little things

Snarfing Down a Carrot – Day 984

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Snarfing Down a Carrot – Photo: L. Weikel

Snarfing Down a Carrot

As I’ve said a vast number of times before, it’s the little things in life that make it all worthwhile. Yeah, I’ve written about a lot of the ‘little things’ in my life over the past 983 days, even accidentally titling three separate posts (here, here, and here) ‘Little Things.’ But I’ve never titled a post ‘Snarfing Down a Carrot’ before tonight and yet the snarfing was most definitely another example of a tiny moment that made my day.

In point of fact, and upon reflection, almost every post has been about something most people would view as utterly inconsequential.

Alas, perhaps that’s one of the lessons I’ve learned through this exercise I dubbed my ‘1111 Devotion.’ My life is a tapestry of inconsequential moments; opportunities to assign personal meaning to the shape of a cloud or to realize joy in the midnight song of a catbird.

Or to experience delight when pigs, responding to my calls, run from their pen to greet me with smiles and appreciative grunts. It got even better (in my book) when the swine that snagged the biggest carrot used decidedly covert and deliberate tactics to hide her coup from the other two. Not only did she know she’d scored, she was determined to hide it from the other two.

She knew what she was doing! – Photo: L. Weikel

Laughter and Joy

I’m grateful for the laughter and joy my ‘three little pigs’ brought me this evening. It was quite a juggling act, taking their photos while feeding them carrots, singing their praises, and making sure Spartacus stuck by my side.

But I hope you’ll agree, these photos capture at least a little of their ‘cheek,’ and surely elicit a chuckle.

I was going to pick a card for us to contemplate on tomorrow’s full moon in Aquarius. Instead, I became distracted by my lovely and loving little porkers.

Maybe I’ll pick a card tomorrow.

Or maybe not.

Shhhh! It’s our secret – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-127)

No Escape – Day 795

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Tohickon Flow 14 Jan 21 – Photo: L. Weikel

No Escape

There’s so much stress swirling around all of us these days. It’s in the atmosphere, on the news, in the grocery store, on the Capitol steps. It’s bombarding us on our phones, in our homes, and definitely squeezing hospitals all across the country – and around the world. It seems there’s no escape.

But there is. It’s called Nature.

I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir here. Nevertheless. Even if I am, I’m going to repeat myself. Because no matter how vigilant we are about maintaining our balance or taking a break from the news, it can be all too easy to talk ourselves out of it in times like these. Taking a walk, watching the flow of a creek, or sitting on the porch for 15 minutes to watch the sunset can feel entirely inappropriate when viewed through the lens of how dire life can seem at the moment.

Case in Point

Over the weekend, when I wrote about how so many of us are feeling under pressure, Spartacus was also feeling the stress. The very same day my tooth broke, Spartacus woke up with an extreme flare-up of what’s commonly called ‘Cherry Eye.’ I describe it as extreme because he has occasionally sported a red bump in the corner of his eye before, but never was it so huge as it was on Sunday. It was extremely disconcerting to look at him. It almost felt as though he, too, had been feeling the pressure – and while I took my stress out on my tooth, he manifested his where his body was the weakest.

Even worse than how awful it looked was how sad he became. He was totally thrown off his game by losing most of the sight in his eye – and sadly, that’s how large the prolapse was. Even when he slept, his eye wasn’t closing. He barely sniffed at his food. We even took a walk, but in spite of the mild weather, his heart wasn’t in it.

I’m glad to report that the ointment they gave me for his eye worked wonders – even on the bulge as big as it was. He feels so much better now. (I’ll post an ‘after’ photo tomorrow – or soon, at least. I promise!)

Spart’s Cherry Eye – Photo: L. Weikel

Lost My Point

Ha ha – as I sit here, I swear, I’ve lost the point of where I was going with this post. I didn’t intend to write in such detail about Spartacus’s affliction, but there it is. I’ll share it, since it has a happy resolution. I didn’t want to write about it while we were going through it because it’s one thing to write about a broken tooth and quite another to write about your puppy (even if he is 12 years old) looking like he’s been in a war.

