Face-plant

I fell down yesterday. 

It was totally avoidable. I wasn't watching where I was stepping. And I landed face first in the dirt with a skinned knee, a bruised elbow, and a bump on my right cheekbone. 

The reasons for my fall (I could call them excuses) were that someone left the garden hose in a high-traffic area, I was distracted by trying to focus on the dog who was anxious to make his way to the yard to do his business, and the path was fairly narrow. However, I could have avoided the situation if I had just been more careful about where I placed my feet. So, I take full responsibility for my error. 

The end result was that I was flat on my stomach with my face in the dirt, pebbles and grass, about 2 feet from an outdoor garbage can, and I felt helpless to right myself. 

The dog did his best to help. Unfortunately, his version of helping was prancing around my head and licking my face until I could hardly breathe. 

No help there.

I'd been in that position for about 2 minutes (it felt like longer) when I heard the door open and someone step out onto the deck above me. He told me later that he didn't even know I was down there until he moved closer to the railing and saw my white Crocs upside down on the pavement (my feet still in them.) Then he saw my legs and oh-my-gosh-are-you-all-right? he was there in no time flat. "Can you get up?" he asked. "I think so," I stammered, "but the dog wants to help me and I don't want to hurt him ..." 

He laughed, "I can see that," and picked up the leash. He held the dog back while I got to my hands and knees and then got my feet under me and stood up. He offered his arm to lean on as I pulled myself to my feet.

Without his help, I would not have been able to get out of my predicament. So I was (and am) extremely grateful for him coming to my aid.  I made sure to thank him sincerely. After that, we started joking around about it. Laughing privately after the fact helped me not feel so embarrassed.

Sometimes, whether by their own fault or not, people need help and not judgment or criticism. That was one instance.

My would-be hero. NOT!   ;)

When someone makes a mistake and needs help to get out of a jam, it could be very easy to ridicule or find fault. "You should not have done that" can be reserved for after the crisis ... or not said at all, how about that? My benefactor was more interested in whether I was hurt than whose fault it was that I fell. I like that. It confirmed to me the fact that he cares about me. When an examination revealed that my glasses were also bent in the fall, he drove me to the optician's office to get them fixed (which they did, thank you very much!) 

So in spite of the aches and pains I had later in the day, and in spite of the embarrassment of the fall, and the vulnerability, and the silly behavior of the dog, and the extra trip to town, I could look back on the day and call it a good one. Why? because in spite of it all, I knew I was loved, cared for, and appreciated.  I was not angry at the dog for preventing me from getting up or for distracting me. I was determined not to let my attention wander like that again, and grateful that I didn't sprain my ankle, and that's it. 

That's all. A fast fall on the hard-packed, dusty ground, a bit of road rash on one knee, and the helping hand of my best friend. What could be more simple than that?  

Perhaps the next time I see someone in a helpless position, whether by accident or not, I will not be so quick to judge, and quicker to just lend a hand. 

Being Colorblind

I used to say it. I used to think it. I never EVER ONCE, in all my growing-up years and even into adulthood, considered that I might be part of a mindset that unknowingly promotes racism. But I was. And I said it, and thought it.

What did I say? I said that I was colorblind. I said that I didn't see color.

But of course I did. I'd have to be blind not to see color. And what I thought and said about NOT seeing it only further alienated me from the very people I thought I was allying myself with. Because guess what... THEY see it. They see it when they get up in the morning and look at themselves in the mirror. They see it when they try to wait for a bus, reflected in the eyes of those who notice them standing there. They see it when they are outside taking a walk and decide to stand in a building's overhang and wait for a friend to come out.

And for me to say that I don't see color ... discounts and dismisses their experience of the world. It makes them invisible, and let's face it - everyone wants to be seen, to be acknowledged for their existence. The color of their skin is just as much a part of them as having fingers and toes. And their skin color dictates how the world treats them, what kinds of choices they make about everyday things, how they feel about their society, and how they interact with people who are outside of their circle. It is like an insult to them when I say I don't see color.

Photo courtesy of
Alec White at Pixabay

I have learned instead to say, "I see you." I have learned to say, "Teach me about your experience of your culture." I have learned to honestly ask people what it is like to BE them. I have learned to honor the existence and the history of those who are different from me, and to be curious about it, and to celebrate what is different and unique about each individual. I have learned not to assume that just because a person has a particular skin color, that all people who have that skin color feel this or that way, or think this or that way, or act this or that way. They don't. They don't in the same way that not all white people have similar beliefs or lifestyles or political leanings. It does a disservice to everyone to pigeon-hole people based on anything they might hold in common.

While it is true that we all bleed red, that we are all the same underneath, that every life matters, the reality of our society is that people of color are treated and viewed by so many in society as less-than. The reality is that racism is rampant and it runs amok in our world. The fact of the matter is that white people, like myself, have a societal privilege in our western culture that people of color do not. And it is for this reason that I join with thousands and millions of others in saying, "Black Lives Matter."  I don't say "All Lives Matter" because that silences those whose lives don't matter in today's society.

I saw an illustration of equality versus equity a few years ago that has stuck with me. It is a three-part cartoon depicting three people: a tall person, an average-sized person, and a little person, who are trying to watch a ball game from behind a five-foot wall. In the first illustration, the tall person can easily see over the wall. The average person can see but just barely. And the little person cannot see at all. Then there were two illustrations under that one. The one on the left put an equal-sized box under each person. In this illustration, the little person could just barely see over the fence, and the taller ones had an even better view from equally higher-up. This one was labelled "Equality." On the right, in the illustration labelled "Equity," the tall person who did not need a box, was not given one. The average-sized person was given a box tall enough so that he could reach the same height as the tall person, and the little person was also given an even taller box so he could enjoy the game from the same height of the tall person. In this way, each of them could enjoy the game to the same degree.

This is a wonderful illustration of why I believe that those in the dominant culture do not need to be stroked and given special consideration. They already have the privilege of seeing the world without assistance. Those who need help and recognition should get it to the degree that they have been disadvantaged. And the history of white culture has many, many examples of the oppression of other races, especially black people (and yes, this is documented!) throughout the history of our interactions with other people who don't look like us.

