Turn It Around

My husband, my daughter and I were at a restaurant recently. It was one that has booths - since we need extra room to sit - and while we were eating, a family came in and sat down at the booth next to us. I recognized one of the people. After they'd been there for a while, they all got up and traded seats so that the person I had recognized was no longer facing me.

Par for the course, I thought. After all, I look like a mess - I didn't take much time getting ready because we were running late. I don't blame this person for not wanting to have to look at me. 

I mentioned this to my daughter after we left the restaurant. 

She's been going to therapy and her therapist has been challenging assumptions that she makes about herself and about other people who do things in her presence. 

She stared at me for a second or two, and gently rebuked me. "ORRrrrr," she said, "this person could have moved because the seat might have been uncomfortable. Or there might have been a draft under that seat and not under the other one." 

Her response kind of set me back on my heels. I did a double-take. She grinned, and said, "CBT." 

Cognitive behavioral therapy - a type of psychological retraining of the thoughts - is big on "re-framing": restating things in such a way as to challenge previously long-held beliefs about the self, and about others' reactions to the self. Such thoughts are referred to as "negative automatic thoughts." (NATs.) And she expertly re-framed my NAT about other people's perception of my appearance ... in order to help me to see other possibilities. 

Photo "Little Boy Covering His Face"
courtesy of David Castollo Dominici at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

A lot of people do what I did. More people than those who are willing to admit it, filter others' opinions of them through their own beliefs about themselves. Many of us don't really have all that great an opinion of ourselves, and this carries through to the things that we think, believe, and say to (or about) ourselves. This kind of thinking can lead to serious mental health issues.  By far the most common mental health issues are depression and anxiety.

For people who are chronically depressed or anxious (or both), common self-talk messages are: 
"it's always been this way, so it will always BE this way." 
"I'm so stupid. When will I ever get anything right??" 
"Yeah things are fine NOW, but what if _____?"
"Oh GREAT. NOW what?" 
"But if I don't agree with him/her, he/she won't be my friend."
"Nobody wants to spend time with me. I'm not worth their time." 
"Why do things like this (fill in the blank) always happen to me?"

These types of messages start way back when we're children and someone slaps a sticker on us (it doesn't matter if it's a gold star or a black mark) and we start to define ourselves by what others think about us.

Statements like the ones listed above have kept me and sometimes continue to keep me wrapped in rotting grave-clothes that others have put onto me from my past, and which I keep wrapped around me (even if they restrict my potential!) because ... well, because it's all I have ever known. The rags keep me from being exposed and vulnerable, and may well be an attempt to get other people to reassure me. But is such thinking healthy? 

No.

The trick is to turn it around, to see other possibilities, to "counter" the self-destructive talk with the kind of message that builds up, that encourages, that heals. Sometimes things happen because they just happen! Sometimes people make mistakes; it doesn't mean it is the end of the world or that I'm stupid. It just means I'm human. People can and do like me for who I am; I don't have to change who I am to fit what they expect from me. I do have value and my emotions are valid. If I wouldn't let someone "talk that way" about one of my friends, why do I think it's okay to talk about myself "that way"? 

Why would anyone?

Point taken... and thanks, sweetie. :) 

In Five Months

Five months ago today, our lives turned upside down. I realized it after church today, as I was doing something in the foyer that made me try to think about what the date was today ... and it hit me. Exactly what was happening that exact moment five months ago? Police were knocking on our door and talking to my husband and my oldest daughter, telling them of the accident that took the life of your youngest daughter, at the age of 21 years. 

After they delivered their news, answered any questions my loved ones had, and then left, hubby and daughter looked at each other in misery. "Someone has to tell Mom," my daughter said. 

My husband nodded... and sighed. "I'll do it."

From that day until this, I can't count the number of times I have grieved her not being here. The sense of loss will intrude at the most unexpected times and in the most unpredictable ways, regardless of where I am or what I'm doing. However, I also can't count the number of times I've been so incredibly grateful (and perhaps a little ashamed of feeling that way) that the anguish and the stress of never knowing where she was or if she was safe ... is over. And yes, I have been and continue to be overjoyed that the place where I know she is ... IS safe, IS full of laughter and peace, IS amazingly complex and ever new. She is happy there; I know it.

The pain - when it happens - is just as fresh as when it was new. The ache of missing her is something that I've come to accept - usually - as the "new normal." Yet - in a very real way - she is more a part of this family now than when she was here. We feel her presence in so many little things, in the raising of an eyebrow, in a saying, in a song. We see the antics of our kitten, Loki, who was born on the day of her funeral, as he prances around the house and is so easily distracted by a sound or a flash of light or a moth flittering in the room ... and we say how much like her he is. 

I still long to hear her telling me she loves me. I still want to hear her laugh, to feel her great huge bear hug lifting me off my feet - something that unnerved me at the time. I miss her yelling with excitement, like the time we went to Magnetic Hill and felt the vehicle rolling up the hill ... she wanted to do it again and again (and folks, she was 19 at the time...) She had us all in stitches! I miss her jokes, her zany faces and funny voices that she'd do. I miss her "fake-singing" so her friends didn't feel bad about their singing voices. She had such a lovely singing voice - I wish I could have heard it more. 

Arielle in the summer of 2010

At the same time, I feel her with me, encouraging me, cheering me on in my studies. I hear her voice in my memory sometimes when I get out of the van to go into my place of work, calling out as she did whenever she was in the vehicle, "HELP SOMEONE!" (Or if I was taking a class, "LEARN SOMETHING!") 

In five months I've learned how to function without her physical presence. I've learned so many other things too. I have learned how very many people love and care about me (who knew? certainly not me, at least not until she passed), how many lives she touched when she was here (and is still touching even now), and why she cared so much about people ... all kinds of people. I've been inspired by her zest for life, by her incredible rock-firm faith, and by her ability - in the short month between the time she realized that God was real and the time she went to see Him in person - to share that faith with people and make an impact in their lives.  

