Autumn Equinox: Harvest Your Thanks

If you’ve been following Hot Flashbacks for any length of time, you know autumn is my favorite season. As I say of myself in my poem, Happy Birthday:


Born on the cusp of fall
Of woman in spring of life…
Seven pounds some of cosmic energies.

Even in utero, my mind was apparently going faster than my body. I feel so at one with the season of harvest and thanksgiving, yet I was actually born just hours before the equinox when the cosmic clock turned fall. I wanted to be born in autumn so badly; I arrived at its doorstep ahead of time.

In autumn, we harvest the bounty of the things we have been working on since the spring growing season. Figuratively, they could be hopes, dreams, projects or changes in attitude. One thing is certain. The cornucopia is gratitude. The container that holds all of life’s gifts in our hands, even for a moment, is our willingness to say thank-you often for the magnificent cycles of life. Think of the seasons you have lived and breathed for whatever number of years you’ve been here on Earth.

This autumn, I reach a very special birthday. At 62, thinking of myself as middle aged isn’t exactly accurate. If this is the middle, I’d have to live to 124! Not that I’d mind as long as my body works, but it has definitely been making noises like a car that’s pushing 100,000 miles without having had all its regularly scheduled maintenance. I’ve been getting out the oil can and looking at tread wear. I’m beefing up my efforts to keep running at optimum despite a few dents, nicks, and worn parts that have been replaced. My youthful face and active mind is housed in a classic vehicle. It’s impossible to deny it, but I don’t think I want to dwell on it.

Due to a number of those cosmic nudges I always talk about, I will be applying for Social Security early at the end of this month. What a milestone. While I still think I’m too young for such things, I am so grateful for the option—a door that has opened as another one closed—my part-time job. I don’t know what to make of being more officially “senior” than ever before, except to be grateful that I’m still here, alive, and kickin’! When Tim and I got back together after 38 years, one of my favorite oldies that said it all was, Still the One by Orleans. These are some of the lyrics:

I want you to know
After all these years
You’re still the one
I want whisperin’ in my ear.

I feel that way not just about my husband, but also about myself. I want to hear my Higher Self whisper in my ear more than ever.

I like who I have become, and I’m glad I’ve had an opportunity to expand my spirit during this earthly sojourn to become more Me. Every harvest season is a tryout for your final harvest, the time you get to leave earth for a new adventure and leave behind the riches you have acquired in a lifetime. I believe we just become another life or energy form. Our light just looks like it’s burning out. It’s really pulling in to gather force before it explodes--an energetic burst to catapult us to the next plane, to shoot us back to the stars.

This autumn, when you’re writing your gratitude journal or giving thanks at a big turkey dinner surrounded by loved ones, be thankful most of all for your own evolution—for this incredible Earth walk. Give yourself a flashback of your whole life—let it pass before you—and enjoy a preview of that white light experience at the end where you “get” what it was all about. You don’t have to wait till you go to the light to know! Ask for a preview. Share your cool insights about these hot flashbacks in the Comments.

Life is for living all the way to the finish line and for expanding your spirit if you’re 16, 45, 62—or 90. I want to end with one of my favorite quotes in Richard Bach’s, Illusions:

"Here is a test to find out if your mission on earth is finished. If you’re alive, it isn’t."

~~~

Photo Credit: FALL HARVEST © Lulu2009 Dreamstime.com

Want more autumn reflections? Read these past posts: Autumn EquiKnocks and Happy Autumn Equinox.

Make This List Before Your "Bucket List"

Blowing Up the old Old!

This post is in response to Pop Art Diva’s Saturday Soapbox, “Do You Have a Bucket List?”

I loved the movie, The Bucket List, with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. Most people have a “bucket list” in their minds—things they want to do before they “kick the bucket.” This delightfully mismatched pair of characters really got into it in a big way, traveling the world to complete their quest, even though they both had terminal illnesses. Their last-ditch "do-before-dying" included items of wild abandon like skydiving and emotional completion—a reunion with an estranged family member.

We hate this reminder, but life itself is terminal. We just don’t know how long we’ve got on this beautiful planet. My awareness of this fact has become more acute now that I am over 60, a number it pains me to type!

As I’ve contemplated my List, I’ve had a strange but wonderful realization. Many of the exotic travels and accomplishments I have hoped for, off and on in my life, pale in comparison to what I already have—and have done. This reminds me of one of my favorite quotes:

Happiness isn’t getting what you want; it’s wanting what you have.

It also reminds me of the key to all manifestation and joy I have learned by living with eyes open to insight. Happiness stems from gratitude. Grateful receivers appreciate life’s gifts and continue in the flow of prosperity and divine surprises. By getting into the habit of being thankful for what you already have every day, it may surprise you how you’ll trim that Bucket List down to manageable size! Let’s face it. This could be helpful. After all, even if we live to be 100-plus, we are still in the second half of life with only limited years to achieve our goals.

It’s usually easier to see how the gratitude principal works in someone else, because we are so close to our own desires, the longings that lead to the Bucket List. Often we’ve been wed to those wants for so many years; we are not objective.

I saw how it works in someone I have been wed to for 11 years, my husband. When medical issues changed his life dramatically, he was lost and angry and understandably depressed. Over time, I have seen him transform into someone who is truly content. He loves our home nestled in nature, our pets, our life—and especially me. (Lucky me!) Stripped of the outer trappings of work and other externals that normally contribute so much to our self-worth, Tim finally has begun to find it from within—the genuine article.

So, here’s my thought. Before you write your Bucket List, write your Gratitude List. It may shorten the exercise and make it a lot easier for you!

Yes, I’d love to travel more, if and when resources allow. My fantasy trip is to visit the countries of Tim’s/my ethnic backgrounds: Poland and Luxembourg for him, Greece (again), Slovakia, and Hungary for me. We’d both love to go to Australia and New Zealand and to spend more time in Hawaii.

I want to publish books, many of them. But if what I have learned in life is helpful to those who most appreciate it, whether on my blogs, website,Twitter, or a conversation over coffee, I have really lived a life with purpose. I have already received feedback many times that I have made a difference to people.

Maybe your Bucket List, too, is shorter than you think and your life is richer—than you knew, however long or short it turns out to be.

~~~

Read these past Cool Saging Conversations:

Maintenance, Optimism, and Mind Games (MOM-G)

Keep Boomer Bucks in Flux; Find the Soul in Your Money
Techno-Boom!
Necessity is the Mother of Invention
Don’t Be A Dinosaur

Autumn EquiKnocks

What inner seeds of hopes and dreams will you harvest this autumn? Think about what you have wanted to create in your life since the natural New Year last spring. How are your “crops?” What progress have you made?

We are again on the cusp of the Autumn Equinox, that comfortable, predictable change of season that gives us continuity and a sense of order on Planet Earth. Autumn comes knocking at our door in the US on September 22 at 8:45 AM Pacific—adjust for your time zone. One of my first posts last year, Happy Autumn Equinox, is often visited and has a lot of generic information about the season from a spiritual and symbolic standpoint.

This year, I’m treating all you Cool Insighters to an excerpt from Hot Flashbacks, Cool Insights—the book. It’s from the chapter, “The AARP Card.” Imagine the crisp breeze and leaves falling:

I was born on the cusp of autumn. It’s my favorite season, even though I always get somewhat depressed during that time of year. I wonder if it brings back deeply unconscious memories of my original loss of my birth mom and my rough start in life. Or maybe the smell of early fires and the suggestion of winter in the air remind me of death and dying, as plants go dormant. There is a sad, bittersweet quality about autumn. Everything is most vibrant and bountiful right before winter—when it dies.

I also experienced many losses during autumn: moving from my childhood home, leaving home for the first time to go off to college, and ultimately, the deaths of my mom and brother. I wonder if I sensed those losses would come during that time of year, long before their illnesses. It would explain the blues I’d sometimes feel in the midst of leaves turning colors I consider among the wonders of the world. If I were to bet what time of year I’ll go back to the earth…

On the other hand—enough mourning—autumn holds two of my favorite holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving. I love costumes and the threat of a good prank. Best of all, I love a holiday that forces even the stingiest people to open their pockets to the kids and the dentists in the neighborhood.

I grew up in a time that preceded worries about razor blades in apples and Ex Lax in brownies. Homemade goodies were actually a welcome part of my Halloween booty. Being a Venus Girl—someone with a lot of planets in Libra or Taurus in my astrological chart, ruled by Venus, the Goddess of Love and Beauty—you’d never see me in an ugly costume. No hook noses or fake warts. I’m sure I played plenty a pretty princess or ballerina in my youth, not that I still remember.

