loose ends

Because I know that you are all sitting on the edge of your seats and wondering how my summer was (too short), if I ever got around to planting my garden (no) and how much $750 worth of dog kibble weighs (800 lbs),  I thought I should tie up some loose ends of my previous blog; bringing conclusion to those small little details that have been keep you awake at night.

The last I mentioned, I had set forth the decree that my daughter had to ante up for her Clash of Clan indiscretion and I, in the same breath, would do the same...both of which involved chests of gems. The rules of engagement where that Tatum could choose the charity of her choice and I had to replace stolen goods with the grown up bling. Both of us shoveled a hefty measure of humility and mortification along this path and were mercifully met with appreciation.

Tethered together, Tatum's misadventures led us to the bank where she could see, touch and smell  $750 worth of hard-earned allowance money destined for a strong armed tithing to the charity of her choice. This was money that she had been saving for over five years...

Next came the family road trip to Costco.

Like Tatum in a public stockade, we brought Tatums' older brother, Trevor, on this pilgrimage as a cautionary tale lest his future decision making skills become wobbly.

Apparently $750 worth of kibble can bring a Suburban to it's knees.

Driving low and slow we made it to Tatum's charity of choice, The New Milford Animal Shelter, with the rear axle intact.

Once all the kibble made it behind closed doors the shelter volunteers were a rapt and grateful audience listening as Tatum recounted the circumstances behind her apparent generosity; Her mortifying penance diminishing with every repeated confession.

For the next two months Tatum spent her time reading, crafting and spending her time like a Amish child. The value of money, as was measured by weight in Kibble, could have been easily measured by how many Indian children's eyesight could have been restored through a simple $300 operation or the number of wells that could have been dug for clean drinking water in Africa or the number meals that could have been provided by a local food pantry, was an eye opener for Tatum as was the experience for me.

If you might remember from my previous blog, busted, I too was a benefactor of Tatum's misdemeanor as it forced me to look more deeply into my own shadows to uncover a piece of gnarly truth in my wayward youth.

The gracious recipient of my recompense from days as a petty thief was eventually tracked down in Arizona. The letter she sent to me in return admitted to her never even remembering the ring. Truly, had this nugget of gold-filled base metal, colored glass & rhinestones not wedged itself so deeply into my soul, I could have established myself in a life of crime. Kim, in her hesitance to accept the replacement ring of such stature, understood the importance of my gesture. As a mother of a five year old, she knew the importance of teaching through example in order to raise children of character.  "I have nothing except fond memories of you as a child and now this just adds to it. Your example of honesty and humility is to be admired.", she wrote. And I sobbed, 38 years of self imposed tears; The loose-ended suffering finally tided up in a pretty bow of silken exoneration.

As we come upon the close of a year I bring to the table the gratitude of my foray with vulnerability. The humility that Tatum and I experienced in righting our wrongs feels as though my roots are growing deeper and allowing me to stand taller/stronger, speak with more confidence and recognize the wisdom hiding behind shame and guilt. I am curious now - the other vestiges of darkness that loom within me, in all of us...how they wait to be implemented and transformed in us all. Sometimes they wait. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes you can choose their neat and tidy exit path. Sometimes it's a complete conflagration. And, rest assured, whichever way you are drawing your circumstances to you is the perfect way in which your soul  is choosing to have this lesson administered. Because no matter how bad the conditions you find yourself in, when you make it through the ring of fire and rise from the pit of despair the most unlikely miracle of gratitude surfaces in ways your imagination cannot begin to comprehend.

Ask Yourself: 

What are my loose end(s) requiring a silken bow? 

Julie Bowes - Metalsmith/Spiritual Facilitator/Indentured Hash Slinger
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397 

JulieBowes.com

Facebook.com/julieibowes1

Contact Julie

coon man

Through leafless and frosty airwaves, 9 p.m. howls of impending satisfaction whistle and glide effortlessly over the smooth drifts of snow. Now, as the forests, hay fields and manicured specimen trees waken from their winter slumber, the cacophony has dampened. From way up in them, thar hills exists an anomaly of canine festivities reminiscent of  a frat party gone wild; Mayhem of multiple dogs, frolic in anticipation of their meal.

I am happy I don't live closer.

But the curious sort I am I do set my mind to wondering about, exactly, how many dogs constitutes the word "multiple" and how the owner of these dogs must love dogs perhaps more so than loves people. Someday, I say, I'd like to find out.

