Newsflash!

We will be 21 for dinner tonight. Which means, I get to indulge in one of my other passions — cooking and entertaining. On Wednesday night, Alexis and my friend Tamz created the place cards, last night C.C. and I re-organized the furniture and set up the extra table we’ll need to seat that many. I’ve made my list, done the grocery shopping, prepared the stuffing, the custard for the trifle, and the cranberry jelly. The onions are in the oven roasting as are the sweet potatoes for my Sweet Potato Pear puree. The brussel spouts are cleaned, C.C. is set to peel the potatoes and I’m ready to bake bread before the turkey goes in the oven.

I promised my daughter.

To make my special bread.

It is her favourite and she is willing to forgo her gluten free lifestyle to sample my bread. “I had decided not to make it so that you wouldn’t be tempted,” I told her when she announced her decision.

“Oh no mom. It’s not Christmas without your cheese braid.”

Traditions are important. They tie us together, they keep our hearts close. I will be making my cheese braid again this year. And a trifle and two vegetarian dishes and two vegan ones too to ensure all our children feel included at the table.

It is an early Christmas. Alexis flew in last Friday with her partner and he returned to Vancouver on Monday while she stayed the week to savour Christmas in the snow. Oh, and with her family and friends too. They will spend Christmas day with his family while here we’ll have a quieter meal with my sister, brother-in-law, mother and C.C. and our children.

But for today, I’ve got a lot to do. Many dishes to bake before tonight’s extravaganza.

I am happy.

I love to gather family and friends around a table and share in the laughter and love that accompanies every mouthful, funny remark and sideways glance. Tonight, while this is ‘family Christmas’ it includes as it always does, newcomers to the table as well as old and dear friends.

Alexis and Tamz create place cards

Justine and Taylor who performed at the Christmas at the Madison concert will be joining us. “How do I get invited to join in your family?” Justine asked Alexis at the concert. “You come for dinner Friday night!” she said. And they are.

My ‘other son’, who is actually my dearest friend Jane’s son, is bringing his girlfriend whom we haven’t met and CJ, his sister is bringing her beau who came to The Madison to help with Thanksgiving dinner earlier in the fall. Junior is off on basic training with the military and is home for the holidays. What fun to have him here!

And then there’s Tyson, my very special son whom the girls befriended a few years ago and whom I’ve adopted. A family meal would not be complete without him.

And Ula and Andrew and Tamz and jane and Al and my wonderful friends Randy and Keri whom Liseanne, my youngest daughter invited at the concert as well. And C.C. and his son and daughter and son’s girlfriend and me and.. am I forgetting anyone?

Oh well, if I have, as always happens in our household, there’s always room for one more at the table, and always enough food for an army!

Gotta run. The oven’s on and I’ve got things to do.

Have a blessed day. May your heart be light, your spirit bright and your soul be filled with loving.

namaste.

It was a night to remember. A night of song, of magic, of harmony in motion. A night when hearts beat as one and dreams awoke and spirits arose to cry out with joy. It was, the night of the Christmas at the Madison Concert.

Even though John Langford, the Calgary Police Detective who was instrumental in the Madison being created couldn’t make it in the end due to a work situation, and the other officer who spends a great deal of time working with the guys at the Madison ended up sick. And even though one of the performers also was called into work and the roads were icy and slick and the audience smaller than anticipated, it was a magical, mystical evening that touched hearts, opened minds and set spirits soaring.

From the opening blessing by Rev. Brian Pearson who shared one of John O’Donohue’s poems to honour the recent deaths by suicide of four military veterans and the struggles of many with PTSD and homelessness and addictions, to his closing song of The River, the evening expanded out into ever widening circles of joy and harmony and love.

The music began with Robert Davies. Bob holds a PhD in mechanical engineering, sits on the board of Alpha House, the sponsors of the evening and the operators of The Madison, and in between, he is a passionate musician. A researcher at heart, Bob explores the music and guitars of countries from around the world and makes them sing. Beneath his flying fingers, the charango hums and the music stirs body and soul. Classical, a piece he wrote himself, Bob delves into the music with the intensity he brings to building and refining anything electrical. Fascinating!

And then, Justine Tyrell and her guitar player, Taylor Cullen, took the stage and wowed us with their pop/jazz renditions of popular and Christmas songs.

Taylor Cochrane, my step-son, took over the grand-piano and under his ministrations he filled the sanctuary with pounding rhythms and haunting lyrics. I am always in awe of Taylor’s talents, and smile whenever he leaves the stage. Shy by nature, he stands up from the piano and leaps from the stage while the audience is clapping. He doesn’t want the accolades. It’s all about the music.

