Mark Leary Designs

On blessings

“But I didn’t even sneeze,” said bird.

“Sometimes,” replied bear with a smile, “we don’t a reason to bless one another.”

…
📷: Endless and the White Stork
…

“An asper what?!” I asked, still wiping water out of my eyes.

“An aspergillum,” replied Sister Margaret Mary.

It was a Wednesday. I was 12. And we were leaving church and walking back to school.

Moments before, the priest had gotten up without any warning, stuck what looked like a fancy ice cream scooper with holes in it (an aspergillum) into a bucket of water and started going up and down the aisles, pelting row after row with the cold stuff.

“It’s a way to bless the congregation,” explained Sr. Margaret Mary.

“By drowning us?” I thought to myself. “Some blessing.”

…

“Blessings to you as you create your beautiful mobiles,” she wrote.

I handmake most every mobile to order. And that allows me to think about the person (or people) for whom I'm making each one.

Often I don't know anything more than a name and city. But just as often I'll get backstory on why the mobile is being ordered – childhood memories of seeing their first mobile, hand in hand with a father, a mom who’s always liked mobiles, a newborn, gifts to self after a fire or a move or a loss, and on and on.

I feel blessed to be able to meditate on each person as I create for each of them, with a known story or not.

That said, in all the years I've been selling mobiles (back to 2008), I've never had a customer wish *me* blessings as I create for them.

“Each day,” she said, “I ask my higher power who I will love and bless today, then I listen and respond. Your name came into my mind so that is how the blessing happened.”

I was genuinely touched, and did indeed feel loved and protected.

Higher power or not, who might you love and bless today, giving them a little extra comfort and tenderness as they bump against the world?

What do you do in your uncertain moments? How do you react? How do you feel?

Many of the singletrack trails around Bend ride “loose over hard,” where layers of ancient volcanic grit blanket an eons-old underbelly of hardpack earth.

If you’re a mountain biker, you know “loose over hard” means traction is going to be your reluctant dance partner every time you ride.

The trail looks like it should hold you just fine, but grip a little too tightly on those handlebars or push a bit too hard on those pedals and that which appeared solid shows you it is anything but.

Tires slip as you accelerate or brake with too much force, slide as you press too aggressively in and out of corners, and wash out into a jumbled mess if you oversteer.

Think hydroplaning on dirt and you’re getting the idea.

Life, like biking, comes with a lot of loose over hard moments, doesn’t it; times where it feels difficult to get traction, where we hold too tightly or push too hard only to find ourselves slipping, sliding, washing out.

The trick of riding loose over hard is to prepare for uncertainty: stay centered and balanced on the bike, brake mindfully, expect the slides.

And maybe most relevant to life: in those uncertain patches, try to hold everything as loosely as possible.

How can you practice these skills the next time life throws something unexpected at you?

…
I was honored to create this trio of mobiles for Aldea at Glisan Landing, a partnership here in Portland between Related Northwest and to develop 96 units of family-focused affordable housing units for BIPOC, immigrant and refugee households, and intergenerational families.

I imagine many of these folks experiencing those loose over hard moments getting the support needed to find balance – given the space needed to mindfully reset expectations and get the traction needed to thrive.

300 million years. That’s how impossibly far back the Seussian layers of blackened rust red rock in Moab stretch.

I arrived only eight days ago. To put that into perspective, the first hunter-gather groups migrated here 10,000 years ago.

Under a broody sky heavy with cloud, I unloaded my bike and set foot to pedal—an arcing spray of rain-darkened sand spinning up, grain by grain, under tire.

Twisted rocks with their shifting shapes watched stoically as I took my first turns on serpentine trails, one journey ending, another just beginning.

I came out to ride , a 3-day mountain bike race covering 123 km and 2,400 meters of climbing (yes, I’m practicing my Canadian-ing, ).

When my coach suggested riding this race last year, and signed on, I wasn’t sure what to expect. As I rattled over those first few sections of iconic slickrock, I still didn’t.

The crunch of rubber on rock and the wing beats of a single inky raven overhead were welcome sounds against the noisy thoughts filling my head about what was to come.

I’m still processing what I learned, but…

- When we do hard things, we discover a lot about ourselves.

- When we bump up against new challenges, old beliefs often rub off.

- When we *believe* we can do more than we *think* we can, magic sparks.

But, left to our own devices, we can do it all, yet still miss most of it.

And that’s why I’m so grateful to folks like Emma, Tascha, Kiley, Eric, and Mike, Trent and Travis, Heather and Jeff, AJ and Lisa, Ryan, Dillon and Harris (from ), and Erin who reminded me of what a wonder it is simply to be alive; people who celebrated how lucky we are to “play bikes,” especially in these chaotic times.

With their high fives and called-out lines, with their hugs and smiles, with their laughter and bike fixes, it was being present with these people as much as riding the rocks that made these days under sun and snow so exceptional.

What or who are you most grateful for today?

📷: Parts & pieces, of mobiles and Moab