When Ava met Sparrow

And I am back!!! I apologize for the brief absence of the Story Girl; however it took me a beat to figure out how to remove my last name from the blog. As a social worker I have to be very careful as to who has access to my online information, but with a quick 'name change' I have returned to blogger. I have had many entries that I have saved whether in my mind, journal, or in my camera so in the next few days as time allows I will try to play catchup. It was my sincerest goal this year to focus on finding the beauty in EVERY day and fear not the absence of posts is in now way indicative of an absence of focus. 

What a wonderful day to return to my blog too! On this rainy day I took my pug friend, Mack, on a little walk through Blue Hills. While I have had my beloved camera (Sparrow) for a little while now, Sparrow until today had not yet met Ava (My BTF- Best Tree Forever). So with Mack in tow I took Sparrow out and we happened upon Ava. Ava has been featured on this blog many a time. It is perhaps strange that I am so friendly with a tree, but I love this tree very very much. Today I found that she was a little slanted and I fear that perhaps she is going to fall soon. I was glad to see that despite a distinct lean Ava still looks austere and proud. It's just a little gangsta lean perhaps. 

Rain fell most of the day. I looked out the window many times hoping it would cease, yet in truth the rain did nothing but heighten the beauty of the Autumn trees. From my view everything's edges seemed a bit blurry and it felt like living in a painting. Today the world was art and the window a meager frame to the great masterpiece of mother nature.

Teppee construction. More to come.

It is day four of the November national blogging challenge and I am already struggling. It isn't that I don't have anything to post about it, it is just that I had a kinda tough day. Perhaps that is when one needs things like these I suppose. Today I thought a lot about class and race and how it is important that even when we think we are culturally competent that we acknowledge that we still have work to do. This can be an uneasy thought, but something I must challenge myself on as well. There is no gold star for being culturally competent- it is an ongoing process. I found this quote and thought I would share:

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality....I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word"

-Martin Luther King Junior 

The words of Martin Luther King Junior always bring beauty into my heart even when I contemplating ugliness in the world.

Yesterday I took a walk through Forrest Hills Cemetery. I haven't been since the summer time and I was anxious to see the effects of Autumn. I started out at the pond as I usually do; however I took a slightly different path as I proceeded. This particular path took me to a part of the cemetery that I typically avoid- it is where the most recent entries into the graveyard live. I love old graveyards, but it is with trepidation that I enter newer ones. I have no fear of those that are buried, but of running into those that are living and very much grieving. And as it happens I did have such a run in.

I was walking along when I saw a sign that read 'Garden of Enduring Love'. I looked at my roommate, who was along for the journey, and exclaimed, "Oh everyone that is here must have had a wonderful love story! You would have to be a part of a true love to be buried here!" My romantic soul was buzzing and then I looked to my left and there he was. Sitting in between the gravestones was a man likely in his late 50s to early 60s. He was sprawled out in what appeared to be a rather comfortable fashion with his back against one of the stones. He had his newspaper held in front of him and the rest of it was casually laid across his lap. He had other supplies such as a thermos and other creature comforts. The way he sat with his paper it was not to hard to envision him sitting as such on a sofa or love seat. He took no notice of us and continued to read. He looked so comfy and it was an odd sight to see. I very much wanted to take a photo; however I resisted the urge and tried to hurry past without seeming as if I was hurrying past.

As we continued along I thought a lot about him and wondered about whom he was visiting. I would think it was his partner. Perhaps they had read the paper together on the weekends and he was continuing the tradition. Whomever he was and whomever he was visiting, he seemed peaceful. There was no grief on his face. I have no way of knowing what was in his heart however and though I will never know his story I was moved by him. I have to believe that who he was visiting was an enduring love. And I think there is beauty in knowing that though death may separate us we are never truly a part when we continue to make space for one another in our hearts and sometimes even in our Saturday afternoons.  

Below find some more of the many photos I took during my trip- 

A jaunt through Forrest Hills Cemetery.

Inky skies, sparkly streets.

My phone died a sad death early into my hike so I'll only have a small offering of photos for y'all;  however that shant happen again for the Story Girl has finally gotten herself a point and shoot! I'm so excited and happy! In the meantime-

Don't let a little old tree that has has fallen along your path keep you from your journeys.

I spoke with a man the other day regarding yoga. He was enthused about the topic as yoga had helped transform him. He told me that as a child his father had been very punishing and severe. The man paused for a moment as he struggled with his words. "What I mean to say," he began "Is that my father was abusive. I was often frightened of him and what might trigger his abuse." he continued to tell me that through yoga he was able to find a space in his mind where he could make connections with this fear of his father to his shyness and anxiety as an adult. He had always struggled to understand his reticence in speaking with others and why it was difficult for him to make connections. Through yoga he was able to establish a quiet meditation that allowed him to understand that his fear of his father had translated into a fear of others. And this fear had stayed with him well into adulthood.

