Life Coach: Spirit, Body and Mind » family

The Garden: An Inspiration

Margo — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Those of you who know me through my writing know that I love gardening. This love of gardening comes partly from my historic/geographic gene pool – I’m a Brit and we’re almost all gardening mad! The other part is still from my gene pool but from a more intimate and personal section – the family. Both my parents loved the garden, but my Dad had an absolute passion for his garden.

I’m not a very organized gardener as I’ve already mentioned in other postings. I’m not a very organized anything because I’m a real “fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda gal”. My garden is a veritable hodge-podge of flowers and plants and I’m never quite sure what’s going to pop up where. I throw seeds all over the place and plant bulbs here and there, then I sit back and wait for the wonder of nature.

I love the growing process. Taking a seed and watching it peep up through the soil with it’s first tip of green is a most exciting adventure for me. It fascinates me that from that tiny little thing a whole flower or plant or bush or even a tree can come forth.

Sometimes I stand in my back yard with a seed in my hand and I look at everything that’s growing around me, and I am in absolute awe as I think it all started with a few seeds. The hand of God is most definitely present in such a miracle.

Gardening brings me great joy and I consider it to be wonderful therapy for the soul. Gardening takes me out of myself and is one of the few activities through which I feel a real connection with God. Gardening makes my heart happy.

But today I realized another benefit that comes from my hard work out there in the garden. Of late my husband has started taking series of photos of my garden. At first he was taking general all-around shots so that we could share them with the rest of the family that is flung around the world.

More recently he began taking close-ups of single blooms and flowers. Such works of art each and every one in itself. He also took one set that was all leaves and they turned out to be very interesting and beautiful. But here’s the kicker.

Richard is also this “computer geekie/techie guy”. He works a lot with Windows 7 and it allows him to create themes. These are a series of images that you can put together as desktop wallpaper. Well he has taken my garden as his inspiration for creating beautiful themes that are available for free download if you work with Windows 7.

If you’re a garden fanatic and you’d like to check out more shots of my garden, you can visit our Summer Garden shots album. I hope you get as much enjoyment from this as I do.

Along the same lines:

Musings: Re-Entry

Margo — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 02:29:23 +0000

I’m recently back from an unexpected trip to the UK to visit family. It has taken me almost a week to feel truly over my jet-lag. I guess this is about normal because it is said that it takes one day for each hour of time differential, and there’s five hours between here and the UK.

The first couple of days are usually the worst for me. My body clock is so off kilter that I’m never sure when I’m going to sleep and when I’m going to be awake. But this time was different and I thought perhaps I was going to get back on track quickly – but it didn’t happen.

I didn’t sleep at all on the return flight which was almost nine hours long. This would have been understandable because it was a “day flight”, leaving London at about 9am. However, I had only slept for three hours the previous night, the three days prior to departure were extremely emotional, and I was still recovering from jet-lag from the flight over there!! I felt sure I would sleep.

I got into Atlanta, GA at about 1.35pm local time (already 6.35pm by my body clock!). I was very pleasantly surprised at the ease and speed of the immigration (I’m a green card holder), baggage claim, customs, and re-check in process for my final flight home to Jacksonville, Florida. We had plugged in a good five and a half hour layover for me here to allow for any hold-ups, but I was already cleared and through by 2.30pm.

Because we had only had brunch and a snack on the flight from London, and I knew there would be nothing served on the one-hour flight to Jax, I decided to get a decent meal before heading to my gate. If ever you are passing through Atlanta airport and you’re near Concourse B needing a meal, check out the Intermezzo Cafe. Great menu choices, excellent food and presentation, terrific service from super-friendly staff.

Once my tummy was happy I headed over to my departure gate. There were plenty of empty chairs and not too many people. I made myself comfortable took out my book and settled in. An hour later I could feel the waves of sleep wash over me but there was no way I could sleep in an airport chair without ruining my back or my neck – or both! So I figured I’d take a walk around, get some water, and clear my head a little.

It was coming up on 5pm when I settled back into the gate area and I thought I’d make it through to the 6.30pm boarding and 7pm departure. (Keep in mind that’s midnight by my body clock; I’d been up and on the go since 2.30am!!) But fate was not working well with me. A delay announcement was made for the flight pushing it back to 8.49pm.

I was about to get frustrated when I suddenly remembered seeing a sign for “Minute Suites” at the entrance to Concourse B. I decided to go and check out what that meant. This is another recommendation coming: if you’re passing through Atlanta airport and you have a long layover and want some quiet rest time or just some privacy to do some computer work or watch TV, go and check into “Minute Suites”.

It costs thirty dollars for an hour then you can add on in increments of fifteen minutes. You get a small private room with a comfortable pull-out couch with blanket and pillow. There’s a TV, a work station, an alarm clock, and a white noise machine. The light is on a dimmer and you can control the room temperature. It is an absolute God-given gift for the weary traveler. I managed to get a wonderful 50-minute cat-nap and I was good to go.

