It's early in the morning, perfect weather, peaceful and quiet. For the moment--and the present moment is all we really have anyway--everything is in balance, harmonious.

I've fed the cats, put clothes in the washing machine, folded clothes out of the dryer, made coffee and straightened the bed.

All the while thinking about some of the ideas we talked about in our Small Group last night. Mundane, mindless household chores are great for keeping the hands busy while the mind rolls on.

Last night we talked about mothers and the gifts they gave us. It's an uncomfortable topic for me and I really hope it's a while before we revisit it. If our group stays together, next year we're going to change the topic to address those who have nurtured us, not necessarily mothers.

My mother gave me gifts, terrible and beautiful gifts, but nurturing wasn't one of them. Learning how to survive on my own. Staying in touch with reality in the midst of craziness. Living with just a few possessions. Making friends easily after every frequent move (21 elementary schools!). Staying true to myself and grounded in my own reality. Exploring new ideas and possibilities if not fearlessly then willingly. Relating to the person, not to the disabillity.

These are not the gifts one usually associates with Mother, but they were my mother's gifts to me. Some of them were terrible gifts, and all were life-changing. In my case, it was adapt or die. So I adapted.

My gift to myself in all this was learning to enjoy the present moment as much as possible; accepting the pain then letting go of it, to fade into the past as soon as possible.

A Buddhist way of being, you could say.