Under a Red Roof

Gratitude

June 9, 2009 in Receiving by Colleen | 1 comment

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.

G. K. Chesterton

Goodness me, oh my, are you a lovely bunch of people, pretty and divine and kind hearted. I do feel doubled over by wonder, too. Despite the fact that I broadcast my life to the world through this blog, I often feel rather small and invisible (in a good way), stealthily floating through life, touching those I can and watching the world with joy. Then, with that last post, I felt all of these hearts reaching, in their own tender ways, back to me, with words of support and love. Thank you, a million times, thank you!

A Cascade of Memories

April 1, 2009 in Being, Receiving, Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

Yesterday at Nia class, my instructor Margaret mentioned Silver Falls State park here in Oregon, and with it came a cascade of memories for me.

The spring after we first moved here, one of Greg’s colleagues participated in an exchange with someone from Daimler-Chrysler to further the relationship between companies. Ron went off to Germany and Hans came here.

I think, quite possibly, he was the best gift we had in that first year. We’d had a rough start with the house (the furnace and oven breaking, plumbing problems, etc.) and I couldn’t find work as a teacher (a long standing trend!). One night, after a particularly bad day, we had Hans over for dinner, and his presence was like a light shining down on us – warm, friendly, and entirely good. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Hans became a near constant companion. We did every manner of activity together. We explored the McMenamin’s kindgom, had downtown adventures, threw parties, went hiking, took in movies, enjoyed great conversations, the works.

But these memories are the ones I hold dearest to my heart, for they are the most “Hans”:

Hans dressed in what I consider a pretty typical German fashion. Stylish with a dash of kookiness. He loved character socks. He once wore his favorite pair, Popeye, with sandals, to the waterfront for the Rose Festival. Also, he’d never owned a dryer before, and the one in his apartment was like a revelation. “Did you know it can dry pants in only half an hour?” Um yeah, but for every half an hour, you seem to lose a quarter of an inch in length, Hans. No matter. He was the happiest guy in high waters and Popeye socks. Definitely.

Hans always wore a button down shirt, always. In his left breast pocket he kept a small spiral notebook and pencil for new words and phrases. Often times, he would bring out the notebook for us to help him with something particularly unusual that he couldn’t suss out with his dictionary. The best was when he learned “spam sucking trailer trash” and “son of a bitch,” and in a rather serious tone, asked the G-Man and I: “Which is more worser?” The two of us nearly died with laughter, explaining that it really depends on the audience.

Hans was a master at cards. He could figure out any game in a matter of minutes and play joyously for hours. In particular, I loved to watch him shuffle. I have only recently become even remotely efficient at shuffling. I can’t really say why. I used to think it was my hands being small, but then we met Sandeep, and despite his fingers being a full inch shorter than mine, he was like a dealer in Vegas. Amazing. Anyway, Hans had this curious way of doing it, basically mixing up the stack, not actually shuffling. It was crazy how quick and efficient he was at it. You’d never imagine it would work, but it did.

Finally, the memory that started this all. On one of our many adventures, we went to Silver Falls State Park for a hike. It was a cold day, a bit drizzly, but exceedingly beautiful. The water was high and the falls in their full splendor, loudly crashing into the river below. As we hiked, we took a path that was further from the falls, deeper into the forest. Imagine the quintessential Oregon forest – redolent with the scent of clean air and earth, full of moss, ferns, evergreens, and the lacy branches of deciduous trees clamoring for the sun. We were happily chatting and walking when Hans suddenly stopped. I kept speaking for a moment then realized what it was about. Silence. A void of sound of the most profound variety, like none I have experienced since. For a full five minutes we stood in utter stillness and wonder that the world could be so beautiful and quiet and we could be so privileged to share in it.

There are many other wonderful memories of Hans, as well, and sometimes, when I need a little pick-me-up, I gently unpack one and smile that such a wonderful man came into my life all those years ago. Life is good.

By the way, I could not find the picture from that day, so this one has to suffice. The day was cloudier, but the landscape quite similar…

Sixty-Seven

October 20, 2008 in Receiving by Colleen | 1 comment

That’s how many pennies I just found dumped in the street in front of my house. Sixty-seven! There was tobacco, cigarette butts, and some industrial staples in the mix too, but sixty-seven cents. Holy smokes, Mr. or Mrs. Hepped-Up-On-Nicotine, you could have bought a candy bar with that money, savoring every sweet bite, or given it to a child and watched her count each coppery one, staring in wonder to see if she put them into neat piles, long rows, or groups of five or ten (like I did below – after washing them off). Gobs of entertainment potential for that sixty-seven cents and you chose to dump it on the asphalt.

