Rediscovering happiness

The sound of bells wafted in the not-too-distant air, and my thoughts stopped and centered on the words “for the beauty of the Earth, for the beauty of the skies.”

As the bells continued to ring, I recalled the second verse of this hymn:

"For the beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon and stars of light,
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.”

Last week, during my long blog hiatus, we travelled to Boston for my daughter’s graduation, with a very special stop in the front end in the Adirondack Mountains of New York. The little burg of Wilmington, New York had no idea what was pulling in to town when we drove up the SUV with our not-so-tiny dogs, Bing and Clover, and all of their gear. Elise and Scott arrived first with their dog, Riley who happens to be the identical pre-runner to Clover.

As we unpacked and prepared to make dinner at the rented cottage just off the main intersection of town, we sat on the back deck to reunite ourselves and the pups. The house setting included an acre of yard that edged a steep bank to the lake. Riley first discovered the lake and that a city dog can certainly love to splash and swim. Clover propelled her country dog self into the water as a swan dive/cannon ball from half-way down the bank. Bing, the dainty one, gingerly followed, making sure her toes did not get too dirty.

After an exhausting round up of our canine sweetie pies, we adjourned to the favorite meeting spot over the next four days, the back deck. An unseasonable warm day, we enjoyed the weather with bare feet and tossed hoodies to the edge of the picnic table. Elise and her dad had such a relaxed look about them, just enjoying each other’s presence, that I slipped away to see about dinner.

Scott chopped vegetables as I prepared the grill meat. Outdoors, the evening sky still held daylight’s warmth, and we heard church bells chime from a church less than a block away. Yes, they were recorded bells and I initially thought this to be a bit cliché, but as the old Reformed hymns played, my mind drifted to the words I have known by heart since childhood.

Steaks sizzled as we held back the shrimp and vegetables until the last minute. The kids live in a city apartment, so the aroma of dinner grilling with a back drop of mountains, bells chiming, and sleeping dogs at their feet seemed to just draw life’s tension out right through their ears.
We feasted; the sun set on the beautiful scene, and the bells rang out again. We were to find out that the bells boldly rang out beautiful sentiments of my faith every hour during daylight. At the chiming of How Great Thou Art, I had to stop what I was doing to absorb.

As dusk settled, I sat back with a full belly, my dearest daughter next to me, our beloved son-in-law, Roger, and our three “children,” I felt a distantly familiar feeling….happy. There was a time in my life when I would have felt the content feeling of happiness on an evening like this and not even recognized it.

This time, when happiness was abruptly interrupted by tragedy last fall, it took me a few moments to recognize my old friend. We had adjourned to the Adirondack chairs on the deck by this time, and watched stars instead of mountains. Elise suggested playing cards and we all agreed we were too relaxed to hold the necessary competitive edge.

Happiness. The feeling crept up gradually and I recognized my long, lost friend slowly. It first began as a soft, warmth washing across my heart. I heard the voices of my loved ones and they were not coming through a little cell phone receiver; the moonlight gave their faces a glow and I knew they were really, really there with me, and for the moment, no one could take them away.

The words of hymn writer John Rutter came to mind: “For the beauty of each hour; of the day and of the night…Lord of all to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise.”

Keep making your mamma proud

I remember a seventh grade girl who spent a night sick. My daughter, Elise, was so sick; she coughed and hacked all night, and in helping her, I turned off the alarm, so she would not go to school the next day. She answered that yes, she would, and I countered with my wise, motherly response of “oh, no you won’t.”

Morning dawned and the upstairs held only the sounds of Nick brushing his teeth and dressing for school. He was downstairs and ready when I announced that I could see the bus approach. As quick as a flash, I heard a thunderous sound pounding down the steps as a bedraggled, fully dressed, backpacked Elise flew out the door, ran across the lawn and up the steps of the bus. She refused to miss school, and could not be forced.

What does the future hold for such a defiant child? My phone rang today and she chimed in that with grades posted and internship hours complete, she will be graduated from Harvard University next weekend. While I burst with pride at her academic accomplishment in earning a master’s in intervention science – a college guidance degree, my heart fills with where she will take this training and skills, and the tenacity it took for this achievement.

