The Power of Peonies

I am occasionally bestowed a bouquet of flowers at the office for taking on a task or assisting with a project.  Regrettably, the gesture is always appreciated more so than the flowers, so I bring the color filled vases to my Mom, who enjoys cut flowers more than I. 

But this time was different.  Asked by a colleague to assist with a PowerPoint presentation, I designed and formatted it at home over the weekend on my own time, enjoying the creative process despite the many hours of work.

Back in the office on Monday morning – the two of us reviewed the presentation; tweaked it; practiced the technical aspects; and elevated it to perfection.  Satisfied, job well done.  After lunch, my colleague returned with two cellophane wrapped bouquets of huge compact peony buds on long stalks.  I borrowed a large glass vase from the lunchroom to put the stalks in water.  Once on display, the fragrance had passersby walk a little bit, slower to inhale just a little bit deeper.  The buds were magnificent in their uniqueness the scent transcending folks to different times and different places.

 

As the days passed, the blooms opened, more fragrant, and the magic started to happen.  Kelly walked by my desk, stopped and smiled.  "When I see peonies I remember my grandmother.  Her garden was full of them every Spring."  She then proceeded back to her desk, her face a little brighter.

On Friday, a quiet and "all business" Director, Dan, came through the office door, focused on his destination in the neighboring department.  He glanced toward my cubicle.  "Beautiful flowers"  "Peonies" I said.  Dan changed his course and wandered over to get a closer look.  "Peonies are one of my favorite garden flowers" he said, "if only they would last longer.  And then there is the ants. Cannot be brought into the house."  Then Dan proceeded to tell me about his flower gardens and the recent loss of his beloved hydrangea bush that he had for 15 years.  He talked about replacing it with a new hybrid that produces multiple colors of blooms.  The more he talked, his facial features softened, until a warm smile  He ended his flower garden tales by telling me of three hydrangea bushes in an 'island' bed in his front yard.  They had not been faring well and he was sure to lose them despite many efforts to revive them.  He asked his brother-in-law, who asked "his guy" - who suggested a specific fertilizer.  The three bushes lived and are thriving.  

The peonies invited conversation where there was previously nothing to prompt exchange.  The peonies gave occasion to step away from work and transcend to more pleasant times and places.  The peonies, more than any other flower that has sat upon my desk, displayed a power to connect people.

 

 

And yes, the vase of peonies did eventually end up on Mom's kitchen table, which initiated a long overdue visit between us, and will hopefully bring about magical encounters for Mom in her home.

Crows and a Cacophony

June 18, 2017
Today, being Father's Day, it seemed like an appropriate time to dust off my blog and pay a little tribute to Dad, who despite having passed nine years ago, is still the genetic source of my quirks and my passions.  Today is about passions.

Starting in the 1950's until his dying day, there was always a year-round compost and a summer garden in our backyard.  Where there are food scraps, there are crows.  Hence my fascination with crows began.

In 1981, a smaller family homestead was built for my parents, new to the freedom of an empty-nest. The blueprints included a large picture window, placed next to the kitchen table, overlooking the backyard, to watch wildlife (and the neighbors), the entertainment of choice. 

1981. It was the same year I began my 24 years of living hundreds of miles away, so visits with my parents were to be but snippets of time, and memories.  Those snippets include crows as my parents and I spent precious time visiting at the kitchen table.  Dad telling me about the crows, especially the one with white in its feathers and the one with a broken leg who was carefully guarded by others in the flock.  And now, it is 2017.

My love of crows has never waned through the years, yet neither was it nurtured because I never possessed the right environment to establish a relationship with the mystical intelligent birds.  Recently, after a crash course Googling attracting crows on the internet, my quest began in earnest, despite the less than favorable yard accommodations.  In three shorts weeks there have been successes, mistakes and questioning stares from the neighbors.  Despite skepticism, and unveiled disparaging comments, being deterred is not an option.

