YES, IT'S TIME TO GIVE THANKS

It's that time of year when everything is happening.  Thanksgiving is upon us.  I am thankful the celebration is at my house.  I am thankful that my granddaughter is helping me prepare.  Lots of chopping for the stuffing and the old-fashioned Golden Glow Jello salad from Grandma Edna's recipe box. Setting the table for eight this year, not that many.  I remember when it was more and we used two tables.  Or occasionally just me and my husband, and we travel.  Why not? 

Not that all is good.  One of our dear friends died last week.  You know how hard it is when someone you love dies.  We all know that.  You can't be alive and not know that.  We can't believe how fragile we all are.  We don't quite want life to go on as usual, it seems callous.  "Stop all the clocks...Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come," W. H. Auden wrote.  Then just now we got a call that my husband's college roommate is gravely ill.  I read a beautiful essay in the New York Times today by a woman who lost her teenage daughter Orli.  It hit home.  Tears are defining our week. 

And yet, eight people who are alive and well will be here on Thanksgiving.  We might have prayers, maybe silent, for others who aren't here and not doing so well.  But we will also have much for which to be thankful.  Our family, like yours, is full of love.  Our family, like yours, is coping.  This is the most wonderful of American holidays.  A day devoted entirely to giving thanks.  No other holiday is like that, not Christmas, not Easter, not Hannukah, not our birthdays or 4th of July.  Isn't it something--we don't give presents, we give thanks.  Our religion doesn't matter.  We just gather and enjoy food and each other.  

This year I am again thankful that my husband and I still have one another after so many years, and have not grown tired of our conversations, our playfulness, our needs; that our younger grandson decided to spend his summer with us; that our older grandson is graduating soon; that so much of the family is local and we see them often. 

I know the world is not this easy for many, for those who are the victims of war, for those who are poor, for those in harm's way.  But if that is not you, give thanks.  Give thanks and do for others.  Join the throngs who use Christmas as a giving time.  Live in the spirit of Christ by doing for others as you would have them do unto you.  

And if that is you, or has been you, give thanks anyway.  For what else is useful, helpful, consoling and comforting but to look for your blessings and give thanks?  Not one of us is without blessings.  Not one of us need despair.  Not one of us is not a child of God with the flutter of hope in their heart.  Not one.

Happy Thanksgiving, and the peace that passes all understanding be yours this day and tomorrow.  AMEN

A PRAYER POEM FOR TODAY

Mourning the loss of hope,

Missing those moments of joy,

We shelter in place

As if from a storm.

. . . 

We know that history is long

And tyrants are made of flesh,

That power corrupts but does not last.

. . . 

Hitler is dead.

Mussolini is dead.

Stalin is dead.

Saddam Hussein is dead. 

Judas is dead.

No resurrections there.

. . . 

Only love can defeat hate.

Only light can drive out darkness.

. . .

The fight is long,

The fight is hard,

The fight continues.

God bless the fight. 

"We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."  Martin Luther King, Jr.

NO, WE'RE NOT FINE

"Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard" H.L. Mencken, Satirist and Cultural Critic (l8980-1956)

today I was reading a poet who talked about greed and stupidity and hate.

Such everyday things now.

I could write a poem about that, I thought.

I read, I scroll, I listen to the news.

I see who's on deck, who's failing already.

But then I thought, I'll be OK.

The stock market's rising, I'll be OK. 

I have a home, I'll be OK.

I have health insurance, I'll be OK.

The woman who cleans my home, the man who mows my grass, they aren't criminals.

It must be the others that are.

The boy who loads my groceries, he isn't lazy.

It must be the others who are. 

The mothers and their children who shop with me in Food Lion, they're not vermin.

It must be the others who are.

I haven't met anyone who doesn't deserve a hand up, but I must be wrong. 

Anyway, I was born here, I'll be fine.

If I don't care about our country, the world, or the future, 

I'll be just fine.

On second thought, I'm not in the mood to write a poem.  

                               

                                                       Nina Naomi

A DAY FOR HYGGE, DEFINITELY

 "Complete absence of anything annoying or emotionally overwhelming."  This is part of the Danish concept of hygge, the term that captures feelings of coziness, warmth, charm and simplicity.  All things good.  I admit to needing, even longing, for that.  We don't want emotional overwhelm right now.  Our thresholds are low.  Mine is. 

The word comes originally from the Old Norse word hugga, which means to comfort or console, i.e. our word hug.  But in Denmark it's an entire cultural phenomenon and has become so here as well.  Especially in fall and winter, we strive for hygge (pronounced hooga) as we bring out our quilts, sweaters and cozy socks.  In our country, the concept so named became noticeably popular by 2017 when in response the Oxford English Dictionary added it to our vocabulary.  The same year The Little Book of Hygge became a hit.  Community, family, simple quiet times and warm feelings--who wouldn't be enchanted?

