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The Christmas bells have chimed. I hope that you were present with the best presents. I hope that every gift brought gratitude. That every sip and every bite nourished your body and soul as it filled your belly. As you look back on Christmas 2022, I hope that your heart is full of joyful memories.

That sentiment is genuine though some may find it hard to find joy this Christmas. Many of us are dealing with loss. This may be a first Christmas without someone. This week the news was that our life expectancy is falling due to Covid, drug overdoses and the other maladies that can end a life too soon. The emotions associated with such losses can change the tone of holidays, birthdays but for some reason Christmas brings about the most emotion around loss.

Christmas 2021, was the last Christmas day that I spent with my mom. I knew that it was. We had been doing Hospice at home with her for a couple of months. While most of the time she had clear thoughts, she didn’t believe it was Christmas day because it was 70 degrees and we went out side with the kids and colored her driveway with chalk flowers. It felt like we were celebrating spring. Things were for sure changing to something new.

Fast forward 3 weeks, mom left us on cloud of January snow. My year since then has been about grieving, accepting, growing, and moving forward. Those things continue to happen in no particular order. Some days I go through those emotions all at once and some days I work through bits and pieces of some of those feelings. It was months before the grandkids would do something amusing and my mind would not think about calling mom to tell her. In time, I learned to look inward knowing she was aware of it all now. I didn’t need a phone to tell her anything anymore.

I wasn’t sure how I would roll with the emotional tides as this Christmas approached. Google photos and Facebook memories would remind me of where I have been in past Christmas times. Along with some great December rows and my silly dog, pictures of mom would pop up. Mom in the kitchen. Mom holding a great grand-baby. Mom watching on as wrapping paper littered the living room floor. Mom collected memories and smiled while I captured the moments in photos. Some of these photos brought tears, a chuckle, and the heavy sighs of loss.

I busied myself this season planning to make food and treats that mom loved to make. One afternoon, I baked cookies with 2 of my grandchildren. One batch was the molasses ginger cookies that make a kitchen smell like Christmas. I could feel mom’s hand guiding me not to make the dough ball too big or too small. The scent of those cookies baking still lingered when I got a FB message from one of my mom’s long time friends. She reported she was making mom’s recipe for cheese spread. She was missing mom but loving the memories. I gave mom’s recipe card box a wink. She knew what I was thinking and I didn’t have to pick up the phone. Mom loved collecting and sharing recipes. I swear I thought I saw that card box light up a bit.

When I asked my granddaughter if she wanted to anything special for Christmas Eve dinner. She asked for pigs in a blanket because grandma would always make those with her for holidays. (Mom was Grandma and I am Gigi) Mom knew kids didn’t like the rich casseroles that grace many a holiday table. The kids needed something special. But what made her pigs in a blanket special was that she would get the kids involved in making them. So Christmas Eve, my granddaughter and I broke out the crescent rolls, cheese, mustard, and hot dogs. I watched with pride as she smiled and reminded me how many times she had done this with Grandma and now she could do it herself. The wireless connection in my heart sent mom yet another nudge. The reply swelled in my heart.

Christmas Eve, as night approached, my grandson had made it clear that this was going to be the night he would catch Santa in the act. He is 7 and we may be in our last year of childhood magic. I wished him good luck. I still planned to sneak something in my daughter’s stocking. My husband and I agreed that, being of that age where we wake up at 3am to resolve certain biological needs, that we would take care of our stocking gifts then. We had our doubts that we would be caught during the whizzing hour.

I awoke a little before midnight to the sound of the door opening and closing multiple times. My daughter was getting what Santa had hid in her car and bringing loads into the house. That boy was going to have to catch Santa in his dreams. Better luck next time, I was thinking when I remembered that I had some of those special Santa Amazon boxes hidden in my room. I delivered them to her in my study/gym/meditation sunroom where she sat, surrounded by boxes and paper. I handed her her the boxes she had almost forgot about and took another quick look at the Christmas cheer that she had worked hard to provide.