I've also learned (all over again) that it's okay to feel what I feel and not apologize for feeling it. That there is no "right way" to grieve and that some days are more "raw" than others, and some days are downright mundane. I know some people treat me as though I'm fragile every time they see me, and you know, I could have been having an almost normal day - not even "thinking about it" - until they treated me that way and then ... depending on how close to the surface my grief is, I'm either suddenly a basket case or I'm irritated ... or I just smile and wave, and let the lady doing the "Oh you poor thing" thing DO her thing (because she seems to enjoy thinking that she's making me feel better), and then walk away. On my "good days" I know that I'm not responsible for her actions; she is. And she isn't responsible for mine; I am. On the "bad days" ... just the sight of snow falling will put me in tears.

And it's all okay. It's all perfectly fine. Feelings (as I've said before) are transient (temporary) states of being that are designed to tell us things, and it's important to pay attention to the messages they give us, and to be kind to ourselves along the way. I've been paying attention and dealing with things as they come along. Part of that is keeping up with my studies: she was so proud of me for going back to school. "You'll make an awesome counsellor, Mom."

And in another five months ... I'll be ready to start another semester at grad school, and be that much closer to doing what she knew all along that I'd be good at - because after all, she kept telling me to help someone.

Growing Season

Earlier this week, I looked outside our picture window and I couldn't help it - a short, surprised, delighted gasp escaped my lips.

Some of the crocus were blooming - the ones closest to the cement step out front. The step is painted a forest green, so it absorbs the heat, and it is slightly warmer in that section of the flower garden. 

It surprises me every time. Winter lasts so very long in the Maritimes that I am startled at any sign of the S-word (you know, Spring - the word whispered in corners so as not to scare away the sunshine...) 

And amazed. 

The bulbs, first planted in the fall before the frost hits, have been asleep all winter, and now they wake from their slumber. Granted, they are the eternal optimists and usually, there is the false start to the spring season. The warm weather allows them to thrive, but it is only to followed by an ice-storm that destroys their delicate blooms. 

This time of year makes me pensive - I start thinking of new life, hope, and promise. 

Last year's blooms

This year, though, recent events (such as our daughter's surgery, as well as some other things) have started me thinking about the entirety of the growing season - from cultivation to planting to weeding to harvest. 

What strikes me as I think about this is that there is a definite structure to it all. The land needs to be worked, aerated. If it doesn't drain well, we mix mulch and other kinds of soil - maybe even sand - into the garden to prepare it to be planted (whether with bulbs, vegetable seed, rhizomes, or pre-started plants.) And then the REAL work begins.

The law of the harvest isn't ONLY that you reap what you sow. It goes a bit further than that. Once germinated, the young plant needs to be nurtured, given room to grow (weeding comes in here), and provided with food and water in just the right proportions for the harvest to be optimal. I've explored these analogies before, but today what jumped out at me was the one thing I hate almost as much as I hate weeding. 

Waiting. 

It seems interminable before the first shoots poke their heads up out of the ground. That in itself is exciting (for the gardener) - but then comes a period of waiting that seems to stretch on forever. The tension between what is and what shall be is frustrating at times. Often it is as much as three months before harvest can happen. Yet there is much to do during that time: hard work to keep the roots clear of encumbrances, working the soil frequently so that it is loose and provides room to grow, and sometimes even pest control. The task is not something one would seek out.

Some of my most unpleasant gardening memories as a child surround being coerced into weeding in my parents' large vegetable garden amongst clouds of mosquitoes and blackflies that seemed inexorably drawn to my tender skin, and walking between the rows of foot-high potato plants with a Coke bottle in one hand - a bottle which had been half-filled with kerosene. I'd pick up and plop squirming potato bugs - adults AND larvae - into the bottle to exterminate them (shudder) and all under a hot and punishing summer sun - a sun which would have been welcome at the beach. But alas, it was not to be.

Some things about the growing season aren't very comfortable, let's just put it like that. I'd so much rather skip to the end, reap the benefits right away. However, it doesn't work that way. Time has to pass, I must work, and I must wait for nature to take its course. I must also cooperate with it on its own terms; the ground will not give forth its bounty easily. It will always tend to slip back into a state of chaos. 

It needs maintenance, husbandry, tending, care.

How like the process of spiritual healing, of recovery, of parenting, of any process where there is an end result desired and it takes time and (grit teeth) patience to get there. 

Sometimes I do what I know is the right thing, and reality's thorns pop up and try to choke the life out of what good I am trying to do. That sucks... but it happens. So ... I do the next right thing. And I pray that a whole sequence of small decisions to live honestly, openly, and willingly, to set boundaries (and enforce them) when I need to, and to let go of things (and people, and outcomes) that I can't change, will eventually produce a bountiful crop. (Or a beautiful flower. Even if the flower doesn't believe she's beautiful.) 

"Do the next right thing," I have learned as I recover from codependency. 

Even when the choice to do the next right thing is hard. (And even when I do it wrong!!) And sometimes, even when doing the right thing makes someone else believe I'm doing the wrong thing, and that person makes a self-destructive choice based on that belief. Those are the hardest things for me to accept. 

The growing season happens one day at a time. My courage fails me when I focus on the endlessness of it, and I complain that it's taking forever for this thing or that thing to happen. 

But I can do only what I can do ... TODAY. Just this one day, I can make the next right choice. I might not be able to do it graciously, or perfectly - but I can live in the moment and do what I need to do to accept what is, and to take care of myself and the people I love, today. 

After all, this moment is all anyone has.

Storm Stayed

This morning, of all mornings when I would have loved to have slept in, I was awake at 5:30. I awoke to the low moan of winter outside our window, rising occasionally into a whistle.

I hate winter. I've made no secret of it. I hate everything about it - except for the fact that it doesn't last all year long where I live. I detest the cold, the wind, the snow, EVERY winter sport or activity, the ice on the windshields, the shoveling, the slippery roads, the ice underfoot, the slush, the slow traffic, the lack of greenery, the short daylight hours, the bulky clothing and ... did I mention the cold? Uggh!! 