From the time I was a little girl of ten years old, when I met a black man for the first time, I have been intrigued by people of color. But what I didn't know then, and what I still didn't know even as recently as ten years ago, was how difficult it was (and is) for those who are not white. We don't even think about the same things as people of color when we think of everyday activities that most of us take for granted. Going for a walk in a quiet neighborhood after dark ... going into a store in broad daylight ... walking the dog ... driving a car with tinted windows ... paying for an item by check ... waiting in the park for a friend ... all of these things we take for granted and never once think that we might not make it home alive. But people of color, and especially black people, do. Every. Day.

If recent events have not highlighted these facts for you, then it might be time to honestly investigate how best to honor people who are targets of racism in your city, in your province or state, in your country. Look for stories told by the actual people themselves, and not by white people telling their story for them.

Listen. And say it with me. Black Lives Matter.

#BLM #ISeeYou

An unlikely oasis

The evening stars are just beginning to wink in the increasing dark as we roll to a stop in front of the door to the tiny building.  It is Friday night and we are returning home from grocery shopping, but we have stopped here along the way.  

My parents and I exit the boat-sized 1971 Bel Air Chevrolet and enter through the screen door. The door creaks on its spring hinge, and clamps shut behind us as a wave of warmth greets us.  The smell of french fries and burgers permeates the Star Canteen.  

Matilda bustles around in the kitchen behind the counter. A middle-aged, matronly woman, she wears a house-dress covered with an apron. She catches sight of us and grins broadly. "Hev a seat.  What'll ya hev?"

"Oh nothin' big," Dad says.  "Got any pie left?"

"Yep - apple. With some ice cream?"

Dad chuckles. "You're too good to me."

"How 'bout you?" Matilda looks at Mom and me. 

"We'll share a milkshake. Coffee."

As we wait for our food, and the whirring of the milkshake machine makes conversation almost impossible, I tug on Mom's sleeve. "Can I?" 

She hands me a few dimes and rolls her eyes. "Oh, all right." 

The milkshake is almost done. Matilda serves Dad his pie and ice cream. 

Gratefully I take the precious coins and turn toward the silver and glass box just behind the row of barstools we had been sitting on.  I slide off the stool and feel my feet hit the linoleum tile floor. I peer through the glass at the row of 45 rpm records, insert a dime and make a selection, and watch the dance of the record arm as it scans over the records and stops - always at the right one - just above the record I chose to play.  I watch it, mesmerized, as it brings it forward, rotates it and places it on the turntable, which starts to turn as the play arm lifts and makes the trip to the beginning of the record. 

Photo "Jukebox" by Phil at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

A few short seconds later and Elvis Presley is singing, "In the Ghetto," and I climb back onto the stool. Mom has given me the milkshake glass,  while she has taken what was left over in the metal mixing container - to save Matilda having to wash another glass. We sip our drink and listen to the music together while Dad tucks into his pie and ice cream.  Nobody says a word. 

The chores that await me at home, the expectations, the misunderstandings, the disappointments, the uncertainty of never knowing what rules applied today - these all melted away in those few minutes, even if only for a few minutes - like an oasis in the desert, like a refreshing rain during a drought before the dust reclaims its prize.  In this one place, there was no judgement, criticism didn't exist, and each of us soaked up the strength to face another week, each in their own way. 

It might have lasted a half hour.  I might have played four songs from the old jukebox - all my favourites at the time, from Elvis to Wayne Newton.  And it didn't happen every week - just once in a while. But when it did, it was like magic, a great way to kick off a weekend.  

Even though the canteen was eventually sold and became a single family dwelling, I always glance at it on the way past, when we go back to the old homestead to visit.  It's a glowing, wonderful memory - a jewel in the mire of yesteryear - one I hope I will never forget.

How to make bad things worse

"I see you're looking better than you were a couple of days ago. I wanted to stop by and tell you."

You should have stopped there.

I should have let you stop there. I was vulnerable and needed to talk to someone I trusted, not this perfect stranger to me. In the whole time I've known you, we've only had one conversation - a year ago.

"Thanks. I was struggling earlier this week, things have really been stressful. Thinking I'd be much better off if I just wasn't here."

Bad choice of words - she will think you mean something more than what you're saying. What I'm thinking of is stress leave, not "checking out." Oh what's the difference anyway. I just want her to go away. I wish she would just go away. I'm tired, I want to go home and get out of this awful place.

[condensed version of the repeated 10-minute tirade that followed] "Oh my God, Judy. You need help. You need to get help right now. I mean, call your doctor first thing Monday morning. I'm serious, get him to prescribe some antidepressants. I mean it! and I'm checking up on you on Monday to see if you've called him." 

Back-pedal. Let her know that is really not what you meant. AT ALL. 

Photo "Portrait of
Pointing Male" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Look, I would never commit suicide. Really. But I understand how some people can think that way."

Oops, I recognize that look. Oh crap, she's getting on her white horse and going to save the day. No-o, that's that LAST thing I want. All I want to do is get away from here, to go home, for her to shut up and leave me alone.

"No, that's way too close to the line. You've GOT to get some help. Talk to a therapist, are you seeing someone? you have to see someone." 

Oh great, now she's ordering me around!!! Why doesn't she just go away? Can't she see how stressed out she's making me? How can I get out of this? Maybe a little humour?

[By this time my head is in my hands as she rants on and on about how she was depressed and how she got help and that I need to do the same.] 

"So," I joke, "if I kill myself, THEN will you leave me alone?" 

This attempt at humour only adds fuel to the fire. Her reaction only shows how little she knows me. More and more she convinces herself that I'm in imminent danger and that she has to "save" me. Will she NEVER shut up?? 

[Finally I decide to be straight with her because beating around the bush isn't helping! I hate confrontation, but she's backing me into a corner. And when I am backed into a corner, I go on the offensive.] My voice raises; it is clipped and stern. "Listen. You are treating me like I'm two years old, like you have to be my savior or something. It's making me very uncomfortable, and I want you to stop this, and leave me alone."

She doesn't leave me alone. She goes on the defensive for a while, then turns around and attacks again, same pushy attitude, same ordering me around, same heavy-handed control stuff as before.