Making this connection between his anxiety and his childhood in many ways freed him. He spoke of the power of yoga and how it not only unlocked your muscles, but somehow also unlocked the secrets of your mind. Unlocking hidden thoughts within the depths of your heart and mind...it seems so dangerous, but for this man it created harmony. I have known this man for some time now and he has never been especially chatty. He has a slow and eager smile and in a lilting voice can sing Beatles songs. I know that he loves the ocean and he can be a bit of a flirt though in a quiet way. I had not known much else about him and yet here we were. He had shared something so powerful and in such a simple way free of fancy words, sweeping adjectives, or grand allusions.

I, myself, also love yoga. I take pleasure in the pain I feel as I maneuver my body into poses both natural and unnatural. I enjoy sharing yoga with others and have on many occasions used it as a calming interventions with the children I work with. There have been times when doing my own practice and moving through a series of poses that I have felt waves of emotion cascade over me. Yet as I complete the series the emotions ebb away leaving me feeling relaxed and content. During yoga practice it is one of the rare times I feel in harmony with my own body.

There is something about our culture, our inner voices that tell us our bodies are wrong. Our waist is too big, our knees too knobby, or we're too short or too tall. It always seems to be something. Our bodies are beautiful though for we are our own greatest instruments. We hold so many secrets, secrets that seem ugly or scary but are beautiful for they are the story of ourselves. And exercise- yoga, running, dancing, swimming, hiking- can often be the key to unlocking these secrets as it was for this man. In fact, I was so moved by this man that it has infused my own yoga practice.

I hope that his story can encourage you to not fear your own truths as recognizing them can sometimes set you free. I also hope his story encourages you to appreciate your own body and how your can use it as a transformative tool.

Love After Love

The time will come
When, with elation
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome,

And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you

All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott

Remember that it is impossible to be good to someone else in any kind of relationship or to truly love them properly until you learn how to love and be good to yourself. Fall in love with yourself. Feast on your life.  

Just some pretty blossoms from my hood. That is all. :-)

Planet Earth The Way It Should Be - [One Day - Matisyahu] [Life Vest Ins...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYRS4FQXZrk

My beautiful friend Danielle shared this with me. I love this. I like to think about how even though we don't always notice them, moments like these are happening around us all the time. I am not sure why the bad things that others do stand out so much, but this video isn't so far fetched I don't think. There are small moments of kindness that seem not so special; however they are so meaningful and important. I wonder if we are so quick to notice the bad things that go on, because so often we are also so quick to notice the bad things about our own selves. Remember, you never know when you are someone's most beautiful part of their day. By being yourself, you can be changing their life even for just for one moment. We are the building blocks of a more compassionate community, a more compassionate world. We are powerful, we are beautiful. So stop knocking yourself down- build yourself up too. You'd be amazed what you can do when you look for the beauty in yourself. 

“Heroes didn't leap tall buildings or stop bullets with an outstretched hand; they didn't wear boots and capes. They bled, and they bruised, and their superpowers were as simple as listening, or loving. Heroes were ordinary people who knew that even if their own lives were impossibly knotted, they could untangle someone else's. And maybe that one act could lead someone to rescue you right back.”

-Jodi Picoult 

Outside...letting the last rays of summer light dance on my brown skin. My brown skin a marker of the love affair summer and I have had. How grateful I am for this summer... As I sit i think- If I had been a goddess what a challenge it would have been to chosen my domain. Love, wisdom, wine...but I think I would have wrestled that chariot away from Apollo and been the goddess of light.  In my chariot I'd travel the world bringing light with me wherever I went. Yes. I think that's what I'd have chosen.

There is a thunderstorm upon my nook of the world today. Lightening casually flashes across the sky and thunder comes angrily behind it. As the patchworked gray and white sky moves across, I sit sheltered on my little porch. My bare feet and pink polished toes are kissed by flecks of rain. I wish I was in the woods dancing in that rain. The limbs of the trees would be heavy with water and yet I am light and so are they. We would revel in the refreshing water that gives us sustenance and give thanks for the cleansing that the rainfall brings. We are refreshed. We are still ourselves yet renewed.

At a beautiful event celebrating Martin Luther King Jr. My heart....it is so full.

I wrote a post a few days ago; however my blogger app won't upload it. It was I think a pretty piece of writing and I was quite sad to see it disappear to the abyss of the internet. Going forward any longer blogs will have to be done by a good old fashioned computer...short one with pictures can be done on the app so please still expect those though slightly less frequent longer posts.

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This weekend I traveled to Vermont for my third wedding of the season. Each one has so wonderfully suited each couple's unique personalities and so accurately represented what makes each couple so special. While the logistics of wedding can be tedious, the actual events are joyous and for two of the weddings have required travel to places I wouldn't normally get to experience. 

