View from the Nest: I receive a blessing

This morning I received an email that inspires me to write another blog. We’ve had too much sad, anxious, and depressing news these days. Time to turn our thoughts to blessings.

The back story is this: for my birthday, my uncle in Holland sent me a photo of my mom and dad that I had never seen before. They are waving goodbye to my aunt and uncle after a visit to Canada.

I sent a file of this photo to my sisters. That wave was so familiar to us, because mom and dad often had occasion to say goodbye as their three daughters made their way in the world. Fran said the wave was like a blessing to us. Then she went on to write this:

“The word "blessing" has been an important one for me this year. I am thinking a lot about blessing as an active word and something that we need to practice more as human beings. Each act of building connection and signaling to some one else "You are not alone" is a blessing. Especially in this time of COVID-19, I think that we are being given a chance to rediscover how to bless each other in this world and to recognize that, in blessing, the connection also blesses us.”
Such wise words for a woman who’s just turned 60!

“Each act of building connection and signaling to someone else ‘You are not alone’ is a blessing... and in blessing, the connection also blesses us.” Yes! So here’s the blog I needed to write today (the crow told me so!)

Two of our grandgirls belong to the Pacific Mennonite Children’s choir in Abbotsford. We have enjoyed their performances tremendously. They’ve won awards.

the choir receiving their second place trophy at an international choir festival in 2018.

Their choir director, Betty-Ann Braun, is passionate and skilled.  They sang at her wedding several years ago and they love her.

That's Betty-Ann in the centre of the photo.

Last year, Betty and her husband had a little boy, Felix Hamish. The baby had many medical challenges, but seemed to be doing well in spite of his limitations. In the meantime, the choir had made plans for a big trip to Scotland to participate in the Stirling Bridge International Arts Festival, Scotland's music festival for choirs, orchestras and bands in July. They were even going to sing at Abbotsford House, the home of Sir Walter Scott, on July 1.Felix's 1st birthday. The kids were super-excited. What an adventure they would have!

And then came March, and Covid happened.  The kids prepared themselves emotionally for the cancellation of the trip that was sure to come. But a second blow was harder to accept. Little Felix Hamish died suddenly and unexpectedly in April.

We often think of childhood as a carefree, happy time, but that’s not always true, is it? We cannot shelter our children from reality. Anxiety, depression and sadness are a part of their lives too. It takes the wisdom of Solomon to help them navigate through these dark waters, especially when we ourselves are reeling from our own anxieties in the pandemic.

And this is where the blessing comes in. A young woman in the choir, a high school student and a gifted pianist, wanted to do something to help comfort their director and husband in this enormous loss. The choir had learned a song earlier called “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” a lullaby that had been arranged by director Betty-Ann. Recording engineer Phil Janz volunteered to help her. Then she reached out to all the children in the choir asking if they would come in and record this lullaby as a gift for their director and her husband. They came into a church 4 at a time, well separated, and were recorded singing their parts. It took a long, long, evening to get it all done, and many more hours of mixing the recording to showcase these wonderful voices singing words of comfort. But the recording was ready and was played when a few family members gathered at the church for a memorial service.

“Each act of building connection and signaling to someone else ‘You are not alone’ is a blessing,” wrote my sister this morning. In blessing others, we ourselves are also blessed.

It seems to me that these children and young people did something beautiful that said, “You are not alone!” We can’t all sing or make a recording, but we can reach out in our own way to bring a shower of blessings to this world.

We can say, in our own way, “You are not alone.”

Recently, Betty-Ann sent out a note with links to the song and a video of the baby. She wrote:

1. Kevin Schut put together a video for the PMCC youtube channel highlighting the singers of PMCC: https://youtu.be/jUGiUTjzqj8
2. I made a video with pictures of Felix: https://youtu.be/dKsj0I1i2i0
Feel free to share either with friends and family.
Thank-you again to PMCC for making such a beautiful recording.

 Betty-Ann Braun
Pacific Mennonite Children's Choir
Artistic Director
 www.pmcc.ca

View from the Nest: The Crow starts her day.

I had a restless night, so slept a little later than normal. Stumbled out of bed and made my way to the kitchen to start the coffee. Kissed the RS good morning, then picked up my cell phone and checked out a) the ongoing lexulous game with a friend in Ontario b) email c) FaceBook. There, on the Contemplative Monk site was this post:
 

Well, now, who would turn down help to start the day right? So I’m eager to follow this advice. Let’s see, how am I doing?

