Dr. Nature is "In"

 

   Recently I discovered research to support what my heart and body seemed to already know: that being outside is GOOD for you.

    When I think back to childhood, I think like many children I loved playing outside. As a child, and even as an adult, I enjoyed walks, beaches, camping, hiking and even backpacking. And at the same time I  became aware of those who were indifferent to the outdoors. 

   I do think after Covid, and after some "extremely bumpy" times in my family I somehow began to find myself outside in the early mornings, nursing my cup of coffee, just hanging with the birds. And if additional resources might be needed that morning- for instance: a down jacket or even a Petzl headlamp, I complied.

    I still haven't quite mustered the umbrella, yet.

    And it was when I started noticing how I felt when traveled or something else caused me to miss my outdoor morning ritual that I decided to do some investigating.

     Who knew that my outdoor craving significantly enhanced mental, emotional and physical well being? I wasn't aware that there is actually scientific evidence that nature heals.

     And don't even get me started on forest bathing!

    Yes, being outdoors lifts mood, reduces stress, has physical health benefits and even boosts creativity, but you know what?  I  just know that I intrinsically need it.

Coincidences

      My parent's families couldn't be more different. . . . my father's parents were both doctors and my mother's parents were academics. My mom's parents were very social and prominent in their community while my dad's parents kept a somewhat lower profile, and pretty much immersed themselves in the medical world.

   Yet, they both shared an amazing parallel. Both sets of parents had their adult children fall ill, and return to their home, and live with them. 

    Obviously, this is not what might fall under a "happy coincidence."

    But I can't help but wonder if they had compassion for each other? Each one dealing with their own individual set of impossible circumstances yet still managing to hold it all with grace. Each being faced with an unbearable task, yet quietly forging on.

   It's hard to know. I know there was a civility between the families. I also know my mother's parents weren't exactly feeling all the warm fuzzies towards my dad's parents, or even my dad for that matter.  Since my mother had fallen ill, and my father couldn't manage my mother and the four kids, he had fallen out of favor.  

And that's putting it mildly.

He was actually the reason she was back in her childhood home.

Were they aware of these commonalities?

Did they see them?

It's made me very open to so many different types of familial circumstances as an adult. It's also given me another lens to look through in parenting.

Mostly, it's given me empathy to other parents who are in similar situations.  

I know what they are going through.

** This post really resonated with me after the recent terrible tragedy in the Reiner family.

Awareness

         I know I've written about this before and just so you know, just because I'm cognizant of it, because I'm aware of it, does not, by any means, mean I am 100% practicing it.

     I am trying.

     The principle is to change your thoughts. If you are putting out high energy, high vibrations, then you will get them back. Like attracts like. Its's science. It's the law of attraction.

    Honestly, most of the time I'm just trying to survive while I'm driving, or in another similar type situation. I do look down at the little rainbow card I made (I keep in my car) and think, "Ok. You're in the yellow. No wonder. " I try to relax, or even smile. Sometimes, it helps just to know. And once in awhile, I will purposely try to shift out of that emotion.

  It is my body will be the first thing that betrays me when I'm in these lower vibration emotions. My posture, my jawline and even my hands signal me.

   When we change our thoughts, we change how we feel, and change what feelings we are experiencing. If one can ultimately alter one's thoughts and emotions - one can alter their reality.

  I know, right?

  I am NOWHERE near that stage, folks BUT I feel a little bit better when I'm more aware. 

  I'll take that.

Light & Dark

 

     I attended my niece's wedding this weekend. And like most weddings it was beautiful. However, I must add that EVERY single aspect of this wedding reflected intention: from custom made wood fired pizzas to the handwritten notes for each guest.

     The vibe, and the energy interwoven throughout the night also was also connected to the young couple. Both the openness, and friendliness of all the guests without a doubt represented the pair. And the love between them? It was palatable. He loves her SO!

