You might think think that after a year of practice I would be taking this new life in stride. Well, you might be wrong. 

I hold my own most days, but every few, the news worsens or I see a horrifying image or there is evidence that this threat is coming too close to my family. Then I have to once more locate my 'grip' so I can get a hold of it.

Sometimes I can' find it by myself because I need to admit out loud that I am scared. Which is actually.. 'still scared'. Often this admission stops the endless loop in my head and allows a different, and more balanced, tape  to play.

Many times I can catch the downward trajectory of my thoughts and emotions by going outdoors. Where I can go has depended on the restrictions at the time, but sometimes, just 'outside' is enough. A moment in the sun and the sound and feel of the breeze can lift my spirits.  There is even a word for the sound of the wind in the trees or the rustling of the leaves. 

This word is Psithurism. It is one of a multitude of astonishing words now listed as obsolete because they have not become part of normally used vocabulary, which is a tragic loss to language. The 'p' is silent, though, why it is there, can be blamed on  the Greeks from whose word 'psithuros' (for 'whispering'), our new word stems. It is therefore pronounced 'sith-ur-izm' which has a lovely  onomatopoeic quality to it.  

There is something about the sound of the wind in the leaves that settles my soul and allows me to take a deeper breath. It reminds me of a mindfulness technique to use in moments of stress. So I will open the side door and begin to focus on...

5 Things that I see

The sky vast and everchanging

Dandelions cheerful and familiar

A Blue Jay bold and noisy 

A squirrel hungry and hopeful, and 

my chair, empty and waiting.

4 Things that I Feel

The warmth of the cup in my hands

the sun that warms my face

the softness of a tulip petal

and the roughness of the brick.

3 Things I can Hear

The chimes on the porch

the squabble of sparrows

and the slam of a car door.

2 Things that I Smell

A hint of rain in the breeze

and the blossoms on the pear tree.

1 Thing that I taste

the coffee from that warm cup in my hand.

So it is not the surroundings, I am not in the forest or a beautiful garden, that are the important factor. It is the deliberate bringing of my mind  to focus on where I am and what I can see and hear in this one moment. It grounds to where I am and away from the vague and scary places and possibilities where my mind goes when left unattended. I touch the brick of my house and feel its solidity and security.

It also reminds me that I am in a minority amongst the millions in the world who have never experienced the kind of security and privilege that I have, here, standing in my doorway, with my coffee.

View from the window...on the importance of being 3

 As I look out the window this morning it is snowing quietly, big fat flakes falling softly onto the deep blanket of snow which has changed the contours of the yard. There are snowbanks the size of which are now unusual in our winter experience here. It is so beautiful. Mesmerizing, calming; not isolating, but insulating.

You would never guess that this is yet another day, in a long series of strange and unforeseen days, that now stretch into yet another year of the same. A year  when a new vocabulary evolved; where 'bubble' is not followed by 'bath' and 'orange' and 'grey', at least in Ontario, are colours of a new significance.

Emotional balance is a daily struggle. Some days it feels like a tightrope, where you are just a breath away from a plummet. Some days it's more like you are driving along a road minding your own business, when you are clipped by a semi and end up grill down in the ditch.  Or there are those days when it is more like a teeter-totter ride, when your mood just won't level out at all. 

Our little corner of the world went from grey to orange last week which meant that a few more doors are open again. For me, it meant the gift of a little visit with my grandson who is three.

It is over thirty years since our sons were three, and time does soften the trauma of 'terrible twos' who do not suddenly turn into compliant threes. Being a grandma is such a completely different experience, and it occurred to me that there was much to be learned from three year olds.

The joy that I felt when I saw him was mirrored in his face; so precious. I expressed my love on my face, which he saw and reciprocated; such a simple, yet profound thing. It reminded me that something as simple as a genuine smile can be a gift of acknowledgement; 'I see you, and you are important'. Often that small moment of human exchange can make a significant in the the trajectory of someone's day and is so easy to give.

We spent some time getting reacquainted. He needs the reassurance that Grandma is the same and he still has a place in Grandma's house. I watch him and marvel (read 'mourn') at how he has grown since I saw him last. Today he approaches things by identifying shapes; triangle, circle, rectangle; fascinating. Then he goes to where the toys are at Grandma's house. I realize that this is will be a life-long habit. Maybe it is because the present is in the process of change, and the future might be a place we don't recognize, so we revisit the past; shared stories and experiences, beloved places that might be different but are recognizable. These reassure us of our place in the present, and as the past is set, it is comforting. 

We don our winter garb, all the pieces that triple the size of the wearer and make little people look like they have no bending parts. He is beyond excited to going for a walk. I put on his mittens endless times before I remember that boys and mittens are fundamentally incompatible, and this is for him just the funniest game. We meander around the block because three years don't walk as we know it. This is because every thing is fascinating and needs to be discovered;  snowflakes on your eyelashes, patterns on the road and on the tree bark, footprints in the snow. I watch him and hope that he never loses this wonder. I think about how important it is to walk slowly and notice all the small things. I hope that he will take every opportunity to learn and experience and that an awe of nature will help keep his life in balance.

Eating is still very much a tactile activity at three. Each shape and texture is explored. Crunchy things make satisfying noises. Apples are smiles. He is hungry so it is a quiet affair and he is engrossed. I watch and hope that he will always have enough to eat and always appreciate it. I hope that as he grows he will become aware that others go hungry and that this awareness will help to shape the man he becomes.

