Category Archives: Joy

HONORING TRANSITIONS

THE DAY MORGAN TURNED 13 YEARS OLD

May 6, 2023

My oldest Grandson crossed a threshold today. He exited childhood and entered the Spooky Forest of Adolescence. A long and winding road awaits him, finding his way to himSelf. Growing into a Man. There is beauty in this forest as well as dark and treacherous paths. There are Beings who live here — but one doesn’t know if or when they may show up nor whether they will be friendly Guides, or hungry Trolls hunting their dinner.

But this young boy-man of mine, he’s smart, and he’s incredibly creative. He’s adventurous and eager to learn things. I trust him to make it through this spooky forest. In fact, he will probably enjoy most of the journey! I certainly hope so.

To honor this momentous occasion, I am re-printing a blog I wrote the year he turned 4. As much as I love watching him grow to be a man, towering over me, now, his voice deep, his knowledge and abilities far beyond even just a few years ago, still, I miss the little boy he used to be.

So, Morgan, this is for you, today.

FIGHTING GOBLINS AND RESCUING PRINCESSES

April 7, 2014

I walked with three-year old Morgan, soon to be four, the three blocks to the little playground next to a neighborhood ball park. We looked for daffodils growing up beside the houses and talked of birds and worms, the dietary habits of squirrels and why the rain makes the grass turn green. We tried a short cut through the tennis court, but the gate was locked, so we took the other short cut through the alley.

“What’s an alley, Nonna?”

“It’s a little road behind the back yards of the houses. See? We’re walking down an alley.” We heard a rooster defending his territory.

“Nonna, what’s that sound?”

“A rooster.”

“Is a rooster a daddy chicken or a mommy chicken, Nonna?”

We arrived at the Park. Morgan ran for the largest layout of blue and green and orange equipment that included platform stairs, a tunnel, a swinging bridge, a curved stair ladder, a lookout post and a 10′ tunnel slide. He scampered up to the lookout post before I could even catch up and hurled himself down the slide…and did a full body face plant into the mud at the bottom.

You know how one of the funniest not-funny sights is someone slipping on the ice? The next funniest not-funny sights is a little boy covered in mud–face, belly, hands, knees–just after a half-flip belly flop face-plant off a slide. Morgan looked about to cry and much to my shame, I burst out laughing. He looked at me in confusion. His brain was registering tragedy and calling for tears, but his Nonna was having a complete giggle melt down. Tragedy lost to Giggles and soon we were both laughing while he spit out mud and wood chip fibers and I brushed what dirt I could off his nose and chin and hands.

He actually looks pretty clean here; we’ve removed most of the mud…but he’s still working on spitting out the mouthful of grit he got…

“Nonna, the Bad Guys are hewr. They pushed me down the slide. We bettow find ow fighting sowrds ’cause we need to fight bad guys.”

“What kind of bad guys?”

“Zombies.” He looked around. “No! Theys Goblins! Theys the wust kind!”

He grabbed a stick sword, I grabbed a stick wand. I said my wand could get more goblins. He said, “Ok, Nonna. You can use a wand this time. …Oh no! Hewre they come Nonna!”

We fought Goblins. It was quite a noisy battle.

“Nonna! We have to wescue the pwincess!” He took off to climb the stairs and cross the swinging bridge and climb up the roundy ladder… “You fight the goblins, Nonna, so I can wescue the pwincess!”

The tower was breached successfully. “Hurry, Morgan! Grab the Princess! Where are we taking her?”

“To that bench oveer thewr!”

“Is that where she lives?”

“No, she’s fwom Cavelot. But we can make hewr safe thewr on the bench and fix hewr ouchies. That’s the hospital, Nonna.”

“Ok. You better pick her up and carry her over your shoulder.”

“Ok, Nonna. …Whew…weew safe now. You fix hewr ouchies with yous wand, Nonna. She’s a beautiful pwincess, Nonna. Do you think she’s vewy pwetty, Nonna?”

