Writer's Block

  How bizarre is it that I am sitting in a McDonalds (for the free wifi... and a few fries) with my laptop open, waiting for my 16 year-old son to finish his conditioning for the spring lacrosse season, and I am suffering from writers block?

   I know, I know...writers block is neither bizarre nor rare.  And yet, for me, it kinda is.  I typically thrive on the the thrill of a "writing date" when I often experience great relief as my words are allowed and encouraged to tumble out nearly as quick as my unconscious stream of thought.  Not so much this time.
   This flow of ideas used to fall into place quite naturally.  These days it happens briefly, as my head hits the pillow.  The comforting dark envelops and coos to my tired thoughts, coaxing my mind to

connect with the rest of me.  Over the years I have come to appreciate mindfulness and that hushed serenity that swaddles me while the rest of the house which has nestled in for the night cradles my true loves in their beds.  My senses are lulled into an easy going repertoire as a quiet joy, similar to old friends meeting, settles over me.  That is the time when the day, which will never be again, makes peace with my body and spirit, which have just carried me safely through its' past 24 hours.

   Yet, here I am, engulfed in classic rock that pumps from this get-away's surround sound mashed with chatter that blends a foreign tongue and a familiar language forcefully voiced by a child pleading to his parents to take him to the bathroom.  A steadfast middle-aged female employee winds her way through the colorful ensemble, faithfully attending to her duties of wiping down tables.  I am grateful for the cleanliness.  This particular location neighbors a nearby motel casting it's bright light toward the thruway and several gas stations.  It is a veritable way-lay for the travelers seeking a pit-stop on their journey elsewhere this evening.  I hear a nasally voice asking a tired, "did you get that coffee yet?,"  to which her colleague responds with a lackluster "yeah, it's in the cupholder."  The "Na na naaa, na naa, naaaa" from a band, unfamiliar to me, tries to infuse energy in the joint.  The guys, speaking a language I still can't place, spontaneously burst into laughter- which actually does lift the mood and make me smile.

 My grin lingers while a realization dawns...mindfulness itself has healed my writer's block.  The cloying scent of percolating caffeine, readied to assist travelers on their drive through the night, is so heavy it disrupts my reverie and brings me to my senses.  Time to go.  I gather my things and take a closer look around.  I am not the first to leave our temporary community, which shared the last 30 minutes of our lives. Most likely this was the only time our collective group will be together on earth.  This thought wakens the gratitude for always having something to be grateful for and serves as a reminder to sit up and take notice of who we share our journey with. We're on to a different tune now.  So let the drummer drum and the singer sing this very poignant song that plays as I depart:

Give A Little Bit 

Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me                                      
Give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my love to you
There's so much that we need to share
Send a smile and show you care
I'll give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
So give a little bit
Give a little bit of your time to me
See the man with the lonely eyes
Take his hand, you'll be surprised
Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
Now's the time that we need to share
So find yourself, we're on our way back home
Going home
Don't you need to feel at home
Oh yeah, we gotta sing

Written by Richard Davies, Roger Hodgson • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group

 

Don't Miss It!

6 A.M. came early this morning.  My sweet husband woke me with a whispered, "Hey Sus, time to get up.  You gonna shower?"  My groggy mind picked around this question debating whether to beat my teenage daughter to the bathroom or dismiss the cleansing waters until I get my exercise walk in.

  I waffled interiorly even as I uttered, "Nah," to the shower, knowing I should walk.  I rolled out of bed onto my knees and gave my day to God.  I promptly got up, grabbed the towel hubby had left for me on the bed, and locked the door to signify I'm first in the bathroom line-up.  I'm not sure when I changed my mind to forgo the walk and prep for the day but it happened.

  Fast-forward one hour to walking the last two children to the bus stop.  Somewhere in the midst of a hundred yards the whispering winds and warm sunshine changed my mind for me again.  I MUST walk today.  This is an indication of just HOW BEAUTIFUL it is outside today- since I had actually curled my hair.

