....diary

Yogis,
My parents are in the process of emptying out their attic and basement. Items that have been sitting quietly in the dark for thirty, forty, even fifty years are being taken to the garage either to be claimed by family or friends or sold online. Any remaining will head to the dump. Something I should be doing in my own home.

One such item was my diary.

Did you ever have a diary? I remember starting, but never finishing several, yet the one my mom welcomed me with at the door this week was filled from Jan 1 through Dec 31. The year was 1974. I was 12 years old.

When my mom found it she read a few pages but decided she shouldn’t since there may be secrets. I assured her that although I didn’t know what it contained, I was confident there were no shocking revelations. I clearly remember being quite careful because the adorable little keys which were intended to be the security for my deepest dreams and desires did not seem very foolproof.

My hunch was right. More of a review of the daily life of a 12-year-old girl in 1974. Without social media and only a handful of tv channels, days were spent with friends, making up dance routines, playing with our hamsters and a lamb and wandering around the mall. Many sleep overs and experimenting with makeup. And frequent outdoor adventures.

On April 8^th I watched Hank Aaron hit his record breaking 415^th home run with over 53,000 other fans in the Atlanta stadium. Four months later we gathered to witness Nixon resign on the big wood console tv in my grandparents family room in New Jersey. In between the two we had moved states yet again.

I ended each day’s entry with ‘bye’.

Diaries stopped for many years to be replaced by journals as an adult. Journals then ceased and this blog began. That unchanging little girl in me is still careful but takes a bit more risk in sharing herself with others. And there is no key this time.

I wanted a boyfriend, my breasts to grow and more excitement in life,
SARAH

....arms in the air

Yogis,
As the weather warms and summer smells arrive, I am reminded of the feelings this season brought when I was young. With school winding down and the pool opening my jean shorts would reemerge. And my bike.

A banana seat bike with a sissy bar attached to the back so I could give friends a ride. Streamers hanging from the handlebars, a kickstand and of course a bell. I loved it.

Riding through the neighborhood, my long blond hair blowing in the wind as I headed down a hill. Then…..letting go. Arms out. Trusting that the bike would take me where I intended to go. Freedom.

As an adult it’s harder to let go.

Our body holds on to tension. The mind convinces us we have to hold tight to beliefs, opinions and worries. Emotions hold on to past hurts or angers. To let any of it go seems like we don’t care or we are giving in to someone. We have to control and drive this ship of life. Right?

Try this. Sit quietly and mentally repeat to yourself slowly ‘I let go’. Over and over. Pay attention to what happens in the body. Any changes or sensations. To increase the effect, state it on the exhales.

Words are powerful. They hold a vibration and when spoken mindfully they create a roadmap of where you want to go, and the body responds. An internal mantra.

Even more incredible is not only the internal world changes, but life responds too. When we let go of something that we have been resisting or clinging to, over time it too softens.

Use this for anything. Something you are worried about. A relationship. An argument. A judgment. A rigid belief. Anything causing you discomfort by holding on.

Bring it to mind, close your eyes, visualize breaking the connection to it and as it floats away state ‘I let go’. Over and over. Whenever it pops back up…..repeat! By changing your vibration the outer world wants to resonate with you. It will follow your map.

Choosing arms in the air with trust in life. Freeing!

Hair blowing in the wind,
SARAH

....familiar

Yogis,
I have several birdhouses scattered around the yard, but one location has always been the fan favorite. At first it was a simple yellow one built by my neighbor that was attached to one of the pillars that holds up the deck. A busy spot close to my garden and right above the hose spigot.

For years it was the wrens that set up house there. Waking me on spring mornings with full throated songs through my open window overlooking the deck. Then four years ago it was discovered by bluebirds. Home ownership changed.

Eventually the yellow house became rickety, so I replaced it with a natural wood one designed for bluebirds. Many families have called it home.

Fast forward to this spring…… I can tell there is activity but I never see the bird. I peek in and find a charming nest. Perfectly shaped and adorned with moss and feathers. A chickadee nest! A first for my yard.

Eggs and babies ensued, and the parents finally learned to trust me as I worked close by. A different look with different sounds and relationships. This week they fledged, leaving an empty house.

Well, the bluebirds didn’t waste any time! Within hours they were busy. Cleaning and sprucing and they moved in that night. I laughed. It seemed like they had missed their opportunity the first go round and were determined not to make that mistake again!

They are now settled back in and egg laying has begun. Dad being so vigilant as he stands guard at nearby spots and reminding me when the bird feeder is running low. Fluttering his wings when I talk to him and occasionally sticking his head in the house to check on the mom. The familiar has returned.

A flash of blue streaks past my window whenever I look out.

I loved experiencing the chickadees. Something new. I am grateful they chose our house. Yet there is something very comfortable in having familiar yearly experiences that sweep me into the rhythm of nature and show me my place within it all.

Welcome back,
SARAH 

....nuclear family

Yogis,
I am acutely aware of how lucky I am to have spent Mother’s Day with my mom. First, to be sixty-three and still have my mom. Then, to have it work out that my sister and I (with our respective husbands) could spend the whole weekend with our mom and dad at the beach. All of us in one house….alone. We can’t remember the last time that happened.

Our nuclear family, as my mom kept reminding us.

As one would expect, the weekend was filled with stories, memories and lots of laughter. Recounting different places we lived and trying to remember names of funny distant relatives with whom we have lost touch. Working on the NYT crossword puzzle, several great meals and enjoying great people watching from a bench on the boardwalk. A bucket of Thrasher’s fries in between us of course.

My mom mentioned a mug we got her about twenty years ago which has a picture of her sitting in my living room chair, my sister and I awkwardly on the floor in front of her. All of us looking just a bit ‘off’.