    My two siblings and our respective families had come to support our niece as her own parents were not invited. It was more than important for each of us to be there. Both parents were absent while growing up, and were not present for a myriad of reasons. She has completely disengaged from both of them. In addition, due to unmentionable transgressions she chose to not include them in the wedding.  Ironically, my siblings and I were also motherless growing up with a father who was not "father of the year," material. Her healthy choice to distance herself from her parents really resonated with us, and we were determined to show up for her.

   See the parallels?

   So I cried a lot that day. The waterworks started as she came down the aisle with her cousin. I cried because she was so beautiful, and I cried because her mother wasn't there. Mostly, I cried because I knew she would be more than alright.

The Reluctant Leaf Fall Writing Frenzy 2025

     "We practiced this, Maple! Just go already! Jump!"

     "Are you sure I won't get hurt?" Maple's veins were quivering.

     "Look kid, you were supposed to go yesterday."

     "I thought you wanted to fly?" His brother tried again.

     "Maybe, I should stay just a bit longer? That way I can process a bit more chlorophyll?"

     "Squirt, you aren't even taking in chlorophyll anymore. Have you looked in the mirror lately?  Newsflash:you're YELLOW! Besides, you have a bigger job now."

Maple's margins tightened.

     "I do?" He gulped.

     "They need you down there for the soil.You're gonna be even more useful as many parts.You'll help plants grow, put nutrients in the soil, you might even be a house for a bug."

     "Maple!"

He looked down to see his cousin.

     "OMG! It's so soft down here!"

     "It doesn't even hurt, and it feels like you're flying," she promised.

Maple liked the idea of helping out, but he'd always dreamt of flying. But it was probably the tiny tear in his petiole that sealed the deal. With a brightness and joy almost like no other leaf, Maple circled down, and made his way towards something more.

The power of JOY

 

     Yes, you heard me, reclaim that recess joy. 

     Have you ever been at a school when the recess bell rings, and the children start spilling out? They come shooting out of those doors, and the energy and voice levels are palatable. It's not only intense but the squeals and laughter can be infectious.

   Something so simple like doing whatever makes you happy leads to improved mental health and better relationships with others.

    Oh, and it reduces stress AND makes you happy.

    What are you waiting for?!

Be Here Now

     I'm sitting outside, in the early morning quiet. The blades of grass have beads of dew on them as big as dimes. The sun has started in the east and the sky has just begun to light. I fill the feeders and go sit down. My neighbor's 80's music revival hasn't started yet so and it's just me, and hopefully some  birds. I park myself on some outdoor furniture and wait. It won't be long. First, they come and alight on the fence, and then maybe tree. Finally, one goes straight to the feeder, and then another. I love to listen to them talk to each other.

And then I hear a bird call I don't recognize.

It's beautiful. It's so unique.

I freeze. 

Should I?

I go inside to grab my phone to use my app that identifies birds by their calls.

I open the sliding doors like a ninja, and quietly return to the patio.

I hold my phone up.

The bird and its' sweet song are gone.

Discouraged I find the couch and finish my coffee. 

 And then I lie to myself that I won't lose a quiet moment like that again.

Regrets

 

    My father LOVED jazz. I mean he LOVED it. He could tell you how it evolved out of swing music, who influenced who, who were the trailblazers, band members, recording labels. live dates, you name it. Dizzy, Lester Young, Chet Baker, and the Bird were just some of his many favorites. And I frequently walked into his apartment only to find him listening to a particular piece and he would just put his hand up, bidding me to wait, until the piece was over. He would also sometimes want me to listen to a particular song, and his face would turn toward me expectantly. It was if he smelled something delicious cooking in the kitchen, and it was THAT good that he wanted to share it. I can still see his face as he watched me attentively while I listened. And when the music finally ended his eagerness was palatable. 

     "Did you hear THAT?" he would ask with SO much passion. 

      He looked at me, almost childlike, to determine if I felt the same joy. Just like a kid sharing a shiny rock, or maybe even a beautiful flower.

     Which I guess he was.

     And so as I do some very specific research on my NFPB Bio I find myself at my laptop, shaking my head, and chuckling to no one in particular. I am listening to all these different live jazz recordings circa the 1950's desperately trying to ascertain how an audience member might react enthusiastically to Bebop.  Mind you, my search isn't totally fruitless. In the live recordings I am hearing some talking, clapping, enthusiastic yelling, and even some whistling. It's just hard to discern if it's the band or the audience.