As I stuffed her stocking and my husband’s stocking, I was reminded of how many nights I had spent doing that exact same thing for her and her sister. I too was a single mom trying to make the best Christmas that I could for my kids. The stress of, did I get them the same number of things? Or, is it bad that I got American Girls knock off dolls because I didn’t have enough money to get them both the real ones? All those doubts as to whether I was getting Christmas right for them filled me with stress and maybe a little bit of shame; shame that I wasn’t enough. I wondered if mom had those same doubts. I felt the ring-back in my heart. Of course she did, but it was always just fine.

Christmas day I awoke at 5am and snuggled up close to my husband as he crawled back in bed. He reported they were still asleep with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, Merry Christmas sweetie” I said as snuggled in a little closer. We giggled softly like teenagers in the backseat of a car. But then what to my wondering ears did I hear? Why it was the sound of a 7-year-old’s foot falls clambering down the hall bringing his cheer.

“Their here!” My grandson exclaimed as he burst into our room.

“OH my God, honey, who are they and how many of them are there. I need to call 911.” I teased and my disappointed husband settled back into his pillow.

One side of my grandson’s face was lit by the tree from the living room and I could see him smile and look a bit confused. “Not people, Gigi, presents. The presents are here!”

At that moment, I was remembering my brother coming to get me out of bed on many a cold Christmas morning. He would inform me that there were lots of presents and some of them may even be for me.

By 9am my daughter, granddaughter and grandson were stretched out on the couch, watching a movie, and eating breakfast hashbrown casserole, fruit and Christmas stocking chocolate. Their big rescue dog, Brooklyn, was buried somewhere in the mix of paper and cardboard. I was in my comfy chair in my study/gym/meditation sunroom with my little dog Daisy curled up in my lap. I looked up at 3 framed pictures on a shelf. My mom, her mom and my dad’s mom were looking back at me from those photos. I thought, Christmas will come and go for years, but the love that the women in my life put into making every season bright goes on forever. This is a legacy and the circle will not be broken.

God bless us, everyone. God bless everyone missing someone this Christmas. And as I write this, I send a special prayer for peace and comfort to the family of my rowing club’s president, Jana Moore. I just received word that Jana passed away sometime this morning. She leaves behind a daughter and husband. They have lost a mother and wife. Cape Fear River Rowing Club has lost a friend and team mate. The dance community has lost a talented costume maker. Jana supported animal rescue and was a community activist. As the shock of this news washes over me, especially as I am finishing this writing of my personal loss, it drives home all the more that we have one life. We should fill that life with love and peace. When you see a person, that may be your last chance to be kind.

Be present. Be kind. Share your light where you can and enjoy the light of a friend, or loved one when you can. You never know if the next wind will extinguish a flame before you even appreciated how much it brightened a certain corner of your heart.

I am reminded of a Sunday School song. Brighten the corner where you are.

Brighten the corner where you are!
Brighten the corner where you are!
Someone far from harbor “YOU” may guide across the bar;
Brighten the corner where you are!

Do not wait until some deed of greatness you may do,
Do not wait to she’d your light afar,
To the many duties ever near you now be true,
Brighten the corner where you are.

Brighten the corner where you are!
Brighten the corner where you are!
Someone far from harbor “YOU” may guide across the bar;
Brighten the corner where you are!

Here for all your talent you may surely find a need,
Here reflect the bright and Morning Star;
Even from your humble hand the Bread of Life may feed,
Brighten the corner where you are.

Brighten the corner where you are!
Brighten the corner where you are!
Someone far from harbor “YOU” may guide across the bar;
Brighten the corner where you are!…

This Boat Floats

Here comes Fall! I am not talking about the official calendar date that says “First Day of Autumn.” This Fall is that time of year when you step out and the first decision you have to make is if you need a jacket. This Fall is also that time of year that you walk through your local department store that greets you with the cosmic alignment of a snaggle toothed Jack-O-Latern, then a cartoon turkey, then Christmas lights on plastic trees. Add to the fun, this year we find our TV ads in severe retrograde with campaign ads trying to sell us the most acceptable candidate.

