October 17- Watching The Sunrise

What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? E. M. Forster

  There is a beach, five minutes from my home. If the sunrise calls to me I go, to witness. I sit on my car hood and wait. Our earth is rotating around this star made of energy light. Once a day we turn into this light which we call rising but it's more a going toward. We turn away during the night and re-turn at dawn. As I sit expectantly, I see light on the horizon. It accentuates the shadows and makes the deepest contrast. The darkness is darker,dark because of the light.

Then ever so slowly the fire orb appears. I can't look into the brightness. My eyes look more at the expanse of heaven and notice how the clouds receive light. Pockets of brightness peek out of the thinest layers. 

    Water seems to swallow the light, reflecting and embracing at the same time. My heart aches at the beauty. Surely I should want to re-turn to this light. Why would I ever choose darkness over shadow. But I do sometimes. If the sunrise teaches me anything it is to trust in the break of day. There has been a sunrise 22, 995 times during my life. I should trust something with such a track record. Most of the sunrises of my life have come without notice. I wish to be more mindful of those I have left. 

Sunrise

Mary Oliver

You can

die for it-

an idea, 

or the world. People 

have done so, 

brilliantly, 

letting

their small bodies be bound 

to the stake, 

creating

an unforgettable

fury of light. But 

this morning, 

climbing the familiar hills

in the familiar

fabric of dawn, I thought 

of China, 

and India

and Europe, and I thought

how the sun 

blazes

for everyone just

so joyfully

as it rises 

under the lashes

of my own eyes, and I thought

I am so many! 

What is my name? 

What is the name

of the deep breath I would take

over and over

for all of us? Call it 

whatever you want, it is

happiness, it is another one

of the ways to enter

fire. 

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

This month I am being more mindful of the moment. It is part of my year long exploration of mindfulness. You can read more about my Year of Mindfulness here.

October 16-Island Church Service

There is nothing to playing the organ. You only have to hit the right notes at the right time and the instrument plays itself.

- Johann Sebastian Bach

Oh, Mr. Bach, you do simplify things too much. Unlike the piano, there are no ways to sustain the sound, so finger pedaling, in sometimes awkward ways, must be used. And, the keyboard under your feet can be the source of great mental confusion. Is middle C under my right foot or my left foot? I have the upmost respect for organists.  

I know five or six organs well. Those would be in the chapels of my youth until now. When I was twelve, after taking piano lessons for four years, my Bishop asked me to be the organist in my church. I looked at him with horror. 
  "Well, it can't be that hard. can it?" he said without any knowledge whatsoever. "I predict you will be in music service the rest of your life."  
   He was right. Worshipping on the island put me front and center, at the organ. When my kids were little I enjoyed that my husband had to settle the unruly flock while I sat serenely "at the bench". Later, I found worshipping to be heightened by the spirit that moves in and through music. 

   I owe Sister Verena Hatch a great debt. An accomplished organist, she offered free organ lessons to those of us playing in church service. We came to her unique home and learned the techniques of excellent playing. I can still see the vaulted ceiling of her front room, with organ pipes from the floor up to the ceiling. Yes, she had a small pipe organ in her home. I think of her often when I feel I've improved at a certain skill. I use her example as I invite younger piano students to learn in my congregation. Live organ music may be dying in churches all over the world. If you are lucky enough to have musicians in your church who freely offers their abilities, don't let them go unnoticed. They will be uncomfortable at your appreciation but it may be just what they need that day to keep going on. And if your church pays their musicians, they need the appreciation still.

The organ is the grandest, the most daring, the most magnificent of all instruments invented by human genius.

- Honore de Balza

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 15-Island Swingset Music and Movement

"What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about."

As my children got older and my piano studio was secure I wanted to extend my efforts toward music for toddlers. Perhaps I am a two-year old at heart. I still like to get on the floor with them. Kindermusik offered a training program so I studied and watched other instructors. I worked one semester alone and then my on island competition called to meet me. She was not after my clientele; she wanted to work with me. Could we support both of us? The best professional decision I ever made was joining with Kim. 

