Some days are harder than others, and some days are more interesting.
For instance, today I had the honor of serving on an arbitration panel at the Bucks County Courthouse. Few things thrill me more than fulfilling my annual obligation to serve on an arbitration panel.
Arbitration panels in Bucks County are comprised of three attorneys each, and hear cases that have been certified by the parties as having a jurisdictional dispute amount of up to $50,000.00 (fifty thousand dollars).
Their Day In Court
Aside from their desire to win their case (whether that means winning an award of monetary damages as a result of a car accident or enforcing a contract or resolving a dispute with a neighbor), it’s pretty obvious that the single most important service we provide as arbitrators is giving citizens their day in court.
If a panel does their job well, each party should, ideally, leave that arbitration room feeling heard and respected – regardless of whether they win or lose. They should feel both as though they had the opportunity to calmly explain their position and that they were listened to.
Photos
I had a couple of photos from nature that I intended to add to this post (yes, I felt they were oddly relevant), but alas, they’re stuck somewhere in the ether. It’s a little frustrating, as I thought I’d sent them to myself early enough in the evening to avoid this old trope. But no dice.
I’m just going to tell myself that this only frees up more creative options to use those photos in a future post. It also just means I need to go to bed.
Let’s hope tomorrow yields even greater opportunities for thoughtful reflection and the sharing of photos.
It’s been six days since I managed to get any serious walking in. Between the weather and work and other obligations, I’ve simply not logged the mileage. And I have to admit: I yearn to get back in the saddle and return to Mother Nature.
Last week was a bust. And the most frustrating thing about it, to me, is that last week I probably could’ve most used the exposure to nature and the physical connection to the earth.
I just checked the tracker on my phone and see that from last Monday to Saturday, I averaged less than half a mile per day. My top day I managed to walk 0.51 miles and my worst I only walked 0.29 miles. Not good.
A Re-New(ed) Leaf
I’ve at least managed to start this week out on a much better foot. I averaged 4.3 yesterday and 4.1 today.
I have to admit, I was both excited and delighted by the mild weather today. Simply having sunshine brightening my windows made a difference in my mood. And that’s double-edged warmth and sunshine, since they’re coaxing dramatic spring growth to not only sprout but now blossom here and there.
Cloud Raptor – Photo: L. Weikel
Bits of Magic
But the best part about getting back out on my walking circuit is the opportunity to stumble across random messengers in the sky and discover assorted bits of magic on blankets of moss simply awaiting my gaze.
For instance, I was given a timely reminder to rise up and shift my perspective on recent events in my life when I looked up and saw what appeared, to me at least, to be an obvious cloud raptor hovering above me. “Get up, Lisa! Rise above the shock and sadness,” I could hear it admonishing me. “See what’s playing out, where it originated, and where it’s headed.”
No small task, but absolutely do-able; at least the first two suggestions anyway. Hard to tell where anything’s headed in the world right now.
What’s the Lesson?
Funny you should ask. Only several hundred yards from where I first discovered the cloud raptor, I started taking photos of little yellow flowers blossoming in a cluster on hillock of moss surrounding a maple tree.
There it was, plain as day (to my nature-starved eyes, anyway). A piece of bark in the shape of a wolf’s head. Hmm. According to the Medicine Cards®*, Wolf might represent the teacher, the pathfinder, or the forerunner of new ideas that need to be shared with the clan.
Maybe. Maybe not.
At the very least, I feel I’m being told to ‘look for teachings’ no matter what is happening – and trust my intuition. Nothing is random; and I can only imagine (and trust) my eyes needed to be opened.
One thing is for certain: it feels great to be back in the saddle, seeing the signs, listening to Mother Nature, and feeling her love and support.
When Karl started up the stairs tonight, he encouraged me to write about an adventure he had with The Girls, our neighbor’s chickens, earlier today. He basically said, “It’s the end of a long week, Lis. Write about something funny.”