So Vermont was my wedding destination this weekend. My gps happily took me on the most roundabout way to get there. My gps usually makes me want to throw it and it's garbled and annoying voice out my window, but this time it made a good solid choice. I was taken on the most scenic route possible and passed Miller's River, which of course I am now dying to boat. I passed numerous other charms and gems along the way as well and when I hit Vermont there were cows, wildflowers, and streams to spare. 

The actual site of the wedding was at a pond. The ceremony was drenched in sunlight and I had to fight every delicious impulse and desire to jump into the water. My charming sunshiny yellow and white dress with the jaunty white bow belt be damned...agh, but my grownup instincts prevailed so no badly timed jump into the inviting waters. I did determine though that coming to Vermont meant a hike was in order.

So today I woke up, wished the happy couple the best, and hiked a wonderful two hours. The trail was onsite of the hotel I stayed at- The Equinox. They had donated land for a preserve many many moons ago and now it is the home to many trails including one to the top of the mount of the picture posted above. The hike to the top is a five hour excursion so I chose a smaller trail on another lookout. Despite the fact that at the top I found obnoxious teenagers in addition to the stunning view, I was happy and content. This whole weekend was set in nature with the backdrop of celebration and love.

I find nature so nourishing...I know I say this a lot. Today as I drove into Boston I felt the low levels of anxiety that I have come to just accept as a Bostonian return. Part of why I do this blog and try to be in nature as much as possible is because I know I need to focus on the beautiful for my own sanity. There is enough ugliness in the world and I don't care to focus on it. Not focusing on it doesn't make it go away or make me immune to it though. I love Boston and I have created a happy life here, but I do think it may be time for a change soon. I like the North though and experiencing Rhode Island, Vermont, and other parts of MA have shown me that I can stay up North, but find the right pocket for me. So, the Story Girl may have some new adventures to report soon. Maybe not. But it is nice to imagine the possibilities. 

 “I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” 
-Thoreau  

A beautiful Saturday with watercolors, butterflies, Thoreau, and Bonnie Raitt.

I had a nice little interlude this morning at an intersection in Jamaica Plain. As I pulled up I saw a youngish man collecting trash. His bike leaned casually against a tree as he purposefully gathered the rather gross remnants of other people's lives. I watched him for a moment and then rolled my window down to call to him. He came to my window and I thanked him. He looked surprised and then smiled broadly and thanked me back. He stated he lived up the street and that as he had rode by the intersection he had felt an urge to do a little extra something for his community.  I agreed that this was a good gesture and as the light changed we parted ways. The moment that we shared was brief, but it was a gentle reminder that even when other's in our communities don't do their role we don't have a free pass. Sometimes when we do that little extra we can inspire others to do their part too and may even a little bit more too. And those little extra bits help our communities to be a whole bit better.

These are weeds along the side of the road. I saw them on my walk from the bus stop. Many consider weeds nuisances, yet I think so often how wild and unintentionally beautiful they can be. Dandelions are weeds, yet those merry orbs inspire us to be silly and make floating wishes. I loved the flashes of pink that the bright green leaves of this 'weed' flaunted proudly. I could stretch and make a metaphor of all this, but I think I'll just enjoy what I found. Beautiful mistakes of nature, yet does nature have mistakes? A purpose to everything perhaps. 

Some fetching little blossoms I spotted on route to meet a friend in Brookline.  They looked like little fallen stars.

'Catch a fallen star and put it in your pocket. Save it for a rainy day. Catch a fallen star and put it in your pocket. Never let it fade away'.

I also found a penny heads side up. Good fortune all around. :-)

 

Oh exciting! I realized there is a blogger app so I can more easily create posts! Let's see how this looks and turns out. There may end up being a lot more Story Girl posts in the future if this comes out well.
 

This weekend was not exactly as planned. Friday I experienced an unexpected hurt. Since then I have been enveloped in the love of my friends and have until today rarely had a moment alone. I am as ever grateful for the love and support of my friends. They are each beautiful and special to me. Today though I decided to do something I had wanted to do this weekend all along anyhow and visited the Blue Hills. I had not been there in some time and was anxious to see my favorite trees and walk along some of my favorite trails.

When I arrived I walked along the familiar entry point with purpose. It had changed little from my last visit and this was a tremendous comfort; however as I reached the top, the clearing to the trail was covered and overgrown. Slightly confused I traveled to the left. Had I forgotten the trail or had it changed in my absence? As I wandered about a determined spirit came over me. I would figure this out. As I worked to do so I felt sturdy and assured and unfortunately that feeling helped me to not focus on where I was stepping. I slid on a loose rock and hurt my ankle. As I stumbled over to a large rock to sit and assess my pain, I felt frustrated. I calculated my pain. I considered that I was not far from the start of the trail and thus my car. I could easily turn around. As I gingerly stood up I realized that the pain, while acute, was bearable. I could handle it. I could figure out the trail. I could do it...and as I stood and looked around I saw some other hikers and realized the trail was indeed near. I rotated my ankle a bit and I was off.

