Tag: love

The Transformative Power of Art: A Visit to Tamarack

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Do you still feel up for going to the Tamarack?” my husband asked.

A Heavy Heart and a Planned Escape 🚘

Days earlier, we had loosely planned a day trip. The goal was to stop in Charleston for brunch on the way to Beckley, to nose around the galleries and marketplace of the Tamarack, and then return home, making a couple of quick errand stops along the way. Unfortunately, my spirit had been bruised by life, as sometimes happens, but despite feeling down, I agreed to go in the hopes it would be a pleasant distraction.

The brunch and drive along the WV Turnpike were heavy, filled with somber, clarifying conversation as my husband tried to help me clean out the closet of my cluttered heart. Tumbled, but not fully dried from an onslaught of despair, I entered the Tamarack lightened by our discussion, but still damp with distress. My intention from the outset was not to make a purchase, but instead soak up the vibrant and creative energy of the art, and by proxy the artists, who created it. 

Echoing my own feelings, Stella Adler stated, “Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.”

Entering the Tamarack: A Sensory Shift

Once through the doors, I observed a crowd of people and wondered if this had been a good idea after all. Meandering to the right of the entrance, I surfed the sensory wave. Aromas of Appalachian-inspired cooking filled the air. A long line of people snaked around the fast-casual dining room as I made my way to the ladies’ room. Tamarack’s signature circular shape surrounding an open courtyard created a light and spacious feeling, even during this busy, pre-holiday time period. A multitude of glass windows, adorned with locally designed, gemstone-colored stained glass pieces, radiated an additional cheery warmth. The animated energy of visitors’ conversation added a rhythmic pulse to a popular sing-along soundtrack playing in the background. 

Letting the Atmosphere Settle the Spirit

As I allowed the wave to immerse me, I soon noticed that my breathing and pulse had slowed, tensions were eased, and the emotional flames were beginning to quell. Despite my earlier qualms, I could feel the atmosphere offering a form of calming consolation. The simple act of getting lost in the admiration and appreciation for each artist, and the art pieces they created, nourished my spirit. 

Wandering the Galleries: Beauty in Every Craft 🖼️

Allowing the natural flow of the galleries to pull me along, I took in richly detailed textiles and exquisite, delicate glass pieces. There were complex and intricate woodworks and artisanal earthen and pottery wares. Tables of WV grown and/or crafted wines, beers, ciders, soaps, candles, and one-of-kind foods/beverages were also available. 

I also stopped by the book nook, filled with locally written fictional and nonfictional books, novellas, cook books, maps, travel guides, and other artfully written materials. Additionally, there was a separate gallery, bright with ample natural light, filled with one-of-a-kind WV paintings, sculptures, prints, and photographs. 

Art as Memory: Echoes of Loved Ones 👵🏼

Allowing the current of creativity to slowly move me at will, the art grounded me into the present moment as I mindfully soaked up the vibrant energy. Different pieces evoked precious memories of loved ones: quilts of my grandmother’s attic, pieces of furniture and toys handcrafted by my husband’s grandfathers, earthen dishes that were reminiscent of family holiday casseroles, paintings and photographs of forested hills during the fall and winter months similar to those I hiked with my siblings and father as a child, and hand sewn creations that my mother once made.

The Healing Power of Art 🎨

I was further reminded of the many art therapy majors with whom I had classes all those long ago years. They often described the important role of art in therapeutic and school settings, a truth supported by research. Creating art and observing art supports mental health and well-being.  It often helps with emotional regulation by creating an outlet in which emotions can be channeled. Art is known to reduce stress and is often used as a tool for creating a greater understanding of one’s emotional atmosphere. Works of art often create a connection/conversation between the creator and viewer, which can provide an opportunity for both personal and collective healing.

Creativity as Community Storytelling

This is because art, such as the works I viewed at Tamarack, is often a reflection of the emotional landscape of a community, region, or even country. How many colorful and varied life stories, events, and personalities, past and living, were being conveyed and connected all under one circular roof? Each stitch, stroke, cut, hammer strike, click, and spin breathed life into each creation that spoke to the heart and soul of human resilience and hope.

In the Company of Strangers: Shared Wonder

As I meandered through the gallery devoted to paintings and photographs, I often lingered on works that spoke to me. Simultaneously, I overheard a pair of women, who were gazing at a section of paintings by a Mingo County artist, speaking with near reverence about their own childhood experiences in the same area. Another couple whispered with one another at nearly every piece, laughing at the memories specific images seemed to evoke. 

Spaces of Belonging: More Than a Marketplace

It occurred to me that art galleries, like the Tamarack, create centers of belonging–gathering places that celebrate the human experience. These transactional spaces aren’t just about exchanging money; they also provide an interchange of ideas and stories between artist, piece, and viewer. Investing in these community hubs is an investment in one another, supporting each other emotionally and culturally. People leave the Tamarack with a taste of what it means to be Appalachian.

A Quiet Affirmation

Standing in that gallery, soaking up all of the intriguing and thought-provoking images, an employee shook me out of my reverie by asking if I was enjoying my visit. I nodded, stating that I was feeling lighter and more grounded than when I entered. She unpretentiously declared, “Art can do that for you.”

We chatted a bit more before I moved on to look through the prints outside the gallery. I still did not have any answers to my specific concerns, but I did have a sense of peace that comes from being heard. Not that I was literally heard; rather, the struggles and joys, the sadness and celebrations, and the wonder and the awe that went into creating these pieces “heard” and spoke to my own related emotions. It was the beginning of healing and hope that often happens when surrounded by reflections of inner beauty.

Leaving with Lightness and Hope

Thomas Merton is credited with stating, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” My visit to Tamarack allowed such a juxtaposition: by surrendering myself to time spent with art, my capacity for healing renewal was possible. It served as a reminder. When we immerse ourselves in the present moment, we kindle the still, small voice within, our hearts and minds steady at the sound of this whispering inner-knowing, and we can rest assured we are being held even when the heaviness of life weighs us down. Perhaps that is the gentle promise held within art: when life seems overwhelming and hopeless, the beauty of art and/or the creative process is there to offer us wings of hope for rising once more.