“Oh, definitely, Morgan. She’s very pretty.”

“…Oh-oh, Nonna. Hewr come mowr Goblins! Mowr and mowr and mowr and mowr…Fight Nonna!”

“Morgan, I think they captured another princess! I think they turned her into a bird!”

“Yous wight, Nonna! Only she’s not a biwrd. She’s a winosowus. The Goblins changed her into a winosowus.”

“Oh no! We’ve got to get her out of here! You better kiss her, Morgan, turn her back into a beautiful Princess! But be careful of her horn!

“Nonna, I’m not Mowgan. I’m a Pwince. I’m a Supeohewo Pwince! And I can’t kiss the winosowus pwincess.”

“Why can’t you kiss the princess, Prince Superhero?”

“‘Cause I’ll get make-up on my face!”

“So who’s going to turn her back into a Princess? You don’t want her to be stuck being a rhinoceros, do you?”

“Nonna, you can do it with yous wand!”

“Oh.”

“Ok. I will cawwy hewr over to the bench…I mean the hospital.”

“Prince Superhero, where do the Princesses live? Should we take them home?”

“Yeah. They live with the King in Afwica. We can fly in the aiwplane to Afwica. But you have to fight off the Goblins while I cawwy the pwincesses, okay Nonna?”

“Ok Prince Superhero.”

“Yay! We made it Nonna! You got the Goblins! Now we need to fly the beautiful Pwincesses to Afwica!”

“Nonna, quick, we got to take the Pwincesses to the King before more Goblins get us! Huwwy, Nonna. Theys coming…the Goblins aw coming! Mowr and mowr and mowr…”

“Prince Superhero, let’s get back to our plane and fly somewhere else!”

“Okay, Nonna. We’s going to Austwaila, now. To visit the Kangawoos. I don’t know if theys Goblins thewr. See Nonna? Thewrs the Kangawoos! We’ll land the aiwplane by the Kangawoos.”

“Nonna, the Kangawoos can talk. They’s Mommy Kangawoos with theys babies in theys pockets and Daddy Kangawoos–theys have babies in theys pockets too.”

And so we had a lovely conversation with the Kangaroos of Australia and discovered that they were also under Goblin attack. Soon we were fighting more Goblins and discovered that they had captured several Princesses that needed rescuing. Six princesses to be exact. According to the Little Prince they were all from the Star Planet Shada Zuken Sak. We rescued them…and just barely making our escape from the evil and ever present Goblins, the Prince and I flew them in our airplane out beyond the Moon and past the Sun until we came to the Star Planet Shada Zuken Sak.

Upon our arrival, the Little Prince made a mad dash for the castle carrying six pretty princesses on his strong shoulders while his brave Nonna fought off a horde of Goblins. Apparently the entire Universe is suffering from an infestation of Goblins–there is no escaping them.

He was successful…suffering only a broken arm
in the battle.

All six princesses survived and were very happy to be home again.

Nonna was called upon to do some magic with her wand to try to make the broken arm of the Prince better–but her wand broke before the spell was cast.

“Nonna, you will have to take me to the dentist to get my awm fixed cause yous wand is bwoken.”

“I see. Where is the dentist?”

“Can’t you see, Nonna? Ovew thewr!”

“Ah, yes. Under the slide.”

“But you have to get a new wand, Nonna, ’cause theys a lot of Goblins coming.”

“Okay. Let’s make a run for it, Prince!”

“Good job, Nonna. You got the Goblins and fixed my awm.”

“I think we need to fly in our airplane back to Earth, now Prince. Daddy and Mommy are waiting for us to come home.”

“Okay. But aftew we fly home we have to take the twain.”

“Okay.”

One airplane flight, two more Goblin battles, one train ride, and then a narrow escape from another horde of Goblins later…we were headed out of the park.”

“Nonna, I think more Goblins are going to follow me and gwab my feets!”

“Oh dear. You better ride on Nonna’s back then…they can’t get you then.”