I didn’t want to bum any of us out any more than we were already feeling!

I Remember Now

I was writing about the simple joy of being in Nature and how essential it is for all of us to be reminded of that fact, especially as we face these intensely stressful times. I related the story about Spartacus because this afternoon, he and I were hanging out on the porch for a moment as I filled the birdfeeders, and I was filled with gratitude that he was feeling so much better and was shamelessly basking in the sun.

We’ve had a satisfying array of visitors to our feeders, and Karl’s trick of hanging chunks of Irish Spring soap to the feeders seems to have quelled the deer from draining the tubes each night. As I listened to the birds chirping and cheeping in the branches and bushes surrounding the porch, alerting all their friends and neighbors that the two legged was finally refilling the feeders and maybe even putting out some peanuts, I recalled an article I’d read recently about the impact of birdwatching on our happiness.

Just another example of how being in Nature is a balm to our souls.

In spite of all the anxiety we’re feeling over extremism in our lives and the possibility of more violence over the next several days, give yourselves the gift of appreciating the simple, natural, pleasures in life. The cardinals and chickadees. The squirrels and goldfinches. The puppy who can see again, scrounging up shelled peanuts that fall to the ground when you’re filling the peanut coil.

It’s the little things.

(T-316)

Little Things – Day 678

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Photo: L. Weikel

Little Things

Sometimes we have to find magic in the little things. If we don’t, we run the risk of feeling overwhelmed by the big things.

I find that a couple of photos I took this morning are bringing me a measure of sweetness. No matter how upset we humans are (or aren’t) by certain losses and activities and diseases that may be upending our lives, the creatures and other beings with whom we share this planet just keep on keeping on.

Baby Sparrow – Photo: L. Weikel

They eat, they sleep, they wave and bob their heads in the breeze.

They brighten our days and bring magic to our nights. (I’m talking to you, Barred Owl.)

And sometimes they’re all I want to think or write about.

Photo: L. Weikel

I don’t want to think one more thought about the state of affairs we humans find ourselves in. Not one more thought this evening.

I want to look at the squirrel snoozing on a branch just outside my bedroom window. I want to celebrate the bright beauty of the Heliopolis blooming along the side of our road. I want to revel in the fluffy adorableness of a baby bird just getting its bearings, or a red squirrel caressing a peanut it stealthily (in its mind) snagged from the peanut loop.

When the huge stuff pulls you down, take time to find the magic in the little things. Give them permission to pull you back up.

Munching – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-433)

Why? – Day 656

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Spartacus Wants to Know – Photo: L. Weikel

Why?

Ah yes. There’s a question. You’re probably puzzling in your brain to which of the myriad unfathomable situations we’re being faced with day after day, week after week this cataclysmic year of 2020 I could possibly be directing this plaintive bleat. You’ll probably never guess; so I’ll just lay it out there: Why has Facebook decided to change – in the middle of a damn pandemic and everything else – the format we’re all comfortable with looking at and navigating? WHY????

I know; I ask myself the same thing. Really, Lisa? Quite frankly, it annoys me that it annoys me. I’m chagrined by my disturbance. I want to punch myself in the arm, give myself the silent treatment, and perhaps even put myself in a time out for giving a crap about stupid Facebook.

First Offense

It was earlier this week that FB seemed to randomly change up my account to inflict the new layout on me. I was immediately off-put and found the tab where I could switch back to “Classic” FB. (They really should take a lesson from Coca Cola). The reason why I was so quickly turned off by the new format? It would not let me copy and paste the link to that evening’s 1111 Devotion post in my status. I tried every which way that I could think of – even trying to post it first on one of my other pages (Owl Medicine and Owl Medicine Shamanic Healing). Nope.

So before I managed to track down the “return to Classic” link, I painstakingly hand typed in the whole long link address to my blog. And now, four or so days later (and notably, before September, when they said the switch would be made unilaterally and permanently for everyone), I’ve apparently been involuntarily switched to the new format – again.

