she argues that life is too short to have a lawn at all! I so enjoy getting Mad’s occasional rants in my email inbox. This one I just had to share with you all. It’s a great time of year, as we put our gardens and yards to rest, to reflect on just how much time and energy we have and where we care to spend it.

The more time I find for my favorite leisures, the more grounded I become. I’m amazed and impressed with my ability and desire to do little and, consequently, more.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” ~Annie Dillard

DOWN WITH LAWNS! by Madeleine Beaupré

What is it with this North-American obsession, anyway? Even a pure, dope-free virgin lawn requires SO much TLC from its owners, one has to wonder what exactly is it giving in return? One of my personal pet peeves is The Moocher. What has that got to do with lawns, you ask? Well, lawns are obviously big time moochers! Taking, taking, taking – always taking! And what does one get in return? Well, it does look pretty, does it not? Pretty, alright. Pretty useless, is what I say! Unless your kids are rolling in it from dawn to dusk. And, in that case, it had better be chemical-free, or your offspring will soon be of the glow-in-the-dark variety.

Now is the time to plan next year’s yard landscaping modifications! And if you ask me, less is best when it comes to lawns! Please don’t quote the line: “But its respiration cycle provides us with precious oxygen!” Because trees, shrubs, other plants and countless other ground covers can do that just as well, if not better! And, if you’re like many of us, in need of some fresh air and therapeutic time while you tend to the yard, why not plant something you can actually use? Like…veggies! Yes, apparently this trend is truly catching on! Edible landscaping – now THAT is putting your money where your mouth is! Many vegetable plants are quite attractive, and you can literally reap what you sow!

Did you know that in North America, combined yearly lawn maintenance costs have soared to the equivalent of the total federal budgets of some third-world countries!!! To beef up my admittedly biased, arguably argumentative arguments, I took to the Net. While perusing various websites of a turfy nature, both pro and con, I came across acres of green information. Some was familiar (i.e., my hero, David Suzuki), but tons of soddy stuff I didn’t even fathom, and much was just plain shocking, such as the following tidbit. I could not re-locate the original BNet article pertaining to one of my side notes, but here, in a nutshell, is the following projection: by the year 2010 (within the next year-and-a-half), in the U.S. alone, lawn maintenance costs will exceed $9 Billion. That’s million with a “B”, ladies and gentlemen.

It gives us a glimmer of hope to see legislation finally being enacted in many areas, amending laws to ban the use of wasteful water usage and of gardening chemicals for the sake of yard cosmetics. Finally. Was it maybe partly due to the fact that dogs, cats and little kids can’t read those tiny flags they stick in lawns as warnings, after they spray them with known carcinogens?

However, our town, and too many others, still maintain and enforce by-laws which dictate the maximum height of your grass, AND require you to prevent it from drying out, under threat of stiff fines! Allowances are not often made for water shortages, except for the odd/even watering rule. If you’re stuck on grass, reduce the size of the sodded area in your yard, replacing some of it with attractive alternative landscaping. At the very least, switch to healthier, more earth-friendly weeding and bug control methods. Many chemical-free products and techniques are now widely promoted, thanks to the efforts of devoted environmental activists, as well as more health conscious folks.

The photo is that of a neighbour’s yard, which I have wistfully admired since its creation. It is an eye-pleasing blend of different features which I find quite striking. Note the strategic compromise of the aesthetic and the environmental:

Native prairie grasses, left long and willowy, can be admired swaying in the breeze. Rock gardens are a favourite of mine, for obvious reasons. And, if you must have lawn, then counterbalance that flat, unnatural view with low-maintenance plants indigenous to your climate zone. Shrubs are nice. And, of course, trees. As many as possible. Did you know that the USDA reports that one well-positioned shade tree can equal the cooling effects of five air conditioners?

I just cannot wrap my head around the strange concept that a manicured lawn enhances the appearance of your property more than other, more nature-inspired landscaping. But there it was, staring at me from my monitor: the definitive proof of this obsessive cultural phenomenon. An ad. It read something like this: “Have your lawn maintenance costs risen too high? If you are fed up with all that mowing and watering, call us for a free consultation! Our solution will provide your property with an enhanced appearance as well as cutting your costs significantly. Call today to inquire about our high quality synthetic grass! ” Egad! Is it just me, or what?

