“We’re Sisters; We Fight”
Two of our granddaughters were riding in the back seat. After a while, there was some squabbling. As the sound escalated, I turned around to see what was going on, perhaps to intervene.
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Two of our granddaughters were riding in the back seat. After a while, there was some squabbling. As the sound escalated, I turned around to see what was going on, perhaps to intervene.
Soup’s on, so I’m going to make this short. It’s been a crazy busy week. Lots of Feldenkrais, a bit of time to make stuff, and, oh by the way, our garage is being rebuilt.
You might have guessed that I don’t like to be bored. I do like to have time to sit and wonder. To piddle around with a variety of little projects. To talk with folks. To learn new things. To watch the birds from my front porch. To watch my grandkids grow—although I must say that they grow at an alarmingly fast rate.
What amazed me was that what remained was so hard to fit back into the original spaces.
I brought my coffee out to the front porch, where I was greeted by half a dozen pink rain lilies. A bit bent over from the rain, they were a cheery sight nonetheless.
So, you make adjustments. Maybe you get angry. Maybe you play nice to see if that gets you somewhere. Maybe you pout. Probably, you try lots of different approaches, without even knowing that’s what you’re doing.
I’ve been listening to Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross talk about something called neuroaesthetics. Guess what y’all! Art matters. Making and experience art and nature are good for us—in so many ways.
Who knows what sparked that first move? Maybe I was procrastinating on the next phase of the ongoing sewing projects. Maybe I wanted the light from the window to be over my shoulder instead of behind my back.
Part of the magic of coaching and Feldenkrais is that they help us to feel the current, to relax the effort and just float for a while. It’s delicious. Maybe even how we’re meant to be. At least some of the time.
Some of the old stories are tried and true—and still useful. Some of the old stories just don’t work any more. The ones that point fingers, declare who’s right and wrong, make harsh judgements—those are starting to look more harmful than helpful.