  I tricked myself with the thought this wouldn't be an exercise jaunt.  No, I would go to the Peninsula with the sole purpose being to soak in nature's glory.  Normally that trick succeeds in wooing me to the workout destination.  Once there I'm ready to break a sweat.  Today, I truly was mesmerized by Autumn's Last Hurrah.  Maybe I had been wooed for a soul purpose...

  I walked my familiar paths while warmed rays grazed my face.  I was surprised by the wind's insistence.  I had visualized serenity but discovered an urgency in the choppy waters that in no way lessened today's splendor.  In fact,  I became caught up in recognizing today's walk was not meant to merely delight my eyes.  This discovery came with the realization I had forgotten my sunglasses and needed to squint my eyelids shut.  Oddly enough, the wind had risen several octaves as I walked, gusting the leaves into a frenzy.   Undaunted, I walked on, blind and deafened by the gales that now rose and fell like a symphony reaching it's crescendo.  This is when I FELT why I was to be here this morning...

  My world slowed as the wind ran it's breathy fingers through my hair, caressing my face, holding my attention long enough to deliver the sun's quiet message of goodbye.

  Perhaps it was in handing over my day that I was afforded this GIFT that I had tried to pass up due to the desire to get more done.  I am so grateful I didn't miss it!  Not only was I walking in the wonder of warm weather and beautiful skies in November here in Erie, PA,  I was mindful of the seasonal passing on of the baton.  That moment woke me from my "meh" attitude of entitlement and spurred me to implore each of you to not let this day go by without lifting your face to receive the golden glow's kiss of parting.  It's not a final embrace, as we hardy Lake Erie-ites have learned.  Yet, in our town's remarkable setting, it's a thing of such concentrated beauty we are willing to hunker down through the extreme weather until it emerges once again in all it's glory.  Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is no laughing matter in these parts- let us drink in this elixir while we can!

Carpe Diem!
        

 

I LOVE this Town!

  I LOVE my town, Erie, PA!  I can't help it-- the thought bursts through me every single time I walk the Peninsula.  I started my strolls there back in August and the beauty is mesmerizing no matter the day's weather or season.

   This summer, my daughters and I were captivated by the varying reactions from fellow walkers, runners and bike-riders.  We revisit these responses regularly...mostly while convulsed in giggles. 

   If you've walked Presque Isle on any sunny day during the warm months you'd already realize that the Karl Boyes multipurpose trail is exactly that, multi-purpose.  This is a shared path, with equal privilege given to all.  There is a courtesy reminder painted on the walk every so often asking all to KEEP RIGHT.  For those who travel...well, faster than I (ie, bike riders, roller bladers, skate boarders, and anyone jogging even at a snails pace,) the word seems to have secretly spread that you are to say, "ON YOUR LEFT," to let me know you are approaching behind me.  There's an element of excitement that is inherent in the fact that I will be run over if I don't move.  I truly appreciate the relish with which some announce this phrase, a sort of giddy power that I have no problem respecting.  This "On your left" is not posted anywhere to my knowledge-  therefore, a huge Congratulations to the verbal trendsetter who made it wildly popular!

 I've also noticed a genuine joy emanating from those bike riders who like to use their bell to alert us that we are about to be speed bumps if we choose to not share the path.  My teen-aged daughter and I delighted in the bikers who were prepped and ready to ring the bell with the lever in position, fingers quivering with anticipation to let it RIIIING...when we hear them coming and move over before their arrival.  The let-down of the moment is announced in the deflated "ting" as they depress the lever and utter a sad and unnecessary, "on your left" as if we'd just stolen their glorious, metallic punch-line.  

