Quiet

It's quiet in the house. The dog is sleeping, and the only sound is the faint whirring of fans as they cool the room, our computers, and occasionally, the fridge. Plus the sound of my typing. And of course my ever-present tinnitus.

When it's quiet, sometimes my thoughts race as I wonder or even worry about what is to come. Sometimes I do something to fill the void: write a grocery list, play music, anything but be silent in my own thoughts. Other times, though, like this time, I tune into what I'm thinking about and set it aside in favor of experiencing this moment, this one fleeting experience, and enjoying it. I feel the rhythm of my breathing, and I remain present in that rhythm, being grateful for the breath of life. I see patches of sunshine come in their brilliance, and pass behind clouds, hiding the sun's rays in a cloak of water droplets. I marvel at how everything seems so still when the Earth is actually hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour; it is a miracle that we do not fly off the face of the planet. I tune into my spirit and notice that today, it is content. I am grateful for that contentment.

Photo "Sun Ray Behind Dark Clouds"
by Sura Nualpradid at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Sometimes my husband will comment on something that he has seen or learned, and we discuss it. Time with him, when he is truly present (like now) brings such peace and joy to me. I enjoy his company, which, although it sounds trite, rarely has need for words, but we talk anyway.

I hear the footfalls of my daughter as she awakens to another day. I wonder if she will be in more or in less pain than she was yesterday. She is never totally without it. Once, that realization troubled me deeply, because I had an unhealthy need to fix it; now, I am amazed and inspired by her courage and tenacity. She has taught me about so many things just by living them in her life: acceptance, tolerance, maturity, friendship, and more. I am grateful for her quiet, indomitable and yet vulnerable spirit.

I think about my friends. I am amazed by their patience with me as I have been so busy juggling career and school that I have rarely had enough (sometimes not any) time to spend with them as I would like. I know they support me in my chosen path - which means a great deal to me - and I hope to have a bit more time to spend with them as my work life comes to a close and I can concentrate more on school without that added burden of making a living. I have missed our times of fellowship together. With COVID-19 restricting our movements the last few months, I have become acutely aware of the effects of prolonged isolation even on a confirmed introvert like me. How awful it must be for those who need social contact to feel complete! They must feel like they are running on empty all the time! It firms my resolve to reconnect with my friends, one at a time, even though the chief health officer has deemed that it must be at a distance... so no hugging. 😞

The puppy has awakened now, and is letting us know there is a delivery person at a neighbour's house. The silence is broken, but I am left with a sense of calm and peace that remains with me.

I like that feeling.

Keeping Christmas

"And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!" - A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

I know, I know. It's too soon to talk about Christmas for most of my readers. Notable exceptions exist of course (Anne, Stephanie, I'm talking to you wonderful ladies!)

I used the above quote because when people refer to someone as a Scrooge, they mean the miserly old skin-flint in the "before" picture and not of the "after." In the same way, a "Grinch" is a mean-spirited, selfish person who hates Christmas. Yet in the story by Dr. Seuss, "the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day" and he ended up being sweet and generous! 

Christmas 2014 - everyone gets in on the fun!

When I was a little kid, I heard stories of my dad waking my mom up at 3:30 a.m. just because it was Christmas. He couldn't wait to see our faces when we opened our presents, to see the wonder and hear the laughter of that day. It was his favorite day of the year. And he didn't get anything else out of the day. We had no money to give him a present. His joy, his Christmas spirit, came from giving to those who had no way to return the favor. 

What a wonderful feeling that is! I've had occasion - here and there - to experience that kind of excitement in anticipation of someone opening a gift that I have made or bought for them. It is truly magical. And it doesn't matter if it's for Christmas, or their birthday, or even "just because." I don't expect anything in return. It just blesses me to bits to be able to give to them something that they need or want - that they like - and that they will cherish and use. 

So, perhaps we can "keep Christmas" all year round. Wouldn't that be great? If everyone had that spirit of gratitude, generosity and goodwill all year, how much sweeter life would be! Folks would be much easier to get along with ... as long as there was no trace of obligation or duty involved ... and therefore, no mad rushing about in the stores, no impatience in parking lots, or any of that. 

How much fuller life would feel with that kind of attitude - to give is better than to receive - present not just at Christmas but every day? How it would transform each of us to find joy in giving to those who have no hope of ever paying us back (which isn't the point anyway)!! Hungry, homeless people, people with hardly two nickels (or tuppence) to rub together, could eat, be warm, and have their daily needs met through the generosity of those who love to give! 

Isn't that worth more than getting the latest gadget for ourselves? 
I'll leave that thought with you, as it has been burning in me. 

And happy Christmas to you!

Time To Retire

I have a countdown on my computer. Currently, it says 414 days until I retire. And I remember a time when that number was over double that ... not all that long ago. 

As the weeks and months wind down toward that magical date, I am working hard at keeping my stress in check, because that day also marks for me a day when I can devote more time toward my second career. From the looks of the way things are going right now, that second career may be starting only eight short months after that.  

Free Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

And then I might have more say over when I take days off, or how much (or little) I work. I will be able to schedule time for things that - until then - will have been on hold for a very long time. Too long, actually. Horseback riding, golfing, traveling for fun, reading for pleasure, and (best of all) spending time with family and friends will all be possible again. That's the dream, at least. I've missed all of those things, and those who know love me have been very patient with me. VERY. PATIENT. Sometimes I am not sure how they put up with me always looking to dive into my next assignment for school, or with me having to work when their schedule frees up time for them, or with me nodding off when we do occasionally have a visit. What amazing people I have in my life!

It's getting within sight now, this finish line. But it's not really a finish line ... it's more of a starting line where I can walk (or ride, haha) and not run. That will be nice!! 

