...and just as one crappy day ends, another beautiful awakens. November mornings in Vermont don't make big headlines. Shumlin for Governor or Dems Hold Onto the Senate are more likely. However, if my family wrote the news then this morning's headlines would have been all about the beauty we encountered in Vermont this morning. Even my nine year old daughter found the beauty in it herself. Imagine my surprise when, as we're driving to her parent-teacher conference this morning at 7am, she stops me from my mindless babble about things we may or may not be discussing at her conference, she stops me and suggests I look over to the right at the sky, "Its beautiful mom. Pink, purple, shades of blue." Pause. Breath in. This is life.
The morning was amazing. I jolted from a deep sleep at 6am this morning; no alarm clock, no light, no baby crying. Simply time for my body to start. Kind of a strange experience after 7 days of not like feeling yourself. So when I popped up out of bed, I decided to just go with it. The physical self is separate from the spiritual soul. And this morning, though my physical self still feels battered and beaten by some unknown cause, the spiritual self inside of me glowes with energy. I feel alive, bright, and how ironic that it was pitch black outside and fairly chilly indoors.
Communal living has its rewards (did I mention my family and my sister's family co-habit- wonderful, challenging thing we can discuss at another time ). I came downstairs a little dazed, here I am waking, walking, getting ready to go out into this dark cold world I had just retreated from. As I came downstairs, I was greeted by one of those communal living rewards: my little sister (and house mate) Tatiana, stoked a warn, toasty fire. In Vermont this time of year, everything is dark at 6:30am. The sun has not reared her head even though the animals are waking from their slumber. This morning in our house was no different: children buzzing around, adults trying to nourish the children and themselves, dogs circling for their breakfast, then loafing around us as we try to hussle ourselves out the door. I saw each of us trying to set a tone, a mood, maybe it was a vibe - for the day - like a surfer focusing to catch his big wave, ride it well and with pride and safely arrive to the shore. As humans, this could be a visualization for our mornings. Setting the intention to start the day off well.. awaken, nourish, and pamper ourselves go out and to ride our proverbial surfboards through the day, looking calm, cool, collected and return ashore avoiding strife or harm.
Not sure how a surfer ended up in an analogy to mornings in Vermont. To redirect your focus, let's get back to today, Wednesday, November 3, 2010 here in Vermont or maybe not. One of the benefits, as I see it - to living in a communal home, is the opportunity to help each other just by being near. My 18 month old nephew's zest for life makes having his diaper changed trying at times. And zest for life he has. He wants to see and touch and know everything that he can; most babies do at this age. Its an awesome experience to be a part of; such zeal for the simplest things, we as adults sometimes just forget to appreciate. So I plop myself down in his room to socialize during this first diaper change of the day.
His vocabulary includes sounds like: ma ma, da da, bobble, dog dog. So you can imagine my surprise during his diaper change this morning when he referred to today as Tuesday. Seemingly immediately, as if a response to the question I just posed to my sister. "Today's Wednesday, right?" "Tuesday", the baby replies, clear as day, laying there on the floor between us with his diaper off, legs high in the air, his fingers aimlessly and intentionally stroking his own skin, as if new to it, gurgling. My sister and I look at each other, not quite sure what we're thinking and we smile, because we like it. "Tuesday, maybe" I respond.
The temperature outside today is somewhere close to 22 degrees. The sun slowly creeps up, as it has done every morning we know, and it allows just a bit of light for us to see our own surroundings, we are overwhelmed with the landscape's beauty. Although colorful leaves are dwindling and fields of green are now brown and desolate, flowers droop and vegetable gardens are now of past, -- the cool, crisp air, with its sweet sound, breezes by my face as if to gently say "Hello again friend, good morning." Intuitively I'm comforted knowing that my old friend winter stopped by for a visit. The earth glistens with icy decor. Everything, it seems, is covered in a thin layer of frosty ice. I'm suddenly struck by my conscious awareness of peace in my life. My husband, Jim, stands at the window in awe of the crescent moon and the stars still visible to our naked eyes.
We bundle up and head outdoors as our day begins. The chickens are eager to roam in their coup, no regards for dark or cold. They peck away at the frozen earth as we bid our farewells. There is something verystill and secure here in Vermont on November mornings like this one. Mornings that are dark and cold and quiet and yet, our souls are alive and conscious of the natural beauty and invigorated to go out and start our day.