Around here, in my little corner of the World, my husband is the self-appointed, long-suffering, sole custodian of THE LAWN. I have more useful things to do, like meditating in my muskoka chair. Or walking in the woods. Or rock hunting in the vacant lot next door. Or laundry.

Some of us (I) could never be bothered to cut, clip, trim, aerate, mulch, weed and feed and otherwise coddle and fret over our expansive acre of mixed woods and greens, with a good portion of clover, interspersed with the occasional sodded spot. However, in quasi-keeping with our neighbourhood’s well-meaning but wasteful elevated horticultural standards, my misguided lawn devotee refuses to quit! I beg him: Let it go! If you truly love it, set it free! Move on with your life! But no: he feels socially obligated to (somewhat) regularly fire up the dreaded smelly pollution-spewing riding mower, haul out the gigantic evil-sounding shoulder holstered 100 pound whipper-slasher, and the squeaky wheeled push-and-spin feeder, as well as the long-handled telescopic saw pruner.

Even if he is already swamped in a backwash of a quazillion accumulated more pressing chores. ALL is postponed because…THE LAWN beckons! THE LAWN is hungry/thirsty! THE LAWN requires a haircut to remain fashionable! THE LAWN is upset with all those pesky little daisies and dandelions sprouting here, there and everywhere! I wonder when, exactly, did the court convene to decree that the bright and cheerful dandelion is a weed? At least you can make wine or salad with dandelions! I dare you to try serving your lawn cuttings for lunch tomorrow…

Not having obtained the desired stellar results so far in my endeavour to endear all home-owners in my acquaintance to my cause, (a few continue to imitate the ostrich when it comes to environmental issues), I have decided to quit re-hashing Al Gore et al., and change my tack. Instead, I will try to more subtly expose the gist of one of my main points: the time factor. All that time – and energy – which could be more happily spent on more pleasant activities.

To quote Andy Rooney: “Life is like a roll of toilet paper: the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.”

Allow me to illustrate by means of a simple exercise borrowed from a grey-haired, white-mustachioed gnome-like being, who wisely explains the conscious use one should make of one’s life span with the following analogy (also shnagged from Andy Rooney, in all probability): Unroll a measuring tape to 75 or 80 inches, representing an average life expectancy. Re-wind the portion you have already “lived”, in my case, shorten it by 55 inches/years. Examine closely the remaining short bit, and ask yourself: How can I most enjoy this last fraction of time left for me to live life on this planet? If you choose to spend an inordinate amount of that time tending to the demands of useless but (questionably) aesthetically-pleasing blades of grass, then so be it. But others may re-consider…

Many long maligned so-called weeds are attractive, perfectly harmless and sometimes quite useful members of the plant world, just as deserving of a special place in our home environment as grass! Personally, I have observed that grass can be a very persistent nuisance, insisting on insinuating itself even where it is squarely uninvited. If you let it, it will take over nature wherever it can, unaccepting of the possibility that a homeowner may choose wild-flowers, or ivy or dogwood, or – nothing – in its stead. Grass can indeed become the weed! In fact, I often see grass as the unwelcome invader: in our rock gardens, graveled landscaping, flower beds, vegetable patches, driveway cracks and sandy beaches. Did you know that grass can thrive, unsolicited, in a full three-foot depth of beach sand? Yes, it can. I have seen it with my own eyes. As a matter of fact, right now, as we speak, I’m sitting here watching it grow.

Madeleine,
a.k.a. MadMad
a.k.a. MadAgainstTheWorld(AndHappilyEnjoyingEveryMinuteOfItAsMuchAsHumanlyPossible)

“A lawn is nature under totalitarian rule.” ~Michael Pollan

September 2, 2008

Disorderly Conduct

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness, Reflection — Deborah @ 11:07 am

I made it. I finally got north for two full weeks of fishing. After months of being a caretaker, taking time away from Mom was difficult. It seems I fell into a bit of a trap, being drawn to create order in the midst of the seeming chaos of my mother’s illness. So I cleaned, sorted, mowed, planted, folded, dusted, rearranged, tossed, and organized. The list is long. But even in the middle of my orderly behavior, I recognized my actions were not really about creating order. They were more about trying to be in control.

