Sometimes a lot ...

There are many moments in life that, if you notice them and let them guide you, will lead you to the secret paths and places of your heart. To the doors that want to be opened, to the spaces that want to be seen. Sometimes you are missing something so profoundly and you don't even know it. It was a beautiful and cold winter day. The first of December. The sun sparkled and warmed my face as I was driving to go and take some precious art to get laminated. I went in, explained, gave my things to the young man at the counter and left, hoping they were in good hands.

I got in my car and was instantly aware of a strong impulse. I needed to make a Romanian soup that my father used to make for us and I needed to make it immediately. It just so happened that I was a few minutes away from the Romanian store, so I drove there. I just went in for sausages. The smoked and dried kind that you put into Supa de Fasole. I was in the store for less then a minute when I felt this welling up inside of me. It was the music that was playing. I continued to look around for a few minutes and the music, this music, spoke deeply to my soul. It was unlike any Romanian music I had ever heard. I was so moved that I went to the counter and said to him in Romanian, "Excuse me, could you possibly tell me what is playing? I find it incredibly beautiful." He looked at me in an odd way, a good odd, and said in Romanian, "Yes it is 'Andra, Spectacol Traditional'. I said thank you and continued my shopping. The music continued its effect on me. I went up to the man again and said, very emotionally, how much I could not get over this music. He asked me how long I had been in Canada and complimented me on my Romanian given how long I have been here. I told him it was really nice to speak Romanian because I did not have any Romanian friends or family where I have the opportunity to speak it with. It was in that moment that I noticed a deep longing within me. 

He asked I if I had been back to Romania recently. I told him it had been about 18 years since I had been back. And then I started crying. I said I'm sorry and turned around and walked to the refrigerator pretending to look at something while I composed myself. But before I turned away, I saw understanding in his eyes.

I gathered myself a little and went back and said I'm sorry again and it was the music that was bringing up many things for me. He said, "There is nothing to be sorry about, that is what it is supposed to do. It is one of the most beautiful Romanian pieces out there and is performed at Sala Palatului." Then he said, "You know it's the Romanian National Day today don't you?" I said, "No! I had no idea!" He said, "Yes, that is why I have this piece playing today. For this day. And do you know the traditional thing served on this day is Ciorba de Fasole cu Cirnati?" And I'm like, "No! That is exactly what I came in here to buy ingredients for today." He smiled knowingly again and said, "I'm going to give you some. We just made it. How many are you at home?" And he proceeded to fill two big, family size containers for me to take home. I said to him, "As immigrants, so far away from the land where we were born, our souls always miss something deep down I think. This place, this food, I want my children to know it. I want them to know the language, the land."

As I stood at the cash to pay, he said, "Before the pandemic, we used to organize a lot of community events. When the pandemic is over, you should come." I can't tell you how much that meant to me and how much his kindness and understanding filled my heart with gratitude. I thanked him so very much, told him I would come back with my family, we said, "La revedere", and I left, with a knowing that I was led here on this day for this experience. 

This man, he is one of those special people in life who Know. Who See. Who Guide.

I have always believed that the place where we are born is in us. It is, in literal form, in the makeup of our cells. The land of a place, its sounds, its waters, its air, the moonlight in that place, the sunlight in that place, its food, all the things that nourished our grandmothers and mothers as we were being made and growing inside of them, that is what we are made of. If our lives take us far away from that place, even though our lives are wonderful in our new home,  "home", the home of our cells, the home we are made of, is always missing a little. Sometimes a lot. Like today. 

Happy National Day, my beautiful Romania.

My beautiful Romania. 

I am out of practice ...

I will never forget the moment I started writing in this space. Well, not so much started, as pushed the publish button. Well, not so much pushed, as scrolled over the place on the screen where the publish area square is and, well, you get the idea ... 

Anyhow, picture it, Barbados, 2010. If you know, you know.

There I was, sitting on the bed, staring at the computer. In Barbados! I know, I know, I should have been on the beach. Toes in sand! Breeze on face! Salt! And sun! On skin! But, I wasn't. I, dear readers, was, well, I already mentioned the was so now, let me get to the why. The why, was a piece of bread, a piece of butter, a chunk of garlic, a chunk of cheese and a potato. A potato chip, many, potato chips. I was sitting there staring, and wondering, if my first post, my first shared recipe, was actually going to be a chip sandwich. Could it be? Would I be ridiculed? Would people be aghast? Would anyone ever look me in the eye again? Would I be staring at this computer much longer, IN BARBADOS, instead of being at the beach?

As it turns out I wouldn't, because with trembling hands, and some nausea, I pushed publish, closed the laptop immediately afterward, and what is Starlight Moondance (nee dishchronicles), was born. Just like that, with what I now know to be a 'Chip Butty'. But mine was a gourmet one, of course. And technically, I had created it of course, because I had never heard of said Chip Butty before. Do I use too many commas?

