Saturday, December 21, 2019

Solstice Day

I woke in the darkness this morning, and before my eyes were even all the way open I could feel the shifting energy of the approaching Solstice. This is the shortest day of the year before the return of the Light and there is a thread of expectent delight weaving itself through everything I move through today. 
I sat in the darkness of the living room for a couple of hours; I did some meditation, my morning prayers, an internal inventory, and then I just listened to Rhodes breathing down the hall, and to the Cottage breathing all around me. 
Although it is cloudy here today, I longed to be out of doors, so I lured my adventure partner out of our warm bed and down the road, seeking. We had a brilliant adventure, sharing views, conversation, music, and a thermos mug of hot mint tea. The Sun, Himself, made a few appearances through thinning cloud cover; bright and brilliant and confident as ever in His ability to shine. 
When Rhodes and I finally wound our way back down the road and home we went for a walk around the Cottage grounds, checking the plants and trees and our plans for the future. I was amused to learn that we have the same plan to build a rock seating wall around the Eastern Red Cedar in the North yard sometime down the road. 
This afternoon I am kitchen witching in the sweetest way, filling the house with memories and love of my Mom, my Grandmother, and the Great Gramma Lewis I don't remember at all. It is her sugar cookie recipe that made one of the most magical parts of the Christmas holiday happen in my Mother's kitchen and at the dining room table.
I don't think it is a secret that my mother was not a very good cook. Whether she was locked into simplicity by the demands of feeding seven children, or had no interest in culinary exploration, family legend says (and my mother herself confirmed this) that when she and my father first married she actually burned a pan when trying to boil water. I don't recall things improving much over the course of my childhood.
But Christmas cookies? Oh, man, that was her shining time of year. I have no recollection of how many batches of cookies she made, but during my early years the list was always the same: mincemeat cookies, pumpkin cookies, oatmeal cookies, peanut butter cookies (always pressed so prettily with a fork to make a cross-hatch!), chocolate chip cookies, and sugar cookies (rolled and cut with cookie cutters into stockings, stars, trees, angels, and santas).
She made so many cookies at one time that she mixed the cookie dough in her biggest cooking pot, and I can remember the first time I was allowed to help. I had to sit on our wooden high chair with no tray on it at the kitchen counter because I couldn't reach. She taught me how to use a spoon to cream the sugar into the shortening, and let me find out on my own just exactly how nasty vanilla extract tastes right out of the bottle. My favorite part of the making was using the flour sifter. She helped me to carefully measure the flour into the sifter, and then had to help me turn the little crank handle because I couldn't get it started myself. I was fascinated by that process, and when she said we had to do that two more times I was excited.
I don't know how she had the patience, or even the time, to teach me to set the sifter into another bowl, and carefully scoop the once sifted flour back into it; then repeating the process again with the other dry ingredients added. "Go slow. Go slow, or it will fly all over the place." And she laughed at me the first time that it did.
I don't remember actually doing so, but I know we were allowed to help decorate the sugar cookies. If we all participated, that would have been 7 kids turned loose with colored frosting and sprinkles and cinnamon red hots (I do remember that I loved to press those into warm sugar cookies, they looked so pretty) and some years those really pretty little silver balls.
I'm setting the stage for that magic today, baking Gramma Lewis' sugar cookies to decorate with Katie, Justin, and Emily tomorrow. I'll make the icing in the morning, and the bottles of sprinkles will be all lined up and ready to go. 
If you find yourself in need of a real sugar cookie this holiday season, come on by. I'm happy to share the magic!
Solstice blessings to you, my family and friends! May the returning Sun warm your body as it warms the body of the earth, and may the returning light fill your heart and spirit with joy and hope. Blessed be!

Sunday, December 15, 2019

The Road Home

Have you ever been on a long journey and then found that the road home leads you back to some place new? Some of the old familiar and certain things are there, but they are different in ways it will take a while to determine.

I just stepped outside to say goodnight to the Moon. The sky is covered with fast moving clouds tonight and I did not think I would see Her. The moment I moved to the top of the steps,hands on the porch posts, head and eyes raised to the sky, the clouds shifted; Her shimmering nightrobe parted and I caught a glimpse of her silver golden self, still nearly full and gorgeous and luscious. Still familiar and certain, yet somehow different. She and I have both been traveling, and getting reacquainted is a dear, sweet process.

Something about the quality of light reminded me of my last December in New York, and an afternoon and evening when I wandered for hours through the snow. I visited many childhood haunts and many childhood memories. These lions were a last stop on that adventure. I hope I find them in my dreams tonight; a last stop on this day's adventures.

What childhood magics do you carry with you, talismans of safety as you journey through life?




Thursday, December 12, 2019

Sweet Journey

I have been writing tonight, revisiting the concept of smooring. Such a lovely Scottish word, and such a lovely action whether it be a hearth fire or a candle to be smoored.
I am grateful for all the wise and powerful Witches and women who have shared knowledge with me over the years. It can be a tricky thing to be a mostly solitary practitioner but still build ties to community. I have been blessed.
Are you growing weary of these dark days? Hold fast, my friends. Solstice draws nigh.
Good night, peeps. May your dreams be soft tonight, and your sleep a sweet journey to morning.


Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Not Your Mother's Table


THAT IS NOT YOUR MOTHER'S TABLE

I bet you all thought I was going to forget to remind you of this, this year.
Wrong! Some parts of me are with it and balanced.

So, without further ado: Holiday guilt-free pass.

I have a dear friend who suffers from debilitating anxiety. She posted a meme that asks people to understand how difficult the holidays can be for people who have anxiety, and described some of the ways in which they struggle.

I add to that this request: please be kind and understanding about the schedules of your family and friends, especially when it comes to your adult children. More than kind and understanding, please also be generous enough to be the person who gives them the gift of a guilt-free pass.

Balancing the holiday demands of multiple families can be a nightmare, especially if those families all insist on sharing a meal or even time together on the same day. Rushing from one gathering to the next makes for an exhausting day filled with stressful expectations.

Guilt-free pass: "Hey, I know the holidays can be crazy. Don't worry about Thanksgiving Day here (or Yule, or Christmas, or Hanukkah). Let's plan something around your schedule. And by the way - this is a GUILT FREE PASS. I love you."

Saturday afternoon dinner or dessert, or Sunday brunch or Wednesday night sandwiches and chips, when everyone is relaxed and happy, can be every bit the holiday you make it in your head and heart, especially if it is all about the love and being thankful.




Saturday, November 23, 2019

Morning Routine

I am out of bed early these days, whether or not I have slept. I am re-learning the power of being true to my body's natural rhythms; for me that includes being up and productive before sunrise. My creative energy flows best in the early hours, and I love the inherent promises imbedded in the arrival of each new day.

I've just been outside to greet the rising Sun. Today He is dressed in long gray robes that flow down from the sky to drape the mountains that surround me. The rain that is falling is cold on my skin; the jellycoat I love to wear for warmth is not exactly water repellent but I have never minded the rain.

There is enough of a breeze to blow the rain onto our narrow front porch and to cause the rain chains to sway in a little morning dance, and I find myself moving with them in the soft ages-old dance of every woman who has ever held a child on her hip. I love the plink-plink-plink sound of water flowing down the chains, through the lotus cups, and down the chains again. I settle into one of the front porch chairs, my hands and fingers kept warm by my favorite mug holding my currently favorite tea.

It would be easy in this time of year to forget about the land that holds the Cottage and focus on indoor projects only. Days are often cold and wet; going outside often requires bundling up and putting on my wellies. Most green things are tucked away for the cold and dark days, held safe in the body of the Mother where she will either consume or nourish them, so it seems like there wouldn't be much to see. But the getting acquainted with my land and the land spirits who dwell here doesn't stop with the turning of the seasons; neither does growing a relationship nor educating myself about the terra, flora, and fauna for which I have accepted stewardship. Rising before dawn, the first cup of tea, going outside to walk the land or breath fresh air, to check in with the land as I start my day - these things are part of the routine that are necessary to my healing journey.

On this soft gray morning I watch the way the water runs down our driveway. I see where it cuts across the stones into the Cottage Garden and note that I will have to consult my Chief Engineer about doing something to re-route it there. I carry my mug to the end of the porch and stand leaning against the railing, watching to see how the water moves around the lavender bed and I am content with the dispersed flow through the river rocks piled there. The statue of three little bears makes me smile, as it always does. I affirm our plan to put a rain barrel in under the downspout on the corner of the North Wing, and make a note to check out the South and back yards for rain barrel placement as well. Creating plans for the future helps me to feel grounded in the Here and Now.

I move back to the other end of the porch to sit for a while longer, and am pleased to hear the morning bird chorus start its song. First one, then another, then another joins in. They call back and forth to each other as they work to sing the Sun into the sky. From where I sit, the plink-plink sounds of the rain chain provide an under-rhythm to the combined sounds of falling rain and bird song. In this moment, everything feels right. I carry the fluid grace and soft energy of this day into the house with me, back to my desk, and into my healing process.

Peace out, people.











Saturday, November 16, 2019

The Winter of My Soul

Funny how long it takes to settle things in a home. In the moving-in process it was necessary to dump all of my stuff - writing materials, books, paintings and paint supplies, craft materials and materia magicae (sorry, Mr. Gray! 37 years out of Latin classes with you and I just don't remember as well as I should!) - onto the surface of the repurposed kitchen table which is now my desk, and envision it all perfect in just a week or two. In reality, although it has been functional for a while now, it took five months to get everything in just the right place.

Earlier this week I was doing the final sorting out, prompted by the need to create an easily accessible morning altar space. This process included going through an impressive stack of notebooks and journals and, because I have lost the ability to stay on task, I found myself reading through each one of them. At the bottom of the stack I found the journal I started when I realized I was in the Winter of My Soul.

Nearly two years ago, close to the end of the first year of life without my youngest daughter in this world, I wrote about wishing I could take a sabbatical for six months or a year. Mostly, I said, I wanted to get away and rest and renew my spirit. I wrote these words:

     "I have alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow          down, cannot move fast enough..."

I tried for a while to turn inward with the season. I tried to tend to my own needs, my own healing. I was successful for a short time, but then I let life get in the way. I allowed the expectations and distraction of other people and society to turn me away from dealing with the grief that threatened to consume me. In doing so I shut down all awareness that it was wearing away at me from the inside out.