I took the trail to Houghton's Pond and while I gazed at the water and the sunlight dancing against it, I was reminded how resilient and strong my spirit can be. I was also reminded once again how healing nature can be. It is my soul. It is my grace. Four miles to remember who I am, four miles to remember that the pain in my heart, like my ankle, while acute- is bearable (and temporary). Always remember my friends that we are all resilient. Be brave. And smile. Always remember to smile.

One of my old friends. The way the sun hit it today was extraordinary.

Thank goodness for waterproof shoes! It was too tempting to not wander into the water and snap this and I would have done it regardless. So yes, thank goodness for waterproof shoes.

How could this view not help but heal one? I love the way the clouds swirl in the background.

Today it will be nine years since my Grandma Jeanne passed away. That it has been nine years is hard to believe...sometimes it feels so close and my heart aches with every beat. Sometimes when I swim in the ocean and float on my back I can feel her in the sun's warm embrace and it is like I am in her arms again. I have been so blessed in my own life and her love will always be one of my greatest blessings.

 Another blessing I have cherished is the memory of being able to help a 90 year old woman find her own history. Her niece came to me over two years ago asking for my help in finding information for her father and aunt. They and their three other siblings had been surrendered by their mother in the 1920s. They had all been sent to different places and with the exception of two of them had never seen one another again. The aunt and father had found one another as adults when someone said to the auntie that they had seen a man working in the fields that looked so similar to her. She rushed there with her husband and her brother was found. They had been separated since childhood. Both had been institutionalized. Both had suffered neglect. Both were so grateful to have found each other. From that moment forward they were a part of one another's lives and kept their hopes alive that one day they could find their other siblings. While they waited and hoped they raised their children together and tried to provide the love and care that they had not received.

They came to my agency multiple times over the next few decades looking for information and each time were denied or told the info was lost. By the time they came to me the father had died and his daughter had taken on the search in his honor and for her elderly auntie. This woman is one of the most persistent and courageous women I have ever met. I knew I would do everything I could to help her.  Her auntie just wanted to know where she came from. It was a simple request and something many take for granted. I myself know what is like to not know your own history. Over the next two years I spent any spare moment I had piecing information together and taking trips to our archives. My hands would gingerly touch each ageing file and I would hope against hope that the next one would be it. Each time I walked out with blackened by dust fingers and a heavy heart. And then one day with our intern in tow we found it. It was pure luck. We were looking for another file and I looked at one of the boxes. There was a sequence of numbers on it that looked familiar. I grabbed auntie’s paperwork. I carried it with me to the archive always just in case. There had been one piece of paper that randomly had numbers on it. Breathlessly I realized they were similar to the ones of the box. One quick conversation with the archivist and I had the box and auntie’s history was found.

She and her niece (and some more family) came the next day to the office and we went over the file together. The history was ugly….she had forgotten so much and here it was. Being institutionalized, abuse, neglect, a diagnosis of being feeble minded. And auntie took it all with aplomb. She knew who she was. She knew what she had achieved. And knowing her history didn’t change who she was. She handled everything with humor and grace. Her family looked at her with such love that was so easy to understand. She hugged me tightly and I was so grateful to be a social worker, so grateful I am nosy and persistent (two traits from both my mother and grandmother) and so grateful to have met this woman. She changed my life in the course of one afternoon. Her dignity, her ability to accept the past and to create love, these things all moved me immensely.

Today the niece called me with an update as to how they are doing. They have found more and more family members including one of the auntie’s sister’s grandsons. Auntie had cried. She saw her brother in his eyes. The niece wanted me to know that auntie has been collecting photos of all of her new to her family and in the middle of all of them is a snapshot of myself, our intern, and auntie. They all consider me family. I can think of no better than today for me to receive that call. As she told me about the picture I looked at the same picture- it is on my own desk next to the one of my Grandma (that also looks over Ben Affleck. We both had crushes on him so I gave her some eye candy. She was always a flirt.) Auntie and Grandma both looked at me and my heart felt so full. Tears came to the corners of my eyes. Where earlier I had struggled to keep in tears of longing and sadness, I now let tears of joy flow.

People will see the light in you and either be attracted to it or try to diminish it. Don't let ugly forces ruin beautiful things- such as yourself.

-love from The Story Girl

I took a trip to the beach, which in itself should have been enough beauty. The waves were huge and sweeping. Laughter rang out everywhere. It was a beautiful day. Yet the day was not done with me and on the way home I took a wrong turn. As my GPS struggled to recalculate, I noticed a sign for an observation farm. I passed it and then turned around to visit. My GPS was quite angry, but I was rewarded for indulging my instinct.

