Author: Janewms17

curious . . . loving life (most of the time, at least) . . . learning to let go of fear . . . walking a path . . . healer . . . writer . . . hopeful . . .

Companions on the Path

Labyrinths are everywhere. Checkout the Labyrinth Locator at https://labyrinthlocator.com/locate-a-labyrinth. Within fifty miles of the Lehigh Valley there are listed at least 79 labyrinths.. Not all are open to the public and many are canvas and indoors. But 79!

I used to walk the labyrinth at my Christ Church parish in Reading at least weekly. We opened our canvas 11 circuit labyrinth weekly on Friday afternoon for anyone to walk. Children, adults, people who were curious about this strange design we offered, people who came with questions, people who came with burdens they would let go of on the path. Once there came a couple who were obviously in distress. The woman came in first and asked how to walk the labyrinth ‘correctly’. Then her partner entered the room with its floor entirely covered by the Chartres labyrinth and saw her walking the first yards of the path. He declined my invitation to enter the path and stood, watching his partner — each step seeming as though she was bearing a 50 pound backpack. When she reached the middle she started to cry, She still hadn’t noticed that her partner had entered the room and was watching. As she cried his face became an echo of hers — tears filling his eyes. Suddenly he went into the labyrinth and walked toward her, ignoring the circuits — just walking straight to the center. When he got to her, she looked up and saw him and both embraced. He and she both cried and as they held each other one could see both of their lips form the words “I’m sorry”. They eventuallywalked out hand in hand.

I have moved back to the Reading area to a retirement community. It’s been a week and a half since our move and we are slowly finding places for our ‘stuff’ in our new apartment. One of the things my husband would not part with was a wooden finger labyrinth that you ‘walk’ with your finger, eyes closed, in a reflection of the walking the labyrinth experience. We apparently both miss walking labyrinths.

I remember that on the PSU-Berks campus there was an outside labyrinth — not far from where we live now. I need to find out if it is still there. And then I will go and walk it. Labyrinth magic. I am ready.

On the path,

Jane

Today’s News

I haven’t watched the news for 2 weeks now. I still read a few articles but I’m selective in what I choose to read. I am feeling less stressed and anxious and — although I don’t know for sure that it is because of not watching the news — I want to continue this practice. At least for awhile.

I have always been a news junky. I would check news web sites several times during the day. My husband and I would eagerly look forward to sitting down in front of the TV and watch the evening news. Only then would we turn in.

But for the past 5 years it has been more stressful than educating. I would feel panicky after watching the broadcast — so much attention was placed on what the former president said or did and it seemed very little positives were highlighted for the current president. The news — even from our favorite stations — seemed to fall into an “”entertainment” rung rather than search out facts or present what was important to us. What we were interested in hearing more about was climate and education issues and voting issues. Little time was spent on those issues in the news broadcasts we watched. 

So I decided to forego watching the news. 

It was difficult at first and I initially thought of giving up the avoidance. But after 4 or 5 nights it became easy. I will be continuing it.My only hesitation is that I wonder if I will miss a breaking story that becomes important. Maybe — but I doubt it. Since I still am reading some news and most of my friends and family are connected to news I suspect I will know if something “big” happens.

So I will stay disconnected from network news at least for the near future. And it feels right for now.

On the path, Jane+

Ready, Set, Go. . . and Wait?

Felt backed 'leaves' as a table runner.

Are we ready? Can we ever be entirely ready? Bill and I finally came to an agreement late last year after my father died that we ought to apply for an apartment in a retirement community that would take a future burden of care off our daughter and extended family.

My parents had moved to such a community over a decade ago and had been happy with that decision. They modeled for me a lifestyle there that I could see was freeing and that offered community connections.

Bill was hesitant — in part because he had given so much time and artistry to crafting our small house to be a place in which we could age in place. But as he approached 80 and no longer spent time on wood working in his fully equipped basement — and as he became unable to do the “groundskeeper” tasks he had so loved, he was a convert to selling and moving. The house had become a burden.