     You know what?

     I know EXACTLY who would know. . . 

Bird Etiquette

    I guess they call us birders? I didn't even know there was a name for it. I just know that I'm pretty much into it.  Proof of the fact just might be the several different types of bird feeders in the yard, mini binoculars on hand, a bird identifying app,, and even a smart bird feeder on top of a pole set in poured concrete.

     But that's neither here, nor there.

     In the mornings I watch. I fill the feeders and enjoy my "B.S." time. Now, I know what you're thinking. (That's actually a different part of the day) B.S. stands for BEFORE SQUIRRELS. I have tried to acquiesce. But I will save that backstory for another slice.

     There are so many WAY cool things I see daily while observing my feathered friends but one thing I see that is so beautiful is the way they defer to each other while on the feeders. So far I'm only attracting small birds mainly (sometimes an errant Blue Jay) but the Mourning Doves don't even bother with the feeders. They stay down below and feed off what the other birds knock down. (Some birds peck, dig, and make quite a mess).

    If a bird is feeding and already at the feeder when another bird arrives at the feeder, the original bird will give up his spot at the feeder. The original bird will fly off and the new bird feeds. There is none of this "Me first" stuff. Or  even the old chestnut, "I was here already."

   Sometimes, a bird waits quietly for their turn on the pole. I notice that even theugh the feeder could handle MANY birds  at one time, it is the birds that choose the feeding to be one at a time. Only the House Fiches ( pictured here-red chest) will allow more than one bird at the feeder. 

    I wonder what's up with that?

    Now I'm not saying there is total peace in the animal kingdom. Every once in a while two birds will partake in some kind of fracas. This a definite type of aggression but it's pretty mild by human standards.  Two birds hit the feeder in tandem mid air and will  kind of come together. Then they fly in tiny spirals upward while flapping against eachother. It's almost like a face off, but still the two "hold outs" end up flying off, and another brand new bird feeds.

    Ever heard of the old put down,"bird brain?" Well, guess what? That little walnut sized brain might in fact be smaller, but also more efficient. Said walnut is neuron dense and highly intelligent.

    Sure, I bet my new read, Caitlin O'Connell's WILD RITUALS might have something to do with it, but I'm thinking we could probably learn a lot from birds. 

Holding Both

   I had the incredible experience of visiting Alaska this month and having the most one of a kind experiences with nature, and wild life. In addition, we were able to view some of the most spectacular aspects of our environment.

     Early on we learned our proposed visit to Mendenhall Glacier Visitor Center was cancelled due to melting, pieces of glaciers breaking off, and the dangerous flooding of a nearby town.

   This sobering moment of witnessing climate change first hand was not lost of me. All my years of teaching and my own basic knowledge of science came home to roost right then and there..95% of the glaciers are melting.  Although glaciers have always been melting it has never at this rate, and the pace is increasing. A new proponent added to the mix is black carbon. Black carbon is dusting all the glaciers and comes from all the recent fires (think recent fires in both Canada and California). Black carbon acts like an accelerant in terms of glaciers melting, and it also heats up the atmosphere. 

     Sailing home we were lucky to atleast sail through the glaciers themselves, and witness their frozen beauty. It made me feel so small and humbled.

   On another note, (but maybe not) I need to be transparent, and share that I have opted out of current news for many months. It was a needed mechanism.

   Crippled with the severity at what I had observed personally I grappled with ways to process the soberness of the event. I decided then, and there that when I returned home I would try to do something to make some changes in the world. 

Something. 

I would be active in small groups to help make little changes. I had already dabbled a little, but now I would step up the participation and the consistency.

So I held both. 

Immense sadness and tremendous hope.

Good Morning, Dad

 

   When my Dad died  (like 24 years ago) I was completely lost. Like I'm talking completely rudderless. My father raised me since I was three due to my mother's illness.  Luckily, I had two toddlers to make me focus and suit up or who knows what would have really gone down? During that time of loss I did consult a psychic.