I'm looking for my voice. Jarring segue, right? Not super smooth. I know. I am out of practice.

If you were wondering why I am here reminiscing about the origins of my blog, it's because I am looking for my voice again, dear readers. Do you remember it? I have so many things to say, about so many things and they are all in my head. And it has been so very long, since I have said them in anything other than a few sentences, in a post or comment. I deeply long for (and need) lengthy, rambling prose ... meandering words, long journeys on a page (screen, we all know it's screen but screen sounds much less poetic, no?) ...

But I am much out of practice, because for many years now,  my brain has become accustomed to the short and the quick, when what I need, and long for, is the depth. I have recently weaned, after breastfeeding for about 6 straight years (there is that jarring segue again; that is how it is in my mind at the moment; jarring segues). It feels so incredibly personal to write this. It makes me feel very exposed. I wonder if it is even fully mine to share. When I think about it, I know it is not fully mine to share but I will share a little part, of my part of it. For now, I am going to go to bed. 

Jarring end, right? Not super smooth. I know, I know. I am out of practice.

But not for long.

Weaning ~ Oil Pastel ~ By Me

I have hope ...

I was waiting for a good time to tell this particular story. We do that a lot, don't we? Wait for a "good time" to do things? Then I realize (if I am lucky this realization comes sooner than later for most things), that this is a good time. Right now. While my little one watches Daniel Tiger and eats strawberries, while my other little one is at school, while Aksel works in his office at home. While I have countless things on my mind. While I am sleepy.

A year ago around this time, I was standing at the kitchen counter doing dishes and I thought I was going to collapse. My heart was racing, then very slow, I was sweating and I felt as if I would just fall down. I stopped and went to lie down. This scenario was now a familiar one to me. For the last three weeks, I had been taking care of my family who were all sick. One little one had had a fever, then a cough, my other little one had a cough non-stop, my husband coughing and coughing ... I remember thinking if I never hear another cough in my life, it would be good. While they were sick, I was terrified. Scared of COVID, without help. We went to the hospital twice with my littlest one during this time because she was on puffers every hour at one point. Each time, they said we were doing the right thing and just to monitor her. The second time they gave her dexamethasone to help her lungs recover faster. It worked.

All this time I was trying not to get what they had, so that I could take care of them. I had no cough, no fever, nothing. I had a different version of COVID. One that is not being spoken about enough. One that I did not realize I had until months later, when I drove myself to the Jewish General hospital, barely being able to stand. This is why I decided to share my story. To raise awareness and to advocate. This is what happened to me, this is the version that I got. 

While caring for my family during the last three weeks of March, 2020, I lost 25 pounds in three weeks. I had no appetite. My heart would race to 170 beats a minute without warning. I had squeezing in my chest. Sour taste in my mouth. I would start sweating. I couldn't sleep at night and would be up for three, four hours at a time in the middle of the night. When I did sleep, I would be woken up out of sleep with a racing heart and sweating. I was so scared I was unable to go back to sleep. Then after a while, my heart rate slowed down enormously. At one point it was below 45 beats per minute. All of these things happened every single day and every single night. For six months.

Around month three, after numerous telehealth and one in person doctor visit, continuing weight loss and complete exhaustion, the likes of which I have never felt before, I got in my car and drove myself to the Jewish General Hospital. I could barely walk from fatigue. They saw me and took me in right away. At this point, one of the doctors there had seen this type of COVID presentation and had me tested immediately. They did abdominal ultrasounds, EKG, echocardiogram, every blood test available, an x-ray of my heart and lungs. All the tests came back normal, the COVID test, negative. I remember the doctor coming in and he said "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that everything is normal and the bad news is that everything is normal. We don't know what is causing this." 

We now know what is causing this. It is post-viral syndrome. Also known as Long Covid or Long Haul Covid. In my case (and tens of thousands of others in Canada that we now know of) it presented as post viral Dysautonomia. Dysautonomia does not show up on the tests. It shows up as the debilitating symptoms that I was experiencing every single day. Post-viral syndrome is not new, nor is it exclusive to COVID. It becomes a problem now though because of the sheer amount of people being infected by COVID and the amount that will go on to develop post-viral syndrome and the demographic that it is affecting. So far, the estimate is that up to 1 in 3 people will have some form of post-viral syndrome, or long covid after COVID infection. It is presenting very much like Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). The demographic for post-viral syndrome seems to be mostly women, between the ages of 25-45, in good health prior to infection, with initial COVID presentation being usually mild in nature. 

I my case, I have experienced good health and never had a digestive issue in my life. Through two pregnancies, I never had a day of nausea or indigestion. My whole life, I have thankfully been able to eat and drink anything and everything I have ever wanted. We eat small farm organic foods only and have done so for over 15 years. I have a garden and grow things. Since last March, I have only been able to eat salad and meat. Anything else gives me bad acid reflux. At one point at the beginning, even water was difficult to drink because of the reflux. For someone who had never experienced this before, I can't tell you how hard it is to experience pain and discomfort with every single bite of food or sip of water, all day, every day, day in day out. After months of this, I would often cry after eating. 