In high school Elise spent camp time at Mountain T.O.P. in Grundy County, Tennessee. There, she learned to construct porches, paint, do minor repairs in homes and most importantly, build relationships with the folks who needed these services. One summer her crew worked at the home of two little girls, one named Shelby. The girls wanted to help and spend time with the teenage crew. Shelby had a “Skip It,” one of Elise’s favorite toys at Shelby’s age. They played together and shared with each other their love for school.

This little girl touched Elise’s heart, and when she came home and we shopped for her school supplies, she lamented that Shelby will not have the great trip to the store to pick out new binders with matching spirals and two-pocket folders; she will not have new number two pencils with coordinating pouches, sharpeners, and the other treasures that build excitement for the opening of a school year.

While an undergrad student in Florida, Elise came home summers and worked at Mountain T.O.P. where her eyes and heart opened to the fact that not everyone has the opportunities to go to college. In her hometown circles, just an hour and a half by car, and a world away, the question was never whether you would attend college, but where. High school decisions revolved around honors or Advanced Placement classes and which ones would best serve in university preparation.

Elise’s mind drifted back to the kids in Appalachia who not only did not have the opportunities or resources to attend higher education, but lacked the high school training. Mountain T.O.P. opened Elise’s eyes to the world beyond her window – a world that called for her.

After graduation from University of Miami, Elise spent a semester working with children in Tanzania. Her view and heart expanded. A little boy named Parsley melted the core of her being. The leaders of the orphanage misjudged this toddler’s age because his growth was stunted from illness. The pictures of Elise in the orphanage where she assisted in the evenings after teaching school include her working with the kids with her hip jutted out and Parsley rested on it.

Word came while in Tanzania, that Elise gained acceptance in Teach for America where her eyes would be further opened to the needs of youth in urban settings. Her two years teaching seventh grade English gained her the incentive to pursue college counseling, specializing in the needs of students at risk.

Elise’s brother Nick carried such pride for her dedication to the kids, and he bragged on her often. Next week, as we attend ceremonies at Harvard, there will be a family in the audience that beams just a little brighter than the rest, and a brother smiling from above.

Elise, keep making your mamma proud!

Fingertip to shoulder support

The room sizzled with a flow of energy today – with no sound and very little movement.

I hope Kevin felt the love and heartfelt energy of people who really do not know him jolt through his system like electricity this morning. Kevin has practiced yoga in the class I attend two times a week for the last couple months. He has just a few days left in his hometown before he leaves for training, then deployment to Iraq.

Our yoga instructor thanked him publicly for the work he will do and sacrifices he will make before our practice began today. Kevin attended class and practices in order to sharpen meditative and concentration skills he will need to endure the unimaginable stress of war.

Just before class closed today, Patty drew the class of 30 or so into a circle and asked us to join with arms on shoulders. We supported one another as we balanced from one leg to another. Then, she asked the class to close our eyes and shift our loving thoughts to Kevin for strength for his tasks ahead. We did, and as I thought of the class and the spiritual power moving from hearts to fingertips, and fingertips to shoulders, all to a nervous young man, I thought of the mighty power of community.

I do not know Kevin, not his last name, nor his age, which I guess to be somewhere between 19 and 23. I don’t know his parents, where he went to school, nor do I know what he likes to do, except yoga. But, I am a mom who knows the fear and angst of separation from a child. I remember when I lived in China and what it felt like to awaken in my bed with awareness that continents divide me from my children and all of a sudden, be wide awake and worried to the bone.

In the room of people sending the power of love and support were young women who might feel fear of leaving home for the first time themselves. There were men who might relate to Kevin on a different level. The circle, however, mainly comprised women who have sons they would like cared for by a congregation of strangers.

I admire this young man and the decision he has made to serve our country. I admire the seriousness of his commitment by practicing yoga in preparation for the journey. But, I also look up the community of people who cared enough to send him off with love. We do not have to know one another to form community – we all share the Earth and I am touched when people offer heartfelt emotional support to strangers.

