My Christmas tree is always a source of tremendous joy, but this year’s is especially significant. I usually spend two hours searching the acres at a local farm, determined to find the perfectly shaped tree. This year, instead, I cut one down in the yard. It’s one I planted with my very own hands, when it was just a tiny sapling. Many years ago, while tent camping, I smuggled it out of a Vermont State Park in a styrofoam cup.

‘Bittersweet’ doesn’t begin to describe the emotion I’ve been experiencing. After 27 years, this is the last Christmas I’ll spend in my home. I’ve only lived in 3 places in my life. This house has been home the longest. It’s where I raised my children, planted trees, buried beloved pets. I mourned the loss of a best friend here and then, that of my mother. I fell in and out of love. I learned to be independent. This home has been my refuge in the worst of times. It’s also where my family celebrated birthdays, Thanksgiving and, of course, Christmas.

So, this year has been difficult. I struggled to feel the spirit of the season. I needed to switch it up. I needed to simplify. Less decorating. Less gifts. Less commitments. Less chaos. Less everything.

For many, Christmas is not a season, but a day, just like any other. It’s a time filled with a lifetime of memories. It’s a landscape wrought with emotional landmines. Even if you love Christmas, it can be a challenge. Let’s face it, whether you celebrate Jesus’ birth or the arrival of Santa – or both – It’s pretty demanding. Expectations run high. Perfection is the goal. It’s an expensive, materialistic pressure cooker. It’s exhausting. 

Circumstances required some drastic changes this year. I looked at all of the things I usually do and crossed several things off the list. It was hard, but necessary. I just simply couldn’t do it.

 Once the demands and pressures began to recede, something amazing happened. Christmas spirit returned to me. 

I stripped Christmas down to the bare bones this year. No cards, no cookies, no coordinating gift wrap. No fancy tree, no outdoor lights. Just a few gifts wrapped in brown paper, some candles, music, of course…….And an awkward little tree from the backyard. There’s more room for what matters, now. Joy. Peace. Comfort. Love.

Merry Christmas to my faithful readers. My wish is that you find beauty in the imperfect, joy in the ordinary, comfort in the simplest of things, peace in your heart.  Most of all, may you feel the love that is the spirit of Christmas. It truly is the best gift of all.

Winter Solstice – It has always seemed ironic to me that the darkest day of the year happens amid the happiest, most festive time. December is a time of light, after all. Tiny white lights adorn trees everywhere. My neighbors’ homes glitter and glow with colored lights galore. I hardly notice that sunset arrives at it’s earliest. We were driven indoors months ago, when the light began to fade after dinner and the air grew cooler. Suddenly, here we are, at the shortest day of the year. I look forward to the days becoming longer again. I crave the light.

Meanwhile, I’ll take this opportunity to explore the darkness: Not only that which surrounds me, but the darkness that lives within me. Since the Summer Solstice, I’ve been turning inward, examining some corners of my heart that haven’t seen the light in a very long time. Now, I anticipate celebrating the birth of Jesus – a gift of love and forgiveness…. of rebirth. His timing couldn’t be better. 

The dawning of a new year soon follows and we are offered yet another opportunity to start anew. There are many things I wish to leave behind this year, beginning with that darkness hiding in my heart. So, as the days begin to provide more light, I will open my heart to it, let it shine in those dark places again. 

Winter Solstice holds a certain magic. It’s a time for spiritual reflection. It’s mystical. It can be powerful. The Earth sleeps quietly, awaiting her own gradual reawakening. Why not join her? 

In my basement, there is a tool box. It’s mine. I’ve had it for 27 years. When I became a homeowner, I was a newly single woman and fiercely determined. So, I went to Sears and bought myself the basics: Hammer, screwdrivers, pliers, tape measure, utility knife. They’ve served me well through the years and the collection has expanded to include a level, electrical tape and other odds and ends.

But the single tool I use the most, by far, is…well…. the butter knife. 

I love its convenience and easy access – the butter knife lies at the ready right there in the kitchen drawer. No running down the cellar stairs, turning on lights, moving the laundry basket off the tool box. By the time I return to the scene of the fix, the job is completed with a butter knife! And no need to go back downstairs to put it away: Just open the top drawer and drop it in! 