One night in particular stands out in my memory. It was about three months in. I had just been woken up from sleep by a racing heart and sweating. By this time I was afraid to fall asleep at night because of how scary it was to wake up like that and because it happened every single night. I was not eating because I couldn't. I was still nursing. I was exhausted to the core. I remember being on the couch (I slept, and still sleep on the couch now, because I could not lay flat on the bed anymore without acid coming up) and being thirsty. We have a Berkey water filter in the kitchen within view of our couch. I remember looking at the Berkey and bursting into tears because I was so tired, I did not know how I would gather the energy to get up and walk to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I cannot describe this level of fatigue to you. I could not have imagined it myself. Not even being an older mom to a new baby and young children comes close. 

I can tell you many stories of young people I know, who are going through similar things right now. 

It is over a year now and I am starting to feel better. A few months ago, the heart racing and sweating stopped and I am able to sleep again. I cannot tell you how relieved I feel. In the last month and a half, my energy has improved beyond words, my appetite has increased, I am still experiencing reflux but not as badly as before. I HAVE HOPE. I have joy. I have enormous gratitude.

I write this, and share my story, because I don't know what I would have done if I was a single parent, or had to work, or had a different family situation, or had a spouse that lost a job, or a business, or if I did not come from a family with a medical background and was able to advocate for and help myself, or in countless other situations. 

I am home raising my children by choice. I have an extraordinary husband who has been working full time, taking care of our children before and after work and all of his lunch periods and free time, taking and picking up our little one from school, and cooking for us every single day, every single meal, for a year, because I just could not. This is the kind of dedication and care he has given our family. This is what has allowed me the rest required to recover. 

Most people do not have this situation. People need help. People are having to sell their homes because they cannot work and they cannot get financial help. They are being misdiagnosed. They are trying to push through it only to have debilitating symptoms return from their exertion. The thing with this is that the only way through is rest and time. It can take anywhere from a few months to five years to recover from post-viral syndrome. What do you do if you cannot work because you literally cannot get up and Long-Covid is not an officially available diagnosis for any government aid or benefits. Where do you get help? How do you pay your bills? How do you keep your hope alive? Where do you go for rehabilitation? These are just some of the questions we need to answer.

What I wish to see first and foremost is an information campaign directed at the medical community regarding post-viral syndrome after COVID infection. They need to know what to look for and how to use existing protocols and best practices to advise, treat and follow people through to recovery. This for me is the fastest, easiest and least expensive way to help people through this, from a health standpoint. At this point, I do not expect Long Covid clinics to materialize in time here. At last count, the UK is up to 85 clinics specifically dedicated to treating people with post-viral syndrome after COVID infection. If we cannot go that centralized route, it is imperative that the medical community be informed of the most current and accurate protocols in treatment and that these be recognized and applied immediately.

Well, I think that is about it for now and I have come to the end of this story on this post. I will end it by saying this to you, the people you think are recovered, so many of them, are not as recovered as you think.

Sunrise. Every day. There is always hope. Never forget that.

To save ourselves ...

To get right to the point, as those of you who know me, know I love to do, I want to talk to you today about disposable masks and hand sanitizers.

These items are in our world right now in, and here it is again, unprecedented (I imagine you have been hearing this word a lot lately) amounts. The plastic pollution was already an enormous problem before Covid-19. The world was on a path to ban single use plastics, plastic water bottles and the such. Many of you were outspoken advocates for this and it was and is necessary.

What I am not hearing now, is any conversation about the enormous amount of plastic waste, that disposable face masks, plastic hand sanitizer bottles and the like, will add to an environment already burdened by so much human generated pollution. The masks have an environmental lifespan of 450 years, as do the plastic bottles.

United Nations Trade And Development projects that disposable face masks are set to go from $800 MILLION in 2019 to $166 BILLION in 2020 and even higher after that. Please, let that sink in. 

Image - 'The Guardian'

How can we talk about protecting our elders and most vulnerable in society from Covid-19 and not talk about environmental responsibility in ensuring that there will be a healthy planet for us to live in after Covid-19. It is myopic, at best, to worry about the current pandemic and associated behaviours if the environmental responsibility of keeping surgical masks, plastic gloves, plastic hand sanitizer bottles, medical PPE's and sanitizing chemicals out of our land, rivers, lakes and oceans is neglected. 

Where are the people asking questions like 'Is there anyone monitoring the sanitization product levels in our drinking water?' 'In our lakes?' The amount of sanitizer going into our water systems when we wash our hands, clean etc is .. yes, you guessed it, unprecedented. And incredibly toxic. Is anyone testing hospital effluents with this extraordinary increase in sanitization? Is anyone looking at the effects of constant sanitizer use on the skin of very young children and even babies? Is there a similarity with all this sanitization and the overuse of antibiotics? Will it create 'superbugs'?