Day One:  Early morning, throw peanuts in the shell in the road, the hollow tat-tat-tat-noise as they skittered on the blacktop -  a signal of food. Two joyful little squirrels reveled in the breakfast feast before them.  Ummm - Plan B.  Wait until a crow is heard in a nearby tree - then toss the peanuts.  An interested crow took an exceedingly long time to survey the area, but eventually took a few peanuts and flew off.

Day Two:  Early morning, throw a few peanuts and dried fruit in the road.  Two happy squirrels and a returning crow.  More nuts, more fruit, and a second crow appeared.  The squirrels and crows shared with no conflict.

This daily ritual continued with the addition of roasted chicken, hard boiled eggs, and Brazil nuts."If you offer it, they will come."  And come they did.  In less than a week the morning skies echoed with a cacophony of caws and crows flew from tree to wire to rooftop, eventually landing on the road for their morning meal.  The more food I tossed, the more crows that descended upon it, the more noise in the treetops and a fear set in wondering what had I done.  Neighborhood disruption and a quickly dwindling supply of crow treats in my refrigerator.

Google, attracting crows.  Again. After much reading, I came upon an article by an older woman, a story similar to mine, who befriended crows after much trial and error.  Her sage advice "Crows can consume a lot of food.  Put out only enough to encourage them to visit."  Thankfully, a more balanced interaction with the crows began.  I greatly reduced the portions, but not the variety.  The elimination of the Unlimited Buffet has reduced 'my flock' down to two or three faithful visitors.  And gone is the tedious, time-consuming task of deboning the chicken and breaking it into pieces.  Now I just throw out an entire leg or wing after the breast meat is gone.

"My" most bold and frequent crow visitor

Our relationship is flourishing.  I have company with my morning coffee.  Intelligent and entertaining companions.  I have a connection with Dad through our fascination with nature, through the enjoyment bestowed on us by crows.

Happy Father's Day Dad.  I can no longer mail you a card or give you a gift, but you can live on through my memories and the quirky past times that you nurtured in me long long ago.

A memorial to you, and an homage to the crows.

Love you Dad 💚

Selfies

I must vent.  Apparently not just me.

This too shall pass.

P-U-S-H ... Push ... 'No'

It is happening again.  Is it cyclical or some other mystery of the mind?  I get tired.  I get angry.  I intentionally push and push.  The relief comes when the separation occurs and I am freed from the acts that lead to negativity.

This is a pattern.  Too many incidents to count.  But each time there is relief and freedom and no regret.

At some point I get exhausted from 

The draining of my talents.  

The draining of my "favors." 

The draining of my time.

The draining of my energy.

I push against the drain, push to stop the seepage of my equilibrium.  

No I cannot teach you to sew, to use Excel, to make invitations, to .....  

No I will not call in a favor because you have not expended the energy to build your own work relationships.

No. No. No.

I have just enough energy to push you away.  I can.  So I will.  And I just did.

But wait - instead I will learn to say 'no' and I will NO longer be drained.  NO longer be angry.

Thank you for helping me find an alternative solution.

I feel better, as it should be.

Matters of The Heart ...

My story tonight is about a Princess who is spending far too much time explaining to people why she is in the company of a frog.  The frog is a charming and kind gent with a full life and great family.  He does not know the princess thinks of him as a frog, as she only speaks of it with others, not him.

The Princess has become consumed by details that really don't matter in the matters of love and friendship and happiness.  When and why did this happened?  Those close to her have became curious about what short-comings they might have that the Princess feels are not to her standards.  Short-comings she must justify to herself and others ~ 

I just recently met this particular Princess.  My heart aches, so I must write.

 

 

Speaking the Unspeakable

Yesterday, I offended my sister, thankfully only one of them, not both.  She is about to welcome another grandchild.  Happy occasion, definitely, yet she is already overwhelmed with constant traveling to visit those she already has in an attempt to catch a glimpse of every little milestone.

