Moving On and Standing Still, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

I read recently that this elder stage in life is about the freedom to choose how I want to get tired. I like that, but this time is also about how I choose to stay awake. How I choose to engage, to stay engaged. 
     Recently, a friend introduced me to the book One Thousand Gifts, by Anne Voskamp, and she challenged me to start my own list of "gifts." An ongoing list in which I record "sanctuaries in moments," (p. 105) and "the cathedral of the moment" (p. 102). Keeping this list encourages me to notice all the gifts that surround me and fill my life. 
# 6    A fresh journal, a good fast-writing pen
# 8    The car seat warmer on an early morning
# 18  Spontaneous lunch with a friend
# 24  Reading on the porch in the late afternoon, wrapped in a shawl
# 36  A good hair day!
# 46  The thud of the newspaper as it is tossed on the front porch
# 58  The reds, the yellows, the oranges. Oh my!
# 68  The smell of zucchini bread baking in the oven
# 83  A picture of my father taken this summer--a martini in his hand
# 86  The smell of Bruce's soap when he emerges from the bathroom in the morning
# 99  Gelato from Target--amaretto cherry!
# 106 A full day with a longtime friend
# 128 Safe arrival of a newborn grandnephew
# 142 Sounds of Bruce and Peter playing "hockey" in the front yard
# 163 Pheasants crossing the road
# 170 Laundry chugging along
# 175 Dressing the bed for fall and winter
# 185 Leftover homemade chili
# 196 The gift of a friend's words--"develop a quiet heart"
# 204 Two new books on my desk
# 217 The early morning sound of sandhill cranes
# 225 A clean bathroom and a clean me by 9:00 am
     I love this spiritual practice, but I am also aware that as we age  these precious present moments are rimmed by so much past, and the temptation might be to let the past swallow us. Instead, I invite the past to be an informant, giving us hints about how to be more in the present. At the same time our present moments at this age are so much closer to the future we all share --our arrival at death's door. "The only place we have to come before we die is the place of seeing God." (p. 108) And that is what the present is all about for me --staying awake in order to see, to know, to experience God in ourselves and in all around us. At a time when the past can dominate, the paradox is to live fully now. At a time when there are daily reminders of our common future as we lose friends and family, the challenge is to live now.
     And that brings me to St Benedict and the tree by our garage. According to Esther de Wall in her book Seeking God, The Way of St Benedict, "St Benedict is the master of paradox, and if he tells us to move on he also tells us to stand still." (p 13) 
     The other day I felt at the center of this paradox. It was time to renew the lease on our apartment in St Paul. 6 months? Month to month? With our house still being on the market we are not able to take the next step and renewing the lease maintains the status quo. Standing still. That same day I packed up more dishes for the day when it will finally be time to move. Moving on. I wonder, Does this give the Universe a mixed message? How is it possible to move on and stand still at the same time? 
     What could be a better illustration of this paradox than the autumn trees? The leaves are falling, but the tree is still standing. The tree is not completely bare yet, but is in transition. Moving on and standing still seems to be happening at the same time.
     I think the paradox of moving on and standing still is all about paying attention. When is it time to move on and what preparation does it take to move on when the time is right? What does moving on mean anyway and what does it require? And move on to what? And when is standing still--persevering, being steadfast and stable--the way to deepen spiritually? What is the difference between standing still and being stuck? 
    As always there are spiritual lessons, and this paradox seems to lead me to reflections on trust and patience, but also openness and awareness. And about maintaining the spiritual practices that keep me grounded and growing at the same time. 
    How is the paradox of moving on and standing still evident in your life right now?
    And if you were to start a one thousand gifts list right now what would be your first item?       

