Halloween was always an exciting and magical time for us.  Childhood friends, my brother and I would gather and we would hit the neighborhood.  There were plenty of houses and they were relatively close.  Our parents would walk in the street and follow our movements closely. The parents would spend the time chatting as we would converse with each homeowner about who we were, where we lived and what we were dressed up as.  That was back in the day when people actually cared about getting to know the people who lived in an area.  As soon as the name and costume inquisition was over, and we had our treats in hand, we would cut across the yard to the next house.

When it was all over, we would go home.  My brother and I would dump our candy out and categorize it.  As we did that, my dad would oversee the whole thing.  He would "inspect" the candy by eating a bunch of it.  LOL!  My brother and I each had a "candy bowl" that housed our treats, and my mother stored those candy bowls on top of the fridge.  We were never smart enought to climb a chair to go up and get it... that wouldn't have worked anyway... it always seemed as if my mom knew what our next move was going to be - at least when we were young, that is. 

There were certain times of the day when we could pick a treat from the bowl.  Sometimes we would trade with one another.  It was definately against the rules to steal candy from the other's bowl... LOL!  I will post a picture later when I get a chance to scan it in.  :-)  Thanks for the memories.  Those were great times, and they seemed to last forever.  I loved Halloween as a child, and I still do.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living a real-life series of Seinfeld episodes.  Those situations range from things that actually happened on Seinfeld to things that would have made excellent Seinfeld episodes... I call those the Seinfeld episodes that never were but probably should have been.  One of those episodes actually happened shortly after I moved into my condo last year.

As long as I can remember, I have always been interested in insects, arachnids and other creepy crawly things that most people find repulsive.  I own a rosy-haired tarantula, named Rosie, and during the year, she is usually in my classroom.  The kids love watching her and she is a huge topic of conversation.  During the summer, I bring her home and keep her in the basement in a tank.  Shortly after moving in, my neighbor Chris and I got to talking.  The topic of the tarantula came up, and he asked if he could come over and see her.  Cool...  Chris came over and so did his daughter, my daughters and another one of our neighbors.  We all traipsed into the basement and over to the tarantula tank.  I peeked in.  No spider.  I told him to hold on for a second.  I lifted the lid and peered inside.  She wasn't on the top of the cage.  Oh, shit... I thought to myself, and a sinking feeling began to seep through my body.  I lifted a log tunnel that was in the cage.  No spider.  I turned around and looked Chris in the eyes.  "I... I... I don't know what to say to you.  The spider's not here!"

All of a sudden, he turned on a dime.  "Chris!  Where are you going?"  I shouted.  He spun around and stopped... for only a second.  "Why, I'm leaving!"  he exclaimed.  He made a quarter turned and almost knocked all of the children down as he made a beeline for the staircase.  "But CHRRRISSSSSSSSS!"  I exclaimed.  "Aren't you going to help me find her?"  By now he was halfway up the stairs and he had left a huddle of crying children in his wake.  He bent down and spoke to me through the balusters.  "Nope!  I'm going home.  I pushed past all of the children just like George in the fire episode and now I'm going home." he said.  "What about the kids and the spider?"  With that, there was no response and he was gone.  I was left standing with a huddle of 4 children who quickly realized that Chris was gone... with that, they each turned on their heels and RAN up the stairs.  Their shrieking could be heard all throughout the condo.

Here we go again, I thought to myself.  This is not the first time that a tarantula of mine had escaped.  It happened one other time about 14 years ago - my first tarantula, Chocolate Michelangelo had escaped in my kindergarten classroom, and my colleagues almost killed me on the spot!  I got on the phone with my mother and told her what happened.  She laughed.  She clearly remembered the last time the spider escaped.  As I was talking to her, I suddenly saw a tiny hint of a web that started at the tank and I followed it across the room with my eyes.  Please, please, please... I whispered to myself.  Please just be there... somewhere... let me find that spider!  I knew if I didn't find her immediately, my daughters wouldn't sleep until I found her.  I was still on the phone with my mom.  I was giving her the play-by-play on finding the spider.  The web ended and I ducked down.  BINGO!  There she was - on a concrete wall under a piece of wood framing.  I got a container and gently guided her inside.  No, I don't handle her, and I have good reason to.