“Are we going frew the alley again, Nonna? Whewre’s the wooster? Who’s that guy–what’s he doing? Does the wooster live in that biwrdhouse? Those are cool box gawdens. Weally–that’s what my Daddy is making fo ow home? Why is it called a daffodil? Maybe we can have a tweat when we get home! I’m hungwy. Can we pway bad guys when we get home? Not Goblins, Nonna…zombies.”

THE TEDDY BEAR’S PICNIC

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April 13, 2020

THE TEDDY BEAR’S PICNIC

During the early days of the COVID-19 lockdown in the Spring of 2020, there was a National Bear Hunt declared for the children. People were encouraged to put Teddy Bears and other stuffed animals in their windows and on porches and balconies where they could be seen from the street by the people, especially the children, walking by.

If you go down in the woods today
You’re sure of a big surprise
If you go down in the woods today
You’d better go in disguise!

For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain because

Today’s the day the Teddy Bears

Have their picnic…

“Mr. Flynn, do you know why we’ve been stuck out here in this freezin’ cold?”

“I don’t, Little Boo. It is a bit frigid compared to our warm quarters inside.”

“I’m scared out here. ‘Specially when it gets dark and creatures come investigatin’!”

“Oh, but have you noticed the stars? And the great large moon?” asked Billy. “I like watching them. They do this slow kind of dance as they glide slowly down the dark.”

“Of course YOU would, Billy. Yer always lookin’ at the bright side of things. Don’t mean there ain’t a dark side!” said Boo.

“But Little Boo, Billy, makes a good point,” said Mr. Flynn. “When have we ever gotten to be in the great out-of-doors? What amazing things we’ve seen stationed out here. The melting of the snows. The rain streaming down. The flowers suddenly appearing in the garden below us.”

“But, Mr. Flynn,” cried Little Boo, “there’s been dogs! And big horsey things sniffin’ ’round the fences!”

“Boo, those horsey things are called deer.”

“How do you know, Billy?!”

“Don’t you pay attention to anything? That’s why the folks put up the fence. To keep the deer from eating all those little flowers that started appearing!”

“Billy’s correct,” said Mr. Flynn. “And deer only eat plants. So you’ve nothing to fear young Boo.”

“But, Mr. Flynn, dogs love to chew on little bears like us!”

“So they do. But, have you not noticed that they are tied to a person when they walk by?”

“And anyway, Boo,” interrupted Billy, “we have an important mission being out here! Maybe you should pay more attention to it!”

“What’s that, Billy?”

“We’re here for the children when they walk by. To wave at them and send them a happy blessing!”

“Really? Is that so Mr. Flynn?”

“It is indeed, Boo. And we can send that happy blessing because of the happy blessings we are enjoying.”

“Wow. I suppose yer right,” admitted Boo. “I mean, I was livin’ in a closet. And now I’m gettin’ to feel the wind in my fur. The mailman smiles at me when he comes by. I’ve watched the flowers bloomin’. The birds sing to us. I like watching them fly up into the sky. I wonder what that would feel like–to fly way up high above the trees and the houses and look down?”

“That’s right, Boo,” said Mr. Flynn. “And don’t forget the smell of the rain. The color of the sky when the sun slips down behind the bluff. The twinkling of the stars as they appear, The moon sailing down the sky, following the path of the sun.”

“I love being an outdoor bear,” said Billy. “I feel bad for Sally Jo who’s still inside.”

“Well, she at least gets to sit in the window,” said Boo. “She can see some of this.”

“Oh, look sharp, boys. Molly and her Mom are coming down the street!” said Mr. Flynn.

************

“Mommy! Look! The Bears are still there! The big brown one is sitting on top of the rocks, now. The little black one is on the railing!”

“I see them, Molly. Where’s the little brown one?”

“He’s hanging on the mailbox!”

“Oh, Molly, look! There’s a Bear upstairs too! The Mailman Bear in the window!”

