Beautiful Words

I have a friend who is a talented musician with a beautiful singing voice. I put her demo CD in our car a few weeks ago and we have listened to her songs on journeys here and there.  My boys starting asking what she looks like.
Does she have chubby cheeks?
Is her skin dark or light?
How old is she?
I relayed their questions to the musician and joked that maybe my boys have an image of Billy Holiday in their minds.  I think this was a compliment to the musical artist who is a young beautiful light skinned woman with a deep heart.
I'd like to surmise that the beauty and inquisition she has for life is reflected in her music and this is the energy we pick up on.  Children are so perceptive...

And then I started to think about words.
Positive words to write in a Valentine.  Beautiful words to inspire my space.
I wrote some down. I framed some.
It felt good.

Live, Laugh, Love

I need a lot of positive reminders. You can ask any of my family members. I can slide off the cliff pretty quickly to the realm of doom. Start me talking about modern day agriculture or education and you might think doomsday is near.  This is all the more reason I need to create reminders of beauty and love.

Many days my mind is filled with a list of things to accomplish.  Sometimes I notice my boys have been playing together for most of it only hearing my words when I need to be mediator. 

I must remind myself to take time for these two little people in my life.  To speak or sing to them with love, positivity, and to help transform our energy.

Positivity is so important and sometimes so hard to maintain.
Everyone wants to be in a positive space. Everyone wants to be loved unconditionally.

I am reminded of the work of Masaru Emoto.  He published the pictures of his work with water crystals.  He has frozen and observed water crystals from all over the world under a range of conditions.  He has taken "ugly water", said a prayer, and transformed it.

He recorded the effects of single words like: Love, Peace, Beautiful, Evil and the effects are seen in the frozen water crystal.  To see more check out the website.

http://www.masaru-emoto.net/english/water-crystal.html

Considering that our bodies are made up of mostly water we could surmise that we create beauty within, when we speak, write, and sing, kind words to each other.

It is amazing to me to see the effects of just one word.  Some of my favorite words are displayed around my house to remind me to say them to myself and to others.  It is so easy to do, but so underdone.

Feel free to use these ideas.  Copy the words, if you wish.  Display, say, and give them to your loved ones and friends. Share them, because we, the people and children of the world, continually need positive energy around and within us... 

I wrote this as a reminder to share with my little family.

Montgomery in the Midst

Montgomery Day 3

The relationship line right under my pinky

About 15 years ago in New Hampshire my twin sister and I had a hand reading done by a friend.

She was excited to see the differences and similarities in the hands of twin sisters.

In a reading they often look at one hand, what you come into the world with, and another, what destiny you have created....

All of that is a bit foggy in my mind, but what is still crystal clear to both my twin sister and I is this: We each have a strong relationship line with two marks through the line and two marks that did not touch the same relationship line. The reader surmised that we may each have two children in our immediate family and that the two floating may be our twin sisters children.

As of January 24, 2015, the prophecy is complete. Montgomery William was born and he made the fourth line.  We each have two children with our husbands plus two more children that we love as our own.

As a labor support person I am used to meeting the laboring couple at the hospital and offer emotional and physical support through labor and delivery.

With my sister's labor I arrived 2 days before to be near her. Our 3 older children were two hours away in the loving hands of their grandparents (our parents). They experienced a pig barn filled with 500 piglets and rode their trikes in grandpa's basement for hours.

My sister and I did lovely things together that are nearly impossible with three little people in tow.  We went out to a slow dinner, with a tasting tray and courses, we cleaned and displayed heirloom china, and wandered through Michael's and Target choosing stickers and treats for our little valentines.

While walking the isles of Target my sisters breathing changed. We both knew it was time to go home and relax.  She turned on a chick flick and I made dinner for us and one for the freezer.  We relaxed, I stitched on the couch beside her, then retired to bed early, thinking we might be awoken in the night.

Labor:

I was awoken at 6 am Saturday morning.  She was pretty sure we would be going in soon.  We timed contractions, talked a lot about their intensity, and at about 9 am went to the hospital.

