Over The Top

With March, we have more light. The sun increasingly rises above the tree tops around my home. Critters are sticking their noses out of burrows, dens, holes, brush piles and woodpiles and taking good long sniffs of the air.

Winter is hanging on this year with another 12 inches of snow just last weekend. Yet gone are the dreary days as we celebrate the light that now holds some tints of color and a warmth around midday that makes promises of more to come.

My furry and feathered friends and I are happy. How about you?

There is still a couple of feet of snow around my home. I’m not complaining. We need the moisture.

But since December I have lived by the path. The path, that is, to the compost pile and the woodpile, the bird feeder, the fire pit, and my well-worn path along the creek. The paths have become beautiful as the March wind carves striking lines and shapes in the snow. The banks, and the paths, and the piles have flowing and crisp edges.

The pin oaks are finally giving up the leaves they have held on to all winter. I beg them to drop their leaves in the fall, making cleanup needed only once each year. But they ignore me. My paths are full of leaves. The wind blows them down the paths and they huddle together in the dips and curves as though they were little brown creatures scurrying to get out of my way.

And now comes the fleeting warm ups when the temperatures rise just a little above freezing for short spurts during the day. It’s perfect Maple Syrup weather when moisture locks up tight on cold nights and then flows freely for even just a few hours during midday.

For months now, the way of the path was my limited walking world. But I have become flighty with the new freedom the contrasting warm and cold temperatures have given me on my morning walks. As the snow warms up each day and then freezes hard each night, a crust is created that can support me. If I rise and get out early enough, I’m free to go anywhere I please. Just this month, I've hiked over bushes that would grab at my clothing and snarl me up any other time of year. I've walked on water over the creek. I've run down slopes that, in the summer, have so much dead fall I’d surly break a limb on my way down. And I've walked over the marshes and swamps, knowing there are all kinds of critters underneath my steps waiting for Spring.

What a contrast to my path routine. I’m free, unconfined, and able to move quickly. March is warm sun on my face and cold wind at my back, serious enough to freeze my toes and frivolous enough to encourage me to take myself over the top.

"Spring is when you feel like whistling, even with a shoe full of slush." ~Doug Larson

In My Wildest Dreams

The hard shell of winter is cracking and the luscious gooey center called Spring is oozing out. My nighttime noggin is doing the same with dreams so rich, colorful and vivid that I feel like I've entered a children's book where all the characters are past acquaintances, human and critter, who have come to tell me a story full of metaphors only I can interpret and appreciate.

This happens to me every Spring. It's crazy. My dreams become so wild that anyone reviewing them would insist these events just don't happen in the day-to-day world. And yet, the vividness, the colors and the intricacy of every moment of the dream only serves to prove the dream must be every bit as real as the world I walk in wakefulness.

I wonder how Spring brings this on. I suppose it has something to do with the beginning of new life. Perhaps it's the slow tilt of the Earth's axis back to the Southern Hemisphere and a more luxurious weather pattern that allows for free time and play and less emphasis on survival.

Maybe vivid and extravagant dreaming requires a sense of the stirring of life, seen and unseen, that is all around me.

Perhaps dreams as extravagant as my Spring dreams are prompted by the constant flow of the season.

Whatever the source, I love my Springtime dreams. As bizarre and outrageous as they are, there's a sense of being more connected with everything, including you.

"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can play together all night." ~Bill Watterson

Spring!

It's April. Spring is on the rise, literally, from the ground up. Early morning on the porch with coffee; peepers, pussy willows, phoebes, crocus, sand hill cranes, ... ahhhhh.
Good thing I made a whole pot!



 

My Jersey celebrated her 15th birthday on April 1. A Noble Dog.

http://www.squidoo.com/WalkingTheDog

Plows and Chocolate

It's May in the North Country and the plows are out. Well, plows that help us prepare to sow seeds for a new crop, that is. Not snow plows, a sight which fortunately is behind us. I think.

And “plowing” is indeed the way those of us in the north tend to take on Spring. We've been idle for so long that we start plowing as a way to satisfy our perception that we are behind and need to get caught up. We plow though yard chores long overdue as we'd forgotten how much we had not finished around the yard before that first snow fell. We plow through stacks of paperwork on our desks that somehow felt okay and almost comforting during the winter months. We plow though things in our closets long forgotten and send them off to Goodwill or the neighbor's yard sale. We plow through our vehicles and are amazed at what we've allowed to accumulate; dirt and road salt, piles of fast food wrappers, and gloves, scarves and other winter necessities hidden under the seats. And we plow through the garage, trying to find the source of that odor we could not smell during the cold winter months. And just where, oh where, did I last leave that rake. I know it's in the garden somewhere.

I call all this Spring Frenzy. If you find yourself in the middle of your own little frenzy, which had gone unnoticed until you started reading this newsletter, take heart. It's curable. Go read THIS and then find a pickup truck, not a plow. It will be okay, I promise.

"It's life isn't it? You plow ahead and make a hit. And you plow on and someone passes you. Then someone passes them. Time levels." ~Katharine Hepburn



Lately my friend Kelly and I have been talking about how ego interferes in our lives. And one big ego problem we all seem to have acquired, sometime around beginning grade school, is the notion of deserving or earning. That is, that we get the good things in life because we have earned or deserve them in some way.

