Fleeting Summer…

        I scarcely had time to catch my breath and summer was over. July seems like eons ago and August flew by in a swirl of dust and tumbleweeds. It seems like summer finally began after the 4th of July looming endless and immense. As quickly as it began, it felt as if it was abruptly and most certainly over. 

     Still in all it was a memorable summer. A summer of transitions for me and my boys. While we strived to maintain status quo our lives were shifting and irrevocably changing and thus a whole new chapter was ushered in. Ready or not.

     My sons are entering High School and Jr. High respectively.  The challenges and excitement of growing up outweighs any trepidation they may feel as they begin anew. Without a backward glance they sprang from the easy, lazy days of summer to the hectic, hustle and bustle of school life with glee and anticipation. 

     Suddenly the notion of them racing towards the future, college beckoning on the horizon and I want to freeze the clocks and slow down for a second. Press the pause button. Hold on to this moment, this summer, this autumn and grab all the time with them that I can. Time that had once seemed infinite…is now brushing past me, hurriedly and with great haste. I am left grasping moments to hold to my heart as they begin to pull away and fly.

     It is as it should be and I am grateful that this summer I recognized that I needed to stop and store up my memories like squirrels gathering nuts for the winter. So rather than focusing on what I “should be” doing, I focused on soaking up every nanosecond of time with my boys that I could. I watched, listened and absorbed everything they said and did, memorializing our summer of 2016. 

     While changes comes to all of us whether we are ready or not they are not always unwelcome. They may be different and all too many times necessary but focusing on the good that lies ahead reminds me that transitions are opportunities to find a whole new unexpected path. Like shaking up a snow globe and watching everything slowly settle, differently and in a whole new way. Whether we like it or not, change is inevitable. I’m learning to be okay with that. Now about that time machine…!!!

 

   

 

 

In the Presence of Writers

This fall I took a writing workshop on Martha’s Vineyard with the legendary, Nancy Aronie, who I have deemed a “Literary Guru”. As a writing teacher she moves fluidly, dancing gracefully through her life, sorrows, pain, and joy in such a way that it invites and inspires her writers to do the same. Nancy has the uncanny ability to create the space that allows each writer to submerge themselves in their memories, dreams, disillusionment, and prayers to evoke words, prose, and stories that made me weep, laugh, and applaud with astonishment and joy. Nancy creates a safe place for each writer to slowly shed their cocoon and emerge into the brightly beautiful butterflies we are constantly struggling to become. She allows us to become the writers we have each longed to become. Every day each person was required to write from one of Nancy’s daily prompts and no one disappointed, although collectively we bemoaned, “what would we say? Could we even write about ‘that’?” “Am I even doing this right?”.

These amazing writers showed up with their humor, their heartbreak, their tragedies and they wove a web of stories that enthralled and entranced everyone within earshot. As the rain steadily pounded the studio’s windows, these unique voices, shared their eloquent prose, poetry and purpose. They told stories that made me feel honored to have sat among the last vestiges of  fall’s, leaf-colored, canopy, in the in bleak ending of November and weep with unabashed abandonment. Tissues were quietly passed from person to person as we heard stories of suffering, and so much sadness that people have endured in their lives and have lived to tell about it. Each testimonial and written word was as individual as the writer but the collective experience of being human beings trying to navigate the morass of our own childhoods, teenage angst, and adult lives made me long to comfort them in some way. The best thing I could do was to sit silently, breathe deeply and bear witness to their incredible stories and then applaud like I was at a rock concert when they were finished.

You could hear a pin drop as each one of us were preparing to read our words, tell our stories and share our hopes and dreams and often revisit the very pain that had brought us there. Each voice was as distinctive as the writer. There was a richness, a catch in their throat honesty and the willingness to endure, that allowed us to be  swept away into their worlds and into their shared moments of dreams, triumphs, successes and sorrow. At the beginning of each class I was sure that we had heard the best writing and then I would be lulled, lead, and laden anew with fresh tears as even deeper stories emerged and these brave souls bared their spirits and shared their lives with such courage, writers who were strangers to me no more.

