The Grateful Mama » The great outdoors

Letting Go

Karen — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 14:00:42 +0000

“In the end these things matter most:

How well did you love?

How fully did you love?

How deeply did you learn to let go?”

Buddha

When I was staying out at my parents’ beach house recently, I went for a walk by myself. It was bittersweet, and I found myself misty-eyed as I looked at the familiar surroundings. The trees, the beach, the forest path, the mossy meadow; they’re dear old friends of mine. So many memories are attached to the home in which I grew up.

Today marks the day that a young couple and their dog will move into the house. They’re expecting a child in the Spring, so our old home will be filled with new life.

As I took my walk along the beach, my mind bounced between feeling nostalgic and feeling happy for the young family that would soon enjoy this piece of West-Coast heaven. I got to my favourite spot, (a mossy little meadow where I used to play guitar with my friends on warm summer nights,) and I photographed my shadow. For some reason, I was compelled to make a peace sign with my fingers, and now I know why.

It’s time. It’s time to make peace with the fact that our old home will be enjoyed by another family. We were fortunate to occupy it for so many years, and we’ll still be able to walk that stretch of beach whenever the spirit moves us, but it’s time to start letting go.

Buddha believed that all suffering is caused by attachment. It’s true. I’m attached; but I’m slowly letting go. (I just never realized it would be so hard.)

Hot-blooded

Karen — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:00:58 +0000

“Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.”

Ambrose Bierce

My daughter is a furnace. It’s Fall; people are starting to wear toques on their heads and Pip still wants to wear shorts and a t-shirt when she goes outdoors. She doesn’t like the feeling of clothes on her body.

I remember the type from my teaching days. I’d have the students all lined up to go outside for recess and there would be one or two kids without jackets. I’d insist that they gear-up for the weather, but when they returned to the classroom twenty minutes later, I knew they’d be coat-less. I remember one young boy explaining matter-of-factly, “I’m hot-blooded Miss Pantuso, so I don’t need a jacket.”

Now it’s my daughter who refuses to wear her jacket. She likes the feeling of fresh air on her skin; even if the air is chilly. People have said things to me like, “Oh, kids are so active, they run a lot warmer than we do,” or, “She’ll tell you if she’s cold.” I suppose those things are true, but right now my daughter is sick. She has a cold. She’s coughing and sneezing and requiring nose-blows every other minute, so am I being a responsible parent if I let her go outside in a light sweater when I’m ready for a parka?

My husband frequently reminds me that one doesn’t get a cold by being cold. (He’s another furnace, by the way.) I understand that you catch colds from viruses and bacteria, but isn’t your immune system compromised if your body temperature drops? I know that there have been times when I’ve felt a chill and the next day I wind up with a cold.

Truth be told, I’m a rather cold person to begin with. My body never felt better than when I was living in the tropics. I like heat. My muscles relax, my shoulders open, and my neck grows an inch. I’m a turtle; a tropical turtle.

I like to think that the saying, ‘cold hands, warm heart’ was created especially for me. I certainly use the phrase enough when people shake my hand and announce with horror, “My goodness your hands are cold!” I’ve come to realize that the reason I’ve never been a fan of winter sports is because my appendages freeze so quickly!!! My husband cannot believe how cold I get. He finds it refreshing when my hands touch his face. ”Forget the cold compress, honey, just touch me.”

So perhaps my daughter and husband have more efficient circulatory systems than I. Perhaps I should listen to my daughter when she says that she’s warm enough. And perhaps it will be a long and challenging winter.

With abandon…

Karen — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 14:00:22 +0000

“Rain usually makes me feel mellow: curl up in a corner time, slow down, smell the furniture. Today… it just makes me feel wet.”

Chris Stevens from ‘Northern Exposure’

Does anyone remember the show, ‘Northern Exposure?’ I was a fan. My girlfriend Desiree and I even took a small detour during a road-trip to Seattle to visit the town, (Rosalind,) in which the television show was shot. It was a funky little place.