Since staying home, products being delivered at home are at a historical high (I didn't want to use unprecedented again ...) between online shopping and takeout services, the accumulating plastic waste is enormous ...

We cannot separate ourselves from responsibility of the whole. It is a web, of which we are one part. We must not and cannot take a myopic view when it comes to life and we must address and find solutions for the rapidly accumulating Covid-19 waste in the same way we became advocates for the banning of other plastics and chemicals. We must rapidly make disposable masks that are biodegradable or truly recyclable or something else. I don't know what. I don't have the answer but I know collectively, we do, and we must start looking for it. Fast. We can perhaps fill those hand sanitizer bottles with environmentally sound liquid soap and carry another one of water, so we can wash our hands anywhere, which is the best thing anyway. Or something else. Something other that billions of people dumping sanitizer into our waterways ...

We must ask the questions, investigate and come up with solutions.

To save ourselves. Not the environment, not the planet. The planet will be fine. We must save ourselves. 

I lift up my face ...

This misty moment.

Filled with bird chirpings. Great bird noises. Busy bird noises. Bickering bird noises. Everyone going about their bird business of the day, gathering bugs, worms and other things of bird life.

The bright green, dark green, in between green ... trees standing perfectly still. Being. Witnessing.

The noise, the silence, simultaneously.

The countless tiny droplets of mist coats all souls. Filling every available surface with gentle life.
I lift up my face.

The magic in our hands ...

These are my hands. Well, hand ...

I am wearing the gloves because my skin is cracked and bleeding from all the hand washing and dishwashing. My knuckle bled, there is a little paper cut like opening on my pinkie and red dry skin over much of my hands. They sting and hurt when I don't have the gloves on for washing, so, I have been wearing them almost all day today.

The day wound down, as they do, and we put our little ones to bed. I had my gloves on for story time, for countless requests for this and that, for medicine giving and tea bringing and finally, I had my gloves on for snuggling.

As I lay my hand to caress hair and then gently rest on the blanket that covered my little one, I was struck by a remembering of the magic of our skin. The magic in our hands. This thin layer of nitrile, reminded me that every time we touch, when our skin comes into contact with something, especially our loved ones, something incredible happens. A communication you have to be very present for to feel, or have the choice removed from you to miss.

It is an extraordinary thing, all the experiences we take for granted.

I imagined myself not being to remove the gloves, not being able to have my hands, my skin, feel again. It is then that the remembering came. I sit here now and type and periodically stop and look at my hands. Place them together and feel this magic. Then I type again, feel my fingertips on the keyboard and imagine if I could not feel them with my skin. I am so glad I can.

There are so many blessings among the fear. Countless. This is one I wanted to share with you tonight.


Friday, March 20th, 2020 - Quarantine day 7

A promise of light ...

Have you felt the descent into darkness? Human life mirrors nature, mirrors human life. Each season lives within every moment of our lives. We have only to look. The turns of the wheel are sacred. Are teachers to those willimg to learn. 

This time, feel into this. The darkest dark, given time, given grace, given love, given friendship, given all the broken pieces to be held most tenderly while awaiting a new form, is always followed by the return of the light. 

Always. 

Just as the seasons cycle, we cycle, life cycles, boundless in the micro and macrocosm. Over and over. What do we do with all this? What do we do as we enter the darkest night? We enter, my darlings. We enter the deepest and darkest parts of ourselves. Away from the countless facades and distractions, away from the manufactured busyness, away from the roles we play, away from speaking, away from seeing with our eyes... We enter into the slow. We seek our way back to the lessons of the dark.

We are surrounded by artificial light at all times, literally and figuratively. All to get away from the dark, literally and figuratively. But we cannot escape the dark because it always comes... We must learn to be with darkness again. That we can be. We must learn again how to help ourselves and that we need the help of others in the darkest time. 

Sit with this. See where it finds you. Hold space for the you that exists beyond the doing.

Because here we are. The longest night, brings the return of the light.
As above, so below, as within, so without.

The Winter Solstice is a promise of light, a promise of new beginnings.

Alchemy always.

Happy Winter Solstice my darlings.

The harvest always comes ...

Autumn is almost here my dears. Did it feel like time went faster this year? The solstice will be upon us soon. It is a funny time, isn't it? Everything is so lush, so alive, so rich in greens, colours, life ... The sun, hot, ripening everything to peak perfection ... toward its death...

Transformation ...

Nature, is our wisest and greatest teacher, if we allow. Everything we could ever hope to know is right before our eyes, waiting to be noticed, witnessed ... the forgotten sacred, waiting to be remembered. Look. See. Open. Go back.

