Last week was Halloween.

I always love Halloween.  There’s this energy, this buzz about the day that’s just infectious. And it feels surreal. And a little eerie. Although not in a frightening way, just in a there’s-a-mysterious-energy-pulsing-about-the-day kind of way.

Ben told me once, on a Halloween night before we started dating …

It was the night, in fact, that the mystery of Halloween made me notice Ben in a way I hadn’t before. It was the buzz and the excitement of the night. It was the confidence Ben had, donning his “Devilishly Handsome” costume. And it was the sexy gleam in his eye, with which he told me, “On Halloween night the veil between the worlds is at it’s thinnest.”

And that is true. The veil between our world and the worlds of mystery and of spirits and mischief, is at it’s thinnest. You can feel how thin the veil is in that mysterious and eerie energy surrounding the day.

Many of our Halloween traditions come from an ancient holy day the Pagans call Samhain. Samhain is a night when our beloved dead are also able to cross that paper-thin veil. Our loved ones whom we’ve lost are able to come visit us. And we, the living, celebrate them, welcome them home and tell stories to remember them.

It’s a wonderful tradition that is so completely absent in our culture today, the tradition of celebrating our dead, of remembering them with festivities and fun and music and stories. I try really hard to tell my kids often about my mom, their Grandma Donna. I want them to know her and for her to have some sort of presence in their lives. It’s the only way my kids will ever be able to know her.

So, in the spirit of the day, Ellie and I were talking to Grandma Donna a little on Halloween.

In fact, it all started with Ellie.

I’ve always believed little ones have a much closer and an easier connection with whatever energies are out there. Whether it’s the energy of our loved ones who’ve passed on, or of God, or the Universe, or whatever it is you believe in ... I’m convinced children can feel it stronger. Before, as adults, our culture has reasoned all the magic right out of us.

So Halloween afternoon Ellie was sitting in the living room. She was sitting by herself, snuggled up in the corner of the couch, still a bit sleepy-eyed from her nap. She was sitting there and just started giggling, laughing and saying, “Hi. Hi.” And I immediately had this sense of my mom. I was flooded with the thought of her and in love with the idea of Grandma Donna coming to visit. And Ellie, having no filter, was completely open to it.

I mean, why not? Why wouldn’t my mom’s spirit, or energy, or ghost, or whatever, want to come visit her adorable granddaughter if given even the tiniest possibility?!

So in the spirit of the day, and with the idea of our lost loved ones visiting, I told Ellie we should ask Grandma Donna for some help with the yucky Halloween rain we were having that day.

It had been raining. Constantly. All day. It was just a totally stereotypical, completely soggy, Pacific Northwest rainy autumn day. The clouds were dark and threatening and thick. All day long. The chance of dry trick-or-treating seemed very slim.

So after snacks I told Ellie, “We should ask Grandma Donna for some help with the  weather.” So we asked her, out loud together, “Hi Grandma Donna! So, if you have any pull with the weather makers, could you please help get the rain to stop for trick-or-treating? We love you!”

And, low and behold …

Just in time for trick or treating the rain stopped. When the first trick-or-treater of the night knocked on our door, I opened it up and saw a small, but very encouraging, patch of blue sky. By the time we were out trick-or-treating the sky was completely wide open and I just marveled at all the shimmering, shining stars.

I was actually in awe throughout the evening by how completely the rain had stopped. And what an absolutely perfect Halloween night it had become, when it seemed so impossible just a few hours before. Multiple times I heard people remarking, “ I just can’t believe it stopped raining.”

It definitely felt magical to me. It felt mysterious and it felt surreal. And it really made me think of my mom. It made her feel very nearby throughout the entire evening.

And you can say that it was all just coincidence. That, logically, there’s just no chance my mom had anything to do with the weather that night at all. But I say … who cares?!! 

Who cares if my mom’s spirit actually spent the afternoon with Ellie, or if Grandma Donna was enjoying the rain-free trick-or-treating with us. Who cares if it was “real.” It made me feel close to my mom. That was real. It made me feel like I was sharing a real moment with her, like she was a very real part of our evening.  And in that way her spirit really did feel very much alive to me on Halloween night.

And at the heart of it, that’s the point of the whole day. The history of Halloween, its traditions we still celebrate, are meant to remind us of the people we love so much whom we’ve lost. It’s a time to celebrate them and be reminded of them in happy, fun, joyful ways.