The show was beautifully written and I always had a notebook by my side when it was on so that I could jot down quotations. (You see, I’m a quote-collector from way-back!) At the end of one poignant episode, Ed and Chris, (my two favourite characters,) are trying to figure out how to comfort a lonely bird. I think it was a crane. They surmised that the crane was doing a mating dance and wanted a partner, so Chris suggested that they dance with it. One of my favourite lines during that episode came after Ed asked, “How should we dance?”

Chris replied, “With abandon.” The scene ended with the two grown men dancing with the crane in a beautiful outdoor location.

My daughters dance with abandon. It’s a sight to behold. In fact, they do a lot of things with abandon: play, sing, run…

What a great way to live.

Holiday after holiday

Karen — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 14:00:24 +0000

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”

Thornton Wilder

Does anyone else feel as though they need a holiday to recuperate after a holiday? We went ‘away’ for the long weekend. We only drove 10 kms to my parents’ beach house, but let’s face it, packing for a weekend away from home is the same no matter what the distance; you still require an extraordinary amount of gear! The ‘pack and play’ for Fig to sleep in, the high-chair, the dog’s bed and food, the bikes, the toys, books and games, the outer-garments for all weather, the favourite blanket, the plastic dishes, the footwear for all weather…you know the drill. (F.Y.I. the only items that were forgotten were my underwear. Nice.)

We seem to get hit the hardest in the SLEEP department when we’re away from home. On the day of our departure, Fig missed her nap completely for the first time in her life and she never quite recovered. She fussed at the drop of a hat for the better part of three days. Pip had trouble falling asleep each night, but once she was out, she filled her eleven-hour quota without a problem.

We hosted Thanksgiving dinner out a the beach house; everyone pitched in and cooked a dish or two, so the evening was definitely a team-effort, but my husband and I marveled at how fatigued we felt after our gathering of seventeen had dispersed.

All in all, it seemed as though the ratio of ‘preparation for fun’ to ‘actual fun’ was way out of whack. Maybe that’s just the way life is: good things take some effort. When I think to myself, was it worth it? The hours of laundering, packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking and laundering again? The increased sleep deprivation? The cranky baby? The answer is: of course it was worth it!! For starters, we had our first family beach-fire and sang ‘The ants go marching…’ as the crackling fire met the crisp, fall air. The next day, six happy children ate Thanksgiving dinner together, then retired to the family-room for some ‘ring-around-the-rosy’ fun. And how cool was it that my daughter could look ahead down a beautiful forest path and see her two Grandmothers and her dad walking together? Pretty cool.

When my mother-in-law was packing up Monday to head back to her home-town, Pip reassured her, “Don’t worry Grandma, we’ll have another one of these ‘Thank’ days again soon.”

I’m all for it.

Perspective

Karen — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 14:00:26 +0000

“There is always music amongst the trees in the garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it.”

Minnie Aumonier

We went for a gorgeous, fall walk in the forest and Fig had a spill. She tripped on a root and rolled, head-over-heels, in beautiful form. It looked choreographed, as though she was demonstrating the perfect tumble to a stunt class.

When she stopped moving she was flat on her back, arms open, looking straight up at a wise old maple tree. I didn’t think that she was hurt, so I didn’t rush to her, I simply observed her reaction. (Truth be told, I pulled out my camera.) At first she looked as though she might cry. She glanced at me, saw no evidence of panic on my face, then she looked up at the astonishing tree above her. This was a new perspective for her. The look of wonder on Fig’s face made me want to lie down in the leaves too. I used to do that a lot as a kid. Just lie down in the middle of Mother Nature and look up.

“Mama,” she called. I thought perhaps Fig might request some assistance.

“Yes Fig?”

“Tee,” she said.

“It’s a beautiful tree.” I agreed.

“Booful tee,” and she took it all in. A moment later she was on her feet again, merrily toddling down the forest path.

Power

Karen — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 14:00:03 +0000

“Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.”

Amelia Burr

I try to take the girls on an outdoor adventure every day, rain or shine, and last week was no exception. It was a blustery day when I packed a lunch and the three of us headed to Mack Laing Park. (Pip likes to call it, “The Creek.”)