So we looked at retirement communities and applied for an apartment in one we liked that was near our daughter and my sibs. We were accepted and put on a waiting list for apartments we felt were a match to our needs and finances. That meant downsizing from our 1600 sq ft house to an apartment of 1000-1200 sq ft.

Doesn’t sound too hard, does it? But because of health reasons, Bill couldn’t do much sorting of belongings. I took over finances and driving and appointment-making for the most part. To add the sorting and downsizing to that? Yikes! I’ve been able to do most of what needs to be done to narrow down what we will take. Maybe I’ve done too well . . .

We are as ready as I think we can be with ‘things’ but we are on a waiting list that is likely two years or more. Waiting. We are among the baby boomers who suddenly realize that all the working out, brain games, and workplace relationships may not be enough in later years to ensure that we can take care of ourselves and live forever in good health. The waiting lists seem longer each day.

I know my resilience and optimistic self has returned in some measure because my answer to the waiting list is to find ways to create beauty and color. I’ve continued sewing and making new things (the above felted fall leaves table runner and placemats are almost done), crafting wire and bead jewelry. And I’m about to see if I can still have fun with watercolor.

Life is too wonderful to just wait for it to pass on a waiting list. Hopefully time will allow us to eventually move into an apartment of a comfortable size and begin to connect with family and a community (I’m frequently lonely here in the Lehigh Valley — but that’s for another blog). Until then, I’m going to find ways to connect with friends here and to continue downsizing what no longer fits who we are — and creating what does. That is what gives me life.

Color!

If you know me or glance at my Facebook posts you know my love of color. I cannot imagine a world without color. Bright colors, vivid colors, striking colors, shocking colors. I am drawn to them in all forms: textiles, clothes, fall leaves, visual arts. I am not drawn to pale colors, pastels, or colors that don’t sing and jump out in front of you wanting to be noticed. I’m hoping that doesn’t change this Thursday.

I have cataracts and will be getting my first IOL (intra ocular lens) on Thursday. I am curious how I will see differently — if at all — after surgery. If all goes well I will have the lens in my other eye replaced in late November. Will colors be different with IOLs? I’m told that whites will be much whiter — thank goodness for that. My living room walls seem more pasty and yellow lately — and someone has changed the wattage in my reading lamps so that I can’t read so easily by lamplight.

Could my attraction to intense color has been influenced in part by these cloudy cataracts that all of us eventually develop? I’m curious. When I was in my early 20’s and 30’s I wore mostly earth tones and “natural” beige-y tops. My walls were painted a serene yet warm beige that I loved. That could have been because of my “earth mother” philosophy at the time or maybe a holdover from my hippie days. I don’t remember really loving and even craving intense purples and golds and so many varieties of green and blue and red until my 50’s. And it was my playing with color that led me to watercolor painting and then jewelry making with beads. And recently I’ve delighted in piecing and quilting with color rich fabrics.

So I wonder — could the increasing filtering of light and color by these cloudy lenses of mine have led to the explosion of color in my life these days? Will I wake up on Friday and be shocked by colors I’ve chosen and used in quilted creations? I doubt it. I hope my heart will dance at the glorious profusion of color in the fall leaves, the quilted table runners and the art on our walls. An explosion of delight!

Color can be a bright and colorful oasis in the midst of a terribly hurting world. Blessed be each of you in this time of chaos, danger, and transition. Take a moment to pray (whatever may be your spiritual path) for healing, justice, peace. Offer blessings for hope in times that drain that precious wisp of sanity. Imagine/visualize justice in place of lies and corruption — and peace in place of cruelty and war. Take just 60 seconds. . . right now . . . please.

Jane+

Writing Again?

So I think this is a new start to my writing. I have felt the longing to put my thoughts to paper for several weeks. My well has felt dry for over a year (the last time I wrote was August 2022). Well, not just dry but non-existent. To be honest I felt the ‘me’ whom I had been until before the first months of retirement (September 2019) had faded to a pale hologram. I no longer knew the hopeful, joyous, interconnected ME. Where had she gone?