Embracing Silence: The Owl’s Call to Mindful Listening

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“A wise old owl sat on an oak;
 The more he saw the less he spoke;
 The less he spoke the more he heard.” —old proverb

A wise-looking owl perched on a branch in a dark, wooded area, illuminated softly by moonlight.
Photo by Erik Karits on Pexels.com

Listening in the Dark 🌌

I am an early riser, typically awake before the sun. A few weeks ago, my ears perked at the haunting, penetrating call of an owl. Its “Hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo” echoed around our yard as I looked out into the murky dark. Since then, I intentionally listen for its steadfast call. It has become both a comfort and a mystery—an invitation to listen, reflect, and learn something new.

The owl’s call continues, I am certain, even when I am not listening; yet it requires my full attention in those predawn hours if I hope to notice it regularly. Its presence illustrates the importance of listening and discerning with care and purpose.

A grey and white owl perched on a branch with wings partially spread, showcasing its feathers and an alert expression against a green blurry background.
Photo by Petra Ryan on Pexels.com

What Owls Teach Us About Voice 🗣️

The autumnal hoots I hear, I learned after a bit of research, are used mostly to communicate territory and to call to potential mates. (It is worth noting that many owl species mate for life, finding another only if a partner dies or becomes separated.) Owls also use distinct calls to warn a mate, their nestlings, or even neighboring owls when danger is near. Only when the threat is imminent do they screech, hiss, or snap their beaks in defense of their young. Like the owl, we, too, can carefully choose when to use our voices amid the noise of the world, saving our own form of “screeching” for the rarest and most necessary moments.

Three barn owls perched on a branch in low light, showcasing their distinctive features against a dark background.
Photo by throughmylife_in_ INDIA on Pexels.com

Signals of Respect and Coexistence 🦉

As I read more, I couldn’t help admiring how owls communicate—practically, respectfully, almost as if to say, “I am here. You are there. Let us coexist with our shared resources and help ward off danger.” To be certain, I am personifying and simplifying their communication, but perhaps there is a lesson for us. In a world that often isn’t equitable in its distribution of resources, space, or power, maybe we can learn the art of signaling like owls—communicating truthfully and transparently without silencing others. What if we approached our conversations with presence, restraint, respect, and a shared awareness of the landscape we inhabit?

Holding Our Ground with Grace 🙏

Hearing the owl’s early morning “Hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo” reinforces the importance of holding our own ground—our principles, values, beliefs, and even compassions—without becoming loud or defensive. The owl does not insist on being seen; rather, it asserts its message with a reserved dignity. We, too, can claim our “territory” through composed conviction and fairness, standing firm without demeaning others. Faith in our tenets, like my unseen morning owl, calls us to trust what cannot be seen but can be discerned only in stillness.

A tall tree with orange leaves against a clear blue sky, surrounded by a grassy area and a house in the background.
Fall is a time of release and renewal.

Autumn’s Invitation to Adapt 🍂

Autumn is a season of release and preparation. Light softens, signaling leaves to fall as trees ready themselves for winter’s quiet work. Many creatures follow this rhythm, including the owl in my backyard adapting to the shifting season. We, too, are invited to adapt—to let go of what is no longer needed, recalibrate our priorities, and listen more deeply. The natural world thrives on balance, which is different from our human desire for “fairness.” It exists in a subtle harmony in which every being plays a role. I wonder what might happen if we focused more on harmony—the give-and-take of shared ecosystems and resources—paired with the wisdom of knowing when to listen and when to speak.

A woman in a pink hijab interacts playfully with a barn owl perched on her arm, pointing towards its face, with another owl visible in the background.
Photo by Rangga Aditya Armien on Pexels.com

The Harmony of Coexistence 🕊️

The autumn owl’s voice in my backyard is solitary, and yet it reflects community. It marks its presence while acknowledging the presence of others, including us. Coexistence, the owl teaches, requires more than hearing what others say; it requires listening to the silences. Of course, human coexistence is complicated, and life often isn’t what we would call fair.

Therefore, it becomes incumbent upon us to listen, act kindly, and withhold judgment—offering small or not-so-small acts of goodness to help restore balance. This may mean choosing gentleness, or even silence, over the need to be “right,” especially when a loved one, friend, or coworker says or posts something unkind or expresses an opinion we strongly oppose. Likewise, offering compassion instead of judgment when someone is rude or ill-behaved can shift a moment for the better, even if only because we have refused to be pulled into energy-sapping negativity.

A serene forest scene with tall trees bathed in soft rays of sunlight filtering through the branches, creating an ethereal atmosphere.
Photo by Atlantic Ambience on Pexels.com

Before the Light Returns 🌅

The owl still calls unseen in the dark predawn hours, reminding us that communication, connection, and hope often begin before the light returns. The owl does not question whether the sun will rise; it simply continues its call, trusting the rhythm of creation. Like my unseen neighbor, I pray we find the courage to speak fairly, listen deeply, and have faith in the unseen process—knowing that every voice lifted in love and fairness echoes far beyond what we can see.

Perhaps that is the heart of the owl’s lesson: when we listen more deeply, we create the conditions for fairness to grow. As I recently read, “Life isn’t fair. It isn’t, which is why people should endeavor to be more fair to one another, not less.” —Kate Quinn.

Running Toward Hope: A Marathon of Movement and Love

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Every run is a work of art, a drawing on each day’s canvas. Some runs are shouts and some runs are whispers. Some runs are eulogies and others celebrations.”—Dagny Scott Barrios

A group of three people, including a man in a green hoodie, a woman in a bright orange top with a running bib, and a woman in a gray sweater, gather smiling at a running event in an outdoor setting with other runners in the background.
Just before the start of the marathon I took time to get a hug from my two biggest supporters throughout the training process: my husband, L, and my daughter, R.

