Category: friendship

friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

A Gentle Goodbye To 2013

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We had all the kids at home yesterday, and the house was resonant with laughter and teasing, generous gift-giving and a love I can only reference as palpable.  My heart beats more deeply, echoing in my chest, snippets of serious conversation that stay in the forefront of my thoughts as I process and hold them as gently as feathers.  “You really are my only mom” (a figurative comment that was so full of history and stories and trust and love that I will never ever forget its intent); “Remember when Grammy would give us shit for playing ball in the playroom and I asked her why it was called a playroom then?”  “I used to think it was so ridiculous that you would treat me like a child when I was over; of course now I realize it was because I was a child”.  Lessons in wine tasting, a book titled “The Story Of A Lifetime” which offers prompts and questions to facilitate the telling of one’s tale in a way that may be at least salient if not interesting.  Laughter that included some good snorts, bad fart jokes and hugs good-bye for which I am never fully prepared.

And so it is as one year ends and another waits in the wings.  I guess I’m not fully prepared.  Certainly for some of the people I love, it has been a challenging year with losses that re-shape the heart.  For most though, it has been relatively gentle.  Our lives are intact, marriages seem happy though not without their requisite effort, young adults are realizing that the operative word has changed from ‘young’ to ‘adult’.  We’re still close and I am forgiven my maternal neuroses that at least can be shared among three.  I consciously tried to be kinder, cared less about judging and more about accepting, placed the notion of acquisitiveness somewhere down on the list where it belongs.  I learned this year, perhaps more than the one before, how deeply I can be touched by the candor and stories of people I have come to know in this little universe.  I have been gobsmacked when I received comments insisting that I have inspired, or tickled, or pleased, or echoed a thought that had been unspoken in someone else’s thoughts.  I’ve been brought to tears and moments of spontaneous delight by David and Bill, Russ and Andrea, Bonnie and Liz, LouAnn and TIna and Ivon, Kizzy, Rhonda.  Of course there are more and I do not intentionally omit anyone – you are in this circle with me and I believe you know it.  People who comment with thoughtfulness and generosity and love.  My friendships have been enhanced and allowed to flourish (for Lori wouldn’t have it any other way).

We found a house to hide in and stand outside of in that mystic fog of the morning when the world demands stillness.  Memories have begun to be made, new places to claim as one’s own.  And we got Bogey – our juvenile delinquent puppy, who should be wearing a leather jacket with a skull and crossbones instead of his snappy little tartan plaid.  Except of course when he’s just so laughably adorable that he is forgiven everything.

I will turn 60 this coming year, a number of some sobriety.  I know that at this point I’d be aged-out of employment in many cases (if I was looking), considered truly senior in the eyes of people with younger eyes and minds.  And yet, I’m so far from done, I don’t swallow too hard at the number.  There is abundant time to try and do better, be kinder, live in moments that should not be ignored, celebrate that which others often miss.  Read more, give more, dance in the driveway and maybe even get up and sing.  Who knows?  There is so much yet to be.  Thank you for sharing this part of the trip with me.  And Happy Happy New Year.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Happy Eve Morning

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“A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together” — Garrison Keillor

At the risk of sublime irreverence, there were a few years when the boys were little, that we had a Christmas tree each year.  They may not even remember for all I know, but I loved the whole process (up to taking the tree down and cleaning up the pine needles).  And may I say, they were magnificent.  Plaid bows, white lights, the boys’ names spelled in blocks underneath the tree.  I would sit on the couch at night and just feel bathed in the gentle glow – I would forget that I had no idea how to pay the electric bill, didn’t worry about how I would kite a check at the supermarket and didn’t mind making a pot of coffee out of grounds that had already been soaked once.  Sounds so stupid as I write this, but my sons were so little and I didn’t want them to feel that they would miss a thing (given that their bio-dad and I are of different religions we celebrated both holidays.  Ok, I celebrated both holidays.).

I hope their memories are happy ones.  I always return to the visual of them wrestling with these big purple/blue stuffed monsters and giggling.  He-Man and Shera.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Pajamas with feet.  Care Bears and “The Muppet Movie“.  We had no money, but we weren’t poor.