I like to joke and say that the only reason I put on the concert is to make my eldest daughter sing for my birthday and, as in last year’s concert, she sang again, accompanied by her life-partner and best friend, James. Their rendition of Summertime, one of my favourites, steals my breath away every time and this year, their performance of Little Drummer Boy stole my heart. It was stunning.

At intermission, the crowd enjoyed the treats provided by Alpha House and bought Christmas Cards from my sister Anne who was manning the station. Thank you Anne for sharing your spirit and helping to make the evening a success. You rock!

Everyone wandered through the art show that my beautiful Tamz, my fellow Basement Bombshell Art Collective member and I had set up and between us, we sold 4 pieces, which between the cards and art sold added an additional $180 to the total raised that evening. (The Collective donated 20% of sales to the Madison.)

Sandy Carson and Mikaela Cochrane (my step-daughter) began the second half with Sandy taking over the grand piano and Mikaela standing beside him, her long blonde hair shimmering in the light of centre state. Together their voices were powerful and then, Mikaela braved a solo after Luke, her accompanist couldn’t make it. Wow! Her delicate high notes, her quirky signature voice of an angel dove deeply into everyone’s hearts.

As in last year, Felipe Parades took to centre stage, his Latin good looks, his deep, strong voice (and did I mention his biceps?), ever the Latin male, Felipe took off his jacket in front of the crowd and there was a collective gasp from all the women. But it wasn’t just his good looks that wowed us, it was his soulful playing and powerful voice that moved us.

And then, Brian Pearson came on stage and brought the evening to a close. Brian is the Priest at St. Stephen’s Anglican Church where we held the concert, and more than that, Brian is a community-gatherer, a soul-collector, a heart-greeter. He is a combination of Gordon Lightfoot and Bob Dylan. Deep powerful voice. Deep powerful words.

I sat and listened. I sat and breathed. I sat and clapped and moved my body and through it all I felt the love of life, of humanity, of wonder and awe stirring within me. I felt connected, at One, at onement. I felt inspired. Moved. Broken open. I felt Love.

It was a magical evening and I will be sharing photos, but first I have to get the connection between my iphone and computer to work.

Many blessings and much gratitude to everyone who helped make the evening so spectacular. From Lynn McCune at St. Stephen’s who helped me organize, to my daughter Liseanne who sat by the front door, greeting guests and collecting money and doing all the small tasks that needed taking care of to ensure everything went smoothly. She’s offered to take over the media/marketing for next year and I am grateful.

to all the performers and to all those who braved the cold dark night of winter on icy roads to come and be part of Christmas at the Madison.

And, to the veterans, the staff of Alpha House, the Calgary Homeless Foundation and to all those who donated time and resources to ensure this year we will be able to support the men living at the Madison in their journey away from homelessness,

You make the world shine. You are a bright light of love and compassion, creativity and joy.

Thank you.

Ferdinand the Christmas Tree

The candles glowed and the room was bathed in the  twinkling of a hundred tiny Christmas lights. In the corner, the tree stood naked. His branches waiting adornment.

His name is Ferdinand, my youngest daughter informs me when I enter the living room to begin our annual ritual of dressing the tree.

They are all here, gathered around Ferdinand. My two daughters, C.C.’s daughter and son and his girlfriend, my sister Anne who has stayed an extra day to be part of the fun and my girlfriend Tamz who has been helping me with organization for the Christmas at the Madison concert and making cards and preparing her paintings for the art show. Tamz is one of the three Basement Bombshell Art Collective artists and I am grateful for her presence. She is organized where I am chaos. She is thoughtful where I am ‘let’s just get it done’. We are missing Alexis’ my eldest daughter’s partner who has flown back to Vancouver earlier in the evening and Charles’ daughters boyfriend who is on his way back to Toronto.

We are a small but mighty crew. My daughters and I are also very accustomed to having the tree, ‘our way’. Over the past six years, with Charles and his family in our lives, we have begun to expand the circle of what ‘our way’ looks like. And it’s not always easy. A house of women, we like our pink bowed, white and pink and rose and purple decorations. We do not like toy trains and tin soldiers.

We are learning to expand.