A Morning of Reflection and Gratitude 🌅

A light mist fell as an overcast gray morning began to chase away the night. I stood quietly in a throng of animated runners, taking deep breaths as reflection and gratitude washed over me. Months of preparation had led to this moment, and I felt thankful not only for my health but for the loving support that carried me here—to this celebration of movement, resilience, and connection.

Running as an Act of Hope ✨

It had been ten years since I last pinned on a bib for this distance, and my body hummed with anticipation, hope, and belief—the belief that movement is for everyone at every age, and that it is, in itself, an act of hope. I was about to embark on an emotional 26.2-mile trail of faith that became more about the people who supported me than the miles themselves.

Discovering Joy in Gentle Movement 😄

I came to running later in life, and it wasn’t easy at first. Only when I learned to approach running gently—to let go of preconceived (and societal) notions of what running “should” be—did I discover paths full of freedom, clarity, and renewal. Movement, whether running, walking, dancing, or stretching, benefits body, mind, and spirit. It brings a sense of structure to an often chaotic world and offers a feeling of accomplishment—if nothing else goes right in a day, at least I moved my body. Movement brings us alive to ourselves, our spirit, and, in turn, to the world around us.

The joy, I’ve learned, is in the doing—not in attaching to a pace, distance, or goal. Those things can be part of the experience, but they aren’t required.

A man and a woman embrace warmly in a crowded setting, both smiling in a moment of connection before a marathon.
Maddie’s, my daughter, boyfriend, Connor, flew all the way from Austin, TX to be part of this event. Together, with Maddie, he helped plan the marathon surprise of a lifetime!

Redefining What It Means to Age 🧓

As I neared my 60th birthday, I began to notice messaging that framed this decade as one of limitation. I decided instead to flip the narrative and celebrate the 60s as a decade of possibilities. Why not run into this new decade the way I ran into my 50s—with eyes and arms wide to adventure?

Training with Gentleness and Grace 😌

Since I was already running regularly, I committed to training for a marathon, but this time with gentleness. Instead of a traditional four-month build-up, I created a ten-month plan that encouraged patience, routine, and presence. Twice-weekly strength training and yoga joined the schedule, as did listening to my body and using the run-walk-run method as needed. I also focused on proper hydration and fueling before, during, and after runs. Most of all, my husband and daughter supported me from the very beginning—their quiet, everyday encouragement becoming a steady foundation of strength.

A woman running on a street wearing a bright pink long-sleeve top, black leggings, and a cap, displaying a race number on her waist.
Gentleness was a large part of the 10-month training block that led to this moment of hope and celebration.

Adapting Through Life’s Curveballs 😰

Training for a marathon brings rhythm and structure to daily life—the early morning runs, the long weekend miles that lengthen gradually, and the sweet evening stretches after dinner. But life, of course, has its curveballs: weather shifts, fatigue, scheduling conflicts, unexpected events, and bouts of self-doubt. With age, though, I’ve learned to adapt rather than resist these realities, co-creating a practical, flexible approach to progress.

As my weekend long runs grew longer, my husband and daughter often appeared—driving by, stopping to cheer, or jogging beside me for a short distance. These small bursts of love in action fueled my heart and kept me going. Training, I realized, was less about mileage and more about cultivating fortitude, flexibility, and gratitude—along with a dash of fierceness—all essential life skills carried from the road.

A group of enthusiastic spectators cheer on runners during a marathon, surrounded by autumn foliage and a partly cloudy sky.
Maddie, and my husband, John, often showed up during the last few miles of my Saturday long runs to cheer me on as Maddie is seen here doing during the actual event itself.

Race Day: A Celebration of Love 💖

As the marathon began, the city of Huntington vibrant in energy, rebelling against the lackluster sky. Rhythmic footfalls and nervous chatter surrounded me as runners jostled for position. Warmly dressed spectators cheered, waving handmade signs against a backdrop of burnished orange, crimson, and yellow autumn trees. Little did I know that my daughter had turned this event into an outpouring of love.

Surprises Along the Course 🫢

At the start, my husband, daughter, and her boyfriend—who had flown in from Texas to surprise me—stood cheering. But that was only the beginning. Every few miles along the route, my daughter had arranged for friends, family, and coworkers to appear, waving signs and calling my name. I didn’t realize the scope of her plan until near the end, but each familiar face filled me with renewed energy, gratitude, and joy.

A female runner in a bright pink shirt crosses a street marked by traffic cones, while a supporter holds a sign nearby in a lively downtown setting.
The look of complete surprise when I see my sister, Traci, and her husband, David, around the 19-20 mile mark of the marathon. I had no idea they would show up along the route!
Two women running together on a city street during a marathon, with one holding a sign. They are surrounded by a lively atmosphere and shops in the background.
Of course, I had to veer off the path to give her hug, which helped uplift me over the next few miles.

Crossing the Finish Line 🏁

As I turned toward the final quarter mile, a group of race volunteers began singing “Happy Birthday” while my daughter’s boyfriend joined for a short burst of encouragement. My husband stood outside the stadium offering final words of encouragement, and my daughter met me at the bottom of the stadium ramp to run beside me as I approached the finish line. I wasn’t just completing a marathon; I was receiving the best birthday gift—a living reminder of love: a convergence of community, family, and friendship. It was a story of hope, purpose, generosity, and perseverance—the joy and power of a shared journey.

Two volunteers wearing bright reflective vests stand by a crosswalk in a park-like setting with blooming flowers and trees. In the background, a pathway leads towards a building under a cloudy sky.
This was the point, less than a quarter mile to go, when a group of race volunteers, led by an unknown female spectator and Conner, joined in to sing “Happy Birthday” to me as approached and rounded the corner to the finish line.

