Leo and Me

One of the gifts Graham received for his recent birthday was a gift certificate to a book store. The two of us whiled away some time perusing all the titles before one of the books Graham (and I, heh!) chose was  Georgia Nicol's book You and Your Future, a book on astrology.

Both of us watch Georgia on Global News on Sundays and have enjoyed her sense of humour and her accuracy. But I had no idea she would teach me something as profound as the Rising sign.

The Rising Sign is based on the time of day you were born, as opposed to the Sun Sign which is based on the day of the year you were born. Most of us know our Sun Sign...be it Pisces, or Cancer, or Taurus, etc.

Georgia writes that the Rising Sign is my persona. It is how I project myself outwardly to the World, with my appearance and my personality. She tells me it's the style I use to get what I want, now and in the future. It indicates to me how I will make things happen in my life.


Now, I have always been happy with my Sun Sign of Pisces. It seemed to cover most of the peccadilloes in my personality. It sat right with me.


Georgia says my Rising Sign shows how I survived in my family.  Upon looking back, had I only had Pisces in my sign, I would have been swallowed whole in my family group, instead of only some parts of me.

Keeping Georgia's warning in mind about her Table of signs as being too simplistic (she suggests using an astrologer or Googling the Rising Sign Calculator in order to find your accurate Rising Sign), I found my Rising Sign to be....Leo!!


Ouch. Leo was my mother's Sun Sign. It was not until a year or two before she died that I grew closer to my mother, that I began to understand her. I wonder what my mother's Rising Sign was; there is no way to find that particular nugget now. Leo has never been a favourite sign of mine, keeping my mother's persona in mind.


And in looking up family members' Rising Signs, I find Brianna, my granddaughter, and Graydon, my grandson, have Leo Rising,  Graydon and his Dad both have Aries in their makeup (one as a Rising Sign and one as a Sun Sign), that Graham has Pisces Rising, and Heidi, my daughter, is a Pisces with Libra Rising. The twins are Pisces with Aries rising.


How very strange to find how intertwined we all are, in the eyes of Astrology!

I find the section on Leo with trepidation. I know quite a few people whose Sun Sign is Leo; I've liked and even loved them. I wondered what the negatives were in regard to Leo...had my mother been stuck in that contrary area?

And sure enough, the pessimistic words flew off the page on the negative qualities of the Leo archetype. Arrogance, pride, extravagance, ostentatious, egocentric, patronizing, opinionated, didactic, and uncompromising...all of these fit my mother well.

And then I think...do all these words fit me, as well?


But according to Georgia's book, Leo's are also generous, principled, honourable, warm-hearted, forthright, energetic, brave and intelligent. Certainly my mother's friends thought so of her.


Georgia presents three broad qualities of the sign of Leo. She states the sign of Leo is creative, generates warmth, radiance and generosity, is a leader with a need for recognition.

AAAargh!!! The last part...the need for recognition...that part does not sit well with my Piscean sensibilities. But oh! did my mother ever require recognition! There were never enough compliments to make my mother happy, and I cringed each time she sought them.


Suddenly, in a strangely obscure way, I understand why I secretly love compliments, yet spurn them when they arrive as unimportant (Piscean)...and why my granddaughter, a Sagittarius with Leo rising, loves recognition, accepts compliments with grace and loves to create happy situations.

My mother loved to create situations, as well. However, many of hers were not as happy as I might have liked...

As I think about all this, I realize I have much to thank my mother for. My mother had many tough times, many crises in her life. She chose to become embittered; her choice led to my being strongly averse to living my life in that way. I watched her as a child and later a teen, at home, and I made a very strong, conscious choice to use optimism and hope, instead. I made the choice to work my Leo aspect in the most positive manner I could, even though I didn't realize how important Leo rising in my sign was, at the time.


Leo is the sign of the Sun. Leo is the Lion. I learn, by reading Georgia's book, that Leo can be timid, but will rarely show it. How true that is...I will face down any situation with a roar, yet tremble inside the whole time I do it.


Georgia went a little further for me, after I'd written to tell her how much I'd enjoyed her book. She actually drew out my Natal Chart and sent it to me, along with the other signs I need to read. She also told me I had the stronger Leo aspect, while my mother was the 'authority' in my life...and Georgia says...Of course you would clash!


Of course! I wish I'd known this years ago!

Georgia also advised me to read all twelve signs with reference on How to Be Happier  Chapters. Within the first few paragraphs on the Piscean chapter, I find familiar waters. I find, more than any other sign, Pisces people have the strongest ability of all the Astrological signs to manifest their core beliefs. Whatever Pisces thinks about their World becomes reality. 


For example, were I to wear rose-coloured glasses, as I try to do, most of the time, the World becomes a wonderful, magical place. Yet, were I to believe the opposite, I could become my own worst enemy...because the World, or at least my World, will become whatever my negative thought patterns conjure up.


No kidding.


A happier Leo, on the other hand, should forego their
pride and arrogance...so much a part of this sign. I hope my Sun sign of Pisces will help me achieve the positive parts of pride and arrogance. Georgia, in her book, explains the difference.


