The Muffin Tree

Fifteen years ago my husband moved to Minnesota so we could begin our lives together. One of the few things he brought with him was an old cat named Muffin. After the first hour of being together, Muffin and I were bonded. I forgot she was his cat and not mine----I think Muffin forgot it too. By default my husband let go of any ownership of her as well. It was clear to all she and I were meant to be together.

A few years later, by some unusual circumstances, we given a June berry tree to plant in our front yard. The day we planted the tree, Muffin hobbled her nineteen-year-old body out to oversee the project. In Feng Shui fashion, my husband and I placed a couple of special meaningful objects in the hole while she watched. Since she seemed to want to take part in the proceedings, I brushed a bit of her fur and placed it in there as well. When we were done, Muffin wasted no time in blessing it in her own way, which entailed a lot of circling and trunk-rubbing. Thereafter we deemed it the Muffin tree. That was her last summer with us.

A few days ago the Muffin tree exploded with brilliant white flowers. Even though it’s been ten years, I remember the day we dedicated it to her as though it was yesterday. Each spring it’s as though she returns to remind us of the wonderful years we had together and the day we planted a very intentional tree. I always have to ask my husband what kind of tree it really is as I can’t remember its name, knowing it only as the Muffin tree. We have other cats now who are not nearly as interested in this story as I am. However, I will always be grateful for the gentle reminders of a special kitty.

Thinking Outside the Box

I’m evidently into boxes. I blogged earlier about using a box to organize my desk, throwing everything into the box at night so that when I walked in the next day, I would be met with a clean, clear desk. I’ve loved the idea and have integrated it wholly into my routine. A few weeks ago I realized that the box idea isn’t a new one to me----I’ve organized my life by a box method. Back in the 70's I started putting together memory boxes rather than the proverbial scrapbooks. I would cover a sturdy box and lid with decorative paper and put in everything I wanted to keep for that year----pictures, birthday cards, memorabilia. The next year, I’d start a new box.

About 20 years into that process, I had a lot of boxes, as you can imagine, so I began a consolidation. First it was into five-year increments, then a few years ago I condensed it to ten year spans. As I went through each box, I had an opportunity to remember some moments, look over some old theater tickets, try to recall why some of the miscellaneous stuff might have been important. I had a birthday card from someone named Joan----I no longer remember who she was. It was easy to let a lot of it go.

So now I’m questioning the whole idea. Does anyone care what I looked like in 1976? or who sent me birthday cards? Perhaps the better question is whether I care? On one hand it’s my data, my history; on the other hand it’s in the past. I don’t have children who will one day cherish a photo of me in my bell bottom jeans. I guess I’m aware that at some point in universal time, all this stuff will be recycled by someone, never to be seen again. Shouldn’t that be me taking care of this while I can? Of course there’s always the possibility someone will want to write an extensive autobiography about me after I’m dead and will want any and all photos and memorabilia they can find. Then again.....

I ask myself WWFSD? (What would Feng Shui do?) I know the mantra that less is more, simplify, simplify, yet I also know the underlying Taoist belief about flow. Perhaps there’s no set answer, but instead a compromise. Maybe there’s the ultimate memory box where eventually the memories of the most important parts of my life end up, but there are interim boxes leading up to that point. That way my stuff is always moving around, I’m regularly assessing where it should go, as I choose to move it to another box or relinquish it altogether. No stagnent ch’i here. Yes, indeed, I do like those boxes.

Ch'i Over the Years

Ten years ago this September, following a distant call, I gathered the first class of what would eventually become the Wind and Water School of Feng Shui. To say that the program has evolved from those days is the proverbial understatement. Those who took part in that first group don’t even recognize what the training has become.

Not that those first classes were any less valid or substantive than they are now, but my approach has changed. I’ve re-arranged and re-formatted the hand-outs, changed teaching venues a couple times, added faculty, met the qualifications to become licensed as an official school by the Minnesota Department of Higher Education Services. And, bottom line, I teach the material differently. All of these changes have been exciting, appropriate, and in line with the flow of the ch’i.

Luckily, however, one thing has not changed in all these years----the faces. One of the pure delights I cherish is being able to watch the faces of my students as the light bulbs go on, as the words bring new insights, as they realize the possibilities. It was one of the first things I observed ten years ago, and it still happens with every group of students. It reminds me of my own journey. That ride is pretty exhilarating, that’s for sure.