The Marathon as a Metaphor for Life 🪞

This journey mirrors life: we move forward by faith and grace, one step at a time, through both joy and challenge, supported by others who believe in us. That’s the power of movement—it connects us to our bodies, to others, and to something larger than ourselves. Choosing to move, to train, to keep going even when the path feels long, is an affirmation that with faith, growth and renewal are always possible—at any age.

Movement as a Lifelong Invitation 💌

Movement can take many forms: walking, stretching, dancing, or choosing to train for something big. The point is to move with intention and persistence, to embrace your own journey, and not attach to societal and social media messaging. Just move—and let movement open the door to new possibilities, both inner and outer.

A runner crosses the finish line at a sports stadium, with spectators in the stands and a clear blue sky overhead.
Maddie runs alongside me for the last few feet, just as she did in 2015, to encourage across the finish line. Once I was close to the finish line, she dropped back behind the rope to let me finish alone. However, I really wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by a giant embrace of joy, hope, and love of family, friends, and community!!

The Joy Continues ☺️

The rhythm of footsteps, the smiles for miles, and the faces of loved ones along the route are forever imprinted in my heart—all reminders that every step matters. The marathon finish line was crossed, but the renewed sense of possibility and joy continues. Whatever your pace or path, keep moving forward—heart, mind, and spirit. You never know what acts of hope and love may be waiting for you along life’s path.

A group of runners participating in a marathon on an overcast morning, with diverse individuals wearing colorful athletic clothing and cheerful expressions.
The joy, and the journey of love and hope, continues . . .

A Grateful Heart 💜

P.S. Thank you to the countless and nameless MUM volunteers who invested hours of time to ensure the safety and success of runners, walkers, and those beloved spectators. And, an extra special heartfelt thank you to my friends and family who celebrated this milestone with me. And to Maddie and John, I love you to the moon and back.

A group of three smiling individuals taking a selfie on a subway or train, with a map visible in the background.
I wonder where the next path of adventure will lead?
An assortment of hydration and energy products for runners, including electrolyte tablets and energy gels, arranged on a wooden surface.
Shout out to Precision Fuel and Hydration for the support during this training journey! I learned a lot from your team.

Thrive Through Love: Lessons From Plants

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“We must cultivate our own garden.”–Voltaire 

Drooping from lack of water, my mosaic plant symbolizes our soul without enough attention, love, and supportive relationships.

As I walked into my classroom after spring break, making my way behind my desk, my mosaic plant greeted me with drooping leaves as if to say, “Where have you been?” 

“You poor thing!” I spoke aloud to it–as if it would reply. “I am so sorry. Let me get you some water.” 

Oh, sure, Dear Reader, roll-your-eyes and act as if you don’t talk to your plants. I have no shame in admitting it. Besides, scientific research has established that talking to your plants can create low-level vibrations that stimulate growth. However, since that is not the thesis of this essay, I won’t wander any further down that path. 

The unwatered mosaic plant had suffered alone in the silence of my classroom for well over a week without water. This particular plant requires frequent watering and rotation. When given this, it responds with perky growth and vivid color. Therefore, it was a sad, sickly sight. 

As I carefully began to water my plant, hanging limply in the pot, it reminded me of the way in which humans also need care and attention. Regular watering of plants supports photosynthesis and the roots ability to absorb nutrients from the soil, both of which foster growth. Likewise, when humans receive adequate hydration and adequate nutrition from a healthy, well-balanced diet, our bodies have a better chance of remaining healthy and vibrant.  

Plants, like humans, thrive best when nurtured from within and without.

Continuing to gently water and mist my wilted mosaic plant–yes, I was talking to it all the while–I was reminded of the ways in which humans can wilt from neglect. Our mind, body, and spirit, like my mosaic plant, need nurturing. Without it, our inner world can wither, and we will limp along with a spiritual heart that has a difficult time beating. 

However, with regular sprinklings of love, affection, and/or supportive relationships, our souls can remain hydrated. From faith-based practices to monthly outings with friends or family, from attention/love of a pet to simple interactions with a store clerk, and from exchanging kind words/texts with a neighbor, co-worker, or organization/club member to actions of self-care/love, there are countless ways in which our souls can be watered and nurtured. Therefore, it is vital that we practice engaging with others, so we won’t wilt from lack of love and support. 

Moving around the room to water my other plants, I realized they would soon need to be repotted with fresh, fertilized soil. Some would need a bigger pot than the container in which they currently dwelled. Fresh, fertilized soil, rich in nutrients, is vital for the health and well-being of my plants. New soil will provide a wide array of ingredients uniquely combined to fortify my plants against disease to help them grow healthy and strong.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Likewise, in order for us to thrive, we, too, need nourishment from a variety of sources. One way we can thrive is by establishing and maintaining a purpose-filled life. This purpose can change and evolve over time as we age and mature, but it needs to be a purpose that not only compels us out of bed each morning, but fuels our life with meaning. 

Creating and maintaining meaningful connections with others, especially when linked to our purpose, can further enrich our lives deeply. Fortification can also be found by mentoring/helping others as well as surrounding ourselves with positive, supportive influences. These types of relationships can form a reciprocal, two-way street, much like plants form with people, which can facilitate an ongoing source of nourishment in our lives. 

Once all the plants were watered, I began rotating each pot to allow all parts of each plant equal time to face and absorb the warmth of sunlight. Sunshine, like water, is needed for photosynthesis. It is only through the process of photosynthesis that plants can have the food needed for growth. When plants face the challenge of living inside a building, they overcome that challenge by growing toward a window, even if it causes the plant to grow with a lean. 

Photo by Khanh Le on Pexels.com

We, too, need to lean into sunshine. The sunshine of positive experiences can imbue us with warmth and motivate us to keep going. That motivation is especially important when we are faced with challenges, as life is never obstacle-free. However, by facing the unique challenge(s) life tends to throw our way, we can eventually discover the unique joy of overcoming difficult circumstances, or at the very least, grow stronger and more resilient from the effort put into overcoming.  

