My name is Janet and I am a Spring-aholic.  I come by it naturally:  I was born in the Spring and from probably birth, my mother would tell me what a glorious day it was when I was born.  Perhaps if I had been born in the middle of a snowstorm I would be more of a winter fan, but for me its sunshine, blue skies, warm breezes and blooming forsythias that set my heart a flutter.  There is something about seeing the trees go from dull gray to a hint of red or yellow to a spring green to full blown “leafdom” that never fails to fill me with awe.  From apparent nothing to a very beautiful something – how cool is that?!

So it is very curious to me that I have found myself keeping intensely busy over the past 3 glorious days of early Spring and unable to get out and enjoy it.  I have barely even looked outside.  Once again, it is my dog who is the vehicle by which I am brought back into what is real and important.  As the kids are now busy after school with spring sports, my very clever dog-walking responsibility schedule that had been working beautifully has now gone, well, to the dogs.  This week she has pretty much had to fend for herself, with at least the door open to the backyard at her whim.  Today I couldn’t walk past those pleading looks any longer and grabbed the leash.

Guess what?  It’s Spring out there!  I saw crocuses in bloom and hyacinths pushing their way sunward.  There are birds singing and busily flying about, creating their new abodes.  The dull brown lawns are a shade greener.  And the sun….ah, the glorious sun:  Warmer, hanging around longer, inviting people to come out to play.

I’m still not sure why I’ve been avoiding that which brings me tremendous joy.  There is that nagging voice that keeps reminding me that “this too shall pass”, that we are hardly out of winter’s grasp.  And while that is sadly true, at least for today I choose to let down my resistance and succumb to my annual season addiction.  I’m a Spring-aholic and proud of it.

Now let’s just hope there’s no one out there named “Spring” that will take umbrage with this…

I went to visit my dear aunt on her 93rd birthday this weekend.  What a treat it was, indeed, as I truly thought the next time I was to make that trip would be for her funeral.  She had been very ill a year ago and now has rallied to a point where it was not easy to tell she had ever been at death’s door.  The light shone brightly from her eyes and made her look more alive than others I’ve seen lifetimes younger than her.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be 93 any more than I could imagine what it would be like to be 53 when I was a child.  I’m actually still trying to figure out what growing older means, even though I’ve had a couple years of practice at it now.  I wonder if when you are 93 you still think you’re a 19 year old trapped inside this unfamiliar body, like I do today.  I wonder if you stare at yourself in the mirror and see your parents.  I wonder if you still look ahead to what will be or if you finally realize that this is it.

When I’m 93 I hope I am still of sound mind, body and spirit.  I hope I am surrounded by those I love, but if I’m not, I hope I still recognize my loved ones and remember just what I love about them.   I hope I can walk in the sunshine, but if I can’t, I hope I can sit and appreciate the Spring breeze and the smell of budding life about to burst anew.  I hope I can share a conversation and a laugh with friends, but if I can’t, I hope I can remember the times we did.

I hope for today that I can live fully and appreciate what an amazing life I’ve got, so that when I am 93, I’ll have wonderful memories to keep me smiling.

I had a dream last night that involved taming skunks by pouring bleach on them, then decorating them with multicolored handkerchiefs tied around their necks so you could identify them later.  Bizarre.  Then I realized that my dream was really the memory cache of my experiences that day being emptied out.  During the day I had watched an episode of “Will & Grace” while exercising, where a character was talking about destroying roses by pouring bleach on them.  At another point in the day I remember driving somewhere and smelling a skunk and silently marveling that skunks were still out in this weather.  And later I was picking up the house and grabbed my daughter’s hot pink bandanna she had left on the kitchen table.    Now my dream made perfect sense.

So, not to let it rest at that, my uber-creative imagination came up with this thought:  what if dreams were reality and reality as we think we know it is REALLY the dream?  What if what we experience every day is just what our vivid imaginations have pieced together, based on what REALLY happened in another time and space?

