songs for seeds

As though getting married, leaving a career at MTV, and moving to another county are not enough, my newly married son and daughter in law are now opening a business in Greenwich, Connecticut. Hitting the ground running, they will open their doors in September, 2016. What makes the program particularly attractive, other than great musicians and a love of children and communication, is Jesse and Courtney.

Jesse is an MBA graduate who advises emerging businesses with specific suggestions on growth, sustainability, business planning, and where and how to receive monetary assistance. Courtney is a talented and creative producer with a genuine love of people and children, her humanity shining through like warm, bright light. Together they provide a magnetic framework for operational efficiency coupled with fun and friendly interaction. If you are lucky enough to live in or know of anyone who lives in Westchester County or lower Connecticut, call today and sign up for their classes. Your child will thank you.

The name of the business is songs for seeds (lower cases intentional). It is an educational musical program for moms and/or caretakers to share with children.

songs for seeds (Greenwich, CT)
songs for seeds
Classes

242 Sound Beach Ave
Old Greenwich, Connecticut 06870

(646) 820-9916
songs for seeds
Official Page

Spread the word! songs for seeds is coming to Greenwich, Ct in t-minus one month. Check out songsforseeds.com/greenwich for more information on our program and how you can sign up for FREE classes. Can’t wait to see everyone in September.

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Tell everyone you know and call today –  (646) 820-9916.

You will be in for a treat. The most fun you and your child have all week. Tell them Wendy sent you.

 

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The Wedding – Part 1

Recovering from too much thinking, not enough eating, and adrenaline surges aimed at various and sundry exigencies, the wedding itself, has occurred.

I am slowly awakening from the maze of happenings. The rehearsal dinner, the wedding, clothing and accessorizes that took on a life of their own. Weddings are indeed ‘a box of chocolates’. The joy of my son and daughter in law in love and publically pronouncing such; the processional walk, arm in arm, with my son as we meandered purposefully down the aisle, each of us turning our heads from side to side, smiling at the sea of faces surrounding us like a safety net; the background reminder of my failed marriage but the enormous counterweight of my four children and our relationships, the support of a new partnership, the passing of so much time.

It is mind numbing emotional fodder. The better to grow with, however. I realized a lot. I realized I fell into a well oiled groove (without feeling any gear shift). I allowed people who don’t matter to affect my evening, therefore not having as much room for those that do. It made me fantastically painstakingly aware not to give away my time, thoughts or power indiscriminately (almost unconsciously – like muscle memory). I am a smarter woman today.

The other side is I enjoyed the day tremendously. I danced with abandon, felt surrounded by those I love best in the world, and loved my dress (except that one of my son’s friends stepped on the bustle – which fell slightly longer in the back – before the wedding, and it needed to be sewed on by hand by a bridesmaid with very little thread). Best not to discuss it further. Suffice it to say, I kept people at bay (so as not to rip it more) but did not allow the ripped dress experience to unduly influence my evening.

I did not drink a lot. There was some drama. I was there as a major participant in the most important day of two people, to date. The honor and privilege was a universal reminder of what matters. The rest, my friends, is piffle.

 

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Yesterday

Yesterday, three days before the wedding, I went to get a mani/pedi and ran into someone I haven’t seen in a long time. The reason she turned around was because the manicurist called my name, which happens to also be hers.

When she saw me she asked what’s new. I mentioned that my son Jesse is getting married in three days. Her eyes widened and she popped out of her seat. She was so excited, and gave me a piece of advice that I – of anyone – should already have been in possession of. But, in my haste and concern not to forget anything for the wedding, I wasn’t.

“It goes by so fast,” she said. Take a moment to take everything in, look into the eyes of the people you pass when you walk your son down the aisle, be thrilled and proud to stand under the chuppah with your family. Be present. Now this is a lesson I learned in spades when my parents died within three months of each other. There was no other option I could manage and still live with myself.

But this feels different, it’s a happy time, a beginning, something that will continue. There is no urgency. And therein lies my faulty logic. Where did I learn that tragedy requires full presence, when joy does not?

Her words hit me. My concern about my dress and shoes and handbag are small potatoes next to my child marrying, my new relationship with my daughter-in-law, the experience of witnessing love and marriage, being surrounded by those I care about most. Why would I, why would anybody, chose to be anything less than fully present?

With the awareness, I don’t think anyone would. Yet, taking in every second consciously without the metaphysical awareness of doing so, falls short. It’s too easy to get sidetracked. So, it is now my intention to take the weekend in slow-mo, starting with the rehearsal dinner on Friday. Frame by frame, step by step, one beautiful face at a time. This way the memories etched in my brain, my muscles, and my heart will forever remain. Just like when each of my children were born. It will be achingly magnificent and impossible to forget.

I shall report on the experience in the aftermath. I am curious about the guests, the music, the hora, the blessings. How can the same three days (two now) feel like a breath and an eternity away?

 

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Happy Birthday

Had my father lived beyond his 84th birthday, he would have been 91 on July 18th. The day was warm, sunny, and long.

