Author: Melodye Shore

EMBRACE–my word of the year for 2019

“Whatever the present moment contains, embrace it as if you had chosen it yourself.” — Eckhart Tolle

I’ve long since traded away the idea of New Year’s resolutions for a one-word theme. A single word with layered meanings—an action verb and a way of being.  After mediating about it for a good long while, I chose EMBRACE as my Word of the Year for 2019.

I know, I know: I’m running with the pachyderms, lagging way behind. No judgment, though: Let’s embrace this moment, celebrate the now! Speaking of which, it seems apropos to include some of my favorite exhibits at the Chinese Lantern Festival–an annual event that embraces old and new equally, and breathes new life into ancient traditions.

Let’s start with a simple definition. Embrace means: to clasp or hold close with the arms, usually as an expression of affection, as in a hug. It can also mean: to include as part of something broader. And here’s the kicker: to take up willingly and enthusiastically.

It’s a catch-all word, embrace, applicable to virtually every aspect of our lives. Here’s how I want to apply it, in 2019:

EMBRACE NEW FRIENDSHIPS: If we’re long-time friends, I’ll hug your neck every time I see you. Not so, if we’re meeting up for the very first time. In fact, you might be surprised to learn that I’m a bit of an introvert. Small talk? Not for me. Large parties? Nosiree. But here’s the thing: I want to switch things up a bit this year. Mind you: High-fives and handshakes are perfectly fine. I’ll embrace whatever makes you comfortable. But because I value deep friendships, I want to get better at moving past “How-do-you-do” to “Bring it on in.”

EMBRACE ADVENTURE: More wheeee than whoa!—that’s my motto. Know me for a minute, and you’ve got my number on that. But here’s the caveat: I’m not always as cautious as I could be, nor am I as nimble as I’d like. Boy howdy, I’ve got the scars to prove it! But hmmm…you know what I’m really good at?  Brushing off the dust, embracing the lessons, and moving on. So this one’s pretty easy: In 2019, I plan on jumping into new adventures with both feet –eyes on the prize, no looking backward.

EMBRACE PHYSICAL CHANGES: The woman in my mirror looks very different, now, than the image I’ve always pictured in my mind’s eye. Oh sure, I can climb rocks and plant roses. I challenge myself on the regular, take long walks and read up a storm.  But time stands still for no one. So 2019 is about physical conditioning and acceptance, agility and endurance. No put-downs allowed! Better to embrace life’s transitions with open arms, I think, than to waste time worrying about the inevitable.

EMBRACE ALL THAT I AM, AND WHO I AM MEANT TO BE: Compliments make me uneasy, and it’s doubly hard for me to toot my own horn. But we need to start with a baseline, right? So here goes. I’m an optimist by nature. I’m open-minded, curious, and creative. I lead with my heart. I want to embrace (and strengthen) my superpowers, in the service of a meaningful life. I need also to recognize their polar opposites, in myself and in others. How better to distinguish healthy behaviors from destructive tendencies, embracing differences while affording ourselves grace?

EMRACE ALL THAT 2019 HAS TO OFFER, but release expectations. No gripping. No grasping. Even with all that squeezing, a Facebook friend suggests, things can (and do) slip through our fingers.

In 2019, I’m embracing the moment. Breathing in, breathing out. Being here, now.  

Living in a state of wide-eyed wonderment. Grateful all that’s good, pure, and lovely in the world. Lit from within by the Source of all light.

A weary world rejoices

Nativity Scene in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.  –Norman Vincent Peale

The waning year and a magic wand

It was an impromptu game, inspired by a piece of driftwood that was tossed on the beach by the rising tides. Using the ragged edge of the stick, I etched four numbers into the sand, as close to the water’s edge as possible. My goal? To capture images of the vanishing year before the churn washed it away.

Again and again, I played tag with the waves. running backward with my camera aimed low, until my clothes were soaked and my storage card was nearly full.

Ho Ho Ho! It wasn’t until much later, when I finally downloaded the images, that I realized I’d been etching the wrong year into the sand all along!

In recounting this story later, I wonder if this tourist might have something to say about us “crazy locals.”

But this is my story, and in this retelling, the main characters are the wonderfully creative kids from Arizona that I’d met a bit earlier in the day. When last I saw this pair, they were packing wet sand around the edges of a deep hole they’d dug—a fortress against the incoming tides.

When I headed back to my car, they flagged me down. The little girl sat back on her heels so I could admire their handiwork. They’d created for themselves a Sisyphean task, of course, but that wasn’t for me to judge.

I lavished praise on their creative efforts. “Would you like this stick?” I asked. “You never know…it might come in handy.”