I've heard Georgia say many times, on television, that astrology is all about math. Looking at my chart, I believe it...it looks like some mathematical test I failed at some point in my school years...


Astrology is great fun for me...I check where the stars and planets are every morning on the Cosmic Calendar. I have the added bonus now of having two signs to help me make sense of my day.


Even in times of angry disputes with my mother, a Leo, somewhere inside, no matter how ridiculous her assumptions, I knew where and how she had arrived at her conclusion. Somewhere inside myself, I understood her.


Georgia's book was really cheap at the price, if it means I move that much further along the completely convoluted journey of life.

I'm so glad I was with Graham, when he went shopping for his birthday gift...

First Snow Storm

It snowed during the night...and the temperatures dropped to -5C.  

This morning, as a weak Sun filtered through the Trees, I decided a first Snowfall was worthy of a few photos.

I suited up.  I have many layers of clothing to put on each day, in order to keep from pushing up the thermostat. All those layers...they keep Arthritis at bay, a little.

It took awhile to grow accustomed to all those clothes...at the end of the day, I feel somewhat like a stuffed sausage. Long underwear seems to get tighter as the day passes. But I wouldn't go without...the extra clothes and underwear are comforting, when Wind howls and Snow blows.

We are expecting another Storm this afternoon. I fear I will no longer, this year, at least, be able to build garden beds. I left my tools under a big Tree, convinced I would have a few weeks left to work...but it's not to be.


Snow which falls will freeze, over and over again. Eventually, I will walk on  built up frozen Snow...last year, there was three feet of it.  It gives a different perspective to the land.

As I take photos, meandering about in the soft, powdery stuff, I remember my vow to learn to snowshoe. Our property is great for it...there are game animal trails throughout. It is an extremely pleasant hike during the gentler months, but will be largely unavailable during the rest.


I have trouble imagining myself snowshoeing....however, there is a first time for everything. I say this rather defiantly; my vow to snowshoe brings laughter or, at the very least, a gentle smile, from those to whom I have divulged this vow.


My camera lens fogs up...and Wind from the West is rising.  The feeble reminders of a Sun warmed land dissipates...gentle dripping stops.  It is time to sit by the fire with a cup of tea, and watch the Storm.

And what a Storm it is...the thermometer on the deck drops impossibly quickly. Wind howls through the Trees, taking hunks of icy Snow and hurling them at my windows. The house stands strong against the blasts of the swirling Wind, but I can feel when a particularly large gust hits...there is a muffled booming sound when it occurs, as well.


It would be impossible to take my camera and shoot photos, at this point.  Sometimes, I can't see the Trees for the driving Snow. The Boulders and Stones I am attempting to find a common ground with will be covered in softly rounded mounds, which will grow as more Snow falls and freezes.

I suddenly take in, for good and all, the fact that gardening is over for this year.  I take another sip of Tea and reassure myself I will find other creative pursuits...inside.



Graham's Mother has given me a sewing machine...a Janome Quilter's Companion with a Quilting Table attachment.  The last time I used a sewing machine was close to forty years ago...my mother's.


This one...this machine which sits on the dining table eyeing me with reproach...this one will take some getting used to.


I look at it balefully. The machine brings back memories of sewing clothing which rarely lived up to my mother's idea of perfection...she was a seamstress par excellence...and I was not.


In my youth, I did not have the interest...I wanted to get from A to B without all those seemingly unnecessary steps. Impatience...a trait I have not yet mastered...held sway, at the time.


However...however, as the Storm rages, as Snow finds crevices in the landscape formerly unseen to my eyes, I think of the feel of linens and cottons as they flow through my hands to the machine...I remember how soothing it felt.


And there are newer materials out there now...materials like hemp and bamboo I would like to work with.


It no longer matters, if items I have sown are perfect, in another's eyes.  If I am satisfied...I will be happy with its imperfections.


I take another sip of tea...still comforting, still warming my hands and soul.


There are revelations to be found, during a rattling, bone-chilling Snow Storm, when I am held captive inside.


A cup of tea, a Wind and Snow Storm, a warm fire and a sewing machine...I believe it might be a great day.



 

Recollections

Recently, I've had the urge to minimize, in all areas of my life. Cleaning closets, cupboards and storage sheds give me immense satisfaction; I feel much lighter, far more in control when I have taken the detritus from the past, looked, remembered and then let them go.

Sometimes it can be painful. Then there can be joy, as well, as when a small hooded sweater, one that would fit a newborn, falls at my feet...and I remember my babies, both of whom wore the unbelievably soft pale pink garment.

When I kept it, I thought my grandchildren, if they were girls, would keep warm and cosy in it; I honestly believed this, when I was a young mother. How could anyone not want their newborn baby wrapped in this beautiful little outfit?

There were many such sweaters. But this pink one...the colour of it, the softness, the type of knit...a Mother's love was encapsulated within the very woollen texture of it. My love.