For a decade we set up for two classes a week. The toddlers who played and sang with us are now our music students. They don't always remember the songs but they stare at me sideways and I imagine them thinking about a funny lady who twirled and skipped aroiund the room.  

The music part of the "schtick" seemed native to me but the movement thing was vulnerable. My first venue had mirrors and I would catch a glimpse of myself crawling on the floor. Not a pretty sight! The toddlers would bring me back to what was important, which was engaging fully on all levels.

The island supported our program, which we wrote ourselves. The Playspace, a family resource center for children ages 0-6 years, provided us a space for free as long as we offered two scholarships each semester. They recommended us to families looking for activities for young children.

A two year old child, finding her voice, and singing along with me was a holy experience. That may sound extreme but, trust me, I was moved many times as these precious children would abandon their shyness and let their voice be heard.

                

            

Music is more powerful than words because it eludes the filter of the right side of the brain and is felt before the words are understood. So, put your right foot in, and put your left foot out. Just do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around, that's what it's all about."

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 14- Mail

“Usually if you pray from the heart, you get an answer—the phone rings or the mail comes, and light gets in through the cracks, so you can see the next right thing to do. That’s all you need.” 

Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith

   Driving along the roads on my island, I love to see the creatively painted mailboxes. Going to get the mail is a big deal whether you are six or sixty. Who knows what might be inside. It could be a letter from your friend in Michigan, or a card from your brother, which his wife mailed, or more often advertisements. Whatever, I still enjoy the anticipation.

   When I first arrived on this rock, we had route numbers instead of street names.  Communication about where to find a certain house often included "in front of the purple mailbox". If you wanted to be found, not everyone did, you could make your box visually noticeable.

We had a disturbing vandal some years back. He became known as the mailbox basher. With a baseball bat he, or she, smashed the box and took the mail. Many of my friends removed their boxes and picked up mail at the Post Office. But I love my box and my mail carrier. She knows when I have good mail and honks her horn when I get a package. 

Mail is real and tangible. Don't you love getting a fat letter that has two stamps. And, handwriting is a lost art these days. The curly letters or the straight up printing are both love in paper form and truly comforting. I have letters that my mother wrote to me. She had a peculiar way of writing as English was not her native tongue. She misspelled words but each sentence was perfect. The perfection came from the intention to show love; love in an envelop and love in the mailbox.

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 13- Twinkle Lights Everywhere

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” 

L.M. Montgomery, Anne Of Green Gables

When October is half way through I get excited. The twinkle light season is finally here. Lights around a room, around a tree, within pumpkins, all make me happy. A storm is brewing on the Pacific and just might bring high winds. If the electricity goes out, more twinkle lights.

  This is the month of my birth. Thank-you, Mama. Candles on cupcakes, or nestled into wreaths just are the very bestest of bests. 

My island really loves Halloween. The close to a hundred pumpkins, at the local coffee shop, start parading a few days before. Then on Halloween night they all light up. Heaven!

And, not to be forgotten, a few weeks before Halloween the solstice brought out the luminaries around Paradise Valley streets. All to please the eye and warm the heart.

                             Of course, there's Christmas coming.....

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 12- Island Home Education

For those of you reading my 31 Days marathon I thank-you very much. Knowing that these stories are enjoyable and informative makes me want to be a better writer.  

   How can a mother tutor the heart of her children?