 Immediately I was greeted by these white blossoms. I knew it was worth going further if this was only the start. They welcomed me warmly.

I hopped carefully along wooden planks that halfheartedly were meant to keep one from walking in mud. As I came to the end of the last plank, this view came into sight. It was after seven. That the sun was still this bright seemed amazing. The sounds of happy frogs abounded.

 Right past the sun soaked field were these beautiful plants. I loved the darkness against the fresh green.

And right past that was a small bridge over a small pond...little bugs bit all about my ankles. My feet were muddy. And I was perfectly happy.

The sun seeped through any crevice it could find and fought against setting. The plants seemed to be begging it not to leave them.
I found it hard to want to leave myself; however I began to hear the sounds of teens and realized this was a hot spot for local youth on the weekend. Thus it was time to go.




When I was young and my daddy would take a wrong turn it meant an adventure. Sometimes I wonder if he purposefully took wrong turns. He was never worried about it. He never asked for directions (which, lol, I understand a bit better now), but would logic out the next turn. If there was a garage sale on the way then more the better. Being lost isn't always such a bad thing is what he taught me. This of course can be taken literally or figuratively...this wrong turn turned to be the right turn for me just as many of the wrong turns I have taken in my life have taught me wonderful lesson. As Tolkien said, "Not all those who wander are lost".

Yesterday, as today is, was rainy. My galoshes, though adorable with little owls all about them, had two very deep gashes in them making them more decorative than protective. As I approached my office though my mood was still pleasant despite my wet feet. I was joined by the new Camera Obscura album. It was a wonderful companion and kept me in good spirits. Walking up to my office there is a little pocket park. The owners of our building put it there. They are savvy owners and are working to create the new hot spot in Jamaica Plain. The pocket park has been a nice respite for myself and my co-workers. On a sunny day it is a nice space to sit and feel the warmth of the sun, while being close enough to the office to run back quickly if needed. In the center of the pocket park is a little mini garden. At the start of the Spring it was filled with beautiful bright blossoms that were so beautiful they sometimes hardly seemed real. They have since come and gone. Since their passing the pocket park has lost a bit of its charm though the owners have kept it clean and in tip top form. As savvy as the owners of the building are though, they are not as savvy as Mother Nature. When the little garden was planted many of the seeds must have been scattered by the wind. Our office is next to where the train runs. The lot of land next to us is a bit bleak with untamed grass and a leftover feeling; however our little lost seeds found homes amongst the wild grass and now blossom brightly and merrily. It is our not so secret garden.

One red flower was right at my reach as I walked past. Though it was rather greedy of me to take it, I reached down and plucked it with nary a thought. As I sat at my desk, my work instincts kicked in. I began checking my messages and reading emails. I happened to look over and caught sight of a picture of my Grandma Jeanne. I looked at the flower pinned to her suit and knew she and my red blossom were made for one another- perfectly suited. I took her picture down and placed the flower next to her. They kept each other company just as her beautiful memory has often kept me company...at least in my imagination they did. My co-worker Joel came to my desk a short while later. His own Grandmother had passed very recently. I hesitated to mention the lingering sadness I still feel when I remember my Grandmother is no longer on this earth. Yet we shared a few moments of talking about the beauty of memories even in spite of the ache that they can bring....When I came to my desk this morning, the flower had faded.  But the memory of it bright against the memory of my bright Grandmother, well that warm feeling has yet to fade. To the beauty of cherished memories. 

"Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it."  

-L.M Montgomery (from The Story Girl) 

I have been gone for a while. I know it. I have an excuse I suppose. The lid of my laptop quite literally fell off making it difficult to use; however while this is an adequate logistical excuse, I suppose it doesn't seem good enough. I gave myself a challenge and I rather gave up on it when there became a small challenge to working on it. And I can feel the effects of not writing. This is the amazing truth I have stumbled on- actually writing this blog inspired me to look even harder for the beauty in everything. Lately, I have felt not wholly felt myself...there have been some rather difficult things happening in my work life i.e. the lives of the children I work with. I have been experiencing some mild traumas as a result and have experienced some of the uglier sides of life. I seem to keep running into angry and unhelpful people in daily life...ugh. This is why I don't feel like myself. I feel as if I have been counting the ugly things I have seen and collecting those stories- stories based in anger, fear, sadness- rather than the joyous stories of nature and humanity. So time to refocus. I have the lid of my laptop propped up by Bark Ruffalo aka the best stuffed dog in the world because it was given to me by one of the best friends in the world.