We finally got off the ground at 9.30pm and landed in Jax about an hour later. By the time I got through baggage reclaim, made the shuttle, and got into my car it was 11.15pm. Thank the Lord attendant at USA Park, which is the parking lot we regularly use at the Jax airport, hands out small bottles of water as you leave the lot. I was running on fumes by now (4.15am of the next day on my body clock!!) and, with all the windows open, headed home.

I walked in my front door shortly after midnight. My beloved husband had a plate of fresh fruit ready for me and he put on the kettle and made me a nice cup of herbal tea. I fell into bed about forty five minutes later and thankfully slept until morning. But it has taken my body until now, making small adjustments and taking the occasional nap during the day, to truly get back on track.

Along the same lines:

Musings: Unblocking Again

Margo — Fri, 14 May 2010 02:05:38 +0000

I have been in a “dry spell” again:-(. And yet I have so much I want to write about. So many things running around my head. But it all seems stuck inside and I haven’t been able to release it. It is so frustrating. So let me start somewhere and see if I can unblock something.

So much has happened in my life in the last couple of months. Oh nothing monumental or earth-shattering – just life. But it has been so much more than the various bouts of sickness that I have had to contend with. Towards the end of February we had an amazing Lenten Mission at our church. A man fired with the Holy Spirit, Fr. Jim Curtin from Wisconsin, came and woke up a new spirit in our parish. I will eventually write a full posting about that.

One morning in March (fortunately in one of my healthy periods!!), my husband suddenly experienced chest pains and was hospitalized. I discovered through that experience that I have a weird way of dealing with unexpected shocking news when it involves my loved ones. That’s another posting too.

Easter and the celebration of the risen Lord came around again. With each year I become more and more aware of the passing of the seasons and the special church and State feast days and festivals. And each one seems to come around faster and faster. I am sure that this has something to do with what happens internally to us as we get older. Food for another posting.

At the end of March we had the joy of a fleeting visit from my eldest son Marco. He was flown from Naples, Italy to DC for a conference. That was a chance not to pass up and so he came a couple of days early and we flew him down to Florida so we could snatch some time with him. It was a happy time, yet tinged with sadness: his ten year relationship with the love of his life is seemingly at an end. The culprit? Words – those said in anger and those left unsaid. I know in my heart that I can write something about that.

And then came my birthday. Thank God by then I was done with being sick and I was able to celebrate with joy. Dinner with friends one day. Lunch with “the girls” another day. Cards and telephone calls from family across the sea as well as those close by. And wonderful gifts that showed just how much people cared. Beautiful flowers from my husband.

Celebration followed celebration as Mother’s Day came just a week after my birthday. What a day of bitter-sweet emotions. Mother’s Day this year occurred on the fourteenth anniversary of the passing of my own mother. I miss her so much. I still have times when I want to telephone her to share a special moment. I often think how she would have enjoyed a visit to my home here in America.

Again I received calls from my sons overseas. My husband showered me with more flowers and a lovely card. And of course my “baby”, my beautiful daughter Melissa, also telephoned. I was out in the garden and had just seen three butterflies in quick succession. They are my special connection to my mother but almost always cause the tears to flow.

I shared my memory of my mother with Melissa and we both cried some together. Between the tears she said, “I wish I could spend the day with you Mum”. But we both know that while she makes the choices that she makes today, that cannot be possible. And my heart is broken all over again. Sometimes being a mother just plains sucks!!

In the last few days I have realized that much of this being blocked, of my inability to write, is connected to this particular heartbreak. I have to put so much energy into staying upbeat, into not walking around looking miserable, that I have no energy left for play dates with my internal Muse. By the end of the day it leaves me totally exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

So now I have to figure out a way to break through this situation so that I can reclaim my inspiration, my time with the Muse. Perhaps I have taken a small step in this direction this week. I have found a support group that may help me to walk through the difficulty in my relationship with my daughter. Then I hope to free myself and my energy and move back into daily regular writing.

Along the same lines:

Shared Wisdom: Resurrection

Margo — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 19:15:50 +0000

At Easter I am always reminded of a very special “resurrection” or “new life” story. This story is one of several writings that we had available as Team Members to read to the participants of the CREDO Personal Growth Retreats. I always tried to be the one to read this particular piece because I found it to be so meaningful and moving. (Unless Chaplain Bruce was on the team, then he got first dibs and I would read my second favorite – a passage from The Velveteen Rabbit by Marjorie Williams.

Jeremy’s Egg

Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa’s Elementary School.

At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher.

One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Theresa’s for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classrooms, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn’t fair to him to be with younger children who don’t have learning problems. Why there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!"

Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke, "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know that he really likes it here."

Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside of the window. It’s coldness seems to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn’t fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read or write. Why waste any more time trying?

As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy." From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy’s noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loudly enough for the whole class to hear. The other children snickered, and Doris’ face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-Why, that’s very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat."

Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically – all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus’ death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them. That evening, Doris’ kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy’s parents.

The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller’s desk.

After they completed their Math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground we know that spring is here."