It’s the Little Things

Only this time I can’t find the “return to Classic” toggle and I’m incensed. First of all, it’s not September yet! Second of all, it only reinforces my self-loathing that I’ve come to appreciate FB as a means of not only hopefully getting my posts read by more people but also staying in touch with friends and family even if tangentially and playfully during these unprecedented times of isolation.

We all know it: it’s the little things. And when so many monumental crowbars are being thrown at us right and left, day after day, would it kill FB to refrain from bonking us over the head with another one?

I guess it would. And I have to wonder: what changes have been made that we can’t see?

I’d like to think that Zuck is implementing these changes to minimize abuses and clamp down on trolling and the spreading of misinformation and disinformation. I’m sure FB is concerned about the profound implications for the coming election.

Yep. I’d like to think that. (Dream on…)

It’s incumbent upon us to remain vigilant. On so many fronts. Thanks for bearing witness to this rant. This is probably just a case of me crankily complaining that someone moved my cheese and whining, “Why?” I don’t want to resist change – if it’s good change.

(T-455)

Beauty – Day 595

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Anniversary Clouds – Photo: L. Weikel

Beauty

What a day we enjoyed today, mostly just hanging out with each other. Isn’t that the beauty of a relationship that’s celebrating 40 years of official togetherness? (We knew each other for three years before we tied the knot, so there are a few years of ‘unofficial’ togetherness, too…wink wink.)

But honestly, the best part about Karl and our relationship is how much I enjoy just being with him. Sitting on the porch, reading together, picking cards, laughing, snarking, watching the birds, cursing the squirrels, dreaming more dreams, wondering what’s next on our adventure agenda.

Anniversary Clouds 2 – Photo: L. Weikel

We really only did two things today: (1) We purchased a wonderfully deep and melodic wind chime, something of beauty to remind us of our milestone every day; and (2) took a walk. Of course. Because it’s the sacred little things we do that make all our lives both magical and worth the effort.

I share with you the blockbuster clouds that accompanied us on our journey today.

Love to all of you who sent us a happy thought or two today. We mirror them back to you with joy!

And hang on to your hats, everyone. I have a feeling this week is going to be…raucous.

Anniversary Sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-516)

Lightning Bugs – Day 577

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Lightning Bug – Photo: L. Weikel

Lightning Bugs

Two nights ago, on Monday evening, Karl and I took a good long walk that extended into the magical time of twilight. Much to my delight, we were welcomed along the way by lightning bugs rising from their slumber and peeking their heads above the tall grasses that fill the fields and line the roads around our home.

With my sense of time rather hopelessly distorted as a result of the coronavirus pandemic, it felt early to be greeting these harbingers of summer. But I guess it’s not. I see I first wrote about them last year on June 3rd, when I discovered a lone firefly hanging out on our porch one morning. I then wrote another post on June 9th – when I reported seeing a grand display as they rose from the forest floor near High Rocks.

Come to think of it, then, it would appear that they’re pretty much right on track. Practically to the day, since it was June 8th when we saw them this year!

Wow. Bug time. You can set your calendar by it.

First Heat Wave of the Season

We took a walk this evening that bumped up close to twilight, but wasn’t late enough, apparently, to witness my favorite luminescent creatures. I have to wonder if they weren’t sleeping in, tucked into the cool shade of the matted undergrowth of the meadows and forests. They may have been tempted to hunker down a bit longer than usual tonight, as the heavy blanket of heat and humidity today made all movement feel like a major, sticky effort.

The heat index was up to 100 degrees today. That’s oppressive. It means that the heat and humidity weren’t bad enough on their own, but they decided to work together to add a little oomph to the punishment being meted out to the humans. But I also think these are prime conditions for firefly eggs to hatch.

I’m optimistic that a post-twilight walk later this week will yield tremendous firefly activity. Or maybe we’ll have to wait until July for the best natural pyrotechnics. In the meantime? I just looked out the window and a wink of light acknowledged my glance.

