Symbols and Meaning-Making
To say that I was raised Presbyterian is not accurate. I grew up going to church on Sundays. As a teenager, I sang in the choir. I was totally engaged in the teen group. For me, being at church was a social, not a religious experience. For my mom, it was both.
I remember one year, at Easter, there was an opportunity to purchase a lily plant in honor of a family member. I bought one for my mom, and it was placed on the dais along with all the other lilies purchased by church members. I thought my mom would like it. (My teen years weren’t the easiest between us.) What I discovered was that lilies were not a symbol of love and beauty to her. They were a reminder of death. Perhaps because they had accompanied the death/burial of one of her parents—at least that’s what I’m guessing. We never actually spoke about it. I believe that she appreciated the gesture. How interesting—the different meanings we held.
It’s more than 50 years later, and I am now crying over this memory. Something I never would’ve anticipated as I sat down to talk my way through this story about symbols, associations, conversations, and shared meaning-making. I am also filled with sadness over the years of misunderstandings and difficult times she and I had. Though I am feeling a small sense of happiness to know that, for the most part, over the years, we found ways to transcend the difficulties.
I’m often struck by how deeply I was influenced by someone who, in so many respects, was so different from me. I attribute my love of cooking, baking, knitting, and volunteerism to my mother’s lived examples—and perhaps her strong will, too. I am known as the heir apparent of her culinary skills in my family. It is no small mantle to wear, as she was an extraordinary cook, and I am quite good. She is the Julia Child of cooking, while I am more like Claire Saffitz, with flashes of Julia. I bring my mom into conversations quite often, sharing aspects of who she was in my life, as I grew up. She contributed in fundamental ways to how I show up in the world. (While perhaps this isn’t surprising news, to me this realization feels like an honoring of my ancestry.)
As I was growing up, it was much easier to be with and see how I was more like my dad – his thoughtful nature, intellectual rigor, steady nature, strong ethics, progressive politics, kindness, curiosity, and love of extraordinary travel adventures around the world created the foundation for an easy relationship with him.
All this reflection grew from a memory prompted by seeing students leave school at midday for a long holiday weekend. Thinking of Easter brought to mind a picture of a lily plant, a meaningful experience with my mom, and the intriguing realities of symbols and the associations they hold.
How do you honor your ancestry, the beings (people and companion animals) in your life, and yourself?
What symbols hold meaning for you?
I will be reflecting on the symbols and memories I want to add to the ephemeral earth art I will create tomorrow in my workshop, Experience the Alchemy of Nature, Ritual, and Creativity. If you would like to learn a practice for exploring your feelings, thoughts, and questions, I hope you’ll join me in this workshop or one in the future. Learn more here. (And email me if the window for registration has closed by the time you read this. I can send you the introductory materials.)
PS: I am also feeling inspired to offer a few resources on working with our memories, which sometimes includes our grief. Here are a few recent favorites, please reach out to me for more and, if you’re ready to working with some of the grief you are holding, let’s have a conversation.
- Grief Challenge, found on the Happier app here, (I am happy to invite you),
- www.griefmatters.ca
- www.opentohope.com
- www.everemore.org—I am partnering with Evermore to offer Alchemizing Nature, Ritual, and Creativity to Work with Our Grief and Loss on May 20th. Here is the link to register. It is also listed with other events of mine on my calendar, here.
Creating ephemeral earth art is a healing modality that facilitates deep connection with nature, grounding me in the present moment. By mindfully arranging natural elements into intricate designs, I engage in a practice that nurtures reflection, meaning-making, and a sense of interconnectedness with the universe, offering emotional and spiritual healing. This act of creation allows me to process what is on my mind and in my heart.
me. The rest of the world falls away for a time. I experience the seven steps of the practice seamlessly:
In this practice, I become immersed in a multi-sensory experience that supports gentle inquiry into my inner landscape and provides opportunities for insights and expression. Over the past year, my subjects of introspection and altar construction have included: Releasing and Readying, Many Conversations/Listening for Other Voices, Becoming/Unfolding, Transforming a Gift, Letting Go, and Crossing a Threshold. My altars are created inside or outside, in 15 minutes or 60, range in materials from all nature-based (branches, leaves, flowers, berries, shells, bark, ashes, and more), to inclusion of my artwork, and art materials, and in sizes that fit in my palm to others with a four-foot diameter.
The series:
support meaning-making and conversation around the tender areas of grief, loss, and transitions. On December 6th, I hosted, Experience the Alchemy of Nature, Ritual, and Creativity. It was a multi-layered and rich experience with women who were ready to explore, create, and share what was on their hearts on that day. The Padlet I created, which we could easily use to view everyone’s work, became a gorgeous gallery. Perhaps even more fascinating was listening to each person tell her story about the questions she was working with, the personal meanings of the materials she chose, how they contributed to the design, and their feelings upon completion.
The Death Cafés I host in my county and for a Creative Mornings Club are also inviting spaces for open, relaxed conversation. Last month we talked about broaching the topics of dying, death, and planning for quality of life with family, the challenges of working through unfinished business with a family member who has died, how often people don’t know how to talk with us about our grief, the devastating impact of loss of our close relationships, that grief isn’t linear and there isn’t a fixed timeline for healing, resources exist and yet we often forget to look for them as our focus becomes so focused—on our pain and grief. Every Café is different, dependent on who attends and what is on their mind.
of life, I will offer an Appreciative Living Learning Circle, beginning on January 31st, for four weeks.
And, if you feel that one-to-one coaching is the best modality for you for these experiences, please reach out to me. If starting on any of these journeys is made easier by reading books or listening to podcasts, I’ve developed a curated list of resources. If you’d like a conversation to suss out what will best support you, or the list of resources. Send me an email or use my 
I’ll be honest, the guidelines of the Death Café are important, and at times, I still struggle to follow them. It’s really my nature (? desire) to discover, explore, and share resources. That is not what the Café is about. Cafés are places to share thoughts, feelings, practical and philosophical questions—not advice or resources. What occurs during our 90 minutes together, aside from enjoying tea and cake, is co-created within the guidelines… we are there to be with and hear each other.
Driving home from one of the parties, I started listening to Pete Davis’s book,