During the first weeks and months following the tragedy of losing our son, we felt that energy of community and love from people we hardly knew and those we did not know at all. We only lived here in Michigan for eight weeks before Nick’s passing. People brought meals and showed us the kind of support that kept us getting out of bed on those dark mornings.

Kevin had the sheepish look about him this morning in the yoga circle of a kid who would rather not hold center stage and all eyes on him. But, as he walked away, I believe, and feel pretty confident that he carried our prayers and good thoughts with him and appreciated a community of people who formed a circle to wish him well.

Dog park success

Nothing smells better than success, and this afternoon, Bing took in a giant breath of it. Although thoroughly exhausted, she would like to sit next to my desk and dictate her story.

By Bing Fender

Just like the hot dog that falls from a stick, unsuspected surprises taste great and today, I felt as much victory in my playful afternoon as I feel when I snag the fallen wiener at a cook out.

On a snowy day last winter Mom took Clover and me to the dog park. This was not just the scariest day I have ever experienced, but I even have nightmares. That cold, winter day, Clover who knows all about dog parks and is every dog’s buddy, jumped into the fray and I followed not knowing what to expect.

I am the timid type and dogs – large or small – just frighten me to the bone. On that day, and please feel free to read my experience in the archives at “Dog Park Fright,” I learned the importance of security and the warmth of home, as I panicked with dogs coming at me from every which way. My bowels released and I yelped pitifully. Mom rushed me to the car as best she could, where I felt the safety and security of the familiar smells and sights of my own back seat.

Today, Mom announced that it was a beautiful day and we were going to the dog park. I don’t understand English very well, just happy tones, so I got very excited. I did hear the phrase “car ride,” so I pranced about the room as Mom leashed us. We drove into the parking lot of the dog park and Clover was over the moon. I latched on to her exuberance until we arrived at the familiar gate.

Oh, no. I hunched my shoulders in fear as Clover nearly pulled Mom’s arm out of the socket. A dog tried to sniff at me and I cowered against Mom’s leg. Because Mom wished to have future use of her left elbow and shoulder, she freed Clover from her leash and kept me by her side. Even though the dogs scare me, I feel safe next to Mom.

We entered the park with me on a leash and Clover nowhere on the radar screen, and I loosened up as dogs came up and sniffed. I found courage next to the safety of Mom, as she set off to find my errant sister dog. Yep, believe it or not, on this bright, sunny spring day, where the ground is dry, Clover found an 18-inch deep swamp of rancid muck deep in the woods and wallowed. So, as Mom pulled Cover out of the swampy mud and set her to run and dry a little, I gained hope for play at the dog park.

Clover is the leader of our two-pack and I always follow her cues, so with her forging full speed ahead, I gathered the courage to pull on my leash of security and Mom reluctantly released me. A little tentative at first, but soon, I gained confidence to tug on a Frisbee from a chocolate lab. Then I chased a beagle whose owner shrieked when she saw Clover.

Mom told us about the time when Elise was a toddler and she took her to the local pool while in the late stages of Chicken Pox. Mothers tugged on their babies until they could get a good grasp and politely pull them from the pool where the spotted unclean girl splashed. Mom knew Elise was not contagious, so they enjoyed an afternoon with the baby pool to themselves. She said she was reminded of that day so many years ago because the dog owners did not want Stinky Clover Swamp Thing near their clean pooches.
We continued to play together, since the other dog moms had issues with Clover’s reeking presence. A great big collie pranced toward us and I nosed her just like we had always been friends. Even the yapping Sheltie did not give me cause to cower – I found my bravery and wore it like a badge.

At the end of the day, as Mom fretted over how she was going to get muck dog home, I felt victorious over fear. Even though my shyness and fear of people and dogs has kept me away for a while, I now feel strong and empowered as I have conquered my anxiety – at least for today.

After a long session with two dogs and a bath tub, Mom sat me down and told me I should feel proud of myself in boldly playing with the other dogs at the park. I did. She also told me that whenever I feel afraid, to know that she is near to put me on a leash and keep me close to her side.
She said that people too have fears and feel weak and vulnerable at times, but when they know they have a safe place to fall, they can summon courage and conquer fear.