Have you noticed now how hot the sun feels on your skin these days and how cold it is in the shade? The hot-cold sun of Autumn is a sun we need to be grateful for. He is a generous Sun. Letting us know that this particular life will soon come to an end for another season and giving us time to enjoy the heat, the bounty, the sounds, the air ... so gently letting us know that we must prepare for the cold and darkness to come.

The harvest always comes.

Harvest Moon is a time of death and transformation. It is the last harvest of the season, the animal harvest. The most difficult one. The minute we eat anything at all, we have taken death and transformed it. What we have eaten now becomes us, and this being we have consumed, now goes on as part of a new whole... Life is wild ...

The harvest always comes.

Think about your lives now for a moment. Not later. Now. No matter what you are doing. Stop. Give yourself a minute.

Stop.

Do you feel the moment of peace inside of you? Does the breath naturally come? A relief?

What will you harvest when you are in the Autumn of your life my dear ones? No matter what, day by day, moment by moment, with every single action you take, you are putting into the garden of your life. Good or bad, loving or damaging, every moment, it's going in.

The wheel of time goes on.

So take a good, clear, honest look at how you are spending your days ... who you are spending your days with ... what information you are feeding your mind ... what are you feeding your spirit ... your heart ... your stomach ... it all matters, every moment. It all builds your garden and readies it for Harvest.

How will your internal and external garden look in the Autumn of your life? Will it be full of thriving things that have been nurtured and cared for, given adequate food, water, love, sun, air, moon, love, space, time, rest, protection ... Every living being thrives on these things...

Or, will it be dry, wilted, devoid of fruits, stunted, weak from abandon, hungry for love, for rest, for food, water, sun, air, moon, love, space, time, rest, protection ...


Which will you harvest? The bounty? The lack? Think. Look. See your life ... your input in it ... your power to create anything.

Because my dears, the harvest always comes.

A good Harvest Moon to all. ReJOYce in the magnificence of this extraordinary life. Gratitude. Remember the forgotten. Open your eyes once more to what is important. The magic is in the minutes, the seconds, rich with eternity, rich with you.

Fully hers ... fully me ...

A little magic merry go-round lives right beside the shoe store at the mall where dogs are allowed to roam in the summertime. So teeny tiny … complete and utter magic to little children, who still live in their heart. It has three or four little ponies on it, I don't remember exactly. Some pink, some purple, some blue ...

"Mommy mommy can I go on the merry go-round?!!" Sure my baby, I say. She jumps for joy and I reach for my change and put it in the slot.

In my smartphone days, I would immediately reach for my phone, take a few photos (to participate in the endless documenting of every single moment that we have all become addicted to) of her enjoying the ride and put it away. There may have been the little red number that signifies a text or a WhatsApp box on the top and whether I wanted it to or not, the visual alone, would have diverted my full and complete attention away from this moment. The flow of connection, of pure presence would have been broken. Even if for a moment. It matters deeply.

In my new chosen reality, smartphone free, I instead reached for my bag (addiction habit), realized there was no phone and smiled. I felt such relief that it was not there. What I did instead, was spend two full and complete minutes looking at my child. Deeply looking. Looking into her joyful eyes each time the horses came by and she looked into mine and showed me her soul. I was fully there to see it. To see her. To fully witness. Fully hers. Fully me. I didn't take a photo of the moment for later. I was completely in the moment as it happened and it was so rich and so deep that the memory brings tears to my eyes as I write this. I felt so blessed to fully give myself to my life in the here and now. To fully and completely see my baby's joy, to look into those beautiful eyes for a long time and free to delight in it uninterrupted.

I have (and have had for a long time now) an idea of how you are never fully where you are with smartphones, but I did not realize just how much richness and depth you lose in life. How much you lose in the experience of self, of your own internal journey.

How much you become the one constantly documenting instead of experiencing and more importantly, while you are documenting, your soul's journey is constantly being interrupted and subjected to the incessant brain pull of various messaging systems and notifications. And the thing is, we have forgotten how much we have lost, how rich and glorious life and connection and existence actually are, because most of us are never away from our smartphones for an extended period of time.

I'm not sure how to end this piece so I will end it just like this. Imperfectly.

Stay tuned for more.

Oh, also, here are some photos of what we have been up to over here ...

Gathering the peonies of summer ...

The lavender came back this year … thankfully ...

I love flowers in the rain … capturing such beauty with a camera, not a smartphone ...

Watercress  ...

Making sun tea … the best ...

The rain is over, full bloom ...

This came in the mail from Spain … reclaiming my brain, one step at a time ...

Mother water ...

Looking up instead of down ...

Fertility … 

More looking up … slowly, fully … Grandmother moon ...

Fully where I am, everywhere I go ...

It has been almost a week now since I lost my iPhone and it has changed my life.

At first, I panicked, as one does when a drug is taken away. I scoured the house looking for it, frantically turning everything upside down. I wondered how I would survive without it. What would I do? This lasted the whole first day. The second day, the anxiety had diminished greatly. I had after all, survived a day without it. I had made it. I had taken any necessary phone numbers from my husband's phone the night before and used my house phone to make any calls I needed to make and the computer to message with people and let then know my phone was MIA and frankly, I was pretty thrilled about it.