In the meantime, I need to remind myself frequently that it is time to retire: that is, it is time to schedule regular rest stops on my journey. I have been going at such a break-neck pace, especially since 2013, that burnout is never very far off, and perhaps I need to slow down a bit more. Sometimes, it takes the harsh reality of circumstance to bring me to that place of rest and re-creation.  I hope that I can learn to take the hint sooner rather than later that I need to make time for me and for the things (and people) that/who are important to me. I'm not thirty anymore. Nearly twice that now!!  I need to cut myself some slack!! 

I am so grateful for the ones who know me best and who love me anyway, who take the time to gently suggest that I take the time to look after myself and not run myself ragged. Such friends are hard to come by; I am very blessed to have more than one. 

So - in this time between semesters, I may be looking to reconnect with a few people, and take the time to do things that I like doing. After all, I am the only me that I have. :) 

Saplings

I helped my family plant a couple of saplings today in our back yard. They were special saplings ... two different types of apple trees. One was a Honeycrisp and the other was a Red Nova (kind of like a cross between a Cortland and a McIntosh).

They came to us in a box, perfectly packed for shipment, with the root ball protected in a plastic bag with slightly moist compost around it.  And the saplings themselves looked to be little more than sticks. Long, bumpy sticks with a few tiny buds starting to poke through the tender bark. Below these tiny shoots, on each "tree", you could just barely make out the place where the grower had grafted the fruit-bearing portion of the tree onto the original sapling (the one attached to the root ball). That graft, apparently, was our guarantee that the tree would produce the type of apples for which we had ordered the trees... if that makes any sense. 

It will take a couple of years for these little sticks to resemble trees, and to produce blossoms in the spring. They will need to be staked before this fall to grow straight and tall, and they will need to be covered in burlap before the snow falls this year to protect them from the howling winds and deep snow. They have already undergone quite a process to get to the point they were when we received them, and they will need to be carefully tended until they can stand against whatever Mother Nature throws at them. 

Photo by Matthias Cooper from Pexels

I kind of feel like I am at that stage as a budding counselor. I feel bare, but I am showing growth; most of the growth is underneath, and I feel quite vulnerable.

To continue the analogy, even though I have not graduated from my Master's program, I have already done some growing and have experienced some cutting and healing - just like the graft that guarantees success - and I have started to send out a few tentative leaf-tips. I feel as though I've been planted in fresh soil, and part of me feels like I need to have support as I face the next year of my life when I will do the most growing I will have ever done. Hands-on experience is far superior to book learning - and I sure feel like I have done enough reading and studying to last me a while! So now it is time to move onward and put what I have learned into practice (pun intended.) 

My practicum has been approved, and I will be working on my Learning Plan over the next month or so with my future supervisor, in order to start my hands-on work in September. It is so surreal to realize that a year from now, I will have finished my practicum and will be taking my final course in the program. What an amazing ride it's going to be! 

There are still a few things to iron out between now and September, but these will fall into place as time goes on. I am looking forward to continuing my studies, to the helping hands and hearts of those who will be my "stakes" throughout the growing process, and to new growth in the meantime. 

The blossoms will come soon enough. I'm just taking it one day at a time. :)

Feeling ==> showing

Ever noticed how in some relationships, if you ask each individual, they feel lots of love for the other person but each person feels unloved? Parents and children, spouses, friends, brothers and sisters often fall prey to this seeming roadblock. We love the other person but we are not sure they love us.

The problem is not loving. The problem is SHOWING love. Let me explain.

A teenager loves his parents but they don't really talk much (no common interests, perhaps), and he doesn't know if they really love him because all they seem to do is tell him no. The parents love the teen but they wonder if the teen loves them back because all the teen seems to do is break the rules. Each of them silently asks the question, "Do you still love me?" What a tragedy. 

So on it goes. The problem is not that they don't love each other; they DO! The problem is that they have no idea how to SHOW that love. 

In his book, "How to Really Love Your Teenager", Dr. Ross Campbell, a child psychiatrist, describes this phenomenon and also gives the solution. The answer is in learning to communicate love in a way that the other person will understand. In our Western culture, his advice is sound. He gives three cornerstones to communicating love:

1. Eye contact
2. Physical contact
3. Focused attention

It sounds simple, doesn't it? Yet it can be hard to learn to do. I have learned, however, that it does work. Making the time to talk, and not being distracted by other things, can do a lot to bridge the gaps and repair relationships. Each person needs to know that they matter to the other. You can say it, and yes, please do, but showing it backs up those words. Establishing this kind of relationship early is the best way to ensure that the other person is secure in the relationship, but it is never too late to start.

I'd like to say a few things about each of these cornerstones I mentioned above. Perhaps by giving some examples, I can spark your imagination to try something that would be specific and meaningful to you. You can do them with family members (spouse, kids, parents, siblings) or close friends. They don't just apply to teens. (Everyone needs to feel worthy of love and belonging, as Brené Brown says.)

Eye contact - In our family, the 'wink' - even from across a room - can convey a special meaning. It can mean, "I notice what you're doing, way to go!" Similarly, it can mean, "I'm proud of you." And in certain situations where the person may be nervous, the 'wink' can mean, "I believe in you! You got this!" 

Okay, I know that these days, a lot of teens don't make eye contact well. But they will know that you are looking at them when they talk to you. And in some cases, it's a good bridge-builder to have talks while driving in the car. They don't feel threatened by your gaze, but you can talk about pretty important stuff when you have to be 20 minutes (or longer) in a car going somewhere together. 

But adults? Yeah, we were brought up to pay attention. In our generation, it shows respect when you look at someone who is talking to you.  So show respect. Please. It could save your relationships.