We were sent away after little progress. A little adventure followed, complete with a large meal in the hospital cafeteria, numb arms from carrying packed bags through many hallways, and several discussions of what we should do. We stayed close in case things progressed.  They did not, so we went home where everyone would be more comfortable.  We napped, chatted, repacked the hospital bag, stitched, and as evening came, labor resumed full force.  When my sisters sounds became guttural, we loaded into the car again.  This time arriving at the hospital within 1 1/2 hours of Montgomery's birth.

It was easy supporting my sister through labor.  We can communicate sometimes without words. I massaged the muscles that were aching, applied oils, and stepped away when she needed space.

Once labor was steady she had a quick, beautiful, unmedicated birth.

Mama and Baby

Labor support comes easy to me. I love doing it.

What I was not prepared for was the extreme emotion pouring from my heart and eyes when this little lad was born.

He was blue, the cord was wrapped once around his neck and intertwining around his body. He took his good old time to cry.

This is usually when a tear slips down my cheek and I hold the mother's hand while the father watches them weigh and assess the baby.

For little Montgomery I followed him, glancing over at my sister long enough to see if she was alright. She was in the care of the most gentle OB I have ever met.  My eyes were instantly back to my nephew. His Daddy and I were in an emotional trance.  The little guy was grunting instead of crying and they were pounding on his back and intentionally aggravating him to get the mucous out of him. His Oxygen and sugar levels were low. He overcame both and was finally placed back on his Mama's chest. The rosy color came to his skin, robust nursing was pursued, and peace came back into my heart.

I breathed again, deep lovely breaths filled with emotions.

Auntie Andrea with  Baby Montgomery

My sister was amazing.  After a very long labor, and an incredibly quick delivery, her body was in great shape for her recovery.

When the adrenaline wore off, I crashed on a cot close by. I awoke in the early hours to fall in love with my little nephew again. As I rocked him and gazed at his peaceful presence, I thought of how much I love this child. His big sister is dear to my heart. She can turn me to gush with a few words and test my patience just like my boys.  These two, my niece and nephew, will always be loved by me. I will treat them similar to my own.  My two boys will be blessed and loved by my sister in the same manner. 
It is imprinted on our hands.

We waited in Kentucky for Montgomery to come home from the hospital.  My boys were excited to meet their new cousin.  Joel and Aria have loved each other since their first meeting.  Henri is often the third wheel in their duo. We so hoped for Henri to have the same type of cousin bond. 

As soon as Montgomery was taken out of his car seat, my little guy Henri was on the couch ready to hold him and love him.  When Montgomery was placed in his arms, Henri said, " Hi buddy. Are you going to be my little friend?" Montgomery was peaceful and looked up at him and the bond of cousins began.

Henri and Montgomery

These two have loved each other since their first meeting

Cousins

Make a difference

While cleaning out 40 years worth of our families attic a few treasures were found.

This box of magnets given to me by a dear friend is one.

He was a fellow camper and then a fellow camp counselor with me when we were 18 years old.

He took the time to send a package of magnets that would have been waste and to write a beautiful letter telling me that I make a difference.

I know I read this letter 18 years ago and I was touched.  I was probably moving from one college to another and put it in the attic to use them when I had an idea.

Many things happen for a reason.  Timing amazes me.

Now, 18 years later, I needed to hear these words again.  I need to be inspired by my younger self and the friends I've made.

I've been thinking lately of the irony of this 36 year old (me) waiting tables with 21 years olds.  And it is for the same reason that this letter was rediscovered.  To remember the passion, conviction, and determination, of the age.  And to reclaim some of that.

So I chose to create.  I spent a lovely evening winding down after work with art supplies and Christmas Ale. And I now have lovely inspirational quotes for gifts.

In this time of Thanksgiving I am so Thankful to have the ability to reflect, to love, and with my own hands to create.

Music to my Ears

Sometimes I think I am intended to distill some of the *dogma surrounding Waldorf education. It is something I constantly do in my heart and mind. It makes my heart hurt when one aspect of the philosophy sends people on a different path. Yet, I find myself surging through these struggles often.

Music was something I took out of my life temporarily for the sake of my babies senses. We talk a great deal in Waldorf education about the world of tone. One of my research papers in my undergrad study was based on tone, the devachian tone, and the Essence of the music we experience as we sleep and while awake. 