“I see him, Mommy. And look, the curly one is in the window in the front. She’s like our cat Sammy. She likes to sit in the windows and watch everything.”

*****************

There’s a National Bear Hunt happening! Join in the fun!

We’re going on a bear hunt.
We’re going to catch a big one.
What a beautiful day!
We’re not scared…

THE CROCUS

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March 30, 2020

THE GIFT IN THE DEBRIS

Despite the sun shining brightly this morning, and the orange tulips blooming on my table, I felt like the dried up lawns and dirty remnants of snow glimpsed through the windows. Everywhere lies winter’s decay, matted and brown and grey.

Despite my energy deficit, I finally talked myself into going out on the porch for the mail and to move the teddy bears into more visible positions for the children who go on neighborhood “Bear Hunts” with their parents. That’s a thing here in Duluth while we’re all home-bound.

The sun felt good. The air was moving gently. I looked out over my little front yard garden. Dead stuff, debris, a tumbled inukshuk, matted remains of last fall’s final blooms. We had to put the deer fence back up last week to protect the tiny tulip tips who were waking up early, a delicacy for the deer. I noticed that they’re now an inch, some two or three above the dirt.

And then the splotch of purple caught my eye. A flower? Blooming? With snow still on the ground? A crocus!

I put on my shoes and went to investigate. Pulling the dead ornamental grasses aside, I found three crocus in various stages of bloom! I looked around at my wreck of a garden took a deep breath and went and got a rake. As I worked I noticed a robin hopping about in the grass, picking away, whether looking for food or nesting material I’m not sure. Both of us looking for new life. With each pull of the rake I found more green. I even found a dandelion growing in the middle of the Siberian Iris.

Standing there with my rake, I felt like I’d swallowed the sun!

THE MONTH OF DEEP DARKNESS

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December 10, 2017

WISHING YOU A KIND AND QUIET DECEMBER…

…She closed her letter with this wish for us. The words jumped off the screen and lodged themselves in my heart which for days had been stressed, angry, afraid, and lost. Really lost.

I have only written two or three blogs this year. A handful of journal entries. Maybe a writing exercise here and there. What writing I did was mostly focused on writing curriculum, powerpoints and handouts for the classes and workshops I led, working with educators examining Restorative Justice in Education.

The nature of my work calls me to invite, encourage and sometimes challenge educators to engage in self-reflection and to embrace some deep changes of heart and mind. I cannot do this if I am not regularly looking at the issues in my own life that obstruct or waylay my ability to remain in a heart and mind-state of kindness, compassion and peace. I have to live very present, releasing resistance and fear, and embrace the Courage to live honestly, and to engage in the change that our world so desperately needs.

As the months of 2017 rolled along, everything seemed to get harder. By August, I was dissolving into tears at the slightest provocation. It became more and more difficult to even read the headlines in the news, none the less the articles. Never-the-less I was scheduled to lead three significant workshops in August. One of them was for 40+ school administrators looking at the attitudes and practices of Restorative Justice in Education — why they make sense and have the ability to transform school climate.

But in September I had no contracts. No longer distracted, no longer having to put one foot in front of the other no matter what I felt like, I rapidly unraveled.

I was lost. Angry. So very, very angry. Some days I didn’t even know what I was angry about. I wanted to climb out of my own skin. I found myself envying my dear mother who just turned 90 and probably won’t have to endure this world too much longer. The darkness was so heavy, I could physically feel it squeezing my chest and churning in my stomach.

I said to my husband, “Imagine if someone was incessantly running their nails down a chalkboard and no matter what, the noise won’t stop…that is how I feel inside my skin.”

Some days were better than others.

One day I was driving my mother to her eye doctor appointment. All day I had felt like a hurricane was battering my insides. It was violent, unrelenting, loud and screaming. But on the outside, as always, I was trying to smile and be cordial and do all the right things. It was exhausting.