And here is my first photo of my re-found blog. I was on a walk around the Reservoir with my friend Kate Monster. Walking with Kate Monster is always a delight. Why? Because when it breaks down to it we are both still awkward youth trying to figure out how to live every single passion we have. We both often feel wildly misunderstood and we both are working to understand ourselves. There are not many people in the world that you can allow yourself to feel these things with and to be able to comfortably express how goofy you still feel. As we walked we came upon these ducklings. They were no longer the small and downy baby ducklings of the first of spring. They were awkward in every sense. Their mothers still hovered and I swear one rolled its eyes at me as if 'I need space' was exactly what it was thinking. Teenage ducks looking for space...the irony of the timing was not lost on me. I laughed as soon as one of the mama ducks give me the stink eye. The rest of our walk was of course charming as was every moment beforehand. There is nothing as beautiful as feeling understood. Especially when you often feel as goofy as these goofy growing geese. Friendship, genuine friendship, is one of the most beautiful things in life, but friendship shared in nature seems even more blessed.

Saturday was simply gorgeous. Sunshine knocked at the door and all of Boston seemed to embrace it with open hearts. And what of me? I got to spend the day and evening with a dear friend. We rambled around the Reservoir and through neighborhoods in Brookline for a large portion of our visit. One home within the neighborhoods was especially special- the yard was cluttered with 'treasures' and little garden projects that just made the house look comfy and lived in. The best part of the rambling and friendly looking home though was an antique bike that invited guests to 'Take a Book or Leave a Book'. I greedily took two books; however I am greatly looking forward to carefully selecting two books to replace the ones I was gifted. Obviously I was excited about my literary finds and the sunshine, but obviously the greatest joy was walking with someone that is a genuine friend.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."
-Albert Camus 

This blog post is different. It is about why I try so hard to see the beautiful wherever I can. Every day I am exposed to some of the ugliest truths. I am a social worker for those of you who do not know. I love my job. I love what I do. I am proud of what I do; however nearly every day I walk away feeling tremendously worried and scared. Not for myself, but for the children I would give my life for.

A 6 year old watched his mother overdose. A 10 year old was abandoned by first his father and then his mother. A child was abused by his step father. And you feel sorry for them. You should. Are their parents villains? How could they do these things or allow these things to happen to their children? Now let's fast forward to these children's 18th birthdays and now do you feel sorry for them? Or are you crossing the street to get away from them? If one of them is shot are you piecing together evidence to prove perhaps he had it coming? 'Well, the school suspended him for having weed paraphernalia. He looked suspicious. He shouldn't have been wearing a hoodie.' The girl who had no father and whose mother was depressed all of her childhood. The girl who was molested at 7. She is 22 with 3 kids now. She's a whore. She's milking the system. Stealing your tax dollars. Do you feel sorry for her now?

There is a lot to be said about personal responsibility.  I believe in it. I encourage it. I believe that when you have children you have a duty to step up and the things that happened to you must come second, third, fourth to that child. But what about the responsibility that we have as a community and as a humanity? We put systems in place supposedly to help these children. I work within the system and I will be honest with you- the systems are designed to fail. Education, social services...they are designed to reinforce what people already believe to be true about race and class.  If a child fails we are blameless because they had
'chances'. If they succeed it is another sign that some people can pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Some people are just better right? (Please note- that's sarcasm)  Another stereotype reinforced. The systems are designed to maintain a status quo that thrives on society remaining as it is. Are we the villains then? But then how many of us debt ourselves and work for little pay so that we can be the villain? I would say next to none of us think that it would be great to make very minor salaries so that we can reinforce stereotypes and be told 'Oh your job must be so hard, but so rewarding. But I would never do that' or 'Oh, but you get summers off.'

Then who is the villain? Who does it benefit for the system to fail is the real question. It isn't the kids, it isn't the teachers, it isn't the social workers, and it sure isn't the communities that the kids come from. I am not going to answer that though. I just want you to think about it. And here is what I really want you to think about- don't these children deserve better? We need to start challenging one another to ask- why don't WE deserve better? Because we all deserve better than what is going on. I hear people speak in disparaging ways about communities and I wonder when did zip codes begin defining community? When did we lose focus that we are a humanity- a collection of humans- a community all of us? And when did we lose focus of empathy? We must teach and learn empathy so that we don't fight in solitary, but in solidarity. So that our struggle doesn't turn to greed. So that we fight together with the understanding that WE ALL DESERVE BETTER.

When systems don't believe in love because it isn't measurable or in compassion because it isn't billable there is a real problem. It is ALL of our problem. It is rooted in race and class no matter how much we want to think that it is not. I am not saying this to be hurtful. I am not saying it to point fingers. I am saying it because this is the truth I am living. We re-routed a bus of children today because two blocks from one of the children's home was a shooting with two victims. One of our children had an Uncle killed by gun violence around when Newtown occurred. So many of our children have been abused. We feel sorry now. We skirt consequences for them now because of our sympathy, but we will throw them away when they are 18. Tears flow from my eyes as I write this because how many of these children that I love will die before they are even 18? They deserve better.

