The STUFF Sisters

26 Hours

I am finding it harder to get through a day without finding the absolute magic that this amazing Earth puts in front of me.

“I’ll bet you took pictures of the plants and stuff. What about the art?”

Parents. They know too much.

Redbud pom-poms bursting from the trunks and branches.

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Sanctuary

I feel an overwhelming and powerful inner peace when I am where the ocean meets the land. It is my place of worship. It is my church. It is where Mother Nature is the most accessible to me.

Last week I found myself on a beach in February. A rare occasion for me in the dead of winter. I was there because my father has cancer and there is a new challenge to face. I traveled to be with him when he met with yet another cancer specialist. Something that we have done together as a family many, many times before and in many cities.

I didn’t bring a swimsuit or any of my beach gear. I didn’t plan to be on the beach more than a handful of minutes. I told myself that one long walk was all I needed.

When the time was right, I took my walk and headed “up island” (as it is called by the islanders). I kept my eyes on the water as I walked. I didn’t look around. I just listened and watched the waves. I wanted no distractions.

On my return “down island”, I again kept my head turned to the ocean. I found a spot at the water’s edge and kneeled down. I said what I needed to say. I did my best to lay down my fear, pain, and sadness. Mother Nature and the waves listened.

I continued my walk, slowing heading back to the house. Again, eyes on the water.

The tide came in stronger unexpectedly and I ran onto dry ground. As I did, I turned to look at the low slung dunes. The most beautiful sight was right before my eyes. A crude collection of broken shells hung from barren branches. I had walked past it on my journey North. I must not have been ready to feel it or see it when I began my walk. Only on my return did I discover this special spot.

I felt like I had entered a sanctuary. It was mystical and magical. Built by many, for anyone to share. I just explored it without touching anything. I looked into the branches from all angles. I listened to the sound of the waves and how the wind made some of the shells clatter. I sat down and looked up into the branches. I found a spot where I could see both the hanging shells and the water. I sat still and just took deep healing breaths. Before I stood, I thanked Mother Nature for answering my prayers so quickly.

I walked back to my family.

Casey

Note: Only as I started to see the path that leads off the beach did I remember I had my phone hidden with my shoes near the base of a tree. I grabbed it and ran back to take the photos you see in my post. I was thankful I didn’t have it when I came upon it the first time. I had picked up a few broken shells on my walk, I added them to the branches.

I did sneak back out for a sunset the next evening and one last visit to my special place.

Weight Of The World

The weight of the world must be terribly heavy. In the Arctic and here at home.

Just a few days ago, I stood in an energized crowd and kicked off the year that includes the 31st annual AIDS Walk Kansas City. A cold January night in an overheated room made me almost believe spring would come and we would all be in Theis Park walking and talking and celebrating.

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Lemonade

I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the beauty that was placed before me and was mine to find.

I am continually accused of being an optimist. And I am, so I take no offense. I can see silver linings and lessons learned where others see train wrecks and doom. Lemons vs. lemonade.

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Day Into Night at 37,000 Feet

I sat on a plane several nights ago in a seat I never seek out. The window seat. Planes have become increasingly painful for everyone, and more so if you have height on your frame. I regularly choose the aisle.

As we flew east and the day turned from pink to brown to night, I would occasionally turn from my magazine and look out. Daytime was leaving me, and my interest in farm, field, ponds, and highways was diminishing. As I continued to read in the dark, not a full paragraph passed before a flicker from outside caught my eye. It then held me for the next hour and a half. I was transfixed and slowly let the magazine fold.

The waxing moon, which was above and beyond my limited view on this clear night, was catching the surface of every body of water we passed. It was one of the most beautiful displays of light I have ever witnessed.

As we passed over ponds, rivers, and lakes, they would shine a silvery grey as we approached, then a shock of the moon would glimmer for only a moment the brightest white. The white you see when you first light a handheld sparkler with a match on the 4th of July. The very hottest center of all that magic in the pitch dark. Then, the body of water would recede into grey. Then black.

Rivers were split second ribbons of mercury. Lakes had sinuous edges. Ponds were usually still enough to catch and hold briefly a snapshot of the moon’s surface.

But the swampy parts – the marshes and wetlands – were the most fascinating. The silver of the moon would pop up between darkened trees and old growth. Big swaths of small silver shimmers with no discerning shape from 39,000 feet.

Quick. Sleek. Gone.

p.s. I lifted this image from Google Images. What I marveled at looked nothing like this. My night was darker, and the moon was not full. I will never be skilled enough as a photographer to capture with the camera on my phone the magic I witnessed through an airplane window. Mostly, I just want the memories to live in my mind forever.

Dancing

I watched as the leaves truly curled their way to the limestone steps, the vine, the hosta leaves. They came down slowly in light that was just beginning to brighten.

I can’t dance. Never really been able to. Tried. Failed. Tried again.