What intrigues me is the idea that we can create a spot, a mood, a corner or an evening devoid of the annoying or overwhelming.  That is definitely worth a try.  And since the Danes consistently win the competition for the world's happiest people--despite their long, cold, dark winters--who better to emulate.  

In a prior post I mentioned that we have been sitting by our fire pit in the evening, the one (of two) that got so much use during the pandemic.  While there's no way to remember fondly the fear Covid without a vaccine engendered, we might have fond memories of some of the ways we coped.  For example, we brought out warm throws and sat by the fire pit with friends, chili bubbling in the crockpot under the market lights and candles spread about, their flames flickering into the dark.  Our Maltipoo Wiggles took turns lap-warming.  I knitted hats for Christmas gifts.  It was, despite all, a hygge season.  

And that's where we are now.  Post-election, nursing our wounds, guarding our hearts and Thanksgiving around the corner.  Leaves falling or fallen, wanting very much not to be overwhelmed or anxious.  I love the idea of taking control of our own well-being by snuggling under lap robes by a fire with a warm drink and a book or movie.  I love the idea of herding the kids onto the couch, even though my own kids are grown.  I love, don't you, these early nights with comfort food and soft pajamas?  

Let's think of all the things that make us feel warm, loved, happy and at peace.  Then let's pursue them.  If there's something unpleasant holding forth in your mind, shut it out.  Don't give it space. Not today. Take a mental and emotional break from annoyances or worse and love yourself and each other.  Let fragrances loose everywhere:  vanilla tea, cinnamon cider, apple pie, pumpkin spice lattes, cedar branches mixed with holly.  Add in the family quilt that someone carefully made with generations in mind, knowing it would outlive her.  Find a cuddler--a dog, a child.  Even chickens purr like cats, I've been told.  Pick up your favorite craft and have on music in the background. 

Draw your life in or let it expand, whatever works best for you.  This is not the time for emotional overwhelm.  Let the hygge begin.       Nina Naomi 

 

  

THE DAYS ARE ABLAZE

How can it be November?  But that's what I say each month.  How can it be October, or September, or August?  Don't you?  

For us and our neighbors, October means leaves.  And early November, still a red and golden world outdoors here in the North Carolina Piedmont.  Not so in Western North Carolina.  Our beautiful mountain communities were hit hard this year, tragic flooding, landslides and tornadoes.  Lives were lost.  Every place our family has ever visited in the Blue Ridge Mountains is under reconstruction. So all over our state, joys are tempered.  

But somehow, there is still pleasure in the changing season. What we feel first is an atmospheric change.  The somnolence of summer is over; where heat enervated, crisp air energizes.  Without the glare of the months just past, colors flare more vibrant.  Green in the warmth of August, with colder mornings the leaves' chlorophyll retreats, leaving carotenoid pigments in charge, boasting orange, yellow and gold, like the pumpkins and squashes covering patches and gardens. But only briefly.  Soon the ground will be covered with brown, not yellow leaves. The flamboyant decay will become stealthier. 

At the same time, sunrise and sunset reach their peak luminescence. With less water vapor in the air, we see more clearly.  Colors appear more vivid.  I never understood why before, but this year did some simple research on the science of autumn. It's so interesting.  As the earth turns on its axis away from the sun, light has to travel further to reach our eyes. Blue light scatters out long before it reaches us.  Only red and orange can make the 150 million kilometers to reach our eyes in a blazing sunrise or sunset.

So enjoy this beautiful sight, if you are lucky enough to share it with me. With thanks for whatever is before us.     Nina Naomi

IT'S NOVEMBER. CAN WE GIVE THANKS?

The month of horror movies is over and it's November, when we give thanks.  Not yet time for the angels to sing, but time to gather for another year of reckoning over turkey and gravy. For what are you thankful?  

This morning, even before rising from bed, gratitude for what entered your sleepy mind first?  The sounds of your children?  The smell of coffee?  That you have lunch planned with a friend?  Or mom is doing better?  Or you are?  For me, daily, it is my husband's arm around me, a last warm embrace before I begin to carefully navigate my unreliable morning back.  

Some, like me, may be thankful that the pain is not today as it was yesterday, when a mere sneeze brought a yelp.  Instead, you may have a new challenge to inspire you. Or be grateful for a friend who did something brave.  Or that Election Day is over.  You may feel appreciated.  That's worth a prayer of thanksgiving.  At the day's close, you might sit outside by the fire pit, as we have been doing, watching the sparks fly and the stars come out, the nights earlier just now.  So many things to be thankful for.  

But what if you have to dig within to give thanks?  What if you're remembering someone lost to you and have only their blessed brief or not-so-brief life to be thankful for?  Worse, what if they just left you, even yesterday or so it seems?  What if the time to be the one you need to be now has not yet passed and you fear it never will and also fear you might forget, and which is worse?  Or what if you're just plain lonely, or sick, and have to dig deeper? 