You see, when I got my first tarantula 16 years ago, I actually got three.  One was for the security guard, one was for the biology teacher upstairs and one was for me.  I was so excited to own my first tarantula.  The spiders came in Petri dishes.  I have since found out that the animals that come from biological supply houses are not necessarily treated in the best way.  Needless to say, the trip from North Carolina to Connecticut in a Petri dish packed in a box full of those little styrofoam pellets must have been a rough one.  I chose the largest spider.  I opened up the Petri dish, and reached my hand in to touch the spider... the damn thing reared up on TWO legs.  I almost wet myself.  I also didn't know at the time, that tarantulas have incredible jumping power.  Thank goodness it didn't jump on me because I would have died on the spot.  I quickly closed the Petri dish and reached for the smaller tarantula.  The kids named him Chocolate (because he was chocolate brown) Michelangelo (after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle - not the artist.  LOL!)  Anyhow, I digress.  Chocolate Michelangelo molted several times, and I never saw it happen.  My mom was always spider sitting when he did.  He eventually died and I was spiderless for 8 years or so.  Fast forward to Rosie...

Spiders don't have skeletons like we do.  They have something called an exoskeleton.  It's basically a skeleton on the outside of their body.  The exoskeleton is partially made up of a material called chitin, which is a super strong substance.  In order for the spider to grow, the exoskeleton has to be shed - and a new exoskeleton takes its place.  It is kind of like when a snake sheds its skin...  The spider spins an elaborate web, lies on that web upside down and then waits.  The waiting is the crazy part.  It can take the tarantula up to 12 hours to complete a molt.  The first time Rosie molted, I was lucky enough to have witnessed the actual molting process.  It was amazing!  I had her in school at the time, and I wondered why she had refused food.  When I came in the next day, she was upside down on the most beautiful web I had ever seen.  Oh.  I thought she was dead.  It really looked like she had spun a death bed!  I left the room and went to a staff breakfast.  When I came back, I looked closely at the "death bed" web.  All of a sudden I noticed that her legs twitched.  What the... I stood still, held my breath and watched.  She wasn't dead!  She was molting!  I was so excited... like a 5 year old!  She molted, I got to watch the whole thing, and I took pictures.

Rosie molted again starting on the night before Halloween and finishing up sometime early on Halloween.  I didn't get to watch it this time.  Basically, the spider will lie in its cradle, most often on its back.  It is vitally important that the tarantula not be disturbed during this period, for shedding is a stressful activity that consumes every ounce of its energy.

The tarantula will pump fluid pressure in its body to get the carapace to pop off first.  The abdomen will split along its sides, and the spider will continue to slowly, pump fluid in its limbs to shed the old skin off its legs.  This process takes a long time and leaves the spider in a defenseless and vulnerable position, even after the old skin has been shed.  The body is actually soft until the exoskeleton dries and becomes a sort of armor for the spider. 

I realize that this blog is probably WTMI - Way too much information, but I did have a few inquiring minds out there, and so I decided to answer them with this blog. 

The best thing that I lost was insecurity, and that happened in third grade.  Boy, that year made such a difference in my life.  I really became a different person, and I thank my teacher, Mrs. Isser for being the catalyst for change. 

It has been one of those days.  The Doctor is in... Please take a number and patiently wait YOUR turn!

As usual, I was walking to the train this morning; I was unaware that my cell phone was ringing in my pocket.  I am a brisk walker, and I just don't feel my phone vibrate in my pocket as I am walking.  I went to my usual place on the train platform only to find that there was a squatter there.  No, not a literal person squatting, you know, squatting: the act of occupying an unoccupied space (leaving off the fact that we KNOW he doesn't own that space, but if he is observant, he knows that I stand THERE every day).  So I was displaced on the platform, drinking my coffee and surprised to see Lucia... she was early.

I said to her "Why are you so early?  Are you early or was the other train late?"  "No, I am not early.  I have the correct satellite time on my Blackberry."  I looked at my phone.  It was 7:40.  She was early.  "It's 7:40.  You're early."  I announced.  "It's 7:44 - your time is wrong."  She replied.  I told her to check her settings because my time WAS from the satellite and my time WAS right.  She conceded. 