Events in my life in the past year stripped away all those distractions, and those of you who know me best probably know that I severed the ties of expectations and obligation. While those life changes were immensely liberating and have opened doors of opportunity, they have left me standing face-to-face with the grief that is still raw in wounds that are wide open. This has not been an easy journey, and it is nowhere near complete. I have once again alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow down, cannot move fast enough.

A couple of weeks ago I made the decision to follow the seasons in the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, and to turn more deeply inward than I have ever done. To the marrow of my bones I know that it is the right thing for me to do.

When I found that journal yesterday I rediscovered a writing that woke a truth within me the first time I read it, and I read it out loud again as a prayer:

     "When winter comes to a woman's soul, she withdraws into her inner self, her deepest spaces. She refuses all connection, refutes all arguments that she should engage in the world. She may say she is resting, but she is more than resting: She is creating a new universe within herself, examining and breaking old patterns, destroying what should not be revived, feeding in secret what needs to thrive." ~ Patricia Monaghan, Season of the Witch

It is time for me to embrace that truth, and to live in each moment of this season. Self-aware, self-exploring, healing, learning, and turned as deeply inward as I can possibly go. I do not fear the darkness anymore than I fear the light.

I am living The Winter of My Soul.


Thursday, September 26, 2019

Magical Monarchs

Rhodes and I share interest in many things, but gardening, in general, is not one of them. He listens when I talk about garden plans (English style cottage garden is the BIG thing on the list!), and offers input when I ask, but pretty much leaves the garden plans to me and my dreams. Well, giving credit where credit is due, he also provides labor and project work, too! 

One of the few exceptions to this state of affairs is our mutual desire to create as much pollinator friendly space on our small property as we possibly can. More specific than that, we have a plan to put in several beds of Milkweed (Asclepias spp.) to hopefully draw Monarch butterflies to our yard.

It might seem a little odd to be talking about butterflies in early Autumn, but this is one of the best times of the year to see Monarch butterflies as their annual migration takes them through this area. We would both be deliriously happy to actually see that event taking place. 
https://www.blackmountainnews.com/story/life/2019/09/25/events-focus-monarch-butterfly-migration-through-swannanoa-valley/2369940001/?fbclid=IwAR2nmd_tA5k32rQWZhQi4LQsdruK2S-rv8MS2_DaQC6s0ha1PQA0_x_7IHE

I was writing earlier today when Rhodes called to me from his convalescent post in the living room. I swear the man has eagle eyes; he can ID a bird from a hundred yards. Anyway, the front door was open and he had a clear view of the sunflowers in the front garden, and had spotted a single Monarch taking a meal from the sticky-sweet flower heads.

Another magical moment brought to us by the Cottage. I was enchanted and delighted and thought the experience could not possibly be any better, until my new friend flew around to the far side of the flowers, alighted, and opened his wings to be illuminated by sunlight. Stained glass windows have nothing on this natural beauty.

I'm going to sleep tonight counting tiny, fiery, gorgeous butterflies dancing across red and yellow flowers. So long sheep!

Good night, peeps. Sleep sweetly!

~sb






Monday, September 23, 2019

The Autumn Equinox - Balance in All Things


I am an intuitive person, and as a writer and a spiritual practitioner I have long embraced that aspect of myself. Intuition carries me to the deepest, most magical, brightest, darkest places of thought and emotion and connection in my life. It connects me to my muses, to my Divines, to the people and places I most love. It is my strongest protection, the internal compass that guides me along paths both troubled and happy.
Somehow, in the past year, I have been living Harry Dresden moments. Somehow, in the past year, some Thing dropped a rock wall between my Spirit/Mind and my Intuition. Somehow, despite the hours of therapy and hours of consult and hours of conversation with friends, I could not see that rock wall. It has been crumbling for a while, and occasionally the light breaks through, but I just didn’t realize that it was there. (Side note to catch you up if you need it: No Dresden spoilers here, if you haven’t read the books yet, but the rock wall dropping Thing in my life was simply the ultimate realization of Grief.)
Not long after I woke this morning, I went out on the porch to greet the rising Sun on this holy day of Mabon, the Autumn Equinox. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the warm touch of sunlight, relaxing into a soft meditation. When I opened my eyes again the first thing I noticed was the shining little rows of dewdrops lining the porch railing. My eyes moved from there to the row of sunflowers in front of me, and I noticed how brilliant their color is with the morning sun shining through them. I saw the dew glistening on their leaves, and then I noticed the same with the tall standing corn. Those long green leaves were covered with dew, and as my eyes moved up the stalks, I saw dew drops on the tips of the silks, and even on the tassels.