Lightning bugs. They’re one of the little joys in life that keep me going.

Fireflies – Photo: Stocksy United

(T-534)

Disconnected – Day 517

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Photo: L. Weikel

Disconnected

I’m feeling a bit disconnected from Easter this year. I don’t like admitting that, even if it’s normal and to be expected under the circumstances. It feels almost sacrilegious, or like a betrayal of myself.

Why such a harsh indictment of my feelings?

Partly, I suspect, because I was born on Easter Sunday. So for me to feel disconnected from Easter, which has always been one of my favorite holidays (especially since I have a unique and quite intimate relationship with The Rabbit), it’s a sign that things are not right with the world.

Easter represents a lot of my favorite concepts: rebirth, springtime, fresh starts, growth, new life, starting over, sunshine, baby animals, hope, optimism. OK. Just creating that list made me smile a little more and remember my roots. I love this time of year.

No Easter Eggs

Karl and I didn’t color eggs this year. It’s only the two of us here at home, as I suspect is true with a lot of you. It’s kind of weird to think that you shouldn’t even have an Easter egg hunt with your own grandkids or whatever (if they don’t live with you), since, technically, the virus could be spread between people simply by touching the eggs. And good grief, the last thing anyone wants is to sicken a loved one.

It’s the little things, isn’t it? Losing our ability to connect with small gestures. To reach out and touch someone’s arm or give a quick hug. To hide an Easter egg and not feel as though you’re potentially hiding a live grenade?

A Meandering Post

I fear my post this evening has been an exercise akin to hopping down the bunny trail – sort of zig zagging from one subject to another without any apparent coherence.

As sad as any of you feel, too, because you can’t engage in those huge little gestures of love and connection, the solace we can take is in how much more we will appreciate them when we can once again reclaim those means of expression. Perhaps lots of people will realize they no longer want to be as disconnected as they used to crave being.

Who knows? Possibly those of us who are huggers will no longer feel ashamed for being who we are, for our ability to convey with a silent connection, heart-to-heart, more than a million words could ever say.

I am one of those. And I am sending each and every one of you a hug and a smile. A hug to say, “Hang in there. We can do this. We’re only physically distancing, not emotionally or spiritually distancing.” And a smile to say, “I love you.”

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-594)

In the Blink of an Eye – Day 476

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Cloud sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

In the Blink of an Eye

A couple things came to my attention today that drive home the adage that ‘everything can change in the blink of an eye.’

Not that I’m unfamiliar with the floor of my world dropping out from under me. But the feeling that accompanies drastic change in our lives (usually on the ‘awful’ end of the spectrum), is rarely something we want to repeat or actively seek.

One occurrence that shook me was seeing a friend of the family post on FB that their home was lost in a fire this morning. A home in which two girls spent their entire lives growing up – charred beyond measure. Treasured and irreplaceable family heirlooms – up in smoke. Worse yet? Family pets. All but one (a cat receiving medical treatment tonight) presumed or confirmed dead.

Loss

This family has been on my mind all day. I sit in my home of 35 years, surrounded by my beloved pups and kits, and my heart can only flirt with the sorrow and horror I’d feel to lose so much in such a ravaging manner.

And while I absolutely value the preciousness of all life and am grateful human lives were spared, I imagine the loss of photos and journals, and a myriad of other utterly unique, tangible items that were artifacts of lives lived by their ancestors leave a terribly raw and open wound in their hearts. It’s precisely the irreplaceable nature of these items that make their loss tragic.

The loss is stark. Only memories remain. And these realizations of impermanence are harsh.

The Little Things

I imagine that shock has probably overcome the family by now. A certain numbness to the magnitude of loss takes over so we don’t implode on ourselves.

The big stuff, in many ways, is probably most easily replaceable. It may not be Grandma’s four poster bed, but a beautiful bedroom set can be acquired. Same with many other ‘things’ we surround ourselves with in our homes.