This time of year is one which we all experience together.  Most of us show the better part of ourselves (with the exception of those bizarre people who end up fighting in parking lots) and I like that.  I feel the exhausted anticipation in the air, the rush for people to be together.  The Salvation Army bell ringers outside the supermarket (who receives money from me every time I exit – I can’t help it – by the end of the season we’re on a first name basis).  I don’t get tired of the holiday music, parents invoking the all-seeing, all-knowing Santa as an effective means of getting little ones to hold their tantrums until they get home.  I cry each time I hear “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas“.  Such a sap.

Tomorrow Andy and I will join our brethren and grab some Chinese food and see an early movie.  I will be particularly sensitive to the silence in the morning, for it is a different sound than that of a typical morning.  And I will listen respectfully.  To those who celebrate Christmas, my wish is the same as every year – may you receive all that you wish for and may you wish for all that you have.  And to those who just allow themselves to be enveloped in a blanket of goodwill – snuggle in and enjoy it, extend it and I’ll see you at the movies.

friendship, humor, life lessons, love

Home Again

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“The mountains are calling and I must go” — John Muir

I could have stayed at our mountain home for far longer than we did.  Air that was breathlessly cold; sky and ground the same color white, blurring the boundary that keeps one anchored to the ground; good friends (who fortunately arrived after the new heat pump was installed) – and Sir Bogey.

The Sirs have been to the house before, but this time Bogey got to be the ‘special’ fur-kid who made the trip.  He loves being part of the pack, but he really delighted in being the center of attention.  Four adults catering to his every whim, four laps to test, four sets of ears listening to his lengthy diatribes and demands.  He’s quite the puppy, with far more opinions and expectations than any puppy I have ever had.  Needless to say, he’s training us very well.

At night, he would see his reflection in every window and was desperate to have the interloper evicted from the premises.  Same thing with the floor length mirror.  He huffed and lunged, banging his head repeatedly.  Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but arguably one of the cutest.  When he is with the other Sirs he is far bolder than when he’s on his own.  Every morning he would venture outside, greeting the frozen air with a lot of bluster and bark – from behind my legs.  He was more intrepid when the sun rose,  jumping through the snow with abandon, skidding around the driveway as if his paws were made of fiberglass.  Bogey maximizing his moments – playing with abandon, sleeping heavily, eating with enthusiasm and delighting in tummy rubs.  He’s impulsive and demands the most from the world around him, for last he looked, it’s totally his world.  As I said, he’s training us well.  And having his perspective while we snuggled into the days made any sense of the serious impossible.  We even played a new game, sort of like ‘Marco Polo‘ but calling “Bogey” or “is the puppy with you?” instead.

Icing delayed our departure, and I was ambivalent when the salt truck arrived.  Home is wherever love is, so arguably it travels.  But it’s the peace of the mountains, the demand that you scale back your worries and amp up the volume on appreciating the smallest of delights.  Feeling snowflakes on your face, playing with abandon, talking with friends, sleeping heavily and treading lightly on the earth.  Bogey is teaching us well.  The mountains are the perfect backdrop for lessons such as these.

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friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love

Giving Thanks

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Before you head off for parts known, before you begin developing a familiar intimacy with your ovens and stoves, before your refrigerator begs you to refrain from adding one more thing…

There are so many clichés associated with being thankful – and I doubt that I will come up with anything new. Yet, in advance of the arrival of our family, I felt the need to extend my thoughts to all of you.  I’m thankful for so much and words fail me (which I submit is a good thing).  I am truly blessed with a family I adore, a husband who humors my nuttiness and sons/daughters-in-law who accept that their mom is as corny as a Hallmark commercial.  I have an amazing sister who I adore and will miss on Thursday (along with my nephews and niece who will be having their own family Thanksgiving in NY).  I can appreciate the beginning of a new day and I can delight in the feeling of snuggling into bed at day’s end.  I have a body that complains each day and yet we’re still getting along.  I know bountiful love.  We’ve got three pups – two of whom are perfect and one who is re-calibrating the spectrum of mischief that I used to consider part and parcel of puppyhood.  Our home is my sanctuary; I have never felt safer.

I am thankful for all of you who have come to read this blog, write to me and share your thoughts, inspire me with your encouragement and humor.  I love that I have learned so much from your posts, taking to heart much of what you have written and incorporating it into my being.  My friends – in cyberspace or in my physical reality – you are in this orbit of gratitude which circles rhythmically through my life.  And so, you all should be told as often as possible, just how much you are appreciated.  Would that we took the time to say these things more frequently than once or twice a year.  For those who are celebrating Thanksgiving on Thursday – I wish you stuffed tummies, full hearts, TUMS and love.  Actually, this thought holds regardless of whether there’s a turkey in the oven.  I’m heading deep into the heart of cooking territory for the next few days, so I send this to you now.  Thank you for being who you are to me.