As we drove to school, I recalled all of the little things that happened in my life that had meaning this morning. Each of them special and beautiful in their own way. The frozen earth surrounded me and my thoughts comforted me. Wow, life is good. Look, even a cold fall morning in Vermont, where the sun isn't up, and we're on the rode at 7am... As then I bring myself back down and say "Athena we're probably going to talk about your math class. You know, just do your best..." It is then when I am interrupted by the most amazing little girl, my baby girl - she gently suggests I stop talking and just look at the sky. Its beautiful.
Have another beautiful day.
The morning was amazing. I jolted from a deep sleep at 6am this morning; no alarm clock, no light, no baby crying. Simply time for my body to start. Kind of a strange experience after 7 days of not like feeling yourself. So when I popped up out of bed, I decided to just go with it. The physical self is separate from the spiritual soul. And this morning, though my physical self still feels battered and beaten by some unknown cause, the spiritual self inside of me glowes with energy. I feel alive, bright, and how ironic that it was pitch black outside and fairly chilly indoors.
Communal living has its rewards (did I mention my family and my sister's family co-habit- wonderful, challenging thing we can discuss at another time ). I came downstairs a little dazed, here I am waking, walking, getting ready to go out into this dark cold world I had just retreated from. As I came downstairs, I was greeted by one of those communal living rewards: my little sister (and house mate) Tatiana, stoked a warn, toasty fire. In Vermont this time of year, everything is dark at 6:30am. The sun has not reared her head even though the animals are waking from their slumber. This morning in our house was no different: children buzzing around, adults trying to nourish the children and themselves, dogs circling for their breakfast, then loafing around us as we try to hussle ourselves out the door. I saw each of us trying to set a tone, a mood, maybe it was a vibe - for the day - like a surfer focusing to catch his big wave, ride it well and with pride and safely arrive to the shore. As humans, this could be a visualization for our mornings. Setting the intention to start the day off well.. awaken, nourish, and pamper ourselves go out and to ride our proverbial surfboards through the day, looking calm, cool, collected and return ashore avoiding strife or harm.
Not sure how a surfer ended up in an analogy to mornings in Vermont. To redirect your focus, let's get back to today, Wednesday, November 3, 2010 here in Vermont or maybe not. One of the benefits, as I see it - to living in a communal home, is the opportunity to help each other just by being near. My 18 month old nephew's zest for life makes having his diaper changed trying at times. And zest for life he has. He wants to see and touch and know everything that he can; most babies do at this age. Its an awesome experience to be a part of; such zeal for the simplest things, we as adults sometimes just forget to appreciate. So I plop myself down in his room to socialize during this first diaper change of the day.
His vocabulary includes sounds like: ma ma, da da, bobble, dog dog. So you can imagine my surprise during his diaper change this morning when he referred to today as Tuesday. Seemingly immediately, as if a response to the question I just posed to my sister. "Today's Wednesday, right?" "Tuesday", the baby replies, clear as day, laying there on the floor between us with his diaper off, legs high in the air, his fingers aimlessly and intentionally stroking his own skin, as if new to it, gurgling. My sister and I look at each other, not quite sure what we're thinking and we smile, because we like it. "Tuesday, maybe" I respond.
The temperature outside today is somewhere close to 22 degrees. The sun slowly creeps up, as it has done every morning we know, and it allows just a bit of light for us to see our own surroundings, we are overwhelmed with the landscape's beauty. Although colorful leaves are dwindling and fields of green are now brown and desolate, flowers droop and vegetable gardens are now of past, -- the cool, crisp air, with its sweet sound, breezes by my face as if to gently say "Hello again friend, good morning." Intuitively I'm comforted knowing that my old friend winter stopped by for a visit. The earth glistens with icy decor. Everything, it seems, is covered in a thin layer of frosty ice. I'm suddenly struck by my conscious awareness of peace in my life. My husband, Jim, stands at the window in awe of the crescent moon and the stars still visible to our naked eyes.
We bundle up and head outdoors as our day begins. The chickens are eager to roam in their coup, no regards for dark or cold. They peck away at the frozen earth as we bid our farewells. There is something verystill and secure here in Vermont on November mornings like this one. Mornings that are dark and cold and quiet and yet, our souls are alive and conscious of the natural beauty and invigorated to go out and start our day.
As we drove to school, I recalled all of the little things that happened in my life that had meaning this morning. Each of them special and beautiful in their own way. The frozen earth surrounded me and my thoughts comforted me. Wow, life is good. Look, even a cold fall morning in Vermont, where the sun isn't up, and we're on the rode at 7am... As then I bring myself back down and say "Athena we're probably going to talk about your math class. You know, just do your best..." It is then when I am interrupted by the most amazing little girl, my baby girl - she gently suggests I stop talking and just look at the sky. Its beautiful.
Have another beautiful day.
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