The biggest acts of kindness can be found in the smallest of gestures. It doesn’t take much to reach through aged layers of disbelief and rejection to find the portion of a heart steadfastly beating in faint pulses of hope. Kindness does not require massive wealth or singular brilliance; unique purview or impressive skill.
These acts of gentle outreach start with simple thoughts focused on others. Thoughts that take shape in fragrant flowers or a strong hug or arriving as a note filled with supportive words. Thoughts personified as time spent with another in silence or chatter and spaces filled with smiles expanding around warm, sparkling eyes into crinkles of skin.
Some people are fragile as hand blown Venetian glass butterflies displayed to the world on shelf edges. The slightest breath of the wind could instantly shatter their beauty. Other people are resilient as mountain trees bending with sudden storms and changing colors with the seasons. A few people are diaphanous as dew announcing their presence in the faintest wisp of time before melting into the landscape of life.
In every forest, there lives butterflies, saplings, sturdy trees, and rain falling as tears on all. In every life, there hides secret hurts, unfulfilled dreams and distinctive talents. In every one, there lies the power to extend kindness to others as rest with the touch of a hand; shelter under protective branches; or lifesaving droplets falling without discrimination on the world.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
A Valentine for Father's Day
It’s Father’s Day and I find myself thinking about a Valentine’s gift from decades past. I was 13 and had been awkwardly writing rhymes and prose for at least five years, and my father gave me my first book of "serious" poetry. Pictures of sunset beaches, glacier lakes and mountain creeks were scenic backdrops against flowing words from Shakespeare, Longfellow and Tennyson. Both the poems and the stunning nature photography represented a magical future, ancient past and expressive present as well as a father’s tender heart.
Today, the Valentine’s book still automatically falls open to my first favorite poem and the accompanying idyllic and tranquil picture. I remember staring for hours at the sun dappled pasture on a gentle hill covered with honeysuckle. A single tree cast a long shadow on lushly minted grounds and arose majestically meeting the dark forest edge in the distance. The setting sun beckoned the chestnut horses into the shadows stilling their tails as their noses burrowed into lush clover. The poet's words lived in my heartbeats along with rhythms from the smallest pony and I imagined the words that one day, I would write.
My father has given me many things over time but the gifts most treasured, I found that day reading what remains a favored poem and looking at nature’s gifts to mankind. My father's nurturing love gave me belief in self, independence in spirit, and philosophy in life.
On this Father’s Day, I give back to him, and to each of you, the poem he first gave me.
I THINK I COULD TURN AND LIVE WITH ANIMALS
I think I could turn and live with animals, they
are so placid and self-contained:
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine
about their condition;
They do not lie awake
in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick
discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with
the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived
thousands of years ago;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the
whole earth.
Walt Whitman
Today, the Valentine’s book still automatically falls open to my first favorite poem and the accompanying idyllic and tranquil picture. I remember staring for hours at the sun dappled pasture on a gentle hill covered with honeysuckle. A single tree cast a long shadow on lushly minted grounds and arose majestically meeting the dark forest edge in the distance. The setting sun beckoned the chestnut horses into the shadows stilling their tails as their noses burrowed into lush clover. The poet's words lived in my heartbeats along with rhythms from the smallest pony and I imagined the words that one day, I would write.
My father has given me many things over time but the gifts most treasured, I found that day reading what remains a favored poem and looking at nature’s gifts to mankind. My father's nurturing love gave me belief in self, independence in spirit, and philosophy in life.
On this Father’s Day, I give back to him, and to each of you, the poem he first gave me.
I THINK I COULD TURN AND LIVE WITH ANIMALS
I think I could turn and live with animals, they
are so placid and self-contained:
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine
about their condition;
They do not lie awake
in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick
discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with
the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived
thousands of years ago;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the
whole earth.
Walt Whitman
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Authentic Style
A friend and I recently visited a clothes boutique filled with all things beautiful. While we discovered some items that we didn’t understand where to wear and other items that we couldn’t figure out how to wear, the clearest discovery was that we didn’t have a clue as to what to wear. It wasn’t that we were frozen in decades past armed with shoulder pads and mall hair. It wasn’t that our bodies had altered dramatically over time and we needed a new wardrobe, filled with new sizes, aimed to display trim waists and firm calves. Perhaps it was simply that we didn’t know what image to present to the world.
Other than weddings, funerals or other rare and random occasions, I have only seen my mother in jeans and t-shirts. She is balanced with herself and her clothes reflect her confidence that comfortable Levis will take her anywhere she wants to be and are good enough for anyone with whom she would spend her time. I would like to mirror my mother and wear jeans every day, but I would pair them with crisp white shirts and shiny silver bling. Of course, I can’t wear this desired uniform into the business world. Working women with impressive signature styles perfectly tailored for the workplace race to meetings on stiletto heels lugging designer bags filled with dermatological and manicure appointments. Other working women who are free spirits from the ‘60s exist and reconnect to peace emblems on shirts and earrings.