As a younger grown-up, I’d never miss an opportunity to do something wild and wacky in the Costume Department. Some of my favorites include:

· Auntie Mame, one of all-time heroines and literary characters, with flapper garb and trumpet from the musical version of the story

·

The Purple People Eater—one eye, one horned, purple from head to toe, and flying into the costume promenade at work playing the old song by Sheb Wooly on a tape recorder

· A blue cosmic cowgirl in a kinky blue wig and cowboy hat, blaster at hip, and

· A Christmas tree.

I suppose you could argue I was mixing my holiday metaphors on the Christmas tree, but it was cool. I had a star on my head, wore a handmade green felt poncho that held garland, bulbs, and other ornaments, and I carried a wrapped box by a string that I pulled underneath myself when I spread my arms out, assuming the tree pose.

These last ten years, I haven’t done much with costumes, which does make me worry I might be getting old and no one told me. However, I always, at minimum, wear a black t-shirt with some Halloween message on it and pumpkin jewelry that glows in the dark.

More recently, I have become infatuated with

Dias de los Muertos or Day of the Dead, the Mexican holiday that begins the day after Halloween. Its purpose is to honor the dead and, at the same time, to thumb your nose at Death. Los Dias de los Muertos is not a sad time, but instead a time of remembering and rejoicing. Dias paraphernalia includes all those comic pictures of skeletons smiling doing various fun things like dancing. I have one under the clock in my office. The skeleton is grinning at his computer, wearing a pair of headphones. On the screen, it says Great American Novel. It definitely encourages me to get clacking away on my books, but if I run out of time, I hope I get to find out how you can still finish a book with whatever remains. Guess I may have to rethink cremation.

Then there is Thanksgiving, a holiday I truly attempt to celebrate every day of the year, not just during the big turkey spread and official kick-off to the winter holiday season. Gratitude is at the heart of a great life. The more we say thank you, the more the universe returns its bounty. Spirit, like people, appreciates those who don’t take giving for granted. Life is so rich. To quote my favorite Auntie (Mame, of course), “Life’s a banquet and most poor slobs are starving to death.”

Dig into the banquet. When Autumn EquiKnocks, answer the door with a big yes to her bounty. May your cornucopia and your gratitude overflow. In the words of William Blake:

"Gratitude is heaven itself."

The Power of Positive Puppy

When my beloved and I first got together in early 1997, he was living in Dallas. I lived in Sacramento. He had recently lost his job in a layoff due to a company downsizing. He was single—never married. He lived on a little manmade lake in the suburbs where his only pets were the ducks and other wildlife, except for his next-door neighbor, a Jack Russell Terrier.

It didn’t take more than a couple visits for us both to agree where our relationship was headed—a merger. That’s why I almost died when he called and told me that he missed me so much between visits, he just had to get a puppy.

What was he thinking? I had two cats! How would this ever work?

Even though I was raised with dogs, primarily boxers and one pansy poodle, I had converted to cats in early adulthood and never looked back. It wasn’t that I didn’t like dogs. I just found cats and their independent qualities and easy care fit my lifestyle better than being tied down to a needy dog. Especially as puppies, they were hard work and demanded constant attention.

However, once I saw a picture of that cute little Yellow Lab, I knew I’d just have to work it out. I was sucked right into the puppy vortex. (Look at this picture and tell me, could you have resisted Baby Bear?) Besides, how could I deny Tim companionship when I was over 1700 miles away and could only see him every couple of months. We had agreed to let our relationship develop in its own natural timing. Tim knew I wasn’t interested in an extended long-distance relationship, but I wasn’t pushing to move in together tomorrow, either. Tons of decisions had to precede that, including the toughest one of all: Which one of us would uproot and relocate?

The merger happened much sooner than we expected while sipping a tropical drink at a riverside restaurant in Sacramento. Tim had just come out for my father’s funeral, only three months after we had first gotten together in Dallas.

“I think I’m ready to move out here to be with you,” he said. “I can look for a job here just as easily as there. Besides, I don’t think you’d be happy in the Bible Belt.”

I was stunned. Later, he told me he was as surprised as I was. He had no idea that he felt that way—that he had already decided—until the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

Once that happy bomb was dropped on both of us, our lives were afire with more frequent calls and constant efforts to figure out the logistics of the move. He’d arrange to have a friend watch his house till he was ready to put it on the market. I’d take vacation and fly to Dallas the week before Memorial Day. We’d transport clothes and anything else we could fit into his car besides the puppy, then make our way to Sacramento in 500-600 mile increments—not pushing it—stopping frequently for puppy pit stops, staying overnight at the end of each of the three days it would take for the trek at that pace.