I was simply enjoying this visual nature show at face value, which would have been a marvelous start to my day. Then the bird chorus started their song, singing the Sun into the sky with their rising chorus. My ears woke up then, and I heard the oddest background rhythm; it was the steady plink, plink, plink sound of dripping water. I wondered if the hose was leaking, and as I stood to look over the edge of railing into the South yard, the rain chain caught my attention.
The dew this morning was so heavy that it was pooling in the flower-shaped cups of the rain chain. I sat back down and watched with delight as fat, round droplets of water ran down the copper lines of the chain, catching diamond points of light from the Sun.
It was magical. It was magical and it woke something inside me; it pushed another section of that rock wall over and next thing I knew I was inside getting a bottle to harvest the Equinox dew. I tried catching it out of the copper cups but just couldn’t get it. My eyes wandered back to the broad, smooth surface of the corn stalk leaves, and then the rest of me wandered that way as well, down the steps and around the corner until I was standing in front of the corn. I did manage to get a few drops of dew into the bottle, but I knew in that moment that was not really what I was supposed to be doing and I put the bottle into my pocket.
My feet were on the Earth on this Holy Day. I closed my eyes and grounded myself deeply, until I felt the roots of my being mingling with the roots of the corn, and the roots of the sunflowers, and the roots of the Loblolly Pine standing tall in the yard. I used my hands to gather the dew from the leaves of the corn plant, and as I did that a soft breeze went by. A favorite ritual song played through my mind in that moment, and I smiled. Earth my body…Water my blood…Air my breath and Fire my spirit. The corn tassels are tall above me, so I was looking at the Sun through those waving tresses as I raised my eyes to the light once more. I washed my face in the Mabon dew; not seeking beauty as one does with the May but washing myself with Balance as I move into the introspective time that lies ahead.
Autumn has been my favorite season for as long as I can remember, but in the last years of my daughter’s life every Autumn came with a sense of foreboding. This year the ghost of that dread is finally gone; those shadows laid to rest. This year every leaf that I watch fall will represent a healthy letting go; the normal cycle of life and death, beginnings and endings. I am ready to immerse myself in the work of these darkling days, holding a sense of peace rather than uncertainty.
The harvest continues in earnest; gathering in that which is ripe and full, and storing aspects for the future. The days ahead are a time for introspection and preparation for growth. Take with you what you need and leave behind that which no longer sustains you. It is a fine balance point, methinks, to learn that once we let go of something it still serves a purpose. Food for the fish. Mulch for own personal growth. Leaves on the ground; stalks in the field - it all serves to nourish the body eventually.
Do something you love. Spend time in a favorite place. Try something new. Learn something new. Adventure under the sun. Adventure by the light of the stars. Howl at the moon. Let the Autumn sunlight kiss your face. Create something. Let go of something. Shatter something that no longer adds value to your life. Spend time with people who make you happy. Deepen your relationship with your Divine. Take time to share a meal with others. Share kindness with strangers. Share kindness with yourself.
Be fully present in your life.
I can hear the busy chirping calls of the Golden Finches as they enjoy the harvest of sunflower seeds in the front gardens. Another smile in my day. Time for me to step away from my desk and continue to be present in other areas of my life.

Blessed Mabon, my friends. May you find your blessings equally in the light and darkness on this Autumn Equinox.

Monday, September 9, 2019

Rolling Towards Autumn's Sweet, Sweet Days

I grew up watching the Waltons on television, swept up in the romantacized story of a large extended family sharing a home. Of course there were conflicts, but they were always resolved by the time the "Good night Momma, good night Daddy, good night John Boy" closing lines rolled around.

My great-grandfather LaPorte lived with us for a time when I was small. I don't know how long he stayed with us, but I have lovely memories of him, and I associate his presence in our home with happy things.

Twice as an adult I moved in with my parents. Multiple times my adult children moved in with me. I am not a stranger to the concept of family sharing a home, and it is one that makes sense to me in many ways.

When my husband's mother died four years ago, we began to discuss the possibility of asking his father if he would like to live with us. I think we were mostly concerned that he would be lonely on his own. We talked it through many times, but never brought it up with Larry because we didn't think he'd want to leave the last home he had shared with Jan. He is in good health, and very active in his church and other community groups. When we told him that we were going to leave the Mountain and hoped to buy a home, he surprised us when he suggested that we look for something with an in-law apartment. Because Rhodes and I had discussed it so often, we were ready to make the adjustment to having Larry live with us, but we weren't certain that he had thought it through. We waited a few days, then talked with him to make sure we all had the same expectations, that we would all be open about communicating needs and issues, and that he really wanted to make such a big change.

The biggest concern that this dear man had was that his laundry schedule not be interrupted. Monday, he said, was laundry day. Rhodes and I just laughed. Of course he could have his laundry day! (Which has since been switched to Wednesdays, because why not?)

I miss my parents every day, and I am so aware of what a blessing it is for us to be able to have this time with Larry; for Rhodes to have so much extra time with his Dad. We all have our own space if we need or want it, but we often watch television together, and share evening meals almost every night. On days when our schedules mesh, we sometimes have breakfast or lunch. Rhodes and I enjoy it when Larry wanders into our side of the house just to talk, and I love listening to the two of them laughing and talking together.

There is an extra sweetness to these days, an awareness of Autumn approaching in the normal cycle of the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, but also in the spinning of the wheels of our lives. I can close my eyes and see the pattern as the days weave the deepening colors of Autumn into a cloak that I can pull around me for shelter and warmth when needs must.



Living with an attitude of gratitude, and counting this adorable Elder as a special blessing in my life.