A small girl in the first row waved her arms. "That’s my egg, Miss Miller," she called out. The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes that is new life, too."

Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine." Next Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that the moss, too, showed new life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My daddy helped me!" he beamed.

Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy’s, she thought, and, of course, he did not understand her instructions. If she only had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren’t you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy your egg is empty!" He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus’ tomb was empty too!"

Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then his Father raised him up!"

The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty!

Jeremy’s Egg by Ida Mae Kempel

Along the same lines:

Spiritual Growth: Friendship & Prayer

Margo — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 00:20:08 +0000

I am going to share a very intimate and personal story about a recent situation in my life. This story involves a friend who, for privacy reasons, I will choose to call “Pat”. I have known Pat for the six years since coming here to the States. In that short period of time she has faced some severe trials and tribulations.

The month before I arrived in Jacksonville, Pat lost of her then 8 year-old daughter. Three years later she was diagnosed with breast cancer and went through surgery, followed by chemotherapy and radiation during which she lost her hair but not her sense of humor nor her faith. Last December she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, has had surgery and now faces chemo and radiation – again. She still has her sense of humor and incredibly strong faith.

Ten days ago, after seeing Pat in church just a few days after her brain surgery, which was a miracle in and of itself, I received the following email from her:

“It was good to see you last night. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you after Mass and really it wasn’t the place, but I wanted to let you know how much you have been with me through this whole thing. When they told me about the tumor and having to get the PET scan to see about other possible places, I sort of let my imagination get away from me. It was really scary not knowing how involved the rest of my body might be with cancer. Of course, I started praying, but you were in my head also. You, to me, are such a spiritual, faithful, prayerful person with such a great understanding and insight to our faith. Yet, I know you have struggled with letting go of control of things. That is where I found myself before my scan, praying and still trying to control the outcome. Stupid. So there you are in my head trying to convince me to give it up. You got me to visualize a totally clear scan (neck down) have FAITH and TRUST. So during the scan that’s what I did. I prayed for it and you told me to trust God and let Him take care of me. In times of doubt and panic it calmed me to continuously turn it back over to God, let Him take it from me and TRUST He would, put my hands up and let go.

I feel so blessed that you came into my life when you did and are still here for me. You have planted so many seeds in people’s hearts and minds, I just wanted to let you know that something beautiful grew from one of those many, many seeds. Thank you and I love you!”

The following is my response to this email:

“It has taken me a while to get my emotions and my thoughts sorted out since receiving your email. After reading it I wept. It just touched my heart so deeply. And I went back to one of the reflection books that I had read that morning which quoted: ‘During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, He offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears …..’ Hebrews 5:7. The reflection went on to say: ‘Praying is no light and trivial exercise. It engages all the powers of man’s moral and spiritual nature as is evident in the scripture verse above………. It takes only a moment’s thought to see how such praying drew mightily upon all the powers of God …….. This is the kind of praying that brings the soul close to God, and that brings God down to earth.’

These are the kinds of prayers that I have had to make recourse to in my “letting go struggles”. I live a very happy and joy-filled life in many ways and I am truly grateful for all the blessings that I have and continue to receive. However, I have never been brought to my knees as I have over my daughter. And, although it was for very different reasons in your case, I know that you too have been brought to your knees over your daughter – so you understand that kind of struggle.

The very next morning, in the same reflection book, I found this scripture, ‘I urge you, brothers, by our Lord Jesus Christ and by the love of the Spirit, to join me in my struggle by praying to God for me.’ Romans 15:30. And the reflection then went on to talk about the effort that Paul put into praying: ‘It is like a great battle. Like a soldier, the praying Christian fights a life-and-death battle. His honor and eternal life are all at stake. Everything depends on the strength he puts in it……… This kind of praying engages our undivided hearts, our full consent to be the Lord’s’. And I know that if I redouble my prayer effort I will benefit in the long run.

So then I read the next reflection book (I read 4 or 5 each morning), and here is what I found: ‘Your journey through life is often not easy, and you may experience times when you awaken to find yourself battered and bruised, lost and forsaken, lying helpless along the side of life’s road. Your resources gone and your strength spent, you may wonder if there is hope for you. Will anyone come along to help? God has promised that there is no circumstance from which He cannot rescue you. If you call out to Him, He will help you to your feet and provide comfort and support until your wounds heal and you are able to continue on your way. Though the circumstance that caused your fall may still be present, He has promised to walk with you, steadying your feet and filling you heart with hope until you reach your final destination.’

Pat, we are so blessed to have our faith, to have our loving God. We are also so blessed to have all the friends that make up our parish family who will add their prayers to ours in times of difficulty and struggle. And at that moment I was reminded of yet another reading that I had done the previous day which reminded me, ‘The grace of God sustains me in every moment……Whatever lies before me, I can be sure that God is in the midst of it…….. I trust the grace of God to guide me. I live calmly and confidently, and I walk my path in peace. I have absolute assurance that the grace of God is equally present in the lives of those I care about.’

