new life

I'm not really sure when Advent begins technically. Thanksgiving marks the last feast day in the liturgical year, and the first Sunday of Advent begins the new cycle of the Church's walk of faith through the life and times and impact of Jesus. These in-between days of Friday and Saturday fall where, exactly? Friday might well stand outside of time, considering that many worship the altar of consumer enticements (not an indictment, simply an observation). I'll hedge my bets and refer to today as the Eve of Advent, which, in fact, it is. I suspect most people whose lives aren't influenced by having to prepare sermons and spiritually meaningful activities for others don't think of this time as a beginning, but this year I am very mindful of the concept of beginning. Or, more accurately, beginning again.

I am going to try, again, to improve my health habits. I find motivation in my friend Jayne's faithful commitment to healthier living, and having heard the testimony on Thanksgiving of one who has lost 26 pounds since August on Weight Watchers (and then there's Jules, who has also been successful on that program), I have good role models in this effort. I also have an accountability partner in my faithful canine, Juliet (above, right), who for various reasons has returned to the need to be walked a couple of times a day. She's not shy in letting me know that it's time to put on my walking shoes: she stands in front of me, raises her head and lets out a very vocal demand.

So yesterday we began anew with our walks, morning and evening. The morning walk followed the pattern of old, echoing the days before we had the invisible fence and I walked the dogs faithfully for their relief and pleasure. The morning route is always the same to minimize encountering vehicles bound for work. The evening route, however, varies. Last night as Juliet and I turned toward our old neighborhood I was overwhelmed by the nostalgia of earlier walks. The twice-daily walks of three years ago were born of necessity, but became for me an opportunity to enjoy the dogs without other distractions, and to entertain whatever thoughts might stray into the path of my consciousness. Those were also halcyon days of hope and possibility only barely strained by the weight of vocational, financial and family challenges. Hope and possibility are still present, but are often overshadowed by more urgent and pressing concerns.

To be visited by the pleasant ghosts of those previous journeys was bittersweet. I recognized the gift they were and can be again, now, at a time when such a gift is more than welcome. And I missed the companion who was part of those earlier forays through the neighborhood, my beloved Dooley. It is a comfort, in a way, to trace the paths of which he was a constant part, and to recall his peppy gait, happy expressions, and overflowing personality. I can feel rekindled the joy that he was in my life, and let the warmth of that fill my heart. I see in this remembrance, as well, an invitation to reclaim a ritual of peace and grounding. It is well and good to find motivation in the acts and successes of others, but it is better still to be empowered from wtihin by my own capacity of strength and resilience.

So I am marking today as a new beginning. It will have its bumps and jolts, its fits and starts, but the need and desire to be launched is greater than a desire to indulge the ease of inertia. It is time, literally, to put one foot in front of the other and move. Walks with the dogs never brought me back to the house the same person I was when we ventured forth. I can be satisfied, for now, to measure momentum one step at a time. Before I know it those steps will give way to strides, and with those strides I will cover ground I can only imagine now.

Juliet is waiting patiently. My future cannot afford to wait any longer.

Prayers for a blessed Advent.

renewal

To anyone else this picture looks like a flowering plant. Run of the mill.

Not to me.

Back in May small pots of Gerber daisies decorated the tables in our parish hall for Mother's Day. One of them came home with me. I transplanted it into a large bucket on the front steps, replacing the remnants from last year's blooms that were my Mother's Day gift from Junior. It went through some transitional death and rebirth, but from that moment on all that came up were leaves. Lots of leaves. Green leaves. Did I mention there were lots of green leaves?

Until a couple of weeks ago, when the first of these bright, almost neon orange blooms appeared in all its robust glory. And then the next one emerged, and the next. There's even a fourth flower hidden from view.

I'm loving this for several reasons. One is that I love flowers. Love the color and texture and life that they offer. To me they are icons to the brilliance of creation and the masterful ingenuity of it all. Which of course leads me to think about the magnificence of the Creator.

Another reason I am loving this is that this pot of Gerbers is representative of my own life at present. Feeling like it was being tended but not yielding blooms. But patience and faith and worthy of practicing because in due time, blooming is underway. There is renewal happening in my life. It is sometimes difficult to identify beneath the all-too common greenery of my days, but from time to time evidence of blooms are apparent, and a small burst of joy is set off like a firecracker in my soul.

Ken is gone for a couple of weeks to help Junior and Trisha with the "fixer upper" they are leasing and then purchasing. During his absence I had hoped to do a little more hard core tending of my dormant self to aid the renewal that I suspected was underway. The puppies have pretty much made that a difficult task, but over this weekend I have made some progress toward achieving at least one goal. The sewing machine is up and threaded. The iron and ironing board await. The dining table is cleared for cutting and trimming fabric. By the end of today it is my hope to have something to show for these efforts. And along the way I will be gleeful to celebrate that I am blooming where I have been planted.

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Puppy update: Two of the pups, Boris and Zoe, have been having a rough time. They made a visit to the vet on Friday, and there was nothing specific to identify the source of their difficulty. They got a shot of antibiotics and I received a cautionary word that they might not survive. "Not on my watch," was all I was thinking. They have continued to struggle--I would celebrate when they guzzled at the bottle, only to worry at the next meal when they wouldn't keep down what I would force-feed through the syringe. Their poop was brown, an indication of intestinal irritation. Zoe's poop was looking better, but she is clearly the smallest of the litter now. Boris is eating much better and putting on weight, but his poop is still showing signs of latent distress. I am happy to report that the rest are thriving. If you would spare a prayer for Boris and Zoe I would be grateful.

Have a wonderful Labor Day.