I can truly say that I grew up believing I did not have a musical ear.  I was in the band in middle school but somehow as a young adult forgot to read music and lost the desire to sing my own tune. Then when I became a Waldorf teacher I taught myself to play the recorder and learned each song on it in order to sing to my class. My mentors were all musical and somehow I realized I could sing.  When I was completing my Waldorf teacher training I realized the afternoon singing and madrigals were some of my favorite times.  Right now I can think of our group held together in a beautiful room filled with our voices and it brings me great joy.

Somewhere in this discovery and joy I also took on a bit of the dogma.  Those ideas that somehow sneak in and we live with them without questioning.  So in the guide of protecting my babies senses I did not play other music.  Of course I would sing. Lullabies, nursery rhymes, little tunes I made up... But I did not play music for me, and rarely had the chance to sing with others.

On a particularly difficult 2 hour drive with two littles I turned on ENYA. Everyone was quiet, joyful, peaceful. They loved the ethereal music filling the car.

There was a little whisper in my unconscious: joy. Joy by music alone.

Weeks passed maybe months...

I was given a Bluetooth speaker which amplifies Pandora beautifully.

And all of a sudden impromptu dance parties evolved in our kitchen. Dinner preparation and clean up became more joyful. A transitional mood changer was reborn in our lives.

Such joy that could have gone undiscovered.

To be honest: I've always loved femle folk. The culmination of lyrics of love and deep womanly tone brings joy to my heart.

And when Mama is Happy : 

Everyone is Happy.

*From Wiki:

Dogma is a principle or set of principles laid down by an authority as incontrovertibly true.^[1] It serves as part of the primary basis of an ideology or belief system, and it cannot be changed or discarded without affecting the very system's paradigm, or the ideology itself. The term can refer to acceptable opinions of philosophers or philosophical schools, public decrees, religion, or issued decisions of political authorities.^[2]

And sometimes the boys take apart the couch while I listen to music in the kitchen!

Sending Light and Love through Anger

I am really angry about Ebola spreading.
I am angry that the CDC led people (nurses, doctors, cleaners) to believe they were safe treating ill patients.
I'm really upset that they allowed someone within direct contact of a sick Ebola patient to travel.
I'm infuriated, but I'm sending them LIGHT and LOVE.
They have a lot more to do and I hope they will do it with grace.

I have mixed feelings for the nurse who traveled to Ohio possibly carrying Ebola.
She cared for a patient who was dying, believed that by following hospital protocol she would not become ill, and then may have carried this horrible virus to her loved ones.
I'm mad at her for being selfish and attending the wedding.
She may become deathly ill and has a long road of pain to overcome.
I am sending her LIGHT and LOVE.

When I was 8 months pregnant with my first child I decided not to go on a family vacation. I really wanted to be at the beach and be with my family. I did not however look forward to the 14 hours of travel in a car. I decided not to go. I received some flack from my family. There were feelings of me being over cautious. It turned out two weeks later it was suggested I lay low on the couch and drink plenty of water due to low amniotic fluid in my womb. It was a wise decision to be cautious for my unborn child.
We can never know the outcome, but we can try to make wise decisions. I hate to live in fear and not live, but sometimes missing an event may be sad for a short time but a small sacrifice for the health of others.

Because this nurse traveled, so many other people have been affected. Events cancelled. Schools closed for cleaning. A whole flight of passengers placed in a state of not knowing.  Fear. Caution.
I am sending them LIGHT and LOVE. 

Today I'm thinking about all of the people involved, those who have read the news, for my friends and loved ones, my coworkers, and the people who are yet to contract this virus in our country and over seas.
I am picturing LIGHT and LOVE encircling them and praying that this too shall pass.

In my own selfishness today, I encircled myself and my little ones with LOVE and Comfort.  I coated my boys in coconut oil mixed with On guard essential oil.  We baked cookies, continued our bonfire in the rain, roasted wet hot dogs, and drank warm tea with cookies to warm our bodies and hearts.
And I will keep sending LIGHT and LOVE!