Sometimes blessings do seem buried, hidden.  Sometimes it is easy to give thanks but sometimes, maybe more often than not, we have to find a way through pain or grief or worry or fear.  We have to scale boulders so high they block our way.  I can't imagine how we do this except through the grace of God.  How else do we survive our tragedies and traumas and losses and illnesses and things that, truly, have no upside?  

Together, of course.  We are never alone.  Lonely, yes, people are.  But not alone.  We have friends.  We have family.  We seek help.  We have those who share our faith.  We have God.  

The most fearful things--not the horror movies we watched over Halloween--but mental, emotional and even physical sufferings, never belong to us alone.  There are times I have wanted more than spiritual blessings.  When an illness strikes, I have prayed for healing, not acceptance.  Or "Dear God, make this not be true."  But God Himself has transformed the prayer into something else.  I have not yet been unable to accept life, and death, as it is.  And you too, is it not so?  

We don't give thanks for losses, or suffering, or meanness.  Sometimes we can't give thanks for anything.  But God takes even just a thought, or tear, takes it all.  God takes our lives and inchoate prayers and makes something of them, something to which He responds giving us strength and grace, endurance and love.  We are children who are known and treasured and beyond all understanding given not what we ask for (perhaps) but what we need.  I don't understand this.  But of all that is difficult to accept, this is not.  

This must be a prayer.  AMEN

"THE STILLER YOU KEEP, THE MORE YOUR SURROUNDINGS EXPAND."

"The stiller you keep, the more your surroundings expand."  This is a quote by Rosey Priestman, who lives by the sea in Scotland.  I ran across it in a magazine I subscribe to, The Simple Things, @Iceberg press.  

I certainly feel like that when we're at the ocean.  All I need do is stand on the shore and everything happens without me doing a thing.  The tide comes in, the tide goes out.  It leaves piles of the smallest shells crushed by their life in the sea. At my feet the shore birds skitter, curved beaks parting the smallest of bivalves as air bubbles recede in the sand. Overhead the gulls screech and just at the waterline pelicans glide or rise and dive.  The stiller I keep, yes, the more life at water's edge expands. 

Have you noticed?  When you're in the right place, you don't feel the urge to go anywhere.  At home we live in a wood and it's the same.  You can look outdoors at any time of day and see the miracle of creation:  towering pines, rugged shaggy bark Hickory trees, squat dogwoods, oaks and red maples.  Branches bare in winter, over-heated in summer and glowing in Fall.  Today leaves floating down, settling about in red and gold. Raking them is a rhythmic delight, the sound, the smell; letting them be, too.

Priestman says, you can drift along doing your thing and nothing particular happens except the sea.  Or, here in the Piedmont, the forests.  North Carolina is a green state.  Our friends from Santa Barbara, California, kept marveling the way we are sheltered by trees everywhere. Overhanging the roadways, nestling the houses, spreading branches in parks and woods and gardens.  And with them, cardinals, finches and woodpeckers; gray and red foxes (we have one each); entertaining squirrels (too many to count); deer and geese and hawks and turkey vultures and ravens.  It feels quite a privilege to pause for the geese in our path or watch the deer bound off gracefully.  

Can't we nurture this feeling wherever we live?  Don't you feel privileged to be where you are, where you choose to be or stay?  I almost don't need to go anywhere else.  I don't have a bucket list.  Granted, I am older, but I have never had a bucket list.  Wait for the sun to rise.  Study the stars.  Watch the night grow longer and the moon head higher each night.  What we do is enough.  What we do is a privilege.  Our lives are a privilege.  

And if times are chaotic for some of the many reasons we can't help, take a break from the worry and stress and keep still for a moment.  The sky hasn't moved.  It won't go away. Breathe and look up.

Let's make everything simpler.  Let's try not to let stuff crowd in on us.  Let's keep our lives as empty as possible.  And in that way, paradoxically, they expand and are full.  

What do you think?                              Nina Naomi

WHAT'S BEST ABOUT FALL

This morning, I looked out the kitchen window and the holly berries had turned pink.  By December they will be a bright red weight on the boughs. The robins are awaiting their winter feast, the way we wait for the Thanksgiving turkey to brown. Yesterday, honestly, they were hard green and nearly invisible amongst the prickly leaves. It happened overnight.

What's best about Fall is that every day it changes.  Take the dogwoods for example.  In Spring they bloom with small yellow flowers encircled by pink or white bracts that look like petals.  Then in summer nothing much happens.  The dogwood stays green and survives the heat.  But now, every day the leaves reach a deeper shade of red.  Soon, the branches will be bare and reveal their deeply grooved bark. 