All writers were funny, raw, theatrical, heartsick, loving, imaginative, vulnerable and unflinchingly truth tellers who sat in a sacred circle and bared their underbellies for the rest of us to see. What I heard was a cacophony of vibrant voices, experiences, and writing styles, but these were WRITERS, true artists. No one else could have told their stories and shared them with 23 strangers with such rawness, profound honesty, honor and grace. Each voice, each piece was an expression of what that writer brought to the group and it could not be duplicated by anyone else. That is what being a writer is about, I suppose. Telling a story that only you know the intimate details of and making us see, feel, and step back into the piece with the same clarity and tangible, tactile feelings that the writer sees in their mind’s eye. It is the ability to draw other people along, to envision your steps, your views and your emotions that makes someone a talented writer and an artist.

As I sat listening, laughing, and languishing in empathy, sympathy, and pain, I realized, this is writing. Each person is responsible for telling their story, their way, with no apologies. Each writer’s words and voice lent itself to the story being told and on some days I wondered how it is that we have all survived. If you’re a writer, you put the pain, sorrow, and longing on the page and you tell your story because invariably the other people reading or listening are sharing in the triumphs and losses, just as your exquisitely chosen words intended to convey. It’s like writing music, the tempo, the melody and the visionary, inextricable placement of each word delivers the listener to another world, another layer, where you are the star and we are the audience, there unseen, unknowing, and unaware of where this beautiful song will lead.

I have been changed by this class and as my favorite quote reminds me, “When I move, Providence moves with me.” Stay tuned as I write about the other revelations that have emerged from this one simple act of stepping out on faith. It turns out, getting out of my comfort zone, challenging myself, and standing in the presence of greatness allowed me to find a bit of my own greatness amidst the crowd of writers that I now call friends.

#writers, #gratitude #inspiring

Masters Class..

I find New Year’s Resolutions often boring and predictable. I spent this New Year’s Eve ushering in the New Year with my Mom and three of her life long, good friends. I found their perspective and life views to cause me to stop, think, and review my purpose in the world as a woman, friend, and mother. I was honored to sit and be schooled by four teachers, (including my Mom) who have enlightened hundreds of students over the span of their collective lifetime. Silently and unwittingly, I had entered a Masters Class.

The evening was spent playing games, cooking, eating, watching a funny movie and talking, debating and sharing, no holds barred. These women are not shrinking violets. Each in their own right have achieved great success as teachers, mothers, educators, administrators, feminists, and women. They take their roles as educators very seriously. It is their calling and they know their stuff.

All but one are retired but I don’t think they know how to retire, at least in the conventional sense of the word. They are still in the trenches, in schools, their communities, and churches. Each continuing to make a difference with their wisdom, contributions and shared life experiences. I was in awe of how they approached retirement, life, friendship, relationships, motherhood, marriage, widowhood, and even death. The lessons were timely, valuable and as varied as the women who were sharing them.

First, if you can not hold your own in a debate, this is not the group for you. You can’t just “state” your position, be ready to defend it, be knowledgeable about it or you will be devoured with intellect and reasoning so strong you are instantly reminded of your third grade teacher tsking and shaking her head at your feeble attempt to answer a question, incorrectly and without raising your hand first. So come strong or stay home. No time for a Goggle check, if you speak on it then you must Know about that which you speak. If not you will be challenged, kindly but with intensity.

Second, disagreement is welcome, argument encouraged. I mean this in the most respectful and adult way. There is no name calling or disparaging remarks, no eye rolls, teeth sucking, or out right dismissal of anyone’s point of view. Seems strange in a world where it seems we can not hold two opposing thoughts at the same time, (Cognitive Dissidence, in case you’re wondering, I wasn’t wondering but I received an education about nevertheless). That’s the other side of being raised by teachers, don’t use a word or phrase if you don’t know it’s origin or meaning. It has the potential to be embarrassing as they are trained listeners. I learned the true value of a loving and heartfelt debate, valuing their choice of words, their tone, more than any ego driven need to win an argument.

Third, dismantling, attacking, and categorizing other women is not allowed. Collectively these four women have raised ten plus children and they know that there is no value in teaching a lesson with pain attached, life teaches us that lesson whether we like it or not. They are forthright, well spoken, intelligent women who have continuously worked on uplifting, educating, and supporting children and adults for dozens of years. They believe that Information is power, freedom and independence. They have marched, and challenged the status quo. They have lived through the free love of the 60s, the civil rights movement, women’s movement, mother’s movement and they are not done yet, not by a long shot. 