Beautiful bees

On Friday my friend Sarah (pictured) asked if I was available to help with the bees. I jumped at the opportunity.  I am not quite ready for the responsibility and equipment for my own bees. Therefore, I take every opportunity that Sarah provides.  I want to learn the lingo and understand what I see in the hive, but most of all I just want to be with the beautiful bees and with Sarah who is filled with kindness, wisdom, and ease.
There is something magical about the hum of the bees. I go into a bit of a dreamy trance.  Sarah asked me which hive we had taken supers out of.  I had to pull myself out of the trance with no sure answer. Hence the reason I don't have bees yet, I have a lot to learn.
In the first hive there were many queen cells found but no queen. We removed any queen cells we found, removing one in tact in case another hive was queen less. Sarah planned to add a marked queen to the first, because it is the county observation hive which needs to be ready for the fair.
The first hive was a little worked up due to no queen.  I was given the task of recharging the smoker. I didn't do a great job with the smoker and I ended up surrounded by upset bees with a sting  in my thigh.  Looking for something flat to scrape the stinger out, Sarah suggested the hive tool. A little scrape and we were back to work. We moved down the line getting through 4 hives before a break for lunch.
By some miracle, mostly the help of another adult friend, the children played nicely through the afternoon in the yard and I was able to help Sarah with the last two hives.
I got a lesson called smoker 101, which was very helpful and came in handy in the depths of the hives.
I somehow overcame the trance state late in the day and was able to follow through with directions and put a hive back together by myself.  A few times I did a little shake of the bees giving them back to their home before closing it up.  That was indeed a very beautiful moment for me.  There is a rush, a hum, an intensity, that runs through you when you move so many bees at one time, but especially when you see them drop unharmed into their home.  I am trying to describe it but words fail me.
All I can say is BEAUTIFUL AND MAGICAL. 
Sarah's eldest, my former student, had the task of cutting the comb honey in the kitchen and extracting the honey from the supers in the basement extractor. At one point he had an audience of 7 children. They watched him cut the caps off the wax of the supers and place them in the extractor. He very patiently answered the 20 questions from my youngest sons lips.
I had to extract my boys from the hum, much like the bees. They were filled, not with honey, but joy.  They needed a little brushing off, like I swept the bees from the supers intended for extraction.  They were finally tucked into the car with the help of Sarah's sweet daughters and I could see for the rest of the evening they could feel the magic and anticipated tasting a bit of it with goat cheese for desert.

My boys watching us for a moment before heading off to play in the chicken yard, sand box, and with play mates.

Sarah searching for the queen.

Me in the spring.

Comb honey on goat cheese.  Our favorite desert.

Comb honey with butter on Toast takes me back to my grandparents kitchen.

My father's father

I come from story tellers.  On both sides of my heritage stories were shared around the holiday table, at the reunion, in the back room, and often while cozy tucked on a lap.
A little one usually hears and remembers the parts with feeling or animals.
Lately, I started to think about details shared with me by the storytellers who have passed.
I have the gist of many stories but I can't quite retell them for lack of clarity.

So this weekend when one of my favorite storytellers sat beside me I saw an opportunity for details.  My dear Great Uncle always brings pictures to the reunion. As we were reviewing, he pointed to my grandfather (my father's father) in a picture I hadn't seen before.  I was intrigued. He looked content, holding a niece on his lap, seated near his father-in-law (the well-loved Pap Stull).  A moment captured in time and it pulled on my heart.

I asked my great uncle if he could share a story of the grandfather I never knew. My father has so few memories of him.  Actually the few stories shared were passed down with unclear feelings.  I wondered as I looked at the photograph, did he have a good heart.  Were memories distorted by the way he choose to take his life.

My Great Uncle understood. He is intuitive, thoughtful, sharp, and wonderful.  He shared with me feelings for my Grandfather that had not been passed to me.  Oh, these feelings, they are so powerful.  And then he slept on it and he shared more.  I hugged him when he finished and through a few shed tears I felt the sadness, love and deep feelings felt for him. 

My interpretation of what he passed down:
Pap hired my grandfather and his brother to help on the farm.  He and my grandmother took quite a strong liking to each other.  They ran around together; My Great Uncle, Grandmother, and Grandfather. They went to the movies together, they carpooled to the brass factory together, they enjoyed each others company.  He was not in the habit of using vulgar language and he was well loved by his father-in-law (Pap, who is very well revered by everyone who knew him).
He went to the war late. He was not is combat, he was part of the peacekeeping effort. He was away from his family for a chunk of time.
When he came back my great uncle was away in college and he saw him less.
Things changed between my grandparents and jealously and anger seemed to take over.