Room with a View, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

One of my favorite novels is E. M. Forster's Room with a View. I loved the movie, too. The story, set in part in Florence, Italy, involves a young woman from England and her chaperone who have been promised a room with a view of the River Arno, and they are incensed when they discover their room actually looks over a courtyard. If the book were set in 2012 instead of the early 1900's, I wonder if they would have pronounced the view a "major turnoff." 
     That's the feedback we received after a recent showing about the view from our kitchen, which is in the back of our home. We happen to love the view, which unfortunately is not given its due in this picture, and did from the very the first time we toured the house.  We love the rooftop view, the feeling of looking out and over and beyond. I stand at the sink and wonder about the families in all these homes. I love the diversity of roofline and shingle color and the mature trees framing and sheltering these homes. I love seeing the squirrels scampering on our porch roof as they plot how to steal the food meant for birds. I love seeing the sun creeping across our garage roof, conquering the dew on these cool fall mornings, giving me an indication of what to expect when I go outside. I love hearing the kids on their skate boards whizzing down the alley and seeing our neighbor working in her garden of every shade of purple. And in the winter I can see children playing in the snow in the open space on Strawberry Loop. I love being part of the neighborhood and yet having a sense of privacy. 
    Ironically, a neighbor the day of this showing commented,  "Today is a great day to show a prospective buyer the view from the back of our houses." Now I realize we don't all have the same taste and aesthetics, but honestly, this house selling process can make one feel crazy. How could I possibly have fallen in love with a house that has this kind of view from the kitchen? How could I possibly live in a home where I have to trudge from the garage through the screen porch and my office on the lower level to get to the stairs up to the kitchen? I could go on, but instead I stop, take a deep breath and gaze from the deck we refer to as "Paris," and did so even before our trip to Paris a year ago. 
     The view from the kitchen and the deck makes my imagination soar. I envision myself living in a Parisian garret, looking dreamily over the rooftops. The Seine is somewhere out there. Notre Dame is just beyond the trees. If I stretch maybe I can see the Eiffel Tower. What a magical and glorious life. 
     Here's something to consider. Looking for a home to buy is an invitation to stretch one's point of view, to think a bit out of the box, to imagine what it would be like to live here, rather than there. Living in a home is a creative venture and an opportunity to make something yours that formerly was someone else's. Buying a home is a way to challenge your values and priorities and to examine what really matters most in terms of how you live your life. If every time you stood at the sink, you thought, "I can't stand this view," and if that view made time in the kitchen much more of a negative than a positive experience, than that view clearly is not for you. Move on! I get it. After all, I happen to love water views more than mountain views. 
     I have apologized to the house for a comment that seems unnecessarily harsh and for other unkind things other prospective buyers may have said. In fact, these kinds of comments have made me think about my own words and reactions as I have looked at prospective next homes. I am cleaning up my own act, not wanting to leave a deposit of negative energy in someone else's home.  I have restated my deep affection for this house and the life we are privileged to have here. 

     We know this house is not for everyone. No house is right for everyone.  We are willing to wait for the person who will fall in love with this house, even the view from the kitchen, and will proclaim it in the spirit of Goldilocks, "just right."  
      
     

Habits of the Heart

An invitation: Read Healing the Heart of Democracy, The Courage to Create A Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit by writer, teacher, and activist (and resident of Madison) Parker J. Palmer. I have read other books by Palmer and therefore, knew the quality of his writing and thinking, but I was attracted me to the book in hopes it would help me approach this contentious presidential campaign without raising my blood pressure to dangerous levels. It has done that for the most part, however, there are days when the "you've got to be kidding" factor has to be addressed! 
     Early in the book Palmer reminds the reader of the ideal purpose and nature of politics.
     Politics "is the ancient and honorable human endeavor of creating a community in which the weak as well as the strong can flourish, love and power can collaborate, and justice and mercy can have their day. 'We the People' must build a political life rooted in the commonwealth of compassion and creativity still found among us, becoming a civic community sufficiently united to know our own will and hold those accountable to it."
     Furthermore, "Democracy gives us the right to disagree and is designed to use the energy of creative conflict to drive positive social change. Partisanship is not a problem. Demonizing the other side is."
     Palmer invites us to approach our life as citizens in a democracy with our hearts, for the heart is where our knowledge becomes more fully human. He is fully aware that at times we will be brokenhearted as with the recent killings in Libya, but here is what is so striking to me. Palmer draws the distinction between a heart broken apart and a heart broken open. 
     "If it breaks apart into a thousand pieces, the result may be anger, depression, and disengagement. If it breaks open into greater capacity to hold the complexities and contradictions of human experience, the result may be new life." 
     There's where the reading of this book as a context for the current campaign became a window into my life as a spiritual being. Am I living my life with an open heart, even when my heart breaks? As I look back on my life at times of deep sorrow and disappointment or grief, did I linger in the shattered pieces mired in fear and anger or was I able to use the reality of my broken heart to become more compassionate and to heal, truly heal? In what circumstances does my heart remain broken apart and how do I encourage a more open heart even as it breaks?
     Palmer suggests five Habits of the Heart for American citizens in our current life.
     1.   We must understand that we are all in this together.
     2.   We must develop an appreciation of the value of 'otherness.'
     3.   We must cultivate the ability to hold tension in life-giving ways.
     4.   We must generate a sense of personal voice and agency.
     5.   We must strengthen our capacity to create community.  
You'll have to read Palmer's book to get a full discussion of these habits, but I started thinking about how to develop these habits. What are the spiritual practices I can encourage in my own life that will support these habits of the heart? Here's my list for myself:
     *  Meditation and prayer,
     *  Opportunities for silence and solitude,
     *  Listening more and speaking less,
     *  Reflection through writing and reading,
     *  Stretching the body and the mind,
     *  Participation in community,
     *  Living in the present and with the Presence,
     *  Being aware of all the blessings in my life.
Almost every conversation I have had this week has presented an example of the choice between a heart broken apart and a heart broken open. There is no escaping heartbreaking situations. We all suffer losses, and as we age we will lose more. More and more grief will enter our life. And, in fact, with each day we are closer to our own death. Now is the time to build and reinforce the habits of the heart which not only can support us as we face inevitable challenges, but also can enhance our life, even create new life.  
     I invite you to share your experiences of being heartbroken and the habits of the heart that sustain you. 

