THE HEALING SOUTH

Each day, as we made our way through the Southern States toward Florida, we felt the sun grow warmer and watched the signs of spring appear. It had been a hard winter in many ways. The loss, at Christmas, of a beloved child and the recent assignments of two military grandsons, one to Iraq and the other to Korea, had left us bearing weights on both our hearts and minds. The frigid, below normal, temperatures and endless ice and snow seemed to reinforce our sad and somber state of mind . It was time for relief. We accepted the thoughtful invitation of a friend to visit her St. Augustine, Florida home. We drove down, avoiding the stress of tourist filled airports. As the countryside of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and finally, Florida unfolded warmly before us, we felt our spirits lift. We became aware of Life’s many truths taking place at any one time. We were beckoned to tap into the world of beauty and day to day joys that existed on the other side of our heavy-hearted experience. And, as we rested our minds and regained our perspective by focusing, for a few special days, on the warm, positive qualities of Life being lived, we were renewed in mind and spirit.

THE SEEDS OF DREAMS

February is the month when people often long to escape the vice grip of winter. Some of us go south to get an early dose of warmth and sun, yet most people stay at home biding their time and dreaming of green and sunfilled days to come. Apartment dwellers see, with their mind's eye, terra cotta pots brimming with tomato plants, plump green peppers, and juicy strawberries. Others envision window boxes spilling over with colorful, cascading petunias, and flashy geraniums. Homeowners, put pen to paper and sketch images of their garden plots, considering all the possibilities for annuals, perennials, grasses and vegetables. Seed catalogs come in February, tempting us with pictures we'd like to lift from the pages, of every conceivible flower and mouthwatering fruits and veggies. Our color starved eyes, having endured the monotones of winter, long for the bright shades of a garden in bloom. Our daydreams transported us into another relm where bees buzz, leaves dance in the breeze and roses turn their heads toward a warm sun. I run my fingers over the Burpee's Seed Catalog saying to myself, 'I'll take that..and that and that!' By the time I've finished my dream order, I have enough seeds, bulbs and saplings coming my way to start my own greenhouse! Of course, my final order will reflect a more realistic plan. I'll go back over the pages choosing only those plants that fit my small garden needs. But, oh, the enjoyment my spring focused thoughts have brought! I look down and find that a little patch of snow has melted near my feet. Could it have been warmed by my February dreaming? If you are winter weary, treat yourself to a warm daydream or two. Don't be sensible about it; let your thoughts transport you to a special place. It could be a garden, or a waterfall , a forest or a mountaintop. You decide. Close your eyes and engage your senses. When you return to the present, you will feel refreshed and ready to make it through the final weeks of winter. I'll be back in two weeks after following my own dream south. Blessings, Sandra

A SITUATION FOR THE BIRDS

I spread a layer of crunchy peanut butter (the mocking bird’s favorite) on a slice of stale bread, slip a string through the center, and tie it to the birdfeeder pole. I add new seed and a fresh piece of orange on a string beside the woodpecker suet. Suet, fruit, peanut butter and seed… everything in place Now, I can enjoy my own breakfast, while watching, through the dining room window, as my feathered friends do the same. Once at the table, with my toast and tea, I look out and see, not the mocking birds or woodpeckers, but a wing -flapping gang of starlings, busily tearing at the peanut butter bread and flinging seeds hither and yon. The other birds, who have had their breakfast hour interrupted, perch in nearby bushes watching with a look of disgust that matches my own. I have a distinct prejudice against starlings. They are piggish, uncouth birds that always bring their equally piggish, uncouth relatives and friends to polish off the feeder fare. If they behaved with anything akin to manners, I might feel differently, but its hard to find anything likeable about these “Joe Six-packs “of the bird world. I decide to create another feeding area where the starlings can eat without disrupting the smaller, more passive birds at the feeders. This time, I slap peanut butter onto several slices of stale bread and hurl them out into the middle of the yard… where they promptly sink into the snow. Two starlings fly down and peck at the peanut butter, but the snow is cold, and the pole feeders, much more tempting than the snow covered bread. In no time, they, and their relatives, are once again monopolizing the feeders. Indignant and out of patience, I rap loudly on the window pane to frighten them away. My finger prints dot the window. My tea and toast are cold. My breakfast hour has been spent. Suddenly, I realize that more has been lost here than my battle with starlings. My peace of mind has been overshadowed by my desire to control a situation quite beyond my control. If I cannot love starlings in the same way I love the more appealing, less troublesome birds, can I find a way to accept the fact that, like all living things, they have a God given place in this world? Nature, after all, does not judge its creatures good or bad. Only man does that. Surely, I would find more peace if I suspended judgment of these birds. Surely, I would I be happier if I tried to see their good points, like their comical little yellow, clown smiles and their cheerful speckled feathers. This week, I think I’ll try to be more accepting…of birds…of people, of all the things that aren‘t exactly the way I would like them to be. This week, I will value my peace of mind over my desire to change. Peace to you. Sandra