The nandina too have been turning persimmon with undertones of honeydew. They keep their feathery leaves all year if we escape a freeze, but are pruned by our hungry deer as grasses brown out for winter.  Right now, they are bent with heavy clusters of pale red berries on their cane-like stems. Some need propping up.  They will keep these berries all winter, probably because of the small amounts of cyanide in each orb.  

Last week we couldn't spot the white tails unless they were grazing in the meadow.  But this morning, with less foliage, they were visible meandering from meadow to deep woods past our windows.  Two were nuzzling while they ate the verbena next to the house.  They're growing their dark winter coats.  

And of course, the leaves. We're not making a fall trip.  There's enough going on right here.  And my husband still on crutches, down to one.

The other day I saw the most amazing sight. Not specifically related to the season, I guess, but a box turtle was on its back near my drive as I pulled in.  Nudged up against its side was another box turtle, wedged as it were, trying to help its buddy turn over. We've all seen water turtles piled on a rock together for warmth, but this I hadn't seen--two friends, alone in our meadow, struggling to right the one in trouble.  I got out and turned it over and off they plodded. 

What a season, what a world.  Having passed my big birthday, that I wrote about, I am enjoying everything. Keats called it a "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness."  Shorter days and longer nights. Let's love it all.           With love, Nina Naomi  

THE BLESSING OF A BIRTHDAY

October is my birthday month.  This year it is a very big birthday, and I planned a week of events.  A kind of self-care thing while my husband hits the last marks of his recovery from surgery.  

So we went out with another couple. Old friends traveled for a visit. A special group met for lunch instead of knitting.  Women friends from church gathered for brunch.  My oldest grandson came for the weekend.  My granddaughter too. We had breakfast with our niece and her boys who were in town from New Jersey.  And we hosted an evening party for the rest of the family and some close couples' friends. Wonderful friends and family gave me flowers, soaps and other fragrant things.  I blew out candles.  It felt marvelous.   

I have never shopped and organized and straightened and planned so much for myself. It is a super fun thing to do; I recommend it.  Plus, with this approach there's no way to be disappointed because someone forgets your birthday.  You've taken care of that.    

I also recommend the pleasure of growing older.  I know the choice isn't ours, but the welcome we give it is.  What could be luckier than being the age we remember our parents being and finding out that it's not so old after all? What could be better than discovering that growing older is not a misnomer--that we actually do keep growing?  That we grow into all the important aspects of life--resilience, bravery, caring, joy, perspective.  We never stop learning.  Not all of our lessons are wanted, but most are helpful.  I have learned from tragedy what mortality is. No lesson is harder.  I have learned why caring for self is prerequisite to almost any other good thing. 

We learn not to squander anything, not time, or love, or friendship.  We learn what needs protecting and what needs jettisoning. We learn how to accept graciously and how to give freely.   

We learn where our safe places are.  We help others find their safe places.  We learn how to be by ourselves and to value that.  We're not so picky.  We learn how easy it is to wound someone and try not to feel wounded ourselves.  We give and accept second chances. 

We were born to age.  Growing older should never bring sadness.  We mourn for those who don't.  Every birthday brings us closer to eternity.  I am curious about that.  But I am far from the only one. 

The Christian rock band MercyMe wrote and first performed this hit in 1999, and it has been the most played song on Christian radio. The lyrics could not be better.  You might want to listen to it.  Here are the words:

I can only imagine 

What it will be like

When I walk by Your side

I can only imagine

What my eyes would see

When Your face is before me

I can only imagine

Surrounded by Your glory

What will my heart feel?

Will I dance for You Jesus

Or in awe of You be still?

Will I stand in your presence  

Or to my knees will I fall?

Will I sing hallelujah?

Will I be able to speak at all?

I can only imagine

I can only imagine

When that day comes

And I find myself

Standing in the Son

I can only imagine

When all I will do

Is forever, forever worship You

I can only imagine

                          With thankfulness for a long life, Nina Naomi

 

AGAIN, MARY OLIVER

 

Wild Blue Iris
Chena River, Fairbanks, Alaska

How, Lord, should we pray?  The Lord might answer, prostrate yourself, fall on your knees, let the cathedrals fill with Gregorian chants, let out the stops, shake the walls and let the world hear your praise!  This is good.  

But the Lord could also answer that: 

"It doesn't have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try

to make them elaborate, this isn't

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak."

This too is good.  And so we have this message through the gift of voice God gave to the poet Mary Oliver, for us to read in her poem "Praying."  A poem that reminds us that we are not often in the pews beneath the great Flenthrop organ and the stained-glass windows.  Sometimes all that is near is the flower or branch and our own small words of gratitude.  Words that God hears as surely as the practiced cathedral choirs.  

However we pray, we are heard.  Thank you, Lord.  

 

WHY SADNESS? MARY OLIVER KNOWS.