So I’ve been sitting here, struggling to capture the humor of today’s avian escapade, but the words just aren’t materializing.
My feeling is that I need some photos. I don’t want to write about The Girls without being able to point to their feathered finery and surprisingly hefty girths. It’s obviously been a while since I pet sat The Girls because they really seem to have grown up since the last time, which may have been either this past fall or – more likely – last summer.
Wow. How time flies. And how things can change in such a short period of time.
Stunning View
So I’m going to wait on writing about Karl and The Girls. But I do want to share a stunning view I had the other night as I drove across the Williamsburg Bridge in NYC. The lights approaching and leaving the city were brilliant. The night was perfect for taking in the depth and breadth of the enormity of this place on Earth – with all it color and tremendous diversity.
My heart felt like it was expanding beyond my rib cage as I crossed the Williamsburg Bridge the other night. Perhaps it’s my naiveté or perhaps it’s my delight in the simple pleasures of bright and colorful lights, iconic architecture, and glistening water. Whatever it is, I wanted to capture it somehow, even if the magic barely registered it.
Yesterday was one of the few times I’ve ever been happy about traffic coming to a standstill. It gave me the opportunity to put down my passenger side window and take a couple quick snaps of the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building shining forth in the night.
So Lovely
Perhaps I’ll manage to snap some photos of my chicks tomorrow. In the meantime, please indulge in the lights of the city that never sleeps. Don’t forget to indulge your delight wherever you find it.
Sometimes I get a chance to pet sit for my neighbor, who was technically Duckhead’s mom (and is mom to all his ‘girls’). This occasional opportunity to vicariously indulge my inner gentlewoman farmer is now enhanced by the fact that Lilly has now become part of the mix.
I’ve cared for Lilly only once before, but she’s a much bigger bunny now.
As all young bunnies know, there are stages to becoming a rabbit. So when I was discussing my meager duties with Lilly’s mom earlier this week, she told me to beware, as Lilly ‘can be a little aggressive.’
Visions of Monty Python
I don’t know about you, but I immediately flashed to the blood-thirsty bunny in the classic, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
She quickly assuaged my concerns and assured me Lilly is merely a little ‘food aggressive.’ No worries. All I needed to do was distract her a little bit while filling her bowl of bunny kibble. All would be well.
Famous Last Words
She looked at me with curiosity when I entered her domain; meaning she looked up from her slumber and acknowledged my presence. I started my usual patter of animal chatter, picking up her bag of kibble and preparing to open her pen to fill her bowl.
<<BAM!>>
Lilly lunged in my general direction (wink), banging her nose upon the wire mesh of her cage. “What the heck, Lilly?” I yelped.
But I refused to be deterred. I opened the cage and started petting her body, making a point of steering clear of those potentially bloody canines! Although I was pretty sure she simply recognized the kibble bag and was displaying her enthusiasm over the prospect of me filling her bowl, I didn’t want to be dumb about it. She sure did bang herself hard against the cage.
All’s Well That Ends Well
Lilly happily enjoyed not only her kibble but also her spinach, a handful of which I gingerly thrust into her cage.
No killer rabbit. Not even a close encounter. I think I’m just a tiny bit disappointed – I think I was hoping for a sequel.
Today marks the 42nd Valentine’s Day Karl and I have celebrated together.
There’s no question Karl and I have been V-Day challenged since the inception of our relationship. Anyone reading this post can appreciate that Karl did not endear himself to me in that crucial first year Valentine’s Day pressure cooker. And while we did reach a détente by realizing that the very best V-Day gifts were those that were literary in nature, and we succeeded in making that a tradition for quite a while, many have nevertheless missed the mark.
This year, instead of going anywhere or doing anything even remotely related to Karl or our relationship, I had a session with a client. And this session entailed me driving a good distance away. As a result, I didn’t get home until just shy of 9:00 p.m.
Another Bust
Imagine my surprise to find the house empty when I got home.