Lots happened in those 3 years and most of it probably has been experienced and written about by multitudes of others. The isolation of the pandemic (necessary to be safe — but brutal) shaved off all those connections that were so essential to our existence and flourishing. In my life, taking eucharist/holy communion had always been life-giving. However, a strange theological interpretation by the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church kept eucharist on hold for the entire Pandemic experience. Shopping for groceries was by curbside ‘no contact’ (with humans) pickup. Amazon Prime delivered to our porch what we needed — except those things stymied by supply disruptions. Zoom kept me connected by voice and video feed — but I was starved for warm hugs and touch. Reflecting back, I was relatively safe from colds and flu and didn’t catch Covid 19 (thank goodness) but life seemed drained of color.

I slowly slipped into deep depression — something I had experienced before with the death of a sibling and the early deaths of two spouses. But this dark time came when my usually buoyant energy and physical disconnection from friendships and beloved siblings — resources that had fed my resilience in the past — were not available. Even the ability to go on retreat or go to the shore seemed impossible.

Miod-pandemic I found a gifted therapist. She was the image for me of hope. We worked together for almost 5 months until she suddenly became seriously ill and in 10 short days closed her practice. That was a year ago. Devastated by yet another unexpected loss, I was lost in grief until recently when hope seem for the future that I needed to look for and find a new beginning with another therapist. I am in the midst of acclimating to this new relationship and seeing a slight sliver of light to aim for.

Amazingly I have had several days over the past months I have felt touched by my “old self’. Mostly it has happened when I am with friends who continue to make dates with me and with whom I have been honest. I am so grateful to them and to those of you who read this who have not turned away. Life remains difficult and challenging with my Dad’s death and cognitive changes in my husband. But my life doesn’t seem impossible most days and I can tolerate not knowing what will come.

Quilting and my cat, Mr B, have been my thread of hope through all of this. I hope each of you can find some thread of hope, some small shaft of light, some voice of a friend or loved one that can pull you through any hard times you may be experiencing. And know that Love is still here.

What Are My Treasures?

Note from Mom

When my mother died, my father gave me her Hope Chest.  Hope Chests used to be a tradition in families.  Each girl in the family earned money to buy or was gifted a wooden Hope Chest.  The chests had a lock and key and were used for storing what would be needed when she got married and set up her own home

My mother’s Hope Chest is mahogany veneer set in a checker board design from the 1930’s Deco period.  I’ve loved it – even in its unfinished state (my husband tried to repair some scratched veneer and had to give up when it didn’t meet his perfectionist standards.).  When my Mom was a teenager, she put her “treasures” in this chest – treasures that she made lovingly to use when she and her beloved were married:  embroidered linen dishtowels with fanciful animal designs and hearts, embroidered double sheet sets and pillowcases with her monogram, a simple cotton tablecloth and two blankets bought by her parents for her Hope Chest.  And eventually at her bridal shower she received things that could go straight into the chest for her wedding that summer of 1947.  None of these things were still in the Hope Chest when I received it.  They had been made to be used and were used during Mom’s and Dad’s 60+ years of marriage.

I had a fleeting thought this morning, though: what treasures I would save in this old Chest?  Not for setting up housekeeping.  Rather for keepsakes I might want to pass on.  I renamed the Hope Chest my Treasures Chest.  It is small in size so it wouldn’t hold much. What would I deem my few precious keepsakes?  What holds precious memories for me?  

One thing I would put in my Treasures Chest would be the box of genealogy documents that I found among my Dad’s things. Dad was keen on such records and they have fascinated me with our documented ties to Jane Fonda’s family, and the royal Stuart line, and family connections in the US starting in Massachusetts’ Bay Colony and today extending west to Washington state and north to Canada.  So that is a keeper.  

Dad gave me a necklace awhile ago that he purchased as a boy for his mother on Mother’s Day.  It took sacrifice and saving up for him to buy it and it is precious to me.  It isn’t valuable monetarily, but it means the world to me and when I wear it I feel loved.  I have always treasured jewelry that was worn by those I love.  I believe that some energy or matter is exchanged between things worn and the life spirit of the wearer so that when I put a ring or necklace on that belonged to a loved one I feel closer to the person it belonged to.  I also have my great grandmother’s wedding ring and my mother’s engagement ring – those will be in my Treasure Chest.  