"An Old Mountain Shelter Covered with Snow"
Image courtesy of Michal Marcol at www.freedigitalphotos.net

I've learned to survive, of course. I'm Canadian after all. We accommodate. ;) 

I've even learned to find things for which to be grateful in the midst of all this "white stuff" - which technically ... is quite dirty and not something I would want to melt and drink! 

I can be grateful for a warm, safe home, when so many must sleep in dumpsters and on park benches even in this weather. I can be grateful that (for example, today, when there's a blizzard raging outside) all of my loved ones are accounted for, and most are sleeping late! I am pleased that the power is not out - at least not yet - and that even if it does go out, we live in an area that usually can get it going fairly quickly. I can be glad that we knew that this storm was coming and that we had time to stock up on groceries, batteries, and the like. I can be thankful that hubby did my laundry yesterday, that we are on the city water and sewer systems (so we don't have to use a commode anymore!) and that in the fall of 2011, we paid someone to come in and spray-foam (insulate) our furnace room. And finally, I can be very grateful that storms don't last forever. 

That last point is good to remember when I've been hit with the blizzards of life, too - when body-blow after body-blow happens and I feel overwhelmed. "This too shall pass." Or, "The storm doesn't stay." 

At times in my past, I had a tendency to get storm-stayed and lose my way, refusing to emerge from my hiding place. When events would transpire that were distressing for me, I'd hunker down. And these occurrences would pile up! After a while, I'd expect to get those emotional hay-makers, and would interpret everything that happened, not at face value, but by attributing the motive that "they're out to get me." Even the good things were tainted with bitterness. I'd mistrust any good that anyone did for me, wondering what they wanted in return. I'd deflect any kind words, thinking that those who complimented me or were kind to me didn't really mean it, that it was just the polite thing to do ... or that they felt sorry for me. 

When I started to heal on the inside, I started to realize that for decades, in response to years of physical and emotional abuse, I had created an emotional atmosphere within myself that was conducive to many of the negative things I was experiencing, or that I perceived to be happening. Since I expected bad things to happen, that's all I saw, which only deepened my belief that I was somehow under a curse. 

In a sense, I was under a curse. I was stayed - stuck, detained - in the "What next?" mentality, a real "storm magnet." However, as I became more and more free from the effects of those childhood experiences, my self-esteem became more balanced and I was able to find my own identity, and not the one that was tied up in what others thought about me, or how they might want to hurt me. 

In time, and with a great deal of repetition and reinforcement of the "new Judy," I actually began to believe statements like, "Today is a good day, unless I make other plans." And, "Don't let a bad moment turn into a bad day." As I did, and I started to get to know myself and like myself, I dared to believe that others could like me too. It's a process, of course. Part of it is realizing that there are going to be people who won't like me, no matter how hard I try to impress them... and that I don't need to keep chasing after them. It's okay to let go. It's okay to be me and not feel I have to apologize for it. 

I'm still learning those lessons.

So now, when those kinds of storms happen - and they do occasionally - I remind myself that it's okay to protect myself from them, but that they don't last, and I don't need to be stayed by storms beyond the "all clear." And I can remember that, as George of the Jungle said in the 1997 movie, "Something good always happen after."

Beginning the beginning

It was a week before Christmas 2008. Fast-forward through the impatient waiting for my drive, the frantic phone calls, the worry, the fear of finding him slumped over the wheel ... the tight-lipped drive to the emergency room in mixed relief, anger, and panic - and the waiting for the blood tests to show what I already knew.

Never mind that I'd been trying to hold it together, lurching from crisis to crisis and keeping the wolf at bay through several half-truths and self-delusions that "it isn't that bad" - the growing uneasiness that maybe this was too big for me to handle, the denial that I needed help from outside myself. 

Amazing how our perceptions of the season change
from the time we are children and snow just means
fun making snowmen.

Those who know me well, know that winter is my least favorite season of the whole year. I hate the cold, the snow, the wind, the slippery roads, the cleaning off of the vehicle, the shoveling, the heavy clothing, the scraping, the extra time traveling more slowly, the scarcity of parking, and so forth and so on. Whenever possible, I would let him drive, preferring not to face winter slushy, dirty, yucky traffic. 

Which is why, when the doctor told me that he would have to report the incident (me finding him slumped over the wheel with the motor running, plus his blood alcohol level) and that the standard penalty for this offense was losing one's license for 6 months, I felt cold, icy fingers of fear rising up from my gut and closing around my throat. I instantly envisioned months of driving in winter, braving the horrible winter elements, stretching out in front of me.

I also saw the inevitable questions, the anticipated judgment of those from whom I'd been able to hide his secret, and the cold shoulders that I just knew would result, and I started to tremble.

I was SCARED. Irrationally, unreasonably afraid.

I felt the weight of being the only driver in the family at the worst possible time of year, the isolation that came with that, the inconvenience of assuming the responsibility of carting people where they wanted to go (he'd always done that) whenever they wanted to go. It would be at least two more months, probably three, before he could get into Rehab; he'd already been "bumped" from the waiting list once. I didn't know how much longer I could DO this.

I truly didn't know where to turn. The driving was only the tip of the iceberg. It unveiled a whole host of other things I had been afraid to face, shed a spotlight on how dangerous it was for him to even be on the road, how I had been hiding from just how unacceptable it all was. I felt like I couldn't talk to a whole lot of people, that nobody would understand how I felt, bearing the consequences of his drinking and feeling like I couldn't afford to fall apart - yet wanting so very much to bury my head under the covers and never come out! Nobody I knew would understand that "overwhelmed" feeling, the shame, the fear, the anger, the constant pressure. 

Nobody except - perhaps - someone who dealt with this kind of stuff all the time.