I am exhausted and so drippy from the bath; I think it is time to mosey over to my bed and take a breather while Mom and Dad eat. This nap will surely bring me good dreams.

Vulnerability equals brave face

“Smile though your heart is breaking.” I remember these lyrics from an old song and it reminds me of how we get through the day when our minds wander elsewhere.

Today, I engaged in my favorite kind of visit – porch conversation with a friend. Funny, but when rocking chairs, a front porch, and sunshine are involved, ideas cascade like a waterfall, and create a mist of wisdom. I basked in that mist for some time after my friend strolled down the stairs and into the woods toward her house.

We talked about the times when it necessary to show strength by putting on that brave face, and when strength dictates giving way to vulnerability. Putting on a brave face may seem insincere, or like a wearing mask, but really, that type of performance mode one enacts when situations arise demonstrates a genuine force of strength to power through heart pain. Vulnerability, we decided on the porch today, is a sign of strength and the ability to give in to vulnerability when the time is right, and stoicism when need be indicates the many facets of resiliency in a person dealing with difficulty.

Sometimes, when I feel at my lowest, putting on that brave face and keeping up conversations while my insides bleed out, cheers me up and gives me a little mind vacation from the angst of grief. This is not a phoney baloney posturing, but a coping strategy necessary to get by in our world. When I am low and cannot manage pleasantries, people around me feel uncomfortable and ill-at-ease. When I smile and show genuine interest in what they have to say, people feel relaxed, thus, I am able to maintain calm.

If I am not able to pull out of the doldrums, and sometimes I am not – people around me are uneasy. This is a simple fact of human nature. Now, this brave face effort comes with great practice. Five months ago, I did not have the strength to smile, nod and engage in conversation; muck, smoke, sticks and stones filled my head – smoking embers still burned away in my gut, and I could not manage normalcy.

The embers still burn, and goodness knows, the innards of my mind could use a blow out, but I have been able to rise from the ashes enough to pick up the pieces of normalcy and wear the brave face when necessary. That brings me to another face of strength, and that is vulnerability. In order to heal and gain the strength to maintain a sense of normalcy in society, I have to allow myself weakness when the time is right.

After a social occasion, no matter how casual, I still feel completely washed from energy and if tears stopped up the shower drain, my house would flood. I need the release of emotion to cleanse myself from the inside and allow space to renew my strength.

I think back to a baby shower in December. This occasion was only six weeks after our tragedy and I looked forward to reuniting a dear friend. I did not know anyone else at the party except the hostess, so I sat in a chair and participated in small talk – which has always been one of my strong suits. At some point in the conversation, I panicked and had to abruptly leave.

Part of the grief process is learning our limitations and respecting them. I was, at that time, not ready for a crowded room in a social occasion where attendees did not know my situation, and the waves of grief crashed to shore. I had to remove myself and cry the entire trip home. Now, with time and plenty of practice under my belt, I have the skills to recognize when I can and cannot wear the brave face necessary to handle public situations in a comfortable manner.

Resiliency takes on many faces in the face of painful times. One key to resiliency is to respect our inner wisdom and seek ways to know the right times to wear a brave face, cry in the shower, or just leave a party. The journey is ours to endure, gain confidence, and discover.

And, now with some daylight left, you can find me rocking on the porch.

Honoring pack order

Pack order, we are learning, is an interesting concept in how it plays out in canine – as well as – human relationships. Guest blogger, Bing, tugs at my toes as I write because she wants to weigh in on the issue.

By Bing Fender

A new person with a pouch of treats arrived on our porch last Friday and things have not been the same around here since her arrival. Mom introduced this new person with the nice-smelling pouch as the person who would help Clover learn to serve as a therapy dog. She seemed nice enough, and gave treats freely, so I will say she was OK, but she surely stirred the pot for Clover and me.

Early on in our visit, the treat lady noticed that Clover acts as pack leader in our duo society. Geez, how long does it take a human to figure out that little fact? Clover walks through doorways ahead of me, I base my behavior solely on cues from Clover, how much brains does it take to figure out who calls the shots in our pack of two? When Clover first came to live in our family, we had to figure out order quickly. We were both older puppies, and I was a very timid dog. Fortunately, Clover taught me that I do not need to be so shy and she gives me courage like a lamp lights a room. When Clover jumped on strangers, I used to shy away and cower. My sister dog taught me that it is great fun to jump all over guests and causes quite the stir among folks.

