Snapshot misses

The picture doesn’t show the shrieks of wonderful teen laughter. Nor does it make my garden look cared for, although I tend it every day. In the background are the chairs still piled on the burn pit from my quick afternoon mowing project. And next to the burn pit is the now washed clear, painted sign congratulating my kids on finishing the school year. The whole shot is a bit fuzzy, as I took it from inside and the windows need washing. And I accidentally got a bit of a houseplant leaf on the left side of the frame.

In the first shot, my daughter looks odd, as she suddenly bent down to pick up a corn hole bag. And in the second, her friend was throwing the corn hole bag, and therefore is a blur of motion. Neither one would ever approve the posting of said photo on any media. And due to the background scene, I don’t want it shared either.

But it is real. It is life and life isn’t picture perfect. We all know how to add filters or focus in on the detail to avoid the background, or blur the foreground to see the amazing view. And really, we do it everyday in real life too. Sometimes we just forget how much we do it and suddenly get overwhelmed with the big picture.

We are only four weeks into this summer, with maybe seven weeks left, (but really we are 18 weeks home, with unknown left). Each of my kids are struggling with the distancing, and different summer, than usual. And I ride the roller coaster of changes and upheavals daily. But as I sit here thumbing through yesterday’s snap shots, I see a different picture.

They had fun. They laughed and climbed trees. One climbed a mountain, literally. And we went out for spur of the moment late night ice cream. There was a little bonfire and s’mores. There were also hurt feelings and changed plans. Raised voices and sullen responses. But really, this snap shot will be the memory I carry forth today of a random Thursday in July of 2020. This is life, real life. Which can be messy and overgrown and fuzzy and blurry with movement, but also abuzz with love, laughter, friendship, beauty, and contentment.

What makes me feel calm

These days calm is in short supply. Anxiety, uncertainty, unknown, unrest and unease dance around, having a party of epic proportions. The mornings are probably the best time for me. Quiet and often hopeful plans have yet to start to unravel. And especially on a sunny day, there is the reminder of Spring; I feel often as if waking from a bad dream drenched in sweat to find the storm has passed, and the birds are singing. The horrors were just a dream. But things often digress and return to unknown waiting, half done lists, and eventually the return to night.

Last night was hard, not sure why. We got lots of fresh air, did big projects outside, had some fun family time … but. By the time the darkness finally settled on our little house, Sadness had built up to a knot in my shoulders, Unknown was piggy backing like a clingy toddler, and Too Tired had turned my legs to jelly and my mind to pudding.

I retreated to my room to put on pajamas, long since over due it seemed. And there was my sense of calm. With the tying of my bathrobe snug around my waist, I felt a release through the deep sigh, and Unknown loosened the grip around my hips and back. Neither more water, coffee, tea, or beer had been able to pry that toddlers fingers and legs from me all afternoon! I began to roll my shoulders and off it fell! Although the unknown was still unknown, it was no longer riding on my back, but was sent instead to its own room, enough.

Although it was early in the evening, and my family sat, somewhat conversing and lounging, on the large couch, I instead began my nightly rituals of washing my face and brushing my teeth. Kissing my family goodnight, I lay down, and pulled the covers up to my chin. And there! Again a release, the calm. Sadness knotted in my shoulders and neck, cricked and popped with the weight of my comforter pulled up and covering me with a firm, but gentle full body hug. As my head nestled into the dryer fluffed pillows, sadness retreated yet further, as the knot untied itself and instead coiled neatly, like a rope on the deck of a fine schooner. The sadness was still there, but respectable, neat, and orderly, waiting for a different day’s call to sail.

All that was left was Too Tired. In came the cat, to kneed, and purr, and settle at my feet for the night. The calm was complete. The too tired feeling sunk down to the depths at the bottom of the laundry basket, and instead a comforting physical tired, a relaxed tired, and end of the day sleepiness settled round me. The day is done, we have done what we can do for one. It is good, it is enough for one. Tomorrow will come, with a new pile of worries and struggles and setbacks. But it will also have a new set of accomplishments and wonders, a new sense of life and happiness. And when it comes I will rise, don my bathrobe (tied snug round my waist) and greet the day with deep breathing, renewed strength and an open and forgiving mind, heart and soul. And with my renewed calm.

Good day to you all!

Apple tree quarantine

It is early Spring in Maine. A time to take a good look at those apple trees, and to remove dead wood from the rose bushes and other woody perennials. Time to take a good look at the layout of the gardens before both the “wanted plants” and the “pesky weeds” emerge to fill the brown with green. I love trimming the apple trees the most. The winter can be long and dark, cold and sometimes miserably wet. But when I climb into the top branches of my treasures apple trees, a sense of peace settles over me. I begin to feel the warmth of the sun, see the blue sky stretching across the whole sky, perhaps watch the clouds roll in as the day progresses, and even feel the wind grow from slight fresh breezes to strong reminders I should return to the ground! It all brings joy and happiness to fill my heart; I feel like a bird unable to contain it all and bursting forth into spring song.