Then came the big test. Going out without it. This was a huge deal for me because like most of us, I have not been out on my own without a phone in eons. Well, I did it and you know what? It was *excellent*. At first, I was fidgety at stoplights (the addiction thing again) but then, I was free. Freeeeeeee! Free from the compulsion to look and check. Free to be where I was and *only* there. Free to notice my world. My attention to my surroundings had noticeably sharpened and there was a huge sense of relief.

By day three, I had much more energy, much less anxiety.

Then on day four came a test. I was at the grocery store and I had bagged all my groceries (in my cloth bags, do it too!) and ready to pay and … declined … try again … declined … err, try this one … declined … and this is *just* as I was talking with the young girls at the cash, telling them how I had lost my phone and asking them if they ever went out without theirs (I'll write more on their answer in another piece).

So in the iPhone world, I would have taken the device out, gone on the app, figured it out on my own, paid, left. In my current iPhone free world, I had to drive back home! Can you imagine? So, the girls helped me and kept my cart in the fridge and I told them I would be back in an hour.

I went home, sang in the car on the way there, got on the computer once home, got some cash, my daughter wanted to come with me so we hopped in the car, sang on the way back to the store, we went in and the girls went to get my cart and voila.

So here is what happened. Instead of me having a solitary experience where I look down at my phone and push a few buttons and have a quick fix and save myself time for lord knows what (more time to spend on the phones most likely), I had a series of actual physical experiences where I connected with people and myself and life was more rich.

How many of these are we missing every moment for the sake of so called convenience and time saving? Ask yourself … for what …?

Another moment I had was when I made something special. A dish that meant something. In the iPhone world, I would have taken a photo, sent it to a bunch of people, gotten the nice texts in reply and that would be it. In my current iPhone free world, I will pack some up, get in the car and bring them to someone tomorrow who knows the meaning behind them. Again, a moment of a solitary experience, under the guise of being social, versus a real life experience in the world that requires effort and gives us so much more ...

So almost a week in without my iPhone, I have more energy than I can remember, my anxiety levels have drastically decreased, I feel more joyful, more alive in life, more creative, more social, less alone (strange right? not really ... I will write more on that) ...

I am fully where I am, everywhere I go. I am no longer tethered by countless invisible strings and possibilities encased in this tiny device that is made to keep us outside of ourselves and away from each other.

Stay tuned  …

To be allowed to bloom ...

I want to share a simple moment with you today. A quiet, morning moment in our yard. It was cool this morning as I was walking in our backyard. The air was still a little wet and the sun was shining and it felt so good to be outside with my bare feet on the ground. I stopped and looked around, really looked. I realized just how much was there under my feet, up in the trees, all around and I just wanted to get my camera and take photos in this energy that was around. It is easy to forget sometimes that we are surrounded by so much life all around us. For various reasons, I have found myself in this place of forgetfulness lately and am working hard at pulling myself back to truth and to the life force that is available all around. It's palpable when you are open to it. Our place has so much medicine in it. Here are a few photos I took this morning. 

As you can imagine, we use no chemicals at all in our yard and gardens so our lawn is pretty much what wants to grow and this happens to be a combination of medicinal plants and flowers and grass and wild strawberries, which the birdies just love (as do we) ... and we collect and use what we need just from what we have allowed to grow naturally, what was already here, waiting to be allowed to bloom ...

Wild white viola, beauty and food and medicine ...

Wild strawberry flowers before the berries come in for the birdies .. and of course, dandelion ...

More strawberry flowers and dandelion and the wonderful plantain in there too ... there is that pointy leafed one there but I don't know what that is yet ... must find out yes? If you know, tell me.

Are you tired of viola's and strawberry flower photos yet?

Blessed nettle ... 

Spruce tips almost ready for harvesting for food and medicine ...

A little more ...

Pear blossoms from our pear tree ...

How perfect and beautiful they are  ...

The apple blossom buds before opening ...

How marvelous ...

So much beauty, life force, blooming ... in just a moment, right here, just look.
Thank you.

Oana

Through the muck, to the fear ...

"For her, dependency had always equaled rejection, ridicule and sometimes, outright malice.

The womb she depended on pushed her out months before it was time. The mother she depended on pushed her out a thousand times throughout the years and then literally, with locks as a teenager.

When she was younger her mother would leave her alone and sometimes she didn't know when food might come or where to find her mother. Her dad had said he didn't know it was that bad. She has some memories of calling him when it got scary.

Sometimes, in moments of time, the mother she had the potential to be came forward. The one inside her that was mostly buried and killed off by her own traumatic life. The mother who helped came forward, the mother who made sure beyond a measure of a doubt that whatever she wanted to happen, the earth would be moved and it would happen through her sheer will and determination. The one who's bean soup her daughter remembers, if only because it was made so few times and it tasted full of dreams and hopes and love, the mother who when you were in the embrace of her love, her light was strong and comforting and safe. For a moment.