There was a voicemail message from our friend, Victoria.  She boards the train one stop ahead of us, and she sits with our friend, Kevin, and they save us seats.  I listened to the message.  Victoria's father had died in the night.  It was a blessing in disguise as he had dementia and he had been in the hospital and hadn't been lucid since a recent operation.  "Oh, Victoria's father died last night.  That's sad."  I said.  "Ya, well!  It's not that bad, Susan.  He was sick and short before dying anyway."  I was shocked by her response.  He was Victoria's father, and she loved him.  I wasn't about to tell her what to think or what to say or how to act.  I'm not her doctor.  I just let the topic drop.  Of course, it wasn't that quick to die (jeeze, no pun intended).  She went on and on about the fact that she didn't understand why Victoria's parents weren't already in a nursing home, but trying to explain that to her for the millionth time is futile. 

I got to work and ended up missing making the morning announcements due to the fact that I was talking about the science curriculum.  I don't know why I even bother sometimes, because it falls on deaf ears, but I don't give up because I truly DO care.  I went into the office and the secretary barked at me that I missed it.  Oh, well... then she started freaking out because she needed to type something on a particular template, and the template wouldn't let her type in a particular space.  I told her that I would have to be RIGHT BACK... I had a class waiting.  She yelled at me that I couldn't leave.  I ran away like the gingerbread man and told her that I'd be back.  The teacher who was waiting for me was in a real bitchy mood.  I told her to take it up with the secretary.  I got the class situated, called in reinforcements and ran back upstairs.  The secretary was still sitting in her chair... the same way that I had left her... just like a statue.  I snapped her out of it.  "Seeeeeeeeeeeeee!  I can't type in this box.  It won't let me."  "Carolyn, just draw a text box and then type... like this."  I said.  "Oh, Suzie, you're the best."  She cooed.  I ran back downstairs and continued to do my real job, which is to teach.

The rest of fifth grade and all of fourth grade (once we got past Anthony's whining and lying about having to practice typing in Type To Learn III, today) went without a hitch.  Fast forward to third grade - I have been teaching the third graders all about rocks; the different types, how they are formed and what some of them look like.  They are on the "you show me what you have learned" part of the unit, which is always a lot of fun!  My directions to the children were to use the "Paint" application to illustrate their knowledge of igneous rocks, metamorphic rocks and sedimentary rocks and how they are formed using text.  The children all know how to use paint, so the only tricky part was going to be the fact that I had to help everyone print and sometimes save and most of the time spell.  Things were going well until EVERYONE wanted to print and EVERYONE needed some sort of spelling help and SOME people needed help saving things and opening a new file.  During the craziness, I got four visitors.  Oddly enough, some of them actually tried to interact with me.  I looked at those people as if they had multiple heads and asked them to come back later.  The smart ones entered the room, took one look at me, thanked sweet Jesus that they weren't me and left. :-)

The secretary showed up on the scene during the last five minutes of the class.  The kids all had their hands up.  They were waving them and when I looked up, I felt as if I was in the middle of a rock concert!  I asked everyone to save (something we have done a MILLION times before) and I told certain students that I would be there to print just as soon as I could.  The main wrinkle was the fact that yesterday, somehow, and quite mysteriously, I might add, all of the folders containing student work vanished from the server.  They are somewhere in cyber space... the great cyber black hole.  It has thrown me off a bit, and it has REALLY thrown the students off.  I explained to them that if the folders surface, that's great.  If they are gone forever, we'll just move forward without looking twice.  I'm not going to go crazy over something that I had no control over...

I told some students that I would finish printing when they were out of the room.  The secretary needed help with how to choose another printer.  I tried to "tell" her how to do it, but I could see that wasn't going to work.  I helped Susanna learn how to sign into her new email account and I emailed her the link so she could do it at home.  I showed Vicki an educational, yet fun, website for her grandson.  I showed her how to navigate the site and I demonstrated some fun games for her.  Doug came in and he wants to know why the printer in the super lab always grabs a ton of papers and prints on only one.  I don't have an answer for him.  I helped Stacy with some questions that she had.  I listened to what Anne had to say and I offered to teach one of her art education classes to the fifth graders.  I taught it last year, and I am familiar with the content.  I fielded a phone call from Allyson and assured her that I DO have another keyboard for her since parts of hers are non-responsive.  The custodian borrowed me and showed me that Yertle, our red-eared slider does know how to climb up out of the water and onto the rock (several teachers are convinced that he doesn't know how, and that he's exhausting himself by swimming all day long. 