This year, there are less cars driving by on the roads, empty parking lots to look down upon, and quiet summer houses without any hints of opening for several months to come. It is the year of only the birds, the quiet Spring of quarantine.

The apple trees don’t notice. They are still waking up, deep in their roots, just the same as always. In three, or so, more weeks the buds will begin to swell. And then delicate pink and white blossoms will cover the trees, to later fall like snow upon the ground. So although many are staying home, I don my hot pink snow suit, winter hat and gloves and climb away! I must trim the branches and make space for the summer breezes to easily drift through the limbs, to let the sunshine reach all the way down to the picnics we will have beneath these trees, to give the apples room to grow to ripe, red, crisp and refreshingly cool in the fall. My spring time job is distancing, physically distancing the branches, to keep the trees healthy.

I have never seen my job as so relevant to my daily life! Before I begin any trimming job, I stand back and get a picture of the whole. Where are the branches that rub or have become weak over the winter? Are there limbs that have reached out too far to encroach the neighboring tree? Will the potential weight of growing fruit bring the branches too close together or cause the limb to break? It all starts to make sense in how we are trying to reorganize our life these days! Are there places we go everyday that we could go once a week, or even once a month? Can we find ways to communicate without physically being in another’s space? Can we find a way to let the breeze blow through our lives so come summer we will be able to have that picnic, together? Can we cut some things out now, so that come fall we will have the sweet reward of the fruits?

In apple trees we first eliminate the broken branches, the crossed branches, the small suckers at the base, and the freshly grown water sprouts. In physically distancing we first remove the large gatherings of people, the concerts and the art shows. We think twice before we head to a small party, and question if we should go to that new movie. And although it is hard to fathom, we ask the children to stay home from school for a period of time. When we trim the larger limbs (like the schools) it is good to aid the healing of the tree, to keep the water from seeping in the open wound. For schools that has become the distance learning, not perfect or easy, but a band aid for the wound (like the wound heal paint applied to the cut). The next step in trimming apple trees is to look at over lapping branches and twigs. In our physical distancing we then restrict our number of outings, we start to classify places as essential or nonessential. What can wait a month, and what must we have right now. My next step in pruning is to look at the future affect of the weight of the apples upon the branches. If the tree bears heavily at the tips, it will cause the branch, or even the limb to crack and possibly break. As well as when the branches get heavy with fruit they impede the growth beneath. Physically distancing ourselves also requires looking to the future. What can I do now to make this better in the future? Suggestions become mandates to help people to see that we all have a role to play. We must try to stay home and give space to others, and ourselves, to stop the spread of the germs. And lastly when spring pruning, I look once more at the whole tree. I look for the overall shape of the tree, does it have a strong center, with evenly spaced branches fanning out in an attractive canopy? Does the growth seem to extend evenly in all directions? Is it easy to climb from the bottom branches up to the top to sit and read a book, to reset our mind and soul, while admiring the view? Does it bring me happiness and hope? As we progress with our quarantined choices to more strict laws of only essential workers or occasional quick trips to the store, we must remember to see the bigger picture. We must try to balance out these outward constraints on ourselves with inward freeing of our selves. We must keep getting out in nature, read the books we never have time to read, build up the family bond with time spent laughing, eating, baking or even house work. There is hope, there is beauty in your backyard, there is order in organizing the kitchen junk drawers, there is much merit in connecting with your family however that looks in your house.

In the end, the apple tree will be healthy and productive, although I always remind my clients, that it may take some healing after a severe winter or severe pruning, and apple trees actually bear prolific fruit every OTHER year. So have faith and keep the space for sunshine and fresh air to keep the bugs away!

View from the “Uber Mom’s” driver seat

Normally I drive an average of 600 miles a week. My part time job is 7 miles from my home. My older two daughters’ school is 5.5 miles from my garage. My youngest’s elementary school is 1.8 miles from my front door. Then there is the dance studio for ballet, jazz, hip hop, contemporary and pointe classes, that is 3 miles from my currently parked car, in the driveway. Winter basketball practices range from 7 miles for the furthest drive, down to 1.8 miles for the closest to our abode. There is the actual basketball games whose location averages about 30 miles away (from 5 miles to 65 miles) distance from my mailbox. And we probably should consider the grocery store, which is 2 miles down the road, and I usually only make one big shopping trip there in a normal week. Somehow that adds up to about 3000 miles most months.

That is a lot of oil changes, glad I have a newer car! As well as being a lot of gas, good thing I have a gas card with discounts every 50 gallons. Not to mention all the sitting I do as I drive from here, to there, to somewhere else, and then back again to here. That is a lot of songs on the radio. A lot of deep conversation in small segments. A lot of deep sighs, and eye rolls, and sullen refusals to answer. But it is also lots of laughter and goofiness, and memories made together, in different combinations. It is the times we have shared our excitements, our accomplishments, as well as our set backs, and struggles. A place with a captive audience, unable to feign they have school work to do, or a shower they have to squeeze in first. It is both our kryptonite and our therapy session.