Peace out, peeps, and Blessed Be.

~sheri

Tuesday, September 3, 2019

These Years Later - Ray Barker

I try to keep an awareness of this date as it draws near, with the intention that mindfulness will keep me from being ambushed. Silly me.
Today is the anniversary date of my father's death; four days from now will mark the day that was his birthday in this lifetime. He has been gone from this world 12 years now, and I am still getting to know him. I am closer to answers, perhaps, in a "Shaka, when the walls fell" kind of way, but I suspect it will take a lifetime of musing to make any real progress. And when I finally know all the truths I need to know, they will no longer matter.
I have spent the morning lazily immersed in memories, photos, and old writings about my dad, both in this world and dream visits in the other. They are real and surreal, quiet and intense, rabbit hole and Summerlands, sometimes all at once.
In one of my old dreams, I could hear my parents talking in their coffee-at-the-dining-room-table voices. I was walking a perfectly shoveled path (a theme in many such dreams, and a Ray Barker art form) through the snowy woods, and I called to them but they didn't answer. I thought I was getting closer because the trees were thinning out and the light was getting brighter. I finally stepped out of the woods and found myself on an Adirondack lake shore, with Autumn all around instead of winter. There was a picnic table with their coffee cups, and a box of plain cake donuts. On the table, next to Dad's cup, there was also a copy of the poem I wrote a few years. It was held down by a piece of beach glass. I sat down at the table, looking out over the water, soaking up the beauty of the place when I heard Dad call my name from a distance. There they were, far out on the water in an old style canoe, sunlight dancing on the water all around them. They both waved to me before turning the canoe and paddling away.
I still miss him every day. 
See you in our beloved North Country, Pops.


Peace out, peeps.
~sheri


These years later

I mimic the mystic they and say

"It doesn't get any easier." But truth be told, as was your wont,

Your death brought a storm of grief and fury

So thorough and unrelenting
That over time it smoothed the edges
Of the pain of your loss until it became
A piece of beach glass, tossed and
tumbled by rough seas.
I can hold it now, sometimes,
Turning it in my fingers,
Feeling the beauty of your life
Without the cutting edges. ~s. barker 2015

Baby Ray - photo taken by his father, Raymond C. Barker, Sr.

Punk looking Ray, which goes with what I know of his life.

Dad on the left, with his mother and brothers. I am grateful for the healing that took place between them.

Dad with the love of his life.

I wish I'd done a better job with this picture. Camera issues, and a cigarette haze filled house. Dad with his sons. I wonder what he thinks of who they have become.

Saturday, August 31, 2019

Overdose Awareness Day~

Today was Overdose Awareness Day. I don't really acknowledge it, in part because it is just too much, and in part because it is my oldest son's birthday and I would rather focus on that. 
I am really proud of the people I know who are active in recovery communities and in promoting harm reduction. Someday I'd like to be back in a space where it is healthy for me to participate in those types of programs and events, but right now I just can't do it.

Addiction is a horrible disease of its own right, but is often also a symptom of other mental illnesses. It is a thief that steals away precious memories, precious time, and precious life.
If you know someone who is struggling with addiction, please encourage them to seek help. Please let them know that they are loved. If you don't know how to help them, reach out to the people or agencies in your community who do. And if you don't know how to do that, reach out to me and I will help you figure it out. We are all in this together.
Peace out, peeps. 
~sheri

Friday, August 30, 2019

The Gone Befores Wall

Wednesday night I found myself home alone for the first time in a while. I puttered around a bit, still working on clearing out the Guest Room, but I finally gave in to the pull of the night and went and sat on the front steps. 

The night-time light is different here in little suburbia than in the forest, of course. The stars don't seem as bright but I can see the clouds without them having to cross the path of the Moon in order to have shape. There are many more human created noises, but the voices of the land and nature speak to me as they have always done. 

Ahhhht. I know I just wrote that, and I don't want to erase it, but I have to amend it to acknowledge that my connection with the Cottage has changed the way I hear those voices. I feel more deeply grounded, more rooted, more connected, and it seems to me that the voices speak more clearly than ever before in any place other than my beloved Adirondacks. I am having the same experience with my connection to my Gone Befores in a way that is somewhat different from the normal change in that connection at this time of year. 

I listened to the night for a while, letting it sink into my bones and my being. As I often do, I talked to the plants and trees, telling them how beautiful they are and how much I admire and appreciate their effort and determination. The sunflowers nodded their heads at me and the leaves of the corn plants whispered softly. I had a conversation with Bear Spirit, acknowledging the turning of the Wheel of the Year towards Autumn, and asking Him to continue to protect and bless us all. I could feel the weight of His presence in the ether around me, and was comforted.

At one point I took a deep breath of night air, then sighed. Without knowing that I was going to do it, I began to lullaby the Cottage and her land. I was a little surprised by the song, but it felt right, and I sang these words that I first learned at Samhain Ritual with Mother Grove. The song is called Hold Me:

Hold me, hold me, never let me go.
Hold me like the leaves on the ends of the branches.
And when I die let me fly, let me fly
Through the air like the leaves when they're falling.