And right there I found yet another degree of inner peace. Your email opened my heart and my eyes on another level and let me read deeply into these reflections and led me back to reread them and take them more fully into my heart and mind. I am always so humbled and so grateful that God loves me enough to send me messengers over and over again to remind me of His message of love. So let us both take heart in our “struggles” knowing that we have an awesome God. Thank you for being my messenger. You remain as always in my prayers.”

And so the circle ripples out, when friends support each other with prayers and love and compassion. One seemingly small act by one person is received as such a huge blessing by another which, when verbally acknowledged to the first person then becomes an even bigger blessing to them. And in my case, it opened me to further blessings as I went back over my spiritual reflections and took the lessons even deeper into my heart.

Along the same lines:

Musings: A Christmas Story

Margo — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 21:26:39 +0000

I could begin this posting with an explanation of why I have not written in a while. I could easily say that it’s because I have been so busy with all the Christmas activities that we tend to get ourselves involved in at this time of the year. But I have specifically worked at not getting too tangled up in the “Christmas crazies”.

I have learned not to leave gift shopping to the last minute. I actually “Christmas shop” throughout the year. As I visit different places I try to find interesting items for special friends or family members. Sometimes I’ll see something really unusual and I’ll grab it knowing that it will make a wonderful gift for someone, whether it be Christmas or Birthday.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy the sights and sounds of Christmas around the shopping areas. I love Christmas – the lights, the songs, and those special smells that seem to surround this particular season. But I’m not frantically running around looking for that perfect gift for everyone on a long list. I do still have one or two items that I want to get but, in one case, I know exactly what to get and where to get it, and in the other case, I know the right thing will pop up when it’s ready to reveal itself.

I haven’t been to a slew of parties nor do I have a bunch to go to between now and Christmas Day. I’m not stressing out about the Christmas dinner. I know we will do a “traditional” meal, turkey with all the trimmings, although it will be a little bit different because we love to deep fry the turkey. (For those of you who have never tried it, believe me it is delicious and not in the least bit greasy!!)

One Christmas project that does take up a lot of my time and energy is “my Christmas card list”. In my previous posting The Muse Has Been Gone – Again!, I mentioned that I have many people in my address book, family and friends that I have made over twenty five years of being attached to the military life.

I am also a creative person and I try to make many of my own cards. So from the beginning of November my craft room turns into a Santa Workshop with colored card stock, embellishments, ink pads galore, and stamps strewn haphazardly all over the place. (I know where everything is!) Many of the cards are simply signed “With Love and Blessings” and our names – a token sign of friendship and memories shared. But many require a longer note and a few are filled to the brim with news. So I have been writing – quite a lot – just in a different way.

However, I think I need to admit here that I have been avoiding the computer and the writing of postings. I didn’t set out purposely to do this. I am simply acknowledging right now that I think at some deep level that’s what I’ve been doing. I have also been putting a lot of energy into staying positive, and when that kind of energy is being used it’s difficult to have much left for creatively writing.

Why have I been avoiding the computer? Because when I write, my feelings come out (you may have noticed that if you read my postings regularly), and I guess I just wasn’t ready to do that because it might have been a great big “BLEAH” of stuff and I don’t like visiting that on an unsuspecting audience. So in the last few days I have had the opportunity to talk some of the feelings out and to pray about them A LOT! And here’s what I have discovered.

I am tremendously sad deep in my heart because Christmas is a time for celebrating “family style”. I’m talking about extended family. All my childhood Christmas memories are of the family coming together: aunties, uncles, and cousins. People were all over the place, and the kids ran around. Bits of wrapping paper were stuffed under chairs, music played, and there was a never-ending supply of food and drink. It was warm, and comforting and such fun.

Well, the extended family is thousands of miles away. Even my husband’s family is pretty long distance here in the States. At Christmas I always invite people to the house who are alone or who also have far-flung family and we do have good times. But it just isn’t quite the same. Perhaps it would be truer to say that it’s great and the fellowship and socializing is really good, but I still miss my family.

They always say to “leave the best for last”. In this case it is the “most difficult for last”. The biggest sadness that fills my heart right now is the estrangement from my beloved daughter. (And here come the tears; there have been many bucketfuls of late.) Because of the lifestyle she chooses to live I do not even know if we shall see her over Christmas, and this breaks my heart. She lives close by and yet it seems that an ocean divides us.

My Christmas prayer (which is my everyday prayer) is that God will bless and protect her and guide her to right choices. And this is a prayer that I offer for everyone who may need it at this time of the year.

Along the same lines:

Spiritual Growth: Thoughts On God

Margo — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Many years ago I attended a CREDO Team Building Retreat in Naples, Italy. At some point during the retreat, the chaplain who was leading us read the following quotation:

“The meaning of life is listening to Pavarotti, feeling the sun on your face, drinking a bottle of wine, and then another. The meaning of life is having a safe and healthy society, a happy family life, good health, a loving wife (husband), work that you like, smelling the smell of a new car and the ocean air, being able to hit a bull’s eye, coming home with the fish and not another fish story.”