Now we drive about 50-100 miles a week. Mostly trips to find the few items on our essential grocery list. We have an occasional trip to the bank drive through, where the tellers make me laugh with spraying Lysol on my receipt. Maybe a few trips to the ocean for fresh air on sunny days, where we dream of summer and friends and warmth. And I volunteer once a week to bring food supplies for our school’s weekend backpack program. But most of these trips are solo, only me, myself and I. I end each trip with a thorough wipe down of everything with Clorox wipes: the steering wheel, shifter, keys, door handles, arm rests and radio dials. When the kids do accompany me to the beach the car is once again filled with their music, stories, laughter, and sullen attitudes about my choice of granola bars brought along for snack. The gas tank is filled much less frequently than before. And I am sure it will be more than a month and a half between oil changes. Instead we will wash the van in the yard, rake the fall leaves from under the trees, begin to dig in our spring garden plots, and explore our very local nature hikes.

We have shifted gears and are exploring older, overgrown roads. The conversations are now around the fire pit, in the back yard, after a day of trimming out wild rose bushes. The giggles and laughter are in the living room, as we try to find a family game suitable for ages 11-51. The heavy sighs and eye rolls come as I wake them mid morning for the day’s activities. The accomplishments and set backs are shared around the family evening meal, along with reminders of table manners and etiquette. Our emotions still run the gamut with three teenagers, one worker outside the home, and one mom trying to still meet all their needs. We are just finding new ways to share, work through and find a way to make it work together.

The basketballs still bounce, just in the front driveway, and the softball diamond is getting worn into the back yard. Dance classes are much less formal in the living room and can sometimes be completed in pajama even. School classes move from the dining room table, to the living room couch, to the driveway and yard. And grocery shopping lists become the family math practice of what we need and where we can get it closest and easiest. Life goes on. And we will continue to journey together as a family, down unknown roads that still all lead to tomorrow.

Breathe

Good morning on the tenth day of homeschooling three teenage girls. Good morning to the 14th day of staying to ourselves. As the sun rises it’s head over the cool horizon, the birds sing to each other, and the chickens start pecking for worms. Pause before writing out the daily to do list, the lesson plans, and checking the list of up coming bills. Pause, and breathe.

Our people world is in turmoil, in crisis, erupting with mayhem all around us. But like a toddler having a tantrum, we must use our peaceful, calm state to heal and help. Our screaming panic will not stop the flailing, whining crisis we are faced with these days. It is the calm voices, the thoughtful responses that helps toddlers regain their self control, and the same will hold true in this pandemic. Breathe. Blow out each candle at the tips of your fingers at before you respond. In with the healing, clean, fresh air and out with the stressed, panicked worry. Then we can respond.

Take a lesson from the spring birds. They do not seem to notice, or care, if the children master their algebra lessons, or if the groceries are sterilized. They still arise with the sun and begin their day with joyful song as they search out the worms and the bugs for their food. They are still busy gathering sticks and twigs, yarn and ribbons to make their nests. We too can take note from them and focus on ourselves, our home, our family, our simple survival of food, water and shelter. We can do this joyfully, swooping and diving and riding the currents of the air. This moment will be gone before you know it. Now is the time we need to breathe life in, fully and completely.

My words are meant as much for you, as they are for me. We have five mouths to feed, cell phone bills to pay, and friends who are high risk. I give in to the panic and feel that I must need more food, more cleaning products, more knowledge of Biology, Algebra, and History. But, the hand wringing and silent sobs into my pillow hasn’t brought me much peace or respite from reality. As an overly anxious person to begin with, the sense of doom, danger and frailty of life hang heavily on my mind and spirit. But. When I remember to breathe, to drink water and to practice self care I can rein in that dragon. With every glass of water I feel myself clearing and letting go of panic. As I take a few moments to reconnect with physically distant friends, I see my core of lightness and fortitude expand. Morning yoga with the sunrise and the chickens brings me new energy and resiliency. When I put my feelings into writing, I see the wonderful potential within myself to carry on.

Like the plant world emerging from the winter confines of snow and cold, there is power, effectiveness and strength within me.

The seemingly frail snow drops recently withstood six inches of cold spring snow. But they didn’t drop one blossom. And as that snow melted, the slim leaves of the crocuses began to rise and expose the papery thin covers of vibrant yellow blooms.

The twisted branches of my walking stick have begun to almost hum in the sunlight, gathering strength to swell their leaf buds.

And of course the crowns of the rhubarb have pushed themselves up through the cold soil and remnants of last year’s garden debris, with the strikingly bright pink of new life. We too shall emerge with the spring and the warming sun, the clean water, and the inner strength from our roots.

So I leave you with this last moment of my morning yoga, meditation, inner healing and life work from our little work center’s daily affirmation…

Today is a new day. Breathe, Be, Bloom!