The idea began, just like that. Just a seed of thought at first. Someone had to understand me. I needed someone to comprehend. A stranger perhaps. Someone who didn't know me, who had nothing to do with the circles in which I was involved. 

It percolated through Christmas and into New Year's Day. By that time, the idea had rooted and was starting to take shape. I'd call the treatment center. They had family counselors. I'd talk to someone there. Nobody had to know.

I didn't know what would become of this. I didn't know that this would be the very first step I would take toward healing in my own life, the first chink toward crumbling the facade I'd built up and beginning a life of honesty and vulnerability, of openness and commitment to being real, of freedom from so many things that had shackled my soul for so many years. I had no way of knowing that it would open the door to so much good that has happened since that time, only the least of which was learning that I actually COULD drive and survive in the winter. :) I couldn't have possibly predicted the friendships that would strengthen, the new friendships that would form and the amazing journey I was about to start.

I just knew I needed help. 

It was early January. My head in my hands and my elbows propped up on the kitchen table, I glanced beside my elbow to the 7-digit number I'd written down on a slip of paper. The numbers slowly lost their blurriness as I blinked and wiped the tears from my cheeks. 

With trembling fingers I reached for the phone.

On Hold

"Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered by the next available agent."

It's no secret that I hate waiting. In a sense, I guess that's why I think I do so much of it: the cosmos appears to try to neutralize negative pressure. ;)

In other words, "Get used to it."

The theme in the last couple of months for me has been to get used to waiting. I freely admit that this theme has been met with a lot of kicking and screaming. Waiting to get my old computer fixed. (and waiting). Waiting to see an answer to prayer for a friend. (As usual, God let us wait until the last possible moment before charging in and working a miracle!) 

I've even hated waiting for a diagnosis for our eldest whom we strongly suspect has torn at least one ligament in her knee and severely sprained her patellar tendon. Waiting for that appointment with the specialist, even though it was far sooner than we thought, has seemed interminable as I have watched her take with grace and aplomb the events of the last few days. 

Her attitude has been amazing. Mine? Not so much.

I know that in my relationship with God, if there is some lesson He wants to teach that I'm either just not getting or am unwilling to learn, He finds a way to get me to listen. Usually it's through circumstances that force me to do the thing He wants to teach me to do. When that doesn't work, there is that last resort ... sickness.

So you guessed it - I'm sick. It's "only a cold," but by the Mister Man, those little critters can sure pack a wallop! 

It started yesterday afternoon at work. I couldn't concentrate, and I caught myself "zoning out." Last night, it hit. I felt awful.

Suddenly, all around me, people are making ordinary plans, doing regular things, going on about their lives - and I can't join in. I'm too weak, my throat is too sore, and my body is too tired to do much more than sit at the computer and lurk on Facebook, bolstered by Advil, DayQuil, Vitamin C and coffee to stave off the drowsiness. Even then, I find myself drifting off to sleep.

A nap. A nap might really help. 

Life slows down to a snail's pace. And I spend a lot of time ... waiting. 

Waiting for others to finish doing what they're doing. Waiting for the medicines to kick in. Waiting for my body to fight the virus. Waiting for my throat to be well enough to eat the yummy - yet scratchy - foods that everyone is eating all around me: pizza, for example. 

Normal living - well, as "normal" as it gets for me - is "on hold." My definitions of what's important, what's essential, are being rewritten. Again. 

Okay God. I'm listening. This is me ... waiting.

Back to square one

I picked up my new laptop today. The experience was ... well, bittersweet.

The saga of the Mac is not quite finished; I phoned the repair guys today and left a message for when they open the shop up on Monday morning at 10:30 (yes, that's right: 10:30 to 5:30, Monday to Friday!) that I want my MacBook Pro back the way I took it to them, the wires and gadgets hooked up even if it doesn't work, and I'll settle up when that is done. Basically, I don't want them touching it any more than necessary. Of course I didn't tell them that.

Then I'll take it to the place I bought it, and see if they'll do something for me or whether I nullified my warranty when I took it to someone else to do repairs. 

Time will tell. At this point, if a replacement happens, it's gravy.

In the meantime, I am very grateful for this new laptop. It's quite different from both the Mac and my husband's PC - different feel to the keyboard, different (updated) operating system (Windows 8) and other bells and whistles I could probably do without. ;)

It's nice to be sitting in my own seat again too ... such a small pleasure but I enjoy it immensely; I can lean my head back instead of having it propped forward. What a blessing. 

As much as I talk about self-care - and I talk about it a LOT - it still feels rather strange - like I feel guilty or something - to be spending all this time and money on myself. 

The restart button on many machines,
got the image from cherwriter.blogspot.com

I feel as though I've gone through a rite of passage, so to speak, giving legs to all the talk about looking after myself. Talking is one way for me to get the message, but as the saying goes, actions speak louder than words. This "indulgence" - if you want to call it that - is but the first in a string of little practical messages of self-worth that I'm sending to myself ... and they're not going to happen often - just once in a while. 

It also feels strange to be starting over again from square one. I have to put in all my bookmarks and contacts from scratch - what a pain - but the up side of that is that there were too many bookmarks I wasn't using anymore on my old machine - and contacts have updated their email addresses so I can get rid of the things that no longer are valid. So, in a sense, I'm getting a fresh start. Everyone needs one of those once in a while.  
Even if he - or she - doesn't deserve it.

Lessons Learned and Face Red

It started when the Shift key on my laptop wouldn't work on the left-hand side half the time. It was annoying, but I figured my computer was getting older and it was past the warranty period, so I'd have to find a work-around. I did. 

So it started happening more often. O...kay... Fine, use the workaround all the time. 

Apparently this is a common problem,
spilling coffee on your laptop. I wouldn't recommend it.

Then one day I spilled coffee on the keyboard. 

I tried to clean it up - but - it was too late. About an hour later my beloved MacBook Pro started freaking out. The J key started repeating when I wasn't even touching it - just jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj across any window in which I put my cursor! And my P key stopped working. 