"That Day" just happened.

on-duty
At five a.m. on Sunday, the day I had set up for a 7am- slam-dunk-sleep-in, I was awakened by the sentence, "Mom! There are dogs running all over our lawn and they're chasing a fox." My minds' eye furrowed in confusion beneath my cozy eye mask. Barking, barking, barking with delight,  I laid there and listened, hopefully, for the sound of a huntsman's horn signaling the end of the chase. A minute passed and, like a news-breaking story, the details began to usher in with unbridled speed.

It was Sunday.
It was 5a.m.
All the weekend homes were occupied by upper east side doctors and lawyers.
My husband wasn't home. Such a shame, really. He lives for these types of calls to action, like cleaning the gutters in torrential lightning & thunderstorms.

Alas, I was ON DUTY.

I rolled facing the south windows overlooking my lawn and peeked out from beneath my darkened cave in confirmation. Adjusting  from my sleepy dream to refocus on purported dogs and foxes I was launched like a flaming pillow by a trebuchet. Ass over teakettle I jettisoned out of bed and stumbled my way to the most logical priorities one would need to anticipate in the event of finding ones' self at the end of a fox hunt or being joined by my weekend, NYC nephrologist neighbor who has his lawn mowed twice a week.

The pair of six day old pants that were heaped on the floor seemingly rose to action. I brushed my hair. I covered up with a magenta fleece and stuffed my bare feet into my Rescue Hero boots racing to ground zero to lessen the impact of bluster imparted by the incessant hound "speak".

"foxy" 
The fox that was spotted happened to be my grossly overweight orange tabby cat. It was Apricots' first day outside since November. Her station beneath the futon in the basement is where she stays warm and safely nestled far, far away from our chocolate lab, Kola. A luscious spring evening laden heavily with lilac and lightning bugs was her migration call. The warm gentle breeze coaxed she and her sister, Dot, outside. Under the cover of darkness, like two teenage girls looking to sneak a smoke, they disappeared.

On the "fluffy" side, how Apricot tore her way up the closest, gnarly tree was nothing short of a miracle. The dogs where pleased to settle for this full-figured, 15 pound, "foxy" girl.  Bouncing and "speaking" at the base of the tree in gleeful staccato,  Apricot clamped herself onto the limb like a sailor lashed to the mast in a hurricane. Her ears tucked firmly and flush to the side of her head indicated that this was WAY more than she bargained for.

From the deck, Tatum wailed with worry. Her fear for my safety amplified my desire for prompt resolution before the sirens were called in as a third string backup. Praising the dogs for a job well done I approached these smiling faces without concern. They were doing their job and doing it well with the same abandon that Tatum dances or the way I can't help but cry with joy skiing the Skyline Trail overlooking Lake Tahoe. Pure rapture in each of these moments delivered in radically different ways.

I corralled these hounds into my garage.

the plea
The plea for help landed with a 5:45 a.m. email to the one and only woman in Northern Sherman who has her ear to the rail. Marianne knows when something has happened three minutes before hand. She was the line of first responders that came to mind to assist in finding the dogs rightful owner. Had I remembered to take my phone off off vibe I would have checked the chime that delivered her prompt response stating CODE RED. I repeat. CODE RED. Do NOT proceed.

But I'll get back to that.

restoring eden
Restoring Eden would have been rather easy had I been able to simply coax Apricot down from the tree, nudge her inside, and set the dogs on their merry way. However, experienced in the art of feline rescue, I realized that this was going to have to wait. That, and the Universe wasn't finished with me yet.

This was just the beginning.

the wild frontier
Just at that moment as a hush fell over the land. From up yonder wafted the distant howls of canine brethren.
Like a pig on the hot scent of a truffle, this was my call to action.

I mounted my Suburban steed with hounds in my panniers and my daughter still in her fleece, heart-print pajamas, counting ticks in the way, way back. This wasn't a time that warranted seat belts, nor bras. We were heading into: the wild frontier of Sherman.

The wind blew through our hair as we drove the neighborhood loop. At the bottom of the Smoke Ridge cul-de-sac we turned off the ignition to track echo-locate our target. Referencing my winter walks from months prior, I was a few degrees off of my auditory plotting sensors and readjusted the course to head, point five degrees north. We swooped down Anderson's mammoth hill and headed right, eastbound to Rte 55. Just when my psychic radar had lost the scent was precisely when I entered the eye of the storm. There on the side of the road; Sunday morning's epic geocache...a handmade wooden sign that read:

FOR SALE 

Puppies, Hounds, Beagles 

"Are you missing a couple of dogs?", I queried, pleased as punch that someone answered the number posted on the bottom of the sign. 