And when those life-challenges seem endless, as they often do, lasting beyond what we think is possible, it warms and strengthens the soul to find pleasure in the little things. From the sweet embrace of a loved one to the sound of birdsong in the morning, from the taste of a great cup of coffee (or whatever) with a friend to the aroma of fresh cookies baking in the oven, or perhaps reading a new book or playing an instrument–whatever you choose, these small delights can be the rays of sunshine that help get us through those dark days of difficulty. 

The object lesson provided by my mosaic plant reminded me that no living thing– humans included–benefits from neglect. When we lose sight of love, meaningful connections, purpose, and positive experiences, we will internally wither, which can manifest itself as physical ailments and/or mental health issues. Without proper care and nurturing, we can grow disheartened, disinterested, and even emotionally distressed or traumatized. 

Photo by Tristan Le on Pexels.com

However, we all have the potential to thrive. Let us strive to offer love and understanding to others and to ourselves. When we see someone hurting, let us find ways to lift them up. 

Likewise, when we recognize our own heart is hurting, let us tend to our own needs through acts of self-compassion, reaching out to others, or seeking other positive means to act as rays of sunshine to lift our spirits. Our time on this earth is short, let us seek productive methods to nourish and enrich others as well as our own lives, so that our life garden can blossom and flourish, no matter where we are planted.

The Art of Loving Unconditionally: Lessons from A River Runs Through It

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings
A scenic view of a river meandering through lush greenery under a blue sky with clouds.
The flow of a river.

Words of Wisdom From a Classic read 📖

One of my favorite stories is A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean. It is an exquisitely written, semi-biographical account of Maclean, and his brother, Paul, growing up in Montana as sons of a Presbyterian minister who taught his boys the art of fly-fishing. The movie version, directed by Robert Redford, captures the earnest beauty of Maclean’s prose. Both pieces weave together a tapestry of thought-provoking life themes centered around family love and connection (including unconditional love for a family member), grace, the fragility and brevity of life, and the eternal nature of time, with the art of fly-fishing as a metaphor as the unifying thread. 

The story’s emphasis on the complicated nature of the brothers’ relationship make it especially compelling and heart-wrenching. Therefore, I have revisited both works on numerous occasions. Each time I reread the story, (and subsequently watch the film) I discover a new gem and/or am reminded of a favorite part, such as a well-written phrase, a turn of words, a point of symbolism, and so forth. My most recent encounter with Maclean’s work was towards the end of December. 

There is a set of lines that stirs my heart every time I read them: 

“So it is . . .that we can seldom help anybody.  Either we don’t know what part to give or maybe we don’t like to give any part of ourselves.  Then, more often than not, the part that is needed is not wanted. And, even more often, we do not have the part that is needed.”

“We are willing to help, Lord, but what if anything is needed?”

Two boys hiking together by a river, wearing casual outdoor clothing and smiling at each other.
AI generated by WordPress.

How do we help others? 🧍🧍‍♂️

As I once more read each word, underlining and contemplating them in the quiet hours of morning, I reflected upon how, with each reading, those words still ring true, but their meaning evolves as I progress in age and life experience. Those bittersweet words bring to mind loved ones and students over the years for whom I have tried to help.

More recently, students of one of my classes and I were discussing their currently assigned book. The main character in their book grew up in a rough set of circumstances, and through a series of unfortunate events, wound up incarcerated in a juvenile detention center. One of the questions that book raises is: Can someone overcome their circumstances and change with the right intervention/outside help? 

The students debated valid points. Some endorsed the possibility that people can overcome their environment and change for the better. Others pointed out the difficulty of changing what has been hard wired into you. 

As the discussion continued, a student asked me what I thought. All eyes in the circle turned to me.

A silhouetted hand reaching out, symbolizing support and connection.
Photo by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels.com

Bittersweet reminder 🤔

Maclean’s words echoed in my mind as I carefully considered my response. Memories flooded my mind–former students and more personal situations in which I have been truly willing to help– offering extra time, extra care, and extra love. In many cases I have researched and offered suggestions of help–probably way too many with the presumption of, “I can help them fix it,” whatever “it ” may be.  I’ve further ridden the waves of the person’s ups and downs as they strive to overcome and change. I have been, and I still am, willing to help; Lord knows, but as Maclean so eloquently articulated, “{I}we can seldom help anybody.”

Helping others is a complicated process for which our hearts may be in the right place. However, as Maclean points out: most change within another person is not in our control.  Perhaps being willing to help is the best any of us can do unless asked–and even then–we can only offer our support; it is the person who must do the work within.  

Maybe, our support and love will help instigate the needed change, but there’s a strong chance that it won’t. Therefore, it is not our job to “fix” others; it is, instead, our job to love them.  Of course, we can still sincerely believe in the person and continue to pray and hope that the person will overcome their difficult situation or change for the better, but in the meantime we must accept them as they are. 

 Rather than say all of this to my students, I kept it simple. I shared my belief that by nature, hope springs eternal for me when it comes to believing in my students’ (and others’) capabilities for growth and change. I don’t think I could have remained an educator for nearly four decades if I did not believe that change and growth is possible for all of my students. 

A woman with long hair, dressed in dark clothing, is shown in a contemplative pose with her hands clasped together in front of her, against a dark background illuminated with red and blue lighting.
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Be Present 🙏

And, while I didn’t share this with my students, my belief and hope flows into my own personal life, too. However, my profession and personal experiences continue to inform me that overcoming what has been ingrained into you at a young age, be it genetic, environmental, or both, is difficult, even with the best help and support.  Furthermore, my experience has also humbly informed me that assuming the person wants help or wants to change is arrogant and so is thinking that we know how to help them.

This doesn’t mean we have to give up; rather, I am beginning to believe it’s about presence. We can be there for them by simply spending time with them as appropriate.  Likewise, we can provide positive support and encouragement, such as, answering the phone when they call, replying to a text they send, or being available to chat. 