We forgive the calendar for not getting the date right. We work through the commercial conflagration of 3 holidays under the smoke of burning autumn leaves. We hold our nose as the TV and radio ads burn our brains. Rowers can’t be bothered by those things because it is Fall and there are Head Races coming!

This coming weekend the rowing posts on social media swarm around The Head of the Charles Regatta, HOCR. Many of my friends are going to volunteer and take in the atmosphere. It is a tremendous event. I wish safe travels for all the competitors and volunteers.

My rowing focus is on my club getting ready for Head of The South, HOTS. This is a fun event too. Maybe I feel good about this venue because my very first head race with my club was at this event. We rented an 8 and paid a college kid to cox us. The boat we raced did not have speakers that worked so no one ever heard the cox with the exception of the stern pair. I remember our discussion with the vendor that rented us this boat and the gentleman that was trying to sell it. He spoke with a slavic accent. “You do not need to worry. This boat, she floats. You love this boat. You race, she floats.” So we raced. I got a fond memory for my lack of medals collection.

“This boat, she floats” has become a kind of mantra I repeat when life is not exactly what I want it to be. When life is not the way I want it to be, I remind myself that my boat still floats.

Early voting and midterm elections are upon us. And the last 2 years are begging if we have learned anything. I watched the news. I watched repeated replays of some very confused people storm our capitol because they believed a story. I have watched the hearings about that tragic day. Right now, not just our nation, but many nations of the world are immersed in a strange alignment of truth and belief. The talking heads call it Nationalism, Supremacy, or Fascism, but I just call it Hate. When hate takes over it burns a huge hole in the soul. Hope floats all boats but hate sets them on fire. A boat filled with hate will not float for long.

We can still make this race work. Our boat still floats only if we make our choice and vote. Our boat still floats if we seek truth and make our decisions thoughtfully. The Big Box Mart might not know what season it is, but I know it is time to step into an ugly beat up boat and feel the beauty of moving in unison with my crew and cross the finish line with pride. Our boat she floats because we love our crew; but it is up to us to row it to the finish line. And next year, we come to the race with a new boat and a renewed spirit. Citizen, you are on the course.

Synchronicity…Coincidence…Does God Use Google?

Synchronicity…Coincidence…Does God Use Google?

On a recent Saturday, I took my granddaughter back home to her mom. We had a busy week doing Cousins Summer Camp 2022. And I can say after a week of chasing those 3 Grands around, I know that raising kids is for the younger folks. Providing food and entertainment while making lasting memories was an exhausting blessing. A blessing that I was soon to learn should not be taken for granted.

At some point on the drive back, I checked my gas gauge. I had enough in the tank to go 169 miles and I had 163 miles to go. I was driving through some very rural parts of eastern North Carolina. I did what any modern grandmother would do; I asked Google to find a gas station along the programmed route. I asked for a specific brand where I was pretty sure I had some loyalty points for cents off the gallon. Google made its recommendation and I rolled on down the road.

I drive through a little town, and I see the gas station, but wait, that isn’t the one I have programmed in my navigation. No problem, I still have over 100 miles in the tank.

I come to the next town. I see the gas station. Google Girl is quiet. No that isn’t the one. I need to go a little further. Then I see another. Not that one either.

After passing 3 other gas stations, I finally arrive at Google’s recommendation. I pull up to the first pump, but it is only diesel. The place is packed. I see the truck in front of me has a driver in the driver seat. I figure he will move soon. So I wait.

As I wait, I observe 2 young boys, black hair, brown skin. They appear to be Southeast Asian descent. Brothers. They are nervously pacing around the gas pump on the other side. A man comes out of the store and motions for the boys the pump the gas. The older brother tries and shakes his head and his father’s shoulders fall. He goes back in the store. The boys return to their pacing.

Finally, the man in the pickup truck gets out and walks around to the pump. He leans over the bed of the truck and adjusts his load before he finally climbs back in the cab and pulls out. Okay that was weird. Why did he sit there that long and block the pump?