There’s a family quilt with flying geese design made of chambray, denim and shirting scraps that signal its origin in the early 20th century or perhaps earlier.  That will definitely go in my Treasures Chest. Many a relative (and myself) found warmth and comfort under that quilt . . . another treasure.  

Perhaps copies of this blog would be among the treasures.  I would like my thoughts and musings to be read – perhaps savored – by some curious family member in the future.  Maybe it would be an inspiration to someone else to write their thoughts and share them.

What I am realizing as I think about what my treasures are, there are some that won’t go in the box.  They are ephemeral things like the sound of my mother’s voice or the color of the sky – the bluest blue – on Sept. 11.  The comfort and love I felt holding my newborn baby daughter. 

Treasures I can remember but not save for others.  And perhaps it is better that way.  I will have my memories with me as long as my memory holds.  And as I remember these lovely life-giving moments I am filled with warmth and connection to those who people my memories.  And that is what I treasure.

Finding Joy

What brings you Joy?   During this long Pandemic Time have you noticed any change in what Joy means to you or how you experience it?

I am not referring to Happiness.  Joy, I think, is different from happiness . . . Joy arises from a much deeper, more enduring place in us than happiness. Joy feels more substantial, restores hope, brings encouragement.  With Joy, life goes from gray to vibrant color.  Happiness seems less substantial, more flashy and fleeting — like a quick glimpse of a hummingbird as it flits away from one flower emptied of nectar in search of another.

Contentment is closer to Joy.  Contentment seems longer lasting and more mellow than Happiness — like savoring a bite of Godiva dark chocolate.  Bitter on the tongue yet sweet, noticing the way the flavor morphs as it moves across your tastebuds from front to back, the smooth texture melting into chocolaty richness.  That to me is contentment – full sensory awareness and relishing of the whole experience.

Joy?  For me, Joy often comes with connection.  The connection can be time spent with friends or family or connection through remembering times together. Or perhaps connection is an “aha” moment when events or thoughts seem to click together like puzzle pieces in a coherent pattern that I hadn’t seen before. I find deep Joy in seeing a child with its mother and remember times with my daughter at that age.  I feel Joy when I am piecing a quilt project and am surrounded by the bright color and prints that will eventually make patterns to be enjoyed by another. In piecing I pair colors with each other in unique ways that spark Joy in me.

When I drive home from my sister’s house after we have spent an afternoon together doing a puzzle or just talking and feeling close, I often feel both Joy and a bittersweet longing for more time.  What I’ve just experienced in my visit with Karen connects me with warm memories of other times together.  Joy brings recognition of the gift of being alive together and gratitude for having a sister who knows me and loves me still. 

I am filled with warmth when Joy comes.   Often without being aware of it I’m smiling. Usually I am energized – not quite turning handsprings at this age but close to it. Sometimes Joy fills me with a peace that calms and softens the rough edges of a chaotic day.

Joy lights up what was grey and unremarkable . . . and often highlights what is just emerging.  Remarkably to me, Joy can co-exist with tears and grief, lending a lightness that doesn’t mask the sadness but allows gratitude and memory to rise. Joy seems ephemeral as it floats in and out of our lives but it is also durable — remaining a warm memory for weeks or longer.  It can sometimes be beckoned to appear, but may just as likely choose to ignore our call to it.  It usually appears suddenly and unexpectedly. And that makes me treasure even more the times Joy surprises.

I could say I am greedy for Joy. But I know that I cannot cage it or staple it to my sleeve in order to keep it. Joy is precious to me because I know that it can’t be held or caged or tied down.  Joy surprises me when it comes and is missed when it is gone.  Surprise seems to be part of Joy.

The Pandemic, as difficult as it has been to live with, has not been joyless. 