••••••••••

Have there been any ways this autumn that you’ve felt connected to loved ones you’ve lost? What are some special ways you remember people you’re close to who’ve passed on? 

Today is the summer solstice.

I couldn’t bear the thought of not posting something on this momentous day on our seasonal calendar. The day we get to rip the Spring page off and reveal Summer. Actual, for real, SUMMER in all it’s caps lock glory.

A day, consciously or not, we’ve all been counting toward for weeks. I’ve been excitedly planning all kinds of summer adventures - camping trips and beach days, even a few sweltering days in the brick-oven summer heat of New York City, with a day-dreamy weekend in beautiful Vermont to balance it out. Jaden only has 2 more days of school left. This is it. Summer is ON!

I’ve been thinking about this day for weeks. What I want to say, what I want to write. And what it all means, this big, exciting day when the seasons turn over. And I have sat down and written. Many times. But in blunt, unedited honesty, I’ve just really been struggling. I’ve been sludging through molasses trying to keep it going. To actually follow through. To keep moving on this project I’ve set out for myself. Despite that annoying, bitch of a voice, who keeps whispering in my ear that it’s not good enough, "It’s not interesting. Who cares? And who really wants to read this anyway?!"

And despite the beautiful, 70 degree, promise-of-summertime days that have been sprinkled in over the last few weeks, my spirit has been much, much more connected to the rainy, stormy, cold-wind-blowing late Pacific Northwest spring days we’ve also been having. Those days that folks around here love to talk about. How many times lately have you heard (or said), “… IF we ever have summer around here.” Or, “I HOPE we get a summer this year.”

These are the days my mood definitely more closely reflects right now. I’ve just been feeling a bit down in the dumps. That feeling of wanting to hide away, of being bummed out, and just really struggling to write about the carefree summer days coming up, despite my own excitement and anticipation for them. And what I’ve realized, as usual, is that perhaps it’s not a coincidence that my spirit’s been feeling a little conflicted right now.

Because it’s an interesting time, the summer solstice. Seasonally, we’re also a little conflicted right now.

The summer solstice is, of course, this wonderful beginning. It’s the first day of summer! But, it’s also an end. It’s the end of the days growing longer. It’s exciting and awesome that today is the longest day of the year, but it’s also bittersweet. Because tomorrow … tomorrow the days begin to get shorter again. Despite the hot days of summer still to come, we also start to say goodbye to the seemingly endless hours of daylight, as the long dark nights start slowly creeping back in.

And I think perhaps I’ve been feeling that, that bittersweet bite of this energized and exciting time of year.

It’s also just been a sad, sad time in this city with all these incredibly tragic deaths that have happened recently. It really shook me. It made me look at my own mortality a little bit, and that of my family, my love, my children. I can’t help but think of all the horrible, horrible sorrow those families, and wives, and moms and children and friends are experiencing over the loss of their beautiful, beautiful loved ones. In an instant. Such unimaginable loss they’re all feeling. In an instant. Everything was happy and good and fine and then, in a moment, it wasn’t anymore. And that will certainly touch your heart and affect your spirit. It will definitely bring you down and make you sad.

I found it fascinating to learn, in the midst of such unimaginable loss and heartache, that the bittersweet nature of the summer solstice is, in its own small way, a time to learn and practice saying goodbye. The summer solstice reminds us that nothing lasts forever. That even when we’re our most happy, anticipating the glorious summer days ahead, there’s still a sting that nothing can last forever, that slowly but surely we are creeping back to the dark, cold days of winter.

Many, many times in our lives we will have to say goodbye and let go when we aren’t necessarily ready to. I hope, and I pray, in not nearly so devastating a way as our neighbors have had to. But our kids will grow faster than we’re ready for them to, our lives will change, friends will come and go and we’ll have to say goodbye, let go and move on. And it’s sad. It’s hard. And it certainly drags your spirit down.

But it’s also a necessary part of life. When things change, when a cycle comes to its end, we have to let go, ready or not.

So on this summer solstice, while we're celebrating the beginning of this fantastic time of year, we’re also letting go and saying goodbye. What are you letting go of, whether you’re ready to or not?

Me, I’m trying my absolute damnedest to let go of that nagging inner voice. I’m so ready to say goodbye to her! That voice that tells me this project is silly. She’s making it nearly impossible to finish a draft of anything worthwhile to post. So I’m leaving her behind. I'm letting her go and pushing right on through.

May Day.