The butter knife is also a multi-tool. The other end serves as a ball peen hammer for those small nails or other light pounding needs. Of course, there are options to consider here: I would never, for example, choose a butter knife with roses artfully carved into the stainless steel handle. Best to choose a flat style for that job. Some butter knives are thicker than others, some more serrated. It’s very scientific. I choose wisely.

Just yesterday, I called upon the trusty butter knife to rescue me. I was taking a small humidor to be consigned at a local shop where I sell antiques. The door had been pushed in and would not open. I needed something to wedge into the slim space between the door’s delicate hardware and pry it open again. There was no doubt in my mind just which tool would do. Without hesitation, I reached for the trusty butter knife. Problem solved!

My tool box remains in the basement, a light layer of dust covering the top, along with a stack of laundry baskets, a bucket and a rolled up extension cord. Inside, it still holds the keys to my female-homeowner-independence. But my most beloved implement, my go-to gadget, my favorite gizmo will always be the butter knife. (Oh, and it’s really good for buttering toast, too. Who knew?!)

Be thankful, not only for your blessings, but for the really difficult and challenging things in your life.

This time of year, especially, there are many reminders to count your blessings. We are likely to acknowledge obvious good fortune, such as good health, loving family, close friends. We are certainly privileged if we are able to count these. 

But what about the less evident things that make us who we are? We might not recognize them as blessings, especially while they are happening. But sometimes, the most difficult and challenging of situations can transform us and make us stronger, wiser.

Think about a particular struggle you faced this year. Maybe it was work related. Did you grow, professionally, as a result? Or, perhaps there was an unexpected obstacle that you had to overcome to achieve a personal goal. What did you learn about yourself? You might have found yourself in a conflict with a friend or family member. How did you conduct yourself?

To me, these are the true gifts. They test us and force us to expand our awareness, our emotions and our endurance for life. They lift us out of complacency, shake us up and set us back down with an improved understanding of ourselves.

Be grateful for all the good things in your life. Tell your family and friends that you appreciate them. Say ‘I love you’ more often. Enjoy the sunset. Take nothing for granted. Then, take a moment and acknowledge your battles. You wouldn’t be who or where you are, without them. Celebrate the hard times, too. 

There is always something for which to be thankful.

Recently, I walked along the beach with my pant legs rolled up and my feet in the edge of the surf. I thought about where I’ve been during the past decade of my wonderful life. I practiced acceptance where changes have occurred. I prayed for deliverance of the things I need to move forward. I left my footprints in the sand along the way.

When I reached the end, I turned around. The tide had turned and was coming in as I began my journey back toward the parking area. The uncertain future weighed heavily on my mind and I took a deep breath to steel myself against the push and pull, the flow of my life.

As I retraced my steps, the waves came in a little closer and I had to adjust my path to avoid the surge. Just then, small swell erased my previous footprints from the sand in front of me. Before me now was an expanse of fresh, unmarked beach. My recent trek remained a sharp memory but it had been erased from that which lay before me.

I continued to place one foot in front of the other. The next part of my journey began on untouched ground. The smooth sand stretched out before me like the future. Moving forward, I began to leave new footprints in the sand. Where will they take me? I cannot say with certainty. But my walk on the beach left me with a renewed confidence that it’s going to be just grand.

 

Sometimes, the smallest gesture can have the biggest impact. Like waving goodbye, as someone leaves you. 

My parents always did this. Day or night, regardless of how many goodbyes we said, they’d be in the front window, waving as I backed away. If it was dark outside, I’d turn on the car’s dome light so they could see us waving back. I always felt they were savoring the final seconds of our time together, as if it was infinitely precious to them. Now that I have children and a grandson of my own, I know that was true.

When my grandson sleeps over on a school night, we repeat our own version of this ritual. I drive him home and we wait for the school bus together. He climbs aboard, always seated in the very back. He begins to wave before the bus monitor has ascended the stairs and the driver has closed the doors. We wave goodbye until the bus is completely out of sight. One especially chilly morning, we waited in my car. As the bus pulled away, I was able to merge into the impatient traffic right behind it. We waved to each other all the way down the street, even after the bus turned onto the road where the school is located. My arm was getting tired. But my heart was full.

