Take a Walk on the Child Side

Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the
handle of anxiety or the handle of faith.
-- Henry Ward Beecher

Oh how I wanted to post last night, but had to rest. This morning, I happily return to tell you about my walk on Monday. I'd been inside the apartment since Saturday, so it was time to get out and move my legs. Snow mixed with rain was expected last evening and the air was thick with cold.

First, I walked to the bank in my neighborhood. A very tall woman, possibly a man was inside opening the door for anyone needing to enter the 24-hour ATM section. I'd seen her before. She was hoping for any change those banking could give. I am tempted each time to tell her how that might not be the most opportune place to ask for money - as odd as it seems - because any cash withdrawn is at its minimum a $20 bill and as generous as I can be, have not risen to feeling comfortable handing that out, yet.

I have never given her money, and quite honestly, feel bad about it. And even more direct, I am judging her. She has an anger about her that tells me she knows she could manifest what she needs, yet there is a strong resistance. She is articulate and able. I want to tell her how talented I suspect she is, but I grow timid and simply tell her, "thank you" as she opens the bank door for me to leave. I want to tell her I know how she feels, but dependency never wins or provides what you think it will.

Next, I went to retrieve my laundry. Yes, at 55, I have stopped schlepping my laundry to the laundromat and physically washing and drying it. I drop it off and pick it up, happy as a pig in mud. It costs about $8 more than if I stayed and did it myself, but the freedom it provides is worth it. I began doing this when I had only one day off, and time on that free day became very important. It is a luxury, and one I value and choose to fold into my budget. I always tip, too.

Finally, I went to the grocery store and bought pie crust, cat food, and pasta sauce. I had baked three chicken cutlets the day before and planned to dice half and make a robust amount of chicken pot pie with lots of vegetables. Walking home, I swung my little bag of goods and felt the icy breeze. I was back in Michigan, walking on the thick ice of Lake Huron. Images of my youth are resurfacing and I eagerly welcome them. I know a rebirth is occurring inside me, and I am thankful.

This morning I awoke at 3:23 as I've been doing for the last few weeks before falling back asleep. I looked in Doreen Virtue's Angel Book of Numbers and turns out 323 is a message from the angels that my "childlike faith" is recognized by the ascended masters who are by my side to help me fulfill my dreams.

The cold air of yesterday invigorates me just as much as does today's and reminds me of the ever newness of life; to find my center, and to humbly carry on. Most of all, have the faith of a child and relax to the wonders of the awakening.

Light of Day: Brilliant

It is the combination of the pristine coldness matched with a blue sky filled morning that shows me the brilliance of the day. A thick-tailed squirrel sits on the ledge of my building. I can see him or her from the window inside my fire escape. "It's Scratchy!" I say to no one as I watch the squirrel vigorously scratch. Poor thing must have fleas or worse. I've seen that same squirrel ferociously scratching for a couple of years now. Or they all scratch, I think to myself. But it is the light reflected from the squirrel's dark eyes that I see. So much intense light on this winter morning. I see a gleam even in Scratchy's eyes. I only wish I had a photo, but gone is the squirrel, not touching the almonds I'd flung.

Play Day - A Movie by Moi

Memories

It is the early 60s and my older brother and I are out on the ice of Lake Huron. Our mother is inside with her two younger children. We are the only family on the summer lane since my Air Force father loves taking us off military housing.

During this frigid winter, my brother and I are walking along the lake, marveling at the tiny huts of frozen ice. He moves closer to where the tops of the high waves are now solid. I follow him, leaving my ice skates and I catch up to him just as he nears the crest. He is staring down, leaning over, too far, I think. I look down to see the waves rushing up to the ice. I still feel the cold air and the vibrant water's slap against the frozen structure.

My brother slips for a second, and he looks at me as it appears he might fall over the edge. But just as soon, his belt buckle catches, digging into the ice, and he can pull back to safety. We silently move off the wave, towards home.Years later, we tell our mother who grows pale with the story, her hands to her face.

Two years ago, on a plane to Texas for her 80th birthday, I watch a batch of cumulus clouds from the airplane's window. They look like the frozen waves of Lake Huron. I see a thin flicker of one wisp who could be a person sitting atop the clouds. It could be my brother. He is sitting there, but this time, he is waving me on. "Go! Go! Go!" he shouts like someone urging a runner to go faster, faster, and to win the race.

I want to help my brother down, but he is telling me to go on. I want to pull him from the edge of what I know is headed his way. I want to rescue him, but I can only sigh and ice skate away.

Food for Drought

The guys in the hole in the wall in the lobby of where I work in Harlem make a mean egg and cheese on a roll. Peppered and toasted, the breakfast sandwich gives me the fuel to go through my current subbing gig. I ate half before class, and half after, biting into each morsel thinking about the day. Once back in Brooklyn, on a lark I buy Chinese food: General Tao's Chicken with brown rice. And I drink lots of water and even milk. Now, I am ready for bed and my belly hurts a bit. And I don't know if it is from the food or the subbing.

But more water helps. It is all I'm craving, anyway.

Almost Home

I woke up this morning and looked out the window. The supposed big snow storm didn't appear very threatening and I had not set my alarm the night before sure there wouldn't be work tomorrow. But there was. It was 8:48 when I called in and the receptionist answered. My heart fell to my chilly feet. "When the public schools are open, we are open," she said. "I am going to be a little late," I stammered, throwing off my pajamas. I made it to Harlem at 10:20.

I'd had plans to transcribe the writings of the writers of my memoir workshop. I was going to meditate; write on my own memoir, and clean the apartment. Mainly, I was going to hibernate inside my apartment with what I thought would be a foot of snow outside.

I got to the classroom and the adult learners were working on an exercise given to them by another teacher. I was thankful and hurriedly pulled my morning lesson together. And then it happened. The lesson went smoothly, and the learners listened, took it in, and responded. And then during lunch, the teacher across the hall suggested we might show a movie to both groups and call it "A Snow Day." I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Yes!"

We showed, "Bruce Almighty" after rummaging at Blockbuster on our lunch hour. And as I sat there watching the movie with the more than 30 adult ESL learners, I smiled, remembering the theme of the movie:

"Be the miracle."

So, in retrospect, I hadn't been able to work on any of my plans today, but instead, helped dozens of people. I went to my evening class, and helped more. Walking to the train for home, tired, but smiling, the day had been full and grand. I greeted my kitty cat inside my apartment and welcomed the time left of the day, the warmth surging in my toes. I knew my upcoming days off would be richer as a result of today.

Step Lightly Into That Discomfort Zone

Today I had lunch with my older daughter. We talked. Ate. Did a little shopping. Had a glorious time. I let her be 26 and me 55. It felt good. We discussed a troubling couple of conversations a while back. We  looked at photos of her recent trip with her partner. The grief of the past was gone. The relief of the future had arrived.