Epiphany and Life in Three Boxes

I have never counted the epiphanies in my life. I wonder if I should be recording them; keep a record of the times grace has silently slipped into the room occupied by my mind and shone a light. After all, isn't that the description of an epiphany? The appearance of a divine entity; usually accompanied by a bright light. Your own personal deer in the headlights moment. Only you are not afraid of a semi-truck pointed in your direction. It's really much worse than that. For those less inclined to believe in a deity suddenly appearing in the middle of their daily commute, it could be an intuitive moment when a solution presents itself. A leap. Epiphanies have regularly scheduled themselves on my calendar. Evidently, I am in great need of intuitive leaps.

Today I had the leap. Three years ago, I lost a dear friend to self-neglect, fear of the unknown, and such a strong sense of self-reliance she could not call out for help. Many of us knew she was in trouble. However, we believed she would consider an intervention an invasion of her privacy, and she would retaliate by excising us from her life. So rather than anger her and risk losing her friendship, we lost her.

One brave soul took up the mantle of estate executor. We discovered the departed had hoarded so many memories within the walls of her home. Those memories included tangible items (perhaps against their will), as well as a vast number of books. It was a frightening revelation of her needs. She considered books her only friends. Friends who could never disappoint, betray, or abandon her. The executor told me she filled a large industrial dumpster almost a dozen times before the house was empty enough to clean.

My friend infected me with the book-hoarding virus. I was attending graduate school and commuted several hundred miles a week. Research on campus required a great deal of forethought and scheduling. It was easier to search for and purchase books online. My friend encouraged me in that activity, and I believed I would need those books forever. Every research topic, every graduate course required more and more books. My office became a book depository with just a narrow walkway through the boxes.

My epiphany was realizing I didn't need a thousand or more books forever. So, I finally began disposing of the majority of my book collection. I discovered a wonderful used bookstore whose owner gladly bought my books. I have sold over three hundred books in the past year. It has been torturous at times. How do you decide which child to leave on the steps of the orphanage, and which child to keep?

I love the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun." The heroine finds she must decide what personal possessions to take from her home. Finally, she points to three boxes. "Those are all I want." She is a writer, so the boxes are full of books.

Faced with the luxury of three boxes, what would my boxes contain? They would hold pictures of my children and husband. Maybe a crocheted or knitted afghan and a pair of embroidered pillowcases, an apron, and a cookbook. My book selection would include The Bible, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Thoreau, James Michener, and the Chicago Manual of Style. Perhaps a few DVDs as well for entertainment. It is a brave thing to reduce life to a small circle of light. To realize what is really necessary for your mental and emotional happiness and fulfillment. It is energizing.

If you only had three boxes in which to pack your life, what would be in them? Think about it. Let me know what you decide.

The Chronicle of the Bees

I have a confession. When I was small, I caught honey bees in a jar and watched them fly about trying to escape. I have since come to my senses, repented of my sins against bees, and become a beekeeper. It is an interesting term: beekeeper. It is not the same as owning a dog or cat. Believe me, no one really "keeps" bees. In most instances, you stand by and watch the bees do their thing. You try to provide a proper place for them to colonize, build honeycomb, raise new bees, and store honey; like a beehive. At certain times of the year, depending on the weather, you provide additional nutrition, or bales of straw to protect the hive from the ravages of winter winds, which can freeze a colony in not time flat. Otherwise, they usually ignore you. I think that is a good thing, for I believe it reminds us of our place in the universe.

As a researcher, I did the usual thing and researched bees, their plight, and the joys of beekeeping before I took the plunge. I was afraid of the responsibility of "keeping" a hive of 30,000-60,000 little souls (as I thought of them). We obtained a swarm in the middle of June, which put the ladies at a disadvantage, or so we thought. However, before I continue, let me explain a few terms. Bees are female, unless they are drones. Drones impregnate the Queen, then hang around and eat until the real workers expel them from the hive in the fall. The drones have nowhere to go, and die. In beekeeping circles it is called The Massacre of the Drones. Women, even bees, are ruthless. Therefore, we refer to the colony of workers as "the ladies." Bees are dependent on pollen and nectar flows at particular times of the year. We were concerned they would not have the opportunity to build up their numbers before fall. The president of the Beekeepers Association visited our hive and pronounced everyone right on track.

I monitored their progress through weekly hive inspections and supplemental feedings. The bees were always pleasant and non-aggressive. (Wasps will sting you for no reason whatsoever; bees only sting protecting the hive.) I loved to wander out and watch them fly in and out of the hive entrance on their various errands. They ignored me, or occasionally one buzzed me to check me out. Once, while inspecting the hive a bee landed on my protective gloves and began buzzing. A very interesting, strange, and funny sensation.

They seemed to be doing well until about three weeks ago. We had a period of very low temperatures and wind. Even though I placed straw bales behind the hive in the direction of prevailing winds, the wind changed and attacked the hive from the front. To add insult to injury, the high winds blew off the top cover of the hive. During cold weather bees cluster around the Queen and maintain a temperature of around 94 degrees. Extremely cold temperatures and my inexperience may have seriously damaged the colony.

I am now waiting to see if the little ladies survived. There is nothing I can do. If they did survive, they will emerge one warm spring day. If not, I will clean out the hive and start over. It is Nature. I will be sad, but I know others have lost hives as well. I will continue to update their status as time goes on.

I have become more fully aware of the importance of the honey bee. At least one of every three bites of food we consume is the result of pollination by honey bees, or other varieties of pollinators. I will leave my editorial on the loss of the honey bee and its consequences for another day. However, I encourage you to plant a few bee-friendly flowers this spring. There are numerous Internet sites listing plantings for bee and butterfly gardens. Catch the buzz. Respect the Queen. Keep the little ladies flying.

Karma Pictures Continued

While blogging about my own karma pic I mentioned my sister. She is an interesting study. Seven years separate us with me in the lead. Like all younger siblings, she complains that there are more pictures of me than her. That is logical, as I have been camera fodder longer than she has.

As a child she did not care for sand, wind, and sun. She insisted on wearing sunglasses to ward off the evil sun and a hat to keep her hair neat. Sand was her worst enemy. My dad enjoyed camping vacations near water. Usually if there is water there is sand, especially along the Atlantic Coast.

Dad snapped the picture of SisterBee and MotherBee on Daytona Beach, Florida. Our dad believed it would be great to go to Florida during Easter vacation. Fortunately, my vacation schedule did not coincide with Spring Break or we would have been miserable.

That winter reminds me of our current weather situation. It is cold everywhere, even in Florida. A strong onshore breeze made the beach untenable, so Dad built a beachhead of sand to deflect the wind and give Mom an opportunity to sunbathe. I wore a sweatshirt over my swimsuit. Being young and determined, I stayed on the beach playing and even running out into the cold ocean.

However, SisterBee clung tenaciously to her beliefs. The picture says it all.

Post Script. When I returned to school following vacation no one believed I had been in Florida. They held their own beliefs, which even a suntan could not sway.