Physical contact - I get it that some folks are not touchy-feely. That's okay. But sometimes a hand on someone's shoulder when they are having a rough day can express in a non-verbal way that you care about their feelings. And nowhere is this more true than in families: with your spouse and with your child(ren). 

In our family, a hug goes a long way. Not just that sterile, pat-pat-pat type of hug but one of those fierce, heart-felt, "I'm with you" hugs. Life is tough sometimes! Hugs can help. They can communicate a feeling of solidarity, support, and caring. I've experienced hugs from one of my family members that lifted me off my feet - and aside from throwing me a little off-balance, those hugs told me that, as a teary Samwise Gamgee said in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, when the burden of carrying the One Ring got too much for Frodo to bear, "I may not be able to carry it for you, Mister Frodo, but I can carry you." And Sam picked Frodo up, Ring and all, and carried him the rest of the way to the top of the mountain. Such expression of love and support is hard to show with just a few Hallmark cards a year. 

Focused attention - In our fast-paced, information-highway world, giving someone focused attention takes something we don't think we have: time. Off with the TV, the cell phone, and/or the video game. Make a date. Go somewhere; it doesn't have to cost a dime. Our kids and I used to go to the local public pool; they would play in the water while I watched. Sometimes I would even go in the pool and splash around a bit. But I was always watching them, drinking in their enjoyment, knowing that at any moment they would look back to see if I was looking. And I was. "Watch me, Mommy!" means something to a child. It's important to him or her. I could have sat there with a book but it would not have meant as much as being WITH them, being PRESENT. 

Photo by it's me neosiam from Pexels

I lost track of the times we would go to the animal shelter and just visit with the critters. Our one family rule was that we were there to look and visit the animals, not whine and plead to take one (or all) of them home (unless previously decided.) I remember the folks at the shelter got to recognize us. We obeyed all the shelter rules (no running; ask permission; wash your hands after you handle the animals, etc.) and we had a whole lot of fun. And it never cost us a nickel (or in those days, a penny. We don't have pennies in Canada anymore.) 

I also can't count the number of times I have heard someone say to me about their spouse, "He (or she) never listens to me!" as they described a spouse totally absorbed in the TV or the newspaper, or a computer game. Or some sort of sport or hobby. It's a relationship. You can't have a relationship without relating!! Focused attention means that you give the person your undivided attention. And that needs to happen on a regular basis. I'm not saying not to read the paper, watch TV, or have a hobby or interest. Just make time for the people you love doing something you will both / all enjoy.

One more side-note about spending time together while giving focused attention. You know when you tell your friend, "Yeah, we really should get together sometime," and it doesn't happen for weeks? or even months? Ummm, "sometime" usually doesn't work, especially if you (or your friend) has mental wellness issues. Instead of "sometime," how about "WHEN can we spend time together (or have coffee, or lunch, or an evening)?" Nail down a time and a place. Put it on your appointment calendar. I'm just saying. And I'm talking to me as much as to anyone else.

As 2019 dawns, we might do well to invest our time in strengthening the relationships we have and making connections with the people who mean the most to us. It will be worth it. Trust me.

New Pathways

I am treading the last few yards of a familiar pathway. I know this pathway; I have been on it for decades. And ahead, I see all that is not familiar, all those things I have dreamed of but have never dared to imagine could be real. 

It is getting closer and closer the more I step forward. The fear of the unknown is mounting. And then I see signs of safety and security as I move ahead. There is a bridge over a boggy place. It is a sturdy bridge - if narrow - with handrails to guard me and support me in case I slip. 

I got this photo free on Pixabay! Check
them out at www.pixabay.com

The view in the distance is peaceful and inviting, even though I cannot see every step ahead of me. I hear the voices of those who will be my guides into this new territory. Their voices give me strength. I hear behind me the encouraging voices of those who have been with me for years, people whom I trust and who will be supporting me emotionally - even if they won't be there physically. 

My trembling heart steadies itself. Even though I will be alone physically in some ways, I will never be alone in spirit. This fact gives me courage, like the handrail on the bridge, an assurance that my steps will not falter.

I cannot see what the path looks like beyond the next bend. But ... I have solid shoes from my mentors, and a backpack full of training to sustain me, and I know that I will have what I need when I need it, and someone to watch over me in case I stumble. I am ever so grateful for that, because in the path ahead, there will be many opportunities to make mistakes. Just knowing that I will have a guide close by me is comforting. 

I know that I will have some important steps to take in my own personal journey. Part of that journey will be the alone part, learning how to stand on my own two feet and not let others do for me what I can do for myself. A big part of it will also be shedding the baggage of the past, throwing off the coping mechanisms that served me well as long as I was in danger from people who held power over me. Now that I am aiming to be someone to whom people will come for help, I need to get rid of all of those old left-over attitudes and behaviors like the rest of Lazarus' grave clothes. I need to "not be trapped in the patterns my life has set for me" anymore, as Russ Taff sang many years ago. (Okay I just listened to that song on YouTube and ended up in tears - it's been years since I heard it and wow, was it just what I needed!) 

The path ahead will not be easy at times. I know that. However, I believe that it will lead me to a better place, to more secure footing, and to a position where - instead of feeling helpless and dependent on others - I can come alongside and help them instead.

Giving and Receiving

Today was a full day, especially because I didn't think I was going to be doing much at the start of it. All I wanted to do was head to Walmart and pick up some supplies / groceries for the rest of my 2-week stay in Calgary (I head back this coming Friday and today is the Saturday prior to that.)