As I watched and listened and immersed myself in the laughter and joy of my family creating magic on the boughs of a fir tree, my heart melted in gratitude and Love. We had gone together earlier in the afternoon to pick the tree. Including Alexis’ boyfriend who had not yet left for the airport, we were seven in the decision-making process. It was a hilarious journey into ‘the forest’ where C.C., upon losing sight of us called out, “Where in the forest are you?” We laughed and called back and the man in charge of the tree lot laughed and graciously said, “Well, I haven’t heard that one before!” And even though we knew it wasn’t true, we effusively congratulated C.C. on his originality and somehow, within the space of a half hour managed to all agree on the perfect tree.

C.C. brought the tree home while the girls, my sister and JM went off to my mother’s residence where the senior’s hand bell choir were performing. It was delightful. And it was sad.  We were the only ‘outside’ members of the audience. No other family came out to hear the concert. My sister, Jackie, who is my mother’s primary care-giver and knows every one at the centre where our mother lives, told me that many of the residents will be left alone for Christmas, their families too busy to include them in their celebrations.

The hand-bells choir began 3 years ago. I missed last year’s performance and am so grateful I had the chance to make this one. The 14 members of the choir (all women except for one brave man) sit at two long tables and press their colour coded bells, their faces earnest and intent, their attention focused on the sheets of music before them. My mother, as tiny as a sparrow, sat in the second row, her eyes scanning the music, carefully pressing each bell when her note was required and still, as one of my sisters walked up to take a photo her face would turn towards them but her eyes would never leave the page she was watching. 

It is her mother’s heart. Always knowing where her babies are. Always alert, no matter what she is doing, on watch to ensure her chicks are safe.

And still, Jackie’s words of people being left alone this Christmas are ringing in my heart.

At the shelter where I used to work, for several Christmas we did video Christmas wishes. One of my staff set up a Christmas themed backdrop and we invited staff, volunteers and especially clients to come and record a Christmas wish. It always moved my heart to hear  people wishing Merry Christmas to those they hadn’t seen in years, to those they’d lost, to those they did not know where they were, and who, in many instances didn’t know where their family was either. Their eyes would be watery with tears, their heart’s heavy with regret and still, they wanted someone to know how grateful they were for shelter, how sorry they were to be missing them this Christmas.

We dressed the tree on Monday night. Ferdinand stands, a beautiful sentinel to the love that binds our hearts and the joy that fills our togetherness. He is the song we sing of family and love and ties that join us together with bonds stronger than any wind that will ever blow.

In the magic and wonder of Christmas, I believe in miracles. Let’s create miracles everywhere this Christmas! Let’s break down the walls that keep us apart and join together as one family, one humanity, one earth in need of peace, hope, love and joy.

Let us be the blessings we wish for in the world.

He talks about how between us we’ve got 125 years. How he wants to add to that to complete it.

And then, he gets down on bended knee, whips a little red jewellery box out of his pocket and asks, “Will you marry me?”

In front of 30 people no less.

Me. I am sitting in a chair in front of all these people, in front of where he kneels and I am stunned. My step-daughter and her boyfriend will later tell me my face was a picture of disbelief, shock, confusion and dismay. Seriously? In front of all these people you ask me such a deep question. And you want an answer, when? Now? You gotta be kidding!

I look at the ring glittering in the box. I look at him. I look at all the people laughing and smiling and yelling, Say yes. Say yes!

I say nothing.

I look at the ring again. It is beautiful. But I’m confused. We’d talked about how he was thinking of surprising me on my birthday by asking me to marry him, but how he thought he’d wait until ‘the right time’.

I was okay with that. Getting married again has not been on my list of “Things I must do in 2013”. Not sure I was even thinking about putting it on 2014’s list either. Though we had talked about it. Six years into our relationship, many opportunities to call it quits, to walk away and each time we’ve found ourselves standing in the broken, choosing to keep growing and learning and healing and expanding into love…

It isn’t that getting married wasn’t out of the question. It’s just… well… I don’t like surprises and I don’t like questions that need thoughtful answers needing to be answered in the moment. And… well, I don’t like surprises.

So, when I finally did find my voice, I said, heart-feltly and sincerely, “You azzhole.”

Yup. I called my beloved an azzhole (in front of 30 people no less) as he knelt before me on bended knee holding his heart out for me to reach back and take.

I know. I know. What was I thinking?

Well, mostly, I wasn’t thinking as much as panicking.

How the hell am I supposed to respond when everyone in the room is watching and yelling and clapping and I feel my throat constricting and saying yes is such a scary place to step into. Once upon a time, saying yes lead me to the depths of hell. Saying yes tore my life and the lives of those I love apart. Saying yes, almost killed me.

How the hell do I say yes when I’m so scared?

So I took the ring and said, “I’ll think about it.” And kissed him and hugged him and showed off my ring to everyone around and all the while my heart is racing and my mind is spinning in circles faster than a Jack Russell on crack.

