Bringing Autumn Home

September 2, 2016 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about the way fall arrives in our home on The Greenwood.

Yesterday fall arrived at The Greenwood. Following a forty-seven year tradition, Mom and I put up our autumn decorations. This may seem like a fairly bland occurrence, but for me, it is wrapped in a thousand memories of happy autumn days.

Kids_0013 Our tradition started when my siblings and I were toddlers. In those days, we lived in a little ranch style house just outside Rolla and Mom wanted to fancy up (or cover up) our classic 1970’s brown refrigerator and equally attractive cabinet doors with something that honored her love of the natural world. To that end, she started saving calendar pictures and carefully cutting photos from magazines like Farm and Ranch, National Wildlife, and Missouri Conservationist. Mom changed the pictures every month and we anticipated the changing of the photos with great excitement.

As we grew, so did the tradition. When David and I were in school, our artwork was added to the mix as were more substantial items like silk flowers, seasonal figurines, and fragrant candles in vessels painted with seasonal decor. By the time we were in grammar school, coming home to find that Mom had put up the next season’s decorations was as exciting in September as putting up Christmas in December.

090116_2152 Over the years, I’ve picked up on Mom’s idea and now my part of the house changes with the seasons as well. I honor each part of the year, but I have to say, putting up my fall adornments is my favorite ritual. Whatever the weather outside, once my home is wreathed in leaves and silk mums, fall has arrived.

We need traditions to mark the transitions in our lives. In today’s largely virtual world, it is easy to get disconnected from the cycles of nature, even from the flow of the day. We no longer break our fast together, pause at noon to gather and say grace, or sit undistracted at the dinner table, sharing the news of the day. Our lives are lived together, but apart. The technology that, in one sense, unifies the world also tears at the fabric of family life. We scarcely notice the weather unless it inconveniences us and the change of seasons are marked solely by a change of wardrobe. It is no wonder that the world is in chaos.

090116_2154 Will hanging pretty pictures on the refrigerator stop global war? Will putting out the Ghost Lamp (now almost 50 years old) at Halloween stop suffering and human greed? No. But imagine what would happen if we all slowed down long enough to care that we are moving from one season to the next. If we took time to look for the change in the autumn light, the coming of migrating birds, the silence that comes with the first flakes of snow. If we took time to cherish the world we live in, perhaps we would be less cavalier about its destruction. By the same token, if we took time to cherish our family, to look into one another’s eyes and share the joy and pain that resides within us, perhaps we would stop the senseless abuse, neglect, and violence that escalates with each passing day. I can’t make any promises, but I know the peace of heart and mind taking part in my family’s traditions gives to me and it is something rare and beautiful; something that makes a difference in my world at the very least.

Late this afternoon, after my little piece of the planet glowed with the fires of autumn, I settled into my reading chair, my Labrador Gus snoozing on the bed, and listened to the rain beating a gentle tattoo on the roof. Soft light glowed from every corner and shades of burgundy, gold, and ochre called me to settle in and enjoy this perfect start to my favorite season. I have peace. I have love. I feel part of something greater than myself and it is all because I know where I belong and I have a path to follow that will always lead me home.

The Evidence of Things Not Seen

October 11, 2015October 11, 2015 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about my continued experiences with faith.

Although I know it is generally considered bad form to experiment with the nature of faith, the scientist within me can’t help but look for what Hebrews 11:1 describes as “the evidence of things not seen.” A bit oxymoronic perhaps, but my “research” has yielded some surprising results!

By the Sea

My journey into faith has become essential, as my life is about to undergo major change. Dad will be retired from dentistry in two years and we are ready to move on from the rigors of farm life. To that end, we have decided to begin working to sell the farm so we can move to a little house on quiet beach in south Florida.

Naturally, the practical part of moving from the farm is complicated. We have horses, chickens, a duck, and cats that need new homes. We have to prepare the property for showing, which means repairs and refurbishment at the barn, in the pastures, and in the house. I lay awake nights with a zillion scenarios zooming through my head: What if the house sells before we find a new one? What if we can’t find suitable homes for the animals? What if? What if? What if?

In an effort to retain our sanity, Mom and I made a pact to put a moratorium on negative thinking and really let The Divine guide us through the tangled mass of the days ahead. So far, it appears that faith in a higher power is not just a myth.