  • Joy surprised me with the connections Zoom and Facetime brought to add a touch of companionship to my isolation.
  • Joy surprised me with my love of color and sewing. I hadn’t seen sewing as play until the Pandemic.  I made all my Christmas gifts two years in a row!  I haven’t done that since I graduated with my PhD in 1994!
  • Joy surprised me with a renewed love of chopping vegetables and making soup and simple meals.  Before the Pandemic I was still working (too much) and felt cooking intruded on other things I wanted or needed to do.  Now, evening is a time when I switch from whatever else I’ve been doing to a slower pace when I can enjoy the colors and textures of what I am chopping and cooking.
  • Joy surprised me with the elation at seeing and being with my sibs and friends in person.  I didn’t think I particularly needed people – but now I can’t perpetuate that lie.  I long every day to see someone and try to plan regular times to meet – on Zoom if COVID is particularly nasty but preferably in person.

These are not the only times Joy has visited me, but enough for now.  When has Joy come to you?

With love (and joy),

Jane

Letting Go of Things

I was a freshman at a small liberal arts college when I learned that it was possible to live without attachment to things.  That’s a Buddhist concept but the person who demonstrated that to me was anything but Buddhist.  His daughter was a student at the college – a year ahead of me – and she had invited me to join her and her father (a college professor) for dinner at their house.

I was overwhelmed at the invitation to a professor’s home.  To me, college professors were a different sort than ‘normal’ people . . . all of them brilliant, thinking lofty thoughts, using vocabulary words that were at least 6 syllables long, living exciting lives of research and travel.  What would I say to such a person . . . me, a mere freshman from Coatesville PA, a little podunk town in eastern Pennsylvania at the far western end of a railroad line stretching east to Philadelphia?

My wonderment at my friend’s father’s status extended to my amazement at the collections of objects around their house.  Each object I noticed had a story attached which the professor was eager to spin.  One vase in particular held my attention.  Was it the color – a translucent glaze of turquoise brushed with purple?  Was it the shape – a 10” vase with one flattened side and the neck twisted slightly to the opposite non-flat side giving the impression of an inquisitive person’s pose?  Was it the story that came with it – a tale of being gifted, then stolen, then found and returned?  It was obvious to my friend and her father that I was mesmerized by this object.

“It’s yours.  Take it home with you.  I would love you to have it,” her father said. 

I demurred.  His generosity embarrassed me and I felt I had looked too longingly at the object.  I had to refuse several times through the evening.  He told me that he loved the things that he had, but that he had always enjoyed giving them away to those who loved and admired them.  I thanked him and went away wondering how strange it was in my experience that someone would want to give away something that they loved and had acquired and lived with.

Some 50 years later, I am in my own house and surrounded by “things” I have loved and enjoyed.  I have collected 150 diverse figures of sheep made of pottery, wool, glass, tin, paper, wood.  I loved the search for different sheep.  It made me easy to please at Christmas or birthday times … give me a sheep! 

I have more clothes than I need and thanks to the pandemic’s impact on eating out and going to events there are many I know I will never wear again.

I have books I have already begun to give away – thank goodness for book sales!

The list goes on with the detritus of 70+ years of life.  I want to live more lightly.  And that entails giving things away.  I am surprised at how unattached I am to most all of what surrounds me in our home.  I have worked over the years at adopting the attitude of that long ago professor: to love what I have but to be ready to share it or give it up so someone else can use it and perhaps love it as I have.  And for most of what surrounds me, I can do that.  Someone need a coat?  I have 4 winter coats of various styles – choose one and wear it in health.  Looking for a way to pray that doesn’t use words?  What a minute.  I have two books about lectio/visio divina and contemplative prayer that you can have.  Need some holiday dishes that could serve 14 people?  I can help you.  I have a service for 15 (one setting broke) that is festive for the holidays and that I haven’t used because I haven’t invited anyone in during the pandemic.  No need to return it.

I want to give my things to others who will use them.  And therein lies the glitch.  Most of the people I know are at my stage of life and we are all looking to lighten our belongings, not take more on.  Therefore, the only two ways I know to clear shelves or cabinets or bookshelves are to post on Facebook Marketplace and recycle sites, or to take loads of things to Goodwill (which is currently closed to donations in our area) or some other thrift shop.  And that means more than the exhaustion of making choices to keep, discard, or donate.  So many thrift shops and donation sites are closed – perhaps buried under mounds of donated clothes and household goods – that it is hard to scout out places to donate things to.   Packing things in boxes or bags, lugging them to the car, carting them to the place that is open to donations (usually requiring stopping at several sites to find a place that takes what I have) – it exhausts me to even begin.