Now, however, with the introduction of the treat lady, Clover is learning that jumping on anyone is a very bad idea. She has learned a stern command for jumping and gets a forward lunge rather than hands pushing her down. Well, I take my cues from Clover, so now that she can’t jump on people, I don’t jump either. It’s just not as much fun without Clover leading the way.

Pack order is very important in dog world, the treat lady explained to Mom. Thank you, we dogs know it, and it is about time for the family to figure it out. She told Mom that for her to honor the pack order helps the dogs in their relationships with one another. So, where she took turns in whose food bowl she laid down first, she now gives Clover food first, then me. When she gets home, she greets Clover, then me, and hands out treats in the same manner.

Mom and Dad talked about how this just goes against their nature. When Elise and Nick were growing up, there was no pack order. They tried to keep everything even and fair. When one got to sit shotgun, the other sat in the front on the return trip. (Kids could do that in those days – Mom does not even allow us to sit shotgun now for fear of airbag deployment). Mom and Dad tried to keep things “fair and equal” with their kids. Now that they are parents to canine kids, they need to readjust and figure out the pack order system.

I know I am a Schnoodle and not a people, but from what I see, there are pack orders in people. Not that one person is better than others – Clover and I are both just about as special as special gets, but each of us has certain strengths that emerge and we respect those strengths. For instance, I am the playful one of our duo pack. I lead the charge in games and seem to have a better understanding of the rules. I am the hunter, and alert Clover when a chipmunk or deer phases into our radar. Clover really is the natural leader. She helps me figure out the people in our family, and dutifully reminds me of the house rules when I am about to get into trouble.

People have natural talents, I am sure, that emerge in certain situations. Some people handle money matters better, while others hold skills in organization and planning. Some people handle relationships and social situations well, which allows comfort for those who feel insecure in a crowd.

So, as I see it, when people respect our pack order and the need for roles within the dog pack, maybe they can recognize and respect characteristics and traits in their own kind and honor what is special among the individuals in the people breeds.

I would love to write more, but Clover is barking at the window, and I need to join in the ruckus. Gotta go!

Anticipate joy rather than sorrow

We appreciated sunshine on Sunday. We travelled to a small town just north of here for brunch at a Victorian hotel; I planted flowers and truly enjoyed the simplicity of my first Mothers’ Day since the tragic loss of our son.

Anticipation conjures up the old image of ketchup slowly moving toward the neck of the bottle with music playing in the background. I think back to firsts anticipated with dread: moving to a new city, first days of new schools and jobs. Almost always the nervous expectation is worse than the actual event, and this, thankfully, was the case last Sunday.

After thinking it over for a couple days, I decided I have a few tricks up my sleeve for surviving anticipated events when lives are in states of transition, trauma, or turmoil. Since our son’s passing in the fall, we have passed through just about “first” on the long list of dreaded occasions. We saw light on the other side of all of our birthdays, including his, Thanksgiving, Christmas, his college graduation ceremony, Easter, and more. Some of these special occasions offered us comfort, but most were a test of endurance, and so far we have passed.

In watching the calendar, and seeing the Mothers’ Day displays in the stores and commercials on television, I mentally prepared myself for the day. First, I sat down and made a mental list of all the reasons I had to celebrate and enjoy Mothers’ Day. My daughter and son-in-law, Elise and Scott keep in touch with us every day and mean the world to us. Roger appreciates my role in mothering our two children, and tells me so quite often. I have stored images of past Mothers’ Days with memories of two little kids dropping a dripping hanging basket of flowers on my Egyptian cotton sheets. The cruddy late-hanging Michigan winter finally gave way to spring. Yes, in reflection, I have many blessings to count in anticipation of this Mothers’ Day. I also have my own mother whom I planned to call and wish a happy day.