Best Friends
Rain (L) and Skeeter (R)

The first “OMG moment” came when I contacted the friend from whom I had purchased my horse, Rain, in 2012. She didn’t even hesitate before agreeing to take Rain and Rain’s buddy, Skeeter, under her wing. Better still, we didn’t have to worry about getting the mares out to Virginia, because Lindsay is coming through Missouri in a few weeks and was more than happy to pick the girls up on her way home.

Next, we contacted two people about the sale of the three Arabian horses we own and now they have new homes to go to as well. As with the paint horses, the people who wanted the Arabs are genuine, down-to-earth horse lovers who will give our herd a loving home.

Sawyer

A few days later, I made the difficult decision to list my house cats for adoption. Regardless of where we settle, our new home will be smaller and with my Labrador, Gus, in tow, two cats would be too much. I put my request on Facebook and within two hours heard from one of my closest friends. Micheline and I have been friends since we were five years old and I couldn’t imagine a better owner for my favored felines.

Then Micheline told me not only did she want Sawyer and Claudia, but she would take my entire flock of chickens and my Runner Duck, Ferdinand!

Ferdinand

Ferdie has been my only duck since the rest of the flock was killed by a roving pack of coyotes in 2011. At his new home, not only will he have other ducks for company, but Runner Ducks at that! Talk about an abundance of miracles!

Now for the icing on the cake: Yesterday, when I sat down to write this blog, I looked up the Scripture that describes faith as, “The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” This is found in Hebrews, chapter 11. It may not sound like much, but the number 11 is of great significance to me. Whenever 11’s appear in my life, transition for the better is at hand.

Finally, one more bit of “OMG” happened when I sat down to watch an episode of The West Wing. I popped in the DVD and the third episode on the disc was titled, “The Evidence of Things Not Seen.” I think I am on to something here.

His Name Shall Be Augustus

March 19, 2015 / Julie Atkinson / 5 Comments

If I had a blog, today I would write about the little, golden ball of light that has just entered my life.

Little Loaves of Love

On January 15, 2015, my life changed forever. On January 15, my new best friend was born: His name is Gus and he’s a yellow lab. For the first six weeks, all I knew was that Gus was one of three yellow males born to Christmas Holly at the home of Misty Woods Labradors. Right from the start I knew I’d chosen a good breeder. Gus and his siblings (both yellow and black) were the sweetest little “loaves of love” I’d ever seen.

Gus at two weeks

Puppies are born with eyes closed and their early first weeks are spent nursing and sleeping. If I’d lived closer to the breeder, Tammy Johnston, I would have visited every day just to hold those precious new lives in my arms and soak in the love. As it was, Tammy posted weekly photos of the brood and it was thrilling to see the changes taking place.

Gus at 3 1/2 Weeks

I picked the name Gus in honor of Augustus McCray, a character in Larry McMurtry’s book, Lonesome Dove. Gus was a scalawag and a ladies’ man, but he had passion for life and a heart of gold – the things that make Labs such wonderful companions. I told Tammy I wanted a confident dog, one who would enjoy being my companion at home, in the car, and on our farm. Tammy told me the pups’ personalities would begin to develop at four to five weeks and she would find the right match.

Gus the Show Dog

Tammy took my requests to heart and on March 2nd, one of Holly’s boys traded his baby name (Maroon Boy, for the color of the ribbon tied around his neck) for the name of Augustus. According to Tammy, Gus was fearless and in love with life. She thought he would love life as farm dog as and make a great companion. It sounded like a match made in Heaven.

Augustus the Wise

On Monday morning (March 16th), we met Tammy in Rolla, a pit-stop for her as she and one of her adult labs went to the St. Louis area for a show. As we pulled into the parking lot by Wal-Mart we saw her sitting on the grassy hillside, cuddling the most beautiful Labrador puppy I had ever seen. It was love at first sight!

Gus on his first day home.

Now, as Day Four of my Life With Gus begins, I am still in awe that I was chosen to be his person. Every day he becomes more handsome, more intrepid, and more fun to be with. Like all little creatures, Gus requires a lot of attention – day and night – so I’m a little sleep deprived and I have some scrapes and bruises from his needle-teeth, but I have never been happier! Gus and I are Forever Friends.