"Well, I ain't missing them, but they're probably missing me.", he warbled.

"Well, I'm sitting at the base of your driveway with your dogs in the back of my Suburban. May I approach your home?, " I ventured.

"I'm wearing nothin' but my boots, " he cautioned. "Give me a couple minutes and then come on up. Do you have four wheel drive?"

"I sure do!" My eyes wild with adventure I gripped the steering wheel like a game controller and engaged the L1 axle button, bound for the unknown. The deep ruts in the dirt driveway held me close to the mountain as we maneuvered our first switchback. Tires gripped tight like the sticky pads of tree frogs, we cleared the swath past the storage container to the next switchback. Climbing and climbing like Jack in the Beanstalk my mind wandered to the experience that awaited. 

the call

With each turn, the volume of hounds increased. On the final stretch of incline, littered with roadside treasures,  rang the phone. It was Marianne. 

"I'm not sure you want to be going up there by yourself, Julie. This man just had multiple firearms removed from his property and..." The list went on until she began to hear the imminent approach of dogs through the earpiece of her phone. "...Oh...I'm guessing I've called just a little too late?"

"Yep. I'm committed Marianne. I appreciate the wrap sheet and I am sincerely thankful to know what I am about to get myself into but there's no turning back now. If I don't call you back in 30 minutes, send in backup." I smiled

There I was 15 feet from a log cabin. Dogs tied to trees. Dogs tied to dormant generators. Dogs free roaming and eager to greet the new arrivals.

I was in heaven. I had dogs in my car and dogs in every direction my eyes could see. 

Despite the list of violations Marianne relayed I couldn't help myself. There I was behind the wheel of my Suburban, NOT making school lunches, NOT folding laundry, NOT taking out the trash, NOT sweeping the kitchen floor or wiping the kitchen counters of debris. There was something so unique and authentic about this present moment in time.

I was So. Crazy. Happy.  

coon man

Off the front porch stepped a person in his late 60's. A solid-footed & sinewy sprite of a man, he put himself together with an air of a long-term bachelor living solely on rib-eyes and baked potatoes. He wore a black, long sleeve t-shirt and blue dungarees with suspenders, his silver belt buckle captured a dull glint in the morning sunshine. It was the very first time my eyes had met a man that wore his beard in a pony tail. His thinning gray hair was tidy, braided and just tickled the collar of his shirt. His teeth were the color of driftwood and his hands conveyed knowledge beyond my life's experience. 

With his presence I was assured safe passage among his dogs and exited my car; My heart and smile were ablaze with joy. We shook hands and made cursory introductions as the hounds leaped from the back tailgate. And then,  he took a step back as though he had experienced the fringe of a lightning strike.

"You own horses don't you." Bent at the elbows, he held his arm in front of him, fingers straight. "My hands and forearms are tingling. Oh my.This is something else! You are surrounded by the energy of horses." Not a stranger to this description, his energetic assessment of horses was comforting in its familiarity and revealed to me his status as a back-woods, evangelical shaman of sorts. "This is going to be a special meeting.  It's Sunday morning and the good Lord has brought us together.This is Faith."

I restrained my inner schoolmarm and refrained from correcting his choice of words from Faith to Fate. 

backwoods bling

Naturally, captivated by jewelry and it's symbolism, I was drawn by his backwoods bling. A thick, black leather cord hung loosely around his neck. At the valley hung the tip of a deer antler. Symmetrically to either side, wrapped in coils of copper, were two curved three inch bones... and one tie clip. 

"Ohhhh, what are these bones?" I inquired. He motioned me, unsuccessfully, out of earshot of my equally curious daughter and slowly explained, "These are ribs of a raccoon. And look at this!" And in a hushed drawl of reverence, "Now THIS (as he held the tie clip), THIS is real silver!" There between the antler and one of the coon bones was a silver tie clip. "And lookie here on this side. This here?" And he pointed with his wise hands, "THIS is real onyx. I found it in the parking lot of my favorite restaurant." 