Fourth, no two women are alike. Each one is a strong woman in her own right, working their entire lives and making creative and difficult choices, often alone. Their decisions and sacrifices have affected their families, their careers and themselves. Still you won’t find a drop of bitterness or martyrdom to be found among them. This is a group of women who get the job done, no time for muss or fuss. No time to wonder if they will get the credit for all of their hard work, (and I can say from experience, they do not). No time to sit around and whine about who is doing what, when. If something needs to get done, big or small, these women are on it. They are practical, ingenious, problem solvers and they don’t get nearly the recognition they should. 

Fifth and finally, I sat back and watched and learned more in one night than I could ever write about today. I sat, in rapt attention barely moving as they shared eloquently the lessons of their own lives. l listened and I learned about being a woman in her 60s, 70s and 80s. I learned about being a mother, for a life time, (I know we know we are mothers forever but these women exemplify what a mother is and the dance that is required as their children have grown). I learned that I can speak up and out and frankly that I should at every turn, particularly when injustice is being done. I learned the true meaning and the treasures of life long girlfriends who support and love each other through the challenges, joys and pain that life brings. I learned how to fall spectacularly and continue to get back up, again and again with dignity and integrity. 

I will leave you with some last words of wisdom from the oldest member of the group answering the age-old question, what is your New Year’s Resolution? She paused and thought about it for a moment, and she said, “I am living my New Year’s Resolutions every day in the choices I make, the people I love and cherish, the work I continue to do, and in the way I live my life. I don’t have any new resolutions, just to continue living, learning and loving.”

Yep, I will say it again, this was a Masters Class and these women should be on the cover of Time’s most Influential Women of their Time. As teachers they have taught these principles, shared these principles, prayed over these principles with their own children and the many children, many of whom are now adults, that they had the privilege of teaching over 50+ years as Educators. Retirement is only a word to them and these women are graceful, strong, real, honest, hardworking, dedicated, beautiful, intelligent, resilient, and extraordinary. Their lives are a blueprint for how I hope to live my life as I grow older. 

Thank You for your hard-earned lessons, Mom, Ann, Beth, and Pam. And thank you for sharing them, albeit unknowingly, with me. Much love.

 

Happy Memorial Day!!

Today we marched in our town parade and gave thanks to all the Men and Women who serve our country with valor, bravery and pride. 

Though my boys marched for the Scouts and for their sports teams, I am grateful that Memorial Day means more to them than just being in the parade. As we proceed on to the cemetery to pay our respects to the fallen veterans, and both of their grandfathers, I am filled with pride as they respectfully take their hats off and place their hands over their hearts and say, thank you for your service to the Honored men and women who attended the parade and those across America.

In Our Little Town, we bow our heads in gratitude and respect. Thank You!

 

Our Town Common
Our Town Common
Our Veterans
Our Veterans

Happy Mother’s Day…

Happy Mother’s Day!

I would like to take this moment to thank my Mom who has been my champion and my tough love coach throughout my life. I learned from her how to stand through a storm and how to be an independent thinking and self-supporting woman. Our, complex and sometimes difficult relationship has evolved into a wonderful friendship, and that my be perhaps, the greatest gift of all.

I also want to thank the friends, sisters, teachers, strangers, and mentors who supported and challenged, pushed and shoved me into the woman I am today. Each friend, whether in my life now or in the past, has given me something valuable and everlasting and I am grateful for the lessons I learned from each of you along the way.

To my friends whose mothers have passed away, I know that today is bittersweet and I share in your sorrow and rejoice in the love that your mother’s shared with you and probably me, when they were here with us. Though they may be no longer with us, their presence is so strong, I know you feel their love and support, strength, and wisdom, through the stratosphere and beyond, because a mother’s love knows no bounds, no end and no beginning, the true definition of everlasting. They are angels you know by name.

To my friends who are not mothers, I hope you have had a peaceful day of reflection over the love you have received from your mothers, aunts, friends, sisters, confidants, and mentors. Imagine all the people who have touched your lives and helped you to stretch your wings and fly.

Finally, I would like to thank my beloved and adored sons, Noah and Jordan. For without them I would not know the motherhood joys of success and the staggering amounts of agonizing moments of self-doubt that consume all mothers, worldwide. They taught me to live what I speak, to show them who I am, faults and all, and to love unconditionally, with abandon and delight, holding nothing back.

I am blessed this Mother’s Day, I know that I didn’t get here alone and that my debt to all the women who have helped mold and shape me, has not been paid. Take heart, I have heard you, learned from you, and I appreciate all that you have done for me. I believe I am becoming the best version of who I was meant to be and I thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.