Monthly Archives: June 2009

Thoughts on relationships

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Warning: deep subject ahead. Please use caution and keep young children away from the edges.

I receive a number of emails related to positive thought. One of today’s emails mentioned the idea of being “right” in a relationship, and that in a higher vibration, the ego doesn’t need such a validation. What is more important is to allow relationships to be harmonious and balanced.

This struck a chord with me. Some who know me don’t quite understand me when I say “it’s their stuff” when referring to the way someone may have reacted or contributed to a situation. For me, a person’s action or reaction, even though it is directed at me, may not have anything to do with what is really going on. Sometimes, humans have “knee-jerk” reactions out of habit or because they may have triggered past hurts. I know I have done this. Hopefully, I am getting better at recognizing it and dealing with my own stuff.

The sitcom, “Everybody Loves Raymond” had an episode where Raymond and Deborah have a fight over a can opener. They are both seen explaining the fight to others, and their viewpoints are very different – and in the end, it isn’t really about the can opener.

People come into our lives for a reason. Each one of them offers something – a lesson, a story, a helping hand…we don’t always know the reason. Being angry is (in my opinion) a waste of energy. If we can understand that we can connect with each other despite our differences of opinion, that shortcomings may not be “about us,” but merely lessons the other person is going through (or lessons we need to learn), we can enjoy and appreciate those relationships simply because of the vibrations we create together.

I am sharing this Lovely Blog, The Attractor Factory for its positive take on relationships. Group hug

Flipping Coins

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For today’s Lovely Blog Award, I am veering away from farm things today to give bring you a blog that informs and inspires women. Money is on all our minds right now, and how to raise and train your dollars to be the best they can be is often daunting. I will add posts that take a look at thrifty living, recycling and reuse, etc, but I thought Barbara Stanny’s blog is a good place to begin. Our dollars need love and kindness so they can go forth and multiply!

A Slice of Farm, Please

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I admit it. I am a sucker for lamb pictures. But today’s Lovely Blog Award goes to Farmgirl Fare not only for the oh-so-well-done pics of her sheep, but also for the fabulous recipes she offers. This girl can mix up a party in a pan.

And oh…the bread. Another of my weaknesses. There is something spiritual about it. I plan to go back and try the No-Knead Crusty Bread, although the pics are so good you can almost smell the yeast. This blog links to a bread baker’s blog – sorry, folks, I didn’t peruse that one yet!

Be Back Soon

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It was a long night, so today I am making a short post. I’ll be back in force soon!

The banner picture made me stop at this blog. Ok, I am veering away from the “lovely” part of the Lovely Blog Award, but I Am The Cheese fits perfectly into the silliness factor. Make sure you check out the “experiment” pages, as well as the story titled “Randle’s Crandles.” Thanks, Planetross, for the chuckles this morning!

Dads and Moms

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Of course, I woke up thinking of my dad this morning. He would have been 90 at the end of this month. But he went on to other adventures 28 years ago. My memories of him always make me smile – his crooked grin, his purposeful walk, our shared love of Mother Earth, and all the funny little mental movie clips I have of events over the years. They would mean very little to you – they are the types of events that we talk about at family gatherings. The ones where someone might say,”remember that Christmas when Dad did the thing?” and every family member understands and they laugh and nod their heads. Really, if I said to you, “Dad used to take our desserts,” you would think my dad was a horrible man. But it wasn’t like that – really. And the story would lose something if it actually became a story. So I’ll leave you to chew over that one. Snort.

For my Lovely Blog Award today, I am going to a site with which I am already familiar. Ron Doyle is one of my favorite bloggers (anyone who uses a word like “transmogrification” in a blog gets extra points from me) and is a young father himself. His Father’s Day is bittersweet: He will probably enjoy breakfast in bed from his sweet little girls, and probably will call his own father to wish him a happy day. But yesterday Ron set to work writing his mother’s obituary as she passed away on Thursday of last week. Since Ron is in the age range of my own two sons, I will send him a virtual “mom hug” today – go to his site, Blog Salad, and enjoy his unique humor.

I’ve decided to share a story I wrote about Dad many years ago. It was first published in Oblates – which, had he been around to read it, would have amused Dad as he was a non-practicing Protestant. It has since been published as a reprint in several other magazines. I’m happy to share a bit of my dad with you today on Father’s Day:

When we were children, my father often brought out his trusty old movie camera and followed us as we went about the important business of growing. The soft whirring of the Bell and Howell was a familiar sound, and he documented our growth from birth to adolescence, at which time we became more self-conscious and less agreeable to his hobby.

After my father died, we found his stash of round metal cans, loaded carefully into cardboard boxes and labeled with vague titles, such as “Kathy” or “Disneyland” or “The Picnic”. The projector was stored next to them, as was the long metal tube that held the “movie screen.” Its fold-up legs creaked in protest as we set it up, and we hurriedly popped popcorn while my brother carefully threaded the old gray projector with a roll of film chosen at random.

