needle in a cornstack

My mother has no sense of direction. Go ahead!  Ask her which way she thinks you should go.  I promise you'll get lost.  How do I know?  I've tried to follow her directions. Not pretty.

So when we found ourselves alone in a corn maze, I thought "Oh great. This ought to be fun."

We actually entered the corn maze with 4 children who sprinted off in a different direction and my husband who was smart enough to follow the kids.  Meanwhile, my mother and I were still trying to get our bearing.  

There we were, the two of us, still a little surprised at how quickly things did not go as planned.  We headed down a path we thought would eventually meet up with the children only to find rather quickly that it would never lead us back.  Hmph!

She had the map and made an attempt to read it.  Again, my internal thoughts were not optimistic.  We looked together, discovered that the large opening in which we found ourselves looked to be the cow shape opening on the map and decided to find the maze stations that were strategically and educationally placed throughout.  

We checked off the first station and filled in the clue on the crossword puzzle that accompanied the map.  

Then the next.  Each time, she examined the map and offered her analysis of where we were headed.  I led.  She followed.  This was getting exciting.

We continued through each station, gathering clues and my mother gaining confidence in her new found skill. 

Lest you should think she would now be safe to let loose with a car and map, at each station she looked up from the map with a puzzled expression which revealed she had no clue from which direction she had come.  Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Regardless, what she and I discovered in that maze that day - working together makes even the least likely of things doable, supporting one another makes giant leaps possible, and being lost in a corn maze is a great way to spend uninterrupted time together - was a lesson I will not soon forget. 

May you be gifted with new discovery shared with the ones you love!

autumn weekending

We've developed a wonderful autumn weekending tradition around here - visiting an apple orchard, corn maze, climbing haystacks, eating donuts and cider.  We've been so fortunate each year to find glorious weather aligning with the various fall festivals at farms in our area.  

I so love this tradition.  I love the warm sun and beautiful blue skies.  I love the chill and the crispness in the air.  I love the smell of hay and cornstalks.  I love the stickiness of apple-themed treats.  I love the celebration of another harvest.  I love the community brought together.  Oh, I love it all!

Here's a glimpse at our autumn weekending:

this moment {comfort from grandma}

Linking with SouleMamma and many others:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

a funny little thing about family

My baby brother has a baby. Wow!  It seems so surreal and so amazing at the same time.

Instagram photo taken by my sister-in-law

He's lived a tough love, that brother of mine. Smarter than my sister or me by a long shot.  Talented too. Crazy talented, actually.  But he didn't like school much and got caught up in some scary stuff.  Grew up a few years later than most kids his age. Got a degree. Went to work.  Discovered he really didn't like working for others. It's that creative, artistic mind of his really.  It doesn't like being shoved in a box.  Who can blame him?

He struggled with his faith long before I did.  I used to think he was delusional and blamed his aversion to Christianity on the drugs.  Now I just think he was smarter than me - street smarts and classic intellectualism.  Funny that we both found our way to Buddhism, not that either of us would ever call ourselves Buddhist.  We are simply drawn to the search for peace within ourselves rather than relying on some external force/being.

It seems, too, that we both struggle with stereotypes and judgments that are unfairly placed on others because of things they cannot control - sexual orientation, race, physical appearance, artistic minds.  He's a tattoo artist these days - an incredibly talented artist that uses the human body as his medium. He's known the coldness and isolation brought on by stares of others as he walks by, the assumptions that he is trouble as he peruses any shopping center, the accusations that he is lazy or on drugs when he enters an emergency room to be seen by a doctor.  I work to educate others about the impact of stereotypes, discrimination, oppression.  He lives it.

We are so different.  We always have been.  So it seems so strange to watch our life paths crossing in really important ways.  And now, we share parenthood.  We will each approach this stage of life in equally different ways.  But, we will also share an authentic, deep love for our children right where they are at this very moment.  I will love his daughter for everything she is and everything she has the potential to be.  He will love my children because that is exactly who he is.

He and his wife recently shared their little one with us and my children loved meeting their new cousin.  They asked lots of questions about her growing up in a house with scary horror film posters and paintings of half naked women.  Their questions were innocent, non-judgmental.  And so we talked about choices their uncle made and the kinds of art he is interested in.  We talked about how different doesn't mean bad. They realized that they know their uncle is fun, cool, creative, generous, compassionate and so what he likes doesn't define who he is.

And they love that baby of his. Her sour faces.  Her sleepy faces.  The smallness of her hands and feet.  The softness of her skin.  The way she settles right into the curves of her mama.  The innocence in her eyes. Oh, they love that baby.  And so do I.  But more, I am thankful that this little one brought to light the deep seated emotion - care and compassion and love for my brother that I've pushed way down in my heart.  I think it's finally safe to release those feelings again.  It's funny what a baby can do!

detour

Life has many detours, doesn't it?  I think there is something beautiful in the detour.  

Maybe it is the fact that the detour makes us pay attention.  It's new and unfamiliar.  Our eyes open and we see new things.

Maybe it is the sense of adventure that detours inspire. A journey into the unknown with the assurance that this new path can lead us back to where we were headed in the first place.

Maybe it's because the detour often causes us to slow down, dig in, breathe, and move - cautiously, carefully.

We recently took a road trip to a familiar place, the route an equally familiar path.  We traveled through Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia on roads less traveled.  Sometimes these roads spread four lanes across, but other times we simply had one lane each direction.  I am not a fan of road trips, but there is a warmth in my heart for this trip - especially the color of the mountain tops covered in autumnal trees.