Finally I bit the bullet and decided to go to a local repair shop dedicated to MacIntosh computers. It had been highly recommended. "Can you do the repair here?" I asked. I didn't want it to take forever by sending the machine back to the manufacturer to have it repaired. 

"No problem," came the response. "It's a simple cleaning job. But we have to let it air dry after we clean it, so it will take 3 days." Wellllll... okay, I wanted it done right. So I agreed. They cleaned it, put it back together, turned it on, and it was still not working. "Oh, the casing is warped. It's Unibody construction (one-piece), so we'll have to send away for one. It will cost $400 after all is said and done." 

Hmmmm. Well, it's still way cheaper than a new MacBook. Okay.

Hubby gallantly stepped in and told me I could use his computer (Windows-based) while I was waiting. I was grateful, but it meant that I had to use his machine while sitting in his chair because it was set up a certain way... and his chair was hard on my back. Not to mention - it's Windows. My Mac had spoiled me; I freely admitted it.

So fine... I could spend less time online. We had to take turns anyway, right?

Then Hurricane Sandy put a crimp in delivery schedules for the Unibody, and I had to wait two weeks longer than I would have liked. GrrrUMP. This was really hard to swallow. Days upon days of calling in. Not here yet. Next Tuesday. Friday. No, first of next week.

The casing came in a few days ago, and they put it together and turned it on for a diagnostic. Today. (Keep in mind that I took the computer in there three and a half weeks ago.) This time it wouldn't even stay on for more than a minute. More checking - and then they said that the logic board (also known as the motherboard - the main circuit to which all the other components are attached and communicate with each other) was fried. 

Funny, I thought. All that was wrong when I took it in ... was the J key repeated, the P didn't work and the left Shift key was on the fritz. 

They suggested getting a new machine; the only thing working on the old one was the hard drive. So there'd be the initial repair bill, plus the cost of a new MacBook which - straw breaking the camel's back - they'd have to order in. That would take a week.

I asked if I could have my computer back. Well, it's in pieces, it would take another 2 days to put back together.  Hmm. Finally I said, "I want my hard drive back. Can you manage to at least give me that?" 

After that, I went to the shop where I originally bought the MacBook. I bought a Windows-based computer ... thinking that if a Mac would only last 3 years, I was better off getting a lower-cost computer with top-of-the-line virus protection than getting a new Mac. Even as much as it pained me to resort to Windows again; I'd been spoiled. 

I bought the computer and paid for it and the extended warranty plus a cooling fan to prevent it from heating up too much (my debit card said ouch), and arranged for it to be loaded up with Firefox and Skype, and set up the way I wanted for pickup tomorrow. Then, out of curiosity, (albeit morbid curiosity) I asked them if they still had information on the warranty for the original MacBook - the laptop which was at that moment laying in pieces at the not-to-be-trusted repair shop across town. 

They looked it up for me - they found it in their records.  There was a year left on my extended warranty.

Oh crap. Crap, Crap, and more Crap. Wa-ay too late now - but I wish I'd known that a month ago!! 

I should have taken it to them in the first place. 

I am SO embarrassed. 

There's no way out but to admit it. Einstein was right when he said that only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and he wasn't too sure about the former.

I screwed up. Big time.

Lessons learned from all this: 

(1)   Never assume the "warranty has run out by now." CHECK.
(2)   Know when your warranty runs out, and get your machine repaired where you got it, just in case. Keep warranty and repair records in a place that is separate from your computer's hard drive - because if your computer stops working, you'll want to be able to get at the information.(3)   Never, NEVER leave anything liquid on the same surface where you keep your computer. If you have to eat soup, or drink coffee or cola or whatever when you are at your computer, make sure that:

• you set the liquid container down on a separate surface than the one on which you keep your computer, 
• you don't hover the liquid above the keyboard (i.e., turn your head to one side to drink, or push away from the computer to eat your soup!), and 
• that the surface you set your drink/liquid on is solid and doesn't allow for spillage and inadvertent dripping on the machine. 

Life lessons learned: 

(1)  No matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse.
(2)  Life does go on - and it gets more expensive. Live with it.
(3)  Don't take yourself or your possessions too seriously. 
(4)  Sometimes you just have to cut your losses, face the music and take your lumps. Life hands you innumerable opportunities to make a royal chump of yourself. Learn to roll with the punches ... and know that it's okay to be human.

People can relate to it, for one thing.

Rain Dance

The summer of 1978 in southeastern Maine was hot, sultry, and insolent.

At first we loved it. It was sunny every day, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the temperatures were hot, and got hotter as July wore on. 

I was working at a summer camp as a general staff member for ten bucks a week plus room and board. The work was steady, sometimes back-breaking, but since I was working with the horses, I had about three hours a day when I was in my element. The rest was tough slogging: sweat and biting critters (mosquitoes and blackflies) with no end to the joe-jobs: kitchen duty, food prep, and cleaning public toilets after every day of use by 8-year-old boys who had no parents around to monitor their TP usage (shudder!)

And the weather! The camp bordered a large lake, and we caught ourselves gazing longingly at the boats filled with sports fishermen from the fishing camp up the road, imagining how cool it would feel to be out on the water. The grass started to go yellow; the dirt got harder and harder. A creek ran through the center of the camp, and as the weeks wore on, we kicked up dust clods when we walked across the compound, and the creek dwindled from three feet deep down to ... barely a trickle. 

A similar moth invasion happened in British Columbia
in the summer of 2011

The first week of August was when the moth swarms hit. The streetlight just outside the dorms was eclipsed by thousands of moths in a mad frenzy to get to the light source - night after night for nearly a week - it was eerie. And just as quickly, they were gone. 

Yet still, no rain. We wondered when (or if) the skies would break. The heat was oppressive. Tempers flared. We tried to focus on our duties, and we tried not to complain, but we knew that every one of us was praying for a thunderstorm. In private conversations, we questioned how long this dry spell could last. The air was oppressively heavy. Everything was an effort. 