I'm going to derail here a bit:
I never met my grandfather but I knew my grandmother quite well.  After a few pints in Dublin, Ireland, my sister and I sat with my Grandmother and she shared with us many things, including the story of the end of my grandfather's life. I feel I understand her side of the story well.  I just wish I had more stories of him.

With these pieces together: (My Great Uncles and my Grandmothers)  I can see a little more.
My grandmother said what she thought and didn't really care how it made the people around her feel.  She felt strongly and she could be maddening.   I can very clearly see a Love/ Hate relationship with her because a few times I had one.  I loved her dearly but there were times I couldn't get out of the house quick enough because something she said made me so mad.  I loved my grandmother in her later years, my childhood and young adulthood.  My grandfather loved her in her teens and 20's, when she wore her tall up dos and her "tight titty sweaters" (her term).  I can't even imagine her demeanor backed by the passion of youth!

After all of that, Here is how I choose to keep my grandfather's memory in my heart:

He was an equal match for my grandmother.  He was someone who felt deeply and loved so much that it maddened him. He was a good friend to my Great Uncle.  He was loved by Pap Stull.

And most of all he helped to create my father and aunt.

My father carries pieces of those that came before him.  He is someone who cares deeply (like his father), is well-loved (like his grandfather), loves to share a good story (like his uncle) and has the perfect balance of heart mixed with words that can madden (like his mother).

Oh, I love him so, and all of the people who made him into the father he is to me.

That is my father with most eyes on him.

What Santa Brings Us.

There is a constant sorting of knowledge I go through as a parent.  The wisdom my parents passed down doesn't always come to the surface right away.  Then these little epiphanies emerge, and I say, "Hmm, my parents were so wise".
They did Santa really well!

They may have gone a little overboard on the rest of Christmas, but that wasn't from Santa. And thus my point.
As I encountered Santa conversations this year. I realized other people do not see Santa the way my family did.
A neighbor brought several wrapped packages to my boys and said they were from Santa.  I told the boys they were not.  An 8 year old told me what she asked for from Santa.  She listed 8 things and expected them all.
These two experiences made my heart sad.  It made me think of all the other times that I encountered a package labeled "From Santa". I actually recall in my childhood reading a gift from one grandparent to the other and was confused why Santa's package had already arrived.... It also made me think about how materialistic our children's wishes can be.  My boys wanted everything in every catalog for Christmas. They are still pretty young to decide on something, but wishes are just that something you wish for.

I do not take my boys to the mall to talk with "Santa".
I think that there are some things that if you see them they are not as magical.
Our imaginations usually create much more interesting scenarios and pictures than real life.

In my parents home and in ours the presents from Santa are not wrapped.  They sit under the tree and therefore they are the first thing you see on Christmas Morning. Of course, the early bird must wait for everyone else in this scenario.  I covered little guys eyes this Christmas morning as we passed the tree into the kitchen and he helped me make our Holiday Challah until brother awoke.

I agonized over the Santa gift.  My eldest saw a bright yellow plastic crane in some catalog with a remote. I knew it would get broken and the batteries would be lost.  But he continued to ask for a Crane.  I looked at the big Bruder trucks and then considered their size.

Then one day little brother, (after asking for weeks for a car that made music and could ride on the road, then asking for a live duckling to live in the bathtub...) he asked for a boat with cars in it.  And Viola, an Etsy seller made a beautiful Ferry Boat with cars and a Crane with trailer.

The way the Santa Present is presented helps to keep the magic of Santa Present (No pun intended).  Many people do not realize that their actions and words create doubt in children's beliefs.

Here are some rules of Santa Presents passed down in my family, but not previously written down:
1. A Santa gift is really special.
2. There is only one per child.
3. The really special gifts must be somewhat equal in the special category.
4. They can not be made by Mama or Papa, or Grandpa or Grandma.
5. They are not wrapped. How could Santa use the same paper as Mama?
6. It is helpful if a child sends Santa a Christmas letter in late November stating what they really wish for.

