This morning I took Steve to the 6:00 Airporter and walked along the marsh. Morning photos speak of peace.
Fog sits on the ridge.
Yesterday I saw a hummingbird hovering amongst branches of a tree. A closer look revealed her tiny nest. I assured her I meant no harm and walked on.
I saw five baby goats snuggling together at Slide Ranch. The two mothers stood nearby watching. Two months ago one birthed twins and the other triplets, but the little ones cuddled as one.
There are places of peace. Watching children with goats is one of these.
Overseeing the ocean is another.
My brother passed fifty-two days ago and I find ease.
The sun is shining through the mist. It’s the first day it hasn’t rained here in CT since my brother passed. We’ll scatter his ashes today. It was meant to be yesterday but, and tears come as I think of the joy of his wife Jan as we went out to breakfast and then she decided to cook Thai food for all of us. No one cooks like Jan and we enjoyed a feast together and she kept saying how much Gar would love it and then she called at 11:00 last night crying, saying we forgot to spread the ashes. I said “We didn’t forget; we thought you weren’t ready.”
So, today is the day. It will be a smaller group, just four of us, and perhaps that is as it should be, an honoring of the two sides of my brother. There was the party Gar, the gregarious, laughing one, and the one who loved to be alone with family and books, the one who radiated a wise and visionary presence. We honor both sides, all sides, as we tighten the circle for a moment.
Jeff will then drive the two of us back to JFK and home we go. Steve left yesterday and is now home.
How do I feel today? Early morning light breathes softness into the room. Three rectangles stand guard at one end and offer concentration and focus. And now the shadow of a branch spreads into one rectangle, offers form and then the rectangles of light spread like rivers rising in their banks.
I am awake, connected at my roots. Ancestors are here. Yesterday, Jeff, Lynn and I drove through the beauty of CT and seeing a small sign turned left onto a narrow road to enter an enchanted realm of education. We walked the land and then entered the building to spend two hours enjoying a private tour, learning the history of this land.
The last Ice Age ended and people came, and here we are. The constitution comes from the people who lived here. The three branches of our government come from the wisdom of the people of this land. There was a fourth piece the Founding Fathers forgot. We are one with the land. How we treat the land is how we treat ourselves. We are one.
May 5th was Cinco de Mayo. Our guide and those who worked at the Institute were wearing red. We learned it was also a day to honor missing and murdered Indigenous Women. And here I pause to honor that every day is that day. May we come to unification, in ourselves, in our world.
We each have a different tradition on this day. I look out as sun strikes the ridge with light and birds sing and squirrels chirp. I read about the explosions, blood and killings in Sri Lanka. I’m tempted to leave this page blank, feeling there are no words to express what I might say, and I resolved to post each day after my brother’s passing as my homage to him who was my greatest cheerleader. As older sister, I could do no wrong.
My family is gathering today. I look forward to the sanctity in that while knowing there is death for others, pain.
I feel my brother coming through in various ways, allowing me to know he is here in different form. Spirit speaks. I feel love in my being, peace.
Last week I participated in an improv workshop. Me? I know, and I had fun.
We laughed and bonded, bonded and laughed. We began with a “Yes, and …” exercise.
Partnered, one person spoke and then the other would say, “Yes, and” and would augment a response. Back and forth it went. It’s very different from saying simply, yes, or no, and a yes does not mean agreement but it does allow the sharing to expand. My partner and I solved the problems of the world in our back and forth.
Then, Saturday, I attended a “celebration of life” for my neighbor Louise Jenkins, a magnificent woman, who passed easily and gently in the home she and her husband built together after World War II. Louise was 91 and her children will keep the home and land as it is, property fragrant and vibrant with a lifetime of care, laughter, block parties, bread making, knitting, gardening, connecting, sharing, and fun.
Her children shared that they’d never heard their mother say anything mean about another. Oh, and then, one chimed in, “except for her grandmother”. She said her grandmother was mean. I’ve been sitting with that, seeing how quickly we may rush to condemn or judge another.
Perhaps, as a child, watching her grandmother, Louise saw the power of words to hurt and divide and she chose not to do that. I’m not saying she was a saint because Louise wouldn’t want that, but I saw photos of her when she was young and she was beautiful, but truly those photos of her as she aged simply glowed. Her whole face and being was radiant, a light.
Louise Jenkins philosophy of life is my intention for my remaining years. That, and “Yes, and ….”
And here again is Jeanine Aguerre’s photos of two hawks, monogamous and ready to mate again this year in our “hood”.