Monday, May 21, 2018

Alessia at Seven and a Half


I didn’t write this to you when you turned 7, because I was worrying and I didn’t want to write from a place of worry. So I’m writing now.



You were in the Christmas pageant last December. You stole the show. You spoke clearly and with emotion. You were “in character” and you knew it. 

Last fall, you got up in front of the congregation at church and spoke of your faith. You were so small, they had to put a footstool in front of the podium. Everyone applauded. I don’t know if you noticed though that a few adults also laughed, and when I asked a minister about it, he said some of it was nervous laughter. Adults startled into thinking, if this child has made a connection between her faith and the way she eats, maybe I need to as well.



You still worry, a lot, but you’ve also embraced Moana’s theme song and you talk more about your emotions, including the negative ones. (Thank you makers of the film “Inside Out.”)


Last week you let me dunk your head underwater at the pool! Can I say it again? Last week you let me dunk your head underwater at the pool! Bravery is not not being afraid, bravery is what you do when you are afraid. You told me later that day that “there was a little fear,” but you did it!

You are still not sure about this whole friendship thing and how it works and whether or not you are “good” at it, even though you are. 



We love you, all the time and everyday. You are a wonder to me, and here’s a picture of you doing a color experiment on your face with ice cream.







Friday, February 23, 2018

Exploring Art with Our Bodies

Art museums can be tough for little kids. Looking at art and responding verbally really is limiting. Even as an adult I sometimes feel this way. We always bring paper and colored pencils with us to an art museum, and this helps my kids, but I've noticed that often their drawing activity is completely unrelated to the art, and it just isn't practical to take the art supplies out in every gallery. So last summer, we started posing like the people in the art we were looking at. I’ll just say that we love it. 



We spend longer looking at each work of art as we adjust our poses, and we feel more of the art in our bodies. 




In meditation, we practice what is called a body scan. Time is spent slowing feeling each part of our bodies, really becoming aware of what our bodies outside of our heads has to tell us. It is part of the process of learning to see the world from other perspectives. 




Posing with the art is akin to this. My kids felt the seriousness of the dancer and the playfulness of the dragon  in their bodies at the museum last week. Their experience of the art was much deeper, than if we had just talked about it. Plus, it was a lot of fun.

Friday, January 19, 2018

Finding Nature in the City



Walking to the grocery store a few weeks ago, I noticed a tree branch on the ground. It had been knocked off a small street tree. I thought, “if that’s still there on my way back, I'm going to take it home with me.” 

It was. And I did. I can only hope that right now you are smiling in the same way that the young man in the pick-up truck did when he saw me awkwardly carrying several bags of groceries and a rather large branch up my street.

I cut smaller branches off the larger branch and put them in some water. I couldn't remember what the tree had looked like last spring, so I had no idea what to expect, and from what I had read online about “forcing” tree branches to blossom, I was prepared for nothing at all to happen. The buds were rather large though, which made me think each might open into a large flower. 



Then they began to slowly open and it became clear that each bud was a collection of small buds. 



All shut tight, each little bud had a shocking pink center, and so I was surprised again when each one opened into a white flower, all trace of pink having disappeared. 



I think I have learned to notice and appreciate nature more living in the city than I ever could living in the country. I enjoy the immersive experience of being in the woods, but I am the kind of person who “loses the trees for the forest.” In the city, each tree, each wildflower in a sidewalk crack, each set of bunny prints in the snow stands out more clearly. A fallen tree branch in the woods is just another fallen tree branch, a fallen tree branch on a city sidewalk on my way to the grocery store is an opportunity for wonder.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Mending as Meditation





A friend of mine gave me this blanket before moving back to New York City. The tag says it was made in India. The colors brighten my room, and the fabric is wonderfully soft. Over the last couple of months I've been noticing holes appearing in the blanket. I think a combination of age and the love of my cat (the lump under the blanket) have started to take their toll.

A few months ago I listened to a Ted Talk by the German monk and scholar David Steindl-Rast. His subject is gratitude, and his message is that it is the grateful people who are happy, not the happy people who are grateful. He encourages us to be truly grateful for even the little blessings of life. Grateful people live out of a sense of abundance, rather than scarcity, he argues.



I am a big fan of Marie Kondo's books on "tidying up." If you haven't heard of them, or if you have only heard negative things about them, Marie Kondo's books are essentially about our relationship with our stuff. In one of the books, she explains that in Japanese culture objects have three spirits: the spirit of the original materials, the spirit of the makers, and the spirit of those who have owned and used the object.



And so I am mending the blanket. Sitting with my needle and thread, I live in a moment of abundance, enjoying and extending the life of this blanket. In mending it, I express my gratitude to the cotton, the people in India who sewed the blanket, and the friend who gave it to me, and I stitch into it my own meditations on the teachings of an old German monk and a young Japanese author.