Perhaps I need to sleep on it…

A friend of mine was saying she was going to sit down to write today, inspired by the snowy weather.  She is always writing, so this didn’t seem to be such an unusual event for her.  I, on the other hand, am less a disciplined writer as I am an inspired writer.  I wait until I get an idea which can pop into my consciousness at any time, but particularly when I am doing quiet activities.  Driving is a good one, meditation often produces inspired ideas and showering seems to spark some creative muse.  So in contemplating my writing, I realized that I think of it as “sacred”.  There are  pieces I’ve written which came more from the ego than the …well, wherever the others come from.  They are much more stylized and contrite.  My inspired writing just flows, as if I am having a conversation with an unknown reader.  You, for instance, whomever ”you” may be!

And this contemplation led me to think about how other parts of my life are not, however, what I consider to be “Sacred”.  These are acts done for more selfish pursuits .  And yet, as I followed that rambling train of thought, I realized that it only takes a subtle shift to make them as fluid and sacred as my writing.  If I remove my ego-intent from the equation and replace it with the intention to let it flow naturally, it does  take on a an elevated purpose and status.  A cosmic flip of my internal “intention switch” and I find myself back on a track that feels right, not the one that  find me fighting or slogging my way through to my goal. What a delight to be a contented observer of the journey of life, rather than  the driver with only the end place in mind, missing the scenery along the way.

My face has caught up with my hair and I am not happy about it.

Since I was 14 years old I have had “old hair”.  At the beginning, my silver streak was a novelty and I loved the way it set me apart.  In my twenties it was a way to make me look older than I really was and gave me a certain “credibility” in business environments.  Of course then there were the couple of decades where it mysteriously disappeared…

When I finally allowed my natural silver hues to flow again, it was a badge of honor and very distinctive.  I still had a young looking face and the contrast was intriguing.  And then, like last week, I looked in the mirror…and just saw old.  Old hair, old skin.  Ugh.  No longer is the “erase minor lines” treatment appropriate – we are way beyond the minor line stage!  I have been bemoaning this new phase of my life ever since and frankly am feeling quite sorry for myself.

Last night I had the VERY distinct honor of seeing Mr. Sam Moore in concert.  Sam “Soul Man” Moore is 75 years young.  If you were to pass him on the street, you would think of him as a sweet, slow-moving old man.  But when he opens his mouth and sings, the years just melt away.  He is ageless.  His voice betrays none of its years and is as crystal clear and soulful as on his recordings from the 60s.

I was in awe of Mr. Moore and his agelessness.  It made me realize that when the true spirit of a person is present, there is no boundary of age or physicality.  The true essence transcends all of this world and invites your spirit to dance.

Perhaps I should just stay away from mirrors and spend more time in front of computer screens, letting my agelessness flow through the words I write.    If a man 20 years chronologically older than I can transform into a young man by utilizing his gifts, I’m all for it.  Sam I Am!

One of my favorite playground activities as a kid was playing on “the merry-go-round”:  that round metal contraption with bars that you used to both push it faster and faster and hang on for dear life.  Depending on my mood, I would either be found with limbs wrapped around the bars, smile on my face, enjoying the wind in my hair and the feeling of escape, or I’d be pushing it harder and harder until my little sister was totally freaked out.  Ah, memories….

I remember vividly how we begged my parents to get our own merry-go-round for our backyard and how absolutely dumbstruck we were when they actually bought one!  Of course, true to my family’s nature, you couldn’t buy the name brand.  My mother sewed all our clothing and we grew up brainwashed to think that clothes with labels were just short of evil.  When skateboarding became the craze and “Surf City” was the giant hill at the bottom of our street, we begged for our own equipment.  Instead of the model like every other kids, we got a red “Little Dink”.  It was embarrassing to even ride it.

So you can imagine our disappointment when my dad put together our new merry-go-round and we found out that instead of a flat surface you could roll around on and contort your body around the poles to try daring moves, we had something more akin to a “real” merry-go-round:  actual seats that all faced in one direction.  When I sat on them and was pushed, it made me nauseous.  I don’t remember going on it more than once.