At last, I roll up to the pump. Scan my card and start pumping the gas. I hear a voice and I turn to see the older brother pleading with me. His English was not bad, but I was having trouble hearing and understanding him with all the noise under the canopy’s echo of the highway noise. I apologized and asked him to tell me again. He asked, in broken English, if I could help them buy some gas. Their father has lost his wallet and they wanted to go home. I looked at the older brother and then to the younger one. The younger smiled at me and dropped his chin shyly to his chest. He had an ear ring that caught my eye. A small cross dangled from his ear.

I turned back to the older brother. I asked if his father was in the store. He nodded yes. I told him that I would speak to his father after I finished filling my tank. He motioned to his dad.

His father smiling with his hands in prayer asked if I could please help them get home. He was having some bad luck. His English was not much better. I looked at the California plates on his car. I said “I can’t buy you enough gas to get to California.” He said they have a home a few miles from the store and they were new in the North Carolina.

I was uneasy. My stranger danger anxiety was feeling strong. I looked at the boys and I looked back at the father. All my thoughts we not the best thoughts at that moment. A woman traveling alone can’t be too careful these days. I assumed that I was getting swindled. But those thoughts were scattered as a light warmed in my heart. “But by the grace of God go I” “Do this to the least of these and you have done it for me” I walked around to his pump and pumped in 5 gals. I looked at the father and said, “It is only 5 gallons of gas. I hope this will get you closer to home and a little peace.” I returned the nozzle and quietly walked away. I could hear them thanking me. I couldn’t look back. I just said to the father as I walked past him, “I wish you a safe journey.”

His van followed me for a little while down the road. We eventually turned onto different roads. My brain was trying to process what just happened in that place. Why had I been navigated there when so many other options had been available sooner?

Is the Google algorithm somehow linked to people in distress?

Or did someone’s guardian angel reach down and program my navigation?

Or did some Divine spirit, put these people in my path to let me demonstrate a measure of kindness? Did I do enough? Should I have done more?

Was this Synchronicity? Coincidence?

Every morning, after my meditation, I pray that God will bless me with the light of love that I can be a light for someone who needs it. I guess on this particular Saturday, someone needed 5 gals of gas and I needed a lesson in trust.

The Divine message that I received: Let your light shine in kindness. Remove quick judgment from your heart. Keep love forward in your decision making. It is too easy in these dark days to shy away from trust and kindness. It is also easy to turn on the light of kindness and push back the darkness.

Whatever distrust and judgment crossed my mind in that moment was a darkness that was extinguished by a small light of kindness. I don’t know how many more people they had asked to help them. I don’t know the reasons that they were refused help. I only know that I asked Google for a gas station on a rural route and was blessed with the opportunity of kindness.

Published in loving memory of my mother who would have celebrated her 83rd birthday today.

WE GOT YOU!

Fired up in lane 4
Fired up in Lane 4

Sprint season is over. My record is unburdened by a medal count. My heart is not broken by this; nor is my spirit. Each loss had within it a personal victory.

My first race, I stayed in my lane despite a terrible crosswind. Later that day I raced with my new Quad crew. We got off to a good start that was interrupted when the stroke seat’s riggers separated from the boat. We were heartbroken but got right back on the water the following week.

My 2nd race, I didn’t even put my boat in the water. The conditions were hazardous and I was watching other boats capsize and frigid rowers brought ashore. Hypothermia was not in my race plan and the conditions were beyond my skill level. I scratched.

My 3rd race, I stayed with the pack well over the 1st 500 meters. I was ready to do my final 250 when I realized in 2 strokes I was out of my lane. I did what I had to do to get out of the buoys. I was glad to not hit any. I started my sprint again but heard the finish horn toot twice. I was easily in 3rd place in the 4 boat race.

