September Blessings

It's the end of the month, and I'm sitting here paying bills. It's a chore I neither like nor one that leaves many pennies in the bank. Hence my mood is less than charming.

So I've been trying to think of an antidote for the misery it brings, and I think I've come up with something really great. I'm counting my September blessings while I pay my September bills! Brilliant, huh?

I'm not talking about those global blessings, like my children, my home, my health. Although those are blessings of the highest caliber, counting them becomes a cliche. Rather, I'm recalling the things that happened just this month that made the month sparkle. How easy it is to forget them in the misery of the moment.

So here are my September blessings.

1. Touring a great landmark, the Portland Observatory. This is an historic site that looks like a lighthouse but isn't. And I made my way to the top for a quick view of the panorama below. Quick because I have a dreadful fear of heights. (Yes, I have my little closet insanities, just like you.)

2. Moody Pond Day. So named for spending a leisurely Sunday with good friends Emily, George, and Sarah, -- just canoeing and kicking back. Later we ate "Dave's famous" hamburgers, followed by apple pie (made straight after picking at Bailey's orchard) topped with home made vanilla ice cream.

3. The Common Ground Fair, where I alway have fun and learn something new.

4. 90-degree weather. This is especially to be celebrated when we know what's in store in just a couple of months.

5. Two new requests to teach: one of my favorite things to do.

6. Foraging with Jerry and introducing Fran to rug braiding and plaiting.

7. Meeting Kathy: quilt diva extraordinaire.

8. A watsu from Emily. Awesome!

9. And best of all, meeting my new "grandchild." Say hello to Kallie.

Copyright 2007 starfishdoc

Stillness Speaks

I heard a piece on public radio the other day concerning the people of Newton, Massachusetts. Newton is mostly a middle to upper middle class community, full of stately Victorian homes and manicured parks. People take great pride in the appearance of their property. Hence, the leaf-blowers.

That's what the radio piece was about: how residents of Newton are being driven mad by the constant roar of leafblowers. It was no stretch for me to take a walk in their shoes. Before moving to Maine, I lived in a wonderful house on a postage stamp lot. There were so many days when I stepped out to the back yard, seeking a quiet moment in the garden, only to hear some neighbor's noisy machinery roar into action.

I now live on a pond in the woods. On almost a daily basis, weather permitting, I hop in my kayak for a sometimes vigorous, sometimes lazy paddle. I usually make a ritual of leaving all my cares on shore and go off to seek the stillness. Before too long, my thoughts turn off and "stillness speaks."

That phrase is borrowed from Eckhart Tolle. I'm a big fan. He is all about stillness and being present. He probably would like my stillness practice. But he would also say we need to find stillness wherever we are. That it is a condition we must create within so we do not need to rely on an environmental one, like my pond and woods. (Although the environment helps, and I wish you were here.)

Which leads me back to the folks in Newton. Shutting out the sound of those mechanical tornadoes is not easy, but having a stillness practice might help. My old house was on a commuter street. Late at night, one car per hour might drive by. But starting around 5 am came the delivery trucks, the school buses, and all the workers heading into town. And of course the sirens. At first, it would wake me and keep me awake. But I began to tune in to the silence inside my room. Soon I no longer heard the noise outside.

Like the Newton folks, many people live in situations where stillness is a precious commodity. And Tolle has taught me, "Stillness is where creativity and solutions to problems are found." So, developing a stillness practice is one of the most important gifts you can give yourself.

Thanks for your wisdom, ET. Oh, and ET, I bet you don't even own a leafblower, right?


Copyright 2007 starfishdoc

Blessings Come When You're Not Looking

I've been braiding rugs for our log home ever since meeting my braiding teacher at the 2005 Common Ground Fair. (Yes, that was the same day I took the mushroom class that turned me into a forager.)

This picture is a sample of my work. Like two lovers, rugs and quilts compete for my creative time and attention.

One morning last December, I was surfing cyberspace looking for rug wool. Wool has been replaced by synthetics in recent decades making it more expensive and increasingly difficult to find.

This particular day, I stumbled upon a Yahoo group for rug braiders. (Who knew?) A new post had just come in. It was from a widower whose wife had been a rug braider. He was looking for a local braider to give his wife's stash of wool to. (I know, don't end with a preposition.)

The operative word here is "give." With wool increasing scarce, "give" is not a word commonly associated with it. And seeing as how he lives in the Midwest, I did not even faintly resemble "local." So I wrote and offered to buy his wife's stash as well as pay for postage.

A deluge of Yahoo responses followed from other wool-starved braiders. I suspect he was overwhelmed by the numbers, since he posted a message to all saying he'd think about our letters and get back to a lucky recipient. (Sounds like the dating game, doesn't it?) Ever the loser in any game of chance, I forgot all about it.

Then in March an email arrived. The name of the sender did not ring a bell, but as I read the message I recalled the widower with the stash. He made a proposition (not that kind). He asked if I would finish a rug his wife had not completed in exchange for a box of her wool. He further offered to send the remainder of her stash once the rug was returned to him. I accepted.

A week or so later, a very large box arrived, containing beautiful wool in assorted colors, and Meg's (not her real name) little rug, with one unattached round of braid. That weekend, during a Nor'easter, I sat and butted that final round onto Meg's little masterpiece. Anyone who has ever finished or repaired the handiwork of someone whose creation has outlived them, knows what a spiritual experience this can be. Here's a picture of Meg's rug completed.

I returned the rug to the sender and as promised, two more cartons of wool arrived in a couple of weeks. What had I done to deserve such riches? How does someone take such a leap of faith to send a precious artifact and valuable goods across miles to a perfect stranger? And why did he choose me from all the respondents?

He told me he visited my website where he read my statement about placing a high value on creativity as a source of mental health. That made the difference.

So what's the point of this story? First, isn't it amazing that people interested in one of the earliest American crafts are using such seemingly contrary modern technology to find one another? And isn't it fascinating that you can put out some aspect of yourself not knowing how or when someone else will resonate with it?

So, maybe the lesson here is: allow yourself to be known to others. Let them know how you think and what you feel, and most importantly what you believe in. They will do the rest.

Copyright starfishdoc 2007

Control is Such an Ugly Word

I've been thinking lately about the word, "control." We toss that word around a lot. "You're trying to control me!" "She has control issues." "Have you got a control problem?" We tend to see it in strictly negative terms.

But there are different ways of looking at control. At one end there's abuse and domination. Seen in this light, there's nothing nice or good about control. But in the right context, control can have merit.

Consider the bonsai. If you've ever tried to raise one of these miniature trees you know what a challenge it is. You must attend to its roots, its trunk, its branches and leaves. You must give it just the right amount of sunlight. You must learn when to fertilize and when to water. And you need to know how much. And despite how you would like it to grow, it appears to have a direction all its own.

I've been told that some people consider the wiring of bonsai branches to be torturing the tree. On the contrary, this practice is essential to guiding the tree's proper growth. It's a loving form of control.

But there is a limit to the control you can exert on a bonsai. You cannot take a branch that wants to grow left, twist it, and wire it to go right. Rather, bonsai experts will tell you that you must study the tree and observe how it wants to grow. As Saburo Kato says, "you'll sense that the plant is trying to tell you something."

So healthy control has its limits. You cannot force a tree to grow in a direction it does not appear to want to grow. Rather, you can only shape the natural direction of the growth.

Nurturing a valued human relationship, be it with your children, your spouse, or a dear friend, is a lot like raising bonsai. You need to be open to what the relationship is trying to tell you about how it wants to grow. The control you employ must be in service of the direction the relationship naturally wants to take.

Copyright 2007 starfishdoc