I mentioned the other evening that I thought that sadness has its benefits.  Someone who heard me may have looked doubtful, if not put off.  I phrased it badly. I didn't mean to minimize our tragedies.  Sad, worried, concerned, even afraid.  Times we aren't happy.  When we are something else, something that tightens us and pushes us down.  Not the hurt that accompanies fresh grief--that far more physical response to loss.  But sadness.  

Sadness is so common, so part of the fabric of everyday, that it becomes part of the old question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?"  But since they do, I wonder if perhaps God gives us sadness so that we can respond.   We can comfort ourselves by a feeling that draws in and lets go, a feeling that often, maybe even always, brings us closer to God.  

Some of the saddest (and most romantic) music touches our hearts. Somehow the directors of the movies Platoon and The Elephant Man knew that Barber's (1910-1981) "Adagio for Strings" would anchor their movies in heartbreak. Play this for yourself, if you will, and test your response.  

We are meant to catch our breath on those anniversaries that are embedded in mystery.  Those anniversaries where someone is given to God's care for all eternity.  

Mary Oliver writes,

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

Of course.  Everything is mortal.  My flowers die, my avocados rot, my hair turns gray, my old cat wanders off and our bones grow brittle.  Worse, the young are as mortal as we. Our species death rate is 100%; our survival rate, zero.   

Mary Oliver also writes, 

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.  

Meanwhile the world goes on.

. . . 

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

I think that sadness may be a bridge.  It may catch our attention to life as it is, then once caught, we note what lives beyond our sadness.  We ready for the next round.  The round where new flowers bloom, romantics listen to music and babies are conceived.  

Sadness is never the end.  There is always something after, high in the clean blue air as we living beings are heading home again.  

The psalmist writes, "He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds."  Psalm 147:3  This we believe. 

Thanks be to God.  AMEN

    

WE DON'T LIVE TO OURSELVES OR DIE TO OURSELVES

We can be an adventurer at heart and also love to be home.  As we move from summer to Fall and then into winter, we remember that everyone and everything needs some quiet time. We might see the leaves and think the beauty lies there, then see them fall and think the beauty lies on the ground in the piles of yellow, red and brown.  Then look up into the bone structure of the landscape.  

I love bare branches, the Halloween of it all, the way they reach and bend, clutching the air.  There is promise in a bare branch.  A Fall Day is a multiple cups of tea kind of day where you realize that life is too short to leave the key anywhere but in your own pocket. In Fall we realize that happiness is everyday joys lined up in a row.  

Fresh air, clean water, food, companionship and warmth.  Not everyone has these simple needs met.  If ours are, we must acknowledge the good in our life. If these needs are met, each stage of life is abundant:  childhood, adulthood, parenthood, grandparenthood and old age. Or being a friend, auntie or mentor. If these needs are met, we can sit by the window when it rains and contemplate, listening to our bodies and souls, or take a walk outside, or spend time with loved ones.  If these needs are met, we must see that others have the same chances, give, help, pray but don't stop there.

Life isn't perfect, but it does have perfect moments.  There are times we reemerge, refresh, even thrive. We live in our perfect imperfect homes, consoling ourselves and others when we need it. We pray, cry and hold each other.  We realize that being alive, just that, is so wonderful that we never need say we're bored, or too tired to help, or not interested.  We liberate ourselves by doing good things for others.  

As well, we enjoy our quiet moments. We look at our lives and hold on to some things and let others go. We remember what Ghandi said, "There is more to life than increasing its speed."  We make time for walks and thank God to be alive in our broken world.  We seriously try to fix it.  We aren't apathetic--we don't live that quietly. And we don't wait for extraordinary opportunities.  We seize common occasions and do our best. 

We learn what we have to get used to.  Aging.  Less relevance.  Even death.  We learn to trust life, which is the same as trusting God.  We find out that we are happier than we ever knew with the simpler things in life.  It surprises us.  We discover that we are OK where we are.  That being somewhere is more important than getting somewhere, a saying we now know is true. 

We have a few good people in our lives.  We love life even more than when it was new to us.  We live simply and well.  Or well because simply.  We don't live to ourselves or die to ourselves; we are the Lord's.  (Romans 14:7-8)

In peace, Nina Naomi

WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY?

A field of Lilac

Ideas to help us think about this question, culled from everywhere: 

"There are two ways to be rich:  one is by acquiring much, and the other is by desiring little."

Offline is the new luxury

When we feel stressed out, a daily dose of reading can be a wonderful cure.  There's a novel for every ailment.

Make your life a little easier, especially in your head.

Don't forget to take some time for life's little pleasures.

Doing something usually brings people together, buying something does not.

What if your fairy Godmother is the wisest, smartest version of yourself--whispering from the sidelines: walk in the sunshine, jump in the water, say your truth, be kind or silly, be you.