One afternoon around August 13, the guys and I (there were three of us who worked with the horses) decided to take the horses out for a ride in the woods and beyond the usual trail ride boundaries, to give them (and us) a break.

We'd gotten to the other end of the trail and into a farmer's field, about a half-mile away from the camp paddock, when we heard it. A low, distant rumble. "Is that...?" one of us asked. Then we heard another - this time much closer. We looked up. The sky had gotten dark with clouds. It had been sunny when we left. 

The field lit up with a blast of heat-lightning, followed closely by thunder. It was getting closer. We looked at each other, gulped, and wordlessly turned back toward the camp. 

The rain started just before we turned into the back part of the trail. It wasn't any kind of rain we'd ever seen though. The drops were about a half-inch in diameter, and they were pelting down ... straight down ... splashing off the hard-packed earth. Our clothes were soaked completely through in seconds. Lightning lit the trail path, coated now with soggy pine needles, criss-crossed with tree roots - the thunder was nearly constant. In the five minutes or so that it took to get back through the labyrinth - the trees lining both sides of the trail and and arching over our heads. Yet our canopy provided no protection from the pelting rain. 

Finally we reached the paddock and one of us hopped off his mount and opened the gate. Hurriedly we took our gear off the animals and led them back to the lean-to, where there was some shelter from the rain. We put some hay in the hay-rack and hung up the gear, and trudged back to the camp, another quarter mile - this time on foot. 

My comrades ran ahead of me... I figured I was already as wet as I could get, so I walked. As I did, I was aware of the rain pelting down on my head, running past my eyebrows and off my eyelashes; what didn't run off the eyelashes rolled down my face freely and ran off my chin in a little rivulet. 

It was raining.  It was RAINING!

I rounded the corner and saw the girls' dormitories: two large buildings. My room was in the left building, but my best girlfriend, whom I had met only a couple of months previously, stayed in the right-hand dorm. I turned right, went to her door, and knocked. She answered the door and I squinted at her astonished face. 

"It's raining!" I yelled above the thunder.

Her face brightened. "Yes! Yes it is!  Wait a sec!" She went to her bunk, slipped on her shoes, and came outside, where her hair immediately began to get as soaked as mine. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the dirt between the two buildings. There, we spread our arms wide, turned our faces toward the sky, and twirled, laughed and spun like little kids, splashing in the puddles and shrieking in delight. The creek was nearly flooding its banks, lapping up against the bridge in brown wavelets of mirth. Once she was as drenched as I was, and we had laughed so hard our sides ached and we were spent, we each headed back to our respective dorm rooms and began the process of cleaning up.

That girlfriend and I still stay in touch; our friendship has seen us through some pretty tough (and great) times. I think about that "rain dance" often. I think of it when I get too caught up in the past, or the future, and forget to enjoy the moment. It helps. 

It reminds me that even the things I think are bad ... can sometimes end up very good.

Saddle Sores

Sometimes, getting along with people is hard.

Put another way, the intricacies of interpersonal relationships are such that they can turn into a mine-field more than a healing zone. 

Whether at home, work, church, school, or elsewhere, the potential for misunderstandings and power-plays (and everything in between) is huge because people are human - and humans make mistakes. Humans also like to be right, and will do anything to convince themselves that they are right. Even if it means manipulating the situation in such a way that the other person looks wrong - or stupid.

I was bemoaning such a relationship last night as I tried to get to sleep - and sleep would not come. The more I thought about a particular sequence of events, the worse I felt. The feeling of being betrayed, irritated, used, taken for granted (even possibly taken for a fool), and ... ridden - was tangible. This morning, as I tried to make sense of it all, tried to identify what was wrong, I listed my feelings as if they were physical symptoms ... and because I have a background in equitation, suddenly it became clear to me.

I have saddle sores. You know - the kind that horses get. Only mine are emotional.

To test my theory, I went to Google found an article on saddle sores, what they are, what causes them and how to prevent them. It's as I thought. Saddle sores are tender, raw spots on a horse's back or sides that happen when there is repetitive rubbing against the hair follicles. They usually happen where the equipment (like the saddle and/or the girth, or the strap that holds the saddle on the horse) comes into contact with the horse. 

Friction causes saddle sores. It doesn't have to be a whole lot of friction, just a few millimeters is all it takes, but it's the repetitive nature of it over a prolonged period of time, back and forth, over and over, that causes the hair follicles under the saddle to become inflamed and tender, and it can lead to infection, and sometimes even dead tissue - which (after removal) means that the hair never grows there again. And did I mention that saddle sores HURT? Think blister. Think abscess.

Ouch. A horse with a saddle sore can't be ridden for a long time, until the sore is healed completely. That can mean weeks of treatment. 

What am I getting at? Well, the author of the article says that there are several underlying causes of the irritation that leads to saddle sores and other similar sores that appear under the bridle or other riding or harness equipment. These main causes are: 

• the way the individual horse is built - this can't be changed, but allowances can be made for it;
• the riding equipment that's used: saddle and bridle, especially if these things are unclean. A dirty saddle or bridle is stiff and crusty, doesn't bend with the horse's movements, and rubs the hair and skin raw; and
• how well the rider rides - this can be changed!

Now. Here's where my mind started kicking in; here's the analogy part. Think of the following symbolism (if you haven't already figured it out):

• the horse is the one feeling "ridden" or "used" - in this case, me;
• the saddle and bridle (also called the "tack") is the rules and regulations, the organizational framework in which I and the other person/people involved operate; and
• the rider is the other individual (in essence, the one who is "riding" me). This is the person who has some sort of power or control over me, whether by delegated authority or by function.

Photo "Horseman On Horse" courtesy of dan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Treating saddle sores is far more unpleasant for everyone than preventing them from happening in the first place. It takes a little extra care, but the time investment is well worth it. It makes the relationship far more enjoyable - in the horse world and in the human world!