I’d like to say our trip was unremarkable, but we’ll never forget how miserable we were pushed all the way forward in our tight quarters in the front seat of Tim’s sporty Toyota Celica. Bear lounged in the back, seats down, in his huge crate, inverted to resemble a laundry basket and upsized for his ultimate growth. He took up a lot of space, a life-long quality. This scene also spoke volumes about who would be the center of attention in our family.

Bear’s happy, wagtail personality gave us all kinds of laughs along the way, especially his candid customer feedback at the Holiday Inn, where he entered the room, took one look, and pooped in the hallway. I had painstakingly researched dog-friendly accommodations. We’d tie him to a tree or fence near the pool while we’d try to work out our body cramps with a swim. People pushing 50 aren’t made for long drives with or without exuberant puppies. The worst part was eating fast food all day. Since we couldn’t leave Bear in the car alone in the hot weather, the drive-through was a must. The last night we actually got to visit a park and let him run around a little, and we felt comfortable to leave him in our room long enough to duck out for some real food before blimping out into something from Supersize Me.

Once settled in Sac and recovered from freaked-out cats, the real fun began. (Darrin hid for two days, making me question my new life decision seriously.) Bear developed an unholy love for his new mother, barked and got all agitated if Tim and I even so much as embraced. Our poochie pervert was wont to dig my underwear out of the laundry basket. One day he started tossing around a pair of panties then catching them in his mouth. After one of the tosses, the undies landed on his head over one eye. He looked just like a lecherous pirate. We laughed at that sight for years.

Bear redesigned my Birkenstocks with a scalloped edge I did not appreciate. Although it was already broken down and desperately needed replacement, he chewed through the fence and infuriated my landlord. But these were tiny, minor puppy indiscretions. He was wired, a dog that seemed to be bouncing on pogo sticks instead of paws. People with Labs would look at us with pity and announce that they rarely settle down till they’re five or six. We would lock eyes and telegraph a silent scream to each other. We were sure we’d never last that long.

But last we did, through an array of puppy and people problems way too long to list. Tim had health problems that taxed us for years and impacted many areas of our life together until they finally took a turn for the better. Bear had all kinds of challenges—hip dysplasia, which meant rigorous efforts to prevent future arthritis—Vitamin C and more Glucosamine and Chontroitin than we consumed as we approached senior status, then exceeded it. There were the intractable skin rashes and all kinds of salves, shampoos, and daily doses of antihistamines. He’d break out in terrible skin eruptions and his itching drove us all crazy.

He was expensive. (Who knew there was such a thing as a doggy dermatologist?) It was very difficult to find competent pet sitters and go anywhere overnight given his regime. It only got worse when he was diagnosed with Cushing’s disease at age 10. The symptoms were excessive thirst, drinking, and peeing often. His tendency to eat everything in sight worsened.

Cushing’s is a production of excess adrenal hormone. In Bear’s case, it was almost certainly caused by a benign pituitary tumor. The excess cortisol pumped by the adrenals had an upside. It was like giving him steroids for his bad hips. That’s why we decided not to treat him and to let nature take its course. The treatment is drastic—highly monitored doses of a DDT derivative to shrink the tumor. The amount has to be just right and requires five days of watching your dog like a hawk for changes in his appetite that signal he’s had just enough of the “poison” to help and not harm him. The treatment and monitoring cost several thousand of dollars and the maintenance dose of the drug is over $100 per month.

We had just spend nearly $3000 on an operation for Darrin, but I was ready to go for it until Tim reminded me that Bear’s hips were getting worse and the Cushing’s helped alleviate his growing discomfort and difficulty walking to a great extent. He wanted to go for quality, not quantity of life. Because Bear was originally his dog, I felt Tim’s opinion ruled, but it ultimately made sense to me, too. Later, two different vets said they’d probably have done the same thing. One told us she knew people who got all excited that there was a treatment for this disease, primarily of older dogs. They’d put out all that cash and hopefulness, only to have to put down their pooch six months later because of painful arthritis. We had to take into consideration all of Bear’s health issues.

Our boy’s last year was tough on all of us, although he kept his usual good humor nearly to the end. As is often typical in both animals and people, he had a last hurrah. His condition improved so much around his 11th birthday, we wondered if we were being pessimistic about the end being near. Sadly, it was only three days later, and it was not pretty. In a way, that was a blessing, because there was no question about what we had to do and its urgency.