Don't forget JOMO:  the joy of missing out.

Bloom where you are.

Dig a hole, plant a seed, water it and wait. 

The best thing to hold on to in life is each other. 

Going back to a simpler life is not a step backward. 

We read to feel less alone, to make connection with a consciousness other than our own.

Solitude is the thread that connects us with our inner world.

If it costs you your peace, it's too expensive.

CREATE AND RECHARGE, CON'T

This is a topic that's life-long.  We are always recharged by creating.  Today I worked in the yard, weeded, clipped, rearranged, 

stepped back and admired.  A modest achievement, but the cool early September air and the bending and squatting made me feel good.  I am recharged for the evening.  

On August 2nd, I promised to come back to the creative women who submitted their ideas to the Stampington publication, In Her Studio. Here are more tidbits.

• Taking breaks is vital.  Pet the cat, walk the dog, gaze out the window or make tea.  Not a break to fold the laundry or clean the bathroom; those are chores, not breaks.  
• You can work on more than one thing at a time, one medium at a time, as a way to get unstuck and keep the joy going. 
• It's only paint, or wood, or yarn as my knitting teacher says.  Believe in yourself.  Give yourself permission to start over or let it sit, or begin something else.  
• Just have fun.  We are creating for ourselves (even if we exhibit or sell).  Don't compare yourself with others.
• You don't need expensive materials; just find what works best for you.
• Begin with the intention to be authentic to yourself every time you create
• A personal style is OK, but it has to keep evolving and growing.  Otherwise, we can stagnate.  
• Giving your creation is a way to express messages of love.

Finally, for today, and this is more than a tidbit, "I have come to realize that no matter your art form, there will always be someone a step ahead and with much more skill; but, if you put 100 percent into your work and you are completely satisfied, nobody can take that away from you." @oliviastewardillustration 

Let's have fun creating.                           Nina Naomi

THIS DAY DESERVES A POEM

Shadows on the walk

This day deserves a poem.

The morning Fall, the midday heat, the evening rain.

My dog lies no more at my feet.

His fourscore year and ten is past, he breathed his last.

I held him as we do. 

Thank God I only lost a dog this year.

Thank God not him or her or we or them or us or you. 

Thank God for losses we can bear, 

Pretending life is not unfair, 

Forgetting other years. 

I swim and savor,

Knit and natter,

Pray and ponder.

Friendships strengthen.

Nights will lengthen soon. 

This life, this loss, our fears, these years, 

Our times, our hearts, the shadows on the walk.

The gifts we give, the ones we take, 

They all deserve a poem.

If only I could give them one. 

THE EVERYDY TO-DO LIST

End-of-Day, Bogue Sound, NC

Be kind

Find gratitude

Live today, not yesterday

Do something to make yourself happy

Stay close to God

Look for contentment

Do all things with love

Take care of yourself and others

Be open

Be mindful

Concentrate, pray, smile

Go outside, appreciate

Hug, laugh, savor

Trust, believe

Work hard

. . . . . .

MR. WIGGLES. A FINE BOY.

This is the first week without our brave Maltipoo since a summer day in 2013.  That was the day I drove from Durham to the beach, stopping in each shelter along the way, looking for just the right rescue pup for our family.  Our granddaughter needed a small dog, one she could carry.  My husband and I needed a dog who wouldn't follow its nose and run away from our unfenced property in the woods (like our lovely beagle Missy from years past). 

I was still missing Lucy, our goldendoodle who lived with us for 14 years until we took her to the vet to ease her from life into death.  Lucy had been abused and wouldn't come into the house.  We filled her doghouse with blankets and set it on the front deck.  We covered it with a tarp in winter, heating her kibble with water to warm her tummy.  She never ran away.  When I went outside, there was Lucy.  When I rested from yard work, there was Lucy.  When we got home, there was Lucy.  When the grandchildren played, there was Lucy. 

Now it was Mr. Wiggles' turn.  I found him in foster care at the beach.  The foster care mom said, "He follows me everywhere."  That's what he does, I discovered.  He chooses someone to love and follow.  I chose him and he chose me. 

Mr. Wiggles already had his name.  The first night he cried a little.  But not the second or third.  By then he had decided to love and trust me.  We drove home from the beach, and he met the rest of the family, the others who would do for him all the things he couldn't do for himself:  open doors, fill his bowl, hand him treats, lift him onto cushions he couldn't reach, rub his belly . . . .  He must have been 3 or 4 when I "rescued" him. 

Wiggles never weighted more than 10 pounds.  In his prime, Wiggie could rout a herd of deer, stand down a rat snake, chase (but not catch) a lizard, ignore a goose or German shepherd, and greet another small dog with glee.