Coon Man gave me a short tour of the area within a 20 foot radius of my get-away vehicle. My mind ebbed and flowed back to Marianne's warning and plea to abort. Coon Man shared the best restaurant to buy a steak, the bargain of his new Cutlass Supreme with only 32K miles (how in the heck did he get it up his driveway?) and how they tried to burn him out in 2002 (WHAT?!). He told me of issues with the law and of the toughness of beef that never has a chance to age.  As my daughter recounted later, he was a talker. 

persecuted 

Coon Man recounted stories of ongoing persecution, protecting what he knows as his true and authentic way of life, and thus results in push back from both directions. The neighbors feel threatened and impinged upon by stray dogs and the safety of their house cat out on the midnight beat. Coon Man feels pinched and caged like...um....a wild raccoon. For what one registers as a high degree of "authenticity" registers for others as an personal affront. It's all relative to proximity.

perspective
There isn't a lot of control I have over my day, but the one thing I do have is the ability to choose how I perceive the conditions that surround me. Committing to a positive perspective is a conscious choice based in gratitude for what each new day brings. By sheer surrender to faith in the common good I accepted my fate of this one special morning and how it taught me the beauty of acceptance, the importance of compassion and committing to the call of adventure with an open loving heart. So, from my comfortable distance, I claim my appreciation for Coon Man and the opportunity he presented me to step into adventure.

I committed to this adventure to matriculate into an independent, confident and empowered woman; To know my boundaries, know the full capacity of my heart and be able to share and instill a sense of belonging and compassion to this unique soul others would have deemed a misfit.  Coon Man was correct in his issuance of "Faith". A connection and commitment to a higher source was the orchestrating force behind this experience. Choosing to join up with that full tilt adventure gave my heart something to chew on and Faith is exactly what brought us together; To give me the chance to commit to a deeper sense of purpose, self-reliance and adventure. And for Coon Man to feel, if just for a moment, that he belongs.

Ask yourself:
"When adventure knocks how will I choose to respond?"

Julie Bowes - Metalsmith/Spiritual Facilitator/Indentured Hash Slinger
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397 

JulieBowes.com

Facebook.com/julieibowes1

Contact Julie

busted

A week ago my husband marched into my office waving three sheets of paper. You could feel the chill in his veins fresh on the scent of fraud. He perched on the most uncomfortable chair, back erect, drugstore readers at full magnification and on the edge of hyperventilation like we were in the middle of an active home invasion. The numbers one to twenty-four rattled off his lips tallying the sum of a righteous day of "iTunes therapy".

"We have a problem.", he stated. "I think there's fraudulent activity on our credit card!"

We mobilized. My husband Jeff was on the phone to various gatekeepers and I in the fluorescent cubicle of CSI to flesh out fingerprints and the smoking gun. I swept through my iTunes purchase history to the relief of three books and my son's history of two books and five songs.We checked out clean and were free to leave the station.

My daughter, on the other hand, had some 'splainin to do. Her purchase history was littered with a month of of iTunes LOOT. The trojan horse was operating from inside the castle walls! In its full, pixelated form, there, like a deer in headlights, my eyes met with the baffling charge after charge of virtual bling and armaments to build and fortify her online kingdoms.

All tolled she was harboring a $750 secret.

"There must be some mistake.", I thought. "She must have made these charges without realizing that it was REAL money she was using...? No WAY would she would do this."

Moments later she waltzed in from her day at school, set the mail on the counter, hung up her back pack, brought her empty pink lunch sack to the counter and plunked down on the hardwood floor of the kitchen to drape herself over the dog. I appreciated the lean process she followed after years of 4 pm weekday protocol. Her attention to detail and thoughtful manner in which she tended to her homework and chores lent themselves, seamlessly, to what I expected to be a simple misunderstanding.

Having pre-coached ourselves with the priority of keeping cool, Jeff calmly inquired what she knew about a hefty iTunes shopping spree. I watched her reaction; How she walked, how she spoke, how she breathed. Instead, what grew more apparent was how I began to feel the ice in the veins, the shortness of breath, the narrowing of the pupils that overtakes the system the moment they are busted. She held her hands to the sides of her face almost as if she was trying to prevent her head from exploding. No tears where shed yet the genuine remorse was palpable.