So I am unattached to what I have and want to give it for free to someone who can use it . . . and perhaps that latter comment is part of the problem.  I shudder at thinking of a dumpster filled with things I have loved and cherished.  And that means that there is so much work involved with finding where to give these things . . . that I still am surrounded by them all.

So perhaps my spiritual discipline is to let go of these things and also to let go of my desire that they continue their life with someone else.  Ouch.  But that seems to be what I am being called to do.  To let go of them.  To let go of my hope for and intention in giving them away.   

Breathe.  Let go.  A spiritual practice that this stage of life requires.  I will try.

With love,

Jane

HOPE FOR 2022

Optimism is the belief that things are going to get better. Hope is the belief that we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope is an active one. It takes no courage only words to be an optimist, but it takes courage and action to hope.        –Rabbi Jonathan Sachs

This is the last week of 2021 and I’ve been reflecting about what I want to keep and carry into 2022.  This isn’t a list of resolutions, but rather reflections on what I’ve been missing or have found valuable as I’ve lived through the last 365 days.  So here are some of my thoughts of what I hope to keep doing or being in the coming year. 

HUGS

I realized how much I loved hugging people hello and goodbye when Covid made it impossible.  It took awareness and energy to not reach out to hug.  Now, when I see someone I know, I step back instead of forward and make do with a  ‘Hi’ or a hands in prayer position bow.  I miss the connection of hugs with friends and family.  

In 2022 I hope to get to feeling safe enough to hug spontaneously.

NOTES

I had pledged at the beginning of 2021 to write short notes of thank you every couple of days to persons — those I know well, those who are acquaintances, those I’ve lost touch with from my past. I bought small notecards so as to keep what I write brief and had stamps and address labels. I wanted to give to others the joy I feel when I receive notes in the mail. I have saved a whole file drawer of note cards or letters written over the past 45 years of my career by former clients, family, friends, and people I’ve touched somehow expressing gratitude for something I’ve done. I call it my Rainy Day file and it has been a lifesaver at times when I’ve struggled with depression or life changes. I failed miserably in this small practice and sent only a couple dozen notes.

In 2022 I hope to write at least one note per week (realistic number) of gratitude and hope to someone I haven’t written to lately.  

MEANINGFUL QUOTATIONS

Email programs used to allow you to enter several different signature templates (name/address/quote) to appear at the end of your email and then would randomly select one of them each time you sent an email.  I loved that feature because it meant I could enter 10 or more unique quotations and a different one would appear at the end of my email each time.  It was eerie how frequently the quotation that randomly showed up would “match” the content or tone of my email.  Recipients would comment on that as well.  Sadly, that feature hasn’t been part of email programs (at least any that I have used) since the 2000’s. Now, I rarely change the quote on my email — perhaps once a year.

In 2022 I hope to change my quote once a month on my email and perhaps include a copy of a quote in each note card I write and mail.

ELFIN QUOTATION MAGIC

I am a quote collector and love adding to my list of quotes every time I discover another meaningful one (newly discovered Jonathan Sachs quotation at top of blogpost). Usually they just sit in my computer file (Writing > Xmas letters > quotes). I have sometimes sent 3 or 4 quotes printed on business card stock with each Christmas card or letter. But mostly they just stayed in the file without me even reading them. But I want to change that and give them away in the manner I saw “Elfin Magic” giving away Christmas joy with sparkling Christmas balls randomly in trees along the walking path in a park.

In 2022 I hope to collect quotes about hope and connection and action. I will print a variety of them on business cards, tie with ribbon in bunches of 5 and put them in public places like waiting rooms or library books as free “Elfin Magic” gifts.  