I live vicariously as a "grandparent" through my sister and brother and enjoy it thoroughly, yet I hope never to be a grandparent.  There, I said it.  And when I shared this secret with my sister during an exchange about the grandson due to arrive this week, silence followed. Even more shocking is that if I had to do it over, I would not have children at all.  This I thankfully refrained from sharing. Unspeakably blunt, but true.

My two sons have brought me joy beyond what I knew possible, but with the joy came much heartache too.  You cannot control life and are therefore limited in protecting our offspring from pain, disappointment, the cruelty of the world and sorrow.  And that hurts, deeply.

Grandchildren would recreate the cycle and I am not sufficiently armed with the emotional stamina to worry about little ones again.  To worry about their happiness, their well-being, their pain, both emotional and physical.

I know I will be losing out on great joy in this act of self-preservation, but that is the trade-off for guarding my heart.  May the universe hear my plea, for I am still living with the guilt from my mistakes during motherhood.

The Inspiration of 26

Numbers.  Seven and nine have held a particular attraction, mainly because they are usually associated with luck.  And as such, I do find myself drawn to them.  But more recently, another number has captivated me ....

The Aiea, Hawaii penthouse I lived in when first married was #1704. It was located on Koauka Loop. The view overlooked Pearl Harbor and the weather was perfect. It was a luxurious and romantic way to start a marriage. Life was simple.

1983 brought a move back to to New England life in New Haven, Connecticut, just up the road from the majestic Yale University. The apartment, nestled at 725 Whitney Avenue, saw the excitement and anticipation of preparing for the birth of my first child. Not as plush as the Hawaiian penthouse, but conveniently located (location, location, location) The people I met there were intriguing and intelligent and adventurous.

  
In 1984, home ownership was the next step to being an adult and the family grew at 740 DeLaura Lane, in Virginia Beach, Virginia, home for 18 years. This house witnessed my deepest despair dappled with loneliness and yes, there was happiness, lots of happiness, but it was elusive happiness. Something was always missing .. Always.

Things got a bit wobbly in 2002 when my new address did not include a seven. The first and only home I have ever selected myself, 3580 Norland Circle. This home was the love of my life. I LOVED this house, the yard, the neighbors. Apparently seven was an imagined prerequisite, for it was in this home that I met my neighbor, my kindred spirit, and found a peace and contentment that had long been absent in my life. I was no longer waiting for someone to come home from far off places and it was liberating … exhilarating.

That healing part of my life ended in one abrupt moment when impulse won over logic. An overwhelming force grabbed hold of my reality and in a split second decision, I was being pushed to move on. 2005. It was not a choice, my soul said I must. Once again I was suffocated by tentacles taking bits and pieces of me. Squeezing me, squeezing the joy of life out of me. I had lost my liberation and lost my exhilaration and found myself at 26 Vista Avenue, back in Latham, New York.



2005 "Before"



2008 "After"
 

We’ve reached "26"  ~  Finally.  The twenty-six that this is all about.

The "26"  I am writing about has nothing to do with an address. "26" has nothing to do with numbers per se.  The prattle that preceded was merely chatter. You just followed my travels, via my words, from Hawaii to Connecticut to Virginia, and eventually to New York. You read about bliss and despair. You were told a story and you were allowed to come to your own conclusions. Feelings surfaced while reading; maybe curiosity, maybe boredom, maybe the pinch of uneasiness.


All thanks to twenty-six. Twenty-six characters that is. Twenty-six letters (of the English language) alphabet.

The power held by these twenty-six letters is unfathomable, yet we take them for granted.  They are capable of both good and evil.

Letters of the alphabet, formed into words, into sentences, into paragraphs; have the power to legally free a man or imprison him. To express love, or the pain of unreciprocated love. To convey good news or bad news. To share joy or sorrow. To tell a story, true or imagined. To instruct and forbid. And carved in stone, a headstone, letters are able to succinctly encapsulate for eternity a life once lived.  "JANE DOE, Beloved mother, wife, sister"

Sit back and think about how twenty-six arbitrary shapes … shape the world. Shape lives.