“Hmmph,” I thought at first, when I pulled up and saw no cars in the driveway. “Maybe he went for pizza and wanted it to be piping hot when I got home.”
Not two minutes went by and Karl’s car pulled into our driveway.
I was standing in the living room, and through one of the windows could see him approaching the kitchen door. No pizza box in hand. The lack of same was striking and devastating.
In fact, from my perspective, it didn’t look as if he had anything in his hands. “Surely he brought home dinner,” I thought in a panic. I’ll admit it; I was pretty hungry at this point – and now expecting the worst. As usual.
Karl pushed open the door from our kitchen into our living room and flourished a small, unmarked paper bag with twine handles. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” Karl grinned, flashing me the smile that won me over all those years ago (and has wheedled its way into my heart far too many times to count over the intervening years).
I still wasn’t comprehending what he’d brought home. Was it even food? That bag sure was small. For some reason, my mind had become fixated on pizza as I drove home – even though I’d actively decided against calling and suggesting it to him. I was still trying to figure out how any of this added up.
Sushi Extravaganza
It wasn’t until I opened the paper bag with its distinctive twine handles and looked inside that I realized: This man knows me. He knows (finally!) after all these years precisely what to bring home to make me feel completely loved and known and indulged.
Every layer I uncovered in the bag elicited a shriek of delight. His choices were particularly significant since I’m the one who places the order for sushi the at most couple of special occasions we order it during the year. Karl isn’t nearly as bowled over by mouthgasms as I am over sushi, so the fact that he took the time to print out Ooka’s menu and figure out which of the offerings were the ones that pave a direct path to my heart was an act of pure love. (And beyond the love credits awarded for making the effort to pick out my favorites he earned triple bonus word score extravaganza points for choosing all my favorites!)
Best of all, I was utterly happy coming home to my love and just planning on spending a quiet evening with him and all our beasts.
The extravagant overload of delectable sushi was a total redemption for any and all prior V-Day transgressions. I’m one happy little fridget* (wink) Love you, Karl.
Yet again, I find myself with little time and even less to say. I guess that’s a good thing, if you think about it. Sounds like I should have plenty of time, then, to get it all said.
As I sit here in the silence, I can feel the front of cold air moving in. We’ve had a ridiculously mild winter so far, which at least has granted a reprieve on heating bills.
But tonight they’re calling for some truly seasonal temperatures to arrive. Into the 20s tonight and down to 12 degrees tomorrow night. Considering it’s been in the 50s lately, that’s a shock to the system!
As I started to say above, though – I can distinctly sense the cold seeping into my house as I sit here. But just as this post is going to be a short one, so is this cold snap. It looks like it’ll only last for a few days, and I don’t think it’s even going to make itself useful by bringing some snow.
Easy For Me
Here I am, half lamenting that it’s not been very cold this winter and walking on the shiny side of whiny about no snow. Ugh. It’s easy for me to wish for colder temperatures: I have ample opportunity for warmth and cuddling. And what good is it to be cold if you can’t tuck yourself into a warm little ball and enjoy the very fact that you’re staring that cold in the face and thwarting its evil intentions?!
Even the four leggeds in our house – they’re looking at me expectantly. I can tell they feel the shift in the temperatures, and even more than that, I get the feeling they know it’s going to get a lot colder before it heats back up.
I’m surrounded by my familiars (if you will). They’re staring at me intently. I think it’s because they’re tired and resolute in their determination to get me to see the light, stop this incessant typing, and allow them under the bedcovers. As soon as possible. (Why they’re not upstairs with Karl yet, I have no idea. Loyalty? Doubtful.)
Time to Cuddle
I guess this being Valentine’s Day eve and everything, it’s only natural that I’d want to hustle myself up to bed. But the truth is, I’ve always loathed Valentine’s Day. But wow – because I’m on Day 459, that means I’ve already regaled you with my single memorable Valentine’s Debacle Story.
We don’t need another one.