And she promises (sounds like she threatens) to check in with me on Monday. Which makes me not want to go there on Monday. Or any other day, if she was going to be there in my face all the time.  As a matter of fact, I hadn't started to consider suicide - even in jest (and it WAS only in jest) - until she started ranting about it. And now I was fantasizing about how many ways I could force her to shut her mouth!

You see ... how much better it might have been for her to say, "You look better today, you looked ill earlier in the week." and for me to say, "Thanks, I do feel a bit better," (which I DID until she started jumping down my throat) and left it at that. But no-o. My guard was down - I was tired - and discouraged - and vulnerable.

And what she actually said to me had the exact opposite effect than the one she wanted. Instead of giving me someone to talk to, she made me not want to talk to her about anything, because she'd only try to control my life and my thinking. Instead of making me feel like I was supported, she made me feel like I was being attacked, assaulted, and harassed. Instead of me knowing that I was cared for, I ended up feeling like now I was going to be her "special little project" and that I'd never be out from under her microscope. 

She may indeed have "meant well"... but her attitude and her actions were way over the top, and more of a hindrance to any help I might have been considering. I felt like someone who complained of a sniffle, suddenly being forced to go to the hospital and hooked up to an IV and a respirator.

Overkill. There's a reason they call it that. It's what makes bad things way worse. 

In or Out

For the last few days, I've been having a discussion with a friend about personality types. This friend claims, "I used to be an introvert," as if it was something negative, and then goes on to say that life-changing [positive] events turned him into an extrovert. His definition of introverts bothered me, because he described himself (as a "former introvert") as anti-social, painfully shy, people-hating, and other equally unbecoming adjectives. 

Upon further probing, I discovered that he had been repressed as a child and was not allowed to express his friendliness and caring by his overbearing and punitive father. He therefore became withdrawn and didn't seek out interactions with others. When he was finally away from his birth family, he had a spiritual experience that tore away the fetters and allowed what I believe was his true personality to shine forth.

I have been trying to tell this friend that introversion is not what he describes at all. Not every introvert is socially awkward or phobic. Not every introvert is antisocial or hates people. Not every introvert is shy. (He still uses those adjectives interchangeably with introverted.)

In fact, these qualities are probably quite well shared among both major personality types, just expressed in a different way. For example, a lot of extroverts are quite insecure on the inside - but instead of withdrawing, they tend to put on a smiling, brave face and often overcompensate by being extra-driven, extra-talkative, and/or extra-friendly.

Photo "Teenage Girls Gossiping" by
Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Most statistics will tell you that the introvert and extrovert population is just about evenly split. I tend to believe that the introvert population is under-reported (in other words, that there are many more introverts around than there are extroverts) because most introverts KNOW that they are introverts whereas most extroverts have no idea that they are extroverts, and they are therefore more likely to take a "personality types" questionnaire to find out what their type is. I can't count the number of times someone has said to me right before those ever-popular Myers-Briggs or Jungian exercises, "What major personality type do YOU think I am? I just can't figure it out..." Invariably that person is an extrovert (and not just borderline either. Extremely so!!)

Here is the ONLY basic difference between introverts and extroverts: where does the person get his or her energy? 

That's it. That's the whole difference. 

Extroverts are energized by being around other people; they need others like every animal needs oxygen to survive. Their orientation is "Out." Without social interaction, they become irritable, moody, sometimes depressed. Introverts are energized by being alone OR in the company of one (or at the most two) close and trusted friends. Their orientation is "In." Without their daily dose of quiet time, they become just as irritable, and can become depressed or morose. 

No one type is better than the other. That is not what is commonly believed, however. By both "sides."

That is the illusion - that is the misconception passed along by the media and by those with power over others. In fact, many times those with power over others are extroverts. Their extroverted nature naturally predisposes them to rise in popularity and they often find favor in the eyes of those who are looking to promote from within.  And many extroverts, unfortunately, see introverted people as a threat.  Introverted people see the impulsive nature of the extrovert as a dangerous thing, and want to put on the brakes when they see things starting to spiral out of control. In typical reactionary style, they see the extrovert as the threat.

There are many reasons for this. 

An introverted person's tendency to think, to ponder detail, to look at all sides, and to be cautious can be seen by extroverts as being "a wet blanket." His need for quiet time can be seen as being a "party pooper." His reticence to speak up at meetings (a common thing among introverts) can be mistaken for a lack of interest or involvement. 

An extroverted person's tendency to speak out with new ideas - to "think out loud" so to speak, can be seen by an introverted person as brash and controlling. The introvert can view the extrovert's constant socializing as scatterbrained or even lazy in a "grasshopper versus ant" way. 

Each group considers itself to be "In" and the other group "Out" - we versus they, dividing walls getting thicker and thicker. Bullying is common between the two groups. So is manipulation. 

It's so sad. So unnecessary. So junior high school.

In actual fact, the conversation that the extrovert has with himself out loud when facing a decision is the same conversation that the introvert has within himself. It's just that the introvert prefers to be right the first time he dares open his mouth, not wanting to appear "dumb." The extrovert sees that hesitancy as 'not being a team player' and often jumps to another topic - or gets obvious and repeatedly asks for a response - when there's no feedback (extroverts LOVE feedback. Instant and continuous feedback.) Introverts usually don't give feedback until they've processed the entire ball of wax, and many times their reaction is better "felt" than "telt." In other words, a statement or an idea can impact an introvert deeply without a word being spoken in response. It doesn't mean that the introvert is any less affected by it. He's just pondering the implications.

The extrovert, on the other hand, likes to 'bounce ideas' off others and in so doing, help to clarify his thinking; it never crosses his mind that the first thing out of his mouth is going to be the final result. Introverts see that as insincere and shallow. But it isn't. It's just the way extroverts process the world around them. It's just different. Not worse, not superior. Not inferior. Different. An extrovert's mentality is that if he likes something, then everyone likes it. So when he says, "Come on, it'll be fun," he really means it will be fun for him, and since everyone is just like him, everyone will think it's fun. He can't understand why it wouldn't be. So to an introvert, his encouragements to engage in whatever activity it is, appear to be just so much bullying (- and, don't get me wrong, when it turns into insistence in spite of protests, it IS bullying -) when usually what is the case is that it's a way for him to share his excitement and enthusiasm. 