In stunned silence, Jeff and I, scratched our heads as we watched the instant replay of the past eleven years in the feverish attempt to comprehend how this egregious breach of processing and decision making skills had jumped the tracks. Was she absent that day we taught Moral Conduct and Values 101? Yes. She skipped that course in favor of auditing the enrichment class entitled, Lock Picking to Gain Access to Your Favorite Candy Store. Yes, I think she did.

She fessed up with total disclosure and stood bravely at the emotional guillotine to receive, what felt like the impending doom of a decapitating punishment. Jeff and I eeked meagerly out on the limb of this previously, uncharted territory. As self proclaimed push-overs and famed for parenting through hypocrisy we looked at each other with a blank stare of "Ok. Now what."

the punishment
The old-fashioned word "punishment" fit as well as high-rise jeans. It's constricting stature didn't leave any room for opportunity, growth or (my personal faves) psychoanalysis, symbolism and the ripple effect of consequence. For this reason, we donned our helmets, shields and galoshes and marched into the cave we feared that held the treasures we sought. Because, what this meant was way bigger than what appeared at the surface. But I'll get back to that.

logical restorative consequences (LRC)
Logical Restorative Consequences (LRC) applied to this incidence of Family Moral Code violation as read in chapter 1, section 2, page 3, line 4 indicate: Bummer, Dude. This is going to be a long, rocky road for everyone. The LRC implemented but not limited to:

1. Removal of iPad for the duration of lapse in judgement.
= 1 Month
2. Restoration of factory settings in iPad
= Pain in the Ass.
3. 1 1/2 hours sitting at the desk with Dad changing all the AutoPay accounts to the new credit card number.
= Boredom teetering on the verge of a coma.
4. The opportunity to explain herself to the ultra-chill Apple employee the faulty logic behind her crime.
= Mortifying.
5. Repay the money to us through added chores and a payment plan the eleven year old's equivalent to the amount of student loans.
= Painful.

the backfire
I'm a proponent of random acts of kindness. However, I'm learning that sometimes that throws a wrench in the plan. The "backfire" was Apple's unexpected refund. "Cool!", we thought at first glance. To Jeff's "classified folder" this was an open and shut case keeping Tatum's payment plan on course. Yet, opacity was at the root of the problem. If we withheld the truth from her we would: 1.)Feed this closed circuit loop of dishonesty and  2.) Miss the opportunity of acknowledgement that the world is a friendly and abundant place as was witnessed at the merciful gesture by the guy in the Apple confessional.  

What would happen with the truth? We all had to risk that outcome. We told Tatum of the Random Act of Kindness that had been extended to us. She leaped for joy. Of course she did; The soul loves the truth. Little did she know...

the puzzle piece
In order for LRC to be effective, we felt the puzzle piece of "Pain" couldn't be left vacant. For Tatum to understand the value of $750 was going to require one more mortifying conversation and "pain". We asked her to 1.) Select a local charity of her choice, 2.) Call them, 3.) Inquire of what they were most in need and 4.) Spend $750 on the requested supplies in combination with a stint on the chain gang.

In keeping with Judge Constantine Harm's sentence, this felt like an experience that Homer and Bart endured in the episode, "The Parent Rap", tethered together in LRC's after Bart stole the town's police cruiser. The theory behind this sentence being that had Homer instilled Bart with good moral conduct from the beginning none of this would have happened. But, really, the question is, did Homer have these skills to teach to his son. The answer was no. "You cannot give what you do not have." So, now they had to learn the basics and forge these skills, somehow, tethered together. Brilliant. But what did this have to say about me? Apparently, I had some learning to do too. But I'll get back to that.

tethered
Where it stood, Jeff and I had grown very accustomed to the iPad as a playdate. We were worn out similar to being pecked to death by ducks, and had just, simply, given up on our desire/ability to monitor the amount of unsupervised time spent in front of a monitor. We like the quiet and the time it affords us to, honestly, watch our own monitor. Now we are forced to be tethered together; To grow and engage with each other and in this circumstance, learn from each others mistakes. The perception as something negative is really loaded with incredible information if you choose to look more closely. And this is where the road got rocky for me. Could I teach Tatum to do what was right if I hadn't come clean myself?

shadows
In a jaunt through the woods the day after this discovery it was raining. The short vlog I captured that day related to the gems hiding beneath the surface of this recent experience. I don't care who you are, we all have shadows - my daughter and myself included. In analyzing her shadows I found myself admitting my own. Just like Homer and Bart, my parenting through hypocrisy was playing out in a long winter's shadow. I brought up a portion of my dirt that, for the last 38 years, had been a slow battery drain of shame and guilt. In the vlog I admitted that I had never gotten "caught". In truth, however, 38 years ago I caught myself in a web of subconscious debris that has followed me ever since. I admitted to my weakness of stealing beautiful jewelry from my friends and family. Just like Tatum, I just couldn't resist.