BECOMING AN ELF

If you haven’t read my blogpost Elfin Magic please check it out.  I was feeling less than positive as the calendar turned to December the year.  But the Elfin Magic I chanced upon transformed my sour mood into smiles and even a guffaw.  It was just a little thing — Christmas balls tied to trees along a walking path, but it felt like they were placed there to just for me to make me smile.  I thought of them nearly every day and smiled.  They brought joy and a sense of mystery and magic to my days.  I want to find ways to spread a little Elfin Magic at least a couple of times this year.  My Elfin Quotation Magic will be one way.  But I need help with this so I’m asking you to please — please — think of inexpensive ways that I might spread a smile to others and let them know that although we may not know each other, I know you are out there and I know you care, too.  Put any ideas you have  in the Comments section so I don’t have to go just on my own ideas.  And join me in doing these small things.  We can make a whole Elfin brigade — think of what smiles and hope and connection can do!!

In 2022 I hope to spread some Elfin Magic with at least 3 or 4 small things done anonymously for others to bring a bit of light and hope and connection in a stressful world.

 With love and hope,

Jane


	


	
	






	
	

		
Elfin Magic
	


	

		

Elfin Magic





I had started my walk in a nearby park in a rather serious mood.  My head down and engaged in thoughts triggered by a podcast playing in my ear, I didn’t notice the few others who were on the trail even though I only wear one earpod when I walk so I don’t miss birdsongs or the crunch crunch crunch of a fellow walker coming up behind me.   





I was well into the two mile walk when I started to notice something odd with the trees along the path. At first I thought the gleaming little Christmas ball was the only one and only on that tree. Nope. When I noticed a third tree with a shiny ornament, I put the podcast on pause and the earpod in my pocket. There were more ornaments but only one per tree.  





One on the next tree on my right.  And the next one on my left.  And the next. And the next.  On some trees the ornament was hanging out in plain sight.  On others there seemed to be no ornament.  But when I looked more curiously every tree along my path had a ball hung somewhere within it.  There were small round balls of red, white, green, silver, and even black. Some were not much bigger than a grape while others were the size of a navel orange. 





I smiled then laughed out loud as each shiny ball reflecting sunlight caught my eye.  Branches bare of leaves made identification something that will require waiting until spring, but no matter.  I was not looking for leaves.  Rather, I was looking for this winter “fruit” — these ornaments.  





I had come to my walk in a familiar park, Louise Moore Park in Northampton County, Pennsylvania (just a few minutes drive from my house).  The paths in the Park are neither fancy nor wild.  They amble through fields.  Some are mowed to ankle depth while others have been left wild for birds to nest and scavenge.  Along some sections of the path are groves of 8 or 10 mature copper beeches, maples, oaks, and pines.  I wondered who had taken the time to offer these gifts along the path.  It wasn’t the rangers and it likely wasn’t a paid worker.  The balls were not hung with panache or professionally placed. Some were tied to branches with unraveling yet colorful ribbon, some with sparkly twisted pipe cleaners, others hung on a colored metal hook that contrasted with the color of the Christmas ball it attached to the tree. Someone had anonymously hung the path with shiny bright objects that could not be missed and that made smiles emerge and childlike delight fill hearts that needed a bit of joy.





“Have you noticed the Christmas balls in the trees?” I asked an older couple holding hands.





“Oh yes, aren’t they wonderful,” the woman said.  “We were just wondering how they came to be here.  Who did this?” 





I smiled as I said, “I think it is the elves who decorated our path.” 





“Oh yes! Isn’t that something! Elves!” And she smiled as she and her husband nodded to each other.





Later, a jogger approached, head down, concentrating on the path ahead with headphones sealing out any other sound.  I smiled and asked if she had noticed the decoration.  She slowed slightly, took off her headphones and looked quizzically at me.  I repeated my question.





“Oh, yes. They’re cheery aren’t they?”  she said.  Putting her headphones back on, she smiled and waved goodbye to me.










Yes, they are cheery.  I needed “cheery” today.  \Others may have needed it as well.  And for this simple bit of good cheer I thank the Elves who took time to make this writer’s day brighter.  It was a simple thing.  Something that made a difference . . . at least to me.  Thank you so very, very much.  Now, I’m thinking about what small Elvish thing I can do to make tomorrow a day with good cheer and smiles. . .   Suggestions invited below in comments — don’t be shy if you have an idea!   And be an Elf!