Just like the ease with which summer gives way to fall, when I take a minute to breathe and observe, I can see that order is already inherent in any chaos. There is nothing for me to do. If I’m willing to relinquish control, I can always see the present order within the mess before me. That order is, at its heart, natural and expansive. The control I was seeking is contrived and limiting.

So, thanks to a complicated (dare I say “chaotic”) system that involved train conductors, a shortwave
radio, a fly-in fishing camp to our south, and a bush plane pilot, I was finally able to get away and muck about in chaos, knowing the order was there when I needed it. Some days I caught too many fish, some days I didn’t fish at all. Some days I slept in and stayed up late, other days I was up before the sun and in bed before the stars. Some days I ate every hour, on the hour. Other days I ate only one meal. Some days I had milk and cookies for a bedtime snack, other days it was good bourbon and a cigarette. I
can’t say I felt more in control after all my disorderly conduct. But I can say that I have a better, more trusting, relationship with chaos. And that gives me peace.

“Chaos in the world brings uneasiness, but it also allows the opportunity for creativity and growth.” ~Tom Barrett

“Chaos is a friend of mine.” ~Bob Dylan 

“Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.” ~Henry Miller 

“Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds.” ~ George Santayana

June 16, 2008

What’s In A Name

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness — Tags: , , , — Deborah @ 2:38 pm

Oba, OntarioAs a child, did you want to change your name? I did. And a lot of my friends did too. I remember sitting outside with my childhood friends imagining all sorts of better names. Most of them were not traditional names. We wanted to be called names like Chipmunk or Daisy or Leapfrog or Brook Trout or Dragon or Gray Girl. Don’t ask me why. I may have understood our logic then but it has escaped me.

But opportunity is knocking. I’m looking at a camp on one of my favorite lakes just outside of Oba, Ontario. So Oba, population about 8 full time residents, could soon be my summer mailing address. In Oba, everyone’s “real” address is General Delivery. The mail gets thrown off the train about three times a week. The Postmaster rides his 4-wheeler to the train crossing, catches the mail bag, and delivers the mail on the spot. If someone is not home, he just takes it back to his house to be picked up or delivered later.

Everyone in Oba, because they are General Delivery, gets to create their own address. My friend Sam is at #1 Shoreline Drive. This is not because his shack in Oba is on any shoreline. It’s in the second row of houses back from the tracks. But his camp, www.mcbridefishingcamp.com, is 14 miles down the Oba River from town. So Sam figures he has the longest “Shoreline Drive” of anyone in town. When Tex the old trapper was alive, his address was #13 Sled Dog Lane. As the dogs got older and died and Tex slowed down and didn’t need to replace them for his work, his address became #12 Sled Dog Lane…#11 Sled Dog Lane…#10 Sled Dog Lane…

So it may soon be my turn. I’ve entertained Walleye Way, Pike Place and River Route, but they all seem too obvious, too ordinary. Maybe Wondering Woman Way? Hmmmm, not quite. What do you think? I’m taking suggestions. I could wait until I bought the camp. But I’m well aware that we manifest better and more in our lives when we name that peg we plan to hang our fishing hat on.

“Always end the name of your child with a vowel so that when you yell, the name will carry.” ~ Bill Cosby

How I Threw Out My Shoulder Wednesday Morning

Filed under: Courage, Humor — Tags: , — Deborah @ 2:03 pm

I am submitting this contribution to Deb for her perusal: to accept, reject, or modify, as she sees fit. It matters not what she decides: my venting will have been done, and I will thankfully move on, all those pent-up emotions having been expressed.

Because,you see, this piece pertains to a highly sensitive, but seasonal (it changesin winter) hate-object: the minuscule but intensely phobia-inducing…

MOSQUITO!
So, I asked Deb: “How do the good people of Michigan cope, when those pesky critters are driving them stark raving bananas?” Quick as a whip, just like that, she quipped: “Well, we just drop everything and run into the house! Duh!” To which I replied: “But, Deb – I AM in the house!”Do you now understand the sheer intensity and depth of my torment? Our home is in the mid-north. That’s what the news anchor calls it. Northern Ontario, that is. It is also the home of the dreaded mosquito. As well as the lowly blackfly…but that is another story. I was not sure how to start. I thought a catchy opening line might be:
“There are blood-spatters on my bedroom ceiling and walls – but don’t bother calling the CSI, as they are my own.”
OR
“Dead bodies lie helter-skelter on my bedroom floor. I willfully leave them there, in plain view, as fair warning to future intruders: Beware – a madwoman lives here.”
OR
“My notches are innumerable – but they’re on a swatter, not a pistol.”

