The elephant in the room is what’s happening in Israel. October 7 will mark one year since the armed conflict between Israel and Hamas-led Palestinian militant groups in the Gaza Strip and Israel. It’s the fifth war of the Gaza–Israel conflict since 2008, and the most significant military engagement in the region since the Yom Kippur War in 1973. I don’t have an opinion to share because I think all the killing is terrible with horrendous collateral damage.
Now is the time for an end to war and hope for long lasting peace.
Happy New Year! Shana tovah!
Rosh Hashanah is one of Judaism’s holiest days. It’s also a powerful new moon, which enhances the overall spirituality of this holiday.
Meaning “head of the year” or “first of the year,” Rosh Hashanah — the Jewish new year — marks the creation of the world.
It also marks the beginning of the Jewish High Holy Days leading up to Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement.
As is the custom with all new years, it’s a time to reflect on the past and how we can improve in the future.
This is the time for apples and honey to represent a sweet new year, to be eaten with challah bread and pomegranate seeds.
L’Shanah Tovah Tikateivu “May you be inscribed [in the Book of Life] for a good year.”
One of the Angel Kids came in, looked around the living room, and said, “Grandma, you turned this room into a zen den!”
I had never heard of that term before; apparently he heard about it from one of Mom’s friends.
A Zen room is a tranquil space designed for meditation, reflection, and relaxation. It draws inspiration from Zen Buddhism’s principles of simplicity, mindfulness, and harmony with nature.
Recently, my love/obsession for indoor plants has spilled out all over the house to every available space, and the living room is no exception. I found an awesome boho rug and switched out some 90s burgundy drapes for a softer, more gentle mauve. I already had lots of pillows and crystals, rocks, and seashells, so it wasn’t such a drastic change.
If I hadn’t almost burned down the house a few times (truth), I’d add to the ambiance with a few dozen candles, but I don’t think it’s a great idea based on my track record.
It’s a sanctuary, a safe haven, a great place to play Scrabble, work on puzzles with the Angels, or listen to them play in the “mansion”, which is what we call their giant doll house that’s five feet tall and so big that we set it up in the living room.
“We like it down here, Grandma.” That’s all I needed to hear. My zen den is a success. It really does have a serene, peaceful vibe, and I’m happy they could feel it, too.
It’s a great place to quiet the mind and think about the autumnal equinox, free of TV or other distractions.
According to Isis Channelings, this equinox represents the balance of light and dark, and falls within a highly karmic dark night of the soul eclipse gateway. It’s like a bandage has been ripped out and all our wounds are exposed and demanding to be seen .
Dream time is intense right now and can bring much clarity and insights from our subconscious which could prove useful as we navigate these emotional tidal waves.
Enjoy twelve equal hours of light and dark, the first day of fall, and celebrate Mabon and honor Mother Earth by eating apples, decluttering, and don’t forget to write in a gratitude journal.
Hurkle-durkle is one of my favorite words to say out loud, along withhygge.
To hurkle-durkle means “to lie in bed or lounge about when one should be up and about”.
It’s a legit 19th century Scottish word and nobody embodied it better than my darling Bandit…my undercover lover.
She was an expert hurkle-durkler. I have this exact photo framed, on the wall facing my bed, so I can absorb her beautiful essence every day. I’ll never stop missing that little girl.
I’m not a great hurkle-durkler; like my Angel Boys, as soon as I wake up, I jump out of bed to get the day started, but when Bandit was still alive, sleeping under the covers, it was really hard to leave her hot little purring body. She’d still be there when I came back to make the bed — my Bandit was a next-level sleeper, that’s for sure.
I do. I remember my first ballet class, my first pair of pointe shoes, my first ski trip along with my best ride down Stump Alley at Mammoth, and even my first bra, lolz
Not having grown up on the west coast, I didn’t have a connection to the ocean until high school.
I recall my first time on a surfboard…it did NOT go well, and I almost broke my nose. This was not the sport for me. Decades later, I gave it another try. Once again, it didn’t go well. I ended up rolling and rolling under some giant NOT BEGINNER waves, and the next day I was covered in the ugliest bruises. That was IT for me.