Men have style as well. My grandfather wore overalls every day. They were patched and faded with innumerable zippers and pockets carrying treasures. They defined him and his life on a country farm. Everyone seems to have found definition and I could shop for others more readily than for myself.
As my friend and I strolled through the Farmer’s Market, bought early Christmas presents and enjoyed a long lunch, I reflected on her style. She wears a gentle and kind heart on her sleeve. She clothes herself with love of family and friends and nurtures both with goodness. She adorns herself with strength and compassion. She layers her body with a zest for life that emanates from within and frames her soul.
As for me, I accessorize with distincively styled friends who are authentic in nature and genuine. I put on pajamas or faded jeans when I come home and decide to worry about what to wear to work on some other day. Style and image are important; however, I believe that what I wear during work time is so much less critical than who I choose to see in my free time.
Other than weddings, funerals or other rare and random occasions, I have only seen my mother in jeans and t-shirts. She is balanced with herself and her clothes reflect her confidence that comfortable Levis will take her anywhere she wants to be and are good enough for anyone with whom she would spend her time. I would like to mirror my mother and wear jeans every day, but I would pair them with crisp white shirts and shiny silver bling. Of course, I can’t wear this desired uniform into the business world. Working women with impressive signature styles perfectly tailored for the workplace race to meetings on stiletto heels lugging designer bags filled with dermatological and manicure appointments. Other working women who are free spirits from the ‘60s exist and reconnect to peace emblems on shirts and earrings.
Men have style as well. My grandfather wore overalls every day. They were patched and faded with innumerable zippers and pockets carrying treasures. They defined him and his life on a country farm. Everyone seems to have found definition and I could shop for others more readily than for myself.
As my friend and I strolled through the Farmer’s Market, bought early Christmas presents and enjoyed a long lunch, I reflected on her style. She wears a gentle and kind heart on her sleeve. She clothes herself with love of family and friends and nurtures both with goodness. She adorns herself with strength and compassion. She layers her body with a zest for life that emanates from within and frames her soul.
As for me, I accessorize with distincively styled friends who are authentic in nature and genuine. I put on pajamas or faded jeans when I come home and decide to worry about what to wear to work on some other day. Style and image are important; however, I believe that what I wear during work time is so much less critical than who I choose to see in my free time.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Lost and Found
Lately, it seems that I’ve spent a great deal of undefined time looking for my life’s definition. So many years, looking down, searching for the perfect path in order to take the right step somewhere--anywhere. While longing to feel the earth ooze between my toes after a storm, I wandered instead on safe, dry ground. I recovered from events seen and unseen. I yearned for pieces of the past and dreams of the future to merge together and form a puzzle without missing parts. Most of all, I wondered what I’ve accomplished during these vast spans of time searching for place and space and people to walk alongside me on these trails.
The phone rings and I stop musing long enough to talk to a good friend. I glance at a card, sent by another friend, which made me laugh. I stumble over a beach bag given to celebrate an upcoming trip with three remarkable women. A text arrives from an inquiring friend who has been out of town. A necklace lies on the counter to return to another amazing friend who spontaneously loaned it to compliment the new outfit she helped me put together. I catch up on a full in box of emails sent from friends who shared input on an essay I wrote. I make quick calls to my sister and mother to share a tip of possible interest.
Apparently, while I was busy looking for my life; I lived it. I must have distributed pieces of my soul along the trail and opened my heart in the journey. Along the way, I did lose people and memories and time. I lost harsh edges and the ones living life as blood sport. I lost that which I never had and those who never really knew me.
In the softness, I found the beauty in those who picked up my pieces and created a new puzzle. I found the authenticity in those who give gifts beyond jewelry and knick knacks and trips. I found the grace in those who give time and heart and love. I found friends. I found family. I found myself.
The phone rings and I stop musing long enough to talk to a good friend. I glance at a card, sent by another friend, which made me laugh. I stumble over a beach bag given to celebrate an upcoming trip with three remarkable women. A text arrives from an inquiring friend who has been out of town. A necklace lies on the counter to return to another amazing friend who spontaneously loaned it to compliment the new outfit she helped me put together. I catch up on a full in box of emails sent from friends who shared input on an essay I wrote. I make quick calls to my sister and mother to share a tip of possible interest.
Apparently, while I was busy looking for my life; I lived it. I must have distributed pieces of my soul along the trail and opened my heart in the journey. Along the way, I did lose people and memories and time. I lost harsh edges and the ones living life as blood sport. I lost that which I never had and those who never really knew me.
In the softness, I found the beauty in those who picked up my pieces and created a new puzzle. I found the authenticity in those who give gifts beyond jewelry and knick knacks and trips. I found the grace in those who give time and heart and love. I found friends. I found family. I found myself.
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