It didn't start too well in a sense. The cab driver was wearing heavy scent, so I went to the store (an 8-minute drive) wearing my face mask. I tipped him for choosing the most direct route there... and then spent the next hour wandering the aisles of the store in my mask (lots of scent clouds, it was Saturday) looking for various items (the last one, pepper, took me ten minutes and even then I finally had to ask someone. It was in the meat aisle by the way...). I paid for my stuff, called a cab in a different company, and submitted to another drive back with my mask on, with another pee-yew cabbie who (again) took the most direct route and even helped me with my huge / heavy shopping bag. (I'm done shopping alone without buying a sturdy bag... last year was enough.)

After I got back though, had some food and took an Advil for the killer headache the scents gave me, and talked for a while on the phone with my brother, and then with my husband, I saw an email message from a classmate asking me if I would like to spend some time together. I agreed and she picked me up for a drive out to see the Rockies!

"The Three Sisters" - near Canmore, AB, July 15, 2017

Yes ... I took that picture only 2 hours ago. The peaks here are called "The Three Sisters" and I took the photo from inside the vehicle as we were driving!

Seeing the mountains up close like that was ... well, the best word I can think of is ... spiritual. 

I felt very connected to my youngest daughter, who saw these mountains in late September 2013, only 3 weeks or so before she died. It was like she and I got to share the experience of the majesty of that place. The tears started to fall as I could almost hear her say, "It's okay Mom. I'm okay. Everything is going to be fine."  And it was fine. 

My classmate gave me a wonderful gift, a gift that meant so much to me. And all it costed her was time. Time she took away from other things in her life so that I could have a good experience in Alberta. She had no ulterior motive. She honestly cared about how I felt. And all I needed to give her the joy of giving was to receive. Fortunately, I received so very much when Arielle first passed away - so much love and so many outpourings of giving, that I had learned to receive... and so I gave her the gift of my grateful acceptance of her gift.

The world is a funny place - and as much as it is filled with horrible, unspeakable things, it also has people in it like this lady, and my dorm-mates who invited me to come with them to the grocery store my first day here, who helped me take my stuff into the apartment and cleared a space for my food. And so many others here - the friends of my other daughter who met me at the airport and drove me to the residence (saving me $50 in cab fare) invited me to their place last Thursday night for the most tender sirloin steak I have EVER tasted, done via a "sous vide" method. WOW. And when they learned that tomorrow would have been Arielle's 25th birthday, they offered to take me to breakfast at one of the many Denny's Restaurants here (something we don't have where I live) to start the day off right, even though one of them has to work tomorrow at the other end of town (a 30 to 45 minute drive depending on traffic).  They are also planning to take me back to the airport on Friday. Could it get any better than this?

I feel so blessed.  It's a way better experience than I ever dreamed it would be, being in Calgary this time. And as I head to bed, I feel as though this has been the kind of day that restores the soul. Even though it might not have started off well, a simple gift - the gift of time - given and received, made all the difference.

Rainbow Tears

It's been said that when there are hard circumstances that make you cry but there is something right in the middle of the situation (perhaps unexpected kindness or some unforeseen blessing) that makes you smile in gratitude - the tears you shed are "rainbow tears."

 

I've had a lot of reason to shed that kind of tears in the last year and a bit. As most of you know, our daughter Arielle moved "out West" last summer to make her mark in the world. Things didn't turn out the way she expected, but there were some wonderful moments, particularly on September 17 when she had an amazing spiritual experience that transformed her emotions and melted her lifelong fear of being alone. But her circumstances were such that she was soon homeless, living in her car, getting more and more fatigued ... and on October 22 she had a car accident from falling asleep at the wheel - and she died.

 

And then the rainbow tears started happening thick and fast. People were so. incredibly. kind. Such an outpouring of love and graciousness that we never expected in our lifetimes, was immediately and consistently shown to us, lavished on us, healing us. People gave of their time to sit and listen to us talk. They loved us, prayed for us, thought about us, told us they thought about us, and those who were able to do so donated money to either our named charity, to the Gideons, or to help pay off her final expenses. To each and every one of those people who reached out to us, we owe a deep debt of gratitude. That love helped us, made it easier to be who we are, to be honest about our feelings.

 

Photo "Fountain" courtesy of dan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

And last night, I found out that a dear friend's child was in a serious car crash. The young person survived, but the injuries are severe - potentially life-changing. And the love and outpouring of caring that was lavished on us is now abounding toward my friend, her child, and the rest of the family.

 

I was talking to my friend earlier today. She was saying that she realized that this must bring back memories (and it does, oh yes!) and some "why"s.

 

It's strange but .... I never once entertained that thought. I was just so grateful that another mom didn't have to bury her child. So instead of what she expected me to say, I expressed my gratitude. And as she shared with me what the next days will hold, and what progress has been made since only two days ago, I was able to show my emotional and prayer support to her and her family.

 

And I found myself shedding some more 'rainbow tears.'

Fresh pages

September rises on the scene almost unannounced ... whispering, 'Oh, by the way, school starts soon.' And soon ... is now. 

Yes, I'm back in school again, this time taking an undergraduate course from my alma mater to beef up my qualifications to take a grad program from a school in Calgary, Alberta. It's on learning and motivation (maybe I'll learn something, haha!) and it will take me about three months or so. 

Attending the first class made me feel really good; I understood the prof and had some hope that I could actually get a leg up on my educational quest. That is, perhaps she (if I do well, which I think I will) would be willing to write a letter of reference on my behalf when I apply to Athabasca University in another five months or so. 

There's something oddly satisfying about opening a new book that has not been used, or turning a fresh page in a notebook, especially the first one. There is so much that has yet to be learned, written, experienced. It's so hopeful. 

Photo "Notebook And Pen" courtesy
of jiggola at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It's been a month of fresh pages and new beginnings for our family. 