Heidi was the first to wear it. Her beautiful blue eyes peeked through the frill of wool, with grave wonder and such interest in the World she found herself in. Heidi was one of most aware babies I have known; her son is very much the same as she, in that he must know what is going on around him.

She grew out of it very quickly, and I mourned as I placed it for safekeeping. No other piece of clothing she had was as soft as this one, this delicate wisp of sweet pink.

I wrapped it carefully in tissue paper. I took great care with it, each time we moved, to keep it safe.

Katrina was the second baby that wore the thistledown pink sweater. Her deep brown eyes watched and accepted the World, through the frill of pink. She was the most peaceful baby I have known, filled with serenity. When she wore the sweater, she would send me the greatest consistently amiable energy; when I held her, my heart would fill...she had the ability to calm any agitation I might have had. This gift would sustain others, for the rest of her short life.

The sweater was again wrapped, after I could no longer squeeze her into it. But it was wrapped rather hurriedly this time; I knew I could have no more children. The Big C took care of my feminine organs; life was harried and very, very full.

Bree came along. I still had the pink sweater, wrapped in yellowed tissue paper. But it was twenty years later. Fashions had changed. And my lovely pink sweater was no longer as pristine as the new fashions...the new sweaters Bree received. And Katrina needed to find her own pink sweater for Bree...one that was infused with a Mother's love. Her love.

But I kept it, and Bree used it to dress her dolls. She chose the pink sweater for her favourite doll; when she held it, I knew deep inside she was feeling that warm, loving energy emanating from the wool.

I packed up Bree's toys when I moved; I found the pink sweater, still wrapped around her doll. She had long grown out of playing with baby dolls; her interests now were centred around sports and hobbies more suited to her age.

I donated the doll; I kept the pink sweater, not so carefully this time. But as I rubbed it against my cheek, the loving energy once more engulfed me; I could not consign it to the rag bin. I took that piece of my life with me, once again...to help me meet the huge Wave of change crashing down upon me with strength and grace.

And then, Graydon came along, bursting upon our family, filled with masculine energy. Certainly he had no need for a tattered pink sweater. But as I hold him, sometimes I visualize my babies wrapped in a swath of pink...and I feel, once again, that pure loving energy...a Grandmother's love. My love.

When it fell against my feet, as I searched through the bag of memories, I picked it up and brushed it off and felt the warm, pink softness, piercing my heart like a true and sure arrow of love.

And in a flash, I had a vision of soft, pure feminine energy...an ethereal wisp of energy. I saw blond curls...I was given a glimpse of a gentle soul...one, I realized, that has yet to appear.

I understood, suddenly, that the pink sweater still has a purpose, as I held it gently in my hands.
This time, I placed it near me in my office. I make sure to give as much respect as I can muster for this tattered piece of pink, this object that has collected my past, and kept the best of the whole.

Minimizing is great. But some things...the ones infused with pieces of my soul...those are the ones that are given a place of honour. They are my talismans.

The Pink Sweater surely belongs amongst them.

A Final Goodbye

"Death is simply a shedding of the physical body, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon...It's like putting away your winter coat when Spring comes." Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

I received the telephone call from the care home an hour ago. My mother heeded Death's call...she died at 11:40 PM on July 26, her birthday.

She was in great pain at the end of her life...she taught me, as her body contorted from Osteoarthritis and bed sores, what courage and strength in the face of such agony is really like.

She was aware of all of us until the very end...she would groan in agreement to whatever was said. When her family was there, Mom ignored the morphine dreams...and still attempted to communicate her feelings.

I noticed a change this evening, as I meditated with her. I told her what a good mother she had been, and that there was no need to be afraid...that Heaven was preparing the greatest birthday celebration she had ever had. I told her no one blamed her...I knew she had been greatly worried about her capacity as a Mother.

I told her that when she died, she could run. Without medications, her walker or her wheelchair. I told her she could run through fields of Flowers, more kinds than she could ever imagine. I told her she would never be cold, hungry, tired or in pain again, once she traveled all the way to the end of that Golden Highway she was on.

I took her to the Boat that crosses that deep and very wide River, at the end of the Highway. I told her, when she felt the time was right, to step onto that wondrous, shimmering Vessel and sail off, into the distant Sunset.

I reminded her of those who had gone before. She would see her mother and father, her sister, her granddaughter...and all of her husbands. She made an mmmph sound, by blowing air through her mouth. I'm not sure she will necessarily want to see all of her husbands.

She had refused water...she had refused all sustenance for days; but her body shell continued to cling to life.

I left her, with the image of climbing aboard the shimmering Sailboat, after she received another dose of medication. She seemed to rally after that dose, slipping into a quiet, rested, peaceful sleep. Sleep that had eluded her, even with the morphine. Selfishly, I felt hopeful, when I left, that there might be another day or two in her company...

And now, my mother waves her final goodbye from the sparkling, silver Boat, as she sails off into the distant, golden horizon.

I stay on the beach, my work here not yet done, and watch her until she is no longer visible...

"Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality." Emily Dickinson

In memory of Gisela, my mother ( July 26, 1921 - July 26, 2007)

Rest in Peace, Mama...I miss you.