Fig has been to The Creek many times in-utero, in the Baby Bjorn, and in our MEC backpack baby-carrier, but she has never hiked the whole trail out to the beach on her own two feet. For a novice hiker, she was very confident. She quickly took the lead and boldly toddled ahead of Pip and I on the path. Fig is a girl who knows her limits though, and when the terrain got a bit tricky at the end of the trail, she reached for my hand .

We stopped in a cool little ‘fairy-hut’ for our muffin and apple lunch, and the girls danced around inside a beach-fort, pretending they were the children’s singing sensation, “Bobs and Lolo.” We left the fort to toss a few rocks into the ocean, and it was then that Pip noticed an interesting log on the beach. As we approached the spotted log, I realized that it was a dead seal pup. Naturally, the girls were very curious, so I didn’t try to steer them away from the seal, I just asked them not to get too close.

The baby seal was perfectly intact. He had a few flies on his nose and a hint of blood around his mouth, but other than that he looked beautiful. His eyes were deep, black and wide open. They were so shiny, they almost appeared to be twinkling. His whiskers gave him a friendly, almost comical appearance like Dr.Seuss’s ‘Lorax’ character. His entire body sparkled with moisture. He looked as though he should be able to hoist himself back into the water at any moment; but he was completely motionless. I wondered what had killed him.

Fig wanted to pet the seal, so it was a bit challenging trying to keep her away, but Pip was very calm and respectful. She crouched down close to it and studied it for several minutes. She was absolutely still and silent.

The wind was really picking up and it was time to head home for Fig’s nap, so I asked Pip if she wanted to say a little prayer for the baby seal. ”Sure Mama,” Pip said. I held Fig in my arms and Pip and I stood on either side of the seal, facing the wind. I sent a little prayer out to the universe, just acknowledging the life of this gorgeous creature and wishing it well on its’ journey. I ended with, ‘Peace and Love,’ and Pip repeated, “Peace and Love.”

We headed home. After I put Fig down for her nap, I thought I’d better check-in with Pip to see how she was feeling about her encounter with the seal. She’d been quiet on the drive back. ”Pip, what did you think about seeing the seal today?”

“It was great, Mama!” Not exactly the response I had expected from my sensitive girl. I assumed she must have felt some sadness, and I wanted Pip to know that it was okay to have those feelings.

“You know, I felt a little sad when I saw the seal.” I prompted.

“Why, Mama?”

“Well, I was thinking that the seal wouldn’t get to swim around in the ocean anymore.”

“Oh, don’t worry Mama,” my little sage began, “the seal still has all of its’ power. It still has all of the power to swim, even though it won’t be able to swim in the water.”

Sometimes Pip’s words take me aback. I feel like I’m mothering an old-soul.

She was being perfectly honest when she happily told me that seeing the seal was ‘great.’ She was excited! It was fascinating for her to see a seal that close. She wasn’t connecting the interesting creature on the beach with the notion that its’ life had ended. To her, it was a scientific discovery. A fact of Life.

I thanked Pip for our little talk about the seal. I got a lot out of it. Aren’t I fortunate to have such a patient little teacher?

(I didn’t take my camera on the hike through Mack Laing park, so I’ll leave you with a photo of another local piece of paradise: Goose Spit.)

spirits of trees

Karen — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 14:00:22 +0000

“I am in love with the green earth.”

Charles Lamb

Fig greets everything; people, geese, trees, slugs, flowers, bees…you name it, she’ll say ‘hi’ to it. I remember when Pip was her age she did the same thing. Isn’t it lovely? We should all be spreading our good energy to every living thing. I’m sure the flowers and trees appreciate it at some level.

Many years ago I was introduced to an e.e.cummings poem that fast became a favourite. I began a little ritual. Whenever I was out in nature, feeling appreciative, I would recite the first stanza. I taught it to my students when we were climbing hills in Bolivia and we recited it when we were paddling down a tributary of the Amazon river. I remember reciting it when I was dancing with hundreds of people on the streets of Basseterre in St.Kitts watching the sun rise over the Caribbean Sea, and now I say it when I’m with my girls.