1. Stay off social media for at least 30 minutes. Oops. Oh, no, I’ve failed already.

2. Drink a glass of water. Oops again. I’m sipping coffee instead. Fail times two.

3. Have a moment of gratitude. Oh, what a relief – my first thought when I awaken is almost always “Thank you!” Thanks for another night. Thanks for another day. So I passed that one.

One out of three habits to start my day off right: this doesn’t bode well.

Fourth habit: Meditate and /or exercise. I am going to amend the list – that will be #4b. I insert #4a: Wake Up.

I have to get my brain slowly up to speed. I jot down in a journal what happened the day before, in point form. No reflections needed because the brain is not ready yet. Then, a Sudoku. Ah, yes, now the wheels are beginning to turn. NOW I can begin to think about #4b and the rest of the list.

Now that my brain is awake, though, I am becoming suspicious. Did the Contemplative Monk really write this list? All these things must happen in the 30 minutes before you finally get to check your social media, including meditation/exercise? And it all happens before breakfast, in thirty minutes??? This doesn’t sound very contemplative to me. I’m going out on a limb here and calling the contemplative monk out: I think he’s actually a time-management consultant, a goal-oriented get-her-done kind of person, who maximizes every hour of the day. You, Mr. Contemplative Monk, are FAKE News.

I mix up the list to suit myself from here on.

4. Get yourself ready and start your day. I get dressed, put on my walking shoes, grab my camera and rain poncho and I’m off. (Depending on the time I get up, either before or after breakfast.)

5. Meditate and/or exercise. These two for me go hand-in-hand. I have found out, the hard way, that I need to do my walk first thing in the morning; it gets increasingly harder to push myself out the door as the day goes on. Exercise is not something that comes naturally or easily to me; I envy all those who just love putting on their hiking boots or cycling helmet and giving their bodies a workout, but I’d rather be creating or writing or almost anything else. So before I go out, I give myself a pep talk. I tell myself that he first step out the door is always the hardest. I tell myself it’ll be a short walk through the neighbourhood, it doesn't have to be long. But, surprise, surprise, I often don't come home till an hour or more later after rambling the trails along the river and through the woods. It’s been 15 days, now, that I’ve kept to my June intention and taken my daily walk, and I’ve experienced a lot, which I will share in another blog. (In the interest of full disclosure, one of those walks was three times around the new garden path, slowly and meditatively. You may call that cheating, but I don’t!)

6. Set and affirm your goals for the day. Hmm. This sounds so sensible. Unless you set out an intention, you often won’t achieve a whole lot. This has been true for me in the three months of projects to mark off the days of April, May, and now June. But...if I set and affirm my goals for the day before I take my walk, I wouldn’t give myself permission to take those leisurely rambles, which give so much direction in my life and often determine how I will spend my day. Unless we are careful, the goals can become gods, which must be obeyed and worshiped at all costs. In our hope to get things done and mark off the items on our lists, we may miss out on equally wonderful things that might be calling out to us. 

So I think I’ll add another item to this list:

7. Remain totally open ...to the promptings of the spirit, the call of the universe, your own personal mission to which you have been called. If unexpected opportunities present themselves to practice loving acts, bring joy to others, heal a hurt, speak out about injustice and/or a dozen other things that the world badly needs these days, chuck the goals and projects and DO IT!

And that will make for a very good day.

View from the Crow's Nest: I take a walk

May is over, and my decision to keep a log book every day that month was a good one for me. But now it's June. Now how do I mark off the days?

I awoke this morning haunted by the after-effects of a bad dream, full of violence and conflict. I opened the curtains and saw the rain. This was not going to be a good day. Then I turned on the computer and read about the devastation south of the border, the anger, the turmoil, the violence – all a backdrop which provided a photo-op for the President’s appearance, holding a Bible up in his hands in front of a cathedral. Jesus made his way into Jerusalem riding on a donkey, while the crowds threw down their cloaks to make a royal carpet, but this man cleared a path with riot shields and tear gas. This was a horrible, no good, very bad day in the making.

