Fragance and joy to All!!
Soft light, young light, new light
Our Animal Friends
While waiting in a parking lot for a friend to drive me to the Sausalito ferry for a gathering in the city, I heard a noise behind me. There was a young buck with tiny antlers. We hung out together while he nibbled, and then a second appeared with bigger antlers, and then a third with even more branching.
Today I read about a mother who fulfilled her daughter’s childhood dream by building an animal sanctuary in her memory.
From the article in the Washington Post today:
Most days, first-grader Catherine Violet Hubbard could be found roaming the yard of her Newtown, Conn., home — the place where, accompanied by her pets, she’d discover a whole universe of critters and bugs to adore. Almost like a princess in a Disney movie, she’d whisper to the animals to tell their friends that she was nice, in hopes that they’d come in droves to visit her.
Ever since she was born in 2006, Catherine had a burning passion for animals, her mother, Jenny Hubbard, told The Washington Post. By the time she turned 5, Catherine had already decided she wanted to be an animal sanctuary caretaker when she grew up. But on Dec. 14, 2012, she was one of 20 children and six adults killed inside Sandy Hook Elementary.
The freckle-faced girl with bright red locks was just 6 years old. And though Catherine never got to be a teenager or see her life’s wishes come true, Hubbard has made it her mission to fulfill them. On Wednesday — exactly 10 years after the school shooting — Hubbard will break ground on the Catherine Violet Hubbard Animal Sanctuary, a nonprofit meant to foster the bond between humans and animals. The sanctuary will provide veterinary care, educate visitors and serve as a migration space for hummingbirds, bees and other pollinators.
Birth
I watch a video of a newly born baby, sleeping, gurgling, a little peep of adjustment here and there. What is it to be born, to be thrust out of a womb after nine months of containment?
Isn’t it happening all the time, these waves spreading and shared?
Surprise is the seed of gratefulness. Become aware of surprise. Relish surprise as life’s gift.
Br. David-Steindl-Rast:
Radiance
A friend was able to be with a friend as she passed away, not with her in person but through technology. She said the woman, a very spiritual person, literally became radiant in the last hours. I look at the clarity in the light this morning, as though it tilts down like a slide for us to climb, beckoning.
One more week of deepening into the dark, into reflection and memory, and then we immerse in the return of young light. We emerge to release and reform what matters to us now and now and now!
December Weather
We’ve been delighting in rain, rain, rain, and then yesterday despite sprinkles, we headed out with our three year old grandson to Muir Beach. He chattered all along the way, both coming and going, and then, we crossed the bridge, and heard the waves, and then saw the bliss of a winter-time beach when the sun shines down and warms the wet sand to a perfect consistency for sand castles and construction for roads for boats.
This Time of Year
I’m reveling in memories as I pull out recipes and decorations. The weather adds to the mood as it’s cold and rainy. We’ll have a fire in the fireplace tonight. Candles are lit and music is playing.
My sons and I, and now my grandson, love the scented book The Sweet Smell of Christmas. Grandson is coming to stay with us, so I’ve filled the house with scent: pumpkin pie, pine, candy canes, and oranges. Grandson and his dad made gingerbread cookies today so they arrive tomorrow with the scent of ginger and spice. Lights are twinkling around the windows and along the fireplace mantel and in my heart.
Nature’s Gifts
It was a wonderful four days with the gifts of Nature exuberant and generous everywhere.
Serenity
On Friday, we drove to the Merced National Wildlife Refuge to see the migrating Sandhill Cranes. We saw many birds, but though we heard them we didn’t actually see the cranes, and yet the place is so beautiful that as we watched the sun set, it was clear that our journey was soothing, nourishing, and complete.
On November 19, 1863, President Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address at Gettysburg where from July 1 to July 3, 1863, more that 150,000 soldiers fought in the Civil War. More than 7,000 died in a town with fewer than 2500. Imagine dealing with the dead bodies in the heat of July, and imagine the injuries both physical and psychological, the soldiers carried home to friends and families, injuries that still reverberate through us.
I’m with balance these days as my eyes continue to adjust to the change from sixty years of hard contact lenses to glasses to surgery in February.
How do I balance on serenity and integration as I meet and meld the past and present with what comes?
Seasoned by Seasons
Last night a treasured friend sent a photo of the first snow last night, and then this morning a photo of her dog in front of the fire.
Memories harvest in my chest.
In December 2017, our family gathered in CT because we knew my brother was dying, and yet, when we saw him, he seemed blooming and healthy, thin, yes, and easily fatigued, but up and dressed. It was the first snow of the season and we Californians were out in the snow taking pictures of ourselves shoveling this delightful gift from on high.
We kept the fire going day and night, talked and talked, ate and ate, and played games, and even now tears come with memories. A fire burns through me, a fire of harvest to warm this beautiful life I’ve lived and still live.
I continue to study Sensory Awareness. As my breathing is, so am I. My heart is touched with the exploration of breath, the knowing this air I breathe is given to me by plants and trees, and so we hold limbs in sharing memories and seasons, present treasured, rooted, and lifted with the still living treasures of the past.
I give thanks.
Bobbing
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
– William Wordsworth
A friend is planting bulbs. I revel in the hope revealed in placing this globular ball into a hole in the earth, tamping dirt around and over it, adding some water, and waiting til spring for stems to rise and buds to form and burst forth.
It’s the time of year when branches of trees hold light as their leaves fall and decompose below.
Meanwhile we insulate ourselves to nourish an inner light.