These 26 letters have become my friends and 'my therapist' - in the form of writing.  My compilation of writings is a diary of sorts, a journal.  Maybe one day, after I have passed, my words will be the part of me that survives - through my personal compositions and through my letters.

My fascination with the power of letters, of the words used to convey experiences and feelings, blossomed at 26 Vista Avenue. Tis merely a coincidence, or is it ?
 

The Praying Mantis

It began three hours earlier, officially yesterday, as moments ago the clock passed midnight, but his presence is still felt, and I have yet to leave the parking lot where the encounter took place.

This evening I finished a spellbinding novel around 9PM.  It had been unlike most Saturdays, I had not left the house all day except to spend time on the front porch.  I was ready to settle in for the night and save all my errands for Sunday, but the lure of the full moon changed my mind.

With only one hour to shop before the stores closed, I was off to Lowe's after a quick change of clothes.  I buzzed around the store looking for bargains, measuring clamps to hang pots of succulents, selecting wood screws using nothing but memory to determine the size needed, ending with a cautionary last trip up and down the aisles to ensure no necessities had been forgotten.  Through the cashier line and out the door with 20 minutes to spare before closing.

At the car, as my purchases were quickly stowed, my mind was racing ahead, detailing my next errands at Wal-Mart - even before I was seated in my car.  I opened the door - threw my purse on the passenger seat and then 'WHOA' !  Less than 18 inches from my face a delicate 6 inch praying mantis rested on the outside of my windshield.  The slam of my door did not startle him.  (Yes, I had already innately assigned this creature a gender.)  I could not drive off.  How could I?  He was staring at me.

Confident he would relocate soon, I filled the interim taking photos of the praying mantis.  The flash on my cellphone camera did startle the little guy, and he started to move.  Walking slowly.  Gingerly he assessed the changing surfaces as he unsteadily crept on the long slender legs that were seemingly inappropriate for his lengthy body.  Remembering my camera tucked under the seat, the photos continued.  Minutes passed, as did cars and people through the parking lot, wondering what the lady in the lime green Kia kept flashing photos of, for there was nothing apparent that could be worthy of over 100 photo flashes.  But there was something worthy.

 

The praying mantis watched me, his eyes followed me as my camera followed him.  We were connected, as if he understood I was would not drive off and disrupt his perch; and he would not take flight and disrupt my awe of him.  Communication need not be verbal because the eyes, even those of varying species, hold the ability to share emotion and thoughts.

 

 

 

 

The parking lot was now empty, the store having been closed for over 45 minutes.  The camera and cellphone flashes had been continuous for almost an hour and fear set in that someone may call the police.  Our time together had been chronicled by the changed appearance of the moon, the full moon that had lured me out this evening and prompted our encounter.

 

 

Reluctantly I put away the camera and phone, got into my car and ever so slowly drove the short distance to Wal-Mart, worrying the entire way about the welfare of the praying mantis.  Upon arrival, I jumped out of the car and saw he was no longer on the car roof, saddened, I reached to get my purse.  And then, my heart quickened, for there he was, tightly grasping my Soul's antenna.  He was distressed, but we hadn't said good-bye.

 

Quickly, I snapped a photo, unbeknownst to me, the last picture I would get of him and then he took flight.  In the light of the full moon and the glow parking lot lights, his large body and expansive wings circled, looking part dragonfly and part fairy.  To the curiosity of those around me, camera pointed to the deceptively empty night heavens, I snapped photos of his ethereal flight, feeling a deep sense of loss.  None of the photos of his departure showed anything but darkness.  It was as if I was to remember our encounter, but not our good-bye.



 

Pained that our happenstance had ended, I sought solace.  On my phone I searched the web for the symbolism of the praying mantis and found the following:

 

 

Each trait listed, I had experienced this evening.  I had been in a hurry, he brought me patience and piqued my awareness.  The hour in the parking lot, under the full moon, in the evening air, had provided me with stillness and mindfulness.  And the numerous photos of the praying mantis calmed and balanced my soul as my need for creativity was fulfilled by my attempts to capture the experience visually and ultimately with these words.