In particular, as I review the three main causes for saddle sores (the individual makeup or quirks of the one being ridden, the flexibility of the rules and regulations under which everyone operates, and the skill of the rider), might I suggest the following applications for preventing the emotional effects of being "ridden?"

• Judicious use of padding - Saddles come in standard sizes; horses don't. Good riders know that a great saddle pad, if used properly, can help prevent saddle sores from happening. If the horse has physical quirks, such as bony shoulders for example, adjusting the pad before putting the saddle on the horse can prevent that extra pressure from bearing down on the horse's back. In the same way, knowing where someone is sensitive and making allowances for those things can help prevent the rules - and the one holding the reins - from rubbing him or her the wrong way.
• Making sure the rules are fitted to the person - The equipment has to fit the horse properly in order to be effective. There are guidelines to use to make the bridle fit comfortably so the horse isn't in pain all the time, things to remember to make sure the girth doesn't pinch, or the front of the saddle doesn't bear down on the bony part of the shoulders. If you need to awl another hole through a strap to make it fit right, then that's what has to happen. If you need to get someone a special piece of equipment to make his or her life/job/ministry/schoolwork better while still staying within the boundaries of decorum and being considerate of others involved, then that's an investment that needs to be considered seriously.
  
• Keeping the rules from becoming rigid and inflexible - Good riders know the importance of cleaning their tack after every use - at least wiping off the saliva, sweat and dirt with a damp sponge or cloth - and regularly cleaning the saddle and bridle with saddle soap, a sponge and a little water to keep the leather supple, to prevent it from getting brittle and rough. Rough leather rubs against the animal and causes saddle sores faster. In the human application, a good rule of thumb here is "people before things."  Consistently refusing to listen to someone who has a need and a right to be heard and appreciated in a meaningful way, can drive a person to the wrenching decision point of wanting to permanently end the relationship.
• Being open to instruction - Bad riding: continual bump-bump-bumping on top of the horse, yanking at the reins, or flopping the legs around, can cause more friction and more quickly irritate the places where the tack comes in contact with the horse (not to mention irritating the horse itself!); it can also damage the equipment and not make it last as long. This can be fixed if the rider is willing to take lessons and listen to someone who knows more, to benefit from the experience of an expert. In the same way, it's important for the person at the controls to have an extremely rare quality: the capacity to be teachable. Being teachable increases flexibility and benefits both parties; it improves the relationship and helps it last longer and be more enjoyable for all concerned. 

Like all analogies, this one has its limitations, but I think I've drawn enough comparisons to at least provide food for thought. 

Doors and Windows

There's a well-known saying that whenever God closes a door, He opens a window.

A few years ago, my husband and I weren't sleeping very well; we'd go to bed tired and wake up tired, and the whole cycle would get worse and worse until we would "crash" and have what Jim Davis (the cartoonist) called a "nap attack."  After doing some thinking, we figured out that the reason we weren't sleeping well was because the cats would come into the room at 3 in the morning (or some other such unholy hour) and demand attention. Our Internet search showed us that closing the bedroom door would help us get the sleep we needed, once the animals figured out that we weren't coming to open the door. 

It worked, but quite frequently we awoke with headaches from sleeping in a room with less and less oxygen in it throughout the night; putting a fan only circulated the "bad air."

So we opened our bedroom window. It was literally a breath of fresh air. And ... problem solved.

There've been quite a few doors and windows in my life lately. One of them has been the closure of the first ever Codependents Anonymous group in our province, for which I was the contact person for a year and a half. Through that group, God opened a window for fellowship with a dear friend with whom I had virtually lost touch. Once we re-established contact, He just let the group - such as it was (with an attendance of no more than six people and usually only two) - die a natural death. I believe it served its purpose, and its passing doesn't prevent another group from starting up, as soon as there are enough people to make a serious go of it. 

It was actually a relief to let that go, because I'd been feeling so responsible for keeping it going, frustrated that it wasn't going anywhere, and burnt out from all the energy I was pouring into it with no results. 

It dawned on me - finally, through the help of that same friend - that I was being codependent about Codependents Anonymous! Once I released my hold on the group and "stepped back," I could enjoy freedom from stress and an extra two nights a month of freedom in which to do whatever was needed: from napping, to putting in an extra hour at work, to visiting with friends. 

An open window can also let in some
fresh air - picture source

Another door/window combination has been the loss of ties with my birth family. I'll not bore you with the gory details, but let's just say that it became necessary for me to make a clean break. 

For a while, there was a gaping hole in me, with very raw edges - feelings of hurt and betrayal mostly - but as I shared my vulnerability with a couple of people I trusted, I found a whole network of these individuals who were supportive, understanding, and encouraging. Friends, I think they're called. Friends to me ... of all people. Who knew? They helped give me the strength to let go of the past and to move on with my life.

Sometimes, when God starts closing a door for my own good, I fight tooth and nail to keep it open ... such as in the case of our family finances. With my husband in retirement, our family income took a major hit in the fall of 2009, and our personal line of credit began to grow larger and larger. I tried to stay ahead of it, but it grew faster than I could pay, and it became a monster. There just wasn't enough month left over at the end of the money: major expenses like college for one child, and dental expenses for another (ones which weren't covered by insurance!) all conspired against me.  I keenly felt the weight of responsibility; for the first time in my life, I was the primary bread-winner! I was spending a tremendous amount per month - more than some people make in a month - on paying the debt from the line of credit, the credit cards, and the car loan. We were desperately casting around for ways to save on expenses and to make extra money, even to the point of my husband considering rejoining the work force; nothing I tried to do worked. Everything backfired or fizzled.

