Saved by the Bulb

I had no intention of going downstairs that night. Having felt relief that the furnace had been fixed and the weather turned pleasant, I was enjoying some well-deserved time outdoors.

But the universe moves in mysterious ways.

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If I hadn’t noticed that the light was out in the hallway; if I hadn’t been compelled to go downstairs to get a replacement bulb; if I’d waited even half an hour longer; God forbid, if I’d waited til the next morning…. the damage from a runaway hose on the water heater would have been much more than a huge ordeal, it could have been an even bigger disaster, ruining paintings, electrical equipment, and I hate to think what else.

That’s not to say that the removal of carpeting and walls and about 5 hours of steadily running water hasn’t been a problem. But somewhere in this, perhaps some blessings too.

Maybe it was just “life”, just another trial and tribulation, cause for cursing and a whole lot of aggravation and time spent on something I didn’t have time for – or maybe it was something that averted a potentially worse event (I’ll never know, and that’s okay!) – but for whatever reason, the water flowed like a river where a river doesn’t belong, and made me take note.

Water symbolizes fluidity. When restricted, it doesn’t flow ~ and then when released, like a broken dam it bursts and gushes and overflows, spoiling everything in its path. There’s a lesson there, and it wasn’t lost on me.

And hey, over the past week I’ve learned that PSE&G backed up their words with action – they were there for me. I learned something about pressure valves, met some of the local firemen, and through them, a great team of restoration and damage repair guys. The carpet I’ve been wanting to change just found an instant answer and all this took my mind off the cicada onslaught.

Of course, between the cicada’s incessant whir outside and the drying fans inside, it’s a surround-sound experience I could do without. And the flooded area is a long way from being put back together. But it’s sorting itself out ~ and because it could have been worse, I probably have to say I’ve never been so happy to feel the urge to change a lightbulb. Who knew it could prevent calamity?

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When Flowers Bloom

I love spring! It may sound corny, but I’m over-the-moon when everything turns green, when everything’s new and fresh and full of wonder. I love going barefoot. I love hearing the birds singing their little hearts out, the squirrels skittering, the crickets cricket-ing. I love getting a little dirt under my nails. And when flowers bloom ~ flowers are, after all, the superstars of springtime ~ my cares feel lighter, my heart and all the world a little brighter.

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No Exceptions

Funny how the right combination of words on the right day can cut through all sorts of rubbish. There have been many phrases that have spoken to me over my long years of admiring quotes, but right then and there, this one kind of shouted.

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This isn’t to say I’m personally looking to start wearing big, red feathered hats. (I do love hats, but they tend to feel like a bit of a ball and chain, a cumbersome accessory that you have to hold if the wind blows.) But it does mean you get on with things. With gusto. No hiding behind ancient lessons of modesty (to the point of it being a flaw, not an asset), or memories of insecurity (too tall, too skinny, too short, too fat, not enough this or not enough that), or playing down your virtues to avoid someone else possibly feeling “less than” (after all, it’s very possible to be all you can be without being brazen or inconsiderate or creating psychological torment in others).

We all have merits and strengths just as we have faults and weaknesses. To hell with the latter. Why give them any more muscle. As I’ve heard somewhere along the way, we ought to afford ourselves the same benefit of good lighting that we often give to a painting on the wall. And do it now. Today. No exceptions.

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Amelia’s Wisdom

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On May 20, 1932, Amelia Earhart took off from Newfoundland and nearly 15 hours later landed in Ireland, becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean.

I applaud her courage, her sass, her confidence, her skill, and her devotion to a dream!

And that’s all I was going to say. Except then this thought came along for the ride…. that sometimes I feel like we’re all flying, flying through time and space, yet we’re moving from one thing to the next with an odd sense of urgency, like an almost directionless wave. Are we piloting, or going wherever the wind propels us ~ and in the end, does it even matter?

Amelia had a goal, for which she was very clear and very determined. Her eye was on the prize; nothing deterred her vision. Distractions were temporary ~ in contrast to today’s practically full-time, ongoing societal movement of distraction and sense of go-go-go to the next thing, the next chore, the next gadget, the next appointment, the next video, the next news cycle, the next facebook post that will fill in the void created in the five minutes between.

When do we sleep? When do we sit still and just be? Talk with a friend?  It’s almost as though those things have become diversions. I find that sad. I also find it true. And I also feel grateful that I have at least a couple of personal outlets that take me away from the frantic “gotta do this” mentality – a mentality which is very real, but also a manufactured product resulting from the marvel of technology allowing us to access everything NOW. We’re like little children who want to stay up so we don’t miss anything. We’re like subscribers to a virtual Life Magazine, interested mainly in the quick pictures.

