Memories

There's a hard frost this morning. As the wind blows through the leaves, I can actually hear them clinking against each other. Soon, when the sun comes up and warms them, many will loose their grip and fall to the ground in a rain of gold and orange and red and brown.

Memories

Cold morning. The steam is rising off the creek, creating ghost-like wisps through the cedars.

I wonder about the seemingly substantial, the things in our lives that feel so solid. And then, just like the steam on the creek, the images of something once very real are gone in an instant with something as minor as the shift of the sun one degree. And I am left wondering if I imagined it. I suppose it does not matter if I imagined something as fleeting as the steam rising off the creek or my entire past. The memories are still rich and they sustain me.

At the time, each experience is wonderful, or painful or peaceful or even magical in that one moment when it is present. And then, in the blink of an eye, it becomes a memory, something in the past to hold on to.

Our memories are ultimately all we are, I suppose. Something so simple, so sweet, so painful, or so inviting is really nothing more than a fleeting moment. But in that moment it also becomes a memory we will hold on to forever.

Sometimes I imagine myself being able to craft my future. If I just do this…If I just say that…If I am able to save a certain amount for later…If I invest in this…If I take time each day to plan...

And yet, when I choose to be still, to put all the plans and plots and good intentions on the back burner to simmer, I’m present enough to really experience the things that will create lasting memories. I don’t have to work for them. I don’t have to create rituals to make them happen. They are just there for me. And as my bank of memories grows, my present becomes more luscious. The past and the present become woven. The future? Well, I’ll just wait for it to become the present and I’ll see what memories unfold from that.

"Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart." ~Thomas Fuller

"Memory is not so brilliant as hope, but it is more beautiful and a thousand times more true." ~George Denison Prentice

Adventure and Retreat Teleclass Series Begins Oct 6

On Tuesday, October 6 Patt Osborne and I begin another Adventure and Retreat teleclass series for coaches and wellness professionals who want to take it outside!

Whether you want to take your clients to the wilds on a physical adventure or you'd rather sit around a fireplace in the comfort of a nice retreat facility, this teleclass will get you started!

• By the end of this series, you will be in a great position to offer retreats and adventures as part of your business.
• This 9-session series runs through the end of the year.
  
• All sessions are recorded so if you should miss a call, you have a week to listen in.
• Includes two one-on-one coaching sessions.
• Details can be found at http://www.portagecoach.com/ARCTraining.html

In The Eddy

With August, we finally got summer. It was brief. Now, with the onset of September, I'm seeing more of the golden flowers that mark the end of summer. Around my home, there's a burst of Black-eyed Susan and Goldenrod. And today is the day of the Corn Moon, the full moon in September that in older times marked the time to harvest the corn.

As I fall deeper and deeper into the acknowledgment that summer is waning, I seek with eagerness the solace of a September that will embrace me with a sense of home; that is, that deep and unconditional welcome that rarely comes from any other source but going home. Home does not have to be literal in the sense that it is the house, the dwelling, the town in which one lives or grew up. Home can be, and more often is for me, falling into the embrace of nature, especially during this time of year. There seems to be nothing more motherly, more welcoming, more at home, than nature's autumn embrace in the North Country. I'm antsy to see what has occurred locked away in the woods around my home when the summer's heat and biting insects kept me from exploring more deeply.

In The Eddy

I'm in the eddy. I've taken a break. I've swung out of the current, pointed myself upstream behind a boulder or a fallen log, and allowed myself to breathe. I've become quiet so I can hear the world turning and get my directions.

For those of you who don't paddle, an eddy is the downstream side of an obstruction in the river. It's a place in the river, because of that obstruction like a log or a boulder, where the water is moving more slowly and in a different direction, in a circular flow as the water backfills into the pocket created behind the obstruction. Eddies are most useful to paddlers as a place to rest, read the river, and make decisions about the next move up or down the river. Paddling from eddy to eddy, slipping into an eddy for a break, gives you the opportunity to assess your next move. Often, when running rapids, I enter and exit a series of eddies as a way to pause and pick my path. The key is in the timing.

With autumn nipping at my heals, the timing is just right. I'm in an eddy of my life as well as a more seasonal eddy. September and I have swung out of the current, taking a break, assessing our next moves. Breathing.

Come on in, the water is just fine.