Who is the villain? Perhaps we all are for being complacent. But I want to be a hero. I deserve better. You deserve better. We all deserve better. When we judge people we must take a moment to think more largely, because there is a bigger story. A bigger story then one person. A bigger story than one community. It is the story of us- do we want to re-write it though? Or do we want it to continue as is? I think that we can all be heroes. Let's find the beauty in one another.

I am anxious for Spring, daffodils, and sunny weather; however this snow day (hopefully our last) was perfectly needed and necessary and perhaps will help me to be all the more grateful for the aforementioned things. There has been something I have been most grateful for and have meant to share and now have time to do so as a result. I'm afraid there will be no pictures this post though.

Anyhow, last Saturday was bright though there was still snow on the ground from another snow (though small) storm. I had to be up and about early that morning and after my business was done I decided to get lunch and eat eat by the pond at the Forest Hills Cemetery. I knew that the bright sun reflecting on the snow would be particularly beautiful and that the geese by the pond would be out (I had alternative motives for wanting to see the geese- I hoped to give them some of my bread and thus spare myself the carbs). I did not anticipate that the grounds and the roads within the Cemetery would only be partially cleaned. I started down one path and was enjoying myself greatly. As I suspected everything looked amazing. The beautiful gravestones stood especially proud and tall from the snow. Down another path I went and again I was struck by the beauty and then as most paths do it came to a fork. And both paths were covered in snow. I couldn't turn back without needing to back into the graves and I was not going to do that. I thought about going in reverse as an option, but the snow on either path didn't seem too daunting and I judged I could easily cross it in the car. I turned left and I was right UNTIL...

The end of the path- there was a huge snow bank from the plows. It seemed potentially surmountable though and I braved it. So stupid. All my Southern lack of real snow experience was in effect and the car was angry. I was stuck in the snow bank like Pooh Bear in the honey hole. I got out of the car. What was I going to do? Did I have a shovel? No, because clearly I also had no sense. So my great idea? I began kicking the snow with the hopes that would help. Did it? Of course not. I was at a loss. And then two women approached with two adorable dogs.

"Need a hand there?"

I SO did. These two women were clearly tough too. They were decked out in appropriate winter gear and boots and looked as if they understood Massachusetts winters in ways I never will. My confidence in them was expansive. Their idea? Push my car over the snow bank. And they pushed. They pushed hard, but the car didn't budge. Then walked up an older man and his wife. He was chuckling long before he made it up to us.

"A man is here to help," he stated as he arrived.

Now, normally that would tick me off quite a bit; however the way he said it wasn't meant to be mean spirited. He was, I could tell with one look, a jovial and fun man, who likely was the life of any party. And his wife was clearly tickled with him. He joined the push party...still it didn't budge. He took on my method and began kicking snow.

"Learned this trick while I was stationed in Iraq," he joked. We all laughed. Especially his wife. And then she joined in to push and with her added help I was over the bank. I was ecstatic and spilled gratitude profusely.

"Got some money for us?" he asked.
"If I had some I would," I replied.
"We would never take it. We are glad to help."
"Exactly," added in one of the women. "Our pleasure."
"It's beautiful here right?" he asked me.
"I love it here," I replied.

And then we all parted. I came to the Cemetery to experience beauty in the juxtaposition of nature, art, and death and I found all of those things, but I also found humanity- the most beautiful thing of all. I hope you are all cozy and warm.

 A week late...thank goodness there are no fines for this.  I am already knee deep in library fines as it is. Maybe I really should return those book soon. Anyhow...here are my thoughts and photos from my trip to The Habitat Sanctuary in Belmont. I was accompanied on this trip by my kindred spirit and best friend. It was nice to share some of my nature therapy with another and we had a wonderful day. We also stopped by Drumline Farms. I took less photos there as I was engaged in feeling this close to one of my dreams- having a farm and a pet little red fox. Precious. The farm was precious. There were some very fat and cozy sheep, a baby kid born only the day before, and my new favorite creature a little orphaned and tame red fox, who I will call Ferrari. Or not. I am not sure of his name yet. I am only sure that I was in love. Now on to Belmont- 

The sanctuary is quite small; however filled with little delights including a tree that had been hollowed out by lightening. The keepers of the sanctuary must have realized it was a 'catch' and put bolts into so it would stay intact. An art installation of sorts. Being short was a blessing this day because I fit inside the tree. It seemed almost as if I was just a bit smaller I could climb up to some far off place.

While on our walk my mom called. I sat on a little log while we talked. This tree was in my direct view standing proud and strong.

"Walking I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands."

-Linda Hogan (Native American author, not Hulk's ex) 

On my way for drinks to discuss The Dorchester Project. More info to come soon. :) Until then have a great end of your weekend!!