And so we tell ourselves, oh, who cares about the cobwebs creeping down the walls, there’s no time for that. We get pulled in, sucked in (whooshing sound – can’t you hear it?), carried into the current. And time goes by without our noticing. It literally seems to fly – but not the same kind of dedicated flight Amelia ventured upon; not at all. And is that good or is it bad? Is it just different?

Is it harder to have focused goals like Amelia Earhart had, when we are driven to distraction in modern daily life? (Not counting those wealthy enough to hire others to handle the mundane.) Goals were simpler, “cleaner” way back when. Farmers sowed seeds in one season, harvested in another. Granted, that was hard work, certainly no walk in the park, but now it’s as if hoeing and tilling and sowing and harvesting and reaping are simultaneous actions, and then everyone needs to broadcast and re-broadcast their progress so the world will know that their tomatoes are the best tomatoes ~ because by tonight, something else will have our attention.

Time will tell… but I know that I need to do something organic everyday to counterbalance all the time spent electronically, that computerized place that’s “open all night”, around the clock, every day of the year, for business or play. There is a great usefulness there, and I value that, but I think it’s all too easy to lose sight of one’s own “prize” in the process. So I need to walk away now and then, whether it’s to pull a few weeds from the garden, play a few notes on the piano, draw, swim, stop and pet my cats. Spend some time with myself, the core me, not the “what am I going to share next with the world” me. Meditate. Stay away from my to-do lists.

It’s just hard to find the time… but I’m going to go do that very thing right now. An hour should do it. Maybe I’ll start by contemplating Amelia’s wisdom. Or maybe I’ll just thank Amelia for reminding us that we can do anything we set out to do, and then go feed the birds and not think at all.

ps: Sorry for getting all off base here from the original intent of a quick, light post, but sometimes it spills out and I’m not going to change it because I’m now on a bird-watching mission.

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Dragon Lair

“I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Streams of Silver

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Aging Dragon / @Patricia Saxton, Book of Dragons

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The Road To Imagination

“Everything you can imagine is real.”
― Pablo Picasso

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From Patricia Saxton’s “Pencil Point Series”, a long-runnng self-promotional campaign based on her logo and favorite tool, the #2 pencil.

It starts out when you’re small ~ imaginary friends to share your secrets with and mythical beasts under your bed, dolphins swimming on clouds, dancing spaghetti and talking fish…. and if you’re lucky you loop back around after you’ve grown up, after at least a few journeys into more serious, practical waters.

There are some who never wander far from that magical place of the imagination, but most of us stray. We twist and scuttle around winding roads of this and that important thing. The key is to not stray so far and so long that we forget. Because our imaginations are like beautiful shiny rocket ships, launching a thousand ideas and dreams. Imaginations make art and music and electricity and cures for diseases and stories that make us feel and think and grow. Imagination is liberating. It’s a life force beyond our comprehension – we have to use it to know it, and even then, just around the bend there’s always more marvelous wonder not yet discovered, not yet realized, not yet “thunk up”. Always.

……….

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
― Albert Einstein

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Mother’s Day

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Carolyn Naught Saxton, circa 1940’s

On this day reserved for mothers, I’m planning to sit back and bathe in any loveliness that might possibly come my way. But first, I’d like to share something of my own Mom.

My mother was “my world” when I was little, and a role model as I grew. She did all the things you’d expect a Mom might do, like fix meals, teach manners, dry tears, cheer you up and on. She was there for her family, she was involved in her community. She loved to laugh. She loved to give. She loved life and tried to worry only on Tuesdays.

She was my biggest fan; my most trusted friend. We all adored her to pieces. And though she left the world much, much too soon – nearly 30 years ago, before her 60th birthday – she left gifts behind. Treasured, timeless words; gifts from the heart, mind and spirit.

Her poetry first appeared in anthologies as early as her teens. Later, perhaps her greatest work, was the collection of sonnets published in her book titled The Pine and The Power.

It was hard to choose just one poem ~ but I share this piece below in honor and life-giving celebration of mothers near and far, here or remembered.

Happy Mother’s Day  ~
Patricia

…………………………..

God help our children to transcend the dark

And walk the earth with dignity and cheer;

God help them seek the mountains, persevere

The road that twists through thorn and tanglebark,

Ascending finally where eagles mark

Their point of vision. Help our children find

Two masters ~ one the spirit, one the mind ~

And rediscover constancy of heart.

Help us to find cathedrals in the skies,

A will to walk the long uncharted mile;

(The will to find in winter’s legacy

The ochre sands from which the lime trees rise!)

Help us to know the measure of the child ~

To live in time and in eternity.

© Carolyn Naught Saxton

…………………………..

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Things We Hold On To

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I have this bag. Old as the hills, ripped and torn. Well-worn and well-loved, liked an old toy. Every other day or so I stuff my swim stuff inside and head off for my laps, and don’t give it a second thought other than “wow, I’ve had this bag for ever.”  Jansport would be proud of the longevity of their product, if not disappointed that I haven’t purchased a replacement yet.