Horrible things are happening, and I feel helpless. A sense of dread and doom looms like a black cloud over me – is this the beginning of Armageddon, where the last battle between good and evil will be fought? For a while, I wallow in the anguish and outrage I feel. There is hatred in my heart.

What to do in such a situation?

Martin Luther King’s words are as true now as when he said them years ago. But I'm not feeling very loving.

I decide to take a walk. This is my intention for June, my way to mark off the days: I will take a walk on a Valley trail every day. It was raining, so today I would walk in the rain. It matched my mood. But my intention for today's walk was to open my ears, my eyes and my soul, and to dismiss angry thoughts if they arose. Maybe if I was quiet enough, I would hear the Creator of the Universe whisper some words that would help me deal with the cauldron of emotions in my heart.

I took along my camera since it helps me focus on the small things around me – the tiny flowers, fungi on bark, honeysuckle blossoms, mosses and lichens. There's such beauty existing side by side with humanity's ugliness.

I heard birdsong and beebuzz, the rushing water of the river, the raindrops splashing on the leaves. I started to breathe a little easier. Each time the “little angry devil thoughts” poked their way up, I shooed them away. There is a time to be angry, and there is a time to be silent.

Long story short: there were no blinding insights, not even whispered words of wisdom. But somehow, about halfway through the walk, my breathing lightened up, a few tears flowed, and some thoughts came floating to the surface.

The first thought: “my mission in life is to align myself with God’s creative energy.” I wrote those words down several years ago in my journal when I was trying to figure things out. When the Postman of the Universe comes to deliver a message, I want to be home to receive it. I want my life to flow in the direction of Love, which is my ultimate concept of God.

The second thought: as you walk the trails of life, you will often find that you have to make choices between this trail or that one. Which one will you take? Will you take the one that ends up on the side of love and light, or the one that ends up in darkness, anger and hate?

I'm still not feeling the love...but I'm pointing in the right direction again. I think these morning walks will be good for the soul.

View from the Crow's Nest: I see changes

May 20:

Our garden is shaggy. It’s become overgrown and jungle-like in places. The overall effect is still beautiful, if you’re sitting on the patio and not bothering about the details. But when you take a stroll down the pathways, you see the grass growing in between the stones, you feel the dip in the path that collects the water every time it rains, you notice that the enormous rosemary has lots of dead branches in it.

Huge ferns have sprung up and are competing with more mannerly plants. Some plants we thought were cute turned out to be invasive and are everywhere. Basically, our garden needs a makeover.

It’s been 13 years since we began landscaping our bare piece of property. We went wild, planting every blessed thing that appealed to us, like rosemary that wouldn’t grow in Edmonton. And because of our mild climate, it only took a few years for our garden to be a thing of beauty. And then without our noticing it, the thing of beauty turned on us, and there was just too much of everything.

So this is the year. We will need to be ruthless if we want to make real changes. Some plants will just have to go for the good of the garden. Some will be trimmed into shape to suit our purposes. Some parts of the garden will lay fallow while we decide what to do with it.

This makeover reminds me a bit of life during the pandemic. We were so used to the freedom of doing what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it. We indulged ourselves in whatever our little hearts desired. Life was good –  if you didn’t look too closely. But Covid has stopped us in our tracks, and once we got over the shock, we realize that maybe our life is overgrown with distractions and bad habits. Our passions may be crowding out other good things. Or easy choices have left us lazy and unfocussed.  And, yes, we realize, our life is unbalanced. It has become shaggy. It needs a makeover.

It won’t be easy. We will have to be ruthless if we wish to make real changes. We will have to trim things out of our schedule, and put some things aside, give them a rest, till we decide if we can live without them.

The time to do it is now. I wonder if we will remember this lesson when the pandemic is over.


May 22:

There is a lot of turmoil going on around our house, with trucks unloading sand and patio stones onto the driveway and three people working in the backyard. Earlier in the week, they removed rocks and sod, dug up plants, and reshaped flower beds. That was the prep work.

Now they are ready to do the big main job of laying a stone path where grass used to be. It will be good, but in the meantime, it’s a mess.

I guess that’s the way it is with the interior life, too. First you excavate what’s there, then you build it up again into something that works. In the meantime, it’s a mess.

May 23:

Today, we went shopping for some new plants to put in the garden. We visited a nursery that specializes in trees and shrubs.