By then, the little boy had returned to the job at hand: scooping and packing sand, and repositioning his body when the waves inched close enough to threaten his wall. “Nah, I’m good.”

The little girl hesitated.

I stretched the stick across my open palms—a magic wand now, drenched in seawater and sprinkled with glittery sand.  “How about you?” I asked. “You could write your wishes in the sand and then watch the waves carry them away.”

Her face brightened, lit from within by the dreams she envisioned in her mind’s eye. “Ah,” she said, “I wondered what you were doing.” She scrambled to her feet, brushed the sand off her knees, and reached for the driftwood.

Her eyes sparkled. My heart glowed.

As I headed back to my car, she strode confidently to the ocean’s edge, like a newly crowned monarch with a scepter.

I scrambled over the sand berms, and when I eventually reached the boardwalk, I glanced back at my new friends one last time. The little boy was still hard at work, frenetically digging and forever rebuilding. No time for rest or reflection. He was too busy fortifying his crumbling structure against the inevitable.

But the little girl…ahhh. She was wriggling her toes in the wet sand–a princess in her own realm, wholly immersed in the moment. Time and again, she etched her name into the sand. Time and again, she whispered her wishes into the salty air, and then invited the breezes to carry them out to sea.

Happy Hanukkah 2018

https://pixabay.com/en/candles-menorah-light-hanukkah-897776/

For though my faith is not yours and your faith is not mine, if we each are free to light our own flame, together we can banish some of the darkness of the world. –Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Happy Hanukkah to everyone who celebrates the Festival of Lights!  May we find hope in this season of miracles, and be comforted by the presence of Light.

Thanksgiving

More than these greens tossed with toasted pecans,
I want to serve you the hymn I sang into the wooden bowl
as I blended the oil and white vinegar.

More than honey ice cream
beside the warm pie, I want to serve you the bliss in the apples’ flesh,
how it gathered the sun and carried its luminousness to this table.
More than the popovers, the risen ecstasy of wheat, milk and eggs,
I want to serve you the warmth that urged the tranformation to bread.

Blessings, I want to serve you full choruses of hallelujah, oh so wholly
here in this moment. Oh so holy here in this world.

This beautiful poem, Thanksgiving, was penned by  Rosemerry Wahtola Trimmer. All photographs courtesy of my dear friend, Donna Sullivan.

I’m forever grateful for this opportunity to sing at Sunday Brunch with the Harlem Gospel Choir. I’m not a culinary expert by any means, nor am I a professional singer. But I do rattle around in the kitchen some, and I’m all about making a joyful noise!

I suspect that’s why this poem really resonates with me. It speaks to the savory-sweet truths about Thanksgiving. A tasty meal doesn’t require perfect recipes and the just-right serving dishes. It’s all about serving others–meeting your beloveds’ needs with compassion and grace. Abundance is sometimes equated with heaping plates and that uncomfortable, overstuffed feeling that follows. But in fact, a bountiful life is more accurately measured by our generosity of spirit. And here’s the essence of the poem, as I read it: When we prepare food with a song in our hearts, it nourishes everyone who gathers around our tables.  And when we are “wholly here in the moment,” we give and receive a gracious plenty.

Your Moment to Shine

The moment is here,
the moment you step
forward from fear
into light, the moment
that your soul takes flight.
Burrow no more in darkness
and despair. Dare to show
your radiant self,
the miracle of awakened
energy giving you wings
and the courage to be
human and divine
at the same time.
Passages excerpted from Your Moment to Shine, by Danna Faulds.

Nesting season begins anew

There’s an abandoned hummingbird nest in the giant fuchsia out front. Cupped inside, a pearlescent egg that never hatched.

I swallow hard whenever I see it, remind myself, “It’s nature’s way.” But for a brief moment yesterday, I thought about pruning the branch that holds it in place. Out of sight, out of mind? Hardly. But I thought it might clear the space for possibilities.

But then again, our Thanksgiving guests might enjoy seeing this architectural wonder, equal parts spider silk and cottony magic. No longer camouflaged by leaves and flowers, It bears silent witness to the hatchlings it once housed, and to the fledglings who took to the skies during last year’s nesting season.

Left to the elements, the nest will eventually disintegrate. More likely, the fluff ‘n stuff will be recycled  by mama hummingbirds-to-be. Like this one, who was sipping nectar in our backyard at sunrise.

Nesting season is almost upon us again–maybe as soon as next week, if we’re lucky!

Hope, that thing with feathers…

Every little thing’s gonna be owl right

On this Thankful Thursday, I’m grateful for the animal rehab specialist, animal services officer, and veterinary hospital that specializes in raptors–all of whom, in turn, tucked this Great Horned Owl under their compassionate wings.