Note: Here are other Parker Palmer titles I have in my library and have found to be thought-provoking and helpful:
* The Active Life, Wisdom for Work, Creativity, and Caring
* Let Your Life Speak, Listening for the Voice of Vocation
* A Hidden Wholeness, The Journey Toward and Undivided Life, Welcoming the Soul and weaving Community in a Wounded World

Check out Palmer's website: www.couragerenewal.org


  

The Symbolism of Tomato Soup, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

I made tomato soup yesterday. What is blog post worthy about that? Well, first of all my tomato soup is absolutely delicious and a family favorite, but that is not the main reason I am writing about tomato soup today. The main reason is that the making of tomato soup yesterday represents a turning point in the process of selling our home.  Allow me to make the connection.
     It is now September, and I LOVE fall. LOVE FALL! I know the days are shorter, and I get up to go exercise when it is still dark, and I understand that it won't be long before shovels will be on the front porch instead of wicker furniture, but before then it is fall--cooler, crisper temperatures, sweaters, pumpkins, applesauce, fresh notebooks. Well, I could go on.... The point is I don't want to miss fall because I am cleaning the house everyday to the point of obsession, a new addiction, in anticipation of potential showings. We have had lots of showings, and I am more than grateful that there continues to be interest in our home, even two showings the week before Labor Day, which I am told is unusual. However, no offers--yet. 
     Because we have been living lightly in the house, very lightly, I have not done much cooking these summer months. It was time to mess up the kitchen and what better or messier way to do it than by making tomato soup. Making tomato soup takes a large saucepan, a medium saucepan, a colander, a big bowl, a smaller bowl, a Cuisinart or food mill etc. I end up with a red stained apron, and a sink full of tomato peels and seeds, and the best late summer supper ever. Well worth messing up the kitchen. 
     I came to the decision to make a batch of tomato soup not only because the Farmers' Market was laden with gorgeous tomatoes of all varieties, but because I was musing about what the coming fall season might bring. Of course, I would love to have the house sell before the cold weather arrives, and I would love to move into an apartment here in Middleton and our new home in St Paul before we are carrying boxes in below freezing temperatures, but I realize we truly can be content this way for as long as necessary. We have a great house here, and the apartment in St Paul suits our needs perfectly. There is nothing I don't like about living in Middleton/Madison. We have lovely friends and Bruce has a stimulating, challenging job that suits him so well. Life is good and it is time to live it in the present. 
     This new revelation has resulted in a new resolve to settle in a bit more and not be as focused on selling the house. Time is on our side, and the next owner who loves this house as much as we do will appear at the right time. 
     Is there something you have not been doing? Some way you have been putting your life on the side because of something you are waiting to happen? Well, fall is a bonus time of renewed or brand new resolutions. Happy fall and bon appetit!  

Herbed Fresh Tomato Soup
Serves 8

2 Tablespoons butter
2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
2 pounds fresh tomatoes, peeled and quartered (5 cups)
1 6 oz can tomato paste
2 Tablespoons (at least) snipped fresh basil. Actually, I prefer a handful of basil. Or if necessary, 2 teaspoons dried basil
4 teaspoons snipped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried thyme
3 cups chicken broth
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper fresh thyme or basil as garnish

In large saucepan, combine butter and the oil; heat till butter melts. Add onion and cook till tender, but not brown. Stir in tomatoes, tomato paste, the snipped basil and thyme. Mash tomatoes slightly. Add chicken broth. Bring to boiling. Reduce heat. Cover and simmer 40 minutes. Press through food mill or puree a small amount at a time in blender or Cuisinart. Strain. Return mixture to sauce pan. Stir in salt and pepper. Heat through. To serve, top with fresh herbs. 