Likewise, it doesn’t mean we go overboard using up all of our time and resources, leaving us emotionally, physically, or financially spent. Rather it’s important to find that fine line of being there, but not too much; having firm boundaries, but a welcoming heart/spirit. Mostly though, it seems important that we allow love to flow from us, like the waters of Big Blackfoot River in Maclean’s novella, so maybe on the person’s worst day, they will at least know that they are loved.  They. Are. Loved.

A close-up view of colorful puzzle pieces surrounding the words 'Accept. Understand. Love.' on a white background.
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Unconditional love 💜

In the words of thought-leader and influencer, Brené Brown, we must come to peace with the fact that “When you love someone unconditionally, you accept them for who they are, flaws and all.” And that, in the end, just as Maclean had to learn, must be enough. We can only change ourselves, no matter how much we want to help another. 

A chalkboard with the words 'HERE TO HELP' written in white letters on a black background.
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May There Always Be a June

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Even the prettiest flower will die one day. It’s nature’s way of teaching us that nothing lasts forever.”–unknown

“Hmm . . .” I think, more than say, with a deep inhale as I yawned awake.  It was a rare, cool morning–a break from the typical heat and humidity of early July.  The bedroom windows were open, and I breathed in the fragrance of dewy grass, damp earth, and flowers. It was the lingering sweet floral scent that began a series of reflections regarding the significance of June and its likeness to the human life cycle.

At the time I am writing this, it is the July 4 weekend–marking, in my mind, the midpoint of summer.  Once July 4 begins, it feels like the rest of summer swiftly sails by.  Ah, but June.  June is sanguine–full of enough bright cheer to hold old-man winter at bay.  The early spring blossoms such as daffodils, crocus, and tulips have long passed.  Aromatic honeysuckle begins its fading away as the summer perennials and annuals begin blooming brightly in rapid succession.  July may be full of celebrations, explosive displays–all red, white, and blue–but, I adore June–modest, optimistic, June, and the colorful, unique flowers that blossom and thrive with its invitation to summer.

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One morning, this past June, I was in Ritter Park to meet a friend for a walk.  However, the friend was running late, so I decided to meander up the old stone steps to the rose garden.  Sunshine, brilliantly glowed in its mid-morning slant, created a kaleidoscope of vivid colors, varying in texture, size, and shape. With no purpose other than to enjoy the moment, I wandered around the garden, drifting from one rose bush to the next, fascinated with all the minute differences not only among the varieties of rose bushes, but also among the flowers within the same bush.  Meanwhile, a gardener attentively tended the blooms.

Examining more closely, I noticed the various insects drawn to the roses. Bees, ants, beetles, moths and butterflies, flies, and even a few mosquitoes crawled, hovered, dove, and darted–busily buzzing about the roses with purposeful missions.  In one of the more isolated sections, closer to the wooded area of the park, I also observed a hummingbird dipping and diving among the various blossoms in a delightful, whirring dance of flight. As I let my gaze wander, my mind relaxed and began to make correlations with June, its flowers, and life.

“A rose can never be a sunflower, and a sunflower can never be a rose. All flowers are beautiful in their own way . . .”–Miranda Kerr

Each flower–from the number of petals to the size of each petal, from the varying life stages of each flower to the variances of color in each blossom–whether it be a rose in the Ritter Park garden or any one of the wide variety of flowers found in resident yards and public spaces–was, and is, a unique creation.  This is similar to the way each person, within the same family, or outside familial ties, is likewise a one-of-a-kind individual.  Flowers go through a dormant and a growing season of varying lengths, but all bloom seasonally, until they come to an end–whatever the life end may be. So it is with June and human life. 

The season of summer officially begins in June.  The air is sweet and heady with the fragrance of flowers. Winds and sunshine warm the air, and rain falls with purpose. Many plants are rooting and establishing while early spring greenery and blossoms are fading away into their dormancy. Daylight reaches its apex in June, while nighttime descends to its lowest point.  

Likewise, several key life events occurred and are honored in my own life each June.  I graduated from Ohio University in June.  Within that same month, I signed my first teaching contract, thus beginning the start of my career as an educator. Two year later, in June, I married my husband, an anniversary we have celebrated for 32 years.  Ten years later, our daughter was born in June.  As educators, my husband and I experience the arrival of each June as the beginning of a dormant period–an opportunity for reflection and renewal before a new school year begins in August.  Births and weddings, ebbs and flows, the highs and lows, and even celebrated endings.  It’s all there in June.

“All the flowers of tomorrow are in the seeds of today.”–Indian Proverb

I am but one person in the garden of many: my family, my work site, my community, and so forth.  All around me, younger lives are taking root, growing, and blossoming into their own personal expressions–making our collective garden more colorful and vibrant–buzzing with energy.  Meanwhile, I can’t help but notice that just as the flowers of June replace spring’s early blossoms, July has taken June’s place.  

Of course, one could argue that like the flowers, humans seem to be planted in dirt and threatened by weeds and all varieties of pestilence. However, when I was visiting the rose garden in June, it was the array of blossoms, in a rainbow of colors, that caught my eye, and made my heart smile.  They too were planted in dirt, confronted by pests and disease, but a gardener was there watching over them just as we have the Ultimate Gardener attending to our needs. 

The flowers offer their seeds and pollen to insects and birds to eat and disperse, ensuring more and different blooms for the future. Likewise, I pray that until my last petal drops, I am offering seeds of hope for others as June does for me.  One day, my memories of past Junes will fade away into permanent dormancy. In the meantime, I will savor the memories made this past June, find nourishment in the full blossoming of the July summer, and, in the weeks to come, accept August as the petals of summer begin to fall away, one by one.  

May there always be a June.

A Handful of Mother’s Day Love

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! (And while I have you, quick apologies for ages 13-21)–PureWow

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As I get ready for work in the morning, I often notice my maternal grandmother’s handkerchief draped over a framed print on a dresser.  It was a gift from my mother several years ago.  Recently, as I took in its gentle embroidery work, I picked it up and sniffed it in a futile attempt to pick up the scent of Helen, my grandmother.