Looking for bright spots in what could be a difficult and painful time eases the sting almost every time. I turned down offers for company and planned activities, as I wished to feel in control of the day. This proved to be a good decision in that I preferred to have the day to play out with quiet peace. We celebrated some of our “first” occasions with family and friends, but this one, I wanted to keep as my own, only talking on the phone to my daughter and mom.

Having a feeling of control in the activity of holidays is (I have discovered from my view in the trenches) very important. We opted not to go to church, as I knew my emotions would stir and I wanted an even keel for the day. So, Roger made brunch reservations for early in the day before the large families showed up from church. Flowers give me great joy, so we made a trip to the plant nursery on the way home. This may not be the perfect Mothers’ Day, but taking charge of the course of events is crucial in bringing beauty to what could be a sorrowful time.

Two very special surprises brightened the weekend and gave me hope for Sunday. Saturday, a delivery truck made its way up our narrow and winding driveway – no small feat, and delivered me floral love from Elise and Scott in Boston. Elise sent white daisies, knowing we both love them, and as I set them out on the front porch, Roger led me to another Mothers’ Day treat.

Last August, on Nick’s only visit to our house here in Michigan, he claimed the bedroom that would be his. We moved his things and furniture into the room knowing he would probably never live up here, but home is where Mom lives, so he tagged a room. Just outside his bedroom window in a freshly-cleared flower bed, a tall clover sprang up in the exact center of his window. I cannot think of two clearer signs to feel appreciated on the days when our children honor us.

When we can look for joy, rather than sorrow in special occasions, we find exactly what we seek.

Oh, you sly one

I am fairly new to this neighborhood, only living here eight months. There is a more established neighbor whom I would like to give attention in this blog. This established neighbor has deep auburn hair, wily ways, and seems to know her way around these parts better than she should – if you know what I mean.

Now, I realize newbie protocol dictates that I keep my place, but I do believe the notorious nature of this neighbor needs to be addressed, and truth be told, I would like her to take up residence elsewhere. Yes, I said it – I am the new neighbor, but I would be comfortable if she would take her little babies and roost deep in the woods where I feel she would be more comfortable and fit in better.

So, we can consider this an open letter to the neighbor who once lived assumedly rent-free under my deck and now resides under the deck of our next-door neighbor. I call this red fox, Scarlet McSly, and have some words I need to get off my chest.

Dear Ms. Scarlet McSly,

You have been spotted by me a couple times and others as well. Some consider it a brazen move on your part to sun yourself openly on a warm rock, but suit yourself, obviously this practice does not seem to bother you in the least.

I have nothing personal against you and your habits, I and know that you just need to make a living and feed the children, but some of us fear for the safety of our own little pups. A little white dog went missing last week and you were blamed. Folks in the neighborhood who have small dogs are nervous, and I am sure you are in great support of the no fence policy in place here. Later, when the dog was found, we know you did not take him, sorry for laying the blame on you, but it gave us a feeling of uneasiness in knowing you lurk about and could have gone grocery shopping in our yards.

Ms. Scarlet, my dogs, Bing and Clover mean the world to me and I believe they are too large of a task for you to take on, but I do not feel entirely safe. I have seen you and don’t wish to be rude, but noticed your girth is somewhat greater than those of your kind deep in the woods. I saw you attempt a squirrel heist and noticed incredible speed despite your girth.

I do not wish to get unnecessarily personal, but my next-door neighbor counted seven babies last spring. I am hoping that this spring does not bring a large litter and if you would like some family planning information, I will be happy to leave it by my mailbox, or on that large rock where you like to sun.

Recently, my across-the-street neighbor, Sally spotted you on her front porch with people in the house. Frankly, my dear Scarlet, you are entirely too tame for our populated setting. I respect all of God’s creatures and do not wish you harm, but I do feel it is time to look into a lovely den deep in the pine forests of Northern Michigan, and know the Humane Society has live traps to make this happen.

Scarlet, I am much newer to the neighborhood than you and feel awkward making a request for you to move, but really, don’t you think you and the kids would be much happier with buddies beyond just family?

Also, I hear of a place that serves a great squirrel bisque up near Traverse City.