Specifically for me, this new course has represented a new start, an opening of the door to new possibilities and the promise of a future as a counsellor ... eventually. 

At home, there are fresh pages turning as well. We discovered that our deck - which was here when we moved in 25 years ago, was rotted and being eaten by carpenter ants. So, we paid a couple of guys to build a new one! (I've already flooded Facebook with those photos, so I won't put more here...) 

It's been good though, to be able to feel secure about going out on the deck without fear of falling through, or getting splinters in our feet, or slipping and falling. The guys did a great job - thanks Mike and Dalton W!

And then there's new life as well. We got a call from the shelter about three weeks ago, asking us to take our newly adopted kitten before she got to be big enough to spay. (Usually they like to keep them until after the procedure is over.) They said that she was losing weight, and that that she needed to be away from the shelter atmosphere to thrive (this happens sometimes). They asked us if we could foster her until she was old (and heavy) enough; they have to be at least two pounds! (We didn't hesitate to say yes!) So she is here as a foster-kitty (which means that all vet bills are the shelter's, a bonus!) Once she is spayed, we can finalize the adoption (that is, pay the adoption fees and take ownership.) Her operation is scheduled for September 17.

So, in the meantime, we've been getting her used to her "big brother" Loki. The size difference (he's five times her weight) means we have to supervise their play rather closely, and limit their interaction, but we find that they really look forward to that time together. Surprisingly, sometimes Eris even gets the upper hand!

It's so interesting having a small (but VERY active) kitten in the house again. Eris moves so quickly that we've joked about getting whiplash watching her!! Her zest for life and her honest expression of how she feels is contagious and encouraging. It helps us to concentrate on life and happiness again. There's been too much death, too much sadness. 

We need hope. 
And laughter. 
I like laughter. It's good. 
And do-overs. 
And a never-ending supply of fresh pages.

There's only one you

It creeps up on you.

Too many sacrifices, too many times of being taken for granted, too many adjusted expectations, they all take their toll. One thing leads naturally to the next and before you know it, you're up to your eyeballs in stress and wondering how you got there. 

I know. It happens to me. Not as often as before, to be sure, but it still happens. Then something kind of shifts, one more task added to the pile and then ... you feel overwhelmed and wanting to quit everything. The trouble is, everything you committed to doing is perfectly fine and even commendable.

There's just one thing missing.

You. 

Somehow, in looking after everyone else, in taking on too much at once, or in unexpected circumstances, life just gets to be so jam-packed that things start spilling over and falling to the floor. And the one getting the short end of the stick is you. 

The concept of self-care is an uncomfortable one for many people. "Nice" people put others first. "Nice" people don't ask for what they want. We are taught from our formative years that it's selfish to think of ourselves first. However, it just doesn't make sense to expend so much energy on other people that we have nothing left for ourselves, which kind of defeats the purpose because if we don't have anything to give, we can't give anything. 

And so we end up feeling weary, unappreciated, even resentful. Those are good warning signs. 

You're the only you that you have. There is only one you, and you are important... whether you believe it or not!

Imagine yourself as a container, a large glass of water, let's say. People come to you with smaller glasses and ask you to give them something to drink. There is only so much in your glass. You empty yourself out and there is nothing left to pour into anyone else's life. However, if you turn your thinking around and go to a mountain spring, and you let the spring spill into your glass, up to the brim and overflowing, people come to you and they are automatically filled ... but you are not depleted. 

Yet, it takes effort to get to the spring. You have to say no to filling up the next person's glass who comes to you with his or her need. And the next. Maybe a whole lot of next people. You need to look after your own needs so that you can have something to give to those who need it. 

This is a small thought (or is it?) that could yield great results in your life. It's at least worth thinking about. 

Photo "Waterfall In Forest" courtesy of
Witthaya Phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Journey of 1,000 miles

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, so the saying goes. 

And then there's the next one. And the next. And the next.

And a seemingly endless, terrifyingly long journey it is. Taken into the mind all at once, it seems insurmountable. 

So many things in life are like that. Grief is one thing. Pain is another. And truth be told, the entirety of LIFE is like that. One day blindly merging into the next and if taken all as one heap, overwhelming. Bewildering. Uncertain. Stressful.

Regret for the past and worry for the future fill our mental health care facilities. We can call it a lot of fancy-sounding names but the many forms of depression and anxiety boil down at their most basic form, to an inability to live in the moment. (Notice I didn't say an unwillingness. I said an inability.)
 
"Without help it is too much for us." (Alcoholics Anonymous, ch 5: "How it Works"). 

Help comes from various sources. 

• friends who care and who show it
• mental health professionals
• support groups
• 12-step groups (which primarily are NOT support groups, so they get their own designation)
• family and/or "chosen family"
• church members
• pastors and other church leaders
• and last but definitely not least, trusting in a "higher power" has the potential to help. Immensely.

Even the word "help" implies a source outside of the self, so let's not delude ourselves into thinking that we can do this (live our whole lives) in isolation.

Ahh yes. Like a two-year-old flexing his independence muscles, the self vaunts itself up and says, "Me do it myself." 

Maybe. But would I ever want to be that self-sufficient that I didn't need anyone? Would I like the kind of person I would become if I thought I didn't need others in my life? Ever?

I don't think so. 

I think I have met a few of those people who honestly think they don't need anyone else. They wouldn't think of reading someone else's blog - at least not one like this - because they feel they have it all together. (Of course there are many reasons for not reading blogs; that's just one of them. ;) ) ...  But here's the thing. While these folks ooze with a sense of their own brand of bravery ... well, I cannot recall ever wanting to be around them for too long, because it all seemed a little, you know, arrogant. Just saying. 

