Everyone tells you that meditation will relax you.  But what they don’t often tell you is that the relaxing can take its sweet-ass time.

This is probably one of the reasons that so many people have difficulty sticking with meditation: they don’t sense any immediate or somewhat near-term benefits, so they stop.  I can relate to this… after all, meditation becomes another thing “to do” and if the benefits aren’t clear, you are compelled to prioritize your time. And then you end up stopping.

Here is what I’ve learned this past week… the benefits of meditation can take a while.  I am just now getting it, after a few weeks of restarting this practice.  But a note to everyone who recommends meditation as de-stresser: tell people it might take some time.  This sets clear expectations and it will reduce frustration for the neophytes who feel like they aren’t “doing it right.”

I could not believe how relaxed I felt this week.  It will come to you.  Don’t give up, accept that it may take some time, and allow yourself to be OKAY with it.

Namaste.

As I contemplate the loss of my dear friend, I find myself in a place of sadness.  Not the overwhelming kind that nearly suffocates you, or the kind that immobilizes you.  Just the kind that pulls at your heart as you think back to lovely childhood memories and times when life didn’t seem as fleeting as it does now.

I had a list of things to do yesterday and today but I decided to abandon that list.  I’m grateful to be in a place right now where I can have that kind of freedom from life’s demands.  I realized I needed to accept these feelings right now, acknowledge them as my present state.

And soon these sad thoughts will move out, just like the thousands of other thoughts we have each day that float in and then out of our consciousness.  So I sit with them today, and tomorrow will be a whole new day, full of new thoughts.

Jo & Kris - Waukegan Trip, Oct 2010

I was lucky to have a woman I considered a second mother; she lived across the street from us in my hometown and she was more than just a neighbor.  She was a nurse, a public health advocate, world traveler, friend, confidant, and guiding force in my life.  Her name was Josephine but everyone called her Jo.

Jo and her husband had no children of their own and they were both busy in their careers, a rarity for that time. She had a very modern view of women and independence and a passion for knowledge and education. She would often have me over to dinner “just because” and I loved her cooking, which was markedly different from our house. There were lots of spices and flavors, interesting tastes from around the world.  One of my favorites was her stuffed cabbage rolls and I have made them several times over the years, using her recipe.  I would help decorate their home for Christmas, assist with gardening projects, or we would have a spa day and do our nails and hair.  I learned how to put on nail polish from Jo!  She took me on my first train ride to Chicago, where we went to the top of the John Hancock building, followed by what seemed like a very fancy lunch.  As I got older, she lectured me on drinking and driving, going to college, and waiting to find the right man in my love life (that was advice I took to heart!).  Just before we moved to California she gave me a bracelet that had belonged to her mother.  She wanted me to have something special from her knowing our lives would be diverging, at least in geography.  I still have that bracelet.

But mostly, Jo and I talked.  Her calm demeanor often guided me in the direction of compassion and forgiveness. She always considered me to be “partly hers” and she always thanked my mother for sharing me with her.

She was a great friend to my own mother and father and she remained in my life until today, when she passed away.  We had spoken on the phone about a month ago and she was “feeling pretty good” she told me, but slowing down.  She wanted to know what I was up to without a job, what was I considering?  Jo was always wondering, looking forward in life, and curious about what was next.  She was still interested in me, in my life, almost 50 years after we first met.

You see, Jo was the first person on this planet to greet me… My mother was in labor and called Jo over to see if “it was time” and Jo saw the crown of my head entering this world.  I was born with a head full of dark brown hair, so it was pretty easy for her to tell that it was, indeed, time!

And today was Jo’s time to pass on to what’s next.  She was 93 years old and she led a long and remarkable life. My joyous retreats with Jo were found a few steps away, just across the street called Forest Lane.

You may recall my earlier post about finally getting a rose vase handed down from my grandmother and mother.  My father had been using it for decoration and after years of my mentioning (okay, I cajoled him at every opportunity) how much I wanted it, he finally gave it to me.  But I couldn’t yet fill it with roses as I was waiting for my bushes to produce enough blooms.  I even bought 4 new rose bushes, I was so excited.

Now I finally have enough flowers to fill this glorious vase.  And I have placed this lovely bouquet in my dining room, where I pass by daily.

And each time I walk by, I see the lovely pastel hues, and I tell myself to stop and breathe in their wonderful perfume.  I do this multiple times a day, truly taking time to stop and smell the roses.  This daily habit reminds me   to pay great care and attention to life’s small treasures.  These roses are so joyous to me; they are a gift from my mother and grandmother and I remember each of them with so much love every time I visit the vase.

I have always loved flowers.  I grew up in a neighborhood that was filled with wildflowers every spring, a tapestry of color that led to a babbling creek at the bottom of our backyard.  And yet, we didn’t have roses. Well, we might have but I don’t remember them. After all, it was hard to compete with the memories of all those wildflowers.

When we moved to California, we quickly learned that roses will bloom almost all year round here.  I came to adore both the splashes of color they provided in the yard, and the heady floral scents they lent to any room.  Not too overpowering, but lovely and lush.

My paternal grandmother grew roses in her tiny little yard and she always put them in one particular vase that had roses painted on it.  She gave this vase to my mother when we moved, knowing how often we would have roses blooming throughout the year.  My mother continued to use that vase for roses long after my grandmother had passed on.  After my mother died, my father kept the vase as a decorative item in his apartment, where it provided a pop of color to the pale palette of the shelf.  It looked marvelous in its nook, but I always wanted to see it returned to the roses, to its customary history.  It became a fun topic of discussion each time I visited my father, with me reminding him that I really wanted that vase!

He finally relented and gave it to me.  I keep it in my dining room, where I can pass by it each day and admire its beauty, even when empty.

Today I planted 4 new rose bushes.  While they aren’t all yet in full bloom, I can’t wait to place the different colored roses in my vase, to return this lovely vessel to its decades-long tradition.  My grandmother and mother will be quite happy, I know.