Let’s talk about sex.

(Parental warning … this post talks about the birds and the bees. So, you know, if you’re okay talking about the birds and the bees, then by all means … carry on.)

May is a pretty sexy time in nature.

Trees are in full bloom now. The garden’s beginning to grow. The Farmer’s Market in my neighborhood is just starting for the season.  All kinds of flowers are unfolding. Baby animals are being born.

I’m fortunate enough to have friends that farm. So I get to see pictures of wee piglets fighting for their astoundingly patient mama sow’s milk. They also have tiny goats, still wet from birth, already walking on quite wobbly little legs. It’s awesome. New babies being born.

It’s just an amazing show of the power of Life right now.

Everything is so alive and vibrant. I have moments when I’ll turn down a tree-lined street in full spring sexiness. The whole street in bloom, showing off luminous white petals overhead and also strewn across the brilliant green grass below. The whole picture is so surreally vibrant. It’s like … an acid trip.

Spring feels a bit like an acid trip. Things are just brighter. The bright blue sky, with its perfectly placed fluffy white clouds. The buds finally getting ready to open on the last tree that blooms in my yard, hundreds of bright magenta beads outlining every last dark brown branch. It looks like a chocolate jelly bean tree you’d find in a Dr. Seuss land, the Jelly Bean Tree from Phillow Thooee.

And how about the scent from blooming lilacs? If you haven’t lately, the very next time you’re passing a lilac tree, pause for a second. Put your nose right up into the flowers. Don’t be too cool. Just put your nose right up in it and take a deep breath in. It’s wonderful. Ahh … (deep breath) ... lilac! I promise you you’ll take a second breath in there.

I was telling Jaden the other day how I can recall the smell of lilacs from my childhood. I remember the lilac bush that grew along the fence in my front yard. I’d see the lovely lavendar hue of the flowers forming against its lustrous green leaves, and when I’d catch a whiff of their blooms I knew it was almost time for summer vacation. How cool to now have my son, beginning his own annual count down to summer vacation by the clock of the lilac. Only 6 weeks to go, and the lilacs are just beginning to get your attention. When they’re in full show-off mode, and you begin to notice it’s also still light out at bedtime, well then … you’ve made it. Summer vacation is right around the corner.

Everything is absolutely showing off right now, trying to get your attention. And the bees’ attention. And the birds’ attention.

Like I said, spring is a sexy time of year.

One of Earth’s greatest gifts is her power to create all this gorgeous, wonderful life. This is a time to pause for a second and give thanks for the fertile, sexual energy that is present in all life. It’s a time for celebrating the force that brings forth new life and honoring that.

And not just in nature, but also in ourselves. It’s a pretty crazy cool thing to be able to actually create new life. I’m constantly astounded that once there was just Ben and me. And now, we have these two other people, these lives that we’ve made. Ben and I just made these two, beautiful, unique, creative, miraculous new beings. That’s a pretty incredible super power we human beings have. I’ll take a second to stand in awe and give thanks for that.

Sex is an important, necessary, joyous part of life. Without sex there would be no life. So, it seems like a pretty important part of life to give thanks for. And to celebrate. And to enjoy.  This is the time of year that we celebrate the joys of being alive. All the joys. Including the joy we experience in creating life.

And spring is a time when life just feels good. And if, for some reason, you don’t feel good, there’s a zillion trees and flowers and birds and fluffy white clouds in a vivid blue sky showing off, trying to get your attention.

I mean, talk about showing off and trying to get your attention - I haven’t even mentioned the first vegetable now standing proud in the garden … the asparagus. Classic phallic showoff. Isn’t it obvious May Day is all about sex?!

Eostar. The spring equinox.

A time of new beginnings, of new life and rebirth. 

And doesn’t it just feel that way this time of year? Doesn’t the fresh air and the warm sunshine feel like the beginning of something new? When I hear the robins outside my window again and notice the lilacs starting to bloom it gives me a new energy, my mind starts racing with all the possibilities of the weeks and months to come. I start daydreaming about the projects I’m going to do in my yard this year in my quest to make the outside of my house as charming as the inside, (rather than the blight of the block as I dramatically imagine our neighbors think it is.) This year we’ve already cut down the sad and dowdy birch tree in our front yard and I’m excitedly planning Phase Two, a charming picket fence inspired, of course, by Pinterest.