THE RIVER'S WAY

When you put your hand in a flowing stream, you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to come. Leonardo daVinci

On this clear-skied, January morning, I drove through the protective flood wall out to the bank of the Ohio River. It had been some time since I’d gone to visit my ancient friend, and I was eager to know again, the quiet wisdom it always spoke to my spirit.

Along the muddy bank, pieces of driftwood rested, like washed up bones, after traveling for days or weeks, in a dizzying ride atop the frigid current. Now, the waters ran slowly, their deep gray cobalt reflecting the cloudy blue of the winter sky. At the center of the river, tiny, wind blown waves sparkled and danced, while closer to the shore, thin sheets of fragile ice drifted, like shards of broken window pane. Around the ice, cold pools of perfectly calm water lay mirror-like, moving ever so slowly onward toward their southern destination.

I watched, in fascination, the river’s constant movement and change. Not for a moment did it remain in the same place. Always, it found a way around anything that would obstruct its onward flow. From one place it passed to the next, it was never the same river.

So, too, our life conditions, good or ill, are always changing. The awareness of this constant flow of circumstances can both help us appreciate the positive and joyful times, and give us the assurance that even the worst of times will not last forever.

What is good is passing. Appreciate it. What is not good is passing. Don’t fear it.

Peace to you, my friend. Sandra

Why Quiet Waters?

Thoughts on the Title in January The problem is A lack of pause, Caught as we often are In jaws of Speed and doing. Seldom taking Time to see The snowy tufts That rest upon each tree… . We need but only one Or two Stilled moments For the heart to calm, To feel the inner pressures Melt like warming ice Into a peaceful pond Of Quiet Waters.

A PINE WITH PURPOSE

For many years, a tree with an interesting history stood in our front yard. One Christmas, in the late 1960’s, my father brought it home, its root ball wrapped in burlap, its short branches sturdy and even. It was our first living Christmas tree following many years of precut needle droppers that never seemed to get quite enough water to last through the holidays.

In January, Father planted it in the front yard, near the road, where it grew with the seasons, into a handsome, well formed tree. On future holidays, it was decorated with carefully strung lines of white lights that made it shine like a beacon, for all the night travelers going up and down our hill.

I don't remember the first year a step ladder was required to string the lights through the top boughs. And, its hard to recall when a longer, extension ladder became necessary to hang the star at the top. Yet, growing as it did each year, one could almost imagine a time when the North Star would be called upon to light its highest bough.

In the early 1990’s, January brought a paralyzing ice storm to the MidOhio Valley. Throughout the eerie silence of that night, we heard ice laden wood creak and snap under the gathering cold weight.

In the morning, we found that all of the branches on the north side of the pine had broken off under the icy glaze. Now, jagged stubs protruded like boney fingers, from the places where full green boughs had been the day before.

The following winter, a neighbor, driving down the snow-slick road in front of our house, lost control and skidded squarely into the hapless pine tree, knocking it to the ground. Not easily discouraged, Mother hired men to tie it with ropes, stand it up and place it securely in a freshly dug hole where, she was confident, it would take root again. Though leaning like the Tower of Pisa, it surprised everyone but Mother, and recovered from the trauma.

Over the years, the bare side of the tree proved useful as a sheltered feeding station for birds and wildlife; and, although it grew too frail to be trimmed with lights, its "good side" remained the main source of graceful boughs used to trim the living room mantle at Christmas time.

For those of us who knew its history of unfortunate events, the pine tree served as a symbol of determination and renewed purpose.

Few of us make it through life without being scarred or challenged by trials and storms of one kind or another. What we do, in spite of the damage, is what matters. Like the pine tree, we can go on. We can enjoy life and find new purpose. We can set our roots back into the soil of life and greet each new day with hope and meaning.

Blessings, Sandra Publish Post Saving... Save as Draft