     Yes, I live in California.

     And the psychic I consulted with told me, among many other things (that are topics for quite another piece of writing) that my father would visit me through birds.

     A little backstory here: my father took my sister and I for walks when we were kids and pointed out every rock, plant, type of tree, bird species ,and stars. He pointed them out, identified them, and shared various pieces of information.  Honestly, my sister and I were just focused on Dairy Belle which was always at the end of the walk and not the lecture. 

     So the first bird that arrived after my talk with the psychic was a California Scrub Jay. Now whether you believe in psychic abilities or not, I have to be honest and say California Scrub Jays are a dime a dozen in the Northern California.  However, they are not common in my backyard. Also, if there was EVER a bird my dad would be linked to it is the Blue Jay. In my opinion Blue Jays are the brightest, boldest, cockiest, and might I say, loudest bird in the ole bird family. Plus, jays are scavengers. 

   Truthfully, I don't know what I really believe?

   I do know that when they do show up in my backyard- which is rarely- I think of my Dad.

   In the past 24 years I think I have seen them maybe three times?

   This morning while in my backyard nursing my cup of coffee this proud poser alighted precariously on the feeder.  Deep in thought already of today's daily dramas I watched him. Way too big, clearly not caring, but still providing me with something I needed.

Holding it All

 

     I hate to be the one imparting cliche wisdom here- but here goes. This weekend as I spent the three days up in the mountains with some really good friends I was struck by the multiple perspectives that one can have.

     I was celebrating getting out of my Darth Vader boot (after foot surgery) and the freedom that entailed. My foot was freed from bondage and therefore I was also walking quite a bit more with less discomfort. At the same time, on my mind were both my cousin's serious illnesses. Both women, around my age are fighting for their lives with terminal illnesses. I love them both, but living far away, and not being ringside, has left me feeling a bit hopeless. 

   And to add to the mix is my sister. She is a career alcoholic who is also dying. Her body, and her organs are beginning to fail. This year she has had four emergency hospitalizations and surgeries for complications due to her drinking. Each time they patch her up, release her, and she returns right back to the cycle.

    And so I sat on our deck early Sunday morning surrounded by the quiet murmur of pine trees nestling. I heard someone else faintly in the kitchen making coffee. I smiled at the voices I heard wafting through the screen door of our cabin. but not quite making them out. I can't help but be grateful for all the great conversations I have had or listened to this weekend.  These were just spontaneous conversations about the world, politics or any other random topic.  For a second I thought about all the good food, laughter, love and even the board games that were all shared this weekend.

     And so I hold it all. I struggled slighly to get up. I stepped very carefully back into cabin. I wanted to hear what they are saying.

    

Empathy

Whenever I walk by my uncle's picture in the dining room I feel a tinge of sadness. I could be setting the table, putting something away, and I will look up and see him I think of all he went through, and how hard he fought to be well.

       My grandparents lived in Durham North Carolina and were both doctors. There son, Stephen was diagnosed with epilepsy in the 1930's. They thought he would grow out of it in adolescence and for a time they thought he had.  During this time, the medical world knew very little about epilepsy and they over medicated.  My uncle was on several heavy duty meds before they settle on Thorazine. Thorazine stopped his seizures and everything else apparently. My father always said he could tell when my uncle was on his meds as it was like his brother was in a trance. 

       Of course, my father wasn't quite so eloquent. He actually said my Uncle Stephen was like a zombie.

        Initially, he managed to pursue quite an education. He went to Duke and got his Bachelors degree, and then his Masters, and he headed off to get his doctorate at Stanford University before suffering from a mental breakdown. He refused to take his meds because he couldn't focus on his studies.

   He tried to hurt himself.

   His parents came out on a train to collect him.

   He spent the rest of his life with his parents working odd jobs at Goodwill. Sometimes, institutionalized for psychotic episodes and once for being violent with my grandfather.

