Gratitude – Barbara Heagy

Stop and Smell the Roses

Stop and smell the roses. An old cliche, but it still holds true. Too many of us get caught up in this busy world and lose focus of what is really important to us. I read a wonderful Facebook post by Canadian singer/songwriter Jann Arden this morning that made me look at my own rushed and busy life. Thank you, Jann, for reminding us to slow down. I, too, used to pride myself on hitting the floor running each morning. Now I stretch a little, think a little, say a little prayer, and slowly ease myself into a day. There are still days when I have to set that alarm and get going but, with retirement, those days are few.

I still get caught up with my daily to-do list but I am more reasonable to myself and prioritize activities throughout the day. I still need to chop away at those obligatory “I shoulds.” I get trapped in false measures of success and don’t always fill my cup with my own desires and wants first. I still need to learn to say “No” more often. I still need to re-structure my day so that I feel I have spent it doing worthwhile activities that have meaning to me.

Balance is a hard one for me; peace, joy, love, and a personal sense of accomplishment. That’s what I seek in my life. At the end of each day, I should ask myself, “Did I find moments of peace today? Did I find a burst of joy today? Did I share love today? Did I accomplish at least one of my goals today? I do pray at the end of each day for the world, for my loved ones, for others but I rarely say a prayer for myself. Let me learn to do that better. To know and love myself better.

The Autumn of My Life

In the Autumn of my life may I remember that this is when one’s true colours come out in all their showy splendour. My beauty glows in scarlets and golds laced with hints of the past green of yesterdays. I blaze and my brilliance can take your breath away. I can only stand in awe at the majesty of it all.

Even as they fall from the trees, the leaves dance to their end in swirling, twirling eddies of colour. Such joy in their descent. I dance with them.

But the show of glory isn’t over yet.

I watch my grandchildren playing in the leaves on the ground. That’s when they’re the most fun for running and leaping, rolling and tossing in arms of brilliance. I join them in play too. And we laugh. And laugh some more. For what is life if we have forgotten how to laugh and play?

I used to say summer was my favourite season but maybe now it’s fall. It’s when the richness of a life well-lived comes to its peak of brilliance.

Before the quiet slumber of winter comes, let me revel in this season of beauty and wear my colours with pride and gratitude. And a whole lot of merriment. And add a dab of silliness just for fun.

A Sit Spot

A Sit Spot — “A sit spot is simply a favourite place in nature (or looking out a window at nature) that is visited regularly to cultivate awareness, expand senses and study patterns of local plants, birds, trees, and animals. The practice supports mindfulness, builds routine and increases focus.” (www.wildsight.ca)

My friend/dancer Colleen Frances, introduced me to this phrase. She took a beautiful picture of me on a beach in Costa Rica before our morning dance class began, when I was just sitting alone, prayerfully, gratefully enjoying the morning sunrise. She told me that if we do this, pick a spot each day, the same spot, perhaps the same time, and then just open our senses to what is happening around us, the birds and the animals begin to expect us and things begin to happen. Things we would never have noticed if we hadn’t sat silently and expectantly are wondrously noticed by us.

We Are Wildness (www.wearewildness.com) says the five qualities of a perfect Sit Spot are “it is close, it has nature, it is solitary, it is safe, your attitude.” Any spot can be a perfect Sit Spot, even if it doesn’t appear that way at first.

Once we’ve chosen our spot, Colleen used the phrase RAW — Relaxed body, Alert mind, Waiting spirit, to describe the mental conditions we use when we sit at our ‘Sit Spot.’

My photographer friends often use this means of getting that perfect and unique photo. Stu McCannell, a skilled wildlife photographer, told us that the birds and insects and other animal life around us have habitual patterns that we can use to get that perfect shot. The Kingfisher returns to the same perch overhanging the river or the dragonfly has a favourite blade of grass or leaf to return to. In my garden, I know when to expect the robin for its nightly bath in my small pool.

My artist friend Suzanne Dyke, loves to sit in ‘plein aire’ and paint what she sees in front of her. Sections of my books have been written after sitting, contemplating nature and my own thoughts.

Choose a Sit Spot. Visit it every day. First, just sit, in quiet and alertness, watching and listening. You may be inspired to paint that picture, write that journal entry, take that photo, or it may just relax you and fill you with wonder at our beautiful natural world we have around us. “Stop and smell the roses” as they say. You’ll be better for it.