I do know a few people, though, in whose company I feel welcome, safe, and accepted. And every single one of them admit that they need others in their lives to be able to put one foot in front of the other. To feel centered.

To stay in today. 

Photo "Footprints On The Beach Sand" is by
foto76 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Life - and death, and deep grief (I am discovering) - teaches me that today is the day in which I live and love. Yesterday is gone, although I can still have wonderful memories to sustain me. Tomorrow is not here yet, although I can still dream of better days. But living life happens right here, right now, and while I'm doing that, I need help. And help is there. Even in the darkest of nights, all I need to do is whisper, "God?" and I know He understands. And He carries me for a while.

And there's more. 

Help from people is all around me if I know where to look; sometimes I need to ask for it, because people (contrary to my "if they love me they'll know how I feel" fallacy) can't read my mind, especially if I hide how I feel to "spare their feelings." (As if mine didn't count.) And sometimes help even comes unbidden, from places I never thought to check! This is certain: more people care about me than I had ever dreamed; I am finding that out now more than at any other time in my life. And although sometimes that care is expressed in ways I might not understand or appreciate at the time, I am learning to see past fumbled words and awkward silences and see the heart beneath. 

And it's good.

But help can only go so far, and the helpers around me only frustrated, if I insist on tormenting myself with the regrets of past that I can't change and with the dreaded events of the future that I am powerless to prevent. That is one reason why I have to remind myself to stay in today; it's the only way to not just survive, but to live. Fully. Take THIS step. Then the NEXT one. Left foot, right foot. Look up. Be grateful. Forgive. Breathe. Move on. 

Repeat. Repeat as many times as there are steps to take ... because the journey is worth it.

Her Red Badge of Courage

I hadn't seen her for months. Her appearance, aside from a few cosmetic changes such as hair color and style, seemed pretty much the same. However, I'd heard some of her story through the grapevine, and although I didn't quite know what to say to her, I knew that this was a connection I needed to make. 

She invited me to sit down. 

The conversation was brief - perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes - but as I expressed my condolences for the loss of her husband several months previous, she began to share some of her memories and experiences of his last few months, of his passing, and of how she coped with those first few months of living life without him. 

"Lonely Woman On The Beach"
photo courtesy of 
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

She talked about how she had wanted to keep her job, how she knew that life would be unbearably hard but that it would be even harder without a steady source of income ... and him gone. She described how she had to sell her home and make fundamental lifestyle changes - all while she was going through the grieving process. Occasionally a tear would well up and trickle from her eye. When it reached her cheek, she'd reach up and brush it aside, as if it was something of a bother.

As she spoke, I was struck by how incredibly vulnerable she was, and how very brave in the midst of her vulnerability. I have a very dear friend who lost her husband a few years ago, and so I wanted to acknowledge how much she had suffered and was still suffering. I glanced down. Somehow my hand had reached across the table and hers was grasping it. The gesture made my throat feel thick, tight.

I pointed to her identification tag, her access to the workplace. "That's your red badge of courage," I told her. "It is a symbol of the bravery you show every single moment as you put one foot in front of the other and go through your day." She smiled - a peculiar expression mixed into it - and said that not many people realize how much a part of every day that pain is. 

"I have a close friend who lost her husband a few years ago. She still misses him so much."

She wiped away another tear. We talked a little bit about how she still felt his presence, relied on his strength, even now. I couldn't - dared not - imagine how I would have managed in her situation. I'm sure I would have lost my mind. 

As I got to my feet, she got to hers... and hugged me ... one of those heart-felt hugs you can sense isn't based on expectations. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

I'm not exactly sure what exact "thing" she meant, and I don't need to know. All I know is that at that moment, deep inside, I was keenly aware that I had been at the right place at the right time for the right person ... and somehow, said the right thing. 

It was so humbling to be a part of that.

Kith and Kin

Yesterday, there was a cryptic phone message on our voice mail from my mother, saying that my brother was in their local hospital with "double pneumonia." Since he also suffers from Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) this could be very serious indeed. 

I resolved to phone the hospital to see how he was doing, since a trip at this time of year would not be feasible ... unless it really were serious, in which case I would go. 

This morning I phoned and spoke to his nurse. I was not listed as "next of kin," she told me, and therefore she was not allowed to discuss his diagnosis. She then proceeded to only give me general information. I was able - because I knew how - to pry enough information as I needed to reassure myself as to his condition. 

The bottom line is that he was admitted FIVE DAYS AGO with shortness of breath (not yet diagnosed). The general feeling is that he has some sort of flu, but that his fever is gone and he has good days and bad days - much like he was before - only he does cough at night and this is distressing for him. 

I mentioned to the nurse that I may be calling again to check on his condition in a couple of days. She warned me that someone else might not give me as much information as she did. 

Ouch.

I am very relieved that his condition is not as grave as my mother made it sound. However, the fact that she waited four days before telling me, that I wasn't even listed as an approved family member, and that she used such alarmist tactics to get me to re-establish contact with her, leaves me with a rather sour taste in my mouth. 

Family ties vs friendships : some people are lucky
enough to have both.
Photo courtesy of photostock at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Over the last four years, my definition of "family" has evolved into the kind that allows me to not be around people who make me feel like I'm "less than." 

These days, my "family" is those who build me up, those who value me as a person and who don't judge me or manipulate me.  

Just today, I started thinking of the expression, "kith and kin" - and I was curious as to the difference between the two. So, I consulted Professor Google. Kin refers to blood ties (genetic markers) one has with one's family of origin, or with one's siblings or children (possibly cousins, aunts, uncles, etc.) It implies warm feelings; the word "kinship" speaks of a heart affinity. (Some folks aren't lucky enough to have that with all of their family members; if you do, be VERY grateful!!!) 