I lived with an extreme extrovert for nearly 21 years. She was the only extrovert in our household, and I can say from experience that she felt insecure, out of place, unaccepted, and "strange" or "defective" in our house just as much as an introvert raised by extroverts would feel. But there was nothing strange or defective about her. She was just different. We came to appreciate her energy, her zest for life, her zany antics when things just got "too quiet." And she in turn came to appreciate our steadiness, our depth of feeling, and our analytical abilities when she faced a decision she really didn't know how to work through on her own. 

And there is one more thing that I must mention. Just because a person is an extrovert or an introvert doesn't mean that he or she doesn't have some of the qualities of the opposite at the exact same time. People are incredibly complex beings, and no two personalities are exactly alike. People are who they are ... and that's a good thing. It means endless variety, endless challenge, endless adventure to life. To dismiss one or the other or say that it is wrong or somehow defective or sick, is to deny one of the most important things we humans value about our humanity: individuality. If everyone were the same, it would be an unbelievably boring existence, wouldn't it?

How about putting aside excluding or judging others on the basis of our differences and leaving it "Out" of the picture, where it belongs??  How about adopting the idea that we're ALL, every one of us, in the "In" group - - all of us, no exclusions?? How about that?? 

Because after all, we're all "In" this together....

Progressively unwrapped

In one of my previous posts, I talked about personal guidelines that I have established, over the course of the last five years, for my own reactions to life and to people's (including my) behavior.

Lately it seems as though I've been having to reinforce some of these, especially the last one, where I walk away from relationships with people who consistently make me feel "less than." 

Some of these folks are persistent, and apparently will stop at nothing - including recruiting other people into their campaigns - to draw me back into the place where they are controlling and manipulating me again. (Fortunately, now I see what they're doing well in advance, which gives me a chance to regroup.) So, I've had to re-draw some boundaries. Again. (It happens; some folks just don't take no for an answer until right around the hundredth time, LOL) 

When I speak of graveclothes, (and I frequently do speak of them on this blog) I mean those things that others - by their reactions to my existence or to my behavior - have wrapped around me so tightly that I internalized them, made them a part of who I was and the way I thought about life. These were / are things over which I have had no control and which then gained the power to control me - things like "what will people think" and "if only" and "what if" and "nobody likes me" and so forth.

The more often I refuse to be bound up again by the old smelly graveclothes of being victimized or of trying to make everyone like me, the easier it becomes and the more free I am, free from being that chameleon that turns into whatever someone else wants me to be ... or of blending into the surroundings so that nobody notices me and therefore won't hurt me...again.

I'm more free to be me. To have my own thoughts. To hold my own opinions. To occupy space in the world. To be visible. To exist. 

Photo "Happy Jumping
Child" by chrisroll at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

For you see, for the longest time I didn't believe that I had the right to exist - not like other people who could get away with saying or thinking whatever they wanted and not getting slapped down for it. I'd been treated that way for such a long time - as far back as I can remember - that I thought it was normal. 

It wasn't. 

And when I got into recovery from that wilting-flower "don't-hurt-me" mind-set, I started to learn that who I was, and what I thought and believed and said as a result, was okay. Part of the reason I started this blog was because I had started to believe that I had something worthwhile to say, that I could actually contribute to the world, and make a positive difference if given the chance.  I also learned that if I made a mistake, it wasn't the end of the world and I could actually learn from it. (I know, duhhh...) 

This kind of thinking was alien to me before. I lived according to the rules of the chameleon: hide, blend in, disappear, change to fit the circumstances, and when all else fails, freeze and hope they don't notice you. I lived not in the present but either regretting the past or being afraid of the future. 

These are powerful forces. 

Until they're not. 

That process took some time ... and I'm still running up against hangers-on in my life where the graveclothes cling to me.

But for the most part, today, I live in the freedom of being who I am and of not caring what this one or that one thinks or believes or says. And this new lifestyle is so important and precious to me that it is well worth defending, well worth looking back once in a while to see how far I've come and remembering that "old me" enough to re-affirm that I never want to go back to that. 

Not ever. 

For, as my post title indicates, I'm more and more free as time goes on, as those things drop off me, as I learn to live in the now and to be who I am. 

Freedom might be something that a few people take for granted because it's all they've ever known - they have no idea how fortunate they are - but there used to be a huge bull's-eye on my back and now that it's fading away, I don't ever want it to reappear.

Do-over

Many years ago, when my husband and I were first married, he took me golfing at a local 9-hole par-3 course. (For those of you who don't golf but DO ski, that's like the bunny trail for golfers). 

He was so patient with me, telling me, showing me how to stand, how and where and how tightly to grip the club, where to look, how to aim, and all that. And then I'd swing a mighty swing and the club would touch the top of the ball, it would bounce a foot off the rubber tee, (didn't I say it was a bunny trail of a course?) and roll to a stop. I'd stare at it for a few seconds and then say confidently, "Do-over!" and I'd grab the ball and put it back on the tee. 

Life needs do-overs. I sure need them in my life because there are so many times that I mess up and I just need the freedom to take another crack at it, for those around me to give me permission to fail and then to try again. 

Of course, there are things that can't be undone... like going back in time and doing things differently - like sometimes I wish I could do with the events leading up to my daughter's decision to go "out West" last summer. But even then, I realize that the very thing I had been praying for her whole life wouldn't have happened with her here, so close to and dependent upon her parents. It doesn't make losing her any easier though. Not in the least. 

But there are ways. There are ways in which, in some small way or other, I can get to do a "do-over." One of those is by pouring into the life of someone else, whether that someone is human or animal. 

LOKI - a couple of months ago - hiding the remote...

Which is why, shortly after Christmas of last year, we decided to adopt a little black kitty that very quickly became known as Loki (yes, after the character from The Avengers.) Loki (pronounced LOW-key) was born on the very day of our daughter's funeral. 

He was a little black ball of satiny softness, and still had his Siamese-blue eyes (although these changed to green later on). He was intended to be a companion for our old cat, Angel, who missed my Cody-boy after he passed away. 

But Angel didn't like him. She hissed and growled at him more and more as he tried desperately to get her to pay attention to him.