One night recently, I left the home of friends after staying late to watch a sporting event on television. The dark night was biting cold after the coziness of the house and the company. Pulling out of the driveway, I passed the front door where I had exited a few moments earlier. Framed in the dark doorway, illuminated by the inside light, I saw someone waving. It was unexpected and felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around me for the lonely drive home. 

Always wave goodbye. Send your loved ones off with a little extra warmth. It says “I care about you and I cherish our time together.” It requires little effort and it’s a really important message. 👋 Bye!

If I’d known the rollercoaster was going to be so emotional, I never would’ve bought the all-day pass. 

I’ve been riding for two months. I want off. But the universe won’t stop it. 

I’m upside down, as if the very earth has fallen away beneath me. Filled with disbelief, I frantically wait for the world to be righted. My life is spinning out of control and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Finally, there is a reprieve and I catch my breath during a short distance of straight, level track. 

Sometimes, I climb so high, I’m offered a glimpse of the big picture. I can see the future in the distance. It’s beautiful and serene. 

Before I can take it in, I’m bracing myself for the next plunge downward. It takes my breath away once more. Depleted, I rest a moment at the bottom before beginning the same ascent again. 

Lifted slowly, as if on angel’s wings, I crest a pinnacle of my life. The joy I find there is short-lived. Somehow, I find a way to hold it close, a small piece tucked away in the corner of my heart where I can take it out and touch it during the next drop, making the plummet less frightening. 

The ups and downs become less severe. The downward spirals are almost a relief, compared to the earlier part of this ride. The upward slopes provide a more defined look at what’s ahead. The gifts of contentment and peace sparkle on the horizon, so close, I can almost touch them. 

First, there are a few more loop-de-loops to survive. I’m taking a deep breath, steadying myself. It’s an unpredictable ride, this life we live. I’m learning to trust the journey. So, I’ve fastened my seatbelt. I’m holding on. With eyes wide open, I’m grateful for the forward motion.  I’m thankful for those who come along for the trip.

In the end, my legs might be a little wobbly. But I’ll land on solid ground. You can count on it. Meanwhile, let’s ride!

I’ve been thinking about how certain people come into our lives. Some stay long, others pass through quickly. Some make a huge impact while others are almost immediately forgotten. The universe doesn’t always give us what we want, but it invariably sends us what we need. It’s not usually the how of people coming into our lives that matters, but rather, the why. 

Back when the Internet was a new phenomenon in our homes, I crossed virtual paths with many people from around the world. One of them was Don Thomas, from Texas. I had been dabbling in web page design and had created my own page as part of the former Geocities network. Don had stumbled upon it and took a moment to write me an eMail. He had served in the US Navy and he had spent time stationed in Newport, RI.

Over the next few months, we exchanged eMails and engaged in some online chats. (Remember those?) He sent me pictures of his family and talked about going to the gym every day, where he led a group exercise program. He had been diagnosed with Diabetes when he was younger and was trying to manage his dependency on insulin through exercise. He was helping others to do the same. Nice guy.

About a month later, my son, then 12, was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. We were devastated. And afraid. And angry. Despite statistics to the contrary, Diabetes did not run in the family and it was all brand new – Not to mention scary. After spending 48 straight hours at the hospital, I came home to shower and change. I logged onto the computer and there was Don. He suggested that I hook up the mic and actually talk with him. It was the first, and possibly the only time I had done so. For about a half hour, he talked me through some of the things I needed to know. He asked questions and was impressed by the amount of knowledge I had absorbed already. Don assured me that everything was going to be okay and that he would be there if I needed him, once my son was discharged and glucose levels began to rule our world.

He remained a source of moral support for a several months and then, as happens, we lost touch. Computer programs were updated, service providers changed and contact information lost. I tried searching for him a few times, when Facebook became popular, but Don Thomas is a pretty common name and Texas is a very big place.

Later that same day, as I returned to the hospital to stay with my son, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, emotionally. I might even have been engaging in a bit of a pity party, in my mind. My beautiful, healthy baby boy had, after all, been handed a life sentence of needles and chronic health concerns. As I reached for the door at the hospital entrance, I looked up to see a family approaching, on their way out. Their child bore the tell-tale signs of chemotherapy. His complexion was ashen, his small head hairless. In a split second, my perspective changed. 