Carmine Pucci
(Butcher)

That’s right, he was an Italian butcher and these words of his struck a chord deep in my heart. They resonated clearly within my soul. It’s the kind of down-to-earth philosophy/spirituality that brings me home – to myself and to my God.

As I read these words again today I am transported to my beloved Italy where everything is experienced in the moment. The senses are so alive in the Italian culture and emotions are right there, on the surface of the skin. Italians most definitely have a passion about everything they do. Even the most mundane thing is appreciated to the core.

So as I allow a wave of Italian nostalgia to sweep over me, and as I reread Carmine’s words, here are some God thoughts that come swimming to the surface.

See the golden sunrise and the blood red sunset spreading their beauty over creation, and you see God.
Smell the intoxicating perfume of jasmine and honeysuckle, or the aroma of freshly baked bread, and you smell God.
Touch a baby’s cheek with the tip of your nose, or kiss the soft folds of skin on the back of his neck, and you touch God.
Taste the exquisite flavor of a piece of chocolate, or a forkful of fresh home-made Italian pasta or exotic Indian curry, and you taste God.
Hear the song of the blackbird in the evening dusk, or the crescendo of a full concert orchestra, or the whisper of a soft summer wave on the shore, and you hear God.

Amen!!

It’s amazing all the people, places, and situations where I find God. Where I can meet him head on in my day. Right now as I sit in my Florida lanai, I can hear the wind sighing strongly through the pine woods behind my home, and I hear God. The wind is picking up as we experience the outer reaches of tropical storm Ida, and the various wind chimes around my garden are tinkling and I think of heaven, and cherubs, and God.

My cat, Mokka, lies peacefully sleeping on a chair beside me curled into a perfect circle, her body rising and falling gently with each breath she takes. She is a perfect example of God’s creative powers. And the tantalizing aroma of fresh made curried lentil and vegetable soup is wafting through the sliding doors and I am reminded of ……………… my humanity and the fact that I’m hungry and it’s time for dinner!!

Along the same lines:

Musings: Time – Flying Or Not?

Margo — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 23:45:15 +0000

For the trillionth time in the past few years I heard someone say, “Oh my God, time is just flying by”. And I mentally concurred as I noted the date on the calendar. It’s November 2009, almost Thanksgiving with Christmas knocking on the door. And, as usual, I found myself internally asking, “Where does the time go?”

Well, it goes by doesn’t it? I mean it doesn’t go for a walk, or to the movies, nor does it go to bed or on vacation!! It simply goes by, tick-tocking the seconds one by one. It never stops, nor does it go back on itself. It keeps on marching and no one can stop it or change it.

Sometimes when I think about the inexorable passing of time I get in a bit of a panic. I suspect that’s the very human part of me that recognizes underneath it all that with the passing of time my life span gets shorter by the second. However, there are other moments when I feel quite OK with the passage of time and I’m sure that’s when I’m more spiritually fit, when I’m more God-centered rather then me-centered.

I actually have a personal theory as to why time seems to be flying by. I’m very sure that the closer my soul feels to home, the more it seemingly accelerates time. It wants to get there, no delay!! I am of course speaking from a Christian perspective. I do believe in an after-life and I think that the closer I get to my transition date from this earth, then my soul is just in a hurry to get there.

Then I find myself thinking about heaven and what that might be like. When I was younger I used to imagine thousands of us, all glowing white and gold, surrounded by angels with long golden trumpets, just kind of bobbing around in this shiny nebulous place – rather like bobbers on a fishing line all massed together and smiling beatifically at each other.

Today my idea of heaven is greatly changed. Seeing as it’s my goal to get there I’ve given it quite a lot of thought. I’m very sure there will be activity rather than just sitting or standing around “bobbing” and beaming at the other souls. I really imagine some of it will allow me to sit on a seashore or a riverbank with Jesus and Buddha, Gandhi and Gibran, Richard Bach and Og Mandino, Marianne Williamson and Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Princess Di and Mother Teresa, Pope John Paul II and Wayne Dyer.

There will be time to talk with them, collectively and individually. Unlimited time to ask them questions and have long discussions with them. I am sure I will meet the spiritual beings that were my family members and friends and that we will be able to connect in ways that were impossible here on earth because of the lessons we were learning, or teaching, here.

Most importantly there will be love, complete and unconditional love which will be the true source of happiness and joy. Practicing compassion will be the norm. There will be a beauty that transcends any earthly concept of beauty. And there will be no pain and no hatred. Now that’s what I call heaven.

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Self Nurturing: Working The Clay

Margo — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 02:41:00 +0000

Many years ago, perhaps in 1981 or 1982, I treated myself to a short course in pottery. I was living in London at the time and worked in the area called The City. This is the financial district where all the major banks have their head offices and various supporting financial institutions and the London Stock Exchange are also located there.

An adult education program was being offered in a school near my office and one of the classes on the evening schedule was pottery. I have always had artistic inclinations and loved indulging my creative side. The course was only six weeks long and, because it was being offered within the City education system, the cost was very low. Pottery was one area of the arts that I had not tried and so I enrolled.