So much choice! We were looking for a small maple to put beside the pond. Did we want a red one or a green one? And how small is small: a maple that grows to 6 feet, or one that grows to 20?  Lacy leaves or solid? Drooping or straight up? Red bark, green bark, brown bark? One in a 3 gallon pot or in a 6 gallon pot? One that costs $60 or one that costs $300?

We took pictures and made notes, but didn’t choose anything because we wanted to consult our plant book and our landscaper son. There was no rush, but if we found the right one, we’d know it in our hearts, and we’d buy it. That’s what happened after we talked to J. He told us about a maple he’d seen in a local store that was native to BC, not Japan or other country. It was the only one he’d seen in all his nursery trips. It was the right size, it had interesting features, and it would work perfectly. We bought it.

I’m thinking that we have many choices in life, too. And if you’re doing a makeover of your inner life, rooting out what you don’t want and what doesn’t work for you anymore, then what do you replace it with?

So many choices! Take your time ... But if you happen upon something that makes your heart sing, grab it! It was meant for you.

PS: A makeover, whether in the garden or in life, is totally worth it!

View from the Crow's Nest: It's a matter of perspective.

May 12:

Most of us are now are feeling somewhat bewildered by the passage of time. Which day of the week is it, anyway? The hours slip through our fingers, and we wonder what we got accomplished. And yet, it feels like we’ve been in this lockdown forever – so long, that it is now the new normal.

One way to measure the passage of time is by looking at our hair (if we have some left to look at.) I’d rather not, actually, but there it is, in the mirror every morning, sticking out all over. And I’m not the only with hair issues. Just look at the news anchors on TV, and even our own PM, brushing his lovely locks to the side or tossing his mane impatiently when it blows into his eyes.

Yesterday, I cut the Resident Sweetie’s hair. He doesn’t have a whole lot of hair to swing around anymore, but what there is needs regular trims. I’ve been his “resident barber” since early in our marriage, except for a hiatus when I went on strike and refused to cut his hair ever again. This was because, whenever I mentioned that he needed a haircut, he ignored me until even he noticed that he needed a haircut. In the meantime, I had to keep looking at him. So I told him, “Fine, I quit.” But then I didn’t like the way the barber cut his hair either. It was not a win-win situation. It was an impasse, and I had to give in. Since then, we’ve been muddling along, sometimes the barber, sometimes me, but always at a time of his choosing after I’ve bugged him for a few weeks, when people are beginning to wonder if he’s a street person. (I exaggerate, of course.)

We’ve both been pretty shaggy lately, but then, so is pretty well everyone else. We’re in this boat together. So I did not mention his hair – and he didn’t mention mine. And then, it happened: he asked me to cut his hair without any “suggestions” on my part. Covid had brought him to this.

Now he looks good, and I don’t. Life’s not fair, is it?

May 13: I was feeling pretty good about that lighthearted little observation yesterday. Then this appeared on Face Book.

It puts a whole new spin on the phrase, “Life’s not fair.”

People are toting their guns to the legislatures protesting that the lockdown has deprived them of their rights. I saw a sign that said, “We demand to have communion at church." Really? Really???? Life’s not fair, they say. But they can’t pick up signs to picket for clean water for the children in Flint, whose life expectancy is much lower than other children. And that’s fair?

Is it okay for me to be mad about this? I am.

But as the saying goes, when you point a finger at someone else, there are four fingers pointing back at you.

I want to protest my innocence in this, but find I am speechless.

View From the Crow's Nest: I check out the neighbourhood.

Another log from View from the Crow's Nest logbook:

May 11: Went for a walk around the block this morning. It’s about time – I have so slacked off on this. When I do walk, it’s usually into the woods to experience solitude and silence. But today, I decided to check out the neighbourhood. It’s where people live, people like you and me, all coping with the pandemic in their own way. I’m a bit of a recluse, and I recognize that could get me into trouble eventually, because social interaction is just as important in the long run to your health as social isolation is in this time of pandemic.

So here’s what I saw:

I saw that many people had posted hearts and teddy bears in their windows and on their fences, visual messages of solidarity and gratitude. “We are all in this together” is what these symbols are saying. “My heart beats with your heart.”

I saw and chatted with a few neighbours. The toothless old man down the block is outside with another younger fellow. Dave used to be a social worker. Now he does social work: he takes in men who are having a hard time getting their lives on track. He helps them find jobs, then makes sure they show up at work every morning, watching over them until they are ready to move out. This morning he was telling me about one of “his boys” who works at Tim Horton’s and is very busy.