Hold me, hold me, never let me go.
Hold me like the stars in the sky high above me.
And when I die let me fly, let me fly
Through the sky like the stars when they're falling. 

In our home we have an Ancestor Altar and a Gone Befores wall where we keep photos and mementos of those who have moved on. As I was sitting on the front steps that wall was through the door and directly behind me. While I was singing I could feel the gentle weight of love and power of all those Gone Befores, even those not represented on the wall, as if they were reminding me that they have my back. Reminding me that they are here for me, even now, even if they were not in this lifetime.


Their presence and the night sounds carried me to another song, one that touches my spirit and always brings comfort. It also brings humor and laughter when applied to certain Gone Befores and their insistence on shining through in funny ways. The musicians are Sweet Honey in the Rock, and the song is called Breaths.
Chorus:
Listen more often to things than to beings
Listen more often to things than to beings
'Tis the ancestors' breath when the fire's voice is heard
'Tis the ancestors' breath in the voice of the water.

Those who have died have never, never left
The dead are not under the earth
They are in the rustling trees
They are in the groaning woods
They are in the crying grass,
They are in the moaning rocks
The dead are not under the earth.

CHORUS
Those who have died have never never left.
The dead have a pact with the living.
They are in the woman's breast,
They are in the wailing child
They are with us in our homes.
They are with us in the crowd
The dead have a pact with the living.

CHORUS

You may not know that for many pagan folk this time of year, approaching and even a little after Samhain, is a time for honoring and acknowledging our ancestors. As that day draws closer I will add extra things to the altar; little gifts and treats for the Gone Befores, but for now, it is a place of remembrance, with candles and incense as we feel the need or desire.

When I add someone to the Altar I welcome them into our home. I thank them, and honor them, and then, most importantly, I set boundaries. Did you know you can do that? So many of us struggle with setting boundaries for people when they are alive in this realm, to think that we can do so after they have crossed over to another is rather mind bending. But we can!

My father-in-law gave us a portrait of his grandparents to add to the wall. When I saw it I commented that they looked like nice people. He immediately made a face, and then replied that they were not nice people at all! So, when I put their portrait on the wall I welcomed them, and then I told them that whatever they were like in their lifetime here, I am sure they are better where they are now, and that I expect them to be those better selves if they make themselves known in my home. Otherwise, they will be leaving. 

The work of healing is never easy and has many complex layers. Not so long ago I'd have probably just stared or nodded with that yeah, right look at someone who told me that healing would be somewhat easier if I could work to heal my ancestors too. Now I understand the truth of that concept at many different levels. I won't go into details here, but if you are interested in discussing this please let me know.

I have provided links below to the two songs I referenced so you may listen to them if you would like. Below those links I am going to share with you one more piece of art about the Gone Befores. It is in fact the first poem I read on this subject, and the reason I call my Gone Befores by that name. I found this poem not long after my parents died; Dad first on 9/3/07, then Mom on 3/9/08. I do love the sense of balance in those numbers. 

Tell me - what do you do to honor your Gone Befores, your beloved dead, or those dead who were not so beloved? Are you able and willing to make time and space for them in your here and now? What is honored and remembered, lives.

Peace out, peeps. I'm off to the kitchen to make some gingered honey.

Blessed be.

~Sheri

THE GONE BEFORES by Susa Silvermarie
You think they aren't in the car on either side
holding you upright while you sob and drive and wipe your tears again and sob?
Your grandmother Maria, maybe your mother's first cousin Grace.
Or your two best friends P and C who skedaddled early.
You're revolving like an owl checking the crossroads,
but someone from Before flies singing overhead.
Listen. The Gone Befores have already taken every single step
and made each sweet mistake you think is your exclusive.
You think you could travel anywhere
if they hadn't begotten you here?
You can't even eat breakfast
without someone who loves you hovering,
Over orange juice, listen up, get an inner earful.



Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Random Musings in the Late Days of Summer

The meeting I had scheduled this morning was cancelled, and I thought I'd use that time to organize my desk and the study. But here I am, pen in hand, so to speak, with my heart and head full of the kind of Random Musings I used to write.

The fog is heavy below the mountains to the south and I am so in tune with the way that Summer is moving towards Autumn that every one of my senses is full to the brim but longing for more. Loose lore around these parts says that every foggy August morning means a day of snow in the Winter. I don't know if there's any truth to that, but I do know that every foggy August morning feels like all of Nature is checking its layers for tucking in against the coming cold and darker days. This is a good feeling.

When Rhodes and I put an offer on the Cottage back in March I had the notion that we'd be completely settled in by June or July. I'd have my morning rituals established, with hot tea and journaling, then writing for a set time. I didn't hope much beyond that because that's all that seemed important. Here I am in August, still figuring out where things go in this house. Still figuring out what material items we can let go of. Still figuring out where I'm going and what I can let go of, too. This is also a good feeling.

The Cottage stands where an old farmhouse once stood, and I am deeply interested in learning the history of this land and the river valley that it is a part of. For the first time outside of the Adirondacks I am putting down roots and that is a powerful, powerful thang.

The corn, sunflowers, and squashes I planted in the rock wall garden are absolutely thriving and I am literally delighted every time I look at them. I love tending to them and seeing them as they are now, but I also have grand daydreams of an Autumn vision of the Cottage with the corn and sunflowers ready for harvest. Being able to hope and dream and see the future - more good feelings.