Angel Girl takes gymnastics and was obsessed with cartwheels. Tenacious girl that she is, she tried and practiced and kept at it until the mechanics of a cartwheel finally clicked and she perfected it. “Watch me, Grandma!” “See, I can do it now!”
What an amazing sense of accomplishment and mastery of a difficult skill. “Great job, girl!”
Even though we live so close to the ocean, the original Angel Boy didn’t really like to surf, mainly because without his glasses, he can’t see a thing, and it was a scary endeavor unless he had a buddy with him. He’d boogie board a lot, but never really got into surfing until he started wearing contacts.
Now he has a quiver of boards here and at his house, too.
To encourage AB 2.0, he’s been taken along for (gentle) rides on a surfboard since he was about a year old.
This past weekend, it finally clicked for him, too. He stood up and surfed his first legit wave!
This is a bad photo because I took it from the video, but I can feel T’s sense of pride. It didn’t matter that it was a small wave: HE DID IT, and OMG, he’s a carbon copy of his dad.
Predictably, you couldn’t get him out of the water after that. He’s completely hooked, and now Dad has a lifelong surfing buddy. As an aside, is there anything cuter than a little grom in a wetsuit?
I hope they never forget these significant firsts, and since we have video of all of it, I can imagine they’ll show their own children these amazing accomplishments.
“Grandma, I need to tell you about YOUR LITTLE BOY!”
It never fails to make me laugh when I hear both Angels refer to their dad that way.
It started a long time ago when I explained to them that not only was I their grandma, but that their dad was my little boy and he’ll ALWAYS be my little boy.
Ever since, and especially when they have some juicy gossip OR a complaint, he’s referred to as “your little boy”.
When he rode his skateboard sans helmet which is absolutely DUMB, Angel Boy 2.0 would call me and tattle on him. When he fell off his surfboard, I was told about it. When he ran through a red light, yup, I had a phone call.
“Grandma, you will not BELIEVE what your little boy did!”
They extract a great deal of enjoyment when I scold their dad about his small crimes and misdemeanors; I’m a constant source of entertainment: “DAD, GRANDMA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR!”
Mom isn’t exempt either, but MY little boy bears the brunt of the scandalous chat.
This time was a bit different. AB is now in third grade and his sister will start kindergarten at the same school. Usually Dad walked him as it’s only a couple blocks away and Mom stayed with the baby, now not a baby. (This is a cool deja vu moment for both Dad and me, because HIS elementary school was also in walking distance, and it was a great time to chat and walk there every day.)
I got the phone call….“Do you know what your little boy is going to do when school starts?“
I literally had no idea.
“Because I like to get to school early – Grandma, you know I don’t like to be late — and you know how Dad and I race there every day and sometimes I win –and C can’t EVER wake up, YOUR LITTLE BOY is going to run me to school first, come home, and then bring C. Isn’t that funny?”
“Well, T, why don’t you just wait until your sister is ready and Dad will only have to make one trip?”
“OMG Grandma, you KNOW that won’t work! We have to leave at exactly the right time.”
The backstory is that Angel Boy 2.0 has always been an early riser like Dad (and me), but his sister could sleep all night and most of the day. Sometimes, we still check on her to make sure she’s breathing, but boyohboy can that girl SLEEP.
Her pre-school started at 9:15 and it was often a struggle to get her there on time. Kindergarten starts at 7:55 a.m. so she’s going to have to go to bed extra early to train for a new sleep schedule. There will no longer be an option to let her skip a day or two or come in a couple hours late.
The best part of this story is how much Angel Boy loves school. He can’t wait to get there and always wants to stay after to play with friends.
His dad loved to learn, too, and still does.
It’s markedly different than my experience, that’s for sure. I didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to get home. The only happy part of it for me was the night before when I chose whatever pretty dress I would wear the next day. There were always matching socks and ribbons for my hair.
Being a fashionista is a life long pursuit and I can’t wait to see what the kids wear for their first day.
My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.
It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”
Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.
I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.
This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!
We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.
Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”
Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.
As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.
It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.