Waves crash as the center restores calm

In my many Michigan discoveries, I never would have dreamed that one of my favorites would stretch my body and relax my mind at the same time. I derive strength from yoga on many different levels.

After a stinky, sweaty cycle class this morning, I settled onto my yoga mat awaiting the peace that almost always follows – and always available if I am willing to accept it. Instructor, Patty began class with a metaphor that has rolled around in my head all day, so I feel I must share.

Our emotions are the waves rolling in and crashing on the shoreline, then pulling back and moving back to the calm of the sea, Patty quietly shared. We do not want to be defined by our emotions, nor do we wish to have our emotions be considered our stability, or lack thereof. Waves recede and return back to the core – from the place of centeredness where they began, and so – we should allow our emotions to return to our center where the stability lies.

Pretty heady stuff for ten in the morning after exhausting myself on a stationary bike, but as I lay on the mat with my hand just below my rib cage to align my breath and focus on my center, I rested my thoughts on these words.

We know people who have been defined over and over by their emotions – maybe even we could, at times, be described as the stressed-out one, the testy one, or the moody one. Our spirit lies in the core where the emotions can return for refreshment and refining. Think of the core as charm school for those moody fingers that want to poke out and embarrass us in spite of ourselves.

When I picture my center – the place of calm within me, I think of God, always present and available to bring me to peace. An eagle with its wings spread wide comes to mind. I picture the center of the eagle as strong and stable with its only weakness being the tips of its wings – our emotions and fragility. After flight, the powerful bird brings in its wings tightly to its center and stands regally from a perch.

Some days I just cannot find my center. I could really place yesterday in the cruddy day category. Sometimes, sundown is simply a good way to put a cap on and close a cloudy, cold and nasty day. Yesterday, my emotions took control – not in the weepy, sorrowful manner that releases my grief and returns me to my center, but in the confused, disoriented, painful way that grief sometimes grips me and gains control. This morning, thankfully I awoke to sunshine and ready to face the day fresh.

Emotions can and do run amok in me some days. I need to experience and feel the strong emotions to work through my painful days, but I do not want to allow them to define me. I want the strength of my inner core, my spiritual center to control my life and define me.

As the hour of yoga practice continued, I managed to align my breathing, stretch my body, and focus my thoughts on the present so I could bring strength and balance to the soul that sustains and feeds me.

I hope to not allow the emotional waves define me, but flow back to the center for renewed strength. And that is the sunshine peeking from behind yesterday’s cruddy clouds. Thanks, Patty.

Now is the time

Dream big and live out your dreams.

This is the universal encouragement that we give to our children, but is this a charge that we give to ourselves later in life?

At the young, young age of 40, I registered for graduate classes on the first day of the session. Because I had no way to access shot records, I marched over to the health center at Middle Tennessee State University, and asked for the required vaccines. They happily accepted my VISA card, shot me with unnecessary serums and sent me on my way.

I stopped at the bookstore to purchase a spiral notebook on the way back to the registrar’s office to see that my registration was complete and began the first day of the rest of my life – my first class began about 30 minutes afterward.

A year later, the state of Tennessee awarded me a teaching license that opened doors to some of the best experiences in my life. All I really wanted from the registrar’s office that first week of a January was to gain information about their programming. I had no plans to dive in head first, hence the parking ticket I received for exceeding my allotted time and leaving campus a bona fide non-traditional student.

We rarely meet our potential in life and almost never tip over the top of what we can achieve, so where on Earth do we get the idea that seeking new heights should be left to the kids? I want to think of myself as a human being with great potential for growing, regardless of my age or situation in life.

At the end of the 14th Century, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote The Canterbury Tales after the age of 50. This was a very old age at that time, yet can now, hundreds of years later; he can be considered the father of English literature.

Another author, Frank McCourt began writing Angela’s Ashes, a startling memoir of his childhood in Ireland, in his 60s. Roger reminds me that Ray Kroc opened his first McDonald’s at age 52.