As soon as I touched the wet clay I was hooked. There is something both soothing and sensual about working with clay. I am a very tactile, hands-on type person so I was in my element. By the end of the first class I already had two pieces made and ready to dry. I could barely wait till the following week when we made another, slightly more complicated piece and also glazed our first work.

Upon returning to the third class I was ecstatic. There on a table sat two items with my name printed neatly on a label in front of them. They looked like something that I would buy in a store. They looked professional. One was a flat, rectangular, plate-size dish with a slightly raised, inch-wide border that I had glazed in a deep burgundy red overlaid with a black speckle effect.

The other was an eight inch tall cylindrical container with a lid that had a small loop handle on top. This I had glazed in a soft grey-blue that was slightly mottled in effect, even allowing hints of light green here and there. I had engraved the letter “R” in this piece because I had made it as a gift for my mother. It sits upon my hearth today.

I made several other pieces over the course of the six-week class. I gave them as gifts to my family members for Christmas. But the class finished all too quickly and nothing more was offered. I researched several other adult schools but found no more pottery classes. I felt as though I had eaten an appetizer and was still hungry for more – lots more.

Years went by and I moved back to Italy and life took a totally different turn. I remarried and started a second family at age forty and got a little lost in child rearing and home making. Years passed, other activities filled my life and I forgot about pottery until recently the hunt for a gift for a friend took me to a small art gallery and there was the sign: Pottery Class – any level, come and have fun.

I signed up in a heart beat and two weeks ago went to my first evening of working the clay again. It was as though I had never stopped touching this marvelous material. Clay is so malleable, so soft, so giving and forgiving. If something doesn’t go quite the way you expect, you just wet it down and start over. My heart was singing and I shaped and designed and created until my joy was on overload!

We used three different techniques and created three different bowls. Each one was very unique in shape and finished design. One was very smooth on the exterior but we cut out flower and leaf pieces and put them on rather like an appliqué. On another we engraved whatever pattern we desired. On the third one, which was very open and shallow, we created a textured finish on the top side and left it smooth underneath.

Tonight we went back to glaze our pieces. So many colors and finishes to choose from! I made each one different, but somehow either the color mauve or eggplant seemed to make its way somewhere onto each piece. My soul was very happy by the end of the evening. Now I just have to be patient. Our teacher will fire our pieces in the kiln tomorrow and they will be ready for pick-up on Saturday.

This was just a two-evening class. But before I left I spoke with the teacher. More classes are coming up and she is hoping to offer them on a regular basis. Thank you God, I need this kind of soul food. My creative muse needs nurturing on a regular basis.

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Shared Wisdom: Gratitude, Love, Selflessness

Margo — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 16:05:32 +0000

Gratitude. More aware of what you have than what you don’t. Recognizing the treasure in the simple – a child’s hug, fertile soil, a golden sunset. (Max Lucado)

When we find someone who surpasses us, be thankful that such gifts are in our midst, a public banquet to which we are all invited. (Dale E. Turner)

When the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation. (Anne Morrow Lindberg)

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. (Leo Buscaglia)

Every gift of kindness bears the sign of love. (Janet L. Weaver Smith)

There are those whose lives affect all others around them. Quietly touching one heart, who in turn, touches another. Reaching out to ends further than they would ever know. (William Bradfield)

On our path to the light, we often examine our growth with an eye to what we have yet to achieve. It is very important, however, to become aware of what we have already accomplished. ……….. Write down the ways in which you have changed, and the gifts you have allowed into your life. ….. Consider how your family and friends have helped to bring you to this place on your path. Include those people who have served as great mirrors and teachers in your healing. (Shakti Gawain)

These are the days that must happen to you. You shall scatter with a lavish hand all that you learn or achieve, and those who love you shall rise to your example and be inspired. (Walt Whitman)

You’ve touched people and known it. You’ve touched people and never may know it. Either way, you have something to give. It is in giving to one another that each of our lives becomes meaningful. (Laura Schlessinger)

To be alive, to be able to see, to walk, to have a home, music, paintings, friends – it’s all a miracle. I have adopted the technique of living life from miracle to miracle. (Artur Rubenstein)

If love is anything, it is a gradual process, the long round curve that must be carefully negotiated, not the sharp right angle turn that is made in an instant, once and for all. (John Powell, S.J.)

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Sacred Riding: My Harley Prayer Time

Margo — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 22:00:00 +0000

My husband and I own a Harley. We love our Harley. It’s a rich deep blue Ultra Classic that we bought almost two years ago. Prior to that we had a Sportster for ten years. I guess it would be more honest to say that Rich had a Sportster and I would ride it occasionally. But in late 2006, as he approached a major deployment starting in 2007, Rich decided to sell his beloved Sportster and order the Ultra Classic for when he returned.

