Tag: childhood

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Some Mystery Left

Warm summer nights would find a younger version of myself out in the backyard, alone, gazing at the stars.  For hours in mosquito laden nights I would ponder the universe.  My parents, perhaps to satisfy my curiosity, but more likely to keep me close to home and a little less itchy, bought me a telescope, a long white metal tube on a tripod.  Now the night skies were accessible in the comfort of my mosquito free bedroom, and also afforded year round viewing.

When I first saw a magnified moon it frightened me.  Awesome!!  Such a beautiful landscape.  Pristine.

Mom brought me home from a camping trip to watch the lunar landing on TV.  I cried that night.  I was sad the moon bore the footprints of man and was no longer so mysterious.

The Science and Technology Museum offered an astronomy course when I was in my late teens, which I attended every night.  Sometimes there were 4 or 5 of us, but most of the time, it was just me.  We were entertained with documentaries on the universe, solar system and the like until the skies were dark enough for viewing.  Shivering equally from cold and awe, I saw Saturn for the first time through a 15 inch refracting telescope.

I briefly joined the local astronomy club, but they had a strict policy that you could not believe in God and be an astronomer at the same time.  Hmmm.

My engineer Dad harboured a secret desire to work for NASA and I happily accompanied him to Florida to tour the facilities.  It was an overwhelming experience.  Sadly my Dad never applied to work there.  Imagine what might have been.

Along came the series Cosmos and I devoured it all.  Carl Sagan’s unhurried personal tour of the universe and science gave me time to think about what he said.  When a record album of the music of Cosmos was offered by PBS television for a donation, I was glued to the phone.  So for $20, I got the record, and for a few minutes, to talk to the President of PBS.  I still have that record today.  I revisited Cosmos just last month and it has not lost its appeal for me.

Nowadays I am lucky to see one star besides the moon in our bright city skies, so my telescope is covered over and collecting dust.  But there is plenty of viewing on the internet.  The universe is largely untouched.  Some mystery is left.

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Maple Heart

Every year, end of May, early June, the maple trees on our property rain down thousands of helicopter seeds.  Great quantities accumulate on the roads and pathways, creating a loud grating sound when rearranged by wind, shuffled through by feet and sadly, crushed under tires.

And every year I carefully select the plumpest, most ready seeds and plant them.  Typically I plant 20, or slightly more, my ability to limit myself dwindles as the end of the seed season does.  There is very little soil in the city, and I see potential lost in each seed that fails to find soft ground and perishes to the elements.  I wish I could give every seed the opportunity to experience being a tree, if only for a summer.

Great joy to watch them split their skins and send up miniature versions of their future selves within 3 days of touching soil.  In a few days they are already several inches tall and pushing hard to shed their shells.  I assist sometimes on those whose casings refuse to yield, and instantly two plump cotyledons spread out and seem to sigh.

Those fresh young shoots are ravenous for sunshine and in a short space of time I have my own miniature maple forest on my balcony.  I love to watch them grow.  Being pot bound they seldom get higher than a foot, but they have magnificence holding their leaves proudly out, two by two at 90 degree opposites.

I try to overwinter them, but they are wild things and need the outdoors.  One survived 3 years with me and was about 4 feet tall, but the rest perish.  Currently several have leafed out, which brings me joy commonly reserved for June.  Sadly they don’t make it, no matter how much love and attention I give them.  I dream of having a place to plant them outside, where onlookers would not question my activity or ultimately have me fined and hauled away!

My love for maple trees began at an early age.  At home a lovely sugar maple blessed my bedroom window view.  We had all kinds of trees, plants and flowers on a half acre of land.  Dad rescued a little red maple from a store and planted it on our front lawn.  I was out there every day watering and talking to it until it became one of the largest trees on our lot!

During a storm my bedroom view maple broke, and Dad was out there the next morning mending it.  He was worried I’d lose my tree!  He affixed two large diverging branches together with a bolt and chain so the wind would not further damage it.

My little pot bound home grown maples will never get that large, but I care for them dearly.  Summer is still a long ways off, sunshine scarce and the air in the apartment definitely not spring quality.  All of my plants suffer the winter blahs and some give up.  But I keep a careful eye on those tender young maples and hope they see one more season at least.

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Your Calling

I was asked recently “How do you receive your calling?”, to which I glibly replied that God no longer calls, He texts.

It has some truth to it.