Not 3 months before death

Wigs was all black until gray began appearing under his chin.  As he slowed down these last months, he stuck even closer to us, under our chair, under our feet.  A six-year-old niece came, and he stayed in his bed, declining to play.  His yellow ducky lay untouched.  Even treats took persuasion.  We let all the rules lapse.  My husband gave him bites of his burger.  We fed him early and often.  We tried to anticipate his needs since stress triggered his collapsing trachea.  

The vet started talking about compassionate euthanasia, readying us for its eventuality.  Every time I brought him in, nothing could be done.  He was blind in one eye, yet handsome as usual.  I made one appointment and, on the day, canceled it.  When all the signs were there, I wrapped him in his Christmas blanket and took him in.  He didn't react to the other dogs in the waiting room.  He stayed still in my arms, the boy who had been named Mr. Wiggles for a reason. I spent a long time holding him and giving thanks for the love he had shown us.  I told him, "This is for you."  "We are doing this for you, sweet boy."  He breathed contentedly.  

I am grateful for the animals we have had in our lives, since my first dog, Heidi, a cocker spaniel I received for my 5th birthday.  Years later, our daughter brought home a cat-free-to-a-good-home from preschool that she named Kitty Little. We had a bloodhound, Juniper, who was hit by a car.  When he left for law school, our son bequeathed us a cat who lived a long life. 

I texted our grandson about Wiggles' death.  He replied, "Poor Mr. W.  I remember him valiantly trying to protect us from a rat snake.  He was nothing if not a good boy."  

PRAYER FOR HIGH SUMMER

Dear Lord, 

You have given us another summer to remember.  You have given us warmth and rain and high seas.  The summer moon, the long days and late evenings.  You have sustained us again for another season, another year of our lives.  We thank You.  

We have feasted on Your bounty:  tomatoes, peaches and figs; strawberries and corn; lemons and oranges; greens of all shapes and flavors. We have filled our gardens with Your flowers, begonias, lantana, roses and grasses.  We have filled our hearts with their fragrance, our muscles with their tending, the earth with our care.  

We have been fortified by Your sunshine, waking in daylight and waiting for dark.  Each long day has been, is still, a gift.  If we haven't vacationed, we have memories of other summers, other years.  If we've stepped away from our jobs, our routines, thank You for the parts of Your world we have visited:  shore or mountain, city or town.  Thank You for our homes, that seem lighter in summer; our bodies that seem freer when bare.  Thank you for the summer memories our children create; they echo our own. 

If we can hike, we have.  If we can swim, we have.  If we can cook, we have.  If we can smile (and we can), we have. 

Thank You Lord for the summer of 2024.  Let us always remember:  You are the medicine.

Thanks be to God.  AMEN

THE SHORE IS WIDE AND SWEET

"The shore is wide and sweet." 

"We aren't born with low self-esteem and ruminating thoughts."  I read that sentence today.  Wow.  What else are we not born with?  We're not born with negative thoughts about others.  Thinking others are different or less than we.  Wanting to make fun of someone.  Or to intentionally harm or belittle someone.  We might especially notice this during this political season.  Some people bring joy, some bring fear.  Some uplift, some try to degrade.  Some make us feel kind, some make us feel mean-hearted.   

Many of our unhelpful traits are learned by observation or by comments we absorb.  A neuroscientist, Nicole Vignola who wrote Rewire, says that neurons communicate information in the brain and that the more we repeat something, the stronger that neural pathway becomes.  For good or for ill, we might mention.  In mental illness, a lie repeated to oneself, replaces the truth.  In healing, the more we feel understood, the more we know we are loved. 

The other day I felt a little down.  I am worried about a health problem in the family, although it is treatable. The decision about treating it isn't mine.  Lord, we need Your presence.  Give us wisdom.  

Separately, my husband is recovering from surgery, and I was looking forward to a break from caregiving to go to my favorite bookstore, but it didn't happen.  

These are ordinary problems, right?  Nothing catastrophic, at least not yet.  Worry, cabin fever, fatigue and yet gratitude:  the problem is treatable; the recovery is going smoothly.  Still, common to feel down from time to time.  

What do you do when you feel that way?  Live with the feeling, I remind myself.  That's a neural pathway to cultivate.  Feel the sadness in my breathing, my still face, my slowed mind.  Let it be.  Don't fight with myself.  Write, as I am doing now.  Frame the thoughts, the feelings.  Set them free so they don't circle.  Let the loop straighten.  As with any bad thoughts, don't wallow.  Thoughts and feelings come and go.  That's what they do.  

Plan something good for when the time is right.  I have a lovely neural pathway that leads straight to the beach.  Missing the beach must be a metaphor.  In North Carolina every family has their favorite beach where the rhythm of the waves carries good days and hope.  It's not just sand between the toes and body surfing.  It's a space where it's hard to feel sad.  I hope to go soon.  