So why do I hold on to it? Is it sentimental value? Prudence? Is it the Scot in me , the “waste not, want not” philosophy I was raised with? Is it just not that important to me to have a shiny new bag for my workout stuff?

It’s all those things, really. When the final seam rips clean I’ll let it go, but for now it serves a purpose and I like it. I like that it’s red and I like its traveled past. But it got me thinking, why do any of us hold on to any variety of things?

My Dad stored things like old scraps of wood and old nails. I remember a whole wall of them in his workshop, separated by straight ones and bent ones and rusty ones and shiny ones. We always figured this was a reaction to having been raised during the Great Depression. He held on to old nails the way some people hold on to old clothes or fancy dreams. The way some hold on to hurtful relationships, or to beliefs they never questioned. Some cling to illness, some to grief, some to judgment. Some to hope.

Something else got me thinking about this, too. I’ve been getting to know a marvelous group of people who recently shared personal stories – their life stories. Every one has a story, right? But not all stories are created equal, and I can’t tell you how deeply moved I felt reading their unrehearsed words, the baring of their souls with eloquent, often heart-wrenching honesty, intertwined with humor and wisdom gleaned from some pretty intense experiences all their own, yet experiences that could also be seen as windows to parts of the universal human condition.

And what does that have to do with holding on to things? A lot. Because we all keep a hold on certain things ~ and then, in order to be healthy, move on or make room ~ we let them go. These friends gripped (and grappled with) things as long as it took to learn the next step, to make it out, to be okay, to find grace, to feel safe, to understand forgiveness, to be grateful. They either learned, or are in the process of learning, how to let go of that which doesn’t serve their highest good. And they’ve discovered, or are in the process of forging, new pathways that DO serve. They are remarkable, beautiful souls.

We’re the only ones to make that call for ourselves. Someone may nudge, “Hey Mom, you know your bag is basically a tattered rag? You could replace it you know. Just a suggestion…” But when it comes to bigger things, like Big Emotional Trappings, a nudge is pretty weak. It might even backfire. Later, when someone comes to their own peace with something, has had their own awakenings, made their own decisions, fluttered their own wings, they may look back and wonder why they held on to something for so long, or why didn’t they listen to anyone (including their own inner voice),  ~ but that’s when they take their life back. That’s when the magic kicks in. It’s a freedom song. And really, we all want to feel we have a little say along our journey.

No one can move the hands of the clock for someone else. We all wear different shoes, walk to our own rhythm, see with our own eyes, feel with our own hearts and find ways to nurture our own souls. We grasp on and linger with things – and people and conditions and situations – until we recognize their worth has gone, until we’re able to walk away, knowing they no longer define us and knowing, then, that releasing stuff is the right thing to do.

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Tuesdays with Chris: “The Gift of Listening”

Chris Staley, early work

In his typically wise yet humble way, Chris covers another of my favorite subjects in this last video of the series ~ unobtrusively reminding us that the world could use quite a bit more good listening.

Hope you’ve enjoyed the series as much as I have. It’s been a pleasure filling our Tuesdays with the creative insights from a great teacher, a great person, a wonderful artist and an old friend. Thank you Chris, for the opportunity for more of us to listen to you.

(If you missed my introduction about Chris Staley, master potter, educator and Penn State Laureate 2012-2013, you can read that here.)  Enjoy!

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A Plethora of P’s / #68: Presentation

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

– ♥ –

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“Presentation is everything.”

I’m not sure when, or by whom, this phrase was first coined, but it speaks volumes. From job interviews to table setting to product marketing to public speaking to asking a date to the prom to framing a picture ~ presentation is the packaging that can make or break a deal, set a tone, and stamp a nearly irreversible impression.

Of course, it probably should be said that a well done presentation can be deceptive. How many of us have been fooled into buying an unworthy product, or trusting someone not deserving our trust? A slick presentation can be a ruse to cover truth ~ so we shouldn’t follow blindly, nor believe what we see just because it’s presented a certain way.

However…. how much lovelier the world is with fresh flowers on a table. How much more engaging to hear an authentic, articulate speech than a sloppy one. How much more effective to sell a home that’s clean and attractively appointed. How much more likely the neatly dressed person will be favored for a job over someone who looks like they’re fresh from an all-night at the pub. How much sweeter to give (and receive) a gift that’s presented with a smile, if not also a bow? We can so much more appreciate a symphony recording that’s clear instead of scratched and muffled. A well-written note means more and feels more genuine than one filled with errors that appears rushed. A meal is more savored when artfully arranged. The list goes on.

It’s the human touch, the extra mile, the care and thoughtfulness behind just about anything, that makes the presentation more winning, the sharing more worthwhile, and the receiving more valued.

(see our growing, ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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