So I asked Kelly to go ask her daughter, Emma, a preschooler, how she gets the things she most desires. As Kelly predicted, Emma is convinced that all she desires will come to her if she just asks, nicely of course.

Kelly and Emma have what they call “Chocolate Moments.” Chocolate moments are for nothing. There is no reason for a chocolate moment. There are no rules. Chocolate moments are just because.

Kelly says Chocolate Moments happen something like this. Chocolate is kept in its usual spot in the house. It is always there and it is always available. Kelly will give Emma “the look” which signals a chocolate moment is about to happen as they raid the chocolate stash. Emma, knows chocolate moments happen just because. Not because she was good, not because she ate all her dinner (in fact chocolate moments can occur before dinner), not because she cleaned her room, not because she was polite, not because she was sick and needed comforting, and not because she said “please.” Chocolate moments just happen.

Insert whatever works for you...”___________ Moments.” Whatever your chosen moment, drop everything and take advantage. Often! Like Emma, you deserve your own moments not because you were good or you in some way earned them. You deserve them just because...well...you just do.

"Life is like a box of chocolates - you never know what you're going to get." ~Forrest Gump

Ice Out

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 have found some inspiration. I've been inspired by my visit to Northern Ontario last month, 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 out 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 in writing, 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 musings 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 calm 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 a 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. 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

Yikes!

My Backyard on April 8

Well, I thought it was Spring. But here we are in early April and I'm sitting in about 2 feet of snow in 48 hours. What's that all about!? I was just beginning to think about some Morel Mushroom hunting. Now it feels more like Christmas than Easter. Just April Fools a few days late, I guess.

The dogs and I are warm and somewhat happy. We're hunkering down. I've put a fire in the fireplace and I'm cooking some venison chili for dinner. Not my normal April activities and fare but, alas, when in Rome...

Quick Change

The very cool thing about March in the north is the incredibly quick change in the weather, wildlife and woods. One day it's blustery winter with freezing temperatures, snow and ice. And a few days later, the roads are bared by 50 degree temperatures. One day, I take my walk in silence, noting only the animal tracks upon the snow. A few days later the racket is deafening, as the forest comes alive with darting forms emerging from dens and trees and brush piles. One day the trees and bushes look dead, and only a few days later there are green buds emerging. One day the snow banks are piled high around my home, and only a few days later the driveway has turned into a real gully washer.

These days I look forward to dramatic and quick changes. To me, quick changes always mean things are going to crack wide open and get even better, fast! I no longer dread and avoid quick changes, even though they require that I catch up, sometimes adjusting who I believe I am and what I want, on a dime. The feeling is a bit like being swept into the next change, rather than taking charge and making it happen on my own timetable. I lose control. But what a relief that can be, when changes are spontaneous and things bigger than I can conceive of or would have planned happen.

The Freedom in New Beginnings

It's March. Here in Northern Michigan, the days are getting longer with the occasional taste of spring-like weather. And the light of the day is different. It seems to have more color to it. There are two grouse in my front yard. They have emerged from the snow-covered woodpile after three long months. On my daily walks with the dogs, I'm noticing more mouse tracks across the snowy field by my home. The grouse and the mice are certainly vulnerable. Brown bodies on a snowy white background make them much easier prey. Yet they are free.

What is so frightening and at the same time so wonderful about a new beginning? What excites me is the freedom inherent in every new beginning. What scares me is that I am vulnerable. Yet I can't separate the two. If I'm to be free, I'm to be vulnerable. I become energized by the possibility of freedom that a new beginning brings. When I seek to lessen my vulnerability by trying to cover all the contingencies, I actually diminish my freedom and the new beginning becomes too small for me.

Freedom is our original motivator. As a child, I was driven by freedom. Freedom incited learning to crawl, walk and feed myself. Freedom was in my heart when learning to ride my bike, swim, or read a simple book. Without a strong desire to be free, there would have been no sense in placing myself in such vulnerable situations where I’d likely failed numerous times before I succeeded. As a child, any endeavor we attempted was successful if we achieved a little more freedom for our efforts.

Now, as adults, we often give the vulnerability part of a new beginning more importance and weight. Thus we feel the freedom a new beginning will bring and then immediately weigh it against our vulnerability and lose our orientation. In doing this, our new beginning becomes a much smaller endeavor that no longer represents freedom but, instead, security. We diminish our endeavor to the point where it no longer serves us and, in the process, lose a little more freedom.

Our lives and work must envelop freedom or they come down to nothing more than a means of providing.

"People frequently say to me you're such a free spirit! Aren't spirits made to be free? We are all free spirits. We must choose to practice freedom." ~Sark

"We must determine whether we really want freedom--whether we are willing to dare the perils of...rebirth... For we never take a step forward without surrendering something that we may have held dear, without dying to that which has been." ~Virginia Hanson

"Ultimately we know deeply that the other side of fear is a freedom." ~Marilyn Ferguson

"When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability... To be alive is to be vulnerable." ~Madeleine L'Engle, "Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art"