I know now that my parents did their very best to give us what they could with their limited means.  I also have learned that it is important to be specific when asking for something!  I admit there have been times when I was one of those women who felt that if a guy really loved me, he would know what I wanted.  That probably works if you’re dating a psychic but not most men.  And the same thing when asking for things in your life in general.  Once I made my list of intentions and said “To be on Oprah”.  Four months later as I sat in the audience of The Oprah Show I realized that I should have indicated “To be a guest on Oprah, on the stage with her”.  I really had gotten what I asked for.

Some days when I find myself bemoaning my surroundings, my stuff, my lot in life, I have to stop and realize that perhaps I have really gotten what I’ve asked for.  If I’m focused on the negative, that’s what I’ll attract.  If I focus on abundance, that too is what I’ll attract.  I’m looking for a life that lets me feel the wind in my air, not make me feel nauseous.  I think its time to start revising my intentions list!

Yesterday’s snow was just perfect.  It drifted softly down and sugar-coated the trees, somehow avoiding the street.  As I drove through the wintery wonderland, I was awed by the majesty of the scenery.  What would make it even better, I thought, was a crystal blue sky.

Today the sky was crystal blue and the sun was reflecting wildly off that new carpet of white snow.  It made you shield your eyes as soon as you stepped outside.  “If only it wasn’t so bright” was the thought running through my head.

Now as I look out my window I see that the usual gray clouds have taken over that blindingly blue sky.  As the thought “Oh, if only the blue sky was back” came drifting into my consciousness I finally saw the absurdity of my thoughts.  I suffer from a perpetual need for perfection and for “more”.  The concept of “good enough” is nearly a foreign thought to me.  If I am like this with the scenery around me, you can only imagine how I am with myself!  And my poor children!  It’s a constant balancing act in learning how to acknowledge the positive and encourage growth and expansion without coming across as continually focusing on the negative.

Watching the Olympics last night, I was interested in watching not only the athletes, but their coaches.  I can guarantee that while they were pumping up their prodigies prior to their event, they were pointing out what could be improved upon next time after their performance or event was complete. The desire for continual improvement is a quality necessary in order to compete, but when does it become too much?

As much as Bode Miller can drive me nuts, I actually think he may have figured part of this out.  After his silver medal-winning run, he took a moment before looking at the results.  In an interview he explained that before he looked at the scoring, he went inside myself to see how it felt to him.  Content with his run and that he did all that he could have done, he then looked to see he had missed gold by only 9/100’s of a second.  And although disappointed, he really was ok, because he was secure with the answer within:  he had done what he could and it was enough.

For the rest of the day I am going to look at my life through the lens of “good enough”.  I’m going to dismiss the thoughts of needing to do/be more.  I’ll learn to accept the beauty in myself and in that which is surrounding me.  Maybe I’ll even learn to appreciate a gray winter day.

I read today in “Haiku Mind” by Patricia Donegan a haiku written by Allen Ginsberg which describes the concept of “sky mind”.  The Buddhist tradition of sky meditation says that at any time you can look into the sky to remember the vastness and openness that is always with us.  I started thinking about that concept of my mind as the sky, with my thoughts and feelings merely clouds passing through, and realized the analogy works beautifully in my life.

In the morning my mind is like the sky at sunrise:  a bit of brightness trying to peak through, surrounded by a lot of fuzzy gray.  Eventually, after moving around and having some coffee, the sky brightens and opens up.  There are days when the clouds are harmless soft fluffy cumulus one, with the thoughts and feelings drifting in and out.  Some days there is even a wider expanse, as I am fully open to what the day holds, with nothing to hold me back.

There are other days when no matter what I do, there is fog.  Maybe a light will shine through for a minute, but mainly my thoughts are fuzzy.  Some days the sky is dark and covered with angry clouds.  Thoughts and feelings are intense and come fast and furiously.  I need to remember that behind them is that beautiful blue expansiveness, waiting patiently to make its presence know.  This too shall pass.

The brightness of a spring day after a long dull winter is nothing short of exhilarating to me in the same way a day when my mind is clear and sharp and creative compares to those foggy, muddling days.  With gratitude today I gaze out my office window at the brightness greeting me and smile at the reminder of openness and possibility life is presenting me.  The sky is indeed the limit.