Our neighbor discovered this magnificent creature at the threshold of his garage, bleeding slightly from a wound we couldn’t see. Why did it swoop down from the neighboring hillside and land on his asphalt driveway? I circled it slowly, giving it wide berth while using my zoom lens to assess his physical condition.

See the thatched feathers under its sleepy eyes? They look like ice crystals, don’t you think?

Although its wings weren’t injured, the owl didn’t even try to fly. It just swiveled its head from side, watching us with sleepy eyes as we called for help.

The animal services officer swaddled it in a blanket, carefully avoiding its dangerous talons as he crated it for the short ride to the vet.

Turns out, the Birds of Prey Center doesn’t give out specific information on their patients, but they referred me to this statement on their website, by way of reassurance: “Our intake birds are initially examined by a veterinarian and an individual course of treatment is prescribed (may include x-rays, surgery, and/or other medical therapy). Releasable birds are then kept in flight cages, where they can regain the necessary skills and strength to return to the wild.”

I received that as a very hopeful message. Even if the circumstances weren’t ideal, I felt privileged for the time I got to spend with this great horned owl, and for the rare opportunity to see its exquisite features up close. In its precarious state, it somehow sensed that it could entrusted us with its care. In turn, we honored its vulnerability and did what we could to ease its suffering. It’s in the best possible hands, now, in a facility that’s dedicated to its rehabilitation and release.

Lift every voice and vote

Image credit: Oglala Lakota artist Lana Grove, on Twitter (https://twitter.com/girlgeenius). Posted with permission.

 

Now all we need is to continue to speak the truth fearlessly, and we shall add to our number those who will turn the scale to the side of equal and full justice in all things. —Lucy Stone, suffragist, born 1818.

Squirrels!

San Clemente is a sleepy little coastal community in Southern California– a surfer’s paradise made (in)famous in 1969 when then-President Richard Nixon purchased an exclusive property on an oceanfront bluff and dubbed it “The Western White House.” It’s a diverse community now, where McMansions stand adjacent to rambling cottages, and straight-laced folks share a peaceful co-existence with their more eccentric neighbors.

The beach alone is a draw for tourists. The quirky little enclaves call my name. That’s why I found myself  driving down one of its charming little side streets last weekend, looking for an art exhibit that I’d only just recently heard about on Facebook. And suddenly, there it was: The Squirrel Project of Los Molinos. And hey, would you look at that? It even has its own hashtag!

#SCSQRL welcomes visitors to the art studio of Diana Donaldson and her husband, James Hill, at  122 Calle de los Molinos.

Meet the Squirrels of Los Molinos Street, perennial guests on the party scene in San Clemente. They’re gathered now for a Halloween mixer, replete with a cadaver on a surgical slab, black crows supervising the grisly operation, and a vexed squirrel who’s decided to take the future into his own hands. Here, a creative hodgepodge–the outpourings of artist Diana Donaldson’s head and heart. But each scene is stitched together with the others, thematically speaking, thanks to the collaborative efforts of her sister. Should it scare us, that these scenes are inspired by her work at a nearby hospital?

Squirrels?

Furry rodents-in-residents, running rampant in an art gallery?

A bit odd, you’re probably thinking.  But then again, why not?

If you’re a creative sort, you know better than to question your own artistic muses. You know the risks that come of revealing their magic powers to someone else.

And still, I had to ask: “Why squirrels?”

Diana greeted my question with good humor, but she was careful in her answer. She bought her first squirrel mask in Austin, she said, roughly five years ago. It was an impulse buy, art for its own sake, but she’s since purchased several more. They speak to her, amuse her, inspire, and soothe her. As she listens to cable news–at once anguishing and angering, these days–Diana carves another fluffy-tailed rodent out of clay.

See the paint-spattered shirts, that sparkle in her eyes?  Diana loves being an artist. She’s also a warm and engaging storyteller who enjoys leisurely conversations with scheduled guests and random passers-by.

In fact, she granted me an all-access, backstage pass to the studio space behind the diorama.  Even better, she allowed me to film a quick tour for readers who might not be local.

Note the multimedia collection: a smattering of other artists’ works, intermixed with Diana and James’ creative endeavors. Note, too, the treasure trove of time-worn tools, art supplies and found objects, that fill the table space and more.

And squirrels, lots of squirrels…under foot, on pedestals, in her mind’s eye and under wraps.

“A lot of people don’t notice them when they pass by,” she once said about her beloved squirrels. “The people that do – they’re my tribe. They always get a kick out of it.”