It has been pretty quiet this afternoon.  Do you suppose that has something to do with the fact that I've put one of those "Please Take a Number" machines outside of my classroom with a sign that states that I also charge a free for consultation.  Damn!  I wasn't fast enough.  Doug showed up on the scene.  Heeeeeeeee's back!!!  He wants to know why the printer defaults in the super lab are all different.  I told him to make sure all of the computers are logged in as the classroom and not another classroom.  Then he wanted to discuss his PD from Tuesday with me.  Blah, blah, blah... I have been to those media specialist PD sessions before, and they are like talking a fist full of sleeping pills... the only difference is that they don't kill you... they just slowly torture you instead.  I'm thankful I didn't have to go to his meeting the other day.  I would have died.

The doctor is in.  Care to discuss anything?
Hugs!
~ Susan - or maybe you should just call me LUCY!!!

I thought about this Q&R as I walked to work this morning.  I saw beauty all around me.  Wal-king, wal-king, wal-king... my steps seemed to talk.  I walked and I thought.  I waved to my friend Karen.  She was a bit too far away for me to shout out her name.  Her face lit up as she waved heartily - "Have a great weekend!" she hollered.  I smiled.  Joy - I had created a tiny bit of joy by personalizing my daily walk past Karen.  I reached out to her and introduced myself.  Now we greeted each other and exchanged kind words for a nice, enjoyable day or weekend.  I walked on.  An older woman was sitting on the bench outside of the coffee shop.  She looked worried.  I looked into her eyes.  I wondered what was bothering her.  I smiled at her and said "Good Morning!"  She looked startled for a second.  She realized I was speaking to HER, and a beautiful smile quickly spread across her face.  "Good Morning!" she replied.  Creating joy...  I approached the train platform, and I man that I see every day walked right up to me.  He came so close, that I was startled for a second.  "Good Morning" tumbled out of my mouth.  He smiled.  "Happy Friday" he replied.  Hmmm... maybe there was something to this "creation of joy" thing.  I took the train and began my mile walk to work.  I wondered if something about me was different.  Could people begin to see my joy?  Was I wearing it on my face and in my step?  Hmmmmm...  I crossed the street and smiled with my eyes.  I could see that the people that I passed noticed that I was creating joy.  They returned the glance with joy in their own eyes, which has led me to the following conclusion - I can create more joy around me by being joyful, by smiling and by being open. 

Birches ~ Robert Frost WHEN I see birches bend to left and right
Across the line of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them	5
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells	10
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust-
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed	15
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.	20
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows-	25
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again	30
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away	35
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,	40
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches;
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood	45
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.	50
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,	55
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.	60

I had I really don't like waiting here, but after typing this, I'm changing it.  I didn't really realize that I do a lot of waiting.  There are times when waiting is good and there are times when waiting is not so good but I am learning that waiting has good things to offer!

I had to wait for 9 months two times for the birth of my children to find out if I was having a girl or a boy.  I gave birth to two girls and I thought I was having a boy each time.  I figured that not knowing the sex of my child until birth was probably the biggest surprise I would ever have, and I was right.  I wouldn't have changed those waiting times for anything.  

I wait for the train, but I don't mind that.  I chat with friends and strangers.

I wait in line for my coffee, but I always seem to strike up a conversation while I do, and so I don't mind.

I wait in line at the deli and when there are 20 people in front of me, I get kind of annyoed.  I mean, come on!  They can't do better than that?  Twenty meat and cheese ordering folks in front of me equates to at least a half hour wait.  That is not good.  The silver lining there... the fact that the deli man likes me, and he always spots me from a mile away.  He waves to me and chats with me.  That makes the time creep by a little bit faster.