Spring is the season of planting. We plant in our gardens all the abundant possibilities for the summer harvest. Ben and Jaden always do a beautiful job of clearing out our quaint garden boxes - three perfect, clean-slate squares, full of endless summer possibilities. And every spring we start with the very best intentions. You can’t help but feel inspired by the spring sunshine and the blossoms on the trees. Every year I have this image of us gathering bushels of bounty from our garden boxes. And we have cultivated veggies from our modest garden before, although far fewer than I imagine every April. We’ve had strange-shaped white carrots and lovely little green beans, miraculous Pacific Northwest tomatoes, and a bountiful potato harvest that made Ben feel like he could survive the end of the world. But … more often than not, our seedlings perish because we planted them outside too early. Or, unoriginally, we didn’t water them enough. Or, they survive those trials only to go to seed because we didn’t know when to gather our harvest. But, the outcome isn’t the point each spring. In spring, the point is simply the possibility. Every spring brings the possibility that this could be the year we go off the agricultural grid and conquer the world with our abundant little garden boxes.

While the natural world is bursting with new life and its own infinite new projects, not coincidentally, it’s also a time of personal metamorphosis. Winter’s darkness was a time of low-energy, of turning inward and hibernation. With the spring sunshine comes a personal hatching -  a hatching of new ideas, of new projects and new beginnings in our lives.

My spring project, and a new beginning in my life, is to reengage with my study of the seasons. To pay close attention to what’s happening in our natural world as the seasons change, and to celebrate those changes as they take place. As the wheel of the year turns, I also want to pay close, conscious attention to the changes that take place in my life. As human beings we are all Earth creatures, and as such we are affected by the Earth’s cycles and her rhythms. Whether we recognize it or not, the changing seasons absolutely affect the ebb and flow of our lives.

It’s certainly not hard to see some of the simple ways the changing seasons affect us. Just think about how differently you feel in the middle of winter, when the wind is howling outside and the freezing rain is pelting on your window. All I want to do in those moments is curl up with a blanket over my legs and a hot cup of coffee within very close reach. Compare that to how you feel now, in the midst of spring’s rebirth. For me, it feels like a challenge to be inside. I need to open the doors, let the fresh air in, clean out the cobwebs from a winter spent indoors. It’s definitely not a time for snuggling inside with a book. (Although Seattlite that I am, there’s definitely still a cup of coffee within close reach. Whatever the season.)

You can’t deny in the spring you feel more alive. You just do. When else do you pause to take a deeper breath simply because the air seems … fresher?! The sight of the cherry blossoms, when they’ve fallen and are blanketing the ground like a warm, spring, faerie snow … it absolutely takes my breath away. And not in that cliché writer way. I mean, my breath literally catches in my throat and I’m awestruck for a moment. It is such a beautiful display of spring. I feel so inspired by those moments. And, that inspiration absolutely translates into a new energy and all kinds of new ideas - in the garden, obviously, but also in many other corners of my life.

Coincidentally (or not), this winter a chapter of my life came to an end. Happily, ultimately. But an ending, none-the-less. And I find myself this spring, feeling so hopeful and incredibly excited about the many new possibilities to come. I would bet most of you, in some form or another, are feeling that very same New Beginning energy and excitement in some corner of your life too.

With the myriad of ways the changing seasons affect us, it’s not hard to believe how meaningful the seasons would become when you also pause and honor it. And honoring it doesn’t have to be some big, scary Pagan ritual, calling in the four directions with a priestess woman spouting water like a fountain to create a sacred space. (Although, it certainly can be and I’m sure it’s quite profound when you get past and the chanting and fountaining.) Honoring the season can be as simple as taking a springtime walk and noticing all the joyful signs of new life sprouting. Or, cooking a meal full of seasonal vegetables and symbols of the season. In spring quiche is a wonderful seasonal dish to cook. The egg, of course, is the quintessential symbol of spring. I mean, what represents New Life more than the image of the egg?! (And, have you ever wondered why children decorate eggs to celebrate the Christian resurrection of Jesus anyway? Surprise. It actually has nothing to do with Christianity at all.) 

The point is, just taking a moment to acknowledge the changing seasons, to celebrate all the beautiful, amazing things taking place in the natural world around us … I have a hunch … will make our lives, as human beings living on Earth, so much deeper and infinitely richer. 

So this is my new beginning, my spring hatching as a spiritual being. And this is our story. The story of one family’s journey into Earth-based traditions and the enormous richness that undoubtedly comes with it.