A Random and Incomplete List

 

I believe the moon is beautiful, in all her phases.

 

I don't believe in organized religions and their canons.

 

I believe in the power and necessity of love.

 

I don't believe I can define "love," even now. I think it has to do with an open heart. I'm working on it.

 

I believe in food:  nourishing, tasty food that comes from the earth; meat that comes from animals raised with respect and slaughtered with reverence and thanks; agriculture that respects the earth that feeds us; and eaters who are aware of and grateful for the gifts of the earth.

 

I don't believe in MacDonalds. But I do reserve the right to eat a Tim Horton's doughnut once a year.

 

I believe in music. I believe in the music that comes from within each of us, the sound we make when we groan or grunt or allow our bodies to speak what they are feeling. I believe in personal sound. And beyond that I

believe in the power of music to bring mankind together.

 

However, I don't believe in Britney Spears.

 

I believe that it is possible, though not easy, to learn to expand our view of family so that it includes everyone we meet. And beyond that, everyone we don't meet. Our family is, ultimately, everyone who shares this earth with us.

 

I believe in reincarnation. At least I did the last time around.

 

I don't believe in hell.

 

I believe in nurturing and caring for every person in my life. And that includes me.

 

Copyright 2009 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Things to be glad about

I have so many things to be glad about that I wander through my days in a state of gratitude. Gladitude. No, I'm more than "glad" about things. I marvel at the new me who is present right now. When I choose an essay to release to the world, I find that many of the essays written in the past no longer suit. I can't send out a gloomy, depressed, self-deprecating write that was true at the time but that is so very far from the way I feel now.

 

Sam's mother, Julia, told me recently that she was doing the usual morning rush to get herself and Sam off to school on time. As they left the house and went to the car, she said, in a young mother's urge to get moving, "C'mon, Sam, let's run!" Sam said, "I'm too tired to run!" So they walked to the car, and Julia said, "Your energy will come back. It just isn't here yet this morning."

 

So during the ride to big-boy school Sam would pipe up, "My energy isn't here yet!" or ask, "When will I get my energy, Mommy?" He was giving it serious consideration.

 

They parked at big-boy school and Julia escorted Sam to his room and helped him with his coat and hat. As Sam headed toward his friends who were running around the room, he turned to Julia and said, "It's here, Mommy! It's here! I got my energy!"

 

Later, when he was at our house, I suggested that we go outside and run for a while. As we went out the door, Sam said, "I have lots of energies today, Nana! I think I have fifteen energies!" I told him I only had five or six, so he'd probably be able to win all the races. And he did.

 

Watching Sam is something to be glad about.

 

But as I think about other things I'm grateful for (grandchildren in general, good food, my dear husband, the seasons), I realize that I don't want to list them because they sound so trite.

 

What I'm really glad about, grateful for, is being here. Is having been here long enough to get it through my hard head, finally, that whatever it is, it is not permanent. That because of the transient nature of our existence I would do well to relax and savor every moment of whatever is. All I have to do is remember (not always the easiest thing): to remember that life is not just to be lived, as is often said, but to be en-joyed. Life is to be filled with and surrounded by joy. Our reason for being on this earth, in this physical existence, is to learn to en-joy our lives—and through that, to en-joy the lives of everyone we meet.

 

I can just hear you muttering, "Pollyanna, meet Deepak Chopra." Well, so be it.

 

Copyright 2009 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

My Mind Museum

My mind is a pretty weird place to hang out. In the laneway this morning I kicked a pebble, which I love to do. Don't you? Don't you like to see how long you can follow a stone—or an acorn—that way? First you kick (hoping it will go straight). Then you walk (not breaking stride, of course) to where the stone landed (and to play with the strictest of rules, you have to keep walking straight along your path; no deviations to chase the pebble). Then you kick it again. And again.

 

As I kicked this morning, I got a vision of kicking a river stone—say, about as big as a tennis ball. It made my toes hurt just to think about it. And then I began to imagine the maximum size you could kick without breaking a toe. I thought that if you wore steel-toed work boots you could increase the size of the stone until you could kick a stone the size of a softball. Could you kick a stone the size of a soccer ball? No, not even with steel-toed boots. Could you do a stone-kick wearing sandals or open-toed pumps? That would be courting disaster. I could make a spread-sheet, maybe, outlining shoe types and optimal and maximum stone sizes. Maybe this is what I'll do. This will be a novel way to waste the rest of my life!

 

When I offer tours of the inner workings of my mind, I'll play docent. Keep your eyes peeled for the brochure. I'll send it out just as soon as I get organized . . .

 

Copyright 2009 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com