We came to live in the States after being overseas for eighteen years and within eighteen months, we had become empty nesters. This gave us the opportunity to get out more on the bike. We began to explore Florida and it became obvious fairly soon to the both of us that our “sits bones” did not tolerate long rides. So we discussed the possibility of upgrading to a touring bike.

The deployment was the perfect opportunity for doing this. So Rich put the Sportster up for sale and banked the proceeds. He then saved all his sea pay for the seven and half months he was away and, within a few days of returning home at the end of August 2007, we rode to Gainesville to take possession of our new “toy”. Since then we have put just over 14,000 miles on it, and that’s in spite of Florida’s rainy summers!!

Today we took a wonderful ride. The weather was great: sunny, but not too much, and just a very short shower. Our original plan had been to ride down to St. Augustine, but things changed and we ended up riding to a new Harley dealer. We were on a “mission” to find me a new helmet!

Even though we have an intercom speaker system set up so that we can communicate as we ride, sitting on the back of the Harley has become another time that I find myself saying a lot of prayers. We start every ride with a prayer of gratitude for the blessings of the bike and they joy that we get from riding it and also asking for protection and safe riding. For me this just helps to set the tone, and before long I’m praising and thanking God for the wonders of this world.

There’s nothing like riding the back of a Harley to become fully appreciative of the beauty of nature. Feeling the wind in my face and the sun on my back makes me aware of how much I love being outside. The scenery that we pass always brings me such a sense of gratitude for this amazing earth that God created. And pretty soon I’m in such a state of gratitude that my soul is singing.

As the miles go by friends and family come to mind and it’s just a natural progression for me to start asking God to bless and protect them. Sometimes there are specific requests that need to be made for people who I know are going through tough times. My children always get special mention, especially my daughter. And from there I go to world needs, and so prayers for peace and environmental respect get added to the list.

The ride today was a great success. We found a great helmet; black with a slight underlying sparkle and an outrageously gorgeous deep purple flame pattern all over!! (I’m happy!) We had a very interesting Indian lunch (I LOVE Indian food!) over in the Baymeadows area. On the way home we encountered just a short shower which was really quite refreshing. Most importantly we arrived home safely, which is always blessing in and of itself. And once again I had the opportunity to have some Harley prayer time.

Along the same lines:

Vignette: Mother-Son Love

Margo — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 01:51:06 +0000

Today we celebrated yet another funeral in my parish. I use the word celebrate because in the Catholic faith we chose to say a Mass of the Resurrection in celebration of the deceased being resurrected into new life with Christ.

I am a member of the Ministry of Consolation and so I find myself attending more funerals than the average person. As part of our ministry we prepare the church for viewing services and vigils which usually take place the day before the funeral Mass, and then for the Mass itself. We are on hand to greet family and friends of the deceased as they come to the services and to be of any assistance to them or the priest.

As I stood in the church narthex this morning greeting everyone, I noticed a mother and her son come in to join those already present. The young man carried himself with great care and dignity. He wore a uniform of sorts, some kind of cadet perhaps. His posture was perfect, and even though he walked with a slight limp, he carried himself “tall”. I found out later his name was Teddy.

In all the time they were in the narthex before Mass started he stood quietly by his mother’s side. Every once in a while they would look at each other and smile. I could not help but notice that it was more than just a smile. It was a communication. In that one act they seemed to speak volumes to each other.

Close by them stood another couple with a small girl of about three years old in a stroller. Teddy noticed the girl and stood staring at her as though mesmerized. After some moments, his mother touched him gently on the arm and he looked at her with a huge smile. He then turned his attention back to the girl for a few more moments before turning once more, the smile still upon his face, to gaze intently, lovingly into his mother’s eyes. Again I had the feeling of a long, silent communication between them.

It was time for Mass. We discreetly directed everyone into the church and Mass began. The ritual was beautiful, the songs and readings perfectly chosen for the occasion. Then came the moment for Communion and once again Teddy and his mother took front and center stage of my attention.

I had already received Communion and had just returned to my seat to pray when I looked up to see them returning down the aisle. As before, I noticed how tall and straight Teddy walked. His mother walked beside him and, with one hand resting lightly in the center of his back, seemed to gently guide him. But more than guiding, it appeared to be a sign of reassurance.

It seemed to me that Teddy was totally focused in the moment. He had just received Communion and his hands were folded in front of him in a gesture of quiet reverence. Yet as they walked together I noticed that with a slight movement of his head he seemed to keep his mother in his peripheral vision.

Once back in their pew, they knelt side by side. It looked as though it was difficult for Teddy to kneel, perhaps something to do with that limp. Then he slightly turned his head to his mother and waited. I don’t know how I knew he was waiting, nor did I know what he was waiting for. As I watched, his mother leaned in to him and brought her lips to his cheek in close proximity to his ear.

As if on cue, Teddy inclined his head just fractionally in her direction and she began to speak to him. In that moment I thought that perhaps she was saying some prayers for him, or perhaps suggesting some prayers that he might like to say. No matter what, the moment was precious, just utterly precious, and I felt humbled to have been part of a very intimate act between them.