Instead, I decide to go with my original How I Threw Out My Shoulder Wednesday Morning.

Now, it’s not like I have no ammo here: an arsenal of anti-bug implements, supplies, and equipment have been put to the Test. Every conceivable lotion, potion, lamp, candle, spray, garden stake, zapper, stick, and trap has failed the Test. Every electric, electronic, butane-fuelled, battery-operated, as well as hand-held weapon has failed the Test. Every conceivable attire such as netted hats, jackets, pants, jumpsuits, gloves as well as domed food covers has failed the Test. A four-poster bed frame was purchased for the sole purpose of holding up a home-made mesh enclosure, fashioned from a whole bolt of fine wedding tulle. Failed. They used GPS and found their way in.

Had my husband dip himself in Deet. Then, armed with hockey tape and various sizes of cut-out screen, his mission was to creatively install a barrier onto every possible aperture leading into the house, from the dryer vent to the wash-bay drain hole, including the chimney (we agreed to desist from using the fireplace – a small price to pay indeed). They are still getting in.

Yet here I stand before you, swearing to the efficacy of the common bedroom slipper. Size 7.

Long ago, it became clear to me: There must be something in the water at our place. There was. Literally. Larva: huge, mutant-ninja Larva – that soon hatch into huge, mutant-ninja Skitters. This unnamed species, an aberration of nature, is limited to one biosphere: our property, both the house and our very wet and wild backyard. The catalytic nature of the local water seems to dramatically increase, in the female of the species Culicidae, both the size of the proboscis and the creature’s I.Q. I’m theorizing here, but based on my clinical experience, I can personally vouch for their superior intellect: take it from me – those suckers are a pain to kill.

But they shouldn’t, should they? After all, their brain is but a fraction of the size of mine. Yet they are born innately knowing how to strategize, regroup, huddle and plan their attacks with military precision. They are a formidable foe indeed. They can even tell time. And their tiny little ears are highly developed, for they know the sound of snoring. Snoring occurs at approximately 2 a.m., in our house anyway. This signals the deployment of the first bloodthirsty troop. Anyone sitting in the dark on our street, in the dead of any summer night, will bear witness to the lights suddenly turning on in our bedroom window between 2 and 3 a.m. Regularly. And when those lights go on, then, my friends, so is the War.

You can hear thunderous thumping, explosive smacks, and sometimes – o.k., many times, there is crashing. Unfortunately, the source of the wails, shrieks and howling is not from any winged insect, but from the grimacing, disheveled, evil-eyed Medusa, swaying in the middle of the creaking bed, brandishing her deadly slipper menacingly: moi. Yes. Beware. She may be panting and worn down, but has learned to remain persistent, obsessive even, and will strike at the slightest flitting. Her nerves are frazzled, but her eye is keen.

After a whole contingent has succumbed to the zeal of her blows, she spies a lone straggler! It is fully laden and slowed by its’ burden of blood: HER blood! This sends her into a frenzy of ill-choreographed prancing, which inevitably leads to grave injury, to both pest and swatter. Hence the injured arm.

This is a true story.

Madeleine Beaupré

“If you think you’re too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito.” ~Anita Roddick

May 14, 2008

Ice Out

Filed under: Courage — Deborah @ 10:26 am

Hey All

I’ve missed writing. I’ve been attending to the needs of my Mother. So far, her 89th year has been a challenging one.

But while I did not find the time to write about it, I did find some inspiration from my visit to Northern Ontario the middle of April, before my world turned just a little cockeyed. But while I had inspiration, sitting calmly and writing without distraction has been lacking. Just when I think I will be able to carve our a little time to write, there’s one more doctor to talk with, one more nurse who needs more information, a physical therapist who wants history and one more signature needed somewhere. And right now, that’s just where my attention needs to be.