The other day we were on a little forest trail, just the three of us, and we came across a giant root. ”Look at this enormous root!” I had said.

“Hello, Root,” Fig said.

“Hello, Root,” Pip and I echoed. That’s when I introduced them to e.e.cummings’ poem.

You don’t have to believe in God to appreciate it; I don’t see it as a religious poem as much as a spiritual poem. It’s best if you read it aloud, with gusto! So go ahead…let this gorgeous combination of words roll off of your tongue:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

Is it possible to NOT feel grateful after that?

Foul mouths

Karen — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 14:00:50 +0000

“Profanity is the common crutch of the conversational cripple.”

David Kueck

As my little family arrived at our favourite river-swimming hole, we were greeted with the sound of boisterous male voices having a conversation that was punctuated with profanity. They were across the river from us, but their voices carried as though they were sitting a meter away. I first assumed that they were partying teenagers, oblivious to anyone’s existence but their own. I considered yelling a friendly, “Hey guys, we’ve got kids here, could you please watch your language?” (It’s the teacher in me.)

Then I studied the figures more closely. They were middle-aged men, and the most vocal of the lot was carrying a young child in his arms. In the time it took me to count three young kids, an equal number of ’f-bombs’ were dropped.

I felt more sad than aggravated. I decided not to yell across the water. These were my peers. They obviously weren’t concerned about their own kids being exposed to such foul language, so why would they consider the impressionable young minds of my children?

Thankfully, my daughters weren’t paying attention to the men across the river; they were more interested in wading into the water, spotting colourful rocks and visiting a little dog named Roxy. We swam, played, and splashed, but the background sound of profanity was inescapable. We didn’t linger.

Upon reflection, I find myself wondering why I didn’t speak up. If I was respectful about my request to the men, perhaps they would’ve been equally respectful toward me and apologized. Alternately, they might have hurled a few derogatory comments in my direction. I could’ve handled that. I suppose I feared the possible confrontation.

What would you have done?

Baby Steps

Karen — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 14:00:06 +0000

“Too many people grow up. That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.”

Walt Disney

Fig is making big, bold, beautiful steps toward independence. She’s walking, talking, napping without nursing, and the other day we took our first ‘baby-carrier-less’ hike. It’s true. No stroller, no baby-backpack, no sling of any kind, just our high hopes, our crossed fingers and our thirty-pound toddler. (Along with Pip and our trusty hound, of course!)

It wasn’t a long hike, (local readers will know the Nymph Falls trail,) but it was long enough that we wouldn’t want to carry Fig the entire way; she was going to have to walk. And walk she did. She looked so grown-up trudging along, admiring moss and picking up interesting sticks. I found it hard to believe that the seemingly seasoned little hiker I was looking at was the same person who took her very first step less than two months ago.

At one point, where the trail borders the river, it was too dangerous for Fig to walk on her own so we tried to hold her hand. Not a chance. She had no interest whatsoever in accepting our hand-holding support. After four or five attempts at taking her hand, we had no choice but to pick her up and carry her. Fig was infuriated. She looked at me with eyes that said, “How dare you pick me up when I’m a perfectly competent walker?”

I could understand her frustration. It must be confusing to be congratulated for walking-solo one minute, and reigned-in the next. We took the time to explain to Fig exactly why we had to pick her up, (because we’ve deduced that she understands pretty much everything we say now), but she fussed and fidgeted in her daddy’s arms until it we reached the falls.

Once we set Fig down on the rock and she could see the powerful water rushing around us on all sides, she was happy to be kept safe in our arms. I took a few steps away from my little family to take some photos. I looked through the viewfinder and remembered the first time we’d brought Fig to this exact spot. She’d been less than two weeks old, and she’d slept through the entire hike on her daddy’s chest as he carried her in the Baby Bjorn. Time doesn’t fly, it bolts like lightning.

I took the photo of my two daughters, my husband and my dog and thought, “There is no baby in this picture.”

It’s official. My baby isn’t a baby anymore. (But she’ll always be my baby.)