Gran’s Violets

January 11, 2015 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about my grandmother’s legacy: Her African violets.

Gran’s Violets in my first apartment.

Granny Ruby loved African violets. From my earliest days, I recall the splashes of pink, purple, and white that graced her side tables and intrigued me with their soft and furry leaves. I wasn’t allowed to stroke the leaves without Gran beside me, teaching me how to love her little garden without doing harm. She told me wonderfully mysterious tales of Africa, “The Dark Continent,” where the flowers originated and I loved to image them growing in the dampness of the jungle, sprouting from moss-covered rock faces and the spongy surface of decaying logs. They lived in the same part of Africa known to my hero, Jane Goodall, and that gave the flowers a mystique that holds me in thrall even today.

Gran’s Violets in our kitchen window.

African violets are finicky, needing just the right amount of water and sun to flourish. I often helped Gran feed the violets and learned how to tell if they were content with their living conditions. Some liked a little morning sun, others wanted perpetual shade. Given just the right amount of care, the plants would reward us with their colorful blooms. It was a boon to me because, with the exception of Gran’s violets, my horticultural skills are nil. It isn’t that I dislike plants; in fact, I love them dearly – from the tiny Easter flowers that sprinkle the back yard in springtime to the tallest oak tree in the forest, plants mean as much to me as animals, but somehow I am not destined to be their keeper.

Because my most earnest attempts at gardening always ended in failure, it was with more than a little anxiety that I took custody of Gran’s violets when she passed away. Not only were these living beings, but having lived with Gran and Grandy for most of their married lives, the African violets were part of my heritage and I was determined to keep the tradition going whatever the cost.

After they came into my care, Gran’s violets lived a nomadic life as I moved from dorm, to apartment, to my first little house on the edge of town. I fed them regularly, scoped out north-facing windows to give them the right amount of light, and I repotted them when the stems grew too woody. To my great surprise, not only did the violets survive, they flourished. I attributed their health not only to my diligence, but also to the love that I felt for my gran. She and I were best friends from the day I was born and it seemed that part of Gran’s spirit lived on in the flowers she gave to me. Many a dreary day was brightened by their colorful blooms and at times when I felt lonely or homesick, Gran’s violets gave me the feeling of home.

A little springtime in the middle of winter.

Today, the violets bloom merrily in our Great Room, greeting all who come to sit by the fire or share a family meal. In the winter, Mom and I sometimes move the flowers into the kitchen where they can benefit from the pale sun on its short journey through our little valley. Not a day goes by that I don’t greet Gran’s violets and say, “Thank you,” to Gran for leaving a glorious legacy behind.

Christmas to Me: Part II

December 4, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / 1 Comment

If I had a blog, today I would continue the story of my favorite Christmas…

The Dogs Arrive at Our Cabin

Christmas Eve dawned grey and cold. By mid-morning, snow began falling, giving the landscape an ethereal, “Jack Londonesque” quality. Just before noon, the tableau was complete as two teams of sled dogs appeared from the forest edge. If Santa and his reindeer had appeared on Lark Lake that morning I could not have been more excited. I had wanted to be a musher since I was ten years old – the winter I hitched our yellow lab, Michael, to my toboggan and played “Iditarod” from dawn to dusk on the snow-covered fields that made up our farm. Now, at long last, I had a chance to do the real thing: Ride behind a string of sled dogs in the wilderness of The North.

Our Sled Dogs

The afternoon was everything I’d hoped for: Flying over the frozen landscape under the expert guidance of our mushers, getting a sense of the skill it takes to manage a team of eight canine athletes. My experience driving horses did little to prepare me for the experience of running dogs. Although the dogs were harnessed and attached to the sled, there were no reins to guide or stop the team. All directions, “gee” for right, “haw” for left, and the all important “whoa,” are spoken by the musher. The dogs have complete control over whether they obey or not, thus making a well-trained team an absolute necessity. Happily, both teams we rode with that day were the picture of obedience and their synchronicity with their drivers was poetry in motion.

