Drinking it in

It's raining today: a steady, soaking rain. After a fairly dry summer - we had to water our garden to keep it growing - the trees, grass and shrubs are enjoying the rain.  They are drinking it in gratefully, the leaves perking up where they've been drooping and the grass seeming greener than before.

All of us need that experience of a good, refreshing, cool drink of water ... whether physical or spiritual ... to keep us supple and nourished inside and out. 

It got me to thinking today about what nourishes and feeds me. I have plenty to eat, and clean water to drink, which makes me far richer than over a billion people in the world.  I also have a roof over my head that keeps the extremes of cold and heat out, and more than one outfit to wear - again, more than what billions have - and most days, I take these things for granted!

Photo "Autumn Gold" courtesy of Simon Howden
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

But as Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself feeling gratitude bubbling up from within, for many of the things I normally don't even think about. 

I have so many blessings, not the least of which are those loved ones who live with me: my husband and family (including the four-legged kids too!) who always believe in me, and always look out for my well-being. As Dory said in Finding Nemo, "When I look at you, I'm ... I'm home!" I can't begin to express the degree to which their presence in my life brings me a sense of joy and completion. I only hope that someday they will get an inkling of how important and amazing they are to me.

Sharing the little events of each other's days, the joys and the sorrows, the ups and the downs: these are blessings. Living in the moment, just as creation does, loving every raindrop, every sunbeam, every bit of provision from the Creator, is curiously rejuvenating.  Experiencing all of this with the people I love is quite the trip, and yes, I am drinking it in, like a refreshing thunderstorm after a dry spell. It restores me, makes me whole, and gives me a boost to keep going. I need that, just like I need air ... just like the plants need rain. 

New Vistas

In my last post, I was about to go to a couple of interviews for practicum placements, and I said that I might have an offer on the table by the end of that interview day.

I did. And I accepted without hesitation!

My university, once I had informed them of the details, was very quick to accept my practicum proposal (12 minutes, no kidding!) and now I am looking at being an intern starting in September 2018. For real. Me.

There is still a lot of work to do before I can get to the first day of my internship, and it will take a lot of hard slogging in between, but in this moment, as I have crested the hill I have been climbing so arduously the last few months, I can see a new landscape opening up to me. I see some of the road ahead. I can almost see what some of the journey will look like. 

Photo "Double Rainbow" courtesy of evgeni deniv at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

One friend mentioned to me, when I was chatting with him the other day,  that after one man climbed Mount Everest for the first time and stood on the summit, he realized that at some point he would have to climb back down again. And that is part of what I'm experiencing as well ... but I also know that I will have help. 

I won't have to go it alone. I will have the assistance of a great practicum supervisor, my professor and practicum advisor, my classmates, my employer, and my family and friends.  Even though I will be living alone for the first time in my life, doing things I have never done before, I will have a support network that I know will come alongside / beneath me and help me to adjust. I'm not worried in the least. 

Funny isn't it.

Next week I will be attending a workshop on the kind of work that I will be doing as a practicum student and the clientele with which I will be working. And then, in the weeks that follow, I will be working with my practicum supervisor to formulate my learning plan so that I can submit it to the university in early June.  After that, I will be taking care of some details that have more to do with accommodations, work arrangements, and transportation, so that I am settled in my "new place" before I show up to my first day at the practicum site. But all that will unfold as it needs to. There is the overwhelming sense that I am doing what I was meant to do - and that events will play out the way they are meant to play out. 

For the moment, I am enjoying the view. And the view, if I may say so, is spectacular...  

The View from Here

A dear friend of mine called me yesterday morning to ask a favour - which I gladly granted - and we got to talking (as we usually do) about everything and anything, sharing the things on our hearts, and so forth.

It got me to thinking about how many (easy and hard) things I have experienced in my life, and wondering how much more there is to experience.  Ten years ago, if you had told me that I would be doing the things I am today, holding the opinions I have today, feeling as blessed as I am today, and planning the career I am planning today, I would have laughed SO hard.  Never would I have believed you.  

And yet, as I look around me, I have a sober and fully present soul-mate: my husband has been returned to me and we have enjoyed to the full his last six-plus years of sobriety.  I have his love and the love of my children (one here, one in Heaven).  I have the loving care of my dearest friends who are like family to me.  I have a job that is fulfilling and that pays me enough money to pay the bills and go to school at the same time.  I have a second career planned in connection with that schooling, and I have a renewed sense of self-respect and self-care that has allowed me to rid myself of excess baggage and stress in my life. Or, maybe, getting rid of the baggage and stress has allowed me to have more self-respect and self-care; I don't know.  