So, here’s April’s inspiration in May. I started it, my friend David happened to call in the middle of one of my frustrating days and offered to finish this up for me. Thanks David!

As I’ve said before, my intention, if anything, is just to present the musings of a wandering woman. Take what works for you. Discard what does not. David and I won’t mind a bit.

Ice Out…With A Little Help From My Friend, David

April is always the month of flow. My April writings have often been about the rise of my backyard creek, the torrential downpours, the flooding of my driveway, and the flow of maple syrup. This year was the year of Ice Out in Northern Ontario. The few hours it takes lake and river ice to disappear is generally unpredictable so I did not count on being privy to the ritual. But this year I happened to be there just in time.

One moment the lake, and the river that flows from it, is totally covered with ice except for a little ring of water along the shoreline where the warm sun has heated the ground enough to melt the ice. The next moment, dramatic movement begins as the ice starts shifting.

One moment, it’s a clam spring day. Birds can be heard in the background. The next moment, nothing can be heard over the thunderous noise created as the ice moves swiftly from the lake and down the river.

One moment the shoreline is flat. The next moment the ice is piled up on itself in some sort of geometric design that has Mother Nature’s signature all over it.

One moment the sound is deafening as the ice crunches and grinds upon itself. The next moment, as the drama subsides, the gently swaying ice sounds like the tinkle of wind chimes as it lightly bumps back and forth.

One moment birds on the lake ice are taking flight and Mr. Beaver is diving deep. The next moment that same wildlife is calmly floating by on spring ice flows.

So much like life, eh? Right now, I’m stuck in the “next moment.” David listened and took over….

“I am your biggest fan.”

Isn’t that a lovely statement? I’ll take credit for it because I said it. I said it to Deb Martin just a few minutes ago.

Deb has been my coach and very good friend for about 6 years. I called her a few minutes ago and she was stuck, just not feeling the normal mushroom-loving, fishing-loving, moose-loving mojo that she normally does.

Deb is a love so I call her from time to time and I tell her I love her. I tell her I love her because
it makes me feel good and I think it makes her feel good too.

When I called her today she said she was stuck with her essay and I offered to ghost write something or just write something. She said I should so I am.

Since this is ostensibly a coaching column, I’d like to talk a bit about coaching. Since this column is also from portagecoach.com, I’ll throw in a little ice and ice fishing just so you all feel comfortable.

Deb and I struggled over the years because I kept wanting her to coach me to do something. She just wanted to coach me and let the process lead me, and she and I together, wherever it may.

Just like her columns, she lovingly suggested, that the most wonderful and powerful experiences could be had just going outside, walking around, and taking your clues from the moss on a branch or whether the morels had decided to grow on the roots of the oak trees.

I have found her suggestion to be true. Whenever I try to live my life strictly according to goals it feels empty and shallow … hollow. I came to Deb wanting to change the world, solar power the world, get my musical on Broadway, etc. I came to her convinced that these achievements would give me peace and serenity, joy and meaning.

She didn’t say I was wrong. She listened lovingly, for hours. I wondered why she spent so much time listening to me, talking to me. Her attention did not seem at all tied to my achievements or my attempts at achievement. She seemed to love me for exactly where I was at every moment, regardless of whether I was achieving mightily or (in my estimation) screwing up.

Deb let herself wander in my life and quietly and sweetly, by her trusting and generous nature, invited me to wander in hers.

Today’s conversation between she and I was unusual. Usually, I bring the conversation around to what I am doing, achieving, and she as always, listens lovingly. Today, I listened to her talk.

Deb is tired. Her brain and maybe her soul is tired, if a soul can be tired.

She had a potential topic for this month’s column. She had already written about the ice breaking up at one of her favorite bodies of water, one of the lakes or rivers where she communes with nature (and her friends sometimes) and recharges her soul.

Recently she had been at this lake or river and the ice started breaking up and moving. She told me the melting ice and shifting and breaking sheets of ice made thunder noises and tinkling noises and crushing noises. She intimated it was beautiful, maybe moving to her. We didn’t talk about it much.