One of the more lofty and heartfelt goals in my life is to be a conduit for the goodness of the Universe.  The thought of being a messenger of “Divine Directives” just gives me goosebumps.  I have worked hard to learn to both quiet my mind to “hear” them and then to trust my intuition when I “feel” them.  And it was during a recent meditation that I was gifted with an awareness about this whole aspect of “conduits”.

Whenever I hear the word “conduit” I immediately flash to PVC piping.  I believe this is from years of remodeling houses in our spare time and living with exposed PVC piping for many of them.  The concept is very simple – a tubular device that allows some type of substance to pass through, creating a direct line to its destination.  There are 3 aspects to the use of the conduit:  the input, the conduit passageway, and the output.  Got it.  Or so I thought.

I realized that, as I said before, I’ve worked to perfect my input by getting myself into a position to receive.  I’ve read that these divine messages are kind of like radio waves:  they are constantly swarming around us, invisible and unrecognizable to most, and it is only with a receiver that you can pick them up.  And not all receivers will pick up the same waves/messages, just like you can’t access AM signals if you have an FM receiver.  (Or perhaps I am dating myself and should say “HD vs non-HD”…)  Anyway, through meditation and other vehicles I have learned to “receive” some messages, although most times it shocks me when I actually do.  And through all of my teaching and coaching training I have learned to deliver a message pretty well.  I just realized, however, from one of those “shocking” messages I’ve recently received, that I am maybe not quite so great at the middle part.

It all boils down to this:  if I’m going to be the mouthpiece, perhaps I need to remember that it’s the MESSAGE that’s important, not me.  I came to realize that many times I’ll get an idea/message, and then sit on it and I try to figure out what to do with it.  As in, how do I put the right spin on it?  But thinking about that PVC example, I don’t seem to recall any piping taking in a substance, deciding what the outcome really should be and then spitting it out.  I am not sure why I feel I need to massage the information to make it seem more…what?  Pretty?  Acceptable?  Interesting?

On rare occasions I have allowed myself to simply be the conduit and it always surprised me when the person on the receiving end knew what I was saying, even when I didn’t.  I recall just mentioning a single word to a client once because I couldn’t get it out of my head.  Of course I had to apologize in advance to save face, just in case she thought I was totally bizarre.  But she absolutely knew what it was about and thanked me profusely for it.  Still to this day I have no idea how that happened, but am grateful that it did.

My first try at this new “conduit” idea is actually this blog.  I have no idea if this means anything to anyone but somehow I get the ideas for the entries and feel compelled to write them down.  Not seeing your faces as you read it does shield my ego a bit, but its good practice for me to learn to trust and move forward on my path, PVC piping and all.

There is something so very rewarding about shoveling.  It’s the winter equivalent of weeding a garden.  When I first look at the task at hand, I shudder and think of a million other things I just HAVE to do now, or who I could get to do it for me.  But once I resign myself to the task and get into the mindless rhythm of it, I find myself smiling.  I love the way my muscles respond to the challenge, even while knowing that while I couldn’t tell you which ones I’m using in the moment, I will be made painfully aware of their presence in the morning!  I love the silence that envelopes the otherwise bustling block.  Gleeful squeals from kids on sleds or playful barks from dogs overjoyed with their snowy wonderland replace the sound of cars rushing by.  The scraping of shovel against sidewalk is like striking gold and each exposed patch of the concrete path makes me swell with pride at my accomplishment.

Shoveling, like any mindless chore, gives me a great opportunity to give my conscious mind a job to do and frees my unconscious mind to roam freely.  Ideas come spilling forward and the excitement of the job well done combines with the excitement of new things to do or write or imagine.  Before I realize it I am nearly done and return all my focus to “breaking through” to the other side  and completing my mission.

I walk back inside, feeling tired but proud.  I go to the picture window to survey my handiwork, just as the plows storm by and fill back in the driveway.  The sidewalk, bare a minute ago, has already been covered by the still falling snow.  I sigh, and then smile, remembering that sweet time of escape I just experienced.  Looks like Mother Nature is going to give me lots of opportunities to feel that again!