However, the word kith refers to one's friends and neighbors, and comes from (depending on the source you read) the Old English or the Germanic root words for "knowing" or "to be known". Kith are the people who know you, who love you, whom you love - not because you HAVE to (i.e., because they are your relatives) but because you WANT to. 

I am grateful to have been blessed with kith. Friends - not acquaintances, but real true friends, those who really do care and about whom I care. Deeply. People who choose my company rather than feeling obliged to spend time with me. People who depend on me (not in a clingy way but who know that they can come to me if they need someone to talk to) and on whom - I have learned - I can depend. 

That is a marvelous feeling. 

I want to pass that feeling on to the people in my life. I want my children to feel that kinship with their parents; I want my friends to consider me to be 'kith' to them. I want to surround myself and my loved ones with that sense  of safety, the one where you don't feel you have to be on your guard around someone because you know that both people are going to handle each other's hearts with the respect and consideration they deserve. 

And that feeling of being safe, of being with 'kith' ... is a priceless commodity.

Settling in

It's no secret that I'm kind of allergic to change. 

It's funny how just a seemingly small thing as a change in computer can make such a great difference in my day-to-day life. The adjustment has been more than what I expected.

I've had this new laptop for almost a week, and it is slowly growing on me. I literally had to grieve my old one, believe it or not! I'd allowed myself to become attached to my MacBook Pro, thinking it would be around for a decade like I had heard others talk about. Alas, it was not to be. 

Accepting that fact has brought a growing sense of peace. I will go back to the repair shop (and I use that term loosely) tomorrow after work to pick up my old, ready-for-life-support MacBook - the memory is fine, I just can't use the rest of the machine to get at it! - and take it back to the dealer to see if they will honor the remaining warranty on it. If they can, that's gravy. If not - well, I'll take my lumps and try to find a way to get my data files (Word and Excel documents, plus music and photos) off the MacBook and onto this laptop. 

Trackball mouse - I use this model or a similar one
at home AND at work.

And, after a few growing pains concerning the track pad on this machine (which my wonderful daughter solved this morning with an easy fix to disable the track pad when there's a mouse plugged in!) I'm pretty satisfied with it. The numeric keypad is nice to have back too - it was the one thing I found it hardest to get used to with the Mac (no numeric keypad, so no ASCII codes and the calculator was just nasty to operate as a result) - still, I found ways around those things and even found "accents" easier to do with an Apple keyboard than a Windows one.  

It's hard to get used to Windows again though - and even harder because it's the most recent version: Windows 8 is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's more like a touch-screen than anything else, like those smart-phones in a way.

To ease myself into that world, I've kept as many things as possible the same. Most importantly, I told the guys setting up my machine that I wanted my preferred browser as Firefox, and would only use the Windows 8 features when I absolutely had to .... and I've kept to that for the most part. Mind you, the free downloadable themes (for backgrounds) are absolutely breathtaking. I have the waterfalls theme on mine and it is simply stunning. Sometimes I'll just minimize everything and watch it change screens from one beautiful photo to the next.

I've spent most of the week re-creating my email contact list and my bookmarks. However, I think I'm slowly settling into my new virtual world - like someone moving into a new neighborhood has to get his or her bearings and get to know not only the neighbors but the "normal" sounds and sights. 

Throughout the whole process with both computers, I've had to use the skills I've learned in my recovery from door-mat-itis and control freakoholism. One day at a time. Accept the things I can't change, change the things I can and learn when to let go and where to set boundaries. Take care of first things first - people before things. 

Which reminds me; I'm actually spending less time on the computer and more time with my loved ones. 

I could settle into that kind of change fairly quickly, too.  

The Gift of Acceptance

When I was growing up, I was in survival mode.  I spent a lot of time just making it from one day to the next without drawing attention to myself.  I didn't think I deserved anything good because I was told I deserved the opposite. I was the heir to a generational curse that began two to three generations back - one that sprang from poverty at the turn of the 20th century and the subsequent depression.  My parents (especially my mother) were bullied as children and never got away from the bullies - who had kids who in turn bullied me.  Of course, so did my mom, but that is a different story.  

As a result, friends were hard to come by.  I rarely had any friends, because hardly anybody wanted to befriend someone with a bull's eye painted on her back.  (Those that did, already had targets on their backs.)  And because friends were so scarce (I never had any more than 3 friends at a time and even then, not until high school), the title of "best friend" became fiercely competitive, sought after, and a source of great distress if someone else won it. It left the others feeling like losers. Less than.  Rejected.  The next step in that parade was that the one who chose a different best friend would eventually gravitate away from me, get other interests, move on and leave me friendless. 

Again. 

After I married and moved away, that mentality followed me.  Any friendships I had were with one, at the most three people at once. And I cringed every time one of my friends referred to another person as his or her "best friend".   To me, it meant that I wasn't good enough.  That I was being rejected.  That I would be abandoned.  

When I got into recovery from codependency back in February 2009, I learned a whole new lifestyle - a lifestyle of letting go with love.  Much of that lifestyle is based on accepting what is - and that is something that I cannot manufacture. 

It is a gift.  It's a gift I pray for and that God gives.  I don't have it in me to accept what I can't change.  In fact, everything in me rails against it.  I STILL cringe when I hear a friend say that someone else is their best friend.  It triggers all those old feelings and fears in me, feelings of inadequacy, and fears of rejection and abandonment ... even though I know that it's probably not true.  I pray for the strength to accept and I pray for the acceptance itself.  And I have to keep praying for it - because it kind of leaks out or gets used up, I haven't figured out exactly which. 