 

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Loads Of Questions, Fewer Answers

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“When I was One I had just begun

When I was Two I was nearly new

When I was Three I was hardly me

When I was Four I was not much more

When I was Five I was just alive

But now I’m Six, I’m as clever as clever

So I think I’ll be Six now for ever and ever”  — A.A. Milne

So, my cohort group is turning sixty next year.  Sixty.  It’s an impressive number.  Jo will enter this decade first (though at the end of the day, first or last the goal is to get there and keep going), and it prompted a lot of conversation about what the heck it means.

In an effort to avoid the obvious, we didn’t come up with anything particularly cogent.  And that got me thinking, which as you know, is typically dangerous.

As we grow up, we measure our accomplishments by how old we are.  At six or seven, there’s first grade and entering real school.  Turning ten, at double-digits – one proudly has succeeded at no longer being ‘little’ and has become by rite of age,  way cooler than anyone who is younger.  Celebrating the introduction to being a legitimate teen-ager at thirteen, it’s even sweeter at sixteen.  When eighteen knocks at the door, it brings the perceived gift of becoming ‘legal’, getting out of the house and the anticipation that for all intents and purposes, society will consider you a grown-up in three short years.  Of course by the time one is thirty, the realization that learning to be an adult is no longer an acceptable excuse.  And so on and so on…

Our self-definition and stories are inextricably tied to our age.  What we learned and when we learned it.  I think we could have extended conversations about the decades we have lived – tying our stories and our years together in crazy, multi-colored bows.

Somewhere along the way though, we realize that life is measured not in years but in exquisite moments of attention.  When the question that begs to be answered is less about our individual successes, accomplishments and somewhat self-absorbed chatter, and more about what we have brought to the table.  Did we offer life a groaning board of our best selves or did we just sit there expecting to be fed?  (Given that Thanksgiving is next week, it seemed like a good analogy).  Though we got here while acknowledging chronological landmarks along the way, such landmarks no longer define the road.  We are left now to figure out the topography, and the area is large.

And the dialogue changes focus – am I giving the best I’ve got?  Am I more about others and less about me?  And if I live another sixty years, will I create a path that others will choose to walk with me?

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love

Considering A Legacy

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Soulgatherings.wordpress.com provides a daily quote that invariably touches me.  Sometimes it is the words themselves, other times it is a thought that adheres to my brain and requires my attention for hours at a time.  Either way, it’s all good.  Yesterday’s poem by Carol Adrienne is fresh in my mind –

“Our purpose, I believe

is not a thing, place, title or even a talent.

Our purpose is to be.

Our purpose is how we live life,

not what role we live.

Our purpose is found in each moment

as we make choices to be who we really are.”

I had the privilege of circling in Fran’s orbit for twenty-two years.  She was my brother-in-law’s mom – no true familial connection that I can trace, yet a connection that I felt deeply.  She passed away last week, quietly, without pain, turning her slumber into what I hope is a new chapter in a story none of us fully understand.  Her son is choosing to remember with happiness and grace, the amazing woman he loved so deeply.  Denial?  Perhaps.  I’m not judging, for it would be hubris to suggest how one grieves.  That said, I think he’s on to something.  It resonates when thinking about what Fran would want.

What was remarkable about Fran was her insistence that she was not at all remarkable.  She raised two children, worked side by side with her husband and loved unconditionally.  Her life may not have been perfect, but it was perfect in her eyes.  Her son, daughter-in-law, grandchildren, niece – all human, all subject to the qualities that define our humanity (the good and the less-than-ideal) – could not be more marvelous, gifted, loving, generous.  She would not brook any complaints, whines, dissatisfactions – her purpose was to live with love.  Period.  Fran didn’t try to change your point of view to hers; she changed your mind because you would look at her face and see a sense of peace that few reflect so consistently.  And so you’d wonder what she had figured out that completely eluded you.  And you’d want to spend more time with her – if only to bask in the reflected light that she saw in everyone.  I can’t imagine how it must have felt to ever disappoint her and she would never tell you.  Fran left it up to you to figure it out.  How one human being treats another; how we show our love to those we ostensibly hold the closest.  She taught you by showing you, there were no words or reprimands or chilly shoulders.  She lived her love.