Hey. You know that friend you haven't heard from in a while? The one who vanished from social media? Send them a message. Go one better, if you have their mailing address, and send a card or a note, old-school. Stop letting "social media" define your connections to people you care about.

Also hey. Morning tea isn't always a steaming cuppa. Today's tea is iced raspberry rose hibiscus, sweetened with honey. I'm still holding onto Summer, actually living every moment, and that is the best feeling of all.

Peace out, peeps. Be shiny!

~sb

The Army of Little Bitty Volunteer Pumpkins

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Lemon Honey Thyme Syrup

Awoke from a lovely afternoon nap with a bit of a sore throat and cough, which are probably just allergies. I know this is back to school time for many of  you, which often kicks of germ and and flu season as well, so I thought I'd share this recipe that I've found helpful in the past couple of years. Its for a Lemon Honey Thyme Cough Syrup. Super easy to make, super yummy, and I can pronounce the names of all the ingredients.

There is a kind of mindfulness and stillness in doing this type of work. It eases my spirit and helps me ground my energy.

Yes. I'm sharing another blog page with you. Is that wrong in blogland? I don't know. But I've used this author's recipe, don't see the point in recreating it, and she certainly deserves the credit. :-)

https://www.reformationacres.com/2014/11/lemon-honey-thyme-cough-syrup-recipe.html?fbclid=IwAR2GYeLW2gjRcbzkKHr6xI--aVwU6ZpD_CxtrFqsrEBl6SLPl60wCBNYQnY


Friday, August 16, 2019

Living with Black Bears (Ursus americanus)

Living with Black Bears (Ursus americanus)

Perhaps you didn't realize it was missing, but I have found early morning again. In the post-move haze and fatigue it became too easy to plop down on the couch at 10 pm to "watch a show," and then binge watch into the wee hours. But l
ife moves on. Boxes are emptied. The brain is starting to work a little better. The television is staying off, and the phone is not used in the bedroom. Ta-da! Once again I am waking up with the rising Sun. Of course it helps that I can take a nap during the day if I need one, which only happens once or twice every day. :-) 

I love to watch the birds moving around the back yard in the early morning light. They flit around the pine tree and the yet-unidentified-by-me deciduous trees, and hop along the fence rail and along the ground, always singing and calling out to each other. There is a bunny who makes an appearance every morning now. I think he likes the shelter provided by Beth's altar just as much as the birds and butterflies like the flowers in her garden. 

Every once in a while I see the shambling movement of a Black Bear (Ursus americanus) as it makes its way along the greenway that runs beyond our tree line, about 30 feet from the bedroom window. There is a gap between the ground and the lowest hanging branches that allows me to see just the bottom of Bear legs and feet moving. Describing that visual makes me chuckle, but every time I know there is a Bear out there it makes me catch my breath. 

I have lived in Bear Country for years and have had several encounters with them. I have never ceased to be awed by their power, their beauty, and their intelligence, and when we decided to purchase this home I was thrilled to know that we would still have Bears for neighbors. Not only did our human neighbors confirm this, but the Bears let us know by leaving their, ummm, calling cards in the yard. One friend said to me "Only YOU would be happy to see bear poop!"

I don't feel threatened by the proximity of Bears; what makes me uncomfortable is the habits and behaviors of humans that change Bear behavior or cause Bears to become habituated to humans and human homes as sources of food. Rhodes and I work hard to educate ourselves (and anyone who will listen) about safe and peaceful co-existence in Bear country.

Life at the Cottage means we have gardening and lots of yard maintenance. We decided early on to place a compost pile at the back corner of our property, and I'm surprised at how quickly that pile has grown. Because we know we are living, literally, on a Bear Path, I decided to do some research about whether or not it would be safe to compost food waste.

I found this great piece published by the District of Squamish, and ran it by my favorite Bear people in the universe, the staff at Appalachian Bear Rescue 
https://appalachianbearrescue.org/ to make sure the suggestions in the Canadian article work for our Bears here in Western North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee. They were kind enough to review the information, and confirmed it as excellent and accurate.

They further emphasize the need to make sure the compost doesn't contain bear attractants and that is must be secured. "A bear's nose is exceptionally sensitive and we must remember they will eat carrion if they come across it."

Check. No meat, fish, or grease in the compost! And our personal decision is to compost fresh vegetable waste, but not fruits, as the sugary smell is just too tempting.

If you live with Bears, please be mindful about how your behavior impacts their lives. Bears who become habituated to humans and human spaces as a source of food often end up being killed. Also, if you live with Bears or just love them as much as I do, you can learn a lot about Bear behavior by following the efforts of Appalachian Bear Rescue on their wesbite or Facebook page. I am willing to bet the escapades of the cubby and yearling residents, and even the curators, will make you smile or laugh at least one time.

http://www.bearsmart.com/docs/Composting-in-Bear-Country-Squamish.pdf?fbclid=IwAR0_QencrdgOLimm5DXLuQGSV8p_u2dIwDlJoF_Dzrr44qABzZBCL_HofoU

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

Root Vegetables and the Gone Befores

Awake at 5 a.m. from a dream which had waaaaaay too many Gone Befores making guest appearances. I don't know what all their fuss was about, but something's up, people, and it disturbs me to say I have no idea what it is.