(Photo – Colleen Frances)

Thank You, Brittany

Yesterday, my daughter Brittany, returned back to her own apartment after a four week visit. We both live alone and she works from home, so it was a wonderful time of bonding once again. Last summer she came to live with me for 16 weeks and together we built a magnificent garden in the back yard restoring a weedy lot into a showcase of flowers, flagstones, and a fountain.

I was glad she was here this spring and together we enjoyed running out to the garden to see what secrets were sprouting from our plantings last year. We were happy to see so many of the perennials return, bigger and better, and we were able to enjoy the garden so much earlier this year with minimal weeding and pruning. This year, she helped me plant some more: a red peony, new lilies, delphiniums, dahlias, cosmos, Star of Bethlehem, creeping phlox, a planter of various herbs, as well as adding many bright coloured annuals to the mixture. New seeds and bulbs got planted and we’ll see how they do: sunflowers, scarlet runner beans, and gladiolas.

She also did so much work inside my home, adding her skills as an interior designer to many areas.

My office has been transformed from a cluttered and busy site to a comfortable and pristine workplace. She stripped wall coverings, re-plastered and sanded, then painted all the walls a beautiful shade of blue. She organized and re-designed the books and frames and knick-knacks down to a well-ordered, trim, and efficient space that still reflects my personality and interests.

Years ago, when I was looking after my daughter’s cats while she travelled the world for years, the cats decided the old wooden door frames in my home were great scratching posts. The cats are now gone but the damage remained. Brittany decided she could restore them back to their former glory and started researching how to do it. As a surprise to me, she sanded and re-stained seven doorways and frames.

She drew up blueprints for my back sun porch and we now await our contractor to create the space with new cupboards, ceiling, light fixtures, and flooring. We already have waiting the new laminate flooring, a beautiful carpet, a bench, a shoe cupboard, and a new mirror.

I can’t thank her enough for all that she has done for me. We both realize that the universe came together in so many ways, the biggest being the pandemic, to give us both the opportunity and time to be together and build on our relationship in my home.

Brittany, I love you and thank you for doing so much for me. You are generous and hard-working and have a beautiful spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Margaret in the Mirror – A Short Story

“Look in the mirror and what do you see?

All the faces of who I used to be.”

Barbara Heagy

Margaret looked into the bathroom mirror as she did every morning. She ran her fingers through her hair, eased out the tangles. Picking at the corner of her eye, she rubbed away the sleepiness of the night. As she leaned in to the mirror, she flexed her lips to check for stray pieces of food caught in her teeth. Stepping back, she glanced down for a moment and then back up to greet the face in the mirror. She struck her pose, her best look. Turning her face slowly to the right, then the left, she examined the small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. “That’s okay, they’re my smile lines,” she told herself confidently. The same smile lines curved down from either side of her nose to the edges of her lips. As if to prove it to herself, she smiled once at the reflection. And that’s when she noticed it.

A little spark, a twinkle in her eyes, a flash of mischief, looked back at her. Her silly, get-into-trouble three-year old face was still there, looking for the next amusement that would send her into high-pitched giggles and squeals of delight. She stuck her tongue out at it. No wonder she enjoyed her little grandson so much. He gave her licence to let the little girl out once in a while, to romp and play and be enchanted by the simple pleasures of life once again.

She took one step back away from the mirror and looked past that little girl to another reflection. This time a young girl, an almost woman, stood shyly in front of her. Margaret could see the bloom on her cheek, the tightly closed lips afraid to say the wrong thing, the averted eyes edged with long, curling lashes, that cautiously looked up at her, then quickly looked away again as they made eye contact. Margaret knew she still lived inside of her. Every time Margaret was faced with a new social situation, a new challenge at work, the insecure young girl appeared, telling her she just wasn’t ready, didn’t know enough, wasn’t capable of grand achievement.

Margaret stood a little taller, pulled herself erect into the whole woman she knew she could be. She looked again at the reflection. This time, she saw a grown woman. A woman about to be married. A woman who loved and knew she was loved. The face was rounder, the lips fuller, the eyes shone in confidence. It was a sensuous face, a glowing face, a face that was about to embark on a new journey with a man who loved her. Margaret could see the future in that face, full of promise, children, and new adventures. Margaret smiled at the reflection. It, too, was still a part of her.