I also know from experience that when you’re in a group having break-throughs, processing issues, supporting one another, making plans for the future, a bond happens. Feng Shui is no different. Some of the past classes still meet informally even though their classroom experience was years ago. I still have a dear friend who, at the time of our mutual study paths, was living in Florida and now lives in Pennsylvania. We wouldn’t think of going to a Feng Shui conference or take up another line of Feng Shui study without one another.

This past weekend one of my classes reached a mid-point in their studies. After a short ceremony to mark the occasion, they wanted to forever hold the moment so we took a picture. I want to share the photo with you to show you what I’m talking about.

It’s hard not to smile when you look at their faces. I thank them and all the prior students for blessing me with their open hearts.

Of course, nothing says "bonding" better than a group hug.

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Enlightenment

A couple weeks ago I found myself engaged in light fixtures. One fixture project was planned, the other an unexpected surprise. To wrap up a kitchen remodel we started four plus years ago, my husband and I bought some pendulum lights for over the counter and the sink. Part of the delay in getting lights was due to the fact that we didn’t know what we wanted and were overwhelmed by the options. The other contributing factor was that we just wanted to be done with the remodel, with or without lights. So we shelved the idea until later.

One recent weekend we found what we wanted rather unexpectedly. When the lights were installed, it was as though the whole remodeling project took on a new life. And we were pleased all over again. At the same time, Debbie, a student of mine, gave me a small lamp with a lovely Asian flair----marking the end of her Feng Shui studies with me. I thought it curious that, within a few days, all this new light was appearing.

The kitchen pendulums had designated spots but the little lamp needed to find its home. I had it in my office, our bedroom, the entry, but nothing worked right. I found what I thought would be a suitable place in the dining room but then realized it was too close to the kitchen, competing with those pendulums.

So, I took a Feng Shui approach. Since the kitchen lights were in the south and center of our house (Fame and Health), I decided to complete that line of thought and place the lamp along the same axis----in the north (Career). I walked into the living room, lamp in hand, doubtful I’d find anything that would be appropriate. In fact, I saw the perfect spot on top of the television cabinet. The lamp nestled in next to some lucky bamboo as though it was always meant to be there.

I’m pondering the reality of having more light in my life. Feng Shui is the proverbial language of metaphor so there must be some message here, after all, the whole center third of my space/life has been lightened. Meanwhile until I fully understand the underlying meaning, I bask in the warm glow, grateful for the new vision it provides me.

Foiled Ch'i

One of the reasons, or perhaps THE reason, my husband and I bought the home we have is because it overlooks Minnehaha Creek. Not only is it scenic, but there are walking paths, bike paths, the sound of water----a perfect Feng Shui setting. Besides all that, there is a foot bridge that crosses over the creek and lands close by our driveway. When I was taking buses back and forth to campus during my graduate years, I would get off one stop short to be able to walk across the bridge to my house. It was though I was flying over the creek into another world where I got to live. I loved that walk.

A couple weeks ago there was a small sign with a chain draped on both ends of the bridge----"Warning: Bridge Closed." Some of the neighbors and I called the park & rec department who told us the bridge was not fit to be used; they were going to have to assess whether they could repair it or would have to replace it. Either way there was no money to do anything. The bridge was closed indefinitely.

The bridge closure has not only changed the way we take our walks and the way my husband does his morning jog, but countless other people walking their dogs or riding their bikes have come to a sudden stop at the foot of the bridge. A lot of people relied on that path to get across the creek.

Despite the warning sign, I saw people fearlessly step over the sign as though it wasn’t there. You’d think after they got a few steps onto the bridge and heard the creaking they would come scurrying back. I didn’t understand the young couple who, pushing their baby in a stroller, stepped over the chain/sign, laughing and jostling one another ignoring the sounds of a bridge ready to give way. Maybe because the sign was so small, it wasn’t getting respect. I was witness to a bicyclist who nearly flew over the embankment into the creek as he came barreling down the Bryant Avenue hill expecting to take the bridge. We called our friend at the park & rec again. The sign wasn’t working; we were afraid of a total collapse of the bridge right in front of our eyes. We suggested they put up more chains across the entrances to the bridge. That way, we, the neighbors, could still see the bridge, enjoy the scenic aspect we all love, yet there would be no way anyone would be able to get on it.

Yesterday, the park & rec department came by with their own solution to the problem. I don’t know if they were mad about the disregard for their nice little sign, but what they left behind is nothing short of an eyesore. I can’t wait for the graffiti to start. I’d say this warrants another call to our park & rec friend.

