yard work in st. louis

love it. this girl blogging in chicago..

she nails it when talking about doing yard chores growing up.

http://www.myeverydayadventures.com/2009/09/09/childhood-chores/

I, too, grew up on a nice sized piece of land, but in a suburb of st. louis. In a relatively well-to-do neighborhood, there i was, at 7 years old, already driving the tractor around. That was my favorite. Getting to drive the tractor. Picking up sticks, i hated, just like her. But at least the yard felt cleaner after doing it. And i suppose leaf raking was relatively satisfying. but painful.

And leaves are a lot heavier than sticks. So when those big, blue tarps got full of sticks, no problem. But leaves? Sweat & tears while my weak little arms tried pulling those things up to the street or back to the creek. And then trying to manage the big piles, consolidating the smaller piles into bigger ones.. (god.)

Mowing the lawn was awesome. And bringing my walkman out there was always a thrill, until it would get taken away because i couldn't hear anyone yelling at me or hear any of the sticks getting eaten by the blades. I broke the mower a few times. Just about every time, actually.

The day wouldn't be complete without my dad being on the ground with tools, sweat pouring off his forehead as he tried to pull whatever obstruction from the blades i managed to suck up in there. Tarp lanyards, dog bones, but mostly logs and sticks. And i'd always be standing there, just waiting to get back on the tractor. With my walkman, of course, wondering what was taking so long.

Lessons in Love

I told a new friend recently, after she recognized that we must be soul mates, that indeed we are, because her first gift of life was love. I knew this because it was mine too.

See, I believe that we are all born with an inherently easy gift. It is the first thing we think of when we acknowledge ourselves, our beginnings, and the predominant trait in our hearts that we grew into the world with. What others’ are, I sometimes imagine must be different. But mine was love. And so was my friend’s. And if I’ve known you, even met you, I’ve wondered about yours too.

From the moment of my conception, I believe I was blessed with love. This means, that not only is it my favorite thing to do, (isn't it everyone's?) but it’s the easiest; and yet…it’s the greatest schasm of lessons on my path that I am here to learn., The most powerful, still, to cultivate, nurture, and grow. Loving and learning of love can be both my greatest bliss, and my most profound sorrow.

So, ultimately, I know that I am hardly the only student of Love, nor alone in awe of its' greatness, nor one of a few lucky love souls. I am one of many.

Love is not only my greatest blessing.

It is everyone's.

If my work on this earth helped other souls realize this too, perhaps the ease of the gift for me, in itself, would be honored.

When I was younger, I looked through eyes that saw everything as love. It was aging that reflected my growth out of the dangerously naïve nature of a girl spoiled in love, unprepared for the blossoming of mature, rough love I was to endure.

Each experience with love more painful, less guided than the last.

Now, accepting all of these hard earned rocky turns, I am better able to love out of my awake and conscious mind than I ever could have blindly. And what were once rose colored glasses, are now a seasoned and refined visual prescription into what more can be received from keeping a once closed heart open.