In the meantime, I hope you all have a lovely day tomorrow. If nothing else, give yourself a little lovin’. Even if it’s only a couple of seconds’ worth: tell your body how much you love and appreciate it.
It’s important. Love is important. And look at that: I did end up in a familiar place after all.
One of our favorite Christmas decorations through the years is having candles in all the windows of our home. I grew up with candles in our windows at Christmas. (And no, I’m not so old that we used actual candles! Don’t be smart!) But they did require being plugged in, and in an old stone farmhouse with few electrical outlets, that meant a real hassle of extension cords and overloaded sockets. It also meant screwing each and every light bulb in each night and unscrewing them in the morning.
A couple years ago, I discovered battery-operated Christmas candles. What a boon! Not only do they have LED lights that burn brighter on the side you direct outward and softer on the side that faces indoors, but the bulb burns for six hours straight once it’s initially screwed in. It automatically turns off at the end of six hours, then turns itself back on 18 hours later, and burns another six hours. Day after day.
If you don’t like when they come on, you simply re-set them by unscrewing and screwing the bulb back in.
Waiting Them Out
Now, though, is when we enter the sad stage. The lights in the windows are dwindling as the LEDs growing dimmer. Night by night, they’re burning ever softer. Their once almost blindingly bright lights are barely visible from the road. Some have sipped every last drop of battery juice and now stand dark and sad. Others keep chugging along, their batteries causing the lights to burn at a gentle, almost pale orange glow.
The funny thing is, it’s now almost mid-February and I am definitely ready to put the candles away for the year. But I don’t want to put them away with the batteries still in the candles. Obviously that wouldn’t be good for a couple of reasons, not least being that the batteries are almost dead and they’ll get all mucked up if we stick them in the attic for the off season.
Nope. These candles are almost ‘done’ and we just need to wait them out.
Which leads me to my current situation. Our house looks like a shaggy dog. Or as if people can’t make up their mind whether to kill the Christmas decorations for the year or keep them until we hit Easter.
And that wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. I’ll leave them up as long as it takes to drain the last bit of juice out of every single battery.
A Metaphor
I’m guessing we could read this as a metaphor for life. But I don’t know what the point of it would be.
Some lives seem to use up their batteries more quickly than others. Some keep hanging on, lighting up for longer than anyone could have reasonably anticipated. Dimming, but still doing their thing, still providing a hedge against the utter darkness of the night. Still providing us with just enough light to make us smile and feel a little bit warmer as they catch our attention.
I’m ready to put them to sleep in the attic. But I don’t have the heart to just put them away without using up every drop of energy in every single battery I use. So I’m waiting them out.
Sometimes ‘stuff happens.’ And sometimes ‘nothin’ happens.’
Usually, on the nights that ‘nothin’ happens,’ there’s a reason for the nothin’ coming into being.
Tonight, however, I can tell you exactly what happened: I fell asleep.
I guess the past couple of days caught up to me. That’s probably the best guess I can make.
Primary Night
I suppose I could talk about the results of the New Hampshire primary. But actually, I figure my regular (thank you!) readers would prefer I write nothing at all. Ugh! Boring.
I know, I should probably care who wins, and I do care, to an extent. But honestly? Until the primaries start happening in states that are more representative of the actual demographic composition of our country, I’m just going to have to respond with a hearty, “Meh.”
Department of Justice
The other major story tonight is the horrific events unfolding in the Department of Justice. The bedrock of our country is our system of justice and the fundamental belief that it is essentially a fair system. Our current president, recently acquitted by a Senate whose Republican majority is a profile in cowardice and calumny, has succeeded in finally getting an Attorney General who will bring the wheels of justice to a halt – in his favor.
Our country is in peril.
I think I would rather go back to sleep. This is exhausting and depressing.
I picked up a book today that’s been half stuffed under my bed for, dare I guess, at least six months or so. My box of tissues had slid off and I could see one of the words of the title: Exquisite. What a delicious word.