Rest Stop on the Trail

After a couple hours of traveling, we stopped for a rest. We were cold and needed hot cocoa to fuel our inner fires, while the dogs were hot (it was, after all fifteen degrees that afternoon) and needed time to rest, drink, and roll merrily in the snow. If I ever had any doubts as to whether or not sled dogs were happy in their work, they were erased that winter’s day. I have never seen dogs with more joie de vie. As soon as our break was over, they were ready to go: Jumping and barking and pulling at the traces so we’d know they were far from ready to go home.

Thanking Our New Friends

We returned to the cabin shortly before dusk and thanked the mushers and each of their dogs for giving us the adventure of a lifetime. As they vanished into the woods across the lake and the light from the mushers’ headlamps faded from sight, The Great Silence returned to Lark Lake and Christmas Eve began.

A Toast to Christmas

Our holiday dinner was simple fare: Hamburger casserole and dinner rolls, accompanied by fine wine, with which we toasted family, the North Woods, and the sacredness of the season. As we did the dinner dishes, we turned on the short-wave radio and listened to a boys’ choir in Germany, singing carols to celebrate that holiest of eves. One-by-we made our way to the sauna, returning warm, clean, and ready for an evening around the fire. We sat up until midnight, sharing memories of Christmases past until, at last, we blew out the lamps and turned in for the night. Mom and Dad slept on the futon by the stove and David, Kindra, and I slept in the loft, nestled in our sleeping bags, with starlight shining in the windows. Music from a choir in England lulled me to sleep and for the first time in decades, I felt the spirit of Christmas in every fibre of my being. My last thoughts that wondrous night were the words of favorite carol. “O Holy Night…O Night Divine.”

To be continued…

Ode to the Woolly Bear

October 5, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write in praise of the Woolly Bear Caterpillar.

October 5 – Woolly Bear Caterpillar

For as long as I can remember, the appearance of the woolly bear has been a cause for great excitement in our family. Not only are these dashing caterpillars pleasing to the eye in their black and russet coats, but they are one of the first creatures to hint at the severity of the coming winter. As a child, I appraised every woolly bear I encountered, examining the number of rusty bands in his coat with scientific accuracy. The more rusty bands (most have 5 or 6), the milder the winter (and the deeper my disappointment), but to find a woolly bear with 4 or fewer bands meant a chance at my dream come true: A winter of deep snow and biting cold.

My dreams of a hard winter stemmed from the thrill of being free from school on “snow days.” Living in central Missouri, where snow is more the exception than the rule, any chance at a good winter storm was cause for excitement. I remember well, listening to the radio on a snowy morning, my brother and I holding our breath until Rolla Public Schools were added to the school closings. Once reprieved, the first thing I did was call my Granny Ruby. She’d pick up the phone and I’d burst forth with my pronouncement, “No school today!” Those mornings were as wonderful as Christmas and the whole world was wrapped up as our present.

The woolly bear I found in the yard this morning had between 5 and 6 rusty bands, so he predicts as fairly “normal” winter and that’s ok with me. Although I still love a good snowstorm as much as ever, I am lucky enough not to need the weather to free me from the bondage of life indoors. I work primarily from home and, once chores are done, I can go a-wandering any day I please. These days, the changing of the seasons are reunions, a time to reconnect with old friends like the woolly bear and the snowbird, a time to reminisce about days gone by and to add new chapters to the book of my life. Whether the winter ahead is stormy or mild, I will have my stories to share and my memories to keep me warm as a woolly bear on a perfect autumn morn.

Into the Mystery

October 1, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / 3 Comments

If I had a blog, I today I would write about the mysterious powers of my great-grandmother’s Ouija Board.

My Great Grandmother’s Ouija Board

In my library there is a bit of wood; slightly warped, chipped around the edges, and brittle with age. It is adorned with the alphabet, the numbers 0-9, icons for the moon, sun, and stars, and at the bottom, it wishes users a cheery “Good Bye.” To the untrained eye, it is just a nick-knack; a vestige of days gone by, but I have noticed something strange about my Great Grandmother Bunch’s Ouija Board: It seems to rob people of common sense.

To work its magic, the Ouija Board doesn’t have to be used. No spirits need to be called, no fingers gently laid upon the heart-shaped planchette to reveal the words of the departed. No, for the Ouija Board to take control, all I have to do is point to it and say, “This is my Great Grandmother’s Ouija Board,” and the spell is cast.