Okay, Dave’s yard is a bit of a mess, littered with boats and trailers and cars that might be projects for these young men to work on. But I can live with that when I know his story. Isn’t that the way it is? If you know the story, your boundaries widen.

I walked by another messy yard. I’d driven past the house on the corner several times.  Now I stopped to take a good close look. I saw that these folks had turned over the front yard to their children.

There was a makeshift sandbox scrabbled out of an empty patch of lawn. There was a makeshift tent structure, created with dead cedar branches bent over and tied together.

There was a little kitchen unit, complete with sink and counter, and little flags hanging over it as a makeshift curtain. There were cheerful messages painted on rocks. Shingles had been laid down to make pathways.

I smiled in recognition. My memory goes back to our backyard when our kids were young and rambunctious. There was a well-used trampoline for the kids to jump on. There was a sandbox with guy wires running up to the crabapple tree, where GI Joe figures slid up and down. There was a rabbit that had free reign in the yard, and ate every attempt I made to beautify the flower beds. There was a dog who buried things. There were buckets that served as goal posts for the soccer ball that got kicked around. There was a picnic table covered with craft supplies in the summer. There was a mother in the kitchen wondering when she would ever create some order out of the mess and have a yard that resembled those of Better Homes and Gardens

Now she knows: there’s time enough for beauty and tranquility in the garden after the kids are gone.

And I saw two butterflies, a little blue one and a big fancy one, and a swallow swooping by. It was a good walk.

View From the Crow's Nest: I see Goldfinches

I logged these notes several weeks ago. I gave them time to settle before re-reading them and deciding whether to share them with you. As with almost everything, it's not the whole story, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but it is part of my story that I'm living with in these unusual times. I hope it is for you, too. 
 
May 3: I awoke this morning and checked my Facebook page to find these words by poet Mary Oliver.

Oh yes, indeed! We have yet again an opportunity to be alive, to experience a fresh morning in a broken world. Reading that was a second wake-up moment for me.

You can read the rest of the poem here (I hope you do!):
https://wordsfortheyear.com/2017/08/28/invitation-by-mary-oliver/

 
May 4: Yesterday’s poem was about goldfinches.

Oliver reflects on the goldfinches gathered in a field of thistles “to see who can sing the highest note, or lowest, or the most expressive of mirth, or the most tender” ... not to be winners, or to please us, but just out of sheer delight and gratitude.

As I write this, half a dozen goldfinches are flitting about in our yard.

They are joined by golden crowned sparrows, rosy finches, juncos and pine siskins, robins and towhees, hummingbirds and the occasional flicker, taking baths in the rock pools in our pond, fighting over the feeders, hiding out in the blooming dogwood and singing their hearts out.

 “Oh, do you have time to linger for a just a little while out of your busy and very important day?” asks Oliver. “I beg of you, do not walk by without pausing to attend to this rather ridiculous performance. It could mean something.”

May 5: That word “ridiculous” in the above line catches my attention.

The adjective “ridiculous” comes from the Latin word ridere, which means “to laugh.” But it’s often used in a mocking way – “What a ridiculous outfit she’s wearing,” for instance. Ridiculous can also mean preposterous, foolish, absurd.

I think about the goldfinches gathered in a field of thistles, singing their hearts out. Ridiculous! What will it get them? Where’s the profit in that? They’re singing out of the sheer delight of being alive, but that doesn’t bring home the bacon. Ridiculous...but thank God, they’re singing and filling that field of thistles with song. Someone will stop to listen. It could mean something to someone.

photo from MyMinnesotaWoods

And what about me, holed up in my studio for hours on end, making pieces of art or writing notes to myself? Ridiculous! Where’s the profit in that? But it is who I am. Perhaps only God will check out the results of my creating. But that would be enough.

So I’ll take my chances and join the goldfinches in their ridiculous songs. It could mean something to someone.

Not "20 finches at the feeder" but the entry for April 20 in my Diary of Daily Delights!

By the way, this site  https//wordsfortheyear.com  
is a wonderful site for finding beautiful poems.)
And to hear a goldfinch song, check out this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2wRlRCqK2I

Or come visit our backyard!