Well, as my dear Byron Katie would say, “There are no mistakes,” and, “This is happening for you,” so rather than remain miffed at this dump, I enjoyed it. I really did, here’s how:

First off, as you may recall, I’ve kind of got a thing for pennies, especially found ones. So when I gazed out the window and saw them shimmering in the afternoon light, you bet I got excited. To think that God sent me sixty-seven of them at once is nothing short of fantastic!

Second, as I was crouched in the street, hair wild and my husband’s rather large winter coat about my shoulders, filling my hands with the precious metal, my letter carrier, Karl, happened to come along and said, “Hey, you know, I could pay you for the chutney you gave me, no need to get money off the street!” We both had a good laugh.

Third, I most certainly had to call my dear hubby to tell him, not only about my find, but about Karl finding me in the midst of my find. More laughter!

Fourth, I documented the story with this post and a photo to boot.

So, I guess the only thing left to say is, thank you Smoker – you made my day!

Cat as Teacher

August 26, 2008 in Learning, Practicing, Receiving by Colleen | 1 comment

Ahh, the Little Man. A few weeks ago, he hurt his right back hip pretty badly. Who knows how, he gets into all sorts of mischief. Anyway, the cutie was gimping around the house, a source of mirth, wonder, and sadness. Why? Well, sometimes, he would be in so much pain that he thought something else was causing it (a ghost maybe – we need Ghostbusters!), and, in his mind, thought that if he hissed at the offender that the pain would go away. Sadly, it didn’t.

So we decided that a little indoor R & R was just what he needed to heal his wound. The problem was that after a couple of days, he really wanted to go outside, pleading at the back door, scratching at the glass, or otherwise laying in prostrations that made it easy for him to trip us and exit. So, thinking, golly, if he wants to go out this badly, he can’t be in that much pain, we let him go.

We were wrong. The gimp got worse and he hissed at the invisible entity more and more. Lesson learned. He could not go outside, no matter how much he pleaded or tried to trip us on the way out the door. It took ten agonizing days of him meowing his little heart out, and me cuddling him as I left, giving him variations on these words of encouragement:

“Your body is healing Little Man. You’ve got to stay inside until you quit hissing at yourself.”

“I know this feels like punishment Doodie, but Mama loves you and wants you to get better, so no matter how much you meow, you cannot go outside.”

“A few more days of inside time and you’ll be right as rain my sweet boy.”

The funny thing was, as this cat healing was going on, I was going through my own struggle with my cleanse. Boy did I want some sugar! Gimme! Gimme! So I made some rice pudding with coconut milk and added sorghum and brown rice syrups to sweeten it because this wasn’t cheating. It wasn’t cane sugar.

You bet I ate that pudding up, gobble, gobble, gobble, and, like Milo being let out too soon, I got sick. I felt like the guy in the Alka-Seltzer commercial, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.” My tummy went topsy-turvy and I wished and I wished that I hadn’t eaten it.

Then I looked at Milo, curled up at my feet, and realized that it was like the first time I let him out. Message received. So, not surprisingly, I’m talking to myself now:

“Your body is healing, Colleen. You can’t have those sweets until you are all better. Even then, just a little.”

“I know this feels like punishment sometimes, but I want to feel better, so now matter how much I want a sweet, I cannot have one.”

“In four more weeks, you’ll be right as rain. Then you can have a little sugar.”

I guess it is just one of those times of grace. The Little Man got hurt so he could teach me about my own healing. Thanks, Boo, Mama loves you, too.

Tags: cats

Tiny Holes and Grace

August 6, 2008 in Being, Feeling, Loving, Receiving, Thinking by Colleen | 2 comments

I was lying on the sofa, reading, when I glanced up at the light. Ugh, it’s got dead bugs in it, I thought rather loudly to myself. As I stared at their little dead bodies, I lamented the sometimes insidious nature of insects, and how they often create work for me. Like how, now that I’ve noticed them, I’ll have to go through the hassle of getting the step ladder, carefully removing the fixture, and cleaning it all up – definitely not on the top ten list of cherished activities (though what is? hmmm…).

Then, as I continued gazing at the light, I wondered, how do the little critters get in there anyway? Though you can barely see them in the photo, they only appear to be specks, they seem too large to have crawled in through a hole. Yet, there they are.

This got me thinking some more about how tiny, often imperceptible, holes in my being act as an entry point on a spiritual and emotional level. I thought about people and events that I don’t like, and how little bits of them squeeze their way through a perforation in my shell and infest my mind with angry and unkind thoughts. I really hate it when that happens, especially when I know how much lovelier life is when I’m not tumbling down to the lower depths.

Then, as grace would have it, I also thought about those same holes, and how the most wonderful and generous gifts enter through them: a smile when I least expect it, a kind word, the light in the hallway, the sight of my husband, a million different instances that spread like the light of dawn in my heart.

Suddenly I felt tears prick at my eyes, and I looked at the bugs again but this time with gratitude. Thank you for bringing this bit of grace into my life.