And then she left. Permanently. In mid-September. We just knew she wasn't coming back.

ERIS  -  on the rare occasion that she is not racing around!

Do-over.  Several days later, we started fostering a small kitty that the shelter called Philly, but which we called Eris (NOT Iris). Eris (pronounced "Heiress") was (and is) active, playful to the max, and so curious that sometimes it gets her into trouble!! We fostered because she was too little to spay, and so we looked after her until the shelter could have her spayed, ... and then we adopted her. 

During that time, our oldest daughter fell in love with a large three-month-old kitten at the shelter - one whose story was heartbreaking to say the least. He'd been found in the engine of a snowmobile, slipped deep down into the gears. The owner of the machine had tried to get him out, but it only traumatized him and covered them both in grease. The animal control person eventually got him out, but it took several weeks to get him to the place where he wouldn't hiss at anyone. Finally they put him up for adoption, but nobody wanted him. We visited the shelter to take a look ... and my daughter took one look and she was hopelessly hooked. He understood "cat language" as she calls it - the body language she taught herself to be able to communicate better with felines - and there was an instant connection between them.

We brought him home two days ago, just the day before he turned four months old, and the same day we officially adopted Eris. 

The shelter had called him "Tux" because he was black and white, and he looked like he was wearing a tuxedo! But he didn't respond to that name here - and we took to calling him Cal ... for "Callum" (which means Peace). It was our way of speaking peace into his life.

And he SO desperately needed peace. He spent the vast majority of the first 24 hours under her bed, scurrying away from the least unexpected thing, and jumping into the air with all fours at every sudden movement or noise. 

We so desperately wanted him to realize that this was a safe place. He didn't seem to be catching on to that. And then ... amazingly ... things started to turn around. She sat on the floor. He came over and sniffed. She sat still. Before long he was bumping her leg and letting her scratch his neck and pet him. And today - for the first time - he let her pick him up and stayed in her arms voluntarily for about 25 seconds. 

That's huge progress in just 2 days. 

Tonight I went into the room where he is getting used to the sounds of the house without the other cats around (the recommended 2-week quarantine from other animals) and he played with one of the kitty-wands we have, and I was even able to take a few photos. 

So here he is, folks. A picture of "Do-over" ... living proof that love heals and peace prevails.

CAL - five days younger and 30% bigger than Eris!

Drowning

As most of my friends know by now (I am quite vocal on Facebook and of course my co-workers hear me probably from the next room!) I've been fighting a nasty cold for the last week.

It's a rather unsettling feeling to wake up feeling like you're drowning. Panic instantly sets in and you struggle to breathe, coughing and gagging until the airways allow you to function. Then the coughing reflex is so strong and the adrenaline so high that you can't get back to sleep. As I type, it's 5:30 a.m. and I have been awake for an hour and a half. 

Oh well. At least I can blog. (LOL).

Being sick has left me more vulnerable to emotional outbursts; my immune system is in high gear and I am weaker physically (the least effort exhausts me) so emotionally it's been a challenge. It's a challenge especially since I turned the page on the calendar yesterday morning to the month of October and saw that the 22nd had a sunset drawn (by my own hand) on it, signifying the death of our daughter on that date last year. (To understand a bit more about that, you can read the post I wrote on it shortly after we got the news.) 

Photo "Sinking In To Water" courtesy
of koratmember at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And "losing it" emotionally is like drowning as well. Oh to be sure, I will advocate for rigorous honesty in admitting to and experiencing whatever emotion is there, because emotions signal that something needs attention. 

I'm not changing that stance. However, I guess what I'm saying is that it isn't easy; and, it wasn't intended to be. Sometimes I need to "get it out" just like I need to (pardon the graphic example but it's what I'm living just now) get the phlegm out. And take vitamins. And try to eat nutritious food. All so I can breathe again ... even if it means that the symptoms get a bit worse temporarily from something I eat that I know is good for me.

Chicken noodle soup has become a current favorite, by the way. 

(But you wouldn't want to see me eat it at the moment.)☺

Yes, I'm sad more these days. That's normal. Grief is normal. So ... I cry. And I feed my soul with inspiring words and music. And I am honest about how I feel ... honest with myself primarily, because when that happens, it's more okay to be honest with those who I know care about me. It's all part of self-care, of being okay with what is and not denying it, and doing what I need to do to look after myself. When I do that, I find that I have more spiritual resources on tap to share with those who might need a listening ear. 

Allowing myself to BE sad, or angry, or hurt - and practicing self-care while I'm doing that (even if it feels like I'm at the mercy of the "waves") - frees my inner self to experience happiness, and excitement, and forgiveness, and peace, and joy, ... and love. If I shut off one kind of emotion, my brain shuts off the rest of them; I don't want to run the risk of turning that part of myself off! So - as inconvenient as it is at times - I try to accept the bad when it happens, and accepting it makes me able to appreciate the good even more when THAT happens. 

And - even when I feel that I'm drowning in the sadness - it DOES happen. 

The last year has been living proof of that. I've been rescued from drowning ... by so many people and in so many situations that I've lost count. And by my faith which, in spite of the heartache (or maybe because of it!) has grown. And because of the help I've received, I've been able to help others who feel the waves of circumstance billowing over them: people I never would have been able to understand - much less help - before.

To those who have reached out a hand and let me be me (whoever that "me" is at the time) ... and to those to whom I have reached out (and been strengthened in the process!) ... I can only say one thing. And it seems so trite, so lame. Yet ... it's all I have.

THANK YOU.

Cowardice - or courage?

When I was a child, a couple of boys picked a fight with my older brother. He was unable to defend himself and got knocked around a bit. My father, man's man that he was, was disgusted that the younger of his two sons would not be able to defend himself. He expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms, and compared the two brothers, saying that the elder brother could "handle himself."  

What should have followed was a conversation about when it is appropriate to fight back, instead of condemnation and misunderstanding. My brother interpreted his father's comments as an indication that the definition of a man was someone who could beat someone up. It marked him - unfortunately - for life. He spent the next few years learning how to fight ... and funneling all of his resentment against his father into becoming really good at breaking someone's face.