Grandmother, whose scent was a unique blend of Folgers coffee, Avon cream, peppermint, and Estee Lauder’s Youth Dew, was always reassuring.  This morning, I was fatigued and feeling particularly nostalgic as I held Grandmother’s kerchief.  Her scent would have at least provided some small measure of comfort.  Instead, I was left to trace the delicate stitching.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed what appeared to be a stray pencil mark or two and I was taken into the past.

My mind drifted to that fundamentalist, country church of my youth.  I often begged my mom’s permission to sit with Grandmother and Pappaw.  Grandmother’s handbag, the size of a shoebox, was always well-supplied for church services that were sure to be long.  Unclasp the top, and inside, one could find mints, assorted candy, gum, pencils, pens, and old C & O notepads from Papaw’s time of working on the railroad.  While both my grandmother and my mom expected that I stand and hold the hymnal anytime we sang, grandmother permitted me to continue holding the hymnal on my lap as a makeshift desk in order to write, draw, or even play the dot game or hangman with a sibling or cousin–if they were seated with me. In this manner, I was able to remain respectfully quiet, which was also expected by both of my “ruling” women.

If the sermon offered to the attending flock hit a certain emotional note, or if someone sang a special song, such as one originally performed by a popular gospel group at the time, the Happy Goodman Family,  “What a Beautiful Day,” “God Walks the Dark Hills,” or if the congregation simply sang, “Amazing Grace,” I would often see tears stream down Grandmother’s face.  She’d reach in her purse for a handkerchief, dab at her eyes, and continue to hold on to that handkerchief, squeezing it as if her life depended on it.  Looking at the handkerchief, I suddenly remembered with great realism, Grandmother’s strong hands squeezing mine.  It was faint, and then it was gone.

I looked at my own hands.  They are the hands of mother’s and my grandmother’s.  Already, at age 55, they are starting to slightly misshapen from squeezing/holding too tightly onto things.  My fingers, like the women before me, are short and wide–nothing like the Palmolive hand models of long ago commercials. However, like both women, my hands are strong as I am typically better at opening jars and bottle tops than my husband. 

Grandmother’s own hands were strong from years of manual labor.  She single-handedly ran a grocery store and managed/cooked/served for its lunch counter, butchered the store’s meat, maintained and sliced it’s deli cheese and lunch meats while also raising two young boys.  (She would not have my mother until over a decade later.) Later, after my grandparents lost nearly everything in the flood of 1937, they moved to higher ground, left the grocery store business, and Papaw began working exclusively for the railroad.  Grandmother then became a full-time devoted housewife and mother.  Those hands of hers ran a precise schedule for daily, weekly, and annual cleanings, cooking, laundry, ironing, and so forth.  In fact, looking at her handkerchief, I can tell it has been worn thin from repeated washings and ironing.  If there was one thing Grandmother knew how to do well, it was to create a reliable routine and schedule.

“My mother menu consisted of two choices: take it or leave it.”–Buddy Hackett

My mom likewise employed her mother’s ability to create a reliable daily structure with my three siblings and me. We got what she cooked (although Grandmother was far more indulgent with her grandkids), and we cleaned with regularity.  In fact, every Saturday we were expected to strip the sheets off our bed, remake our beds with clean sheets, and then dust/sweep our bedrooms.  Later, when we were older, we were also assigned another room in the house to likewise clean on Saturday.  It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized very few of my friends had the same expectations!  In fact, one of my sister’s friends once shared, years later, that she drew inspiration from my mom’s Saturday schedule when raising her own children.

“I especially loved that when I spent the night with your sister, one of the siblings had to pick up her chore for that morning.”

In Grandmother’s daily routine, and later,  in Mom’s schedule, there was also set aside time for rest and relaxation.  You worked hard, when it was time to work, but likewise there was built in time for reading, relaxing, and rest. Grandmother’s house, and later my own childhood home, was filled with books, magazines, and, of course, several bibles.  Perhaps, it was because Grandmother’s 8th grade education bothered her, even though she was more educated than Papaw, reading was especially important to Grandmother, hence reading was also important to my own childhood home.

Recently, my mom has spent a good deal of time talking with me about her church.  She states that one of her friends at church loves Vestal Goodman, and all the rest of the Happy Goodman Family, whose songs were frequently sung at my Grandmother’s church.  Mom additionally has played Facebook videos of the church pianist who performs the ol’ time gospel tunes of Grandmother’s long ago church, and praises the pastor who knows how to touch her both intellectually and spiritually.  I can’t help but be reminded of Grandmother and secretly wonder if my mom carries a hanky to church too.

Preparing to write this piece, I clicked through a few youtube videos of the Happy Goodman Family, remembering their albums echoing through my grandparents house as Grandmother dusted and swept.  It wasn’t until I paused long enough for the entirety of “God Walks The Dark Hills,” that I noticed that Vestal was holding a handkerchief. As I clicked back through previously viewed videos, Vestal indeed was holding a hanky in each one!  I walked back to my bedroom and once more to pick up Grandmother’s delicate hanky.  Holding Grandmother’s handkerchief, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I saw both my mom’s and grandmother’s faces staring back at me.  

“It’s not how many years we live, but what we do with them.  It’s now what we receive, but what we give unto others.”–written by my grandmother, Helen Slater, on November 13, 1957 in my mother’s autograph book

Grandmother Helen, thanks for the “handy” reminder of the importance of faith, family, and all of those intangibles that I once took for granted.  Even now, you’re still giving me a hand. If you can see me in heaven, I’m sending you a hand-ful of gratitude on this coming Mother’s Day.  

And, Mom, I know that I was a hand-ful, so I’m especially sending you these words of Mother’s Day appreciation along with much love. You taught me not to start a sentence with “and,” but you know I often struggled with obedience.