Painting Lessons

This past week I painted our entry and the hallway going upstairs. It’s something I had been wanting to do since we bought our new furniture and I realized the green walls no longer worked. Nevertheless, it felt like a daunting task----lots of taping and corners and high places. I figured I’d drag my husband into the project over the course of a couple weekends, during which we’d bicker over the details and the time it was taking. I dreaded the thought of going through the process of picking a new color. But I reached a point when I disliked the green color more than the prospect of painting.

When my husband announced he was going to a conference for four days, I saw this as my opportunity to move forward with the project on my own. Of course, when the timing is right, flow happens. With hardly any hesitation, I found a gold color that both of us liked. During the time he was gone, I decided how much I could realistically accomplish without exhausting myself. It took me all four days of his absence to finish the parts I could do on my own, which actually was the majority of the job.

The best part is that I found the work meditative, relaxing, and rewarding. I took my time; I pondered my intentions with each roller of warm gold paint; I stopped when I said I was going to; and I basked in the accomplishment of each day. Every night when we spoke on the phone, I would tell my husband what I had done, wall-by-wall, and he would enthusiastically encourage me to move forward. When he came home, I had to enlist him for only a couple hours to finish the very high parts.

Today every time I look at the entry and the hallway, I remember the quiet moments that went into transforming the energy and the great intentions infused in the paint. It’s more yang now----a lighter, cleaner color than before. It also reminded me of the many times my own dad would decide to paint our walls when I was growing up. For some reason, it was almost an annual affair and most of the time he wasn’t even changing the color----just freshening things up. He’d always enlist my help to fetch him a rag, or stir the paint, or just sit and watch. He painted in a meditative way, too. I loved being there with him, watching him methodically move his brush. I’m sure that’s where I learned how to paint this way. How appropriate that memories of him came up for me since, coincidentally, I was painting in the Family area of our house. I wonder if ever so long ago while my dad was slowly dipping his brush and carefully getting into the corners, he, too, was infusing the walls with his own intentions.

It's a Small World After All

Last summer, the publisher of my first book "Wind and Water" failed to tell me they no longer had an inventory of this book, and furthermore they had no intention of reprinting it. So in the fall, I obtained the rights. Aware there was still an active readership, I began a long process of looking for a printer. The costs from domestic printers were astronomical, staggering even, and I knew I couldn’t fund something like that.

At about the same time, I had a conversation with a past student of mine from Michigan who had just written her own Feng Shui and gardening book. I was lamenting my dilemma when she gave me the name of her printer----in India. It was a long shot, but I sent off an email with the specifications. The cover of my book is complicated----varnishes, metallics, overlays. I know it was the reason for the high printing bids; a couple printers opted not to bid it anticipating the standards required to make it work.

Within a few hours of my initial request I received an email quote from the printer. The quote was one-third the cost of the domestic printers. I was sure they had misunderstood, so I sent them a copy of the book. They assured me that was an accurate quote—furthermore it included shipping and customs fees. My editor Dorie and I ruminated over whether this was a good idea or not—something too good to be true never works out. India is so far away—how would I ever sort out a problem?

During the midst of weighing the risks, I got a personal email from the sales person. It seems he had read my book and had found it "thoughtful and life-changing." It would be "an honor" for them to print it. He assured me he was familiar with Vaastu (the Indian form of Feng Shui) but was looking forward to implementing what I was proposing in "Wind and Water." That beat all...what printer bothers to read the books? And pay attention to the content?

Perhaps it was a clever sales tactic, but that email was the beginning of what has been a delightful and charming relationship. They have been conscientious; have air mailed proofs; have air mailed the first press runs; have assured me of some small tweaks they would be making to assure even better quality; have been patient while my bank tried to figure out how to wire money to India. The list goes on. We call each other "friend" now----"My dear friend Carole..." "Thank you, Jagdish, my friend, for your quick response....."

Yes, initially it was their price, but after these heart-felt emails, I have not regretted my decision to take the book to India. Of course, it didn’t hurt that their pre-run copies were impeccable, surpassing the last edition the publisher provided me. According to their latest production schedule the books will be arriving at the distributor here in Minneapolis on May 4th. I don’t feel badly about taking this job out of the country. For one thing, I have some new friends in India. And for another, I’m sure when someone picks up one of these new books, they’ll know there’s something extra special about it. Something they sadly would have missed if the books had been printed by anyone else. Thank you, Jagdish, my friend.