|Me and Grandma
|Stove Damper Stuck
Walking With Our Ancestors
"You could study the ancestors, but without a deep feeling of communication
with them it would be surface learning and surface talking. Once you have gone into yourself and have learnt very deeply,
appreciate it, and relate to it very well, everything will come very easily." -- Ellen White, NANAIMO
Inside of every human being are our ancestors, and these ancestors still
live. Today, the white man calls this DNA, but there is more than DNA. We have the ability to go inside of ourselves and learn
from the ancestors. The ancestor teachings reside in the place of the center. The ancestors are waiting for us to come there
so they can share the ancient teachings. It is said, "Be still and Know".
Great Spirit, let me walk in the stillness.
-- From November 5. Reposted with permission, © 2003 White Bison, inc.
Conversation with Grandmother's Sister
I just have one small question. Why? It has burned in my head for weeks now. I shall
go talk with Grandmother today. Yes, perhaps, I shall. My mind has not been quiet enough. Today may be different.
clean up the table, carrying my teacup to the sink. Then head for the back door. The dogs are always ready and jump happily,
eager to join me for a walk. A short distance from the house, I find the place I am looking for. The trees, elm, oak and cedar
are all around and the canopy is thick. The ground gently sloops downward into a gully and is blanketed with leaves. Delicate
coral berry and wild ferns grow here. The little natural sandstone bench waits for me. Only birds can be heard here along
with the occasional buzz of an insect or two.
I make myself comfortable on the bench, and the dogs go off hot of the
trail of an armadillo. All is quiet again, as I close my eyes. Then she appears.
"Where is Grandmother?" "She sent
me to talk with you." "Oh." I said. "Who are you?" I asked. "I'm Grandmother's sister," she said. We paused and looked deeply
into each others eyes. I reached out with all my senses to *feel* this woman and I felt compassion, understanding and love.
Her energy reminds me of Kuan Yin, and we smile at each other.
I look back at the ground and notice a bug traveling
from under one leaf to another. "Everything is so sad." I said. "So much befuddled energy." "So much twisted anger."
sister rearranges a flowering vine on an elm tree. Then reaches into her apron and hands me what can best be described as
a light wand. "Hold this, please." She turns back to the flowering vines again, rearranging them to suit her, then she asks
for the light wand. Gently she touches the trees around us with the wand. Then puts the wand back into her apron. Turning
to me she asks, "Do you see any difference in the trees?" I look up at the trees and study them intently, looking for any
nuance of change, so as to answer Grandmothers sister correctly. "No, I do not see any difference." She nods, smiling looks
up at the trees and says, "Soon the leaves on this elm tree will become yellow then brown. The leaves on the oak will change
color, revealing their true colors of red and yellow. It will be their time. The leaves will transform and change. It will
be their season of change. The leaves bud in spring, grow through summer, transform in autumn. Then the leaves appear again
in spring. Everything changes according to their season, and so have you."
Yes, everything changes according to their
season, I thought as I looked back at the ground. Looking back up, Grandmothers sister is gone.
I take a deep breath
while thinking, yes, we learn and relearn. I glance over my shoulder and notice the dogs had quietly returned and are lying
just behind me. I did not hear them come back. I quickly lift my gaze up into the oaks. Some of the leaves have become red
and yellow. It is their time of change, and so it is with me too. --
|A Country Doctor
My son asked me yesterday what happens to the garbage we throw away. He
looked a bit worried when I told him that aside from what little is recycled in some fashion, they just compact it and pile
it up somewhere -- and he should be! Someday soon, he and his generation will have to find room to live amidst all this garbage.
Things aren't the way they used to be, when you were taught to value things
-- to make it last, use it up, pass it down, wear it out, and do without. Modern technology changes so fast, we value the
disposable over the made-to-last, and there are many things which were once considered "luxuries" that we now value as "necessities."
I grew up with my grandmother, who came from the Great Smoky Mountains
and knew what it was to recycle before it became an option.
I remember the wonderful quilts she would make, and all the preparation
she'd go through to make them -- gathering up all our old clothing, stripping the zippers and buttons from them for re-use,
and cutting the already-worn material into pieces that could be used for the outer and inner layers. After she'd pieced all
the odd-shaped patches together she'd quickly stitch up a nice bed spread three or four layers thick.
At bedtime, I used to enjoy thinking of the many stories told by the irregular
patches on my covers: the scrap from the dress I used to wear, the piece taken from a shirt my grandfather had worn; and feel
comforted by my grandmother's thrifty craftsmanship as I fell asleep. Hers may not have been the kind of quilts people will
find years later in an old trunk and hang up like a treasure on their wall, but they still kept us warm!
I remember the old days, when next-to-nothing got thrown away, and
think that maybe we've lost quite a bit -- and if we take a look in our dumps, we may find it. -- the
I grew up in the fifties with practical parents -- a Mother,
God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before
they had a name for it. I had a Father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones. Their marriage was good,
their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away.
I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house
dress, lawn mower in one hand, dishtowel in the other.
It was the time for fixing things -- a curtain rod, the kitchen
radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy.
All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant
there'd always be more.
But then my Mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room,
I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any 'more.' Sometimes, what we care about most gets all
used up and goes away...never to return.
So...while we have it...it's best we love it...and care for it...and fix
it when it's broken.....and heal it when it's sick. This is true...for marriage...and old cars...and children with bad report
cards...and dogs with bad hips...and aging parents...and grandparents.
We keep them because they are worth it, because
we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away, or a classmate we grew up with. There are just some
things that make life important, like people we know who are special...and so, we keep them close. Being happy doesn't mean
everything's perfect. It means you've decided to see beyond the imperfections! -- From Owen O'Neill via Sandi
My Mothers Hands
My hands have experienced the immutable
caressing my face and
body as well as those of my partner. My hands. Hands
experienced in giving as
well as receiving pleasure. Sure strong fingers that
Firm, sensual and beautiful. The body full of
strength, promise and
and achieved. Still much yet to be
Hands that realized
youth and remember. Hands not so
full of strength, yet
The body of
mid-life. Not so firm, gravity pulling, sagging.
spots. Pale fingers. No strength left. Full of
Fingers look a bit like prunes to
the wisdom lines of my face. Children sit at my
listen as the winter fires
I looked at
my hands today and realized that they have
mothers hands. ~ sylvia
|Say a prayer, send wishes of hope for a loved one.
|Light a candle for the living or those beyond the veil.