My final sprint race of the year is a tale of woe and wisdom. My club was there for that one. I would get to race my single and the Quad. I arrived at the venue early. I rigged my boat. When the rest of the club showed up and we rigged the quad and other boats. I set about doing my part to set up the team table and helping the crews that needed help. Finally, my time to launch approached. When I set the boat in the water, I stood completely bewildered at the dock. I had rigged my boat backwards. I snatched the boat out of the water with the help of my ground crew….AKA my husband. We moved with haste up the river bank and back to the slings. My club was there. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t hold the tools. They took the tools from my hands and set about correcting the rigging. A club friend stood by me as my eyes welled up and I was cussing my stupidity. “Glenda, you got this” she said. “Breathe, we got you”

BREATHE, WE GOT YOU. This is what it means to be part of something special. A team. A club. People who become friends for life. I watched as my husband and teammates fixed my mistake. I won’t say that I got immediately calm. But I did feel a little spark reignite my optimism.

The correction made, we returned to the dock. I sprinted to the start, I got to the line with less than 30 seconds to spare. They called the start. The race was against the river current and against a 14mph wind. In the first 250, I thought, “This is stupid. You should have just scratched.” BREATHE, WE GOT YOU. The Adrenaline was exhausted from the effort to just get to the start line. BREATHE, WE GOT YOU. Another stroke. Another push against the wind and current. I started counting by 5s, not 10. I just had to find the next stroke. Winning would once again be out of the cards for me. I just wanted my friends, my husband, and my ego to see me across the line.

If I had run the 1st 500 as well as I ran the 2nd, maybe I wouldn’t have finished that race in last place. But the victory was in finishing. Finishing surrounded by people who will say “WE GOT YOU.”

A few hours later, our Quad finally got to cross the finish line. Again no medal, but the riggers held and the crew crossed the finish with the race plan executed as planned. We were happy.

What I have found is the ego is not always a friend. The ego never says “Breathe, I have you.” The ego prefers to manage expectations. Motivation comes from another place. The motivation to improve, test, compete, and strive to improve again, that, must come from the heart. And when the ego tries to manage the heart, motivation must spark from those who value you and remind you to just breathe. There is something special about being surrounded by people, family, and words that are supportive. This is where I learn to be a better sculler and maybe even a better person.

Defeat is not when you finish last. Defeat is giving up.

So, when is the first Head Race?

Why Conscious Motivation?

Why? The question that has plagued us since we were toddlers. As we became adults this was and is still the question. We renamed it motivation. When we fail to achieve something, we might say we lost our motivation. The question is then, how do we keep going?

At the age of 50 something, I discovered the marvelous sport of rowing. I officially became identified as a master’s athlete. I started training in the gym to be a better rower. I started training on the water to be a better rower. I trained and trained my body. I had never won a medal at a regatta or head race. I am hardly accomplished in that regard. This got a bit discouraging. That is until, I examined my true motivation.

When I coached kids in youth sports, we would celebrate wins. We would mourn losses with words like “winning isn’t everything” or “there’s always next time.” Competition is embedded in our psyches. We keep score cards on everything. Sometimes for athletes, both young and old, the repeated losses may cause a person to seek new activities that can grow new motivation.

Is the scorecard the motivation? Is the medal count the only goal? I mean I don’t lose race because I am not motivated to do well. I am just not faster or as skilled as the competitors in my field. It doesn’t kill my will to find joy and improve in my sport.

I don’t think that I am alone in this. I believe that there are many of us who are connected to the spirit of fitness and competition but we are not accomplished when the medal count is factored in.

We don’t give up because we have our own conscious motivation. We are connected to our bodies in a quest to find joy. As a rower for me that joy is feeling the connection to the water at the blade and the movement of the boat when the blades are out of the water. It is a rhythm that sets my soul and my mind free. Off the water, I keep that feeling with meditation and other fitness fun.

I have to admit that I sometimes feel alone in that I am often surrounded by much more accomplished athletes. I have some awesome athletes for teammates. If I lose focus on my own consciousness and look at the scorecards, then I could lose my motivation to find joy in fitness. I like the energy of competition. I like occasionally winning. I like that as I am in my 60th trip around the sun and that I can still find joy it being active. I like to see other people find joy in accomplishment. My joy is my pursuit. No scorecard required.

So here I am, starting this little project. I want to reach out to people like me and provide a place where we can share joy of movement. I will do this with rowing, meditation, and connection. Perhaps you will find nuggets here that will help you in your pursuit of joy, fitness, and consciousness.