“Mom,” my youngest daughter said in the middle of all the commotion. “Breathe.”

“How can I breathe when I’m so scared?” I asked.

“Stop being scared. It’s okay. Lex and I are with you. We love Charles. Just let it go. Allow yourself to be happy.”

Don’t you hate it when your children are more mature and wise than you?

Truth is. I am happy.

Truth is, along with happiness, fear is also present.

And as I type that the truth shimmers in the light of Love.

Truth is, my feelings are multi-faceted. and that’s okay. Yes, I’m afraid people will think I’m a fool for trusting in love again. Yes, I’m afraid I will look ridiculous for opening my heart and being so naive as to believe in True Love. And yes, I’m scared. And that’s okay.

Because the truth is, in my fear I am living in the past and holding onto my fear to keep myself safe.

One thing I know for sure, holding onto fear does not keep me safe.

Letting go, as my daughter suggested, and allowing myself to be happy is what fills me up with life. Allowing myself to feel the moment, to experience the right now, that’s what create more joy, accord, harmony, lightness of being, and a sense of feeling safe than anything else in the world.

On Saturday night, a beautiful, heartfelt man got down on bended knee and asked me to marry him  In the moment, I was surprised, shocked, stunned and scared. That was real.

What was also real, and continues to be real in every moment, every breath I take is that along with the fear and confusion and shock, Love is and always will be present.

And that makes my answer easy. Yes! Yes! Yes!

I noticed an interesting phenomena this morning. I have resisted writing today. Resisted putting my fingers on the keyboard to let my thoughts flow.

My observation came as I started to log in and realized, I don’t know where to begin. I am so full of gratitude, love, and a sense of being blessed and filled with grace that I don’t know that I can find the words to express it.

It’s been such a busy and wonderful weekend, there are so many feelings, so many thoughts swimming around within me that I haven’t yet had a chance to discern and distill.

Which is when I realized, the best place to do that is here. On the page. Letting it flow.

I am filled with Gratitude

I am grateful for the love in my life. My daughters, C.C. my family and friends, for all of you. For the well-wishes that keep pouring in. For the people who turned up last night to share in the magic and wonder of the concert. For my friend Max who braved the snow and cold to join us and who insisted he needed to walk back to the emergency shelter where he stays because he needed time to distill all his feelings about the evening before immersing himself back in the shelter-life. Max is one of the artists who continues to inspire me with his commitment to exploring his soul through sharing his music and paintings. It is Max who said to me once, “I am a father, a son, a brother, and uncle and a friend. I am a carpenter, a painter, a writer, a musician. I laugh. I cry. I feel. I bleed. Which of these is diminished because I am homeless?” Because of Max and the other amazing artists I’ve met at the shelter, and the people and the stories and the experiences, my life is not diminished. It has been expanded and enlightened and set free.

In the birthday book my daughters created for me (which is overwhelmingly beautiful and moving and touching and inspiring) Max wrote a note to me that, when I read it, I felt my heart melt with gratitude and a sense of awe. If ever I needed confirmation that I am in the world who I want to be, Max’s words hit their mark. I am grateful.

My birthday book is a beautiful leather bound collection of photos and letters my two daughters collected over the past few weeks to present to me on my birthday. It is stunningly beautiful, heart-stirringly striking and soul-inspiring.

The girls sent out a request to friends and family to write a note of how I have touched their lives. I don’t know how many letters are in the book but I can tell you, every one of them touches my heart.  I am grateful.

From C.C. to my sisters, mother, daughters, friends, including my high school best friend, the letters are a gift that keep striking a chord within my soul, awakening my spirit’s desire to fly high and shine bright.  I am blessed.

And the celebration doesn’t stop there. C.C. got down on bended knee and asked me to marry him at my birthday party (ours actually because his birthday was yesterday and Saturday night’s celebration was for both of us). The first time he did it, I was a little stunned and shocked and didn’t really say yes. Though I did put the ring on. Taking a page from my eldest daughter’s blog, I was kinda at the stage of… “I’ll take the puppy and think about it.” Except he didn’t have a puppy so… I took the ring!

However, when some young friends arrived and desperately wanted to ‘see the proposal’, Charles got back on bended knee and this time, I knew what to expect and could honestly be excited and… say yes!

There’s a whole lot of learning and feelings about a ring on my finger — all of them good and beautiful and heart-expanding. I’ll write more later.

And then… last night was the concert and it too was beautiful and heart-expanding.