It is difficult to let go of the glue in your family, the dog with a smile, the canine cheerleader whose goofiness brought sunshine to every dark day. He loved when I tucked him into his crate at night. He still slept in it in our bedroom—his one constant, his “blankie” or recreated womb—until his last year or two. Then he finally preferred to sleep near the foot of our bed. He’d run to the bedroom, and wait for his last biscuit (cookie) after his pills, and, of course, a goodnight kiss from Mom. We had this tender ritual we began when he was still a puppy. We borrowed it from the Waltons. We always said, “Nite-nite, Sweet Bear.” Tim and I nite-nite-sweeted each other and all the cats as well. I made up a song that was part of Bear’s routine. I sang it to the tune of Rock-a-bye Baby:

Nite-nite, Sweet Beary
In your soft crate
Mommy will tuck you
She won’t be late.
Gallop to Dreamland
Pills, cookie, kiss.
Isn’t it heaven,
Nite-nite like this?
(Spoken) Nite-nite, Sweet Bear.

I sang his song one last time on January 15, 2008 when the vet on duty sent him to Dreamland and Heaven for good. My heart was breaking to put him down so soon after losing Darrin only two months earlier, but one thing is true. Our four fur sons, including the two we have lost, will always be our family. They are the hub of the home we created together, whether they are with us in body or only in spirit.

No matter how many new four-legged bundles of love join our family in the future, there was only one dog for us in the whole world at a time in our lives riddled with stress and turmoil. His needs brought us out of our self-absorption. Bear was the greatest gift my husband ever gave me—the one I thought I didn’t need.

The power of positive puppy brought us joy every day, no matter what was going on. Just thinking of Bear always will.

Bounty Hunters

It’s the occupation of Stephanie Plum, the wacky Janet Evanovich character in her numbers novels (One for the Money, Two for the Dough). I love her crazy antics and terminal ineptitude as she bumbles through life with a cast of equally hilarious characters trying to catch the bad guys or gals who have jumped bail.

Most of us are a different kind of bounty hunters. We seek the fruits of a life well lived: good food, good friends, a fabulous family, a comfortable lifestyle, and a sense of purpose.

One of my favorite symbols is the cornucopia, the horn of plenty. The harvest celebrates abundance, one of the main purposes of the feast, Thanksgiving.

But there is another even more important purpose—the thanks.

From the earliest age, as tiny toddlers, “please” and “thank-you” are among the first words we learn. I wonder why I bother with the child who doesn’t even let me know my gift arrived, much less says thanks. I’m much more willing to keep giving to people that acknowledge my efforts.

The universe works the same way. The more we say thank-you, the more it wants to give.

That’s why it’s important to develop your sense of gratitude all year long. Gratitude isn’t a season. It’s a way of life.

The word Christians use for communion—Eucharist—means thanksgiving. Catholics have a concept of being Eucharist to each other, which is the ultimate “being there” for someone. They can rely on each other in community to meet all those needs that the cornucopia represents. I’m sure there are many other traditions that uphold this concept of each feeding others, and in doing so, becoming the food that never stops giving—a perpetual loaves and fishes—in a divine domino effect of loving kindness.

To get that relationship with All That Is, you have to be part of the giving—starting with giving thanks.

Developing an attitude of gratitude isn’t just easy; it’s fun. Here are my two favorite bounty boosters:

• Every day, or as often as possible, write in your journal at least 10 things you’re thankful for. They can be of any size or subject—it didn’t rain today, I got a raise, my cat kissed me on the nose. Whatever it is, when you write it down, you send out waves of attraction for more good of the same kind.

• Create a gratitude box. Do the same thing as often as possible, only write them on slips of paper. They become your a self-made cornucopia. Especially on a blue day, you can dip into the box and find one, two, or fifty of your blessings. You know the old song Bing Crosby song from White Christmas, Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep. Why not? Toss the Lunesta. Visit your personal gift box instead, even if it’s just the one in your mind.

Gratitude is a simple awareness of the blessings all around us … how much good there is when we have the eyes to see it and bother to say hello to the Source.

Let this Thanksgiving kick off the next 365-day cycle of bounty hunting. To get really radical, and possibly to focus more on gratitude than gluttony, here’s one last exercise. Before dessert, draw names out of a hat of everyone present. Go around the table. Each person then expresses their gratitude to the one they have drawn. It can be for something he or she has done during the year or some ongoing quality or action.

Not only will this give your poor, overtaxed digestive system a rest before assaulting it with pumpkin pie; I have a hunch it’ll become a new tradition and the new whip cream.