The projector rattled and whirred. Images of our childhood lit up on the screen. My sister and I, posing in new Easter outfits and crisp white Bibles in gloved hands. The skips of the projector and the age of the film caused the semblance of a silent movie, with those being filmed walking in stilted fashion and flashing posed smiles at the camera. Another roll produced the rosy face of my brother, then ten, just after winning a Little League game. My brother’s children squealed with glee. “Was that you, Daddy?” His laugh was deep, like my father’s, when he answered their questions.

The films continued. My mother, so full of youth, holding a baby. My youngest sister, dressed as Mrs. Claus, presenting a skit for our parents in front of the Christmas tree. My brother, swimming in his underwear, in a pool somewhere in New Mexico. We teased him about acquiring the nickname “Bubbles” from that episode. One very old roll of film yielded shots of our grandparents, passed long ago. Each bit of film brought laughter and exclamations, and between rolls we all recounted family stories.

The projector took us back to a family barbeque, with aunts and uncles and cousins pinching children’s cheeks and draping arms around each other. Some I could recognize, others had been gone long before any of us were even born. All bore some resemblance to the other – the same crooked smile, or the shape of the eyes, or the way they walked.

One roll had been double-exposed. A trip to Europe in the 70s captured images of Paris and the French countryside, over a faded picture of my uncle. It was an eerie match – my uncle had come to the United States after escaping the war-torn areas of the same country that was filmed over his face.

The years swelled and crashed, like powerful waves against the rocks of time. They wore away, little by little, until all that was left in the images, in the faces laughing around me, was the very center of creation; the core of what it really meant to give, to love – to be.

Suddenly, I was not just viewing my own childhood. I was seeing, through my father’s eyes, the things that had mattered most to him. He had charted the paths of his children, and looked back on the lives of himself and his own siblings. In doing so, he had created a masterpiece of compassion and comraderie, of legacies and love. I realized then, that even though my father was the filmmaker, I could see his face in every film, through the smiles and the love that looked back at the man behind the movie camera.

When my family gets together, we share memories, and laugh over old times. We watch the shaky old movies on the ancient projector. There are new faces watching now, carbon copies of the little girls in the Easter bonnets and the dusty young baseball players. We still miss my father, but we no longer mourn. His spirit is our spirit, split like cells and scattered into separate bodies, but connected always with fragile threads of love.

Honest Abes at the Airport

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Dear readers, I missed a few post days. It turns out the center in Philadelphia blocks some internet communications. So although I could read my emails and my daily press releases, I could not access or blog on Trust the Universe. But I am home now.

Last night, I waited at the Philadelphia airport for my flight. I was due to leave at Gate B18, Terminal C. My Albany flight was listed next after a USAirways flight to Greensboro, SC from the same gate. My energy was low so I decided to chill out and watch the people and activities around me.

I had noticed two young boys sitting in a corner, playing a handheld video game. They looked to be brothers, about 11 and 13, and seemed to be traveling alone. I thought to myself how reserved and mature they both were. A few minutes later, a man passed by me and then rounded the corner near the boys. He was fiddling with his pockets and unknowing dropped a small wad of bills onto the floor. He continued on and sat next to his companions on the other side of the waiting area.

Both boys noticed the bills fall, and immediately the older boy waved at the man to get his attention. When that didn’t work, the boy got up and picked up the bills, and walked over to the man and returned them. I didn’t hear their exchange, but I heard the man say “Thanks, man!” The boy went back to his seat and continued his game.

I was struck not only by this boy’s immediate reaction to the incident, but by the way it was an unspoken determination between the boys that this was not something that was out of the ordinary. It was the right thing to do, and did not need to be discussed. There was no childlike conversation beforehand about whether to return the money. It was a true display of character. I wanted to say something to them, but didn’t. Their spirits knew what was right and wrong – they stood in their own truth. They needed no validation or judgments of any kind from others.

But I am telling you here. And if the Universe is showing the parents of these boys (who were on USAir, July 19th, around 8:45 to Greensboro from Philadelphia) the way to this blog – you are raising great young men. You rock, too.

So my Lovely Blog Award goes to Honesty Blog, a cool site that shouts out about these types of good deeds. Although it looks like it has been inactive for over a month, I still felt it was a worthwhile site – it also links to another site called Imhonest.com that offers an online lost and found service.
The Honesty Blog wins the award of the day for its inspiring content.

Tiny Farm, Big Harvest

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Today’s Lovely Blog award goes to Tiny Farm. I must admit the blog itself isn’t that lovely – but the content did it for me. These Canadian farmers prove that you can make a small amount of land productive. Two acres doesn’t sound like much, but if you work hard and are smart, and if you appreciate the gifts of the earth, you can make magic happen!