Tag Archives: dancing

Spring Calves

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Spring Calves

Early workday morning
Driving the edge
Between city and country.
Houses on my right
Pasture on my left,
My mind a list of things
Still not done, with
More to do, in the
Moment of dawn when the
Kiss of sunlight and dew
Blinds with its brilliance,
I saw them.

They charged into my day
These two whitefaced cherubs
With little more than a month of
Living behind them, and my heart
Kicked and cavorted with these two,
My face springing, spreading into
The smile of a child full of
Herself and of life. 

The day no less
Hectic because of the
Dance we shared, my
Step would stay lighter,
My smile longer, held
By the image of
Two spring calves.

Perhaps a harried, weary
Traveler will find his
Rest as he discovers babies
Napping in the noon
Sun like two small blankets
Wrapped ’round a sleeping child. 

As for me, I’m glad
I saw you greet the dawn.

© Paulann Condray Canty, 1991 

Run, laugh, and lollygag…

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I grew up in a moderately large city.  I learned to allow for travel time when going from one side of the city to the other.  I have now lived nearly half my life in a small town.  All these years of small town life and I’m still tripping over the false belief that you can get from any point to another in a matter of minutes. This misconception means I sometimes feel a “beat the clock” anxiety in the car on the way to my destination.

On this particular morning I left my house, driving purposefully, hoping to arrive on time.  I entered the school zone, slowing to 25 mph.  I proceeded slowly, up the hill, toward the school crossing.  I hoped to escape the zone with no unnecessary delays and continue on my way.  I saw the crossing guard boldly step into the street.  Taking ownership with her red octagon held high, she stopped us in our tracks.  It took a second to see the two small children approaching the crossing.  Maybe second and third grade.  A girl and a boy, perhaps big sister, little brother.

The crossing guard smiled as the girl dutifully, and quickly, crossed the street.  “Good job!”, I thought as we waited for the little boy to complete the crossing task.  The little boy was taking his own sweet time. My frustration rose.  Then my best self started the conversation.  “Of course you wouldn’t want to wait for a child.”  “Children are to be dismissed, rushed past, redirected.”  They run when we try to hold them back. Embarrass us with their over the top exuberance.  They lollygag when time is of the essence.  What are we to do?  Maybe follow their lead.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On Friday morning, January 12, 2007, Joshua Bell took his violin in hand.  Leaning against the wall, near a trash can, he played six of the most exquisite classical musical compositions.  His violin case lay open at his feet for any charitable gift from a willing listener.  Mr. Bell was playing where many other street musicians had played.  He was at the L’Enfant Station Plaza of the Washington, D.C. Metro subway.

Something distinguished Joshua bell from other street musicians.  Mr. Bell was a world renowned violinist, playing on his rare Stradivarius, as part of an experiment suggested by the Washington Post. The question?  “What would happen if one of the world’s great violinists had performed incognito before a traveling rush-hour audience of 1,000-odd people?”

For nearly 45 minutes, Mr. Bell played, and a video camera recorded the event.  This musical prodigy played, largely ignored, as 1097 people walked by on their way to somewhere else.  The Washington Post writer summed up the “audience” with these words.

“There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell, or the ones who gave money, from that vast majority who hurried on past, unheeding. Whites, blacks and Asians, young and old, men and women, were represented in all three groups. But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.”  (Pearls Before Breakfast, Gene Weingarten, Washington Post Staff Writer)

The first child that was drawn to the sound of Joseph Bell’s violin was a three year old named Evan.  When his mother found out what she had pulled him away from, she laughed and said  “Evan is very smart.”  Little wonder that the outcome of the test led the writer to note,

“The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother’s heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too.”

I dare you to let a little child lead you back to life.
Consider adding these childlike moments to your day.

               Run for no good reason.

Embrace over-the-top exuberance.

Lollygag when you feel the
stress of your day mounting.

Then, find a child and say,

“Thank you!“

Read Gene Weingarten’s entire Washington Post article, Pearls Before Breakfast.  It’s a beautifully written, insightful commentary.  The video of Joshua Bell’s performance is embedded in the article.

Show and Tell

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Adults tell children.  Makes sense, doesn’t it?  It’s our job as parents, teachers, grownups in a community.  We’re supposed to teach them right from wrong, how to be responsible, how to make good decisions, how to succeed as they make their way in the world.  We know it is our job to tell them how to do what they’re supposed to do.

Adults show children.  That’s more complicated.  Most of us have had the chance to learn how much easier it can be to “say” what to do, than it is to “show” what to do.  If we are going to show what our children need to see, we must become good observers of our own behavior.  The less we know ourselves, the greater the risk that the subtle, and not so subtle messages in our actions may speak louder than what we’re telling a child is of value.  The task of telling and showing children how to be sometimes meshes well, and sometimes leaves us in a “do as I say, not as I do” moment.  Even in a moment of contradiction we have the opportunity to tell and show our children how to go back and make it right.  How to face ourselves and adjust our behavior.  How to grow toward congruence.