It was another of nature’s demonstrations and showpieces that Deb loves so much. She seemed a little sad or confused or just frustrated that this tasty piece of nature’s showmanship was not as inspiring to her as it might be if she was not dealing with her mother’s caretaking.

Funny. I think the roles have reversed. It seems to me that Deb was just a little concerned with performing and meeting expectations and I am the one who is saying, Deb, it’s okay, I love you just the way you are.

I love you for struggling.
I love you because you are letting me write a story for you.
I love you for teaching me how to just be.
I love you for teaching me that if you can’t write a kick-ass story, maybe one of your friends will call you up and write it for you.
I love you for teaching me that there is no right or wrong … there is only love.
I love you for taking such good care of your mother.
I want to assure you that there are many years of ice melting and rivers thawing and glorious crunchings and groaning of Canadian lakes in the springtime.
Right now, you are exactly where you need to be, struggling to write an essay so that I might write one for you.
You are my friend, Deb, and I love you very much.

David Freund

“You never really know your friends until the ice breaks” ~~Eskimo Proverb

April 5, 2008

Spring Frenzy

Filed under: Creating Space, Happiness — Tags: , , — Deborah @ 6:22 am

I started to write about Spring Fever because that’s what I thought I was experiencing. But a quick trip to my dictionary and quite a bit of contemplation I’ve shifted my opinion of my symptoms. I think what I had was “Spring Frenzy.” With this clarity, I was more open to this week’s insight and lesson.

I’ve discovered that for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Spring Fever has passed. Spring Fever is really that feeling of languor, listlessness, lethargy and yearning brought on by the nearness of spring not yet here. It’s itchy and uncomfortable. Now it’s April and fever has given way to frenzy. With each day, the pulse of spring breathes new life and makes everything look and feel packed full of possibility. So much possibility we feel we must take action.

A short walk along the creek is enough evidence that I’m not the only one with Spring Frenzy. Most of the wildlife is very busy indeed, emerging from their holes, crevices, and burrows for food and frolic. The creek is raging. The buds are out. The sap is running. The pin oaks are finally dropping their leaves. My jeans are forever mud smudged from cuff to knees. And where is all that dirt under my nails coming from? Daylight is brighter and stretching into evening hours, pushing back the night. I’m urged on to plant, sort and reorganize as busyness blows in on fresh spring breezes. This urge to renew every aspect of my life, and to do it quickly, is Spring Frenzy.

But, what about the renewal of my soul? Just a couple of days ago I saw my first real sign of spring. It was not the stereotypical robin, busily collecting worms and grubs and nest material nor the geese honking and flapping their way north. It was not the squirrels frantically chasing each other around tree trunks. It was not the first blooming crocus or a long ice float cracking and breaking away on the frozen lake. Here in Northern Michigan, I officially mark the coming of spring when I see my first group of men leaning on the bed of a pickup truck parked in the sun. I spotted this rare ritual not far from my home on my way to the grocery store. It was such an uplifting sight that I opted to take the same route home, hoping for a second glimpse. And there they still were. One more had joined the tribe but none had left. And all were pretty much holding the same stance and the same territory of the truck bed that they had assumed when I had driven by a good 45 minutes earlier. I’ll probably never be totally privy to the dynamics of this ritual. In my imagination, these are men, young and old, inspired by spring to make promises that deep down they know they cannot keep and tell stories they know they cannot live up to. If you know differently, please keep it to yourself. It doesn’t really matter. My heart always breaks wide open at this sight, knowing that spring is officially here. I can learn from the “pickup guys.”

Prior to the sighting, my frenzy was making me desperate to force myself to live rightly, become fit and
healthy, and make lasting changes in myself, my home and my life. After the sighting, I understand I was experiencing Spring Frenzy, that temporary lapse of sanity where getting things done and putting all in order is the only priority. I was gently reminded by the pickup guys to catch myself before I plunged headfirst into so much activity I actually missed spring. I remember now, that renewal of soul is what I’d been wanting from spring. And that too much activity can cause me to lose balance and the ability
to relish and savor.

So this Spring, my only to-do list has become this: throw away all other to-do lists; put the hammock up now; sit in a warm patch of sun often; notice; focus only on the activity at hand, not the destination; and, find a pickup truck bed to lean on.

“Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.” ~~A Zen proverb

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