Years later, my two brothers and my father were present when someone tried to goad my oldest brother into an altercation. Instead of punching his lights out, the elder of the two brothers refused to be drawn into a fight, and walked away. The instigator also left. My dad turned to his younger son, and said, "Now THAT's a REAL man."  

What? Talk about mixed messages!!

It's regrettable that, because the conversation never happened in the first place, a teaching opportunity had been lost. My brother never recovered from those two experiences. He'd spent his entire youth building his life on something he thought my father valued, only to be told that it was wrong. 

The truth is that in a way, my dad may have been right in both instances - but he was definitely wrong in not trying to communicate the reasons for his reactions. 

It IS appropriate - sometimes - to fight. It is right and proper when there is something good, something worth defending. I'm not talking about defending one's pride or position. I'm talking about standing up for what is right, the way you stand up to a bully and call attention to his or her inappropriate behavior. I'm talking about telling the truth to someone - even if it hurts. I'm talking about battling injustice to give someone a chance at a better life.

But there are also times when it's better to walk away. Or to hang up the phone when someone is trying to provoke you into saying something you'll regret - only to use it against you. Will that person call you a coward?? You bet!! Is it still better to walk away in that situation? Most definitely, yes!! 

I've been thinking a lot about that kind of thing - cowardice versus courage - because of recent events in my personal life. 

I've spent a lot of years fighting to protect the rights and opportunities of someone I love. Sadly, she must have interpreted my bull-dog tenacity as a tacit message that the rules apply to everyone except to the person I was trying so hard to defend: her. Slowly, the person I once knew died, and was replaced with someone I barely recognize. Through the influence of some of her friends, over the course of the last few years, she has come to view me - and my husband - as people to take advantage of. To take from, always promising but never giving back. To manipulate into being given more. And MORE.

And I finally ended up in the unenviable position of fighting, struggling to

Photo "Woman With Sad Expression"
 courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at
 www.freedigitalphotos.net

defend myself and my husband from her abuse. And from the abuse of her friends, one in particular, who verbally attacked me and is actively trying to ruin my reputation and further undermine my relationship with her. With her full consent. 

She made her choice clear. 

Yes, I fought back. I wanted the person I used to know to return to me. I fought to keep her in my life. To protect her.

Until I couldn't take the mental anguish anymore. I had to walk away. 

A large part of me feels like that is cowardice - that I am giving up, that I have failed. 

Yet the glimmer of hope that I cling to is that in walking away, I can teach what I couldn't before - that no matter what the provocation, certain behaviors are simply not acceptable. Abuse is one of those behaviors. 

So I - in conjunction with my husband - hung up the phone, to use a metaphor, to keep from saying/doing something we'd all regret. 

If that makes me a coward, fine. I'm not so sure it does... but that's really not my (or anyone's) judgment to make. 

It's a painful process; in a very real way I am grieving - I've shed more tears in the last 56 hours than I have in the last year. But now that it's final, now that this person is no longer able to keep behaving in that same old pattern, maybe now the healing can begin. On both sides of the equation.

I sure hope so.

Walking through it

I don't know if it is a function of where I live, or the times I live in, or the particular culture of which I'm a part (be it church, or just the "country" attitude that believes everybody else's business is their business - keeping the figurative binoculars by the window), or what it is.  But I've noticed over and over again how incredibly difficult it is to live the lifestyle of letting go, when all around me, there seems to be a silent, yet persistent resistance to the whole concept.  

Some people don't think that it's necessary to do the leg-work that it takes to get to the place of freedom.  They are waiting - as I once did - for God to come in and "zap" them, and suddenly they'll be free.  I don't deny that it happens.  SOMEtimes.  

But more often, He merely provides the strength, like charging the battery if you will, to take the steps that are necessary to walk through it.  Which is why, when people tell me that they're amazed at the changes in me over the last few years, I am quick to say that God gets the credit.  I would never have had the strength to go through what was necessary for me to walk into freedom if He hadn't given me the inner fortitude and strength to do it.  But there were things I had to do - given that strength - to get where I am today (and I am by no means done!)  I had to "walk through it" in much the same way as the children of Israel had to walk into the promised land (in the book of Joshua) and fight to drive out the giants.  

What I find most discouraging (and I know that this is a failing in myself that I even LOOK at what others think or do) is that so very few are willing to take that first step into freedom.  They either acknowledge that the need is there to change, and hesitate to launch into deeper waters because it DOES involve a journey and it IS hard (but worth it, and no, I'd never go back!) - or they don't see the need at all.  

HERE is where I got this photo. Good post, too.

It is that last group that is the most frustrating for me.  I live in a culture of "country living" (as I said earlier) that believes that there are no boundaries between people, that we should all know each other's business and be prepared to jump in and give advice to others or try to manipulate the outcome in someone else's life, just because we "care".  

I hesitate to use the word codependent, because so many think they know what it is, and so few really know what it means - but the idea that I am responsible for my own actions and that so-and-so is responsible for his own actions seems to be lost, swallowed up in the teaching and attitude that is so prevalent in this culture of ... well ... co-dependency (for a definition please follow the link I placed at the first of this paragraph).  In this culture, the vices of the codependent person are lauded as praise-worthy, even adorned in the robes of religious living (e.g., "speaking the truth in love" - often a euphemism or a cloak for being controlling and invasive.  Or "selflessness" - which is usually just self-degradation and doormat-itis wearing a halo).  Why would anyone want to be freed from something that is so socially acceptable?  Isn't it the right thing to do, to look after other people? to try to help them? to tell them what they should be doing? what they should be believing?  Isn't it wrong to think of ourselves first? to say no? to keep others at arm's length?  

Well ... yes and no.  In our results-based society, which looks at the final result of a healthy personality (ie serving others out of a heart of love) as the goal and expects people to behave that way before they've even started to become healthy ... then I would say that our society has the cart before the horse. The end result of expecting people to be selfless when they don't even know what their real self IS - will inevitably be burnout, resentment, bitterness, anger, and depression.  And in a good majority of the cases, not only will that person experience those feelings, but they will also be echoed in the lives of all the people that person tried to "help."  

What I'm saying is that it is necessary to be (or to become) healthy before offering healing to others.  Otherwise, it will most assuredly backfire.  I speak from experience because I lived in that reality for decades before finally reaching the end of my own strength, with my kids and my husband shutting me out. Only then - in desperation - did I wise up.  

And then I had to give it all to God, trust His strength to empower me, and step out.  I had to walk through it.  To use an old King James expression, I had to "possess the land."  And it had nothing to do with any catch phrases or platitudes - for me it involved a lot of unlearning old habits and attitudes which I had tied into my belief structure and called it "my faith" when it was "my preference", and it also meant learning what was healthy for me and for those I cared about, and putting those lessons into practice in the everyday.  

When I had gone through and understood that process, when I had made those lessons a part of my daily living and begun to see some freedom in my own life, that was when I decided to put that process down in an e-book and describe it - not that I expect anyone to be a clone of me, but to provide a template, a guide-book to healing for those who want to be free, an easy-to-follow road-map to be adapted to the individual's own needs.  I've included a link to it on my "About Me" page.  

I know that not everyone wants to go there; I accept it.  A person has to be ready, to really see the futility of such a lifestyle as the one I had embraced and found to be void of any kind of happiness, before he or she is willing to do whatever it takes to be free.  Desperation is required.  And just a tiny spark of faith that God will be there through it all. 

A person cannot give away what he or she doesn't have.  It's only out of a place of fulness that one can be in a position to fill others. And it's only in admitting that one is empty that one can be filled.  If that sounds attractive - if your soul resonates with that and is wistful thinking about it ... then perhaps you're ready. 

Perhaps it's time.

Last of his kind

He considers himself the last of his line. His offspring includes only girls.  And he's grateful for that.  

He thinks that it's unfair to perpetuate the kind of heartache that has been so much a part of his family for generations, passed down from father to son.  

In his determination to do everything the opposite of the way things were done to him, he has instead become the first of his kind  -  the first to be kind, the first to actually leave a legacy worth remembering, fond memories to look back on.  He may feel unworthy ... but so often, great men do feel that way.  

He was the first in his bloodline of the last hundred years or so, who actually chose his children over his career.  He dropped things he wanted to do - things that would wait until he got to them - so that he could sit down on the floor and play games with them, listen to their concerns (no matter how small), care about them, or thank them for their help, no matter how great or small their contribution.  His subconscious motto was (and is) "People before things."  To this day, his children know they can go to him with their problems, trust him with their feelings, and he'll listen to them without judging.  He listens because he was never listened to by his own dad and he knows how important it is for kids to feel loved and accepted, to have a safe place to land.  

He personally considers Father's Day a useless holiday.  Yet if anyone deserves to be honoured on Father's Day and every other day of the year, he does.  He raised himself and his younger siblings.  He had no model to go by, nobody to look up to, but he's been a rock, even more so the last three years or so.  And his wife and children look up to him and would go to the mat for him... any day of the week.  He's a wonderful life partner ... and a fantastic dad.  

I just wanted him to know that.  Happy Father's Day, honey.

Soaking in love

The last day or so, I've been focusing on looking after myself, doing what I need to do in order to nourish my spiritual life, taking care of my mind and my body and especially my emotions.  

This morning I had the choice to go on the morning trip to take our daughter to work and to run errands with my husband. Normally I would go without question ... but today I decided to stay home.  I needed some quiet time just to myself.  

As I sat here, the silence - broken only by the gentle breathing of sleeping creatures and the quiet tick, tick, tick of the battery-operated clock - was like a soothing balm.  I could feel my muscles relaxing, hear the sound of my own breathing, and let God love me.  

Yeah I know, I know. God loves me all the time - but often, I don't make myself stop and experience it, take notice of it, remind myself of it.  When I don't remind myself, and I don't take time to intentionally soak in His love, I start to droop spiritually.

From the website:
http://www.flowershopnetwork.com/blog/peace-lily-drooping/

Just like my peace lily, which I keep at my office.  

Sometimes when I go to work, my peace lily is limp.  It means she has run out of water and needs it ... badly.  Peace lilies need a LOT of water compared to other plants like ivies.  Yet all it takes is a good dousing of clear (preferably room-temperature) water and she will slowly soak in that moisture and her leaves will perk up.  If she has blooms, they'll stand up straight too.  But it's not immediate.  It takes a few hours for the roots to be nourished enough to allow the excess water to travel to the leaves and blooms.  I get that; I was seriously dehydrated once, about 20 years ago - close to organ failure in fact.  They had to search really hard to find a vein since they were collapsing; I was nearly past caring at that point - yet scared enough to realize how important it was ... not only for me but for my unborn child ... that they find a functioning vein! Thankfully they did find one (or I would not be here to tell about it!) - it took them ten minutes of poking around. But re-hydration was even slower.  It took five days of IV fluids to get me to the place where I was even able to take soft foods. 

That's a scary place to be, spiritually as well as physically.  And this is where I was emotionally even as little as two days ago.  I am blessed to have been able to recognize that dragging myself around for weeks and not having the energy to do anything without exhausting myself, and not wanting to interact with anyone, even my family, were all warning signs of an internal drooping that had gotten so bad that I needed external help to start to look after myself.  And I am doubly blessed that I got the help and support I needed to start that process.  So I am deliberately "soaking in love": being nourished from the roots on up, and working out ways to incorporate self-care into my daily routine, not to let everyone else's needs and opinions take priority over my own.  

The best thing is ... that lovingly working on my behalf, I have the best gardener EVER.

Sea of Tranquility

I nudge my scrawny, 10-year-old body between two spruce trees, avoiding the prickles and dead twigs protruding from the bottom, and I pause.  I see a carpet of green grass, ringed completely by evergreens so thick that it is difficult to see past, and tricky to navigate on foot.  I allow the safety of this place, its beauty and quietness, to seep into my tired spirit.

My brother had shown this place to me a few years previous.  He called it the "Sea of Tranquility" - named after the same place on the moon - a flat place which was ringed in, protected.  I had visited here several times since.  

I pad silently into the circle.  The summer breeze plays 'in and out the window' between my bare, scabbed knees, war scars from learning to ride a bike.  There is just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away.  The sun soaks heat and restoration into my skin.  Here, the only sounds are the distant chirping of a cricket, the buzz of a couple of grasshoppers singing to each other, and the occasional bird chirping from one of the trees.  So peaceful.  So different.  