My account manager at my bank saw this happening when she did my annual financial checkup (gotta love programs like that!) and she pointed to the line of credit as the chief culprit. It had become a crutch for our family, and she helped me see that this door needed to close; having it open - having that safety net there - only served to overwhelm me because it was too easy to fall back on it. She suggested a drastic move: closing the line of credit, and restructuring the debt into something that was manageable, shutting down the credit cards that were costing me more money and limiting our credit limit on the cards we agreed were just for emergencies. Over a series of about four meetings, we were able to do just that, and reduce my monthly debt payments by two thirds. The debt payment reduction was the hidden window in that slammed-shut door. That oppressive heavy feeling in the air was gone, and I found that I could breathe freely again.

Suddenly I realized that my efforts to "make extra money" had been just the frantic flailings of someone who was drowning - and panicking. She threw a life-raft out to me, pulled me to shore, and as sure as the door closed on our unmanageable situation, I felt the cool breeze of that opened window ... ever so faintly.

Even now I can feel the remnants of that last closing door. All my desperate efforts to make money, to start my own business, have resulted in nothing. I've come to realize that people in the local area don't need proofreading services in the traditional sense anymore. They can get a software program to do it for them, so why pay someone? As this realization dawned on me, it was hard to 'unhook' from my beautifully laid out "Plan A" and admit defeat - but it seemed the only viable course of action. As I'm letting go of that, as that door is closing, I see another window opening on the horizon. 

However, I think I'll keep that one a secret. For now.

Change in Plan

It's a glorious day. The weather couldn't be better, especially here, especially for this time of year. Hubby and I had planned to spend some time together this afternoon while the kids went and did something else together.

But the plans fell through; one child assumed the other would like to do something specific and it didn't work out that way - yet tickets had already been purchased.  My husband - gallant man that he is, agreed to use that non-refundable ticket.  Which leaves me without my planned (and anticipated) afternoon with just him.

Even a couple of years ago, that change in plan would have been way too much for me to take. I am naturally the kind of person that has to have things planned out several days in advance and things have to follow a certain pre-set itinerary; deviation from that normally sends me into a tailspin.

But I've been learning much about acceptance, about unhooking from what I want and focusing on WHY things happen (in other words, the purpose for a particular activity) and on WHAT is really important.  So while I was disappointed at not being able to spend that particular time with my spouse, I was able to unhook and understand that our daughter spending some time with her dad was going to pay dividends long into the future, and that one of the errands that my husband and I  were going to do together as a couple (and it had to be done during that exact time period) could almost as easily be done by me.  Not as much fun, but there you go.  I realized that no one person actually stayed up late and schemed over how to mess up Judy's day.  The plan just changed, that's all.

And I didn't get freaked out (read: afraid) or angry.  That amazes me.  

Someone I consider very wise said once, "Don't let a bad moment turn into a bad day."  That saying has come to my rescue many more times than I thought possible - and I expect it will in the future, too.  

A lot of my time has been spent lately in the negative spiral thinking pattern I mentioned briefly above (the plotting-to-wreck-Judy's-day thing) - not actually consciously thinking it of course, but half-expecting people to treat me like that because I felt that I had this thick black cloud over my head with lightning and rain coming down from it.  But most people don't actually do that (and if they do, that's THEIR problem!) - my life isn't cursed, and people can like me for who and what I am.  Allowing myself to unclench, to loosen up, to breathe, to relax and enjoy the moments as they come without fretting about what's going to hit me next, and without punishing myself for what's past, has been a valuable skill in the last few weeks especially.  Plus, it's helped me (after a bit of a bumpy start) to begin to cope with some pretty major changes in some parts of my life.  

A change in plan doesn't mean that things have to come to a screeching halt or even go backward.  It just means a bend in the road - even though I can't see what's ahead, I know Someone's passed this way before and knows the way.  And I'll be okay.  

:D

Accepting criticism

In the last few weeks, some of the work we do has been under review.  The tricky part about reviewing something that people have been doing for a long time is that it's pretty easy to get up in arms about being subjected to some constructive criticism. Since our "widgets" are documents that are going to end-user clients, and I take great pride in my work ... when someone questions my wording or grammar or even my logic, I have a tendency to get a little 'put out.'  Most of my errors have been typographical, the odd preposition not used the correct way, that sort of thing.  But today there was a document with some major errors in logic and in content. Ouch.

Source (via Google Images):
http://www.oilogosphere.com/blog/report-card

At first I tried to argue it, to say, "This is why I said that."  That didn't go very far.  So I went into "roll-with-the-punches" mode.  And while that was happening, the person took that opportunity to give me a lesson in what should have been the basics for me.  I was not impressed - and still less impressed with myself AND the whole reason for the review in the first place.  But I held my tongue.  

I did ask for some suggestions from a co-worker regarding one of the points that was raised.  And I got some helpful hints, which I plan to use.

One of the things I appreciated about the reviewer's talk with me was that it was made clear to me that this didn't need to be fixed today.  "Set it aside until tomorrow.  Then make the changes and when it's done, bring it back to me." It kind of surprised me - that this person would be that gentle with me.  That extra time, and the person's kind attitude, gave me the time I needed to decompress.  It's amazing how a little time and space can give me some perspective.  And help me to let go.  So here I am letting go ... again!! (grin)

Nobody likes to be told that something they thought they knew how to do was wrong all along.  But... better to know and be able to take steps to correct it, rather than continue to do it wrong!  And now I know how to produce a better widget.  The quality of my work will improve.  And that is a good thing.

Some days are like that

One of my favorite storybook characters is Alexander. I first heard this children's story when I was in University, and even though it's a children's book, I could identify with Alexander so much.

Here's a link to someone reading his story. 

It was written by a Canadian author, Judith Viorst.

Grown-ups have different things that classify as "having a bad day" - but the feelings are the same. The main point was that some days it seems that everything piles up ... that events conspire against us to produce a fiasco. That's normal. The moral? Some days are like that. No matter where you are, they happen; as much as you might want to run away from them, they're inescapable. But that's okay. Tomorrow is a new day.

Wise words. I remember Alexander's story when I've had "one of those days." And I am refreshed by his honesty, and by the fact that I'm not the only person who has these days; everyone has them.

Even in Australia.