I wait in line at the post office, and if I go to my little, local branch, it is often times annoying yet comical.  The three postal workers are as diverse as they come... a white man, an Indian man and a black woman.  The color of their skin is not what makes them funny, however.  It is the fact that they are as different as different can be.  I live in a community which is basically devoid of diversity, but I grew up and teach in a community that is as diverse as they come!  I can actually appreciate each of the postal workers on a different level than most.  Just watching the three of them in motion is like watching the three stooges!  As funny as they are from a distance, their ability to work in slow motion does not move the line along very quickly.  No, waiting in the small, local branch is not good.

I don't like to wait in traffic.  I did that for 13 years, and that was enough for me.  Sometimes the traffic would be going 70, and before I knew it, the cars stopped on a dime.  I can't tell you how many times I stopped so close to the bumper of the car in front of me... so close that I could have slid a piece of paper between the bumpers, and nothing more!  Even with a good radio, waiting in traffic can be a true pain in the ass... literally.  The longest wait in traffic that I ever had was a 5 hour one.  I mean 5 straight hours of NOTHING... not even moving an inch.  You see, I was on my way back down to Gettysburg College in PA, when a truck carrying blocks of compressed sheet metal scraps, overturned.  Tiny shards of ultra sharp sheet metal were scattered everywhere all over the highway.  It took them 5 hours to clean it up.  I think my butt fell asleep waiting for the cars to move again.  Now that's a long wait!

Sometimes my colleagues and I go to the local ice cream shop after work.  I don't mind waiting when we are there because I can never make up my mind.  Should I choose mint chocolate chip, cookie jumble, moose tracks, fudge moose tracks or peanut butter delight?  TOO MANY CHOICES!!!  Tasty, tasty choices!  I like to have the extra time to look at ALL of the flavors and by the time my turn rolls around, it is easy for me to choose, and I usually end up choosing peanut butter delight.  YUM!  Yes, I like the extra wait time when I am in the ice cream shop!

Sometimes I don't like having to wait for a letter, a package or an email... I suppose that's normal though.  

Yeah, I guess my relationship to waiting isn't as bad as I once thought... especially now that  I can see the good parts of having to be patient.
 

The question should be, what DON'T I like to talk about!
:-)
I love to talk and I love to listen... sharing in a conversation - enjoying the ebb and flow of the words.  Talking comes naturally for me and I love to exchange via conversation.

Mondnacht (Night Of The Moon) by Joseph Freiherr Von Eichendorff

Es war, als hätt' der Himmel
Die Erde still geküsst
Dass sie im Blütenschimmer
Von ihm nun träumen müsst

Die Luft ging durch die Felder
Die Ähren wogten sacht
Es rauschten leis die Wälder
So sternklar war die Nacht

Und meine Seele spannte
Weit ihre Flügel aus
Flog durch die stillen Lande
Als flöge sie nach Haus



It was as though the sky
had silently kissed the earth,
so that it now had to dream of sky
in shimmers of flowers.

The air went through the fields,
the corn-ears leaned heavy down
the woods swished softly-
so clear with stars was the night

And my soul stretched
its wings out wide,
flew through the silent lands
as though it were flying home.

This question has three real parts to it:

1. The physical act of waking up...
I have learned that I need to have time when it comes to waking up.  I have purchased an alarm clock with two alarms.  The first one is set for 4:40 and the second one is set for 4:50.  My body needs that 10 minute snooze time.  The pre-wake up prepares me for the actual time of waking up.  I like to get up early and I have a pretty good internal clock.  I generally wake up around the same time whether the clock goes off or not.

2. What's the best way for someone to awaken you to new possibilities?

First of all, I think you have to be ready and open in order to be able to process new possibilities.  You need to have some kind of a shift in perception... a want and a need for something new.  Until that point arrives, you can have all kinds of fine things laid upon your table, but if you aren't ready to try something new, then there's basically no point.  I think that there are combinations of factors that come together, and when the time is right, you get that ah-ha moment and your heart and your soul can hear and process something new.  

3. What have you learned about awakening in your life?
I have learned that awakening happens when the student is ready.  When the student is ready, the teacher appears.  A dance of sorts occurs.  Sometimes you lead and sometimes you follow.  You learn new steps and you practice them.  You put practice into motion and see how it works.  Is is smooth?  Can it be refined?  It takes time and patience and it also takes a certain amount of vulnerability.  You may fall down and you may feel embarrassed, but you just have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again.  

