stress

The Peas

Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.

Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.

Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.

Farms and Pies Oh My

When Bruce and I were first married, we discovered Jones’ Family Farm, and started a tradition.

Each October we’d go to the farm and pick out a huge pumpkin. Then we’d bring it home, and work all weekend to make pies (usually 9) and loaves (usually 6).

Sometimes, we’d make pumpkin cookies or pumpkin pancakes (not a big hit). We’d cook the seeds. Then we’d distribute the pies to my parents and my brother Mike, Bruce’s parents, aunties, neighbors, etc.

I’d always bring some in for the teacher’s lounge at Second Hill Lane School.

A Beauty All Its Own

I am drawn to where the past lingers on, like Sturbridge Village Museum in Massachusetts, where people dress up in yesteryear clothes and character. It is truly amazing how these people fit their parts so well, as if being transported back 300 years.

Seeing the farmer in a long coat shepherding a flock of sheep thru the village green.

Seeing the potter casually spinning a clay pot.

Seeing the tinker making a lantern of tin or a candleholder of pewter.

Seeing how they cook in a hearth with an open fragrant log fire.

I Like Quiet Time

I like the quiet times.

When there is a lull in the day.

And the hectic pace stops.

I like the clock that I can hear tick-tock. It beats at one herz – what an interesting number – one cycle per second, the rate of a heart beating.

I like to take a walk, with no thoughts, no agenda, nothing to solve.

I like to stare out into space and see what appears.

I am open and willing to receive.

I see the morning dew on the grass, sparkling and twinkling, and find it hard to look away.

I like the quiet time smelling hot apple pie baking.

I Am Calm

I am calm.

My inner world is mine.
I choose peace there.
I sit quietly and feel the earth beneath me, supporting me. It’s always there.
I am calm.

Even being a little calm calls more, stronger calm.

I breathe in fresh air, a fresh viewpoint, fresh understanding.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I place my attention on me alone. My thoughts drop away.
Guardian angel, strengthen me.
I am calm.

Stillness

Have you ever needed to be still?
Not to be disturbed but be left all alone?
Some people are afraid to be alone.
They fear the quiet, that space.

Other’s revel in it.
In that quiet contemplative space much may occur.
Or nothing feels like it is happening.
It may be just dead silence.

What is good is to realize often when we would like to be still,
We just avoid it
Or when we are forced to be still, for example, like an illness,
We appreciate what we had.

Stop Talking

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts. And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart, you live in your lips. And sound is a diversion and a pastime.

And in much of your talking, thinking is half-murdered, for thought is a bird of space, that in a cage or words may indeed unfold its wings, but cannot fly.

Crawfish Delight

There’s a brook along the road on my drive home from work. I stopped there today, parked my car, and I walked out to the middle of the brook. You can do it if you’re very careful, and you select the stones that rise just above the shallow eight inches of the babbling brook.

I walked out to the middle, and I stopped. And I crouched down. A few feet away, the brook gets deeper, maybe three to four feet. And the rapids are moving quicker. The sound is intensified, so strong and so loud, you can’t even hear the cars passing on the highway just 40 yards away.

The Floating Driftwood

There’s a brook by the side of the road. Sometimes, on the way home, I stop here.

It only takes a minute to get out of the car, you walk out, you tip toe across the little stones that extend and rise above the brook. It’s shallow here, maybe eight inches deep.

So I picked it, and select the large rocks, and I’m standing now in the middle.

The sound is beautiful.

As I look to my right, upstream, I see a driftwood. It’s floating down right now.

I wonder what’s going through that driftwood’s mind. Aimlessly, without a care in the world, just floating.

Hold Your Tongue

My mom would say to us when we were little, “If you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing at all.”

You ever notice in life, when you get in conversations with people in your family or good friends, that something will be said that’s hurtful or insensitive? Immediately, the natural thing to do is to respond, to react to what was said, and come back and protect yourself. And it’s said in the way of an attack.

Copyright 2020 Heart Speak, LLC.