Waving At The World, Part Two

I thought today would be the perfect day to run one of my all-time favorite blog entries, from way-back around the time this blog was first birthed.

My son Devin is now 16 months, on his way to 17 (months, that is :-). Today we took a long walk together, and just like the glorious day almost half-his-life-ago when this earlier blog entry was written, he was waving at the world--first at a truck, then at a friendly passerby, then at a favorite neighbor.

After our walk, he practically leapt through a window in our living room shouting, "Baby! Baby!" (also with a wave) when he saw another neighbor just a few months younger than he being pushed by in a stroller. I am constantly amazed by this little being who emerged into our lives such a short time ago, and is continually teaching us how to greet the world--with a wave and a smile.

Here goes...

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My son is waving at the shower head as he takes his bath. He is laughing hysterically with joy, waiting for the shower to wave back.

He is nine months old, and loves saying hello to anyone and anything that catches his eye.

His newest friend is the set of windchimes hanging on our porch. He even tries to say it.

It comes out something like this.

“Wi…ch…” Again and again. Over and over.

He waves hello to the pot rack hanging overhead in our kitchen.

“Hello, pot rack,” we say, encouraging him as he waves.

“Hi-row, pt..rk..” He says, trying it out, chuckling to himself with delight.

He waves at a neighbor, a stranger passing by, the tree branches overhead.

“Hello, beautiful world, hello!” we say, as he greets the sunny world out his window with a wave each morning.

Devin James reminds us everyday what a joy it is to be alive.

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May we all remember what a great day today is. As Goethe wrote, "Nothing is worth more than this day." Enjoy yours!

Color of Today

The air blew up the river, billowing and bustling everything around us. Fall leaves swirled in big swoops. My hair went every which way as I pushed the stroller against the breeze.

It was an odd sort of day, one that felt more spring-like than autumn, a final hurrah before more brisk fall weather set in. There was a sense of get-out-and-enjoy-it-now energy, as if every living being was aware that the gentle temperatures would soon pass.

Vultures circled overhead, playing in the wind pockets as they surveyed the landscape for their next meal. There was a sense they were hunting not out of desperation as sometimes happens in colder weather, but rather were half hunting, half enjoying the day.

As I cherished the unusual weather, I noticed how many leaves were blowing along my path rather than on the branches overhead. We are definitely past peak, when it comes to the autumn-thing. In spite of the recent spring-like climate and a long, drawn-out, delayed height of foliage color, nature is definitely moving swiftly onto winter ideas.

This autumn has been a unique one for me personally. I have found myself being aware of the seasons’ colors more poignantly than ever before. Back in September before we lost any leaves, the color of the day was bright, photosynthesis green. I seemed to be wrapping myself in it—redesigning my website www.dreamcatching.net with a design that radiated the hue I was seeing everywhere.

During “green season” you would look up in the trees and it felt as if the leaves were positively singing—could that be possible? It was as if they too were having a last hurrah before other things to come.

The next season that consumed my awareness was yellow. One day, I snapped a photo of yellow leaves absorbing the sun. They were at their most beautiful before their edges turned brown and the brilliance of amber started fading to something more obscure.

Finally, just this week, the color in my awareness became red. The Japanese Maples in our neighborhood have reached a crescendo just when every other tree seems to be fading away. The red is so bright it’s nearly fluorescent. I map my walks out now by the trees—these little pockets of maples marking my way that scream—notice me, notice me, cherish me because I am about to go. It happens so quickly, the next time I look—all the leaves are gone, surrounding the base of the trunk in a soft carpet, becoming food for the next crop of leaves two whole seasons away.

As I strive to cherish the newness in each day, I am reminded that like the colors of Fall, today is soon to pass into another brilliant season that, while different, will also bear noticing with joy.

Angels Among Us

I found myself feeling sad this week. Maybe it was because my husband was away for business and I missed him. It was deeper than that, though, a deep sense of loss creeping in beneath the hubbub of everyday life. It wasn’t any one thing, but seemed highlighted by the events echoing through my life.

On Wednesday, for example, I began saying good-bye to a beautiful friend and helper who assists us with cleaning our home. Ausra is returning to Lithuania to her family, something that brings her great delight, in spite of the challenge of leaving. I was struck at how sad I was to see her go, how much a part of the fabric of our family she has become even though we only see her every two weeks.

"I have always liked taking care of people," she said once when I told her how much I appreciated her hard work. “This is not hard,” she smiled at me from atop a ladder, a special favor she was doing for us by washing the windows—in 100 degree humid weather. Before coming here, she graduated from college where she studied the craft of designing costumes for theater. In her spare time, as a hobby, she creates needlework that rivals that of professionals.

We had another woman help us when we lived in New Hope, PA many years ago. Her name was Cristina and she was from Poland. She spoke very little English, but somehow we managed to communicate very well. She was a tiny woman with biceps that resembled that of a bodybuilder. She showed me how she would lift the vacuum cleaner like a barbell to make herself stronger, and how she did handstands in her spare time.

She too returned to her country after a year or so of being here. She too was always cheerful, going above and beyond what she was here to do—fixing a picture frame with a rubberband, bringing me Polish medicine from a small shop in Trenton and refusing to let me pay for it when I had a bad cough that wouldn’t go away.

The other person who has been very much on my mind lately has been my client Michele. About four years ago, I had the honor of meeting with this magnificent woman regularly to give her Reiki treatments as she battled a serious form of aggressive cancer. Within a short year of receiving the diagnosis, she was dying, resisting this idea, while also preparing to say good-byes to her two young sons and husband.

She was another person full of light and love and service. As she prepared to pass from this earth in her own way--at this time of year, in fact--she brought together a whole community of loving women who would meet in her home and learn about alternate ways of healing and improving their lives. She did this not just as part of her own exploration but also to serve, to share with others. While she may not have realized it, she gave as much if not more than she asked to receive.

Michele called me her spiritual healer, although in so many ways, by letting me into her life the way she did, she was really mine. She finally passed only a few days before my husband Jim and I left for our three-month cross-country trip in 2002 and the memorial service was synchronistically scheduled for the day before we departed.

As I was taking my daily walk with my son Devin the other day, thinking these thoughts, I noticed something outside a neighbor’s house I hadn’t before. It was a rock carved with the following poem, perhaps in honor of a deceased pet.

Our hearts still well with sadness
Secret tears still flow
What it meant to lose you
No one can ever know.

There is a magic, I believe, to those people who enter our lives and then pass out of them again, seeming simply like mere acquaintances, but who forever leave their footprints on our hearts. I feel so thankful to have met these miraculous women whose spirits have become woven throughout my life. Each, in their own way, taught me what it really means to be grateful, to love life, and to serve.

Each of us have a story within us of loss—as well as all we’ve gained from those we’ve loved—that is difficult to touch let alone share with others. The greatest gift we can give as we’re on this earth, I believe, is that of ourselves.