Two chance opportunities changed my outlook that day. Don’s online encouragement was comforting and gave me hope. The young child’s anonymous gift reminded me that life was still good – And that it wasn’t all about me. 

The lessons are there and the arrows are pointing you in the right direction. The universe sends us what we need.  So, keep your eyes and ears open!

I am in the waiting room

between what was and what will be. 

Toxic flames now smoldering

Hazy tendrils rise around me.

Ebb and flow of pain diminish, 

soothing nerves, no longer raw.

My life scattered at my feet

like the pieces of a jigsaw.

Some people go through life as if they are following a map. They know what they want, early on, and doors seem to open for them, whether it’s career, marriage, home, vacations or family. Not to say it happens easily – Often, they are self-actualized at a young age and have a quiet, but fierce, determination. 

Then, are those who wander through the years, searching for purpose, waiting for the plan to be revealed. Some become world travelers, others emotional tourists, putting down only temporary roots before moving on to the next adventure. They change careers, go back to school, sell their homes. They never appear to be completely satisfied with their circumstances. Perhaps they are discontent on a level too deep for the rest of us to see.

Then are those who have a plan, who try to follow their dreams. But they get derailed along the way. I am fond of saying that the universe gives you what you need, if only you pay attention. But sometimes, the universe gives you the finger. So it seems, at least. Or does it? Maybe the map you’re following isn’t the right one. Perhaps you are settling for something less than your true potential. Conceivably, you are bargaining away a piece of your happiness for the life you thought you wanted. Possibly, God just has a different path for you. 

I’ve known people who have “lost everything.” I don’t really think that’s possible. Because, when you have nothing, is the exact moment when you have the thing most people crave: Possibility. Opportunity. A blank page. A clean slate. 

Acceptance is required, of course. Letting go of the past is not easy. You must allow yourself to grieve the losses. It takes time to mourn the material things as well as your hopes and dreams for the future. It strips you down to your core. 

But there are always lessons. We are never too old to learn things about ourselves. We can sort through the ashes and take only what we truly cherish. We can clean them up and polish them so that they sparkle like new. Courage. Resilience. Tenacity. Let them shine brightly and be the beacons that lead you to the magic of new beginnings.

 

(Originally posted July 2016)

 

I slept in this morning, waking a little later than usual because the sun did not shine in my eyes and warm me to a point when the covers are kicked off in surrender to the summer’s heat. Instead, I rearranged myself and listened to the softly falling raindrops as they bounced off the leaves of the thicket surrounding my canvas bunk.

Camping at the beach on a rainy day – Not something we look forward to. But it’s inevitable. Yet there is something about the sound of rain falling on the roof of our camper. It’s familiar and comforting.

I swear I could almost hear the collective sigh of the parched earth as she welcomed the much needed rain. Taking a lesson from nature, I’ve decided to relish this rainy day as well. I release the desire to rush us along, making a quick breakfast and packing up what we’ll need for the day’s adventure. A second cup of coffee and some reading sounds much better. Our sun kissed skin can use a break from the beach, anyway. And without a clear morning sky to dry them, our towels are still damp from yesterday. Rather than the beckoning warmth of sun, I yield to the pitter-patter of rain. The camper becomes a cocoon, dry and cozy. The urge to wish the storm away passes as we exchange ideas for indoor activities. I am content to sit here and relish the down time and a leisurely second cup.

My grandson excitedly asks to go to a movie while my husband re-examines the forecast, encouraged by the afternoon prediction of clearing skies. I only hear the birdsong coming from the outdoors as the wet ground brings forth abundant worms for my hungry feathered friends.

I am grateful for my ability to accept things I cannot control. Sometimes, I even embrace the changes that I encounter. A rainy vacation day, of course, is not exactly a life-changing event. But the same principles that allow me to maintain a peaceful demeanor in the face of real bad news can be helpful in life’s ordinary ups and downs. I’ve learned that there’s always an upside. Some of us are quick to find it, some resist it and still others relish martyrdom.

The next time life throws you a curve, don’t wait for the silver lining to reveal itself. Look for it. Better yet, expect it. Feel the peace, sing with the birds. Learn to dance in the rain!