But acceptance is the key to enjoying today (that is, not letting the 'what ifs' rob me of being happy today), the key to evicting stress from my life.  Once I started (with God's help) accepting that other people not only make their own choices but are supposed to do so without my input, and to bear the consequences of their own actions without me rescuing them, the burden of caring for them in that unhealthy way ...  just lifted. 

It doesn't mean that I'm not ready to lend a hand when God asks that of me.  It just means that I no longer consider myself obligated to do so "just because" I'm that person's spouse / mother / sister / daughter / friend. I'm learning that I am me and that everyone has boundaries, including me.  Crossing those boundaries without permission is a recipe for disaster.  

It also means that I can be okay with my friends having other friends that they consider closer to them than they consider me to be.  Any success I have on that front is more a function of how well I like myself rather than how much they like me, anyway. If I keep focused on accepting people, places and things as they are, praying for the serenity to do so - I fare better.  I don't go off pinging into the danger zone and sabotaging relationships that are important to me by giving in to my fears.  I LET.  With God's empowerment ("to want to, and to do"), I let life happen to me, and accept it on its own terms.  

It's His gift to me.  And that is a gift for which I am repeatedly grateful.

Refuge

The sun's heat baked into my skin as I trudged up the steep mud driveway.  I could smell wild roses in full bloom in the ditches, could hear the distant song of crickets, could see to the right, more and more of the barn - first the roof, then the walls - as I got closer to the top of the hill.  At the top of the hill and to my left stood the old farmhouse.  

But what caught my eye first - and every time without fail - were the soft brown eyes of my friend Princess as she trotted toward me from the barn.  Princess was a dog - a yellow Labrador and border collie mix, most likely, with a few other things thrown in.  Nobody had purebred animals in this backwater community.  Her doggie grin welcomed me; her liquid brown eyes sparkled in excitement.

She turned, knowing I'd follow her, and trotted to the barn.  I'd never seen a dog before or since climb the built-in ladder to the hayloft, but she could.  She led me slowly over to a spot about twenty feet or so from the edge of the loft, well away from the place where anyone could fall off and get hurt.  She gingerly circled a spot in the floor where a pile of puppies lay sleeping, tangled and nestled up in each other's bodies.  She laid down and looked up at me, eyes ever expressive.  It was like she was saying, "These are my babies. Aren't they something?"  I'd pet them for at least ten minutes - this part I didn't want to rush.  In fact, I didn't want to rush ANY part of this... this refuge from my usual world.  

I'd gotten permission to walk up and go visit this place - with the understanding that I be back at a certain time.  There was so much to see there, that it would be a few hours before I was expected back. 

Reluctantly, I climbed out of the hay loft and made my way out of the barn and toward the house, dodging free-range chickens and their chicks bunched around them as I crossed the yard. Prince, the old retired guard dog, a Keeshond - Shepherd mix, wagged his tail at me from the side porch.  I turned and headed toward the back porch entrance.  I could have gone in the side where Prince was, but he was resting, and I wanted to see what was in the back hallway.  

Got this picture of cuteness HERE

There was usually a cardboard box half-way up the forty-foot hallway, which was a gigantic mud-room in today's terms.  In the box I would invariably find a litter of kittens and their mother.  I could visit with them for a little while too.  The animals soothed my soul.  They never asked anything from me but my presence. I needed that.  

After the kittens had gone to sleep - I got up and tip-toed toward the door that led to the kitchen.  The oil stove was on one wall and the wood stove - pressed into service for larger crowds - was to my right as I came in the door.  I could smell wood ash, galvanized steel (buckets), and something delectable that made me close my eyes in bliss. 

Gram was there.  She was making a pan of new-potato hash: these days I guess people call them hash browned potatoes.  My favorite.  

"You must be hungry.  Why don't you wash up and we'll sit and have a bite to eat."  It was more of a statement than a question.  Nobody dared turn down Gram's new-potato hash, made in an iron skillet with boiled new potatoes, and chopped fine using a "hash can" - an old tomato sauce can with one end open and honed sharp around the circular edge, and a hole in the top to let out steam, placed there by the kind of can openers you open a can of apple juice with.  The rhythmic "chock, chock, chock, chock, chock [pause] tap-tap-tap" of Gram chopping the potatoes and then tapping them out of the can is so vivid I can almost still hear it.  She served the steaming hot hash on a fluted old china plate and placed it on the table. I pulled a fork out of a cup of clean utensils on the table.

I'd sit and tuck into my food, and Gram would just talk about everything and nothing to me - as if I mattered.  Nothing she said was ever a criticism of me or of anyone else, as I recall.  I remember feeling as though I wanted to be there, to stay there.  It was so different from the home life I knew.  I offered to help her with the dishes and she accepted.  But it didn't feel like a chore. It was another way to interact with her, to experience the atmosphere that was this house, this refuge away from feeling like I was nothing.

I knew to stay out of her husband's way of course - he was that crotchety and mean, so I usually visited when he was away at work - but often Gram would give me the run of the house and let me play in the tiny upstairs bedrooms -there must have been about six of them - and peek through the rails in the banister into the parlor, where she would have a quilt set up in the frames ... or perhaps a card table for games with the neighbors later that evening.  

At the foot of the stairs, right beside a large black and white reproduction of a print of Queen Victoria, sat a large table on which was the biggest birdcage I'd ever seen with finches - at least four finches in it. Heep, heeeep, they would call to each other in thin, reedy voices.  I could listen to them and feel my muscles relax.  

When it was finally time to go, I would linger on the walk home - back to the normal world where there were expectations, and nothing I did pleased her - away from this one where Gram reigned with grace and gentleness.

I knew I would be back.  Again and again.