And for now, my heart is full and all I can only say to express my gratitude is, Thank you.

Thank you for the love, the gifts, the words, the thoughts, the feelings, the presence of each of you. Thank you for this day. This life. This opportunity to feel loved and cherished and completely alive.

I am blessed.

Two sleeps. Yup. Just two sleeps before the Christmas at the Madison Benefit Concert.

No more sleeps before my eldest daughter and her boyfriend arrive this evening. And only one sleep before my birthday party. Well, not just my party, C.C.’s too because his birthday is Sunday (isn’t that nice of me to put a concert on for his birthday? 🙂 ). Mine is Monday.

It’s a big one. Well, at least in numbers.

I think it might kinda be big in my head too. Not like, I’ve got a swelled head because it’s my birthday and I think the whole world should celebrate. No. More like. Seriously? That number, that big scary number is mine? What am I supposed to do with it? How am I supposed to be with it? In it? Of it?

It is just a number, but 60, well, it scares me.

60 means I’ve had a life. It means, I’ve still got one but a heck of a lot more of what I’ve had to live is gone than the what I have to live that remains.

And of course, the questions. What kind of life have I lived? What lessons have I learned and lived, or learned and am still learning because I just can’t seem to grasp the meaning of the lesson and need to keep repeating the mistakes to get it?

What have I shared? What have I given? Contributed? Created?

Is anyone keeping track?

That’s really the big question isn’t it? Does anyone keep track of good deeds/missteps. Does anyone note in a big ledger somewhere, Actions Taken versus Misguided Steps and how they all add up to a some unknown Total in the Grand Scheme of All Things that Matter.  And do I get points that offset misguided steps if I learn from my mistakes without repeating them?

And is there some big unseen hand that totals up all your points and says, ok, this one’s age equals points gained, she’s ready to go any time — but not just yet. She’s still striving to over-achieve, or is it just achieve the greatness she was put on earth to live?

I mean really? Is someone keeping score here or am I just…. whistling in the dark… cause turning 60 ain’t for babies! It takes a real grown-up to do it well.

And I think, it’s safe to say, I’m all grown up.

And that’s the challenge. I don’t feel all grown up. I feel like there’s so much more for me to learn, to explore, to achieve, to do and share and enlighten and illuminate and… well, you get the picture. The party ain’t over yet…

but I am ready to party!

And that’s what I plan on doing this weekend.

Party and celebrate and spend time with those I love and share in laughter and good conversation and quiet times and raucous moments and simple pleasures and delightful escapades as we come together to say, I’m glad we’re each and everyone of us alive. I am glad you’re in my life. I’m glad I’m in yours.

I am grateful for the day I was born. Grateful for these years that have taught me I hold the secret and the answers to my life — I am the keeper of my joy, the giver of my love. I am the Divine expression of amazing grace. I am my contract and my purpose —  I am an alive and radiant woman touching hearts, opening minds to set spirits free.

I am grateful for these hands that type, these hands that can hold another’s in tender loving care, that can soothe fears and wipe away tears and paint a picture of life’s amazing rainbows of colour and pluck a flower and put it in your hair.

I am grateful for these eyes that can see into the dark and know the light is always shining. These eyes that can look into another’s and hold their gaze and say, I see you. My heart is beautiful for you.

I am grateful for these ears that can listen with such depth to someone else’s heart my own heart beats in time.

I am grateful for this voice that can speak up, call out, whisper, shout, laugh for joy and cry in sorrow for the losses of another. I am grateful for this voice that can be heard above the din of my inner chatter wooing me into silence and say, Now is not the time for silence. Now is the time to speak, cheer, yell, scream it from the rooftops, this is my one and only precious life. Let me live it in the rapture of now!

I am grateful for this life that has shown me all the joy and wonder of the world.

I am grateful for each day that reminds me to leap into the ocean of life teeming with people who love and care for me and for whom I love and care and to fill myself up on the deep abiding joy of all my relations.

I am grateful for each moment that showers me with possibility, opening my heart and mind and arms to the abundance of life shimmering all around.

I am grateful for each breath that fills me up with love and each breath that I send out into the world knowing, Love is carried on every breath because I have learned in all these years that Love is all there is to give and receive, have and to hold, be and to live.

My 60 years have taught me many things, and the greatest of them all is that Love is the answer. Always was. Always will be.

And just because I can… and because Memory Lane can be so beguiling (and amusing too!)…

So…. here’s the deal. As the New Year approaches, my mind expands into what could be, might be, is possibly possible if I let go of what I know and create space for the unknown.