What made this Mother’s and son’s love so precious and special? Teddy is a Downs Syndrome child. He is now twenty six years old. The unconditional love that flowed so freely between them was palpable. I felt privileged to see the warm compassion that this mother showed her special child. As I was allowed into their space and allowed to share their beautiful relationship,I felt as though I been given a priceless gift.

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My Italian Roots

Margo — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 22:16:49 +0000

Since posting the poem “Island Voices” about a week ago, and “Full Moon Rise” yesterday, my Italian soul has been clamoring for attention. So I think I’m going to have to open up a new topic under the label “Italy”. So much of my life experience has been savored in that country, and so much of my soul resides there even when I live elsewhere, that it seems the right thing to do.

Some may wonder if I feel somewhat fragmented because of my ongoing attachment to Italy, but for me it is not so. Italy has been a part of me since before I was born, even though I was raised as a one hundred-percent British girl. There has always been the “Italian connection”.

You see my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was Italian. Her name was Maria Vittoria Jaconelli. I do not know her history, however, I believe it was her mother and father who came over from Italy to live in Scotland. But I do have a coat of arms for the Jaconelli family hanging in my living room full of much italicized flourishes, emblazoned in red, silver, and gold, with a crowned, armor-helmeted head and a very stylized lion brandishing a sword. Extremely impressive!!

My mother was just six years old when Maria Vittoria died following the birth of her last child, my Uncle John. I’m not sure where all the children were born, I think a period of time was spent in Ireland which is where my grandfather was from, but they were mainly raised in Scotland. My mother eventually came down to London where she met and married her very English husband, my Dad, and my siblings and I were all born and raised in London.

So even as I attended schools in the London area and grew up in the times of Mary Quant and the mini skirt (I’m really aging myself here!), the Monkees, Mods and Rockers, Beatniks, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, the Italian connection always hovered on the edge of my awareness. I knew we had Italian relatives who lived in northern England and on the Isle of White, but they seemed like some exotic distant part of the family.

As a teenager I lived “with my head in the clouds” (one of my mother’s favorite expressions when talking of me), and I was a full blown dreamer, a romanticist who was always looking to be different. Consequently I met and married (against said mother’s wishes – she was right by the way!) an Italian. This did get me my first visit to Italy and that very first experience of “Ah, I’m home”.

Much water has gone under the proverbial bridge since then. I do have two stupendous sons from that ill-fated marriage, Marco and Giulio. They are proof positive of the truth in that old saying “something good always comes out of something bad”. It was Giulio’s wedding that we celebrated in Aviano last month.

As I have mentioned before, I lived almost half of my life in Italy. I spent ten years on the beautiful island of Sardinia, before going back to live in the UK for five years. I returned to Italy in 1983 and lived in Naples where I met my present husband, Richard. We married and two years later moved a little further north along the coast to Gaeta for three years before being transferred to Norfolk, Virginia in the United States. We were given the opportunity to return to Naples, Italy in 1991 and there we remained until January 2004.

So it is understandable that so much of my life experience has been garnered in Italy. Italian blood runs in my veins and cannot be denied. And I have most definitely been influenced by the Italian people and their culture and made it part of the way I live my life today – especially in the kitchen!!

And here we are at the end of another posting. The original title for this was “Poetry: From Naples” and I had intended to do a paragraph or two of introduction/background. By the end of the third paragraph I realized my heart was going in a slightly different direction and was not to be stopped. Ah well, there’s always another day.

Along the same lines:

The Caged Muse: On Vacation

Margo — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 00:57:02 +0000

I have been away, halfway round the world. I left behind my laptop and gave myself completely to “il dolce far niente” – the sweet doing of nothing. It was a family vacation in that we spent all our time with members of the far-flung family, first in England then in Italy. We had two weddings to celebrate: a niece in West Yorkshire and and my youngest son in Aviano, northern Italy.

We were on the go and travelling quite a bit. Our days were filled with happy reunions, much joy, and lots of eating. We are of Italian stock and food is very central to all occasions and celebrations. Any vague thoughts of diet (which I get from time to time!), fly out the window when the best Indian cuisine outside of India is available. And don’t get me started on the glories of fresh, really authentic, Italian food that goes from market stall to table in just a few hours.

Because of all the travelling and varying weight restrictions from one airline to another I chose to leave my trusty laptop at home. It was a wise choice for the vacation because we were so busy coming and going and sight seeing and catching up that there really was no time to write. But as the vacation progressed I was aware that there was a lot of stuff being collected in my brain bank with nowhere to go. I felt like Johnny-5 from the Short Circuit movies: input, input, input!

There were so many joyous moments, so much amazing food, such incredibly emotional events, and so much natural beauty to take in. And now I need to share it with the world!! The Muse was caged for over three weeks. It has taken another week to catch up on jet lag, get into a somewhat normal routine with life in general, and now she prowls. The Muse needs out! Spirit, body , and mind have been fed to maximum and need an outlet. Watch this space!!Along the same lines: