I’ve been staying pretty close to my Granny Gould these days. That’s her above. Fern Gould. Granny Gould. Sometimes, Granny Cow, because she and my Grandpa Gould / Grandpa Cow would walk the farmer’s fields in Saskatchewan when I was a boy. Grandpa would call / moo to the cows. We kids (my sister, me, my two younger cousins) would squeal with delight. Granny passed in 2016, at 95 — I miss her. And, in the last week in particular I’ve felt Granny Gould close, encouraging me along. I’ve felt her close, bringing me back to some departed parts of myself. It feels good to write about her, even at this small scale. It feels good to include her picture — she was sparky.
We need guides don’t we. I do. I appreciate them. People who have lived some life. People who have lived some love and some loss. People who care for us. People who offer their learning. People who offer perspective. People who share curiosity about life. People who join us and companion us in learning, yet with some of that extra knowing that accumulates through experiences big and small.
I’ve also been staying pretty close to an old buddy these days, Moze. Not in volume of time, but in depth of appreciation. Moze and I go back to some circle work together over the last five years. We also go back to some potent learning together, experienced in those ways that come with soulful friendship and honest showing up. Moze lives in Australia. It was our call last week that further inspired and guided me.
We were catching up with bits of our lives, our work, our mysteries, our day-to-day, our new respective loves. Somehow we found our way to the themes, “wonder in the ordinary” and “trust in a more beautiful outcome.” Just right timing. Just right dose. Just right remembering. Just right encouragement for life practice and living. Just right mutual guiding.
As I continue to live a period of opening — in love, in work, in family, in humaning — I so appreciate such simple reminders. From Grannies. From pals. Reminders that I carry with me, that center me, that clarify, that bring me home — to the next first steps of what is near me and now.