But then she eased herself back into her own form. She stood a little less at attention, relaxed into the older body that was hers that morning. She looked back intently at the mirror. The face she saw this time was even fuller, a little saggy, a few more wrinkles than she had first admitted to. But the eyes were calm, all-knowing, all-accepting. She was proud of that face – proud of every gray hair on her head, proud of every crease on her cheek and forehead. She was now a mature woman, a woman that was an accumulation of all her life experiences. A woman that had lived a rich, meaningful life; one of joy and pain, sorrow and celebration, and a full acceptance of it all. None of it was lost. It was still all there, reflected back at her from that beautiful face in the mirror.

The Bubble Has Burst

I’m back from camping for four glorious days at the Hillside Music Festival with my family. We were part of the 1,400 volunteers, musicians, artisans and food-makers who helped to create the magic for the three day festival on a small island in the middle of a lake.

Hillside is really like living in a bubble – a bubble filled with music, singers and poets. It’s filled with drummers and dancers, parades and gatherings, art and artisans, beauty-makers and joy-creators. Tantalizing aromas fill the air with sizzling sausages, spicy tacos and curry fries. Colours and textures infuse the eyes with tie-dyed fabrics, twisted metals and gems, and carved wood pieces. Workshops offer new experiences of living and loving, moving and creating. The Children’s Zone is full of bubbles and paint, sand and water, music, crafts and laughter. The smoke from the Sacred Fire rises to the skies all weekend long, circling around the poles of the tipi in the Indigenous Circle.

Volunteers get to stay on the island where we create Volly Village with tents and trailers, banners and pennants. In the village are old friends and new friends, stories and gatherings, love and sharing. After hours, campfires burn and spontaneous musical jams and drumming fill the nighttime hours until the sun rises and a new day begins.

Yes, Hillside Music Festival is a delicious escape from reality. Now the bubble has burst and we all have returned to our homes. The secret lies in keeping the memories and magic alive in our own little worlds with photos and mementos, shared stories and friendships. It truly was a Happy Hillside and I am looking forward to next year.

Cracked Open

December 11, 2018, was the anniversary of Tom, my beloved husband’s death. Eight years ago, he passed away into another world. Facebook, my main social media site, has a feature that takes you back on your timeline with each passing day. You are able to see what you did and said on December 11 from 2008, 2009, and so on. I was able to trace my life for the weeks and days preceding Tom’s death. I could see all the things that were happening and my comments on them, and I couldn’t help but think over and over again, If I only knew that one week later, three days later, Tom would be dead. It put a very different perspective on life for me. We just never know, do we, what life will bring. It reminded me even more to live each day fully, with zest. This is the main theme of my book, our story, in 10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss that I published after Tom’s death. His death and the grief over the subsequent years has taught me much about living a full life.

Grief has softened me. Not at first. First I felt raw and torn, laid open like a jagged wound. But with time that has healed and in the opening of that wound, deep in my gut, I have come to recognize a soft, vulnerable place. And I mean I physically feel it that way. There used to be a hole, a place where the pain of losing Tom and never having him in my life again sat like a dark cavern. It has been replaced. Now there is a fullness filling that empty hole, a soft spot, almost like the yolk inside an egg. It sits in the same place, never forgetting, but always accepting. Tom’s death took away a piece of my soul, but left behind a soft, accepting centre of love and gratitude. It may be delicate, but it’s not weak. In its softness is strength, courage, empathy. It’s pliable, secure, and forgiving.

Reading Mark Nepo’s , The Book of Awakening, I came across this passage. He seems to know about that soft spot within that comes after deep pain. He writes:

“It leads me to say that if you are unhappy or in pain, nothing will remove those surfaces. But acceptance and a strong heart will crack them like a shell, exposing a soft thing waiting to take form. It glows. I think it is the one spirit we all share.”

Grief has cracked me open, and because I was able to look and experience it full in the face, it has left behind a soft jewel in the centre of my soul.

I Am From

As an introduction to each other at our recent Rhythmwood Soul Journey, Wendy Roman asked us to write a poem about ourselves from a basic form called “I Am From . . . “. All we had to do was fill in the blanks as we reminisced about our past and contemplated all the people and events that had formed who we are today. Here is my poem. What would your poem be?

I Am From by Barbara Heagy

I am from country farms,
From czardas and paprikash.

I am from grandma’s warm lap
like sheltering laughter.

I am from lilacs, fresh mown hay,
and bubbling creeks.

I am from hippies and hash,
From cool northern lakes and jumping fish.

I am from journals and contemplations,
From words and books and songs.

I am from breath and moving bodies.

I am from spiritual journeys danced in prayers,
laced with pain and grace.

I am from daughters to grandsons.