In the process of thinking about gifts for friends and family, I wanted to give them something that would inspire grace in everyday living. I’d recently worked with the team at the Foundation where I work on mini-cards with statistics about homelessness printed on them and thought… what if… I create mini-cards with acts of grace on them? It was an idea but I wasn’t sure how it would translate into reality.  Which meant, I had to explore the possibility. And so I did. With little idea on how I was going to do it, I set out to fulfil on my desire to give gifts that inspired Acts of Grace in everyday living.

Here’s how it goes.

Step 1:  I need a new name for this website/blog come the New Year and thought… well… I like to encourage myself and others to do things for others why not play on the idea of Acts of Grace? It is now official. I am the proud owner of http://www.inspiringactsofgrace.com  which is what A Year of Rejoicing will become on January 1, 2014 (the url will still be here, you won’t have to go somewhere else, it’s just the name etc. will change)

Step 2: Oh right. If I’m going to create cards that suggest what ‘The Acts’ are that people can take every day, I need to create the cards! Hmm. Design. Create the Acts of Grace. 50 of them. Plug them into the design. Get them printed. Yup. Easy. And now…  Voila! Fini! Acts of Grace to Inspire Everyday Living.

Step 3: I need to get the cards printed. Easy-peasy. Moo.com prints these lovely little mini cards with a template and everything to make the physical part of my creation as easy as… baking a pie… washing a car… tying your shoes… (you get the picture).

‘The Acts’ as I like to call them, are 50 mini cards that state one thing you can do today to make a difference — for yourself, for someone you know, in the life of a stranger, in your community. They’re simple, easy to accomplish and while not all acts are ‘free’, they freely give you a sense of being connected, part of something, like you are making a difference.

Each card contains one simple idea on something you can do to create a ripple of difference in your world today — like   Smile at strangers where ever you go today.    or   Pick up garbage you see on the sidewalk today and throw it away properly. Keep your heart soft.    or    Spend 1 hour completely alone in total silence today. Listen to your heart beat.   or    Buy a book of transit tickets and donate it to a homeless shelter today.   or   Sign the organ donor card on the back of your driver’s license. Keep it in your wallet.

On Monday evening, the cards arrived in the mail from Moo.com, the supplier I used to print the cards. On one side of the card is an image I created from one of my paintings, on the other, one Act of Grace. 50 cards. 50 Acts of Grace.

Yesterday, in a quest to find an appropriate container for the cards, I stopped in at one of my favourite ‘card/novelty stores and found pretty little cloth bags. Perfect. While I was there, I asked one of the owners if they would be interested in carrying something like my Act of Grace cards. She took one look and said, Yes! These are delightful.

Hmmm…. really?

How much are you selling them for?

Ummmm… well, I don’t know. I hadn’t actually created them with the intention of selling them, but, now that you ask… Retail$19.95

Sounds great, she said. Can you call back tomorrow, my partner who is in charge of buying will be in. I’ll recommend she take a look.

Seriously. It was that easy.

From an idea to a store interested in carrying my cards… being open to possibility and taking action is all it took.

My intent now is to actually make the cards available for purchase online as well as in her store.

Easy. Peasy.

I’ve already got an online store on my website. Not a big deal to add the cards and let ‘er go.

and… the 8 sets of cards I already ordered? Well… they were supposed to be for gifts but several people already want them! So, my first reorder is in the works.

Not bad for an idea I didn’t even know I had just a couple of weeks ago!

And the reason I’m telling you all this? Well, obviously, I want everyone to order cards and get inspired to commit an Act of Grace every day (but they’re not yet up on my website so don’t go there!)

But seriously. It’s because I believe we all need to be encouraged and inspired to keep listening to the inner voice that whispers of possibility and potential. We each need to remember to create space for what we don’t know is doable, possible, achievable when we let go of our belief we already have all the answers.

Look what happened for me. I went in search of an idea to create a gift for friends and family. In its making, I’ve opened up a whole new world of possibility.

Pretty cool for a girl who didn’t have a clue what she was going to create this Christmas!  🙂

Oh. And just to tease you a little bit …

Here’s the design that’s on the flip side of each Act of Grace card… (the cards are half the size of a regular business card and the paper stock is a little bit heavier and glossier. On the reverse side, the cards are all bright primary colours with white printing — really pretty and cheerful!)

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My beloved is not a morning person. Nope, C.C. likes the warm comforts of bed in the morning. He enjoys slumbering on, resting in the cocoon of blankets, Marley the Great Cat purring on his chest, Ellie the wonder dog snoring on her mat at the foot of the bed.

