The Lilac Booth, Part 1

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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone

in which

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and then you fall asleep.

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Now,

here is how you will fall asleep.

Just by listening to my voice, by following along.

with the general shape of the story I have for you.

We will shift your brain out of its tendency to wander.

We'll give it a place to land.

And each time you listen, you'll train it to respond more quickly and easily.

The shift from default mode to task positive mode

will send you on your way to Snoozeville.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

If you wake later in the night,

don't hesitate to turn a story back on.

Our story tonight is called The Lilac Booth.

And it's a story about a spring morning at a familiar farmhouse.

It's also about bullfrogs.

and garden clogs,

old vases collected from friends, Armfuls of fresh flowers.

Driving with the windows down on a warm day.

And the small decisions

that add up

to a new path in life.

I was a full-time yoga teacher for over 20 years.

And I know the power of intentional breathing.

It's why our two deep breaths have been part of our bedtime routine since episode one.

And that's why I want to introduce you to Moonbird.

Moonbird is a handheld breathing device designed to comfortably fit in the palm of your hand.

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and out.

The only thing you need to do is breathe along with it.

When moon bird inflates, you breathe in.

When moon bird deflates, you breathe out.

Simple, intuitive, and takes all the effort and thinking out of your breathing exercises.

It's the perfect companion to your bedtime ritual.

Or use it when you're meditating, when you're stuck in traffic, anytime you need an assist in feeling calm and focused.

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Now

it's time to rest.

Devices down

and lights out.

Settle as comfortably as you can

into your bed.

And feel how good it is

to be about to fall asleep.

You have done

enough for the day.

Officially, it was enough.

There's nothing to do now

but sleep.

Take a deep breath in through your nose

and release through your mouth

one more time, nice and deep.

Let it all out.

Good.

The lilac booth.

My favorite time of year was here.

The short weeks at the end of April and through the beginning of May,

When a step outside my back door

would deliver me a lungful of the sweetest smelling air

these acres held.

And that's saying something

Because life out here

on the edge of the woods

Near a creek where bullfrogs jug a rum

and foxes sleep among the ferns,

where stars stand out brightly against the midnight sky

is already pretty sweet.

It's strange

how a casual left turn down a dirt road

many years ago

had led me to this new life.

I'd been out on a springtime caper

and I do mean that in the thieving sense of the word.

Listen,

I return my grocery cart to the corral.

I don't open other people's mail

and I'm more likely to leave a penny than take one.

But there is one area of my life

where I have been known

to be downright criminal.

I am

a lilac thief,

or at least I was

when I came to that crossroads

all those years ago

and turned.

If you've ever leaned into a bouquet of lilac blossoms

and breathed in the incredible scent of them,

you might

understand

what drove me to pack a pair of garden gloves, some snippers, and a basket

into the back of my getaway car

and sneak out into the country.

I had a few favorite spots I'd already hit that day.

There was a tree behind the library.

A spot beside the highway,

and a bush that grew through a fence near my house,

where I could snag a few blooms.

But I wanted more.

Lilacs only bloom once a year,

and the window is short.

So I'd driven further out of town,

taken random turns,

with no plan in mind.

I remember it was early enough in the spring

that sunlight still felt like a novelty,

and I'd had to fumble around in my glove box for some sunglasses.

I'd rolled my windows down

and and thrust my arm into the breeze.

I drove past an old abandoned farmhouse

and saw a whole row of lilac trees lining one side of the yard.

I craned my neck as I passed,

trying to spot signs of life.

But

no

the house clearly hadn't had a resident in ages.

A tree was growing up through part of the front porch,

and the driveway was full of tumbleweeds and fallen branches.

But in the same way you can look into a person's eyes

and fall in love at first sight,

something about the house

called out to me

as if I'd been there before,

as if I'd finally come home

and after that first

timid step onto the drive

the first cautious cutting of a lilac stem

I came back many times

not just to gather flowers

but to

check on the house

I wanted to see it in different seasons

to watch the leaves fall from its ancient poplar trees

In winter I wanted to see how the snow lay on the roof.

Once

after a heavy rain

I came to see if the creek had risen over its banks

and it had

just by a bit

and the sound of the rushing water was louder than I'd ever heard it

Then,

a couple lilac seasons back,

I was out with my basket

when I finally bumped into someone,

a kind older woman with her hair tied in a scarf

and the top down on her car.

I'd been caught purple-handed,

and she chuckled from the drive.

Red-faced, I owned up to my thievery

and apologized.

But she insisted it made her happy

to know the blooms weren't going to waste.

She'd inherited the old place and couldn't use it herself.

Did I know of anyone

who might be interested in buying?

I smiled as I thought about that day now.

It had been a long road,

but the house had come back to life.

Renovations and repairs,

fresh plaster and paint.

I stood in my garden clogs

in the early morning outside in the yard,

and looked up at the window of my bedroom.

It was pushed up

to let in the fresh air,

and the curtain was dancing in the breeze.

I flexed my hand,

switching the snippers to the other one, and stretching out my fingers.

I'd been clipping for a while

and still had a ways to go.

The lilacs were blooming

all around my little property.

Since moving in, I'd planted even more bushes and trees.

I had the classic pale purple flowers,

the ones you most likely think of when you hear the word lilac,

but also

white lilacs,

wine-colored,

variegated, deep purple, edged in white,

blue and even yellow lilacs.

That variety was called primrose

and was one of my favorites.

Several large buckets sat on the back deck,

already full of clipped blooms.

But I wanted to fill film more

for this latest lilac project.

I'd gone from thief to grower,

even adding signs along the front drive, inviting others to stop and pick some for themselves.

And now

I was bringing the lilacs to the people

and I was excited.

I liked having folks stop by to smell the flowers.

But I wanted to share them with even more people.

A flower that blooms only once a year

and then

just for a week or two

teaches you that time is precious,

that things must be enjoyed or lost.

So I'd booked a booth at the farmer's market for the day

and we'd be spreading the love of lilacs with everyone we could.

I said we

because thankfully

I had help for the endeavor.

The lilac booth was a fundraiser

for a park project in the village.

The money raised would help plant milkweed and buy sand for puddling spaces

for monarch butterflies during migration.

It was for the park across from the elementary school,

a place I went frequently.

When I saw a pamphlet about their expansion project,

the whole idea had come together.

Volunteers were helping me cut and prepare the lilacs

and sell them at the market to day.

They were here among the trees with me now.

The goal was for each person to pick three buckets worth.

Then we'd load up the van

and head to the booth before it opened in the late morning.

We collected scads of donated vases from friends and family,

and we'd make bouquets of the different colored blooms

to entice market goers.

I snipped another branch

with several clumps of rosy hued flowers,

and dew fell from the petals and leaves above me, giving me a brief shower.

I chuckled,

and I thought of how far I'd come from those days

riding around town,

swiping stems,

and how a random turn

on a country road

can change your life.

The lilac booth.

My favorite time of year

was here.

The short weeks at the end of April

and through the beginning of May

when a step outside my back door

would deliver me a lungful

of the sweetest smelling air these acres held.

and that's saying something

because life out here

on the edge of the woods

near a creek

where bullfrogs juggerna

and foxes sleep among the ferns

where the stars stand out

against the midnight sky

is already pretty sweet.

It's strange

how a casual left turn down a dirt road

many years ago

had led me

to this new life.

I'd been out

on a springtime caper

And I do mean that

in the thieving sense of the word.

Listen

I return my grocery cart to the corral.

I don't open other people's mail

and

I'm more likely to leave a penny than take one.

But there is one area of my life

where

I have been known

to be downright criminal.

I

am a lilac thief.

Or

at least I was

when I came to that crossroads

all those years ago

and turned.

And if you've ever leaned into a bouquet of lilac blossoms

and breathed in the incredible scent of them,

you might understand

what drove me to pack a pair of garden gloves,

some snippers,

and a basket

into the back of my getaway car,

and sneak out

into the country.

I had a few favorite spots

I'd already hit that day.

There was the tree

behind the library,

a spot beside the highway,

and a bush that grew through a fence near my house,

where I could snag a few blooms

But I wanted more

Lilacs only bloom

once a year

And the window is short

So I driven

further out of town

Taking random turns with no plan in mind

I remember

it was early enough in the spring

That bright sunlight

still felt like a novelty

And I'd had to fumble around

in my glove box

for some sunglasses.

I'd rolled the windows down

and thrust my arm into the breeze.

I drove past

an old abandoned farmhouse

and saw a whole row of lilac trees

lining one side of the yard.

I craned my neck as I passed,

trying to spot signs of life.

But

no,

the house clearly hadn't had a resident in ages.

A tree was growing up through part of the front porch,

and the driveway

was full of tumbleweeds and fallen branches.

But in the same way

that you can look into a person's eyes

and fall in love at first sight

Something about the house

called out to me

as if I'd been there before,

as if I'd finally come home.

And after that first

timid step onto the drive,

the first cautious cutting of a lilac stem

I came back

many times,

not just to gather flowers,

but to check on the house.

I wanted to see it

in different seasons,

to watch the leaves fall from its ancient poplar trees.

In winter I wanted to see

how the snow lay on the roof

and once

after a heavy rain

I came to see if the creek had risen over its banks.

It had

just by a bit

and the sound of the rushing water

was louder than I'd ever heard it.

Then,

a couple lilac seasons back,

I was out with my basket

when I finally bumped into someone,

a kind, older woman,

with her hair tied in a scarf,

and the top down on her car.

She spotted me with an arm full of flowers.

I'd been caught purple-handed,

and she chuckled from the drive.

Red-faced, I owned up to my thievery and apologized.

But she insisted.

It made her happy to know the blooms weren't going to waste.

She'd inherited the place and couldn't use it.

Did I know of anyone who might be interested in buying?

I smiled as I thought about that day now.

It had been a long road,

but the house had come back to life

renovations and repairs,

fresh plaster and paint.

I stood in my garden clogs

in the early morning

outside in the yard

and looked up at the window of my bedroom

it was pushed up

to let in the fresh air

and the curtain was dancing in the breeze

I flexed my hand

switching the snippers to the other one

and stretching out my fingers.

I'd been clipping for a while and still had a ways to go.

The lilacs were blooming all around my little property.

Since moving in,

I'd planted even more bushes and trees.

I had the classic pale purple flowers,

the ones you most likely think of

when you hear the word lilac,

but also white lilacs,

wine colored,

variegated, deep purple, edged in white,

and even yellow lilacs.

That variety was called primrose

and was one of my favorites.

Several large buckets

sat on the back deck,

already full of clipped blooms.

But I wanted to fill a few more

for this latest lilac project.

I'd gone from thief to grower,

even adding signs along the front drive,

inviting others to stop

and pick some for themselves.

Now

I was bringing the lilacs to the people,

and I was excited.

I liked having folks stop by

to smell the lilacs,

but I wanted to share them

with even more people.

A flower that blooms only once a year

and then

just for a week or two

teaches you that time is precious,

that things must be enjoyed or lost.

So I'd booked a booth at the farmer's market for the day,

and we'd be spreading the love of lilacs

with everyone we could.

I said we

because thankfully I had help for this endeavor.

The lilac booth was a fundraiser

for a park project in the village.

The money raised would help plant milkweed

and buy sand

for puddling spaces

for monarch butterflies during migration.

It was for the park across from the elementary school,

a place I went frequently,

when I saw a pamphlet

about their expansion project.

The whole idea had come together.

Volunteers were helping me cut and prepare the lilacs

and to sell them at the market today.

They were here among the trees with me now.

The goal was for each person

to pick three buckets worth.

Then we'd load up the van

and head to the booth before it opened

in the late morning.

We'd collected scads of donated vases from friends and family,

and we'd make bouquets of the different colored blooms

to entice market-goers.

I snipped another long branch

with several clumps of rosy-hued flowers,

and dew

fell from the petals and leaves above me,

giving me a brief shower.

I chuckled

and thought of how far I'd come from those days

riding around town,

swiping stems,

and how a random turn

on a country road

can change your life.

sweet dreams.