Grandma gets out a box of crayons and some paper. It becomes apparent that  the box is much more fascinating, and how the crayons fit in, and slide out of said box, needs much repetition to discover fully. And there is a thing made of triangles to hold the crayons. Amazing. Apparently today Grandma is to be the scribe and John the director, so he tells me what he would like drawn and what colour to use. He watches so intently and seriously. And then he goes back to the box. As I watch he I hope that he never loses this curiosity about how things work. I hope that should he not be artistic he will appreciate the artistry of others.

Then we snuggle and have 'cell phone time'. For my generation new technology is intimidating and needs to be approached cautiously. This three year old is bold, intrepid, unafraid. He wants our picture taken, then he wants to review the gallery of pictures and videos. The little fingers swipe at the speed of light to find his favorites; he has his and I have mine and we watch them all. I hold him close and watch him giggle at himself. I hope that these little moments of happy memory embed themselves deeply in him. I hope that he will always feel secure in himself and who he is.

At last Daddy said 'it's time to go'. That small beloved face fell, then burrowed itself in my shoulder. I hugged him so tightly. This was not an act of defiance, but a moment of seeking reassurance. An 'I am sad' moment, and who better to share that with than the person who feels the same way. A hug, a whisper of love, a reassurance that his feeling is shared and understood. then we do what we have to so that comings and goings are understood as part of life and not to be feared. So very important, not just now, in this time, but always.

I hope that I can carry with me some of the best things about being three. I hope that John will carry with him the certainty that Grandma will always, always love him.

 

A good day..

Today was a good day. Not for any particular reason or special event that took place; just an ordinary day...but a good day.

Maybe we do not appreciate the ordinary days enough, and life is full of them. Days when it is enough that the sun is shining and the outdoors beckons. The housework also beckons but the fall days are numbered so the housework can be ignored for a day..or so. 

I headed down to the Grand River and the trails below the dam. 

The water was low enough that the full structure was visible. Many of the trees at the rivers edge are already bare and the usual complement of Canada geese were absent. The sound of the water was lovely but quiet compared to the spring when the river is in spate.

A little ways downstream the gulls were napping in the sun.

By the canal the banks are eroding and the trees are listing towards the water. There are beautiful sycamore and hackberry trees whose roots are now exposed and in danger of toppling into the canal. The turtles and ducks may enjoy these new perches but it is sad to lose such lovely, mature trees.

I tried to get a photograph of a kinglet but none of them would pose. This is the closest I got; a golden crown and flurry of wings. 

A raccoon was snoozing in a tree cavity; a nice warm spot in the morning sun.

These asters are a little less vibrant, but still lovely, and apparently of great interest to this tiny hoverfly. Their stripes give the impression that they are bees and have the ability to sting and therefore offers some protection from predators. The ability to hover is unique and comes from the fact that they have the most flexible wings of any flying insect. (All of this discovered after eliminating every bee and wasp known to man.)

What is left of this leaf shows its fascinating inner structure, ..and also looks a bit like a suburban street map.

This mushroom caught my eye. It is standing there all by itself like an open parasol, on a large horizontal branch, about 3 storeys up. 

Down below, a feather is caught on a log which is resting mostly underwater. 

The bittersweet berries are starting to pop.

Robins have having fun in a leftover puddle.

Equally busy was this large American Oil Beetle. They are a type of blister beetle, which is what you might get if you handle them.

This is the paved SC Johnson Trail that follows the abandoned Lake Erie and Northern Railway bed between Brantford and Paris. Being actual rail trail this section is raised trail that goes between the foot paths by the canal on one side and the river on the other.

I looked for the Bald Eagle in the tall dead tree but he was not keeping watch there. A kingfisher was flying low over the river looking for his lunch, and I startled some mallards who were resting near to the shore. The water was so clear that I could see their orange webbed feet paddling behind them.

Our tallest trees along the riversides sustained a lot of ice damage last spring, but several remain, stately towers, with deeply furrowed bark, a testament to their strength.

Blue jays are year-round companions; ebullient, busy and always noisy.

In a warm spot in the sun there were still Bladder Campions getting ready to bloom. 

I took a survey of the Woolly Bear caterpillars on the walk and based on the results, what the winter will look like is anybody's guess. Apparently the amount of brown is an indication of how mild the winter will be, and the amount of black closest to the head indicates how harsh the winter will be at its beginning.  Hopefully you tell which end is which. I guess we will see.

So...was this an unusual walk? Did I see anything extraordinary? No. I walked a path that I enjoy and have walked many times. I saw familiar sights and heard familiar sounds. Our days are often like this; full of familiar things and repetitive tasks. Perhaps so familiar that we do them by rote and they become mundane and the enjoyment leaches away. Our world is about 'busy' and 'more' and 'doing'. 

And some of it is necessary; we have jobs, social obligations and raise children. I think though that we need to include more 'free time' and 'less' and 'quiet'. We need time to saunter instead of run, be more content with what we have and more patient with the time it takes to accrue things, and spend less time doing in favor of time spent being. Unrealistic? Simplistic? I don't think so. These are the tools of healthy survival. Body, mind and spirit need a balanced life.

So...the ordinary walk becomes a time of quiet, a time of feeding the spirit and a moment of joy. I walked slowly to look at the leaves falling. I stopped to enjoy the smell of the poplars and listen to the chickadees. I pointed out the sleeping raccoon to another walker and enjoyed their delight. Small things, small moments. 

I think people equate big things with success and importance, when it is the smallest of things that can have the biggest impact; a smile, a thank you, a hug. Stopping a moment to sit in the sun, admire a sunset, or cherish a memory. Things that make a good day.