The word, however, holds me in its grace. Dance. Begins strong and ends softly. Two days ago I used “dance” in a small speech at a charity luncheon. I used it to draw a picture of my involvement with this charity. A slow, almost cautious interchange that grew rich over time.

Today I spoke it silently in my mind when I walked outside and our maple tree was beginning her fall. The leaves have been tipped with yellow for about a week – the cooler temperatures and rain usually bring it on – but very few had fallen. Now light brown was waltzing into the yellow ever so slightly.

I stood there entranced, again, at the majesty of this tree in our front yard. It is over three stories tall and shades us brilliantly all spring and summer from the western sun. She is older and lovely, shapely and arching.

I watched as the leaves truly curled their way to the limestone steps, the vine, the hosta leaves. They came down slowly in light that was just beginning to brighten.

They danced through the air in no great rush before landing silently. I was held in their sway until I just had to go to work. I was late. I believe I would have sat there all day watching. Yearning to fall into a dance that gorgeous.

Someday. Someday I will dance.

A Day Dream Made of Glass

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen if manufacturers woke up one day and stopped making plastic items? Just simply stopped.

I am pretty sure that the world would not come to its demise. Actually, it may even slow our demise. Although the reports I read tell a grim tale of how it is too late.

I like my food, drinks and such in glass. It seems more civilized somehow. But, I am bit old fashioned.

It was a passing day dream. I kept walking in the waves picking up gifts of nature that I collect, take home and sort into glass jars.

PS. Any item needed in the medical world made from plastic makes sense. But, prescription bottles could be glass.

PPS. I have stated very clearly that when I die my shell collection should be returned to Mother Ocean (after my daughter chooses what to keep of course).

Peace In The Noise

Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever.

Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. A gaggle of geese decided to cross the busy intersection. And they were doing a darned fine job of staying within the cross walk, if the painter of said lines had been into jaywalking. They were lovely and in lockstep with their mission.

Some jerk – several, in fact – decided they didn’t have time to wait for them to finish crossing and proceeded with the lights to curve tightly around the birds. The birds just stood still until they had passed and started walking again. No squawking. No flight. No bird hurt.

Just me in my car fighting back tears that could not be contained. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever. This was a chance for everyone within eyesight to take a moment, watch nature overcoming engineering, and wait for the magic to end.

Yes. I know this is an owl in a geese story. Casey and I spotted it less than an hour after I sat in peace with the geese. Look at how peaceful.

I have stated before, in older blogs, that I do not condone driving and crying. It’s dangerous. So I kind of stopped crying when it was time to press on the pedal, but several tears wouldn’t stay lidded up. They needed to finish, and it gave me time to process where these emotions in me were coursing from.

I work hard. Most people do. I work – and play – at a speed that thrills me. Most people do. However, I am embracing more and more the peace that can be found in the noise. When a funeral procession is moving toward me, I pull over and live in the peace of a few minutes remembering those in my life who have been escorted in darkened and cooled hearses. When an ambulance is roaring behind me, I pull over and remember a sister whose last ride was in a brightly lit boxy vehicle manned by professionals.

And when geese cross the road – the road that is leading me to my work and all that my life has in store for me – I stop and wonder at the beauty and power of slow, precise footfalls.

I am beginning to find more peace in the noise and live in it. Yesterday I did so for as long as it took for my feathered friends to get to greener grass. Funny, we were headed for the same thing.

New Works Arrive by Catherine Weitzman

Today I was thrilled to take photos of new Catherine Weitzman pieces. Her work is incredible. She lives in Hawaii. (Yes, I am jealous.)…

Today I was thrilled to take photos of new Catherine Weitzman pieces. Her work is incredible. She lives in Hawaii. (Yes, I am jealous.) Her work is inspired by the nature that surrounds. She often uses actual leaves, twigs and wildlife finds to cast her designs. Like this necklace.

I also love how she turns little stones and gold into these soft, flowing earrings. They feel amazing in your hands. They are delicate and playful.

This is a new and very interesting combination. Amethyst and aquamarine set in gold vermeil. I like the little gold faceted beads at the top of the stones. It’s the little touches that make her work special.

I would enjoy owning any (or all) of these pieces. But, I must share. So…they are at the store waiting for you.

No Set Schedule

I couldn’t find my happiness this past Sunday. I tried.

I wasn’t slated to work that day, but I had gone in early for a problem and then, later, learned that a customer had reduced a staff member to tears with bullying. The day ended with phone line trouble, a saddened and frustrated staff member walking me through it over her cell phone, and another trip from home to work.

Sundays aren’t a day that’s dictated. I don’t have a set schedule on that day of my week. It’s always a little bit loosey goosey. Usually.

But there must have been a subconscious plan in my head for that day that just wouldn’t come true, and by the end of the day I was blue. Sad. Pissed.

But today – another snow day – I found my delight in not wearing my watch, making breakfast for a teen, playing and losing four games of Scrabble, watching two movies, and taking one nap.

I had no set schedule in mind when I went to sleep last night and none when I woke up. It seemed to help.

Pure happiness.