Inevitably, when her daughter's hopes were up, which they always were when this benevolent mother showed up because her heart remained open, as children's hearts do, without warning the meanness would come, the manipulation, the lies, the hitting, the body shaming the name calling ... the list went on, the light dimmed, the fear came back along with the now imbedded script of "why had she ever trusted her mother to begin with, why had she let her guard down, she should have known better" ...

When the parent and caregiver is the bully, the source of torment, nothing afterward can truly be trusted. So how does one navigate dependency when it presents itself in adulthood, she wonders...

Dependence.

Dependence.

Dependence ...

How can she find peace in this place?

This place of grace where trust can live. This place where the flesh does not tremble in fear of what might be, of who will help, must one depend ...

The remarkable Ram Dass, wheelchair bound and about to be lowered into a swimming pool, says in his new film, 'Going Home',  "In this culture, dependency is a no no. The stroke showed me dependency, and I have people that are dependable. My stroke makes it hard to play the cello, it's difficult to play golf ... those are out there, and I am in here. The stroke pushed me inside, even more, and it's so wonderful."

So wonderful ... She wonders ... What if inside wasn't wonderful. What if inside only recognized  dependency as fear, as death. What if,  'in here', inside the cavern of memory, people were the opposite of dependable and the notion brings the heart to a tremble ... The cells remember what dependence felt like when they were young and vulnerable, when no one came and when sometimes they did come it was to ridicule and shame that dependence of that child ...

That is a profound one ... the ridiculing and shaming of a child for dependence, when dependence is the natural state of a child ... The cells remember the fear, the body trembles. She wonders ..."

Artwork by the wonderful Leah Dorion

                                 

It is easy when you can do it all yourself, isn't it. You are strong, smart, capable, resourceful ... you are mobile, full of energy ... you want? You get. No problem. It's all in your hands ...

Until it's not one day.

Maybe for an hour, a week, a month, maybe longer ...

Maybe you look at your hands and they look the same but you can't find yourself in them somehow ...

One day, you get sick, or injured or something else happens that causes you to face, what seems like to you, drastically reduced capabilities. No matter how much you will it for that moment, you cannot do, you can just be ...

Reduced in capabilities.

Reduced to dependence.

When you are here, in this place of perceived reduction, this place when you are not the one that does but the one that needs, this is when you find out about yourself, about the deep recesses inside you, through the muck, to the fear. This is the place where you find out how scared you really are. If you go into it that is. In this place of need, you find out about your friends, about your family, about your community, your society. See ... open your eyes and see what needs to be seen, so you can know who you can depend on ... this is a big one ...

It's interesting how dependence is perceived as a reduced state isn't it. The primal fear ...
it's not in your imagination darlings ... in nature, weak things perish.

And here ... this, is what makes human beings so extraordinary. Have you ever thought about it? We, somehow, have found a place outside of physical evolution, where there is space for the weak. For the dependent. A place where they do not have to perish. Where you, do not have to perish.

We humans can love. We are capable of a love so deep that we can care for and help the dependent, and can do so with joy and honor. How extraordinary, don't you think?

All you have to do is ask.

Ask ...

A word that carries so much in it, isn't it? All the rejections, the unmet needs, desires ... a feeling of unworthiness buried so deep sometimes that it is unrecognizable as unworthiness and instead shows up as 'I don't need' ... because needing hurts too much ...

All you have to do is ask ...

What if the pattern of asking, for you, is one of remembered ridicule and shame, one of not receiving over and over again?

One day, did you stop asking? Do you even know?

Tell me, how hard is it to ask? Tell me. What do you ask for? Is it easy to ask when you are strong? More difficult when you are weak? What happened when you asked for things as a child? From your parents, teachers, friends ... did you receive? Were you rejected? Or worse? Shamed for needing?

Dependency forces us to ask. Forces us to show up as our most vulnerable, to ourselves first, and really see where our beliefs around need, worthiness and security are. Then to find the courage to show up this way to the people in our lives (who most likely are used to seeing us as strong and capable) and see how they respond. Do they lean in, or lean away. When they lean in do we lean in in response, or lean away? Are our hearts in good hands with them? Are they dependable?

How much courage does it take for a wounded child to ask, to try to depend on someone or something when what that child has known is rejection and abandonment ...

I say to this child inside, be brave little one, as you already are and remember that bravery contains fear so don't fret. There are extraordinary people out there filled with love and kindness. See who they are for you. The only way to find out is by not always being strong, it is by asking and depending on them. So try again and again and again and I promise you, you will find dependable. No one can do it alone and you deserve dependable.

Ask ...

Tremble if you must, but ask ...

In celebration ...

"Her mother had never wanted a girl.