P. S. This quote is for you, Mom . . .

“When your mother asks, ‘Do you want a piece of advice?’ it’s a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no.  You’re going to get it anyway.”–Erma Bombeck

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It Starts with One Seed

by stephsimply, posted in Herald-Dispatch Articles, Simple Observations and Musings

“In this earth, 

In this soil, 

In this pure field

Let’s not plant 

Any seeds 

Other than seeds of compassion

and Love–Rumi

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While it’s nerdy to admit this, my husband and I love shows about nature, with PBS’s Nature among one of favorites.  Go ahead, make fun of us, or roll your eyes. We teach middle schooler students; we can take it! 

Recently, an episode of Nature featured animals who survive on the highest and most extreme terrain of the Alps.  While you may continue to giggle and guffaw at our choice of entertainment, this episode fed our minds with its breathtaking cinematography of an extraordinary landscape and the unique variety of animals adapted to the Alpine mountain climate, including the chamois, ibex, marmot, golden eagle, and the spotted nutcracker.  It was while the narrator and filming focused on the nutcracker scene that, shall I say, planted a seed.

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In the Alpine world, the Swiss stone pine exists, thanks in large part to the work of the spotted nutcracker. The nutcracker relies on the seeds of the Swiss stone pine for food.  Even though this tree only produces seeds between the months of August and October, this bird is able to survive year ‘round in the harsh conditions of the Alpine climate because of its ability to stockpile these seeds in a wide variety of locations and remember their hiding spots. The birds’ naturally seem to select places that prevent their collection from being stolen by scavengers.  Interestingly, these carefully selected locations are also less likely to support seed germination–at least for a several months.  Thus, these hidden seed-pantries enable the spotted nutcracker to eat year ‘round, including feeding its young in the spring.

Fortunately, for the Swiss stone pine, it can live for as many as 500 years–which works in the favor for both the tree and spotted nutcracker.  In fact, even if only one to two seeds per year from the nutcracker’s hidden caches remain uneaten, and therefore germinate, it is enough to keep the tree viable for hundreds of years.  Thus, making this symbiotic relationship an ideal partnership for the continuation of both species.

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“Keep on sowing your seed, for you never know which will grow—perhaps it all will.”–Ecclesiastes 11:6 TLB

One seed.  Hidden, dropped, or lost–dormantly remains idle until the conditions change.

One seed.  Full of potential–enough energy to fuel the growth of a new seedling.

One seed.  Serendipity–precise temperature, water, oxygen, light.

One seed. Free to break through its hardened shell and begin growing.

From one seed of the Swiss stone pine, a root first forms, followed by a shoot that will grow into its stems, branches, and needles.  Over the years, as the seedling extends into maturity, the tree will endure countless challenges throughout the entirety of its life. From strong winds to Alpine avalanches, from temperatures well below freezing (think -30 to -40 degrees) to extremely warm temperatures, from blizzard conditions to summer storms, and all conditions in between, this tree finds a way to persevere for hundreds of years.  

However, the Swiss stone pine does not survive all those hundreds of years without breakage. In fact, the trunk of this tree is so brittle that its top may be repeatedly broken off in harsh conditions.  Despite its brokenness, it continues to grow and produce seeds that are editable–not only for the nutcracker, but also for other birds, animals, and even human consumption.

Often referred to as the “Queen of the Alps,” the Swiss stone pine survives its brokenness and storms by forming lateral shoots that often resprout in response to the weather conditions.  Furthermore, the nutcracker typically only consumes about 80% of the Swiss stone pine seeds it hoards.  Therefore, thanks in large part to the work of the nutcracker, groups of seeds often germinate together in one spot, and the numerous trees sprout together.  What often appears as one tree with multiple trunks are actually several trees growing together in one root system. Additionally, even if the nutcracker–or for that matter, other creatures– would happen to eat all of the trees’ seeds for several seasons in a row, the Swiss stone pine’s seed cycle includes a mast season, every four or five years, producing so great a quantity of seeds that it would be impossible for all of its seeds to be consumed. Thus, ensuring the tree’s survival, but also the survival of any Alpine creature who may rely on this tree for shelter or food, such as the spotted nutcracker.

One seed. One tree. One bird.  Watch the ripples expand.

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“We can’t change people, but we may plant seeds that may one day bloom in them.”–Mary Davis

Reflecting upon this unique symbiotic relationship, I was reminded of our own human to human interactions.  From day to day, month to month, and from year to year, imagine the seeds each human being can potentially plant.  Many of these seeds foster our own well being and the well being of others as we cultivate friendships and relationships for the mutual benefit of all involved.  These relationships eventually sprout into new families and new friend groups. 

Furthermore, seeds planted with coworkers, neighbors, professionals with whom we regularly interact, as well as complete strangers, can germinate ideas, thoughts, and other notions that, one day, may benefit that person.  From the compassionate gesture of helping a complete stranger to private gestures of kindness unseen or unheard by those benefiting, from one tender word of encouragement to one empathetic ear ready to listen, we all have the ability to sow seeds wherever we go.

Even when we are broken by the squalls, obstacles, and difficulties of life, through the rooted and interconnected relationships of our germinated seeds, we can find the strength to rise again.  In conditions ranging from the most arid to emotionally drowning episodes, from the frozen heart to impassioned flare of tempers, it is our propagation of seeds that comes back to us again and again, making us more resilient, more strong, and ultimately able to persevere, allowing us to continue to produce even more seeds

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One positive word. One helpful deed. One encouraging smile.  Seeds are planted.  Perhaps, they remain dormant in the recipient’s being for days, weeks, months, even years.  Nonetheless, one moment, under the right circumstance, that seed will take root, sprout, and soon enough branches and roots systems, like Swiss stone pine trees, will expand over the mountains of time.  You may not see it, but your one choice, your one act, repeated throughout your life, may create a forest from which many will be nourished and find shelter. 

“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”–Robert Louis Stevenson