We tell and we show.  We’re the grownups.  They’re children.  They listen.  They watch.  They follow.  All true.  But what if there is more to the story?  What if our teaching relationship with children is part of a multi-lane highway system instead of a single lane, one way street?

It was cold and drizzling rain this morning as I began my day.  A day of being in and out of the wet, cold weather. Alone in the car I began to grumble about the unpleasant weather, planning ahead for how cold and miserable I would be as the day wore on.  And suddenly she was there in my head.  A little girl, holding an umbrella, running in the rain…, laughing.  You may remember her from And we begin…, running, laughing, umbrella in hand.  She was there in my head, reminding me how to celebrate a rainy day.

Then I began to think of all the children, my own two and beyond, who have been my teachers.  Children who showed me how to call it what it is, including the elephants in the living room.  Kids who showed me how to be honest when I’m afraid, to try something new when I’m uncertain, to laugh at myself, to push through a hard task. Kids of all ages who have shown me what generosity, tolerance, and empathy look like.  I spent a cold, wet, dreary day smiling with gratitude each time I thought of the kids who have taught me.  Glad that teaching and learning live on a two way street.  Determined to be an authentic teacher and a good student.

“Kids:  they dance before they learn there is anything that isn’t music.”
                                                                                             ~ William Stafford

Versatile Blogger

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A heart felt “Thank You” to Jen at Step On a Crack…, for nominating the GrowthLines blog for The Versatile Blogger Award.  I began blogging as a way to think out loud with a larger community, outside the therapy room.  To think about the growth that comes from our experiences.  To recognize the incredible resilience of humans.  To highlight the hope to be found even in our darkest moments.

In the process of writing my thoughts, I have encountered an amazing fabric of fellow travelers who push me to listen more closely, think more clearly, and to see the raw beauty in each of us.  Fellow bloggers have expressed that beauty with humor and wit.  With warmth and encouragement.  With agony and longing.  With confusion and uncertainty.  With candor and honesty.

Thank you, Jen, for your continued presence in the blogging world.  Thank you for your willingness to give us a window into the complexity of your relationship with your mother, and your grief over her living, and her dying.  You invite and inspire all of us to engage in honest conversation about our own lives.

According to the requirements of the award I must:

• Nominate 15 other bloggers

• Inform my nominees

• Share 7 random facts about myself

• Thank those who nominated me

• Add a picture of the award to this post

Congratulations Versatile Bloggers!

I am honored to nominate the following blogs for the Versatile Blogger Award:

http://www.thursdaymorningmeditations.wordpress.com – Emerson J. Winchester invites me to think with her every Thursday morning through her writing.  Her meditations push us to think as a springboard to action, as in her recent post , Pop Music Failure (or, A Step in the Wrong Direction).

http://www.creatingyourbeyond.com – Check out this blog on “survivors creating a life beyond Loss and Trauma”.  I found Brenda’s post on self-forgiveness to be insightful.

http://www.findinglifeinadeath.wordpress.com – a rich and poetic blog about the simultaneous dance we do with life and death, loss and change.  The final post of 2011 was especially thought provoking.

http://www.thereinventedlass.wordpress.com – join a fellow blogger at a crossroads with the chance and challenge to reinvent her life.  One view of the crossroads can be found in the Weekly roundup post.

http://www.ptsdawayout.com – a wonderful “voice of experience” resource for people living with complex PTSD.  “Show up empty and experience everything joyfully.”

http://www.fewerforgreater.wordpress.com – Consider fewer possessions for a greater quality of life.  I was intrigued by the most recent post, Pick four people.

http://www.workthedream.wordpress.com – I was delighted to discover this blog about daring to dream your life, and then working the dream.  I was even more delighted to discover that the dream is being worked out in the shadow of one of my favorite places on this earth, The Spanish Twin Peaks near LaVeta, CO.  The indigenous tribes of the area called them Wahatoya, the “breasts of the world”.

http://www.grandfathersky.wordpress.com – Written by “a poet and a dreamer”, asking “Why Life?”  Beautiful photographs and thought provoking posts, such as Walking Between Worlds.

http://www.cocorum.wordpress.com – She’s a seventeen year old thinking beyond her years, and writing her thoughts.  Listen to her in “What’s the point of kindness?”

http://www.katiedodson.wordpress.com – following the musings at the People Always Leave blog, and read Hanging By A Moment

http://www.belleofthecarnival.com – Join the “head clown” at the Cameron family Carnival as she looks at being family yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  Hear her honor her own father’s spirit in A Skier’s Dream

http://www.nidhisays.wordpress.com – Thank you for poetry and prose.  Make sure you read “To a special man…”

http://www.ariannasrandomthoughts.com – Arianna invites us to join her in a discussion of resilience, motivation, and personal development.  She sometimes uses sports as a metaphor for our discoveries about life, as in Press On!  What Rowing Taught Me About Resilience

http://www.anissastein.wordpress.com – an interesting blog about “living the life less traveled”, which includes among other topics, “Mistakes introverts make”.

http://ashleycherie.wordpress.com – Another young, talented artist who is letting the blogging community join her as she “paints” her thoughts with words.  I appreciate her candid thinking in Recap: 2011.