Awakening requires the ability for change.  Change is never comfortable, but change is the greatest catalyst for growth.  I just had this conversation yesterday with a Gaian friend of mine.  Change is magical... just look at what happens when a caterpillar undergoes  the transformation into a butterfly... that's a change - or when a cygnet becomes a swan... that's a change, and neither of those changes are easy ones.  Sometimes people tend to lash out when they feel uncomfortable about having to see things from a different perspective.  People can try to turn their words around onto the other person... trying to make them own the uncomfortableness of the situation.  Perhaps they feel threatened that if they allow new possibilities to creep into their old ways of thought, that they will have to admit that they were wrong, or that they'll have to apologize or that others will make them feel two inches tall.  I think it's at times like that, when we really need to stop and take a look inside... to be aware that maybe the teacher has come and maybe, just maybe, it's time to allow a new awareness of possibilities to enter our lives.  Allow the change to begin - a shift in perspective - be open to new possibilities...  
    

Artwork from Lucy Liew Art

Today was an amazingly beautiful autumn day.  The sky was crystal blue and the air was crisp.  It warmed my heart to see that all of the chickadees, nuthatches, tufted titmice and cardinals have returned to my bird-feeder.  I enjoyed hearing all of the birds chatter and chirp as they were flying from the bird-feeder to the trees and back again.  I can't wait until the goldfinches discover that the nyjer seed is out.  It's as simple as that. 

I must say, that I am myself.  I do not act, I just am, yet I find others drawn to me.  They tell me that I'm funny.  They say I've missed my calling, but they do not know my heart and what's inside of it.  Sometimes I'm soliloquy.  Sometimes I'm duet.  Other times I am in a chorus.  Still others, I am dialoguing with one or several or many.  You see, the audience is whoever is around... whoever cares to take the time to notice and to listen and more often than not, those who take the time to leave the audience and become part of the experience called life!  In the immortal words of William Shakespeare, "All the world's a stage"... get up on it, be seen and be heard.

All The World's A Stage (from As You Like It)
~William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The teacher appears when the student is ready.  I have learned some valuable lessons as of late.  Nightphoenix brought this to my attention today, and I'm thankful for it.  Yes, I should have been looking at what my situation was teaching me instead of complaining.  I'm sorry about that.  Lesson learned... thanks teacher!
Hugs!
-Susan

Chop Wood, Carry Water  ~ From The Meditation Archive

"Put your heart, mind, intellect and soul even to your smallest acts. This is the secret of success."
Swami Sivananda

---

Work. What does the word mean to you? Is it something to be avoided? Is it a means to an end? Is it the only appropriate focus of your attention and energy? Is it a way to avoid the rest of your life? Is it a joy? Is it a part of  your spiritual practice?

There is a Zen saying, "Before Enlightenment chop wood carry water, after Enlightenment, chop wood carry water." What's the difference? The tasks are the same. The need is the same. What about the frame of mind? Who is chopping? Who is carrying water?

When you labor, stay awake. Notice the frame of mind you bring to your work. Do you approach your work as if it were a nuisance? Do you remove your consciousness from work so that you are filled with resentment or worry?  What would you need to do to be more fully present in your work?

Practice mindfulness in work. It does little good to attain clarity of mind on your meditation cushion if you lose it as soon as you become active. Start with simple activities like brushing your teeth, ironing clothes, or washing dishes. Be fully alert as you move. Notice the position of your body in space. Notice the feelings in your body as you move. Pay attention to the thoughts that enter your mind when you do the task. See if you can let them go and just focus on the work itself.

If you are cleaning a countertop, feel the sponge in your hand. Feel the wetness. Feel the texture. Observe how the sponge moves in your hand from the sink to the counter. Sense your movements as you scrub. What do your eyes see? What do you hear as you work? Clean that countertop as if it were the most important thing you could do. Move with fluid motions. Waste no energy. Allow yourself the grace of economy of motion. Be grateful for the countertop, the sponge, the water, the soap. Be grateful for the hand, the arm, the whole body that can move a sponge. Be thankful for the floor you stand on and the roof that protects you. Without letting your mind wander too far, be grateful for all the circumstances that put you where you are at that moment with that sponge and that water and that countertop.