I think it is very rare that a person has an a-ha moment.  I always wanted one.  The fire of God just hits me and POW I know who I want to be and what I should be doing.  The truth however is a lot less dramatic.  I walked around with my mouth half open, looking pretty stupid and not having much direction at all.  I did a lot of hoping, wishing and praying.  Only to find that the a-ha has been right in my face all along.  I should have seen it too – I am very nearsighted!

Since most of us have no clue what a true version of ourselves is, we need to let God work that out.  And when it is you are likely to remark “I knew that!”, and maybe feel a little stupid afterwards.  Sometimes your calling doesn’t exist yet in the world, and you have to wait for it to appear.  Maybe you are already living it and don’t realize it.  You are tired of it and want something new.  Or maybe you simply can’t believe it, or think it should be something else, something better.  Perhaps others tell you what it should be.  Many times, a calling is not a grand affair, but it has a great impact on the world, perhaps many years later in the future.  A calling is not what you think it is.  But it all works for God.

My life story is not an arrow, it is a convoluted, messed up, child’s crayon squiggles across a ripped up, yellowing piece of construction paper.  That is my journey.  Step forward.  Steps backward.  Lessons learned and most forgot.  There is no point A and point B.  I’ve been all over the map.

For me, my whole miserable adult life was a journey back to childhood.  I knew who I was then.  I just forgot and had to make a 40+ year trip to get back there.  Sound familiar?

But this trip is not about years or age.  It is about mind.  The constant renewing of my mind.  There is no “Hello, this is God, do this”.  I have had an ongoing dialogue of which God knows the direction of, the things to be addressed and how long it will take, taking into account how stubborn I am.  No doubt I delayed the process by being a mule at times.  Shutting myself off to new ideas and experiences, just plain getting tired of it, clinging to the past, living for the future, and having my own ideas (UGH!).

Life is an ever present unfolding, an evolution, a constant movement of things in and out.  All these things offer delights; a lesson, a message, an emotion, an experience.  They are all gifts to be embraced and enjoyed.  Some will teach, some will reach, and others are just for fun.  God uses all of it to bring you to your highest self, and that just might be full circle back to where you started.

It is my wish this Christmas that you embrace your life and live it fully.  Allow God to guide you in your journey to your highest self.  Guidance and messages can appear anywhere.  Keep your eyes and ears and heart open.  Your calling is coming by text.  It says “Let joy be your reason”.  Follow joy in all your decisions and you’ll start to get on track.

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Magic Flute

B flat  B flat  C  B flat  E flat  C . . .

Hap-py Birth-day to me . . .

This year’s birthday I can play this tune for myself!

Long ago, my parents convinced me that I was not musically inclined.  This was to keep our house quiet. Like most children however, I longed to make noise, and any noise can be music. The flute was the instrument I most wanted to learn.

In the cult movie Harold and Maude, Maude introduces the young Harold to music (ahem, among other things) saying everyone should be able to make some music.  She chooses for him the instrument that most suits him, a banjo.  That little snippet from the movie stayed with me because I knew the flute was what I should play.  This desire never left me.

I had a bit of music education at school, but was never encouraged to pursue making sounds.  Music was kept at a distance.

My Mother took me to classical music concerts because she liked to be a Princess.  We’d dress up and shine in our box seats one Wednesday a month.  She did not want me to learn music, she disdained the music ‘snobs’ who knew everything about certain pieces, how and why they were written, how they should sound, what they meant.  “You should bring your own interpretation to it” she’d admonish me. “Just listen to it and let it take you where it will.”  I did derive a great deal of enjoyment from those evenings, and I got to hear some great musicians, including Isaac Stern and Yo-Yo Ma.  Musicians had a gift, they were special ‘others’, born to make music.

Then, one day, just a year ago, a friend told me she was buying a piano.  She hadn’t played in years and missed it.  I casually remarked on my musical inability and how I always wanted to play the flute.  Well, she pulled out a piece of paper and in a matter of minutes taught me how to read basic music.  “Go get your flute” she smiled.

And I did.  A nice student rental.

I even took lessons, until my bank account couldn’t support that any more.

When a tune first appeared from my squeaks and squawks, I experienced magic.  Those little black orbs with sticks in them lifted off the page and danced!  No longer a passive listener, I became creator!  Mary Had a Little Lamb!  Ode to Joy!  Freres Jacques!

To be fair, I am not a good player.  I cannot play a lot of notes on one breath (slur), so I am limited to songs where I can go toot, toot, toot!  My octaves are up in the rafters.  None of this matters.  A year later, a few days before my birthday, I can play the song to myself.  A nice birthday gift.

Maybe next year I can buy a flute.