No, the excruciating pain will probably come in the form of a daily drip of realizing all the little things that have been lost. Stuff we all take for granted. Little things that are so ingrained as a part of our daily lives that it’s not until we reflexively look for them or think, “That must be in the attic…” that we realize yet again what’s gone.

And the worst part may be that intangible loss: that feeling of being swept out of that home and off that land – no matter how large or small the plot of earth that stood beneath their house. That sense of possibly never sleeping there again, the impact of realizing they may never look out windows onto the familiar trees or grass or skyline they’ve lived with and gazed upon for decades, will only gradually dawn on them.

When others experience horrific tragedies, it’s only human to empathize and reflect upon how we would feel if thrust into the same circumstances.

In the blink of an eye, everything can change for any of us. It is cliché, perhaps, to suggest that we look around and appreciate our lives and circumstances. But nevertheless, it behooves us to do it. Take a moment. Look around you. Appreciate your many blessings.

And send compassion and courage to those who, in the blink of an eye, have lost so much.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-635)

A Smidge of Hope – Day 290

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Smidge of a Rainbow – Photo: L. Weikel

A Smidge of Hope

We all know it’s the little things. It’s the little things that push us over the edge. It’s the little things that can trigger road rage and make us go from pleasant to demented in two seconds flat.

It’s the little things that make life worth living.

It’s the little things, sometimes, that serve to bring a smile to our face just in time to shift whatever barometer we have within us to perceiving life as reflecting a rainbow rather than embodying a fogbank or a massive cloudburst.

There’s a big difference between those three ‘weather events’ and how they impact us (especially if we’re taking a walk when experiencing them). And sometimes it’s hard to perceive whether we’re impacting the weather or it’s impacting us. Are we the chicken? Or are we the egg?

Yikes. I’m all over the place tonight.

It’s stemming at least partly from the photo I want to ‘feature’ tonight (which I’d hoped to post last night, but we all know how well that went).

A Smidge of a Rainbow

I took tonight’s photo (above) last night as Karl and I traversed the ‘walkabout’ with Spartacus and Sheila  (The ‘walkabout’ is the ~4 mile route we routinely take, as opposed to the ‘walk-around,’ which is 2.1 miles.)

I was tired when we walked last night. And feeling some uneasiness over the state of the world. (Oh wow, how ridiculous is that? ‘Some uneasiness?’ The banality of that statement is laughable.) But it’s true. Karl and I were both just sort of skating along on the surface. We even commented on how sort of ‘stuck in neutral’ we’re both feeling  – paying attention to what’s going on in the world but trying our best not to get ‘hooked’ into any of it.

That’s hard.

We made a point of not digging too deeply into the specifics. We kept changing the subject, because we knew how easily we could become mired in misery.

I’m not going to recite what was (and is) going on ‘out there.’ Most of you, I suspect (with a few notable exceptions – and you know who you are!) are committed to remaining informed and many of you are activists, or you at least try to make a difference where you can. So whether our awareness of the current atrocities and outrages being visited upon our fellow Earth brothers and sisters (and Mother Earth herself) is conscious or not, we’re still picking up on the overall energy ‘out there.’ And it’s devolving.

As a result, as our mothers taught us, if we can’t say anything nice, we don’t say anything at all. Unsurprisingly, then, a good portion of our walks lately have been in silence.

Prickly Beauty of Thistle – Photo: L. Weikel

A Smidge of Love

So imagine my delight when I looked up at the sky – with no (truly, zero) expectation of seeing anything out of the ordinary – and caught sight of that smidgen of a rainbow.

It felt like an unexpected hug. No, it wasn’t some two page spread of a Technicolor spectacle. But neither was it a mere ‘rainbow dog.’ (And let me be clear: I’m not disparaging rainbow dogs. But you have to admit, they’re usually quite tiny.) It was real; it was unexpected; and it was a ray of hope. It made me smile, inside and out. It shifted my energy and kicked my perspective up a notch or two.

