We only had fifteen minutes.  “I think we can do this,” I said as we parked our car in the bus station parking lot.  My husband and I hopped out and headed for a lone boulder in the overgrown grass, with comb and scissors in hand.  Alex needed a haircut before returning to San Francisco from Tahoe.  I’ve been cutting his hair for years.

As I worked diligently to finish before the bus arrived a woman approached us, “I don’t know who you are, where you are from, or what you are doing, but would you please give me a haircut?” 

She went on to explain in a shaky voice that she had lost her house and her husband to cancer ten months ago.  Carmelle was living in her van and was about to collect survivor benefits the next day. 

“I just want bangs like I used to have and this weight off of my shoulders.”

How could I say no? 
 
So she took her place on the rock.  I warned her, “You know I’m not formally trained and the wind is blowing pretty hard.”

“Just do it. Please.  I trust you.”  

Each time I asked her for guidance she replied, “I trust you. Do what you think is right.”

In between the silence and her sharing her story of their loving marriage and her hard knocks, she would break into tears, “I can’t believe you are doing this for me.”

I took a big gulp as I cut four inches away from her eyes. 

“You know I used to have dishwater blond hair.  Can you see my roots?”  

I could see her roots, the hardship of the years in her lined face, and the weight she was carrying being lifted with each inch I took off. 

I gave her a final hug and a wish for a lighter new chapter that matched her hair.  She crossed the parking lot, hopped back into her van, and took a peek into her rear view mirror.  I held my breath.  

Carmelle's wide smile and a big thumbs up are still clear in my mind. 

So is the weight of her desperate request. 

We all carry weight. Most of it is hidden from others; we feel it’s ours alone to bear. That impromptu haircut on the boulder showed me that we all can lift the weight of another. We both needed courage: she needed to step out of the van and ask; I needed to say yes and try.

Then came ease . . . connection . . . support . . . relief and an opening to new possibilities.  How can you lift the weight of another?  How can others support you?

My initial reaction was, “I’m too busy to know.”  I didn’t say this out loud.  It felt like an answer that should easily flow.  And the too busy part . . . well, I didn’t want to whine. 

The question was, “What do you want to do on Mother’s Day?”  I have other questions also lined up waiting for an answer. 

What questions are you carrying because you are too busy to drop into that deep place of knowing?

In life there is always something making us busy.  For me the end of school year crazies are putting me in a spin.  But I don’t want to be too busy to know what I want in life.  I don’t want to be too busy to feel the sun, especially on days like today, when it’s begging me to notice it. 

I don’t want to be too busy to...
  Work on big ideas
Celebrate others
  Read
Start important conversations . . . and complete them
  Make love
Hear my child
  Care for my body
Stoke my passions
  Nurture meaningful friendships
Be playful
  Connect with the hearts of others along my daily path

Yep, that’s it.  That’s the answer.  I know what I want to do on Mother’s Day.  How about you?

Blessings,
Amy

It was my job.  I would drop off our car at the mechanic’s mechanic.  An unspoken place south of the city where mechanics send the cars they can’t fix.  They pay in cash . . . have to speak Spanish . . . and know the job will get done.  

However beforehand, I am embarking on a weekend Enneagram retreat with my sister to gain insights into myself, expand my sense of possibility and grapple with the meaning of existence on this earth.

It really did deliver.  As much as one can shed new light on oneself in two days, I felt enlightened.

An aside, I love these two definitions offered for enlightened, adj.,: 1) Having or showing a rational, modern, and well-informed outlook. 2) Spiritually aware.

My sister, Jill, and I left the retreat feeling rational, modern, well-informed, and spiritually aware. We were now clear that life was full of abundance ready to show us the way if we were open and insightful enough to receive.

But first we had to cross the highway and then the tracks into what felt like a desolate Mexican town.  It was a sketchy alley.  An empty almost haunted dump yard, with music playing from an unknown source.  Mangled, amped-up, neglected cars packed a concrete back lot.  I was supposed to leave my keys.

I left Jill to fend off the heat and the ghosts of drag racing past and began my cautious search. Eventually I uncovered a back office and called out until an old man surfaced.  With my husband on the phone as a translator we started spelling out the arrangement when I heard in the air . . . bells.  They reminded me of the ice cream man you heard growing up or on the beach, except they were coming from, yes, wait, . . . an ice cream man.

Out of nowhere, a leathered, round face appeared, wearing a hat that wasn’t doing its job; pushing a cart and fast approaching me.  I waved him off in disbelief, guarded and anxious to leave.

When I turned around I saw my sister waving frantically.  I watched her dive head first into the ice cream cart.  I couldn’t believe it.  She was actually buying a popsicle!

I slowly came to her side, studying his pocked face in detail behind the mirrored shades. “Do you have coconut?” I asked.

He pulled out strawberry, lime and chocolate.

“Do you have coconut? I repeated.

He pulled out rice pudding, watermelon, and cherry.

“But what about coconut?” I rephrased.

He pulled out cinnamon, pineapple, and mixed berry.

I settled for pineapple.  Jill paid.  We said thank you.  He grinned and started to push his cart along the concrete quiet into the alley.

Jill quickly backed out of our narrow spot as I held the dollar in change.  We knew we wanted him to have it, so we peered down both directions of the back street, but it was empty.

He had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Licking our melting wake up calls on a stick we laughed and got chills.  What part of our weekend learnings needed to be driven home?  The learned quick “no thank you” response when life tries to give us unexpected treats?  The frantic waving for life to see us so we can partake in dessert?  The abundant flavors of life that can be passed up in search of the single answer?  

Stay open.  Receive.  Know you are supported.  Try a taste, even when it's not what you ordered. And be generous with your blessings.

I was making lunch when Eva walked into the kitchen and said, "Daddy, would you braid my hair?"  

Alex's reply surprised me, "Of course," as he assumed a seated position.  I knew he didn't know how to braid.

Resisting every urge to insert myself into this sweet father-daughter moment, I peered out of the corner of my eye to watch my dearest husband getting a good grip on the already-parted three sections of wet hair.

There was quiet, as my husband took a calm assessment of the situation.  And then I received a gentle request to assist.  As I gave him the most minimal guidance possible, the braiding began and ended with the rubber band.

"Let me know what my grade is Eva," he yelled as Miss Style marched into the bathroom.  I held my breath to hear, "I'd give it a B minus Dad. It sticks out at the bottom but is very centered."

Extremely pleased, Alex announced that "Big Al's Braid Shop" was now open for business.

Are you there for others? “Being There” sometimes requires saying yes, even when we aren’t sure we can do it or want to do it.  

Who is there for you?  Are you asking for what you need?  Sometimes others need to know how to Be There for us. Is it time, support, a listening ear, help, space, permission to dream big, patience . . .

Invite others to Be There for you and see what shops open for business. You may be surprised.

Let me know!