Over the years, I have seen smart, sensible people become frightened children in the presence of the Ouija Board. Some refuse to look at it, for fear evil spirits will come forth and possess them. Others chastise me for my folly: Don’t I know that just having the thing in the house could draw evil spirits? The Ouija Board has put lesser friendships on the rocks and one woman, an acquaintance of my mother’s, won’t come in the house unless she is assured the vile creature is covered and stowed away in some dark corner of the attic.

To what do I attribute the power of this seemingly innocuous board game? Its history is quite bland: It was created in 1891 by two U.S. businessmen and sold as a source of entertainment for use at social gatherings. The name, “Ouija” holds no clue to its power either, as it is simply a combination of the French and German words for “yes” (oui and ja). In fact, the only thing remarkable about the Ouija Board is the stir created by religious leaders who, from the game’s inception, insisted it was a tool of the devil and a portal through which demons could control unwary human beings. Like most mystical icons, the power of the Ouija Board lies in the beliefs of the beholder.

As we enter the month of October, a time of year that abounds with whispers of myth and magic, I think it is a good time to move beyond the stories of the bogey man, ghosts and goblins, and monsters under the bed. Those are fodder for childish fear, the kind of superstition that keeps us from exploring the deeper parts of life. I believe, as Shakespeare wrote, that “There is more in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” but I do not believe the search for “more” is fraught with peril.

Evil exists, of that I have no doubt, but I believe it only exists in the hearts of human beings during their mortal lives and the only Hell is the one we create for ourselves and our fellow earthmates when we let ego, selfishness, hatred, and intolerance guide our actions in life. After death, we are cleansed of these corruptions, but we have to exist with the torturous knowledge of what we have done. That is what I believe, anyway.

One thing I know for sure: In the century or more that Great Grandmother Bunch’s Ouija Board has been on the planet, none of its users, including me, have been in the presence of demons. It has been a source of wisdom for my foremothers, of spine-tingling fun at slumber parties and a tie that binds me to my past, but in the end it is no more than I make of it. If I feared the spiritual unknown, it would frighten me, but the fear would come from me, not from this simple piece of wood.

Tonight, I will put the Ouija Board in the center of my Halloween decor; draped with bittersweet and surrounded with ceramic jack o’lanterns and silk mums. As I arrange my little centerpiece, I will think fondly of Great Grandmother Bunch and the many mysteries she has laid in my hands – especially for giving me her Ouija Board and the belief that life is filled with magic.

Reflections

September 23, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about my reflections on the Purple Thistle.

September 23 – Reflections

It is fitting that my Photo-of-the-Day should be a thistle because today is my Scottish sister-in-law’s birthday. Sine (pronounced Sheena) is the quintessential Scot: Ginger-haired, strong-willed, and passionate about the creatures and humans she calls family. I was thinking about Sine on my walk this afternoon, when I noticed a Great-Spangled Fritillary dining on the sweet nectar of this Scottish emblem. As I studied the tableau, I saw something quite extraordinary: Although the spots on a fritillary are white, this lovely lady wore flashes of thistle-purple where the color of the flower reflected on her delicate wings. Given the weekend past, I desperately hoped this synchronicity might hold a message for me during a difficult time.

As I face the passing years and see the ones I love grow towards the ends of their lives, I have days when the future seems quite foreboding. This past weekend was particularly hard and on several occasions the tears came and I had no power to hold them in check. I tried to rally my fledgling faith in the goodness of The Universe, in the hope that when I need the strength to face the end of all things, I will find the resources I need to carry on, but this time it eluded me and I ached with sadness. Sine and her family were here to celebrate several of our September birthdays over the weekend, but my emotional pain became physical and I was in bed for two days with a migraine headache. Everyone in the family expressed their concern, and their love for me, but it wasn’t until today that I saw the second layer of meaning in their kindness and support.

Watching the purple glow shine through the wings of a humble butterfly, I realized that is what family can do for us: When we cannot generate the light of hope within ourselves, we can bask in the glow cast by those who are able to carry on. If we can ignore our foolish pride and reach out in times of distress, we will find what we need radiating from the spirits of those who love us best.

Happy Birthday Sine! Thank you for letting me share your light.

Letting Go

August 26, 2014August 26, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / Leave a comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about the desire to fix the lives of the ones I love.