You may know a town we come upon on this road: Berkley Springs, West Virginia.  A quaint, artsy little town nestled in the mountains and known for its spa and shops.  And we arrived on Apple Butter Festival weekend which apparently draws a large crowd from all over.  

Guess what!  We arrived at parade time. Road closed. Approximately 1 mile back from the parade route.  Traffic stopped! No cell service. Hmph!

We were faced with a choice - sit and wait or explore the hills and valleys of West Virginia.  I pulled out my phone, searched my maps and found a few squiggly lines I could only presume were roads that might lead us to the other side of the parade route.  I looked at Papa Bear.  He agreed.

An important side note: About one month after we started dating in college, we were invited to an off campus party.  I had a car for a brief stint and so we drove to the party together.  We made it to the party just fine.  On the way home, we second guessed a freeway exit and ended up driving for hours (probably in circles), stopping every 30 minutes to fill the gas tank one dollar at a time.  We were poor college students and definitely not prepared for the detour.  Cell phones or ATMs didn't exist yet.

We talked, and laughed, and silently worried that we wouldn't find our way home.  I suspect we were both a little worried that the night would end as would our time together.  We found a Taco Bell and stopped for a bite.  Eventually we found our way home.

Here we were again about to embark on an adventure.  I followed the squiggles on my phone and instructed him to turn right.  Instinctively, he pronounced the name of the street.  I have no street names on my phone, I said.  We held our breath.  He took the next turn as instructed. And the next. And the next.

Somehow the landscape turned from cloud covered gray with rock on either side of the roadway to an expansive, colorful, bright, and glorious view.  And we paid attention to what we saw.  There were moments filled with angst like when we made our final left turn and found ourselves on a one lane road with oncoming traffic.  

Nope, it wasn't a one way road.  Just a back-mountain spirally, narrow road.

Alas, we made our turn just south of the parade and smiled as we past the north bound traffic stuck just as we had been.  This time we trusted the other to get us back on track.  This time we were prepared for the detour.  This time we weren't sad about the end of the adventure.  For we are now old and seasoned enough to know that there will be more detours in this life of ours.  We know that we will be together to travel them. We know to pay attention along the way. And together we will slow down, dig in, breathe, and move along.

this moment {dancing}

Linking with SouleMamma and many others:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

affirmation

Mommy, she whispers softly, my belly hurts.

Again? I think, rolling over to look at the clock recognizing the time as mere minutes before the alarm sounds.  I mutter, Close your eyes and take a deep breath.  I'm sure you are just excited.

Mommy, if I throw up, will you send me to school? She says with angst recalling the frequent occasions when she missed the big event because her anxiety got the best of her the night before.

Knowing now that her stomach issues are most likely linked to her emotions, I sit up and give her a look of what I hope is reassurance.  Yes, honey, you can go to school today.

Why don't you lay down and close your eyes.  Let's breathe together. 

Slowly in and make your belly grow big - nice and slow.

Let your breath blow out through your nose - nice and slow.

Take a few more breaths like this and think of something that makes you happy.  Maybe your friends from school.  Or a food you like to eat.

Just. keep. breathing.

Her body softens now.  Her face calms, too.  She is safe now and she knows this.  Her anxiety can't steal this place from her.  Near Mom.  Safe.

Feeling better already, her gaze up at the moon, she shares sweetly:

I'm so lucky to have a Mommy like you.  If I had a different Mommy, she wouldn't know how to help me breathe.  Then I would just throw up and couldn't do the things I want to do.  I mean with your baking and your meditating, I'm just so lucky.

Then she laid against her pillow, instinctively placing her thumb in her mouth, closing her eyes and drifting just into that place of consciousness before sleep.

Imagine this moment.  Close your eyes and feel with me how powerful these words were for my spirit.  I was captured in that moment.  Time standing still so that I didn't have to wish to remember it.  I recall feeling bright, so full of light that every once of my being poured out sunshine. 

I taught her to breathe.  And that means something to her.  And that makes everything okay for her.  I gave her safety and coping skills.  And that means something to me.  And that makes everything okay.

Have you ever wondered if you are doing the very thing you hope you are doing?  Or being the very person you wish to be?  In all my self reflection and intentional living, I've often wondered if others perceive me to be doing the work I believe I am doing. 

I work in a field where we assess everything.  Did students learn what we taught them? Did they find value in the program we planned?  Are they satisfied with our services?  Always seeking areas for improvement.  My mind operates much the same way in assessing my own effectiveness, authenticity, and ways of being. 

Both in work or in self, sadly, I don't take the time to explore what I've done well or where I am hitting the mark.  We joke, in our field, that we don't celebrate well our successes because we are oft too busy planning the next thing.

So, to be graced with this external affirmation, this moment to pause and savor something I've done well is a gift that won't long be forgotten.

So, too, with this affirmation from a co-worker:
     Gina, you always seem so calm and composed.

And this one from my boss:
     What I will miss most when you change positions is your presence in crisis management.  What you bring to students who are in need.

And this one from my son:
    Mom, I love when you sit and talk with me at night.  I feel like I can go to sleep better. (followed by a big, fat hug).

I do what I do, both at work and at home, because of an inner motivation to do good work believing that my work (whatever that might mean today) affects others every day. Impacting others is a responsibility I take seriously.  I want to know that I'm doing that well.

What I've learned as of late is that all the self talk in the world cannot ever truly reveal to me who I am and what I do.  But, these affirmations, they are windows into the minds of others that help me see myself beyond the criticism and wonder.  They are measurements of the present I've given to others.  A wonderful mirror lifted up to me at exactly the moment I need to see and know.

And I am thankful for each and every one.