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As I sat next to my computer that morning, going over calendar and emails, I whispered a birthday wish to him, and silently told him all that was going on. My son’s impending nuptials is making my parents’ absence palpable. I miss them. I want them involved. I want them here, on this earth, in this plane, to share the experience with me. It makes no sense that people who loved my son the way they did would not be at his wedding. But of course, it does make sense, I just don’t like it.

A part of me believes they know. A part of me pictures them sitting beside one another in throne-like wing chairs, nimble fingers holding glasses of champagne to celebrate the occasion, ready to watch a private screening of the wedding of their first grandson. I envision tears of joy, and wide toothy smiles. They are holding hands. The contentious divorce they had gone through ages ago hardly a distant memory.

Leaving the computer and thoughts of my mom and dad, I headed to the dentist for my 10:20 a.m. appointment. Only two cavities after umpteen years of cleanings, I am pretty proud of myself. While I sat in the examining room, alone, waiting for the Novocaine to kick in, my father’s favorite song came on the radio. “Blue Moon”. Call it a coincidence but I took it as a sign that he was with me and that he heard everything I said that morning.

My breath slowed, reflecting the calming effect he had on me, and somehow I believed that everything was going to be alright, whatever that might mean.

When my daughter-in-law to be called to ask what kind of music I’d like to hear at the wedding, I named the usual: Beatles, Motown, Van Morrison, James Taylor. But I also considered “Blue Moon” (for dad) and “Blossom” (for mom).

At this particular moment however, I do not believe I need a song to feel my parents’ inclusion, I believe they will already be there, comfortably seated in white wing chairs with lavender pillows, surrounded by a supernatural peace and love emanating so ubiquitously that it would be impossible for us not to feel their company.

Love

 

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Below are excerpts from an article written by Heather Plett about holding space for another.

When my Mom was dying, my siblings and I gathered to be with her in her final days. None of us knew anything about supporting someone in her transition out of this life into the next, but we were pretty sure we wanted to keep her at home, so we did.

My mom remained at home as well, until it was impossible for us to safely keep her there, her terminal agitation too great for us to manage. She died 24 hours later. It was the most difficult and the most powerful occurrence I have ever experienced.

So what is holding space?

It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control.

It is life changing to let go of the barriers we build up in order to (we tell ourselves) stay protected. These barriers do protect, but they also isolate and insulate. It feels like shutting down is the safer option, but really staying open and loving is safer because it keeps us connected to all that goes on around us. Going through momentous loss without feeling would be unnatural. Worse, it prevents us from being in the very moment that has the potential to change the way we view our lives, the lives of those we love, the way we view our world.

The insights behind the pain, pain that no one asks to go through, have within them a fundamental power to expand us as human beings so extensively, that we may need to reorient ourselves, our boundaries, our belief systems.

When we can live like we are dying (which we are) then we can choose wisely and with awareness, what to do, say, hear, smell, and taste. There is great meaning to small, every day-ness. We are being taught how to live, and while life can be terribly sad, it can also be incredibly holy.

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Father’s Day For My Mom

Deep loss is a journey that involves living on with what we thought we could not. When I allowed myself (as though I had a choice) to feel that pain, which was at first unimaginable, I was taken to places I could not have conceived. With widened feelings and perspectives, my life opened.

So it’s a smaller surprise that these were the last words my mother spoke, after she died. She chose to deliver them in a vehicle she respected, the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. On the day of her funeral, her name, Blossom, was the clue for number 68 across.

The answer she shared with me, and that I found after I buried her, was: Open up.

Losing my mother and father in a three month period knocked any sense of equilibrium from me, sending me into a tailspin of tornado impact emotions. I was in territory beyond my ability to cope, even though I showed up, in full, for both of them. In crumbling and rebuilding, I found myself more careful, and more intentional. For some reason, this year, it is my mother’s story that comes to mind the day before Father’s Day.

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The Ponderings…

Funny thing with me, I get into a routine of say, writing a blog post weekly, and then – boom – in comes life and switches stuff up.

I was doing well. For a while. But I have many (good) excuses:

My son is getting married (lots of details to address), My daughter returned from New Zealand last week, I have friends to visit, Family to love, People I know going though tough times.

Why does this get in the way of my commitment to write? I don’t know the answer, I simply know that it does. Routines are upended, which messes with my efficiency. But the people in my life need to come first. I want them to come first, even as I struggle with the loss of my well plodded, familiar, and yes, efficient, routines. My time management skills go (somewhat) out the proverbial window as I work to fit additional and sometimes unexpected happenings into my schedule – both the human and situational variety.

But then when I must write, I do. I wrote a book, after all.

I don’t zig zag well, going with the flow has its challenges. I do it, but not without discomfort if doing so affects something else in the plan. I find it a rock versus a hard kind of place.

On the other hand, I don’t want to miss out on the spontaneity and inclusion that pops up.

At a gala last night at Long Wharf, a prestigious local theater in New Haven honoring Kelli O’Hara, I ran into a friend who is a psychologist. She took the time to remind me that I do indeed have balance in my writing life. It may not always look the way I think it should, but it’s there.

I am reminded to feel grateful for my inefficiency (it means I am human), for my distractions (it means I have friends, family and situations to consider), and for my writing (because it has gotten me this far).

I’m one of the lucky ones.

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