What a weekend! I was so blessed to be able to go to not one but THREE sanctuaries this weekend. The weekend was a bit of whirlwind of activity; however all of it was nourishing though in wildly different ways. Saturday in Massachusetts was simply gorgeous. The sun hung brightly in the sky and the weather was what could be considered warm given the rest of the Winter...oh dear. I have been living out of the South long enough the low 40s is considered warm...neither here nor there. Saturday was perfection and so though I had other Saturday plans I decided to travel to The Daniel Webster Sanctuary in Marshfield. I was rewarded for my flexibility as The DW Sanctuary was heaven and made me feel as if I was closer to Tennessee (the home of my Southern soul) then I have been in some time.

The place is just bananas in all the various things it offers. You walk out and the first thing you are greeted with is a pond where the friendliest geese live. They happily greet you as you proceed. The sun hits off the water and creates prisms everywhere. It made me think of what Glimmer Lake must have looked like to Anne in the Anne of Green Gables books.

Next you find yourself on a mini boardwalk that takes you through marshlands. Trees burst out from their watery roots and the sun shines through the canopy of trees as you walk through what is alternately creepy and magical.

You spill out from the marshlands into a field that leads you past another pond and over a charming bridge...it smells fresh and there is a sound of buzzing ATVs in the background and this is what made me feel so at home. It literally smelled and sounded like home. The sun was its brightest here and everything seemed to call to me.


Tomorrow I will share my pictures from the Habitat in Belmont as well as tell you a bit about Drumline Farms in Lincoln aka where I want my House of Dreams one day. This week I will also be introducing The Dorchester Project (potentially a more creative name for it too), which will be my new effort to focus on finding beauty within our own neighborhoods and daily life. I have spent a lot of this blog focusing on my hikes and nature walks, which I want to continue to do; however I also want to get closer to the roots of why I began this all. I hope you have an excellent start of your week and I look forward to spending more time with you via blog this week.

"Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars...to change the world"
-Harriet Tubman

Oh dear...Monday I found myself sick again. I quite literally lost my voice. And unlike Tinkerbell it could not be revived with applause and faith. Though at the time I was quite restless about my home bound situation I was able to find time to enjoy the little pleasures of being home. Yet again I was inspired by my kitchen window and the posse of stray cats that seem to call my backyard home. The following is a snippet I collected in my journal. I attempted to venture out to take pictures; however as I have found there are some things that we can capture on film, others we can capture with words, and still others that can never be captured and that remain wild and vivid only in our own minds. So though my words below may fail to capture quite the scene it is my feeble attempt to share something quite lovely with y'all:

-a bright red cardinal is what initially caught my eye. He was hopping about the large evergreen. His bright red color made him easy to see as he poked around the tree.
-its little friend I spotted soon after. A little dark brown bird with a nose like a cranberry kiss and a touch of flame at its breast.
-as they played a patient cat sat at the base of the tree staring into space, but keenly aware of what was happening in his tree. The tree in his mind is clearly his tree. It may be in my backyard; however I couldn't say that a human owner could call dibs on ownership. That is a battle between the cats and birds.
-two other wild cats were playing on the lingering snow, chasing each other merrily.
-touches of the last snow haunt the edges of the evergreen and the battle lines between Spring and Winter are drawn.

So hard to capture in words...and with all the movement impossible on film, but hopefully y'all catch the gist. So many things happen right under our noses...we just have to take a moment to find whole other worlds open to us.

Living in Boston one would think that this post would be filled with snow covered images and things of that ilk. The snow is on my mind (and still on my boots) and I am working on a post about investment that was inspired by this righteous blizzard; however today I would like to revisit a sun drenched day that I had only a mere week ago...

On a whim I had traveled to Broadmoore Sanctuary. Well, perhaps it was less of a whim and more a desire to escape something that has been weighing on me more heavily that the snow on the branches of the trees. I have realized that as of late I have let a certain something steal my light. I believe that we should share our light with others. That we can be the light at the end of the tunnel for one another at times of personal darkness, but we should never let anyone take our light. I say this because I am a positive and lighthearted person yet I sometimes allow myself and my light to be diminished. I encourage all of us to nourish ourselves and if there are situations or people in our lives that are not healthy for us- or that we are in turn not healthy for either- to examine whether or not health can be restored. Furthermore, we often drop the things that nourish us the most when we become busy and when our lives become congested so I further challenge myself and you to-

"Recover or discover something that nourishes your soul and brings you joy, and care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life"

Jean Shinoda Bolen

And now on to what nourishes my own soul and my respite from little earthquakes....

 At certain points of my walk I felt for sure I was a character in Lord of the Rings. I walked with purpose as if on a quest.

 Everywhere I looked were little patches of mossy beauty. I adore Blue Hills; however there is not often  any sign of creatures of the non human variety. At Broadmoore I heard birds chirping all around me and saw them playing among the trees. Their song brought me hope.

'Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence'.

- Helen Keller

Stand tall and shine bright my friends.