Me. I love early morning. I love the quiet, the peace, the silence of the house. I love the darkness outside my window. The stillness of the road stretching west to east at the foot of the lawn.

I’ve also come to love taking the C-train into the downtown every morning, and thanks to my beloved, it’s fast and convenient because, even though he doesn’t like the morning, he loves to make a difference in my day by getting up and driving me to the C-train station. Ain’t that love? he may still be wearing his pajama bottoms beneath his coat, and his feet may be bare within his shoes, but he arises and drives me where I need to go, relieving me of the extra 25 minutes it takes to walk the distance.

He also is now getting up to make me a smoothie every morning.

And in his expression of love, in his caring ways, I feel and know Love. What a blessing. What a gift.

In November, when I was coaching at Choices, at the Annual Christmas dinner with Thelma, each person was asked to share something that made a difference to them that week. I shared how every morning before I left the house, even earlier than my normal leave for the office time, C.C. would arise and make me a smoothie. It felt so loving and I felt cherished, I told the group. In his actions, Love shimmered in the early morning darkness and my heart glowed.

Years ago, one of the first times I had coached at Choices, I watched one of the trainees as she was being attended to by a medical team. She had slipped on some ice in the parking lot and hurt her ankle. An ambulance was called and as they were moving her on the stretcher into the ambulance, I watched one of my fellow coaches as he hovered over her, checking to ensure her needs were being met.

The tableau of the woman on the stretcher, the coach standing by her side was bathed in the lights of the hotel carport. I remember watching his face as he held her hand and talked soothingly to her. There was such love and consideration for this woman, a relative stranger to him, as he ensured the EMS team took care of her and as he worked to allay her fears of missing out on any of the training.

I remember standing by my car looking towards the vignette and seeing the look of love and care on his face. And I remember the jolt of yearning, and possibly envy, that pierced my heart.

I want that in my life, I remember thinking. I want to feel so cherished, so loved, so cared for. I want someone to look at me with the purity of love that he was looking at her.

And it hit me that I had never felt that yearning before. Never known that I desired to be cherished, cared for and embraced by someone else’s concern — romantic or not.

In that moment, the seed of my future relationship was planted. In opening myself up to the awareness of what I yearned for and wanted in my life, I became conscious of having ‘needs’.

I’d always shirked away from that word. Always shied away from what I judged to be its ‘neediness’. To need someone else is weak, I said. To need someone leaves me at risk of being disappointed. Abandoned. Rejected.

And so, I protected myself. I don’t need anyone, I’d quip. And then add with a smile, but it would be nice to have someone in my life.

That moment of watching the woman being cared for by a stranger exploded my self-bullsh*t into pieces.

That moment said, “Cockapooie Louie! You have needs and you keep denying them. Stop it!”

C.C. and I wouldn’t start dating until a year later and while I knew I loved him, I don’t think I ever acknowledged that I had needs that needed to be met within a relationship for me to feel safe, secure and content until that day when I was able to acknowledge that “I have needs and that’s okay. In fact, better than okay, it’s good and it’s honest to have needs.

I believe part of being in an intimate relationship is to trust the other enough to acknowledge, “I have needs” and to be willing to state them. Whether or not the other person can meet my needs isn’t the issue. What is the issue is that I trust them enough to express my needs and to hear theirs. We then both get to make choices based on our knowing, versus guessing what the other needs to feel safe, secure, loved for and cherished in the relationship.

C.C. knows the way to my heart. I am grateful he treads the path with such loving care. In his actions, I feel loved and cherished. I know my heart is safe in his hands.

Namaste.

I see him in the dark, outside my office window.  He is struggling. Trying to pedal his bike through the snow drift. He pumps down on one pedal. Balances for one moment, one pedal up, one down, body extended. He teeters. Weaves. Loses momentum. Stops. Tries again. Finally, after several attempts he gets off his bike, moves it out to the middle of the road where the snow is less deep and bike on one side of his body, starts to run and push his bike.

Success! He gets enough momentum to hop on and keep pedalling.

He is still 6 blocks from the main road. I wonder how many times he’ll have to repeat the motion before he gets there.

We got dumped on yesterday and through the night. Snow and blowing winds, blizzard conditions.

Letting Ellie the wonder pooch out this morning was exercise enough. The howling winds had pushed the snow up against the door. I considered donning my boots and coat and mitts and toque on top of my pjs so that I could go through the front door and around the house to the backyard. Except. The side gate is also snowed in. Back to option one.