I lie down on my back, and lift my thoughts above.  The clouds are playing slow-motion tag, and I watch the birds swooping to catch flies on the fly, above me. My tense muscles start to unclench.  My soul drinks Creation in, like a desert traveler coming upon a natural spring.  Yet in the back of my mind I tell myself, "Mustn't stay here long.  She'll wonder ... and then I'll be in for it."  

The uncut grass blades tickle the backs of my legs.  I rub my calves together to take the prickling feeling away.  Slowly, the miracle of Nature soothes my thoughts, salves my troubles, and gives me just a little more strength.  The mental straitjacket loosens enough for me to catch a breath of the divine.  I allow myself to feel the caress of comfort.  I am not aware that I have begun to smile until a few minutes later, when I catch myself doing it. I close my eyes.

I hear a dog bark; it jolts me from my reverie.  I don't know how long I've been here, but my stomach lurches suddenly in panic.  Not because of the dog; I know all the dogs and they like me.  Not like her.  

I roll over onto one elbow and tuck my knees under me, rocking back onto my feet again.  I take one last look around and fill my lungs with freedom, enough to last me until the next time.  As I breathe out, my spirit says "Thank You," and my heart is resigned to what awaits me.  I tighten the straps around my heart once again, and squeeze past the trees, heading back the way I came.

Smothered

I spent a considerable amount of time on the phone recently with someone whose mother is getting on in years and is showing signs of Alzheimer's.  In the normal course of events, this might be seen as a way to give back - to care for the person who cared for you.  But this situation was different.

This woman had - out of a misplaced definition of what "love" is - abused her children: physically, verbally, and emotionally.  None of them (including this person to whom I was speaking) wanted to have anything to do with her.  Yet her church buddies all considered her to be a saint, and condemned her children right along with her as she called her kids down to the lowest - quite often within earshot of the very ones she was criticizing. 

Image from:
http://pdresources.wordpress.com/tag/online-courses/

All the resentments that this woman felt toward her child started surfacing and becoming blatant, about five years ago.  Every cruel thing she ever did and said to her "baby" was multiplied a hundred-fold as she lost more and more of her inhibitions, and her short-term memories at the same time.  "I don't know what to do," her child told me.  "I'm not well.  I have a heart condition and this stress is killing me. There's never an end to it - she's constantly tearing me down, never has anything good to say about me. Or any of her other children ... at least the ones that lived."  

Ouch.  I know this woman, and have known her for a very long time.  And I know that what this person was telling me was true... I'd seen it happen.  Her idea of mothering started with the letter S.  Smothering.  She wouldn't let any of her kids do anything for themselves; she didn't believe they were capable of doing it as well as she could.  She found fault with anything they did to surprise her. She wouldn't let her kids work out their own problems between themselves - she had to take over and forbid confrontation of any kind. She was the only one allowed to get angry.  And when she got angry - she beat them.  Hard, fast and continuously.  Over and over again.  She threw the most twisted guilt trips afterward, saying look what they did, that they bruised her hand when she had to "spank" them.  How sick is that!

And now she is losing her autonomy and railing against it - and against anyone who reminds her that she is more and more alone.  It's so tragic.  All because she just would NOT let go, she would NOT let her kids grow up and be independent.  So afraid that she would be abandoned, she ended up creating the very thing she was so afraid of.  Yet she sleeps the sleep of the just, secure in her knowledge that she "did the right thing." And she garners the support of those who have no idea what she is really like, as they stroke her ego and say, "There, there dear - nobody could have done more for those ungrateful children of yours than you did..."

How very, very sad.  
Please.  Please look for the signs of abuse ... and confront it.  You'll be doing the children a favour.

Heart Issues

I spoke to my brother on the phone tonight for the first time since his heart attack.

He was doing physically fine, and told me about some of the more scary (and sometimes funny) things that happened to him while he was in the hospital.  

He did have an ultrasound (his description of that test was hilarious!!), and there was some information that got mixed up in second-hand and third-hand information...which I would like to correct now.

First, he apparently does not have an arterial blockage per se.  Rather, he has a "fluttery" valve on the left side of his heart which is not getting the electrical impulse strongly enough from the brain and which responds more to his adrenalin levels than to his autonomic nervous system.  This means that when he becomes upset or stressed - well, his heart goes crazy.  And that is what happened this past Monday night.

So it still means he's a ticking time bomb.  But they gave him medications to take, of which nitro is one, in case he has another episode.  He did have one last night after he got to Mom's - it subsided somewhat when he took the tablet.  

I spoke to Mom when I first called and I asked how he was - but she informed me in a whisper that he didn't like people talking about him.  Ha - I  must have shocked her when I said, "Then don't!"  Then I explained.  "What say when we're done talking you pass the phone to him and I'll ask him how he is myself - that way you won't be talking about him and he won't be getting upset."  She agreed, and we had a great conversation - and then she passed the phone to him.  He and I must have talked for a good 20 minutes. 

He's making some positive changes in his life.  He has decided that he will not let people talk down to him and if they persist, he will stop them and tell them to leave if they refuse to stop.  This is a big step for him; before, he would take it and get livid inside at them, and they would never know that they had crossed a line.  

We talked about him not being able to wait until he was able to go back to his apartment in the city... and how the only way he could do that was to follow the doctor's directions, even if it meant that for his first walk, he walked the length of the driveway and back to the house.  

Mom has started him eating more healthily, lower salt, lower fat, no sugar.  He sees the wisdom in this of course, but she does have a way of getting on his last nerve. (grin) Let's just say he is highly motivated to be able to live on his own again - which is a good thing in his case (long story).  Suffice to say that whenever I hear the song, "Bird with Broken Wing" by Don Francisco, ("Soaring far above the clouds on wings spread strong and wide is the vision that you've buried in despair / You dash yourself against the stones and flutter terrified, when My love would heal your wounds and lift you there....") I think of him.

It did my own heart good to hear him talking about his plans to get out and be more active, to start looking after himself and taking charge of his life, to getting back to having friends visit and jam with him on the guitar - the things he loves to do with the people who care about him and take the trouble to show it.  

I'm looking forward to the next time we get a chance to visit.