On my way to pick her up I’d thrown an SOS out to the Universe…and now, as we drove down the road, a Bald Eagle flew over, briefly following my car… then moving on. In the Indian world of Animal Medicine, this is significant. It indicates that our prayers are being carried to the Creator.

And nearly every day since, some help has come including the quiet kindnesses of my husband and a homeopathic remedy called Rescue Remedy for fear and anxiety! (btw, it works!)

But most of all, this lovely closing wish in a brief note: Wishing you a kind and quiet December. In the moment that I read it, peace flowed over me, head to toes, and then began to fill me up on the inside.

It is the darkest month of the year. And given the state of the world, and the headlines in the news each day, it feels like the darkness is so deep that whatever light exists is obscured by deep fog. Even so, everywhere I go there are bells jangling and lights and sales and crowds… And I repeat to myself my new mantra: a KIND and QUIET (i.e. PEACE-FILLED) December).

Slowly, I feel this heaviness lifting. I offer gratitude for the Light and goodness that is shining in the Darkness. I stood by the stream that tumbles down the bluff behind my neighborhood the other day, marveling at how during this monochrome time of year the water gets to do art. The ice forming along the edges and over the rocks; amazing, beautiful art that will be different tomorrow and the day after. I released my heavy heart and all my worry and fear and rage into the stream and let it be carried away. And the water reminded me that “resistance is indeed, futile”. That the key is allowing the flow of my life, honoring my life.

I didn’t blog this year in part because I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be able to write what would bring joy, and courage, and strength to my readers. I wanted to write something funny.

I had so little of any of that to offer.

But now, in the darkest month of the year, during the deepest darkness we have known in this country in a very long time, I offer you this little sip of hope; this little sprinkle of joy; this small peace: please create a kind and quiet December. Do what you need to do to make it so. Maybe if we all would be kinder to ourselves, we could be kinder to our partners and to our neighbors and to the tired clerk at the store. Maybe if we took the time we need to just stand quietly under the trees, or next to the frozen stream, or looking out over the city from the hill — the screaming inside the cells of our skin would stop.

No matter what those who currently hold power do to this world, there are people to love. No one can prevent us from practicing kindness, or choosing gratitude and joy. No one except for ourselves. Myself.

Wishing you a kind and quiet December. Wishing you a year filled with kindness. And may Peace fill up the space inside your bones.

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

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January 19, 2017

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD…

You know the song…

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom, for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue, and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces, of people going by
I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do
They’re really saying, I love you.
I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more, than I’ll never know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…

…Actually though, the music that surrounded me was the whisper of my skis, the happy songs of some little birds flitting about in the sunshine, and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing softly through my ear buds as I glided through the woods…

I keep stopping, just to absorb the beauty surrounding me. Perfectly pristine white snow sprinkled with sparkly glitter stretches smoothly out before me. It is marred only by the ski tracks. Sparkling and blue shadowed, it covers the floor of the woods like a frosted cake–one can only guess what lies beneath the smoothly sculpted mounds and gullies. Here and there I spot the tracks of deer and tinier creatures. A rabbit. A squirrel? Some sort of tiny mouse, his long tail marking where he scrambled.

It is quiet here. The loudest sounds are my skis and the crow singing some happy crow song. Vivaldi is light in my ears, and I glide on. I top a small hill, and as my skis carry me down, my eyes rest on the trees. The white birch, touched by the sun, are like white neon poles standing among the rest of the undressed forest of dignified charcoal greys and browns and black. Here and there small groups of green-needled pine keep watch while the others sleep. As I glide by, I breathe in their breath and I am grateful for them.

The sun and the sky are a watercolor wash of blue and buttercream. A few clouds, thinly transparent stretch across the expanse. They look like they are melting into the icy blue water of the sky.

At the overlook, I lean on my ski poles and look down on the harbor of my city and beyond to the Great Lake of Gitchi Gummi. Such a busy busy world down there with its ships and train yards, tall stacks spewing white steam marking the industrial plants, business buildings clustered at the center of the long narrow stretch between these bluffs and the water, and houses and highways and bridges spanning the harbor–little tiny cars zipping back and forth. The sun gilds the water golden. It is another water color painting.