Congratulations again to my Versatile Blogger nominees! 

Now for the seven random facts about me:
  1. I have lived long enough that after years of wearing glasses and contacts, I now have 20/20 vision to see anything within 18 inches of the end of my nose.  Since I love to read, write, and “google”, all of which fall within the 18 inch range, I’m ecstatic.  Anything past the magical 18 inches is a blur, including the glasses I took off in my moment of “clarity”.  On more than one occasion I’ve had to put in contacts in order to find where I left my glasses.
  2. I too am a “one-sneezer”, and sometimes pretty loud.  I am occasionally embarrassed when a sneeze refuses to be stifled.  On the heels of nearly every sneeze I have a memory moment of my grandad.  Our sneezing behaviors are identical, which means my sneezes are often followed by a smile.
  3. I grew up watching my Dad work on cars, literally a “shade tree mechanic”.  Later, with the luxury of a garage, he taught me how to maintain and repair my first car, a 66 Mustang.  I spent years worth of happy moments in that garage getting my hands dirty and my heart filled.  Some of my hardest moments were being there alone, packing up the remains of my shade tree mechanic dad, when dementia made it necessary for him to move to a nursing home.  Sometimes I go to my own garage and hold his socket wrench in my hand for old time’s sake.
  4. When I was old enough to know better, I left my grandad’s horse grazing in the yard while I went to get a drink of water.  In less than five minutes, Old Red had caught the saddle horn on the clothesline wire, and was racing around the yard in a panic dragging one of my grandmother’s new iron clothesline poles behind him.  The other pole was bent to the ground.  I had to wait for grandad to come home so I could look into his clear, blue eyes, and explain what had happened.  I had to live knowing I had destroyed something my grandma had waited for, for years.  Red and I both survived the experience, him with a small cut over one eye and me with a better understanding of responsibility, and that it takes less than five minutes for things to “go to hell in a handbasket”.  My grandparents kept on loving and investing in me in spite of my mistakes…, priceless.
  5. I like hiking with a camera and a sketch pad.
  6. I’ve been to the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival every year since Hurricane Katrina.  If I could rewind my life, I would shake the limitations of a “no dancing” religious code, and learn to do the Zydeco.  The next best thing is to be at the Fais Do Do stage watching a mass of people dancing zydeco to live music.
  7. I love Vivian Higginbotham’s seafood gumbo, and am so glad she gave me her recipe and taught me how to make it before she died.

 

I wish it was not yours to do…

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A child’s death at any age leaves a gaping hole.  Before birth or after.  When your child is young or old. Their death separates you from all that is living.  A painful gap between the world that was taken from you, and the flat, grey world in which you find yourself. We see your pain, but we don’t know what to do with it.  It is palpable.  We want to acknowledge your loss, and maybe even apologize for the relief we feel every time we look at our own child, knowing that our heart is still whole, while yours is not.  So we walk with you, not because we know exactly how you feel, but because we don’t want you to be alone.  We find a way, however awkward, to say we’re sorry that this is now your job…

How You Rise Each Day

I wish
It were not
Yours to do.

But it is
Your pain,
And you have wrestled it
To the ground,
Rising again
And again
Until you found its heart
And forced it to join you
In celebration of him,
Your son,
John Michael.

It is a mystery to me
How you rise each day
To be reminded
That you are,
And he is not.

Perhaps because you were
His beginning,
And witness to his brief present,
Now you must become his future.
Walking where he cannot,
Breathing life into each
Precious dream
Until his footprints surround us
With all he would have been
Had he not gone so soon.

I wish
It was not
Yours to do.

But it is your grief,
And you have donned its
Black cloak of mourning
With courage,
Determined to dance again
In celebration of him,
Your son,
John Michael.

 

 

 

And dance you will.
Slowly,
At times halting,
Then with confidence
And joy,
Filling the world again
With color,
Vibrant,
Youthful
As you dance not your dance,
But his,
Your son,
John Michael.

© Paulann Condray Canty, 2011 

 

“Death comes to our dances, and if we dance at all, it must be in her forbidding presence.  But the wondrous conclusion is that we who must die, must dance, and that both are our destiny, and neither dying nor dancing is missing from the whole of life.”                                                                                                                 —-Calvin Miller

Thank you, Skip and Marsha, for living your journey of turning mourning into dancing before us.  You give us hope that having come through the dark night, we too can return to the dance.  Thank you for not hiding your pain from us.  Thank you for letting us join you in celebrating your son’s life.

In Memory of

John Michael Gore
July 27, 1984 – October 11, 2009