Humans are born meddlers. There is something within us that, for good or ill, drives us to get involved in other people’s lives. I am no exception. My motives are pure: I want the people I love to be happy. I look at their struggles and and am compelled to make a plan for escape. In the moment it all seems so clear, so elementary: If Mom would just do this, or if Dad would just do that, they would be so much better off. I offer advice and if that doesn’t work, I throw myself into high gear and start making changes on my own.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Just today, I caught myself trying to take charge of a friend’s issues with boundaries. I want her to let go of the desire to please people at the expense of her own well-being, so what do I do? I start telling my friend what to do: “Tell your friends this,” and “Ask them not to do that.” I volunteer to call and cancel engagements, to make up excuses, to take the fall for any negative feedback that comes my friend’s way. I’m rockin’ and rollin’, taking names and baking hams until I get home and sit down with my book of favorite quotations. The book falls open to the words of an unknown writer: “Your work is not to drag the world kicking and screaming into a new awareness. Your job is to simply do your work… sacredly, secretly, and silently… and those with ‘eyes to see and ears to hear’, will respond.” I close my eyes and sigh, “I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

I have fallen prey to the fatal flaw of do-gooders: Assuming I know what is best for my fellow human beings. On a good day I have the insight to guide myself along the road of life and the only gift I am worthy to give is a recounting of my own journey, should offer some guidance in its telling. My companions will know what to make of my stories, what to keep and what to leave behind, and that is their choice to make, not mine.

Mist on Hawk Ridge

The prattle in my mind is quiet now; the voices of scheming and planning silenced. I feel my consciousness open like a flower, letting in the sound of rain pattering on my window. Thunder rumbles in the valley and mist rises along Hawk Ridge as the cool breeze dances among the ferns on my patio. Another chapter is written in my Trail Journal, a story to tell about the power that lives in letting go.

Past, Present, and Future

August 24, 2014 / Julie Atkinson / 1 Comment

If I had a blog, today I would write about living in the present.

Granny Holly & Ava Isobella

As a seeker of spiritual growth, I have spent a lot of time considering the value of living only in the present moment. A lot of energy has surrounded this idea lately and I admit it has its values, to be sure. If you stay in the present, you can’t worry about the future or get lost in regrets of the past; you drink deeply from the world around you in the present; and time itself seems to slow down when you are focused only on the moment in which you live. Living in the present is one of the basic tenets of Buddhism, a philosophy I greatly admire, but after careful consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that not only do we need an awareness of the past and the future to be whole, learning to balance life in three separate “time zones” is one of humanity’s great spiritual tasks, one of the reasons The Universe gave us knowledge of time.

Looking Ahead

Humans have a unique relationship with time compared to other species: Not only are we aware of the past and future, we can recall the past and imagine the future in great detail, then use them as springboards to aspire to better things. Humans were telling stories of their ancestors well before written language came into being and the preservation of such memoirs inspired us to develop a more permanent way to preserve our histories for generations to come. If no one thought about the past, the written word might not exist. Our sense of the future inspired our species to invent, create, and navigate towards what we believed were better lives. It is the motivation to make a better future that caused our ancestors to ask, “What lies beyond those mountains?” and the pull of the years ahead drew us from our African roots into every corner of the world.

Philosophers are right when they warn us of the dangers of yon and yore, but cutting ourselves off from our beginning and end is not the answer. The answer lies in learning to manage the pitfalls of remembering the past and knowing we have a future. It is like having a chronic illness (like my insulin-dependent diabetes): You can’t make it go away, but you can live well if you learn how to manage your condition. We must learn to let go of the regrets of the past and move forward, then resist the temptation of living only for an imaginary future. Finding the balance is the challenge laid before us when we were placed here at our birth.

Four Generations

Oddly enough, I have found the validation for my argument in a favorite Christmas tale. We may be months away from reindeer and sleigh bells, but Charles Dickens’ prose keeps coming to mind: At the end of Ebeneezer Scrooge’s night with the spirits, he makes a vow to “Honor Christmas in my heart and keep it throughout the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.” Our challenge, then, is to live in all three realities, gleaning the best of past, present, and future as we move through our lives. When we make the most of the days that are past, the day we are now alive, and of all the days yet to be, we will have the resources we need to face whatever things may come.

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