So of course, what was the first thing out of my mouth when I saw it? “I need to try to capture that!” I declared. “I want to share it tonight.”

We need each other. We need to give – and be – smidgens of rainbows for each other: Sharing unexpected smiles. Knowing, compassionate glances. Generous laughter.

Quick hugs, too – even if it’s just with our eyes or our words. Because it’s important, especially now, to know in our bones that we’re not alone, and that love will prevail.

(T-821)

Little Things – Day Ninety Seven

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It’s the Little Things

This title could lead me down many, many roads, some more savory than others. But as you can tell from the accompanying photo, the road I’m choosing is pretty benign. And that’s the whole point.

You see that little bit of blood lurking at the corner of my pinky? I’ll admit it; it’s the product of me picking at myself. Not one for manicures, I nevertheless have reasonable looking fingernails. Most of the time, at least.

Not as of today.

Lately things have been coming to a head around me in a variety of ways. Chickens coming home to roost (and no, not Duckhead’s girls, although I did get the chance to bond with the ladies for five days or so last week), or just time taking its toll. Maybe just life happening, and I’m being called upon to deal with it.

I find myself trying harder than usual lately to walk my talk; to practice what I preach. What I’m driving at here is I’ve been straining to listen. And every time I think I’m being pointed in a particular direction or given a certain message to follow through on, it feels like the rug gets pulled out from under me. Or a door slams shut. Or the RT of D turns on.

And I have a sneaking feeling that sometimes I give the mistaken impression that listening is easy. Or rather, receiving answers or discerning guidance is easy. Those aren’t necessarily the same as listening, since listening, to me, means acting upon what the message you’ve received.

There’s a Difference Between Listening ‘to’ Others and Listening ‘for’ Ourselves

I should clarify here: to be a good listener for others, we usually need to break ourselves of the habit of wanting to take action in response to what another is telling us. We need to refrain from trying to solve their problem or fix their issue.

But when we are seeking guidance either from our own souls or our Higher Selves, our guardians or guides, or whatever you want to call the receipt of insight or wisdom or direction from a mostly unknowable or indefinable source that resonates deeply within us, a primary way of acknowledging receipt of and respect for that guidance is to take action in alignment with it.

My difficulty lately has been receiving the message, not listening to it. Well, I probably shouldn’t jump the gun on that, actually. Because who knows? Once I finally move beyond this impasse and gain clarity on what I’m supposed to be doing ‘next’ with my life, I can only hope that I will accept the message and listen to it (i.e., act upon that message) with grace.

I want to think that will be the case. But I’m not there yet, so who knows. (I will keep you apprised.)

In the meantime, I’m fretting. I have to admit, I loathe asking for guidance and receiving the proverbial dial tone. (And wow – I just realized how outdated an expression that’s becoming. Quite literally, there are probably a lot of people who have only known cell phones and therefore aren’t even aware of what a dial tone is or what one sounds like. That’s unsettling.)

A Reminder to Be Patient – and Kind

I want to take action. I want to listen. I want to be a catalyst for improvement. But I want to act when appropriate. I want to take whatever steps are asked of me when they will be most effective.

All of which entails waiting – at least in the short term. As I mentioned above, it’s not as if I’ve been standing still. I continue to ask; and when I think I’m receiving a response, I follow through by exploring it. Lately, as I said, I’ve felt the bruise of doors slamming in my face (or maybe on my fingers?).

Ha ha. No. Not on my fingers. That bloody little pinky is a casualty of my doubt, my insecurity. It’s evidence of my worry that maybe I’m not going to receive a message or an answer ‘in time’ to make a difference. It’s evidence that I’m picking at myself.

And the funny thing is, throughout the entire process of writing this post, it’s hurt like a bratty little bitch. My pinky is nagging at me, taunting me. Calling me to pay attention to what I know. Calling me to be kind to myself and trust that sometimes other things, things we have no knowledge of, need to fall into place before we can take the next step to act on our listening.

(T- 1014)