     I was taking an island walk and processing my life. An unease swept over me. "Your son is not ready for baptism." Those words came to me from a source outside of my own thinking. I wondered what they meant. He would not be baptized until he was eight. Earlier that week his first grade teacher called to inform me that he was in the Principal's office for using inappropriate language. I was dumbfounded. My son was gentle, quiet and obedient. How could this happen? 
    Went I picked him up, his teacher said, "He doesn't have any refusal skills." Why did my six-year old need refusal skills? A seed began to grow. What was my role as a parent and a teacher? Did I feel comfortable letting public educators teach and sometimes "parent" my child? When living in Utah I would never have entertained the idea of homeschooling. It was too out of the mainstream. Now I lived on an island of independent thinkers, some who were homeschooling for various reasons. I studied, talked to many families who were and had homeschooled for years. I studied the state law, the philosophies of educating young children, and the objectives of my own school district. It would take me another year to get brave enough to check that boy out of second grade.
     Let me set a few things straight. The island had and does now have, good schools. The teachers were dedicated. My friend from my church was his excellent teacher in first grade. I believe what I was entertaining, as I read and read, was the question concerning who had the responsibility to educate my offspring. I was trying to wean myself away from the urge to just send them off every morning and exhale with relief. I had no religious reasons to home school except the most compelling one, it was the right thing, for that time, for that boy.  
   For fifteen years I persisted. Sometimes I only taught the younger two. Then my middle son started part-time Middle School. For some years my oldest daughter checked out of High School and asked to be home taught. What I wanted to drive home to these children is the fact that they needed to care about learning. Eventually, the responsibility rested upon them. My second son stayed in school until he graduated and provided a control group, of sorts. So what did I learn?

• Every child has a unique way of processing information. Search for the way not only into their minds but also into their hearts.
• My own education had holes. Technically, homeschooling was like getting another 15 years in school. 
• There was someone who could provide answers when I hit dry ground. I learned that God would reveal things to me that I could not find out for myself. He loved them more than I because he knew them longer.
• This island had mentors who wanted to extend themselves to my family. Island businesses allowed volunteers as a stepping ground to getting a paid job. Our island veterinarian, pharmacy, bookstore, pet store, all opened their knowledge to mentor my kids. 
• My children still needed to test themselves against the world. When they went to college they were hyper vigilant because they had something to prove. The two youngest attended community college as their first school experience.
• Children don't always see the sacrifice we make to educate them.
• My children are not an extension of me. Their success or failure does not define who I am.

   The island school district worked closely with the parent educators. I appreciate the knowledge I received from meeting with the Superintendent, Principal, and school board. At times I was terrified to speak and express my opinions, as there were always critics who felt they knew more. Knowing what was right for my family came as a strength, over time. My grandchildren need my support now, whether they home school or attend public school. I provide many of them piano lessons and have opportunities to watch their intellects develop. Mostly I hope my influence provides a wee bit of tutoring of the heart.

Believing
Receiving
Be open, to the truth which makes you,
Loving
Caring
And feeling,
That ye may be the children of Light.

(Our family motto)

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 11- Bike In A Tree

                "It is with a bicycle that this story begins...."
                               Berkeley Breathed, Red Ranger Came Calling

                                                                             Bike in a Tree

A house full of children

All of them wanting to ride

Ten-Speeds, two wheelers,

Trikes, lounging on the front lawn.

Where did you leave your bike?

A blank face, grimy with forest dirt, thoughtful,

Did he have the bike when they

Came out of the trail?

The next day it rained,

And the next, the whole family

Went to the beach,

The bike forgotten against the tree.

At first the tree felt the weight 

As an irritation.

As days turned to years the branch

enveloped the red seat

Making a cradle to support the intruder.

The tree reached upward and 

By default the bike was elevated as well.

Front wheel turning slightly right,

Ready to ride into the south wind.

Decades later, 

Wondering eyes looked to see how it was done.

Why did the tree accept this burden?

Why had the bicycle stayed it's ground.

Who was the boy, now a grandfather,

Who abandoned his way around town?

By Gabriele

This is truly a landmark on my island. To this day I have not heard an accurate account of how it could happen or who's bike it might have been. Legend says that the tree must have been growing around the bike for more than fifty years. Sadly, really sadly, it is deteriorating as the years pass. It sits nestled in the woods off the main highway and some years the path in is barely passable and other years someone whacks away the forest growth and the path to the bike is open and visible.  I love the mystery of it. I love how nature accommodates and allows growing to happen even when obstacles stand in it's way. 

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.