Not this week or next, or even next month, but soon.  We'll go perhaps when the air turns cool, and the shore is wide and sweet.  How vivid this is in my mind, where sadness has receded with the outgoing tide.  Wide sky, waves near and far, salty air and shore birds skittering or probing with long legs and beaks.  The beauty of the eternal where our health, vitality and happiness grow.

So what are we born with?  The neuro plasticity to make our hearts sing?  I think an unformed prayer has been answered today.  Thank you, Lord.  

                                                                                             Nina Naomi

SIMPLE INSIGHTS

Follow your Heart

• While distractions waste energy, concentration restores energy.  Distractions leave us frazzled but concentration is calming.  Concentration is whole-hearted.  It restores us.  The qualities of concentration are presence, calm observation, willingness to start over, and gentleness.  These qualities help us at work and at home.  Never are they depleting.  

• Anger contains other emotions, like sadness, fear, disappointment or regret.  We need to tackle the underlying emotion.  Why are you angry at your child?  Is it because you fear for her safety?  Why are you angry at yourself?  Do you regret something you said or failed to say?  Why are you angry at your friend or partner?  Did they disappoint you?  And isn't it easier to address each of these without the anger?  Experts say that it is. 

• Accomplishments should increase our peace of mind, but too often don't. Often the first question we're asked after an accomplishment is, "what's next?"  Let's work to "rest on our laurels" for the moment and savor what we achieve.  Let's work to be happy with ourselves and our accomplishments.  Let's stretch that happiness.  We can strive without always having to reach a new goal.  We can revise or even abandon our goals.  Peace of mind in what we have accomplished will then follow.    

• Possessions bring only temporary satisfaction. Has this ever failed to be true for you?  I don't mean your home, where you retreat from the world.  Or your grandfather's watch or your mother's earrings.  But things.  If we remember this, we will save money, effort and time, all more valuable than things.  

• Meditation creates a sense of ease within and can help us withstand sorrow and loss.  Prayer and meditation bring us in close to ourselves, to a comforting place where sorrow can reside peaceably, where loss can be cradled. My meditation mantra is "Help, save, comfort and defend me, Gracious Lord."  Amazingly, it does help.  I have been saved and comforted when I thought that all was lost. This is an assurance for the future as well.  

• We can't decree what emotions will arise, only our responses to them. Every emotion should be recognized, named and accepted.  Feelings aren't bad.  Sometimes we are unhappy, with or without reason.  We can live with that.  If we couldn't live with sadness, change, loss or death, how could we possibly survive day to day, year to year?  Our emotions deserve our respect and tenderness.  

• Meditation teaches us how to begin again, and again.  Prayer too.  Prayer never tires us.  There is always more for which to pray.  Let's not exhaust ourselves running away from difficult thoughts, keeping them hidden or criticizing ourselves for having them.  Always to yourself be kind.  When we can forgive ourselves we can forgive others.  In that way we imitate God. 

In love, Nina Naomi

CREATE AND RECHARGE

Many of us recharge by doing something creative.  I have the nicest craft table that sits before a large window overlooking the courtyard and woods. It's just a metal table, not fancy, and it hugs the corner of our breakfast room.  When it overflows, I usurp the top of the buffet.  Sometimes I take over the old teak dining table as well, when I need to spread out folders and reorganize photos, pictures, ribbon, tools, etc., when seasons have mixed and Christmas is jumbled with spring. 

So many of us are creative in a sort of homey way.  Maybe we share, or sell, or maybe we just do and enjoy.  I am the latter.  My collage journals are for me; no one else would understand them.  Although I just showed my granddaughter her birthday page, my grandson his bon voyage page as he heads off to Scotland.  And I showed my husband our anniversary page and the one for our son who died many years ago.  I include my verse, sayings, textures and glitter.  You know.  

Then I found advice from creative women in Stampington, my favorite publisher.    

• Fill your creative space with style and things of your heart. 
• You are always two or three layers away from wonderful. 
• Have a recharging station that consists of a journal and some basic craft supplies.
• Every time you put a little piece of "you" into what you're creating, you connect with yourself in a way that only you can. 
• A change of scenery can spark inspiration.
• What we need:  simplicity of form, inspiring music and good light.
• Leave out your creations.  Being able to see what you have been creating is healing and provides a point to build upon.
• Let the things you add to your creation mean something, even if you're the only one who is aware of their meaning.
• Stepping away from a project and just gathering can make us creative. 
• Living an artful life--whatever that means for you--is essential to our spirit.  Travel, visiting museums, photography, writing, building, interior design and decorating, making . . . .

More to come.  All the Stampington publications are wonderful. I cut out pictures and words.  Also, The Simple Things and art magazines.  I cut up old poetry books, copies of Shakespeare's work, old Bibles.  All become part of my collaging.  

Let's have fun creating.                                 Nina Naomi