Ground yourself today, even more than normal. Take time to gather yourself and get your stuff together before you start the day. Run a systems check on yourself. Do a mental inventory. It might seem like you don't have time for that, but (1) you do; (2) it doesn't take an hour long ritual to make it happen; and (3) you will be glad you did, as it can set the way in which you process and handle everything that comes at you today.

Do it while you are drinking that morning cup of coffee or tea or water. Do it while you are brushing your teeth or making lunches.

I woke from that dream and took a deep, slow breath to center myself. I turned towards Rhodes and briefly thought of snuggling in for more sleep. He's a sweet snuggler :-) and has the body warmth of a fully stoked furnace, so its always a temptation, but there is business about this day that was calling to me.

I went to the kitchen and gathered the root vegetables for tonight's dinner casserole. I also grabbed a knife, the veg peeler, a stainless steel bowl and a cutting board. I was mindful about gathering bits of myself while I did that work, and by the time I sat at the table to start working I was already feeling in tune with myself and with this day. Of course my companion cat was very helpful!

I'm sitting on the couch as I write this, watching the sky lighten to the east over the house where our sweet neighbors Gerald and Linda live. A couple of days ago I'd have just written this in bed (because my desk is still a move-mess!) but Rhodes and I have agreed to stop using electronics in the bedroom. Talk about positive, simple life changes!

And now, I'm going to make a mug of tea, and go sit on the front steps and continue the grounding process while I listen to the birds sing the Sun up, and watch Himself respond to their call.

Good morning, peeps!



Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Dreams Coming True - Kitchen Renovations

Shortly after we made a purchase offer on the Cottage (but still had time to back out) we got a panicked call from our Realtor. He was so concerned for us he hadn’t been able to sleep. We took him to lunch to have a serious conversation, and over that meal we convinced him that we were certain about our commitment to this home. As we were leaving the restaurant, he told us in all his years of working as a Realtor, we were the first clients to sell him a house. Thanks for believing in us, Jose! 


The kitchen was so bad the cabinet doors wouldn’t open and/or were falling off, but we had a vision about what this home would become.


From vision to amazing reality. The kitchen at Bear Path Cottage is finally finished. We couldn’t be happier with how she looks. 



Saturday, August 10, 2019

Mother Love. Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Jean.

Mother Love. Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Jean.


Mother love - the most powerful and visceral proof for string theory and of the failure of time as a linear construct. Wasn't it just yesterday when I first held that quiet, preciously sweet, big blue eyed, so alert and watchful baby? And haven't a billion days and nights of love and worry and joy and pride and anguish and grief passed between that day and this one?
In human measurement, that first day with my babiest girl in this world was 31 years ago today. She was beautiful, born two weeks late in one of the hottest summers on record for central New York. Even though through most of her life she was an absolute joy to be around, she maintained her birth-established behavior and never did anything until she was ready to do it. Sometimes that served her well; other times it destroyed us all.

She became a wise and strong woman, capable of being mindful, but still able to be the joyful and vibrant person who brightened the world with her presence. She was loving and compassionate to others, even when she couldn't be to herself.

I am so grateful for all that this precious and precocious child taught me about unconditional love. 
Every year I give a great deal of thought about what I'm going to write for her birthday. Since she died I have composed a dozen different essays and written four or five poems, and not one of them tells the story the way I want it to be told. Lifelines. Doorways. Winding paths. Darkness. Absolute light. Absolute heartbreak. Absolute love.
For my Beth's 31st birthday, I am going to do my best to make the good things matter. I hope you will do the same. I'm going to spend the rest of the day potting flowers for her memorial garden. Given the history of that garden (the massive deck build of 2017), it seemed fitting to wait until her birthday this year to put the altar and garden in place at Bearpath Cottage. 

~~
Some things my mother heart wants you to know:
Write love notes and put them in your kids' lunches. Take the time to read the bedtime story for the 3rd time when she asks you to, even if she can recite the words along with you long before she can read. Snuggle as often as you can. Listen to his music even when you cannot stand it so that you can talk to him about something that he loves. You cannot spoil a baby by holding him when he cries. Let your child know that holding hands with people that you love is okay, no matter how old you are or what gender. Take pictures. Write a journal. Play with playdough and finger paints and bubbles. Sidewalk chalk is good for everyone. Play hide and seek in the yard after dark. Teach your children about fireflies and faeries. Never let your child think, even for one second, that your love for him or her is anything less than unconditional.
~~
When Beth was a baby, she would take my face between her hands and pull my face close to hers, always in this forehead to forehead position. Then she would say in this funny, nasal tone, "look at meeeeeee cloooooose-lllllyyyyyyy." I never did figure out where that came from, but it was an endearing gesture repeated throughout her life. Rhodes took this photo when we took Beth on a picnic supper while she was in recovery at Cornerstone in 2014. It was the night she shared her process poster with us.
Look at me closely, Elizabeth Jean, and see how much I love you! Happy birthday to you, my beloved daughter.