Taking as Long as It Takes

Collaboration, More Recalibration, Love and Loyalty…and Meyer Lemons

When my children and I moved to Winter Park over thirty years ago, four-way stops were new to me. All the cars stopped at the stop signs and took turns driving through the intersections. Just did it. No whistle blowing, lights flashing, someone running, yelling, pointing. People simply took turns. Everyone had a turn to move ahead safely, easily, calmly. I loved those four-way stops immediately. Each one was a joy to me every time I came to one. I was part of an opportunity for collaboration. From some agreed upon system long before I knew of it, people decided to be respectful of each other and take turns in their huge machines, for the greater good. When I arrived, I slipped right into that system. Obviously others have also. This is what we humans are capable of doing together. Can the thought of that process thrill you, as it does me, when you stop and think about it, notice it, are mindful of it?

The concept of being mindful has become somewhat a buzz word these days, which I believe is a good thing since we seem as a society in general to be more focused on finding ways to rush faster toward some things in our machines of various sorts, and our children are shot in their schools and our bridges fall down, and the price for that rushing is paid by all of us in many ways. Was Chicken Little right all along, we might wonder. Although it may seem true that yes, Chicken Little, you indeed were right and the time is right now, I have a different view. I have noticed over the last five of my seven decades, that the pendulum swings and the balances shift, and rarely does that go as smoothly as we might hope. I recently jotted this phrase on my computer pad; it’s from Elaine Mansfield, speaking about finding balance: “another sort of equilibrium where I simply sit with what is and accept what is, including my inner mess.”

To some, that may seem myopic, but I have come to realize that my own inner mess is what influences what I find around me, how I interact with others close by and in the bigger picture. And while I am only one of millions and millions, and a dot in the picture of time, “a gnat that lands on the ass of a cow chewing his cud on the side of the road that you drive by doing 70 mph,” still my inner mess does have an effect on what’s going on around me as well as the people around me. And I am responsible for that part.

Clearing that inner mess requires a sense of being mindful that I have an inner mess. Allowing that mess to shift takes some “sitting with it”, making space for the allowing. I think from this space, that was what I was doing for my several months of writing hiatus. Sitting with it, and moving toward more recalibration. And I do LOVE recalibration. My definition of the result of recalibration is when it seems that out of nowhere, I finally feel a balance, as easily as moving through a four-way stop.

So then what? Well this time, I’ll tell you about some of what has been happening for me. I’ve started writing again. I am working in a dedicated way to clear the clutter around me, opening up more space for creativity. What I will do with that creativity I’ve yet to see fully, but I feel it bubbling inside of me and trust the wonder of it, as I have learned to do. And in that, I cry some more for the pain of the world, and encourage myself some more, and then bubble up some more.

A happy wonder from the recalibration this time was to meet a lovely young mixed media artist and her poet husband at the Winter Park Art Festival. Her art, “of land, and sky, whimsical and free,” as her card says, called to me. Filled with wonder and joy and depth. If you are still reading here with me, then you know what I am saying. Displayed next to the first piece of art, was a poem, written “in collaboration,” it said,

Love and Loyalty

my thoughts come out of the landscape
and begin their wandering into the distance.
the spill of morning,
the comforting light slanting through the windows
onto the floor,
my home is both cities and silent woods
my dream of a hushed and beautiful universe
is a whispered conversation on the horizon.
the trees remember for me
that love and loyalty is right in front of me.

Written in collaboration —Michelle Mc Dowell Smith and Toby Smith

I had to speak to this young couple, and found that the art was hers entirely and while he did most of the poetry, they also collaborated, as in the poem I had read. She would do her piece and he would write the words he felt and they would share and what would come next, would come next. Beauty for sure. In delight I said I could feel the beautiful collaboration, at which they beamed at each other and pulled each other closer as they stood side by side, also including me in that beam they sent out. I could feel it.

So now what? some might ask again, wanting what seems like a concrete response. Maybe a concrete response in order to trust that what I write could really make a difference somewhere, somehow. Well, I do trust that it will. I have seen that happen over the decades in various ways, from when I first started writing with white knuckled clenched fingers and jaw, teeth shut tight “I have let go and I am free. I have let go and I am free,” letting go of nothing at all in those moments, and certainly not trusting … but hoping. Definitely hoping … and learning patience. Again and again patience.

Finally, here, I come to the Meyer lemons: we have a wonderful Meyer lemon tree in our backyard that is yearly a teacher of patience. Meyer lemons are a cross between mandarin oranges and lemons, and make delicious lemonade, according to the family experts, our grandsons. The lemons on our tree are ready for picking and enjoying usually between November and March, and our grandsons have learned to pick only the ones that come off in your hand with the lightest tug. Those are the ones that have taken as long as they take to be ripe … and end up being the most luscious lemonade.

It isn’t long after the picking time is over that the sweet, sweet smelling blossoms appear on the tree, and then almost immediately, the tiniest hard green center appears, and the slow and steady cycle is on its way again. The process takes as long as it takes from beginning to end until another season of our Meyer lemons are ready for picking…and squeezing and making into lemonade with grandsons who follow this process on visits here from the bud to the juice.

This reminds me what I know about myself and other humans. As with the lemons, year after year, what goes on within us also takes as long as it takes. We can learn to help ourselves by focusing on the reality that pleases us, rather than the reality that is irritating or fearful or hurtful or even paralyzing. There is always a reality where there is good in the world and in our lives. Look for it. Whatever was stirring around in me during those recent hiatus months took as long as it took to come to the surface and be gone …   no sense tugging hard on the fruit; it wasn’t ready yet. But I could learn again to actively treat myself with extra kindness and gentleness in those times, forgiving myself when I whined, or even allowing my whining as part of this process as I expanded my connection to my own heart, helping myself, and others, to remember the realities we prefer to see. They are still here, those realities. And so am I, with the special lemonade from waiting and the writing and meeting a beautiful young, talented, collaborative couple. And so are you, my dear ones, you are still here. Thank you for your patience and care in sharing these moments with me. May together we trust what’s next…and if not trust quite yet, imagine and be hopeful, encouraging each other. As always, my love goes to you…

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