  Then there are the wonderfully gleeful "Good morning!,"  "Beautiful day today," and "Hello"'s  that highlight what a pleasant microcosm of our town's friendliest folks I am sharing the walk with.  Of course these greetings have offered their share of mirth based on the level of exertion said greeter is in whilst exercising.  A+ for effort to the perspiring runner who tried extending a "Good morning" which morphed into a breathy, croaked out "Meeahh" with a two fingers raised in a tired salutation.  I could only giggle because my level of breathing was barely challenged at my slowpoke pace. 

   There is a sense of comradery, civility, and kindness that seems to be inspired by the beautiful environment.  And it's no wonder, the panoramic view of Erie's skyline is stretched along views of an ever changing Bay.  At times I'm energized by the stark white clouds that invade the bluest of skies over top choppy waters that reach up to tempt birds that dare fly so low.  In contrast there have been moments that seem to have read my mood and offer serenity in the mist that hovers over tranquil waters which lap the low stones in a soothing effort to offer compassion.  With all this beauty in one tiny corner of this place I call home- I recognize how blessed I am to have been raised here and returned years later to raise a family.  I LOVE my town <3


 
 

 

Don't Be Stingy!

If we but sit in silence we shall take in and breathe out what we are meant to offer the world.  For the world needs our perspective.  The things taken in have been viewed for millennium...but it is in the filtering that fresh perspectives are breathed out and the ancient becomes new.

  Could it be your civic duty to breathe new life into the mundane that has become antiquated due to lack of curiosity and/or mindfulness?  Unique perspectives could change the world for the better if those called to slow down and notice SHARED insight and therefore offered hope.  Be brave. Find YOUR voice.  Perhaps it resonates a deeper voice that longs to speak Hope, Peace, Courage, and Wisdom to this world.

 Why not you? 

Mindful Monday

Mindfulness...the word calls to me.  The meaning sings to my soul.  I'm not even sure what it means....fully.  But, I'm on the path to discovering how it will set me free yet keep me grounded at the same time.  I picture it to mean living in the moment, breathing in the possibilities that exist if you can just SEE them right before your clouded eyes.


  Funny how in my mind I frequent the question of "What would I get if I were to ever get a tattoo?"  Interesting...yet not so funny, is that I've considered the word MINDFUL on several occasions.  I think it'd be a great reminder to not let life pass by without marinating in the moment.  To really look at the little people calling, "Mom..Mama... Mommy... Mother... Moooom..." whilst tapping me on the arm as I'm trying to get dinner ready...ok- fine, checking my phone would be more accurate.  I've had the best days when I actually get down on my knees and look in those eyes.  Sometimes it takes them so much by surprise they forget what they were tapping me for in the first place.  I think they just like to say Mommommommommommommom til it's a rhythm in their head and doesn't even sound like a name- when they add the poke or tap that is their contribution to the world of interpretive dance.  It could mean, "I want a cookie, can I color my face with a marker, will you help me with my homework, where is my squirrel trap, can I go to Emma's, why are you laughing, can Brett come over, are you crying, did you know the dog is eating my cookie...can I have another one?"

  I believe being mindful is also about staying in communication with the gentle guiding that leads us throughout our day.  If we can do this we will have accomplished a greater purpose- perhaps followed an intuition that told us to compliment the woman in the gym who wears the Wonder Woman tank and has been completing her laps in record time.  (Yes, I pay attention.) Or maybe it's listening to that soft urging to call my sister and ask how she's been.  Maybe it's to throw the concept of being Mindful out to you- so that you won't miss out on what this day has to offer with all it's surprises and wistful dreams.  We can be mindful together...as long as it's with the understanding I called the tattoo first!

  I'd love to hear what being Mindful means to you- feel free to leave a comment.  You can even picture that you're tracing a note with your finger on my wintry salt-crusted van...if it's longer than the average "wash me" you may want to pretend I've left a scroll of paper  with a pencil dangling from a twine cord for you to leave me a note...  if you have any desire to write on your face with marker- I'll even loan you the word Mindful--though just for today- however, if you should choose to do this...please post a picture as well.