Opening the book randomly to a vignette entitled “Falling Down and Getting Up,” I was captivated by the first few sentences:
“When medieval monks were asked how they practiced their faith, they would often reply, ‘By falling down and getting up.’ And there you have the whole muddled mess of being human. Over and over, this very humbling sequence returns us to the earth, to the humus, to the soil. (…)
“How we think about this matters. For falling down is not about failure, but about experiencing as many of life’s positions as possible. It is how we learn. And getting up is not about vanquishing or conquering an opponent or circumstance, but about not getting stuck in one of life’s innumerable valleys.”
Tests and Choices of Friendship – and Life
Sometimes tests come in unexpected and seemingly random moments. Situations arise that ordinarily would appear or sound utterly absurd but, for whatever reason, don the cloak of plausibility for the briefest of moments – and that moment (and our choice) changes everything.
We’re all given options. Choices to tumble into and remain stuck in valleys of ugliness and choices to open our eyes, look up, and wipe the muck from our eyes. Choices to see what is and has been in our hearts, and choices to see, perhaps, what never actually was.
I’m sure it’s been rather obvious that I recently tumbled into a valley of despair and disbelief, discovering betrayal is alive and well in the world (as if we need any reminders). Sadly, betrayal can come in the dual form of both the speaker of lies and those who would listen to those poisonous words and accept them as true without discernment.
Choosing the Mountain
When I discovered this specific passage today, I knew it was confirming what I’d already experienced. I’d just encountered the balm of deep friendship, of knowing my heart was seen – and known – by another. I’d chosen, by simply reaching out, to rise from that valley, regaining my preferred perch with its expansive, honest, and open-hearted view.
It’s amazing what loving kindness can reveal. It’s equally or perhaps even more amazing what lies – and the willingness to believe them – can reveal.
Knowledge is power, though.
Listening to the Voice Inside
Just in flicking randomly through this gift from under my bed, I discovered the following words, which also speak to my recent experiences:
“Whenever you put your ear to the earth or to your own heart, the deeper instruments play, swelling our sense of things. When lost, we simply have to remember to put our ear to the earth, or to our heart, and we will hear a warmth that guides.”
Listening with our whole beings. Listening to our hearts, to the earth, to our own deepest knowing. We all fall, we all make mistakes, we all get lost; none of us is perfect.
Listening, though, helps us make the choice to get back up.
This expression is often used when something has happened and it can’t be taken back.
In the past when I’ve heard this expression, I’ve often imagined the water slurping over the top of the dam, a slosh of water sort of escaping the confines of the dam that’s holding the majority of the water back.
But when I look at the photo of the dam at Lake Nockamixon, which you could argue is ‘holding back’ my favorite local body of water, the Tohickon Creek, you can see that the water is not slurping over the barrier.
No, it’s cascading. It’s rushing headlong, determined on its course.
Reality and Metaphor
It’s fascinating to me how Spirit brings us messages much more frequently than we realize. Sometimes we find ourselves looking for messages everywhere we turn, searching our surroundings for signs that might give us a clue as to how we should decide to respond to a situation or what kind of choice we should make when facing a dilemma.
And sometimes there it is: right in front of our face.
Yes, the eagle flying high overhead could easily be suggesting that we should rise above a situation and look at it from a higher perspective. Try to see the question or issue from more angles than might be obvious to us from our particular vantage point.
But perhaps the message isn’t the eagle flying high above our head.
Maybe the message is in the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, getting darker and darker each moment as we try to focus on the beauty of the lake or the sound of the rushing water rejoining and feeding the Tohickon.
There’s definitely darkness on the horizon – that is quite obvious.
But there’s sunshine in the distance as well.
I only just realized this evening that the answer was staring me in the face:
It’s literally water over the dam. It’s a rush of water, dashing itself on the rocks below.
The thing is, it’s reality: it’s not just a metaphor. It’s water over the dam. It’s done. It’s over. And nothing will get that water back into the lake.