And though it’s been a while since Fran was at Thanksgiving, she will be remembered next Thursday with wine glasses raised and full hearts.  For to have known Fran was to be given a chance to see someone live her life with the highest purpose; to be loved by Fran was to have your heart opened to the incredible power of simple goodness.  Safe journey Fran and thank you for those many mornings all those years ago, when we watched the sunrise as your family slept, and wondered aloud at the fantastic serendipity that brought us to those two chairs by the sea.

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anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, music

Why Is Patience So Important?

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“If you want to know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees.” — Hal Borland

It seems that in the fall, I spend a great deal of time feeling tremendous respect for trees.  More than the richness of their colors and the dignity with which they prepare for their fallow season, I feel humbled by their grace.  The manner in which they bend when the wind demands their attention;  the stately pride with which they accept that time will effect its plan.

A good friend of mine has been on a fantastic roll lately.  Meeting new people, finding that her voice has more range and depth than she imagined (reminds me of Katy Perry‘s song “Roar”).  Her life – her new life has reflected  her enthusiasm, zest and openness to the thrill of possibility.  I’ve shared in this delight of course, just as I am here today when the rhythm slows, the endorphins need replenishment and the bubbles are now on simmer.  Nothing is wrong, yet what happened to the effervescence?  The days of delight?

Jo wonders about her ‘next whatever’, feeling that its elusiveness is akin to a burr under a horse’s saddle.  Itchy and unsettled, we spend many an email considering the what ifs, could bes, and shoulds – and we end up back at the reality that life is going to unfold whether we are patient or not.

Patience.  The art of being still.  Of understanding that there are fallow periods, which require only that we gain strength and sustenance and an understanding of who we are becoming.  There’s something a little unsettling about it I think.  It took me two years to undo the pleasurable and neurotic remnants of working in biglaw.  To finally realize that the primary takeaway – the only takeaway – is that I made a difference, perhaps to a few people over the span of decades.  I choose to hold onto some cherished memories.   I didn’t leave the firm with grace in my heart – a story for another day perhaps.  I struggled to understand that my next whatever would be as serendipitous as the one I had just experienced.  I still do (struggle that is) – just not as much.

I write a lot about duality; it’s so much a part of our human construct.  Yet in the fall I look to the trees.  They are indomitable and unfazed, welcoming both bird and squirrel, a child’s foot nestled between its trunk and branch.  Silently knowing that regardless of preference or wish, hope or daydream, the most important element it brings to the fall is its presence.  Its being.   Time I think to take a moment  under the trees, sway under the harvest moon and just watch life and love unfold.

anxiety, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons

A Shameless Plug

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I think one would be living under a rock not to know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  I know of far too many people who have found their lives upended with such a diagnosis.  People in my family;  people I love and have loved with all I’ve got.   Friends who are inextricably connected to me through shared history, experience or circumstance.   And to deny the insidious, silent way that one’s body can morph from one moment to the next is just folly.  It happens all the time.

As it did to my friend Jill Foer Hirsch.  Jill is a breast cancer survivor, writer and humorist (I would put the emphasis on humorist, for there is little that Jill can’t find the humor in).  She recently published a book When Good Boobs Turn Bad – A Mammoir.  When Jill received her diagnosis, there was certainly fear, shock, disbelief.  There were tears.  And then Jill returned to form – “I have good news and bad news; the bad news is that I have breast cancer.  The good news is I’m seeing a hot plastic surgeon who keeps telling me to take my shirt off.”

And so she shares her journey with total candor and gentle humor.  It’s how she managed to endure surgeries and chemo, the vulnerability of returning to work and the tenuous re-immersion into her life.  I’m not going to speak about Jill’s courage – that’s not her thing (though she is one remarkably strong and accomplished woman).   She doesn’t see herself that way.  She would prefer to make an acceptance speech, receive an award for her light touch and flair for the comedic.  And in my eyes, she deserves all that and more.

I was honored to review her book.  I am more honored to know her, to be able to laugh with her and celebrate life at the local diner where we both indulge in grilled cheese sandwiches and fries (before you tell me how unhealthy it is – I know that.  But it’s diner fare, and we don’t get together all that often).  She and her husband recently celebrated their twenty-fifth anniversary surrounded by friends and family.  I won’t even tell you how irreverent their new vows were to each other (suffice it to say that Jill felt that since their first wedding ceremony was in Hebrew and neither of them understood what they were committing to, it was time to define the parameters on their own terms).

Breast cancer isn’t funny.  Jill was diligent in ensuring that her medical care was excellent, followed her protocols seriously, and would occasionally wear animal hats to her appointments.  We all do what we have to do to get through.  Jill relied on humor.  Finding moments that could engage her funny bone.  To lose her ability to laugh would have been a concession that she was not prepared to make.  Her outlook is inspiring – and may be a balm for anyone who is navigating the challenging path of fighting such a  formidable foe.  I am one of her biggest fans – and have been since we met years ago.   The greatest takeaway from her book is the grace that is evident when taking circumstances seriously, but ourselves lightly.  I am proud of her for sharing her story; I am proud to be her friend.   And though this is a shameless plug for her book, it is representative of a perspective that I respect and applaud.  She is healthy and she is well – and we laugh.  Oh, how we laugh.  Congratulations my dear friend – I am hopeful this book will be a welcome respite for anyone who may be on this challenging path.

meltzer-friend-cracked

friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Kitchen Friendships

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“Ten times a day something happens to me like this – some strengthening throb of amazement – some good sweet empathic ping and swell.   This is the first, the wildest and wisest thing I know:  that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness.” — Mary Oliver

You would think that the continuing saga of potty training our youngest sir (Bogey – he with the bladder of a peanut and a vacant scare which may not bode well for his aptitude), would leave me somewhat compromised in terms of fodder for posts dealing with anything other than the delight and frustration of puppyhood.   Given that my travels are limited to two and half hour intervals, it is true that I haven’t seen much other than what is going on in my kitchen.  But I’m here to tell you, there’s a lot of amazing that happens here.

Bonnie, the remarkable creator of paperkeeper.wordpress.com was here for a couple of days and in effect, holed up in the kitchen with me for the majority of her visit.  True, a better host would have planned sightseeing expeditions in and around D.C. (she left the day of the government shutdown);  I invited her to walk up and down the driveway.  And having her here was an experience in amazement.  Amazement that we started talking at Union Station on Sunday evening and didn’t stop until we said good-bye at Dulles airport.  That the kitchen became the haven for stories sad and delightful, evocative memories and whispered hopes.  There was no better place to be to explore the reality of a friendship that started with imagined dimensionality created by our words and email conversations.   I could listen and see and ask and think and travel around years of Bonnie’s life and she let me be amazed.  We laughed and considered and opined and let the comfort of the kitchen make all of that conversation safe.  It was a  joy to have her here and to realize as I sit here today, that I had so much wonder going on around me.  Perhaps therein is the kernel of truth – any moment which is attended to with sensibilities focused contains far more amazement than we might think.

I will leave Bonnie’s travels to Bonnie – for it is her story to tell.  And she tells it like no one else.  I for one have to go walk the pup.

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friendship, life lessons, mindfulness

When The Heart Hurts

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“There comes a time when the world goes quiet and the only thing left is your own heart.  So you better learn the sound of it,  Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying.” — Sarah Dessen

Perhaps it’s just the uncertainty of the sky this morning.  Long drives over the weekend punctuated by emotional family moments that are both joyful and sad.  Certainly too full to be explained without further reflection.  Maybe it’s just a day when the heart has to ache.  The uncomfortable nexus where what we feel meets what we give and/or receive.  Feeling the summer’s departure and perhaps not being ready to say farewell.

There’s a chill in my body that seems centered in my chest that radiates into my arms.  As if they need to stay close to my body and not approach the day outstretched with anticipation.  Sometimes you need to just hold yourself.  Wrapping yourself up in whatever warmth you extend out; trying to retain that heat.  And if one were to ask what’s wrong, the best one can do is shrug, perhaps whisper “I don’t know”.  I’m just aching for what I miss.  And I’m furious that given all that I have, I should even think of feeling anything but grateful.  And yet…sometimes, even Pollyanna sounds insufferable to herself.  Let it be.  Tomorrow I may fly again.  Tomorrow I will marvel.  For today though, I am chilled.  And I will listen to my heart, not diminish its longing or sorrow or misgivings – for days like this shouldn’t be denied, or they will last far longer if ignored.   Time to grab a sweatshirt, accessorize appropriately and just accept the day for what it is.

courtesy of The Story People
courtesy of The Story People
discretion, friendship, inspiration, love, mindfulness, motivation, Uncategorized

Beautiful Blessings Remain

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Last week, my wondrous friend Lori (donnanddiablo.com) sent me one of John O’Donahue‘s exquisite blessings.  I used to consider myself well-read – until I met Lori;  moderately well-rounded – until I started following David Kanigan (davidkanigan.com), a tad lyrical – until I found Bill (drbillwooten.com).  I also considered myself to have a modicum of some other qualities that have been brought into some question now that I am an avid fan of many of your blogs (and I could go on, but you know from my comments how highly I think of you very, very talented people who enrich my life so often).  Creative, courageous, innovative, funny, unbridled – some of the adjectives that come to mind..

Anyhow, Lori and I are connected in ways too cosmic for me to fully understand.  Our emails cross each other in the cyberspace almost daily, each of us thinking of the other simultaneously.  She can intuit when something’s wrong, and I will feel a shadow across the sun if Lori is troubled.  That I can sense something is ‘off’ with Jo for example, seems to come with breathing – we’ve known each other longer than we have known ourselves.  But Lori and I began in tune without ever having met.  I find it incredible and awesome.  I feel this way about all those I love – each is a blessing.  Corny?  Mea culpa.  Is there a way to say this without sounding corny?  Probably, but this is a reflection of my limitation with the language nothing more.

I hadn’t heard of John O’Donahue.  How I could have missed such beauty?  So I share this with you – though it is Lori who should be thanked for this introduction.  After emailing with a friend of mine earlier this morning, thinking about how we test ourselves and occasionally torture our thoughts and hearts, it seemed only right that I pass this along to you.  I hope you receive it in the spirit with which it is given – with hope in the sunlight.

A Blessing For The New Year

On a day when

The weight deadens

On your shoulders

And you stumble,

May the clay dance

To balance you.

And when your eyes

Freeze behind

The gray window

And the ghost of loss

Gets into you,

May a flock of colors

Indigo, red, green

And azure blue,

Come to awaken in you

A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays

In the curragh of thought

And a stain of ocean

Blackens beneath you,

May there come across the waters

A path of yellow moonlight

To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

May the clarity of light be yours,

May the fluency of the ocean be yours,

May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

Wind work these words

Of love around you,

An invisible cloak

To mind your life.

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friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

The Days Of Awe

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For those who observe Rosh Hashanah – the beginning of the New Year – L’Shana Tova.  My wish for my family and friends is for a year of joy and good health, laughter and abundant love, peace in spirit and in the world (I realize that’s probably a stretch but it doesn’t hurt to hope).  The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are known as ‘the days of awe‘.  As God opens the book of life, as we ask to be sealed into its pages for another year our thoughts turn in.  Have our actions and our hearts been in sync with an intent that is bigger than our own hubris?  Have we been kind?  Have we been fair?  Generous in both deed and thought?  Please understand, this is my interpretation of these mystical, spiritual days – I am neither rabbi nor maven on Judaism.  I’m just a woman who responds to the need to consider my actions, apologize for any hurts that I may have caused either with intention or with thoughtlessness and to commit to trying to do better.

I remember my parents during this time of year – from the tender moments of sneaking in to sit with my parents during the adults’ service (which as I recall lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r), leaning against my father and playing with the tassels on his prayer shawl.  Challah and honey.  A prayer for a sweet year.  Kisses on both cheeks.  Makes my body ache with an undefinable pain that starts in my heart and courses its way through my body.  It’s a visceral thing, this missing them.  

I have no wisdom to offer here – certainly nothing that we all don’t already know.  We are imperfect, we are wondrous; we are foolish, we are wise; we are giving, we are self-absorbed;  we are perfectly imperfect.  So I may not get every nuance of these splendid and awe-filled days, but I get enough to know that wishing you a sweet and loving year is not exclusive to any one religion.  I get enough to know that I deeply hurt  when I think of the times I have shown people the worst of myself instead of my best (or at least my average self).   And I certainly get that considering the synchronicity between my heart and my actions is more than just an annual effort.  This year may I do a better job of being a better person.  May I walk on this earth with a lighter more loving step and let my priorities reflect an understanding that all of this passes too quickly to be dismissive.  A year of light and love and the gift of tomorrow.  Amen.