 

The words of Carl Jung have always resonated in my mind as his philosophy and thoughts are succinct in their brevity.  This evening, magic happened, and it culminated in finding the quote below online.  Thank you for a most memorable evening dear praying mantis and once again Carl Jung for clarity.

 



 

 

 



Day At The Races

The Vice President of our department announced a couple of weeks ago that we were getting  a half day off on the 24th to go to the horse races in Saratoga.

Today is the 24th - so I packed up my sunglasses and sun hat, and more importantly "bucked up" my chin for a much dreaded day in crowds and heat and traffic.  None of these being words descriptive of my kind of fun.

I arrived at the office as we were instructed to "make a showing" and the feeling in the department was not usual, almost prickly with with buzzing electrical impulses.  Slowly, these impulses took on a form, occurrences, realities.

• The President of our professional staff union resigned his officer position so he would be eligible to apply for a coveted position that is opening up in September. 
• One of two police officers shot this weekend is the brother of a much loved co-worker.

The mother of another co-worker has been hospitalized twice in less than a week for complications of cancer/cancer treatment just weeks before a long awaited family wedding.

ENOUGH!   A day at the races is starting to seem more appealing. Off To The Races !!

The reserved picnic tables were in the shade with a brisk  breeze passing through with dependable regularity.  The Monday attendance was minimal leaving many nearby tables empty so our group could spread out and parking was an easy task. Advance planning meant a pleasant, uninterrupted cruise up and down the Northway.

And best of all, T.W. was able to laugh and temporarily get away from the stress of thinking about her brother in the hospital recovering from his gunshot wound, yet knowing he is on his way to a full recovery.  And a woman I work for brought all vegan food for me, and we chuckled as we watched our co-workers unwittingly devour the tofu dips ... which they obviously mistook for sour cream based deliciousness.   

No heat, no crowds, no traffic made for a unexpectedly pleasant day.  

"The Alchemist"

I read The Alchemist two days ago that a co-worker suggested it from her reading list.  The ensuing wait list at the library was lengthy, an indication of popularity, though not always merit. The book proved to be an easy read, albeit being abundant with thought provoking phrases and quotes that immediately distracted the reader into streaming thoughts of self-awareness and self-analysis.

"The Alchemist " has garnered many devotees on the web, each proclaiming their favorite passage or quote ~ the words that spoke personally to them.  As I read site after site of reader revelations, I am filled with wonder and curiosity that my favorite passage is rarely among those referred to.  Am I that unique?  (Ah yes, but we already know that. )

Personality quizzes I have taken online have come to the following conclusions about my inner workings; highly accurate conclusions I might add:

Each of these veritable descriptions of my personality traits exudes a lust for knowledge and life; passion for my pursuits; and a fearlessness that frequently gives rise to impulsiveness.  And despite my reputed boldness, frequently bordering on rudeness, people are attracted to me and fascinated by the brash woman I am.  It is this particular combination of individual characteristics that left me mesmerized by one, only one passage in this entire book abundant with philosophies.

“There was a language in the world that everyone understood, a language the boy had used throughout the time that he was trying to improve things at the shop. It was the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.”

                                                                   ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

These words, dear reader, we're written for me.

Author's Note:  It cannot go without notice that the three blocks of genuine "personality analyses" included in this post were obtained by completing questionnaires online.  "Click, click, select, select, ENTER" and before the eyes, an inanimate computer can quickly spew out descriptive passages describing in accurate detail (assuming you provided accurate data) the person you are, an individual who took decades to evolve.

One Day It Rained

The thunder and lightening of last week have subsided, but before withdrawing, I have been reminded  ...

Tuesday, May 29th, 2012 was a day of extremes and a day of change.  A day to that will revisit each time the weather turns dark and turbulent, very dark, very turbulent and wet.