“Remember this,” I whisper. “What a wonderful world! It’s so beautiful–so breathtakingly, achingly beautiful! Whatever comes, remember this. Show up seeing beauty no matter where you find yourself. Make it. Create it. Show up with Love. It is all around you, all the time, just looking for a way to flow into the world. Remember this.”

SPRING SONG

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SPRING SONG

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March 20, 2016

I saw two robins in the slush during our Winter’s final tantrum the other day. They were fighting over what looked to be a worm. It had been raining hard in our part of the city, while snow buried everyone up over the bluffs. Our basement was leaking, proof that the ground was saturated and the earth soft–we knew this because it was easy to pound the metal stakes into the ground to put the deer fence back up around our garden. The tulips were pushing up above the earth–a beloved delicacy for the pregnant does who wander out of the snowy woods into the neighborhood where the snow has retreated, looking for the special treats they crave. So, it might truly have been a winter fattened worm escaping a flooded den. Do worms hibernate in dens? Where do they go when the ground freezes up? The scrawny robin won.

When my children were young, we went for our first ice-cream cone after we saw our first robins in Spring. It was a tradition. But I’ve become lactose intolerant. I bought some fresh strawberries instead that afternoon while it rained, and the school children were at home having a “snow day”.

This morning the sun came up blazing rose-gold, announcing the first day of Spring. It is streaming in through winter streaked windows, inviting us to fetch our overshoes and go for a muddy trek in the hills. I am making fresh ground-buckwheat pancakes. David is frying bacon. There is a pitcher full of Green Smoothie on the counter filled with pears and pineapple, grapefruit and greens, ginger and celery and cucumber and avocado–we’re getting fortified for our Sunday migration into the bluffs. There are a flock of Redpolls taking turns having breakfast at the feeder outside the kitchen window; getting fattened up for their migration to their summer home in the Arctic–true northerners after my own heart!

I’m going to buy some daffodils from the Market today. It’s a tradition. A vase of Sunshine on my table. Last week we found some pussy-willows just beginning to consider opening up. This week they will be ready. Maybe we’ll find some today as we slog through the mud and navigate the swollen streams in the hills that climb up to the bluffs. From up there we can see our neighborhood laid out like a toy town. Beyond lies the harbor, the bridges, the Lake. We can see all the way to Wisconsin. We’ll gather some pussy-willows, and fill up our house with Spring. Tonight we’ll go grill steaks at my daughter’s.

Tomorrow we’ll clean out the closets and put away the parkas and the skis.

DaffadillaBlueVase

LIKE A MATCH STRUCK

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November 20, 2015

MORNING SONG

The Earth spins, and we turn from the stars and the deep dark of space into the grey light of dawn. I watch it come, slowly, melting the dark. There is pink now, streaks of watercolor across the dove grey sky. The songbirds are waking up. And then the sun scrapes the edge of the world and ignites the whole sky–a raging flame of orange and rose, shot through with bits of blue and violet. A flock of geese wing their way above the city, dark silhouettes against the flames. Like a match struck in a darkened room, the light flares, and then settles to its task. The flames fade as the Sun leaps over the horizon. The dove grey of dawn slowly becomes a thin, watery blue, darkening and deepening as the Sun climbs into the trees, and then sails over the rooftops of the neighborhood.

It is the fifth day of rain. Piles of storm clouds have sealed off my corner of the world. I sit at my window with my cup of tea, watching the world turn into another twilit day. But I remember; I remember when the sun scraped the edge of the world and the sky burst into flame.

********************************

	Daniel Skillings on HONORING TRANSITIONS
	Mary Skillings on THE BREAKING
	Meridith on THE BREAKING
	Mary Skillings on PLANTING SEEDS OF LIGHT
	Mer on PLANTING SEEDS OF LIGHT