She had told her daughter that often when she was too young to understand why. Later, her mother told her she didn't want to bring a girl into the world because girls suffer greatly, carry all the burdens and were vulnerable in the world. She had also treated her daughter as if she never wanted a girl and her daughter had internalized that. The feeling of being unwanted by her mother for being a girl was one that had never left her. She spent her whole life somehow making up for that by being in charge, being powerful, overly capable, hard... She also spent her whole life looking for substitute mothers. One's who made her feel cared for... valued... wanted... Women with which she could soften ... 

She found a version in her grade school English teacher, a version in her high school sweetheart's mother, a version in her therapist, a version in some friendships throughout her life, a version in her mother in law, a version in many books ... 

She found versions within herself through a decade long process of learning to re-parent the little girl full of trauma that needed a loving mother who cherished and valued her, one who would show her how to be a loving woman... a loving mother ... versions within herself when doing the work to heal others and showing up in roles of mother and guide... 

And finally, most profoundly, she found the courage to find herself as mother, to a precious girl, being transformed every moment by the pure miracle that is the pregnant body, the life that comes forth and the little girl that came to bless her life with more joy, wonder and respect than she had words for, every moment of her life."

All of human life is made in the bodies of women, brought into the physical world through the bodies of women, nurtured by the bodies and souls of women, guided by the souls and hearts of women. 

Let us respect, love and govern ourselves as women as the miracles that we are. That is our birthright. Let us also treat one another as such. As friends and equals, as helpers, guides, leaders, teammates ... the holders of the world ... For the world needs us now, more than ever. 

Let us want and care for and nurture the girls within us, the girls in our lives so that we and they can reflect that and be the women that make the world. 

In celebration of International Women's Day. 

Walking all the work ...

Hi my dears.

Story:

Seven years ago in October, I started writing in public. It was a difficult thing for me to (force myself) to do because my life thus far had taught me to be private and closed for various reasons, but I knew I needed to do it. And so I did and dishchronicles.com was born. Now, here we are seven years later, almost to the day (in 2010 it was the 27th of October) I am here with a new name.

Techy things:

I am not the most tech savvy person, to say the least. It is just not something that I choose to devote time to given that we have only so much of it in a day and one must choose so, this means that I totally ignored ( la la la la la ...) some serious emails and techy things and now no longer have my original blog dishchonicles.com. It was sold out to someone else (I could not believe it ....  la la la la la ...) and after hours of phone calls I found out and decided that it is too expensive for me to buy the domain name back and therefore, here we are.

Starlight Moondance, my dears.

Here and now:

So, I have spent part of the afternoon starting to copy and paste the content of my blog here. I was so afraid that it was all gone but it's not (thank sweet goodness, says person who has no clue about these things and was afraid seven years of writing went poof) and so, I will spend the next few weeks diligently going through and walking all the work to this path here.

Thank you.

In gratitude.

In openess.

In growth for my greater good and a sacred path.

Thank you for being here and reading my words darlings. Take care of each other.

Me and the Baobab ...

Do you remember Bugs Bunny, or Tom and Jerry or the Pink Panther or Snoopy? You do right?!! Okay, so remember when Bugs or Tom or Jerry or Pink or Snoopy used to smell the baking bread and would be roused from sleep and proceed to float, snaking along the cartoon wafty smelly thingie? Well, that is me right now. I am now, presently, right this very moment, starting to levitate - my body snaking  and coiling along the scent of freshly baking bread that is wafting, ever so tantalizingly, in here from the kitchen. Yes. I am baking bread. Heaven is in this moment.

 

Aaaanyhooo, do you remember in the previous post (this one) where I said I was going to be back with the during being away photos? From the being away? Well, um, I think ... I went ... may have gone, in fact ... a touch... flower crazy. Because, well ... almost all the photos seem to be of flowers.

 

With perhaps a tree or two. One cloud formation. A wave. An Axel. And a mangosteen! 



This is the sunset on the canal behind the condo, it was such a cool place to do yoga during my #365daysofyogaadventure. More on that adventure here for those of you who are interested...



Who can resist sunlight through trees  ...



Just look at this will you?!



Here we go with the flowers ...



These darlings are passion flowers. There is this really incredible tea that is made from this beautiful flower that is good for so many things.



Just hanging there ...just like that ...



Del Ray palms at the end of a lovely day ...



Me and the Baobab ...



There was so much energy and wisdom in this beautiful tree ...



Orchids growing on trees ... it was incredible ...



The intoxicating scent of these beautiful orchids was something to remember ...



More orchids ...



More!



I just couldn't help myself ...

 

Mid afternoon nap, breeze flowing through the open window, sun blazing in, golf magazine not far away ....



Clouds and a day moon ...



The ocean showing Axel love ...



One more cloud shot ...





And the mangosteen!




I am now going to try to find some other than flower photos ... And the bread recipe.

I'll be back ...