If you read this and have small children or gift things to children.  Help me out here.
Let's keep the magic going as long as possible.  Together let them believe in Santa, Beauty, The Spirit of Christmas, and that Love Endures all things.

* I never intend to pass judgement.  My intention is really to keep Santa alive and Special as long a possible.  Please know this is written with some humor and much sincerity.

Making time for each other when doing things for others

 I was up late cooking apples my friends helped peel and slice. I hoped to can 15-20 quarts to give to the local Homeless shelter. One pot burned terribly, one just a bit before being saved, and two large pots awaited the food mill and canning. As soon as I awoke this morning, I was making applesauce again. My boys were also up late.  They somehow managed to attend the first 1/2 hour of the applesauce party before bedtime round two.
Although a little sleepy everyone was chipper. I fixed the boys some toast with apple butter and gave them a bowl of mandarins to eat for breakfast.  Then they played and I worked on applesauce.  They then made cards to give with the applesauce.  Then they played again, nicely.
And then I noticed that I still had a bit of work to do, they were just about out of patience, and it would be hours until my help (grandma and grandpa) arrived.
So I packed a quick lunch, put two trikes and a pot of the burnt applesauce in the back of the car, and after picking up a coffee for Mama, headed to the park...Oh what a good idea!

We rode our bikes into the safety town, ate our picnic, and my 4 year old noticed there was a lot of trash.  He wanted to pick it all up.  I grabbed a kitchen size trash bag from the car and we practically filled it by walking around the park.  Oh the joy it invoked.  We were so happy to pick up trash that I do believe for a moment we skipped in unison.
I do not believe in preaching to your children.  I think most teaching is through imitation and observation. What I do, is much more important than what I say. It brings tears to my eyes to witness them doing something I would love for them to do, especially when I said nothing.
My heart ached with love for these little people who found pleasure in making this park more beautiful.
The joy stayed with us through the day.

Little guy trotting with joy.  He even stopped to pick a dandelion seed head to blow in the wind.

Then ever the comedian in bloom, noticed Mama with a camera and stuck his fingers in his nose.

 We took the burnt applesauce to the Breakneck pigs to enjoy. I parked the car so the boys could watch the meat birds, and adorable puppy, while I bought some grain, feed, veggies, and stew chicken.
All that talk about feeding the pigs must have spurred some creative juices.  They spent the rest of the afternoon building a pig home and gates until Grandma and Grandpa arrived.
And then, I got back to the applesauce...

A very dirty stove, which gets replaced tomorrow.

15 quarts complete.

Why God Gave Me a Twin

35 years ago in September my mother went into labor in the evening.
Upon her arrival at the Hospital, they decided to take an x-ray of her belly.  My parents assumed they were having an October boy, or at least that's how the story goes.
When Doctor Gray reported the news to my parents, that there were two babies in her belly, my mother's labor stopped.  The wisdom of the world gave her a little break, a small moment in time to take in the news and adjust.
At some point in the night my twin gave me a few nudges and I was born by late morning, she 3 minutes after.  We used to joke that I did all the work and she was able to just slide out.  Thus was my previous view of things.  I felt like I did so much work and yet in the end did not have what I wanted.  And she seemed to so effortlessly go and get it done.

When I forgot to write down the homework assignment, she always had it.
When we were in a new environment, like summer camp, she made new friends for us effortlessly.
When I was far away seeking my adventures, she grounded me.

I tend to go back in time and long for a time when things seemed simpler and more natural.
She picks up technology with ease and understands all that is new in the world.
Some things still seem to come a little easier for her, and others easier for me.

But now I see it through different eyes: A karmic one, you could say.

We were meant to be together, best of friends, to complement each others journey.
When we create together we succeed.  When we reflect together, we can be sincere.

Then she became a mother, once again, I felt I was not alone.
She understood what I was going through, and understood the small acheivements.
I love her child like my own and she mine.

Thank you God for blessing me with this beautiful woman who has guided, shaped, helped me to reflect, and loved me always.

 I love you Dawn!
Thank you for being you!

For your birthday: 
A tunic for you!