The morning started out quite muggy with high humidty and high temperatures, resulting in a heat index of 97 degrees by noon.  Just before 5PM, the end of the work day, the sky became dark and ominous.  The radio emergency broadcast system warned of heavy rains, hail and tornado watches. 

Leaving work, I hoped to get to the parking lot before the clouds broke open ... but the torrential rains started and I arrived at my car drenched and freezing cold, when moments earlier heat had been the demon. I remember as a child being told that "an umbrella is merely a lightening rod during a thunderstorm" and this storm was so violent I dared not put to test the warnings from my youth.

The drive home was arduous with deep water on many roads.  Poor visibility through the grey rivers of water streaming down the windshield made for a white knuckle ride home.  It was a very long 2.3 miles.

As I pulled onto my street, I was welcomed by the lull after the storm. And shortly after the lull, the sky a magnificent, rich blue was gracefully sliced in two by a vivid double rainbow. Sirens blared in the near distance, but thankfully my little home had been mercifully spared.

Little did I know, those sirens would touch me. Prior to the storm ravaging through town, a different kind of turbulence had passed through, visited two homes and changed lives forever, including mine. A couple of my dearest friends arrived home from work after having safely navigated the rain, only to be met with a tempest far more devastating. They were not safe. Death had visited one home hours before, leaving no witness to tell of the mortal soul's last moments.  The second home was struck a disabling blow that would lead to a downward spiral of well-being that is still continuing now, three years later.

Whenever storm clouds darken the sky and break open to drench and saturate, I am reminded of that day.  Each turbulent rain is a reminder, ripping open the wounds.  Yet each new assault liberates some of the heartache created on that particular May 29th, and the rain becomes a catharsis.

Can one ever be completely freed from a loss?  Loss of time with someone. Loss of time being whole. Loss of ever feeling safe from fate.

23 Centuries Ago, Epicurus Got It Right

Truth ....

"In the Jungle, The Mighty Jungle, The Lion Sleeps Tonight ..."

The lion is not sleeping tonight. The lion, Cecil, is dead.

I do not know all of the particulars surrounding his tortured demise, because I cannot force myself to learn more of the details than I already know. Details that would haunt me as my mind tried to wrap itself around the cruelty and senselessness of the entire scenario of "money buying pleasure." PLEASURE. Apparently, a common pastime of the rich, trophy hunting, occurs far more frequently than most people realized, at least until now that is.

The death of Cecil has reminded me:

• The news media and social media have the power to sensationalize or neutralize stories/events
• Depending on the news on the particular day, humans will or will not latch on to a story, relevance being secondary to prevalence - how prevalent major news stories are on any given day
• People in many countries gravitated to the plight of this beautiful creature and his cruel, senseless killing because it struck an emotional cord, embroiling a fresh topic not frequently written about
• These people, these citizens, unified - igniting emotion in others, strangers, one person at a time and ultimately this unification created one loud voice
• This one loud voice used the freedom of speech, utilized the democratic processes, petitioned lawmakers and government agencies, engaged the power of consumer spending to send a message to businesses, corporations, organizations - a very loud message, that such acts of senseless cruelty against wildlife would not be tolerated.
• If the message is kept alive, if the momentum is not allowed to dwindle, we will see change - change of a magnitude in direct proportion to the volume of that unified voice.

All for a magnificent, previously unknown lion.

There is horrific social injustice in this world. People, as exhibited with Cecil, are mindful that there is power in social media, power in numbers, power in one unified voice, power to create change. People became a voice for a lion. Then why have these humans, who are able, not become a voice for the millions and millions of souls, human and creature, who live in unspeakable states of suffering?

Once again, the death of Cecil has reminded me:

Humans have the power to create positive change in this world, but humans, as a race, are selfish.

In the jungle, this mighty jungle (of a world), do not let the lion (in you) sleep tonight.  Lift up your voice and ROAR about the suffering, ROAR to unify one person at a time, and together we humans can create change in this world.

In memory of Cecil.