At eight years old I stole a diamond and aquamarine ring from Kim. At 8 1/2 I stole a tackle box of colorful beads from Tanja (which I returned). At 20 I stole a fake diamond ring from my blind grandmother's jewelry box. The beauty was too difficult for me to resist. Then it dawned on me...look what I am doing now! I make jewelry, own a jewelry company and have the privilege to coach others to mine for their own gems of self-worth, confidence and inspiration. I'm on a hot track, I thought. What are Tatum's shadows revealing about her future joy and prosperity? Will she be a computer programmer, a jeweler, a money counter at the Bureau of Engraving & Printing, a Barbarian Clan King?

In his youth, my father set fires in his basement; He made his fortune selling wood burning stoves. A friend admitted to stealing horses in her young adulthood; She now makes beautiful leather, hand-tooled saddles. Another person fessed up to epic mis-truths; She is now an auditor able to spot a lie from a million decimal points away. Yet another person, aborting her own urge to shoplift music (pre-MP3) was apprehended and nearly thrown in German jail; She now devotes 80% of her discretionary time to live concerts, new music trends and teaching herself how to play the piano.

making friends with the shadow
Most people come to me for coaching and energetic restoration because, somewhere along the line, they lost track of the entire notion of fun. Ironically, the cumulative shadows are in part to play for loosing the connection to joy. Burdened by shame or guilt, without the confidence to look more deeply into the powerful messages they hold, stunts the healthy, productive, thriving purpose of the human soul. Slowly, lives erode into perpetual doubt, confusion and an immutable sense of unyielding doldrums. When asked what they do for fun, a surprising amount of people draw a complete blank. For some, perhaps it is the shadows where one needs to begin.

the march
I marched home after making the video and headed straight for my daughter's Winnie the Pooh jewelry box. Contained within were the chronicles of pre-marriage adornment; Ceramic dove pins, Venetian glass necklaces, mimosa seed bracelets, starfish earrings, rhinestones from what had been in my grandmother's collection of gems she wore on stage performing in the opera.

Still dripping from my walk, I sifted through this box with one question in mind.What had become of the aquamarine and diamond ring that had buried itself so deep into my soul? If I find it, what type of LRC would I have to self-implement? "Crap, I still have it." I whispered as I fished it out from the bottom of the box. "Ok. Now what."

With the ring in hand, I felt squeezed between a rock and a hard place. There was no where to escape except to pass through the "Ring of Fire". My persistent remorse, in it's pesky, nagging, fully engorged way was finally going to receive the attention it had been requiring. I snared myself the moment I lifted the ring and for 38 years accrued the lay-away suffering package. What I can unequivocally tell you is that unveiling 38 years of guilt doesn't look pretty on Facebook. Just like the stomach bug that runs rampant through elementary school, I barfed this secret out faster than I could loose my nerve. And just like the projectile vomit, I felt much better afterwards.

my LRC
My LRC followed much the same format as what my daughter endured. I slogged through 38 years of regret, met the nagging challenge, purchased a beautiful, grown-up version in 14K white gold with diamonds and aquamarine. (I can honestly say, this ring is just as tempting now as it was when I was eight.) Parting with the beautiful replacement ring as I sent it off to the recipient was a relief. But the best part of this experience was sharing with my daughter how I learned from her, how we are all blessed with imperfections, and how we can strive to do better the next time.

the unmistakable message
I thought that that was the end of the story until later that day when I was fishing through a different jewelry box in search of a gold chain. Right there in front of me tumbled a huge aquamarine ring set in 14K gold that had belonged to my grandmother. I had never noticed this ring, until now. It was as though all the forces in charge had rewarded me for having, finally, done the right thing. The Universe responded with this ring as an unmistakable message of approval.

doing what's right
Although doing what's right may at times be uncomfortable, the alternative is emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually detrimental. When faced with the choice of long-term suffering or a short-term action step in the direction of logical restoration, the benefits far outweigh the squeamish task.