The View From Here: Doing Our Best, posted by Nancy L. Agneberg

It is early morning, and I have returned from a walk. For the first time in weeks we slept with the windows open, and I woke to the sounds of neighborhood birds, instead of the alarm. I have decided to write before I take a shower and before I attend to morning routines. No showings are scheduled for the house today, but one never knows what the day will bring. Yesterday, for example, there were two showings.
     Obviously, we have no idea what life will bring us either. I think about those who are dealing with major challenges of illness or loss of spouse through death or divorce or perhaps even indifference. I think about those whose retirement is not quite as planned. The energy isn't there or the motivation or the money. The question is what will we do with what life has delivered? 
      We are asked, I think, to do the best that we can. How often have we used that phrase? So often it is used in reference to our parents as we look back at the mistakes they may have made in raising us. "They did the best they could." Now with grown children, I can apply that to myself. Or can you recall your child as he learned to tie his shoe or struggled with a math problem or a new piano piece, saying, "I'm doing the best I can" in an exasperated tone?
     The tricky part is knowing what "the best" is. Doing the best we can takes reflection and self-awareness. It takes being open to spiritual growth and listening to our inner voice as it urges us to live our essence. Doing our best requires being honest with ourselves and knowing when we are just getting by. It means asking for help--perhaps more often than we want to.  None of this is easy when we are faced with a life we didn't anticipate and certainly didn't ask for, but that's why it is crucial to live fully right now when perhaps our very best isn't needed so much. That's why I write in my journal and take a morning walk and meditate and practice centering prayer. That's why I try to live my life in honor of the Divine. It's for today, yes, but it is also for all the days when life brings what is not expected and least wanted. The days when I am at my worst. Developing one's spiritual gifts is not an insurance policy for "when bad things happen to good people," but it is the groundwork for "doing one's best."
     I am coming to realize in these later years of spiritual formation that it is my job to turn the challenges into blessings. I don't mean to minimize or deny the realities of the challenges, and I don't mean to imply that this process happens right away. Certainly not. What I mean is that we are asked to remember and re-form to all we have been created to be, and how could that be anything but a blessing. 
    Our house is on the market and has been all summer. We continue to have lots of showings. Lots, and I am grateful, but it is hard to hear negative comments about the house, including ones about the view from the deck.  However, we know how fortunate we are not to have to sell the house. Still, we have a plan and are eager to move that plan forward, but who knows what life has in store for us.
    In the meantime, I will do the best I can, and I happen to love the view from here. 

Miscellaneous Thoughts on a Rainy Day, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

A rainy day, and this time I see some green where there has been brown all summer. My office windows are steamy from the ongoing simmering summer heat, but outside the streets are wet and temporary puddles have formed. I don't know if this will make a difference to the farmers, but I am grateful for this change, and I wonder what has been unleashed as the rain is released from the heavens. 
     I didn't sleep well last night. Yes, it was warm and perhaps that was a factor. In fact, when we came out of a restaurant at 10 after a long, leisurely dinner with friends, the air was thick and heavy. Not an ounce of refreshment in the air. Perhaps I was a bit overly stimulated, thanks to our wonderful, many topics explored conversation. I often get a second wind after 10, but last night I was tired, and I didn't want to prolong the day. Instead, I wanted the next day to come. 
     My sleeplessness was one of anticipation. This often happens to me, as perhaps it does to you, the night before we leave on a trip or have a big event scheduled the next day. I enter the next day before the next day arrives, and I am unable to sleep. The next day, today, however, has no special starred event. Nothing is listed on my calendar. My list of activities for the day is entirely of my own making. Exercise. Laundry. Emails. Post office and grocery store. 
My anticipation, it seems, is far more open ended.
     Last week we had 6 showings of our home to prospective buyers. Six showings in 8 days. Surely, that means something is going to happen. More showings perhaps or even an offer. I wanted the day to come so I would know. Will there be a showing today or will I get a call scheduling a showing for later in the week? Will there be an offer? I want something to happen and how can it happen if I am asleep! 
     What I need to remember is that even when nothing seems to be happening; even when I feel stuck and there is no apparent movement in the desired direction, change is occurring. I just can't see it yet. I just don't recognize it yet. Change is hovering, but it still looks similar to the way it has always been. 
     My job is to rest when it is time to rest. Be awake and attentive when it is time to be awake. My job is to free myself from preoccupation with the future and be present. 
     Eventually, I fell asleep, turning the hours over to the rhythm of night into day. And in the morning I offered this prayer by Philip Newell:
                     A Prayer for Presence
In the gift of this new day.
in the gift of the present moment,
in the gift of time and eternity intertwined,


let me be thankful
let me be attentive
let me be open to what has never happened before,


in the gift of this new day,
in the gift of the present moment,
in the gift of time and eternity intertwined. 