It was an annual tradition. A picture taken of the three of us right before we headed out to lunch the day after Christmas. Always an odd looking picture. We have had many laughs over them across the years, but somehow we fell out of the tradition. My mom asked that we recreate it for a new mug.

After breakfast we set it up. Picked the right chair, assumed our positions and asked the men to take pictures. Twenty pictures later we were finally forced to settle on one. My mom does not believe it is mug worthy. We all look a little ‘off’. So perhaps it is perfect.

Fifteen minutes later, my dad decided he needed one with his son-in-laws. So back to the chair we went. Lots of cracking joints while getting ready.  A new tradition?

Without a mother, none of us would be here.

Happy Mother’s Day everyone,
SARAH

....soul

Yogis,
What is the definition of ‘soul’?  Oxford defines it as the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal.  Merriam adds in all rational and spiritual beings and that it is the animating principle of an individual life.

So, can a house have a soul? Does a house have an individual life?

I have always loved old houses. Their sturdy bones, natural materials and everlasting character. The houses we have bought have all been old, with the oldest being our beach house. She was built in 1927, at least according to the city records when we ordered a historical plaque.

She has old pine floors, a brick fireplace and of course, tiny closets. And she has a lot of history. If only the walls could talk……

Starting life as a cape cod with a wood front screened porch, in the 1970s the second level was dormered out for bedrooms and she was wrapped with white metal siding. She became ours in 2002.

In 2016 we decided she would look much better in sage green Hardie plank (to blend with the ever present mildew and moss on her walls). In the process an old medicine chest was uncovered containing a women’s powder compact with large brush, a glass bottle and metal tin for snuff. The walls were talking.

Then just last week the foreman sent me a text with a picture. In removing part of a wall he uncovered handwriting. It said ‘Mr Robert Phillips of Rehoboth Beach DE done this in the year of 1927’.  I have research to do. The walls were talking louder.

We are now chest deep in the remodeling project. Every time we visit I find time to be inside alone To wander. Feel. Listen. She is my best guide for decisions when I feel overwhelmed.

Is it her soul that speaks to me? Or perhaps a small piece of each of the soul’s who were lucky enough to spend part of life within her walls?

Whatever it is, we have a relationship, and each time I leave I tell her how beautiful she is and that I will be back soon. Out loud.

Getting her ready for her 100th,
SARAH

....critters

Yogis,
It all began with a box turtle…..

The type with yellow markings that I often kept hostage in a box when I was young. My pet, if only for a weekend. Providing a lid filled with water and leafy greens while their pointy nails and heavy bodies made them anything but quiet.

Someone posted they had seen one. I will look when I get home! Quickly forgetting all about turtles I began weeding, only to find I am being watched by one. As a family we always call them Myrtle. This time I left her free and watched the different ways she buried herself in pine needles.

Early the next morning something caught my eye at the far end of our porch. A bird? Nope. A small raccoon who evidently had climbed up to snatch sparrow eggs from the birdhouse but couldn’t quite figure out how to get down. Some coaxing and an offer of a broom scared him enough to risk the slide down the downspout.

Shortly after I ran past a wild turkey. What the heck? I have never seen a wild turkey in our neighborhood. Standing alone in my neighbor’s yard eating something in the grass. Not a care in the world. Huh.

Later Phoebe is barking at the car and climbing into the wheel well. Uh, oh…. We pop the hood to see what was going on and the raccoon was just as surprised to see us as we were him. Yikes! He nestled in deeper so I called animal control and soon he was out and finally headed back to the woods.

I read a book on frogs to the kindergartener I tutor. I told him I find them in my garden. Of course, that afternoon I almost stepped on one. Telling these stories in class I commented that I could feel a snake would be soon. Next morning reaching under grasses to remove chickweed, I scare a snake, and therefore me. He slithered in further and I decided I was good on the weeds.

Earthworms, first butterfly, the carpenter bee who guards.

There are so many things I love about spring! One is reconnecting with all the critters.

I missed you all,
SARAH

....rocks

Yogis,
His five-year-old grandson was with him for the day. Adorable and bursting with little boy energy. I asked what his grandson likes to do and he told me he was always trying to bring rocks in the house.

‘That’s great!’ I exclaimed. Not the answer he expected……

It’s that time of year again when we shift clothing. Down coat moves to spring jacket. Thick  jeans begin to transition to cuter lightweight pants. Inevitably during this time my hand will enter a pocket and bump into a rock. Pulling it out I often remember exactly where I picked it up. It sat waiting in the closet for months to be rediscovered. Rocks are patient.

I have rocks everywhere!

Some on my altar. A few on kitchen counters. On a shelf in my closet, on end tables and on many window ledges. Even on the dining room table. All of them rocks that one day caught my eye, ended up in a pocket and then found their place in my home. Rocks make a home more grounded.

I’m talking everyday rocks here. Not crystals…..although I have plenty of those as well. Rocks found on the beach, in the woods and along streets across many years. There are so many kinds! And if you have a couple in your pocket they make a pretty clicking sound when you roll them about. Rocks are long lasting.

I have inside and outside rocks. The ones I place in the garden are used as a focal point. A change of texture from the softness of plants. They are also fantastic holders of garden tools and when big enough are a great perch for me to rest and admire my work. Rocks are dependable and sturdy.

I photograph rocks. A lot.

Imagine my delight when I learned a new fact. There are many reasons I love otters, but did you know that they have a pocket in their skin? They use it to keep food while diving, but also their favorite rock. A special rock used for opening shellfish. Rocks are helpful.

Rocks carry many qualities I want to instill in my life.

Do you have a favorite rock?

Rocks are quiet and still,
SARAH