Taking the time to face this shadow has permitted me to accept myself as more fully present, authentic and alive. It has assisted in my ability to judge myself less and help others understand what lies under the surface of their long held secrets and shame. It has helped me be more honest and, in doing so, gives permission for others to ferret out the debris keeping them separate from their true joy-driven life.

Ask Yourself: 

What's my ring-thing? What's one step I can make towards its logical restoration to clear the path to joy?

Julie Bowes - Metalsmith/Spiritual Facilitator/Indentured Hash Slinger
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397 

JulieBowes.com

Facebook.com/julieibowes1

Contact Julie

tracks

One of the greatest things about freshly falling snow is the ability to not only track critters but to be able to estimate how long since a track had been made. Today is one of those days.

As we clearly laid fresh tracks of our own, along the trail we also stumbled upon some really interesting footprints that resembled a raccoon but hopped like a rabbit; a rabcoon? I thought about taking a picture to reference upon my return home, yet defaulted to: lazy. Then I saw, and Kola sniffed, the tracks of what appeared to be a dog until the absence of human leash bound tracks did not accompany them. It was at this moment the track turned from dog to coyote. Then, making the further inspection it was missing a key element of nails similar to Kola at which point this track spoke more clearly of a bobcat.

Now, mind you, I am a suburban housewife who dabbles in the metaphysics of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. I spend a little more time outdoors than most and I feel pretty lucky that I can provide this daily decadence for my chocolate lab.Reaping the benefits as well, I recognize how time in nature feeds me, too. I love the silence, the fresh air, the birds and today, the tracking.

Occasionally, I'll strike up a conversation with a person walking the other direction who is carrying a big stick. What I learn is that this particular neighbor is afraid of barking dogs. Or more precisely the chance that one of these barking dogs are going to maul him or his ankles depending on their size.  Another phobic neighbor urges me to walk with a stick because of the Mountain Lion that her husband had spotted from the safety of his lounge chair. (Their house is now for sale.) Or yet another neighbor who walks with mace, ever vigilant from her days living in Manhattan. Today I recognized my judgement at how I scoffed at their advice.

The amateur sort of tracking I do lends itself nicely to the illusion of safety. The moment the percentage of possibility that these may be the track of a mountain lion or bobcat my first reaction was, "Cool!" Kola's first reaction was, "I gotta pee on that." My second reaction was, "Shit! I better look around for this kitty or, at the very least, for a big friging stick."

It's amazing how the Universe sets you up to live your own judgement.

Thirty minutes later, bearing left to head back up the hill and finally face away from the snow I look down on the lightly dusted pavement to see barefoot, Homo Sapien tracks. Fumbling for my phone, as lazy has just been shed like a big terd, I am lining up this aberration in the sights of my iPhone camera. Yet, the snow plow who roars up from behind, beats us to the fresh prints with this plow and spreader. Alls I can think is," Holy God Almighty...who cares about the Mountain Lion...there is one bat-shit, cra cra dude out here. Where's that stick when you need it!" Backing up 20 feet to their point of origin, the deeper snow reveals a slight tread attached to the individual piggies. This seems to calm me enough so as to loosen the grip on flash fried fear and wishes that I would have in fact chosen a hefty, formidable tree limb. But still. We here in the Northeast are pretty conservative Timberland, Sorel or Muck Boot subscribers. I don't see anyone batting a California eye at this data.

Seconds later, running down the hill in his floppy dreads, prep school athletic fatigues and this gnarly foot apparel comes the happiest dude I've seen since I was doing yoga on the beach in Hawaii. In a fit of laughter and relief, we reflect back to one another the magic of the day. He and I absorbing its beauty each in our unique, outlier fashions. As he trounced back to his base camp, I surrendered my ridiculous assumptions and Mucked back up the hill.

I will die eventually. Will it be by the jaws of a mountain lion? The deafening and incessant barks of dogs? The stray mugger wearing FiveFingers shoes? Doubtful. What I choose, is to stay continually in awe of now, never dulled or deadened by the slow trickle draw of perpetual, paralyzing fear. I choose to smile and wave. I choose to observe. I choose to be kind to myself and others. I choose to live my life one hot track to the next.

Ask Yourself:

How big is your stick?

Julie recommends: Finding Your Way in a Wild New World, by Martha Beck

Julie Bowes - Metalsmith/Spiritual Facilitator/Indentured Hash Slinger
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397 

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