What We Talk About When We Talk About the Weather, posted by Nancy L. Agneberg,

     Finally, it rained. I wondered when rain finally came if people would come pouring out of their homes, interrupting whatever they were doing at the moment--wooden spoon or fresh laundry from the dryer or the morning newspaper in hand. Would we take photos with our iPhone and send them immediately to everyone we know? "Guess what, it's raining! Praise the Lord." 
     Praise the Lord! 
     We have been waiting and waiting and even though this morning's rain didn't last very long, it raises hope. It reminds us that there is an end to everything, even draught. 

     Oh, how thirsty all the yards and gardens are in the neighborhood. Each lovely home is surrounded by a moat of crackly straw. The pond in the wetland is dry to the last drop, and I wonder about all the life that pond normally supports. The critters who called the pond home truly know what it means to be thirsty. 
Summer vs Winter
     Maybe I should pretend it's winter. I love winter and find the coziness of staying inside during the winter to be a productive and creative time for me. With a shawl wrapped around my shoulders I delight in doing the next thing or nothing. Either way is a choice. However, the summer heat encourages neither productivity or creativity in me, only apathy. I am restless, but lack energy to find direction. In the winter I relish the indoor time, but in these days of scorching, breath-taking heat, I resent the closed windows, the fake coolness (even as I am grateful for it!), and I want porch time restored.  I want relief from the draught. 
     What would satisfy my thirst and end my inner draught? 
     Can I move from a state of emptiness and inertia to Sabbath time?
Ending the Inner Draught
     I just finished reading a book called Chasing Matisse, A Year in France Living My Dream by James Morgan (www.chasingmatisse.com) in which the author lists his desires. "Read. Write. Paint. Think. Travel." So clear and clean. He unveiled his thirsts and even though, as he adds, "Not that it's ever as simple as that," he has found a way to live his desires. 
I practiced a list in my head almost unwilling to commit my yearnings to writing, for what would it mean if I stated them so directly and clearly? What excuses would I have to overcome? How would I have to live in spite of the draught?  
     If that exercise seems too hard, Alice D. Doar, author of Live a Little! offers another opportunity in the August O, The Oprah Magazine.  Complete the following statements, but don't think too long about any of them.

I could blow an entire rainy afternoon___________________

When I was a kid, I used to love________________________

I've always wanted to become really good at______________

If I could do one thing every day of my life, it would be_____

I can lose track of time when I'm________________________

Nothing clears my head like____________________________

When I'm feeling drained, all I want to do is_______________

I feel most connected to my body when I'm________________

In my daydreams, I imagine myself______________________

I get a shot of energy when I___________________________  

     Any surprises? What do your responses reveal? Are there any changes you want or need to make in your life in order to live more authentically? Is there anything you are thirsting for that can be fulfilled even in times of summer dryness? 
     Here are my answers:

I could blow an entire rainy afternoon reading.

When I was a kid, I used to love to ride my bike.

I've always wanted to become really good at singing.

If I could do one thing every day of my life, it would be to write and to hug my grandchildren.

I can lose track of time when I'm writing.

Nothing clears my head like making a list and writing in my journal.

When I'm feeling drained, all I want to do is eat and read.

I feel most connected to my body when I'm doing T'ai Chi.

In my daydreams, I imagine myself thin and a published author.

I get a shot of energy when I complete all or a part of a writing project or when I am in the midst of a substantial conversation. 

     Reading my answers I notice ways I can easily enhance my life and choices I can make that will help me balance Body, Mind, and Spirit. Furthermore, none of my responses, except perhaps riding a bike, is related to the weather at all! Nor is my list of desires, which I finally dare to write down. 
     Read. Write. Spend time with family and friends. Pray. Teach.  
    Any season is the right time to connect with your essence. Any weather is the perfect time to do what nurtures your soul and gives life to who you were created to be.