I am from love –
assured and unconditional.

To My Gr. 1’s – Class of 2010-11

To my Gr. 1 student,

Tonight, you my student from my Gr. 1 class of 2010-11 graduate from elementary school. Next September 2018 you head on to high school. I wanted to be there to watch you accept your diploma. I wanted you to know that you and your classmates are a very special class to me. You were with me through the final stages of my husband Tom’s cancer journey and you and your family were in my life when he passed away December 11, 2010. Your kindness and support at that difficult time meant so much to me.

I wrote a book called 10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss about my life with my husband and our final days. Did you know that you and your classmates are in my book? Here are some excerpts from the book to show you how much you all meant to me.

I love, love, love my little class this year . . . I have been very open about Tom
and his cancer, and they regularly make cards and letters for both of us, telling
us how much they love us and how they are really hoping Tom feels better.
It’s a regular little Love Fest’. They are so cute!

We made some wonderful memories together and you brightened my days at some of my darkest hours.

My class went to Puck’s Farm, over near Schomberg, last week with the other
Gr. 1 class, and we had a fabulous day! The weather was sunny with a blue sky.
It was cool but not cold, and the kids and adults had a ball. We were rotated
through ten different centres of activity which included pony rides for every kid,
a hay wagon ride led by two big old horses, a tour through the barn to see the
pigs, chickens, sheep, horses, donkeys and geese, a cedar maze . . . , another maze
made on a hill made of sorghum grass which grows up to 12 feet, and a tour through the apple orchard where we picked and ate to our heart’s content while sitting under the old apple trees which were spray-free. There was a little carnival area with a jumping castle and a tiny Ferris wheel, and we each got to try our hand at milking the very patient and well-behaved cow. It wasn’t as easy as it looked.
The cow was not very pleased with me as I tried and tried to get milk squirting,
(she kept looking over her shoulder at me, but I finally did it). Every kid went home
with a pumpkin and a smile.

In November and December, we made more memories.

My Christmas spirit is starting to kick in. It has to when you teach small children.
We made our first Christmas craft in the classroom, pizza boxes cut into wreaths
decorated with tissue paper puffs and crepe paper ribbons. You can still smell
the cheese and pepperoni on the box, but it is our attempt at reusing cardboard
in a creative and environmental way. Mmmmm, our wreaths smell good! I also
got handed the script for the Christmas play with the music so we have already
started to listen to it and are getting ready for rehearsals which start next week.
We finally finished our last writing project we were doing as a whole school on
the theme of ‘Courage’. The last project was writing a letter to someone we felt
had demonstrated courage. My Grade Ones wrote to soldiers, fire fighters, and
to Terry Fox’s Mom, Dad and family. Some wrote to their own sisters, brothers,
moms, dads, and grandparents. One little boy wrote to a Special Needs kid I
had in my class last year whose life daily hangs on a thread.

So, you see, your love and support as a small child was very important to me. Kindness, at any age, is a gift of love no matter who is offering it or who is receiving it. I hope you remember to be kind to others as you go on to high school and become an adult. Knowledge is important but care for your world whether it be a person, an animal, or nature is more important.

My best wishes for you as you go on to new adventures. Keep learning, keep being curious, keep being open to the world. I believe in you. Most of all, keep believing in yourself. You can do anything you set your heart to.

Warmly,

Mrs. Barbara Heagy
Gr. 1 Teacher, 2010-11

NOLA Jazz Music and Life Lessons

NOLA Jazz Music and Life Lessons – April 28, 2018

This month I visited the renowned city of New Orleans, the birthplace of jazz music. We stayed close to the French Quarter and had many opportunities every day to hear jazz music in a variety of venues – the street, small pubs, the beautiful Orpheum Theatre, aboard the Steamboat Natchez, and the night clubs of Frenchman Street. I’ve been to several jazz events and festivals in my life but, for some reason, the New Orleans musicians made me see my life differently. The way they related to each other as they played, their culture, their spirit, all spoke to me. It seemed there were some unspoken rules while playing that could be good examples for living a balanced, kind, and joyful life for us all.

Thank you, New Orleans musicians. This is what you taught me.

Live in the moment. Catch the groove and ride it.
Be creative. Look for the magic and let it happen.
Be generous. Offer your best. Give it your all.
Take turns. Share the glory. Give everyone a chance to shine.
Be authentic. Be real. Be you, for you are special.

And, above all,

Have fun.

Life is a celebration. Throw yourself into it and share your joy with others.