     My siblings and I were scared of him when we did see him. We saw him maybe a handful of times. He was always overly medicated, his hands shook from Thorazine, and it seemed like his fingers were dipped in yellow. ( This was from the nicotine as he chain smoked.) We were scared of him as kids as we knew something wasn't quite right.

  When I was a kid, and later an adult, I  sort of thought our Uncle Stephen was our very own Boo Radley.

    I think of him today and how far modern medicine has come in terms of effectively treating epilepsy. I  think of how epilepsy it is no longer a life sentence and that many who suffer from epilepsy can lead pretty normal functioning lives.

   But most of all, I just think of him.

Monetary Mysteries

    You know I gotta confess my Dad told me A LOT of stuff. I mean, A LOT. (This could be material for many slices) but writing on the back of snapshots, or identifying photos with subject, and dates seemed to blow right by me.

     Yet I thought of him yesterday and had to chuckle to myself ruefully. I was going over my uncle's coin collection with coolest app on my phone in complete amazement. It was so much fun, so easy, as the app scanned each coin with my camera, recognized, and gave its' value. 

   My uncle had kept a coin collection in the 1930's and when we were cleaning out my grandparent's home, and my uncle had also passed, no one in the family wanted it. 

   I grabbed it.

   It's not exactly unmarked photographs but there were some mysteries surrounding some of the coins.

   There were so many foreign coins from the late 1800's. The foreign coins from the 1940's were easy to explain; my father had brought those home during the war.

   It left me to ponder. Had my grandfather's colleagues, or patients brought him coins from their travels abroad? My grandfather was a doctor and surgeon for 35 years at a very large hospital in Durham, North Carolina. How had my Uncle Stephen come by these older European coins? My Uncle Stephen's own life was fraught with battles with mental illness. 

   I couldn't help but just wonder as to the stories as to how he might have came by an Indian Rupee from 1841, or even a Japanese Yen from 1870?

   Even as I put the Whitman's Sampler box away carefully my curiosity was abound. I traced his scrawly handwriting on the cover absentmindedly with my finger. I also hoped Uncle Stephen didn't mind that it was me who had "touched" his box- despite his strict directions not to. 

"V" is For Victory

.    I guess I have probably spent 5-6 summers now chasing an elusive crop of tomatoes. Growing from seeds, small plants, to even fully grown ones it doesn't matter. I have tried 'em all.  I tried fully grown plants last summer in a vain attempt to trick myself that I wasn't really fully invested.

     The location didn't matter, either. I had grown them in so many different places. Last year I had even broke down and tried movable planters on our brick patio. Yet, I had still failed. Nothing had angered me more than the year I had a crop in our raised beds in the far back of our yard .Something had eaten the blossoms even through chicken wire. 

    The frustration is often overwhelming.  And every summer I grapple with not just losing the crop, but not knowing why. I'm not sure which one is more infuriating? Is it door number one, or door number two?

   Now I need to back up. I need to explain. Along with the generous 1/3 of an acre we are blessed to have, we have critters. Let me be more specific, we have birds, mice, gophers, roof rats (who contrary to their name do not restrict themselves just to the roof) field mice, and raccoons. Oh, and this year I get to add voles to our outdoor family. That's just what I've seen, mind you.

    And don't even get me started on the snails.

   Now do you get it? There is a war going on in my backyard.

   And I'm losing it.

     At least when I lost last summer's crop I had the caveat of knowing who was responsible. I had the relief of knowing who was enjoying the tiny yellow blossoms. I watched a stray bird from time to time flit down, and tear them apart. What? You've never heard of birds eating the flowers on tomato plants? You are not alone, my friend. The salesperson at my local nursery echoed the same. Trust me! I WISH I was making this up. 
     Flash forward to this morning. And there they were. Nestled innocently deep within the spicy stalks. I guess I somehow expected trumpets to be blaring.  There weren't any.  In fact, I could barely even hear the soft crunching of the blades of grass as I  padded back to the house in quiet triumph. 