I learned something new today. I read that freshly hatched doves are silent; unlike most birds that chirp or coo incessantly for food, baby doves make virtually no sound.
I didn’t hear anything for a couple of days, so I climbed up on a stepladder to see inside the nest and there was this gorgeous little one gazing at me with his gentle round eyes. I thought there were two eggs, but there’s only one, and he seems quite content.
Baby mourning doves are ready to fly and leave the nest when they’re about two weeks old, but they stay close to their parents and continue to be fed by them for another week or two.
The nest is now empty but they’re still here in the garden, and even came to visit me on the deck. I feel lucky to be chosen as a safe haven for these placid, peaceful creatures.
I think we all need a gentle reminder to speak kindly to our beautiful little ones. These positive and nurturing messages should be repeated over and over again.
A great idea is to print this graphic and post it on the refrigerator. Turn it into a conversation where other encouraging messages can be added to the list to foster self-compassion and self-love.
I hope everybody survived the powerful energies of the 8/8/8 Lion’s Gate Portal! It was intense, wasn’t it? And still is…
I always return to the simple things to realign myself on life’s journey; a little course correction of some vitamin sea at the beach with sand and seashells.
Art by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite Quote by Nicollete Sowder Text over art by Enchanted Seashells
I needed a brain cleanse from all the pictures and chatter about J.D. Vance* enjoying an intimate moment with his SOFA, so I had to share this cute little anecdote…
My son is/was a fairly good piano player. He started taking lessons when he was five years old because my mom thought he had talent along with some interest, so we brought home a pretty cool piano.
He was OK but not a prodigy. Even though family legend has been that we might be slightly related to a world renowned pianist, it didn’t seem to be his joy and after a few years, he quit playing except to entertain friends.
Now that there are Angel Kids, they seem to gravitate toward the piano when they visit. This last time, eight year old Angel Boy was pounding on it, driving me crazy.
I’d say, “Gentle, gentle, Use a gentle touch, PLEASE!” but he didn’t really understand what I meant.
Dad was off surfing (of course) so I couldn’t ask him to play something, as he could have demonstrated what I meant. Since I absolutely can’t play a note, I’m useless.
I had a brainstorm. Thinking that maybe he needed to SEE how the piano ought to be touched, we watched some of Leon Russell’s videos where AB could see the light, gentle touch used on the keys, and the beautiful sounds it would make.
We listened to a lot of Leon Russell’s magical music, I mean A LOT. Like I said, I’m obsessed, haha!
Since kids nowadays know more about the internet than we did at that age, he saw the sign of the red line under each video, to indicate that I had watched a LOT of Leon’s live performances.
“Grandma, did you really watch all of this?”
“I DID, I told you he is a musical genius, and I love to watch him sing and play piano.”
The next morning as I was making his fave buckwheat pancakes, I heard Angel Boy open the piano and start playing.
I could tell that he was trying to emulate the way he observed Leon’s hands glide across the keys-not pounding out sounds, but allowing each key to speak and tell a story and that’s when I knew my little buddy was hooked.
His performance was extemporaneously lyrical. Was I in heaven, or what?
When their visit was over and I was driving everyone to the airport, I paired my phone with the car and started to play (what else) Leon Russell.
From his car seat directly behind me, Angel Boy pleaded with me, “NO MORE LEON RUSSELL, GRANDMA! NO MORE!” He said he’d rather hear my favorite Swan Lake than hear ANOTHER song that he had been “forced” to listen to for DAYS. (However, he really liked “Tight Rope”, so I know he was actually listening.)
It was pretty funny, but I had done my job. Mission accomplished. Whether he knew it or not, my Angel Boy, representing a new generation, was already inspired by Leon Russell’s magical genius.
The legacy lives on. Now his parents need to get a piano and start lessons with a great teacher.
At the very least, he stopped pounding on the keys, so it was a win for me.
Leon’s mind blowing version of Over The Rainbow, always the master of space and time.
*J.D. Vance is the orange turd’s incredibly idiotic choice for vice president, not that it’ll matter ‘cos I predict that Kamala will WIN by a landslide.
Featured photo is Leon Russell as a child at the piano.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 