I do not believe there is an appropriate age to stop visualizing what new possibilities lurk to fill us with joy for the coming years. In the fall when my oldest, Elise, left for college, I knew I needed a new activity to fill the void of an almost empty nest. I opened up the Internet and taught myself to knit. There were no YouTube knitting tutorials at that time, and I did not own a lap top, so I printed off the instructions and agonized over them until I could get the yarn worked across a row of stitching. It was neither pretty nor easy. I distinctly remember one evening that involved tears of frustration.

Now, seven years and tens of thousands of stitches later, I have a skill and hobby that relaxes me like no other. Knitting has grown from a hobby to a practice, and there are children here and in Asia whose heads have been warmed from fibers that have slid through my fingers.

Now is a very good time to really look inward and delve through the dusty boxes of our inner beings and find hidden treasures that lurk where we least expect. We have talents and desires of our hearts, yet we need to squelch those inner noises that stop us from moving forward.

So many possibilities await our time and talents. I think of the parks and recreational areas this time of year that need weeded and mulched. There are children whose ears long to hear a story read from a soothing voice, and people standing in line for a warm meal whose eyes would feel comfort from a sincere smile serving the food.

Whether our potentials would be challenged with career changes, a volunteer opportunity, or learning new skills, now is the time to look into our innards and discover hidden dreams untapped.

The warmth of a puppy

As I sit down to write, the seat seems a bit unfamiliar due to many instances including a lightning hit to our computer set up. With the computer and me back up and running, I sit to write with Clover on the floor tugging at my sock. Clover and I have been having conversations in the last 24 hours about a special program and how she and I could work together to fit into it. So, without any further ado, I will lean back so Clover can tell you her story.

By Clover Fender

“Happiness is a warm puppy.” I agree with this saying by Snoopy’s creator, Charles Schultz, but I really feel that happiness is being the puppy sharing warmth.

Yesterday, on a very pretty Sunday afternoon, Bing and I got a little frisky fooling around on our hill surrounded by woods. We like to wrestle with each other and pull on either end of sticks seeing if we can make them grow, but when we get tired, we point our heads in the direction of the woods, then watch and listen for whatever might pique our interest.

When I heard my absolute favorite sound, Captain’s bark, I could not hold back and I broke the rules by charging down the driveway, across the street and over to his house. Bing is my sister dog, and I love her, but Captain is the coolest dog friend a pup could ask for. He is a great big dog of many flavors, same age as me and loves to play. I ran down the hill, crossed the street without even a hesitation to look for cars, and into Captain’s yard.

Captain and I pawed at each other, chased in circles and played the usual games as Mom talked with Captain’s mom. When we romp, we do not discuss matters of interest – no time, but Mom learned about Captain’s latest adventure – he is training to be a therapy dog.

Later in the evening when I rested my head in Mom’s lap, she talked to me about the possibility of the two of us becoming a therapy team. Mom scratched my ears as she mused about the work I could accomplish as a therapy dog. She told me that with my loving nature and sensitivity, I could bring comfort and joy to people who hurt.

Well, I am not sure about the sensitivity part, but I do have quite a bit of experience in just being there for my family when they feel heart pain. I learned these skills from the best. My first dad, Nicholas, showed me the finest in kindness and caring. He and I have been described as peanut butter and jelly; we made such a good team. When Nicholas passed away six months ago, it left a gaping hole in not only my heart, but the lives of his parents, my new mom and dad with whom I now live.

I don’t always understand things, but I know when they need me to be quiet and sit close by. I seem to have an instinct to lean into them at the most crucial of times when they need comfort. Laying still is just not in my nature, but when my people hurt, I hold still as a scared rabbit so they can feel my warmth and absorb my love. After all, I know their pain in loss; I lost the person I thought would be my life companion.

So, with the nod of my head and wag of my tail, I gave Mom the permission she needed to tear through Google looking for information on therapy dogs. She told me that if the training works out, and I pass the course, we could go together to visit people in hospitals, nursing homes, and hospice facilities.

She even read about a program where therapy dogs serve as reading partners to children who struggle in learning to read. I know I could do that because I don’t know how to read, and would love to hear stories from kids.

She told me that if I learn the ropes well, I could just hop up on the laps and beds of those who could use a warm puppy to give them happiness. That sounds like a good plan to me.