Oh Wise One

    Last Saturday I participated in an age old western ritual. I attended  a baby shower. And not just any baby shower- mind you- one that was heavily decorated, and one that the mom-to-be was gifted probably every new parenting gadget ever created, as well as some old chestnuts. And to be fully transparent, although I now fall into one of the older generations, I still saw many parallels. 

    For instance, there are still a bunch of new fangled items that are being sold as "must haves," to new parents. Items that I now know, in my infinite wisdom, are really not needed. 

     If you can stay up all night rocking, or walking the halls you will be okay. If you can circle the block many times in the wee hours, you will pass muster. If your little bundle is warm, dry and has eaten you have essentially covered all the bases.  

    But I get it. It's the uncertainty. That uncertainty will get you.

    I can wax nostalgic, and come off cool as a cucumber with the best of 'em, but I was the one who had labor and delivery on speed dial. And I was still calling long after I delivered.

   Sssh! Don't give me away.

Canine Wisdom

 

If you haven't seen the meme with a comic of a man sitting on a dock with his dog it's a very telling one.  The man has a thought bubble chock full of things. The man's thought bubble depicts all the things we  typically worry about: people, money, jobs, bills, etc. The dog's thought bubble only has one thing; it depicts his owner.

I NEVER fail to glean a life lesson from this one.  Honestly, I'm lucky if it's only one. How to slow down, how to seize the moment, how to show your love- are just a few of the many teachable moments that Lucie shares with me.

And when she's on my lap, looking out like this, I try to remember that meme. I try to soak up just a wee bit of canine wisdom. 

Be here now.

While of course you are loving your four legged friend.

Ode to the Public Library

 

   I am a child of the 70's and yes, I was one of those kids who loved playing outside till the street lights came on, enjoyed the Saturday morning cartoon line up, fought for the toys inside our cereal boxes but most of all, lived for day trips to our public library.

    My sister and I either walked, or rode the bus to the library most every weekend. My father didn't give us rides anywhere but he did concede to library pick ups. Sometimes, we stayed all day nestled in a chair, or a nook reading to our hearts content. My sister was either in my line of sight or I at least knew where she was stationed. Somedays, we left early with our bounty. Carefully walking out to our beat up prehistoric station wagon with stacks so high you couldn't even see our faces framed by our stringy hair.

    Once home I can remember those piles of treasures almost like it was Christmas. Novels, picture books, nonfiction or informational- it didn't matter to us.There were whole complete worlds at our fingertips.  Dozens of titles to jump into. Who cares if one was bad, or didn't suit my fancy? I had at least 12 or more left to try. And don't forget there was my sister's stash, too. If one of us liked one of our books, we traded, or recommended the book highly to the other. 

   I'm not naive enough to think, or proclaim that everyone needs be an avid reader. I'm also not trying to paste my childhood experience ( my love of reading) on anyone. But what I do think is the public library provides immeasurable opportunities and experiences for everyone. And most importantly, that experience should not be restricted in any way, nor should it go away.

Discomfort of Newness

 

    I just returned from a writing conference ( I know; doncha feel sorry for me?) in the most picturesque of settings. We spent our days critiquing, revising, networking, sharing, and gathering insider tips about the industry, all with the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean.

   It was both massively stimulating and inspiring.

    Yet, I couldn't help but feel this almost childlike uncomfortableness. It reminded me of the first day of school, the first day of ANYTHING really. 

  So many times I sat down and introduced myself, so many times I sat down and shared my art (stories) with such trepid uncertainty. The hours were laced with so much caution, and underlying nervousness.  The pattern was the same. We sat down at a table. Someone inevitably would ask who is going first?  Cue to the light anxiety following the readings, and then deciding who will give the feedback first. Although we were all older the feelings were so oddly familiar. 

     It was the same as before. These feelings I felt were exactly the same I felt as a child but now I have learned to cope with them differently. I have more options now. I can stuff them down more efficiently, I can move ahead, and I have more confidence than I did when I was a younger.

    Don't get me wrong.It's so empowering to put one's self out there. It's so freeing to share one's art, and process the feedback. 

     I just marvel at the parallels.

     And I have a newfound respect for the kiddos, and what we ask of them.