We travel to the ocean or to mountains, rivers and canyons, in part to escape the mundane world of work, but also to experience the awe that arises more spontaneously in nature's magnificence. We give ourselves an incredible gift when we can  experience some of the same awe in the mundane world of our daily lives. The weed that grows in the crack of a sidewalk is a phenomenon as miraculous as the redwood tree that towers into the sky. The raindrops that streak the window are no less an occasion for awe than the spray that dampens our face at the waterfall. The fingers that tap a keyboard are as worthy of praise as the feet of a ballet dancer.

When we open awareness to the tasks in our lives they become lighter. When we are able to be in the moment, we no longer feel compelled to watch the clock. Whatever your work might be, bring all of yourself to it. When you are fully present, you may find that your labor is no longer a burden. Wood is chopped. Water is carried. Life happens.

I park my car on a side street, which is three-tenths of a mile away from the train station.  The train parking lot is always full by the time I get there and they charge five dollars a day to park there.  This way, I save myself twenty-five dollars a week and I get six-tenths of a mile walk in every day! 

There is a very kind and gentle Polish woman who lives on the street where I park.  For the past year, I have greeted her whenever I see her.  She has always returned my greeting with a very short acknowledgement... a nod of her head and a hello in return.  Sometimes she would return with a you too.  That has always been the extent of it, and I was happy with that.

Today, however, was different.  I saw her coming. 
She greeted me first with a "Hello!" 
"Hello, have a great weekend!"  I said. 
"Oh, I have to work all weekend long." she replied.
"I'm sorry."  I stated.
"Don't be sorry."  she said.  "I work at the high school and they are having something there all weekend.  At least I'm getting a pay check."

We said goodbye and I paused to think about her words...
"At least I'm getting a pay check."
She was thankful for her job.  She was proud of her job.  This was the longest conversation we had shared, and it was almost as if she was practicing her English with me.  I loved it. 

She walked on ahead of me, and I lingered behind as I was getting things out of my car.  I met her again at the corner.  We talked for a few more minutes... there had been a car accident down at the corner, and I was filling her in on all of the commotion.  "Have a beautiful day!"  I called out as I began to walk away.  "You too!" she said. 

Look at the bright side.  Be thankful for what you have.  Be a light wherever you go.
Hugs!
-Susan

I save some things that I think are important.  I have saved each of my daughter's umbilical cords.  Now don't freak out and hit the report button or the take away seeds button.... The little piece of umbilical cord that turns super hard and just falls off - the piece of umbilical cord that looks like a small, purple piece of plastic - that's what I have saved.  Why?  You might ask yourself.  It is simple... the umbilical cord is THE LAST THING that joined each of my daughters to me - while we were one before birth - and for me, it represents part of us as one before each daughter's independence. 

Every once in a while, I will come across the boxes where the pieces of cord are stored.  When I do, I stop to look at them and touch them - and when I do, I am instantly swept away to a time before birth, when we were joined.  I have two, beautiful daughters and I am eternally grateful that I have been given such angels here on Earth.

I am a teacher, as many of you already know.  We have 2 elective mutes in our building.  An elective mute is a person who can speak, but chooses not to.  These girls are sisters - Ruth and Melissa.  Ruth is in first grade and Melissa is in Kindergarten.  The girls do not utter a sound... they don't make a noise when they sneeze, they don't cough and the don't talk... complete and total silence.  Their parents insist that they speak at home... in English and in Spanish.  A recent home visit by our social worker confirmed that fact... they can and they do talk. 

I was just wondering when Ruth and Melissa are going to feel safe enough to finally talk.  I hope and I pray it will be soon... they are so sweet, and I would love to hear their angelic voices mixed in with the voices of all of my other students.  It's amazing to watch a child go through the motions of every-day life, without making a sound...  it's almost unthinkable - such amazing self control, self discipline and perhaps fear...  Maybe there is a lesson to be learned from them, I don't know.

Just one voice singing in the darkness
All it takes is one voice
Singing so they hear what's on your mind
And when you look around you'll find
There's more than one voice singing in the darkness
Joining with that one voice
Each and every note another octave
Hands are joined and fears unlocked
                                                       ~ Barry Manilow