I pushed and pushed at the back door until I had enough room between the door and the snow for Ellie to escape. She had to leap across the drifts to reach the yard. Brave girl. She did it and within moments was back at the door waiting to get back in.

Marley the Great Cat considered going out but after a few moments of sitting on the front porch, he reversed his decision and high-tailed it back into the house.

My animals are smarter than that bicyclist I think.

I appreciate his commitment to the environment. But really? I think he’s crazy.

And I’m sure he doesn’t care. I’m sure that for him this is his thing. His way of making a footprint on this earth that benefits all.

Except, I wonder about the safety of riding your bike in this weather. I don’t mean the cold (when I jogged my cut-off for outside jogging was -20C so I get that you can dress for the weather), but when the roads are clogged with drifted snow and ice, how safe can anyone be on a bicycle? How much stability and control does one really have on roads like this? And what about the drivers? Their tires are spinning at intersections and four wheel drive or not, ice is ice and doesn’t leave much room for normal stopping and control.

Sometimes, we get so fixated on an idea or ideal, we forget to consider, what is the right thing to do in these circumstances?

I was reminded this morning of my penchant to affix myself to an ideal by my friend Ann over  at The Year of Living Non-Judgementally. Ann writes about ‘saying the wrong thing’ and in her words, I felt myself cringe. I have been known to say the wrong thing sometimes. Not because I wanted to hurt or cause pain in another, but rather because, in my quest to awaken them to what I consider to be ‘the ideal’, or to speak my truth, I have let go of asking — what is the right thing to do in this circumstance for all truth to have room to be heard?

When trying to help a friend see that their desire to talk about a situation again and again was what their problem was, not the situation, I trod harshly upon their heart.

Not my job.

Yes, speaking the truth is my responsibility. But truth should never be delivered as a hammer or an axe. Truth deserves to be spoken so that others can hear.

Awhile ago when I was at a community association meeting and someone was yelling at me as an official from the foundation I work for, I asked them to please not yell. “It’s important I hear what you have to say, and I can’t hear you when you’re yelling,” I told them.

That was the truth and in speaking it, they heard me and chose to say what they had to say in a way that I could hear. In hearing them and in feeling heard, we were able to work on finding common ground. A Win/win for both of us.

But when truth is spoken for me to win and you to lose, it is not truth. It is me reacting in fear, or judgement, or loathing or a whole host of non-productive emotions that position you for failure. In the end, it creates a lose/lose because in overriding your truth, I lose the things I want most in my life and in all my relationships — kindness, fairness, respect, consideration, communication, connection, Love…

I watched a man push his bicycle through the snow this morning. When I ignore the reality of the weather outside, or the conditions within, I too become fixated on my goals, my needs, my singular belief in my right to do what I want because it’s what I want. To paraphrase John Dunne, I am not an island and when I act as if this planet gives me carte blanche to ignore the world around me, I create all that I don’t want in this world of wunder. I create my own failure to thrive.

I don’t like the word. I want to push it away, avoid it, find another one.

But it persists. It clings. It keeps whispering to me to claim it, accept it, know it.

I may have to live with it for a year to find my way through it.

It’s what it wants, this word that causes such disquiet within me. It wants me to know it, breathe into it, live it and find my truth within it.

It happens every December.

I begin to meditate on that space where a word for the upcoming year arises within me. This year it has been Rejoice. The year before Renew. And before that, Humility.

Every year for the past three years I have held a word in my heart and mediated, written, discerned and breathed into its essence for an entire year. I don’t choose the word so much as it chooses me. It arises in the quiet and speaks softly to my heart as it says with measured certitude, “Embrace me. I am yours.”

In the past, the word has settled in and I embraced it and began my year in conscious contemplation of what it means for me to live the essence of its being present in my life.

This word. Ah now this word causes me to pause, to resist, to wonder if maybe I should use the entire 31 days of December to allow space for another word to enter. Maybe if I just keep seeking, something different will appear.

And I sigh. A sigh of amusement and bemusement.

The co-creative powers of the universe are not to be messed with. We’re in this life together. I don’t get to pick and choose what the universe serves up. I do get to choose how I accept, move through, embrace, celebrate, wonder about and create from what it delivers.

And this word definitely gives me pause to wonder.

‘Atonement’ is not a word that settles easily on my heart. It has such Biblical tomes to it. Some real heavy-duty righteousness. I’m not even sure I really know what it means so of course, I toddle on over to my online dictionary and there it is. My trepidations over its meaning expressed in the definition I find for ‘atonement’.  http://www.thefreedictionary.com/atonement

atonement [əˈtəʊnmənt]