Photo "Monarch Butterfly" courtesy of
Liz Noffsinger at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I have been in this chrysalis (cocoon) for a long time.  It feels as though who I was ten years ago has been slowly liquefied and another being has been forming, irrevocably changed at a fundamental level.  I cannot go back to who I was.  It is unthinkable; I am not her anymore.  I am "becoming a person" as Carl Rogers would say.

That catches me off-guard occasionally.  In a way, I don't recognize myself sometimes anymore; I do and say things now that I never would have done or said back then. Some of them are not as "polite" or "nice" as before, but then again, back then I was terrified of people not liking me, so I held back.  Not so much anymore. My fears are vaporizing, one by one.  I know that I do feel freer, more comfortable in my own skin. 

I miss certain things, certain people.  However, in some cases, the need for some of those people and things has served its purpose and it has passed, and I can do nothing except move on.  (I can hardly believe my ears as I say that. It's such a radical difference, coming from the "hang-on-for-dear-life" queen!)  I am growing and developing as a person.  Mind you, I have quite a ways to go yet, but I am improving.  

I don't think I am quite as self-righteously judgmental as I used to be (I still have some distance to cover on that at times).  I talk with people I would have crossed the street to avoid ten years ago.  Some people that I was drawn to back then (specifically the super-religious and super-ambitious types), I am repulsed by now because ... I guess ... their attitudes and speech remind me of where I used to be and what I thought was "right" - the problem was, I was more interested in being "right" and being seen favourably than I ever was about caring about people. That is changing ... thank God.  When I hear people being racist, or fat-ist (prejudiced against fat people), or elitist (prejudiced against someone based on their bank account or their bloodlines), or able-ist (prejudiced against someone for having [or not having] a visible disability) or homophobic, I am far more likely to speak out against it, rather than stay silent (or worse yet, laugh along with it.) 

I realize with some surprise that I have slowly allowed myself to take up space, and to have a voice, in the world.  Before, I wanted to disappear, to blend into my surroundings: I was a chameleon. It is a perfectly good skill to have if you are in an abusive relationship from which you cannot escape.  But ... I don't live in that atmosphere any more, so I am learning new skills. I still have those old skills if I need to use them, but I am seeing less and less of a need to do so.  I have learned that - as an adult - I have the choice to walk away from a relationship if it is abusive.  Or I can expose the abuse, since it tends to crouch in dark corners and avoid detection (that is how it survives.  Why not shine a bright light on it?). I - who avoided confrontation at all cost - can stand up to something that hurts me or hurts someone I love.  Huh.  Who knew?  

The view where I started, at the base of this mountain, was pretty daunting. It was littered with random boulders and strewn with debris and the occasional shrub.  I could only see in my own immediate vicinity, my own little irritations and pet peeves, my own futile attempts to climb. Overhead, dark clouds loomed, and the sun seemed very far away. 

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but I do know when:  about six or seven years ago, I started shedding the chameleon skin (in therapy) and it was like someone from above threw me a rope that was anchored into solid rock, and attached to that rope was some climbing gear - it was a mess for a while until I figured out (mostly) how it worked and started climbing.  I am nowhere near the top now, but occasionally, I am able to put a knot in my rappelling line and turn around... and the dark clouds don't seem so ominous anymore.  I can even see a few rays of light ... and more square mileage than just my own little corner.  The things that previously seemed so random look more like a great mosaic, pieces of things put together that when you get far enough away from them, look like a work of art. 

I see others in the distance, other would-be climbers who are stuck in their own little corners, and I know that eventually I will be able to throw them a rope and some gear, too. I find myself looking forward to being able to do that, to trust my own gear enough to be able to help them use theirs.

That's a good feeling.  For now, though, I think I see the next foothold. And above that, a ledge ...

Never too late

One day, not too awfully long ago, I was standing at a wicket at the Department of Motor Vehicles and waiting for someone to process a form, when I saw the most peculiar sight at the next wicket. Two people were standing there - the family resemblance and the ages told me that it was probably a grandfather and grandson. 

"Oh isn't that sweet," I thought to myself. "Someone is getting his first driver's license." 

I started to listen in on the conversation. The two men beside me were both Korean. The woman was speaking to the younger man, who looked to be about 16. He was acting as an interpreter for the older man (who looked to be about 70) who was paying the money to the counter attendant. And that's when I heard it. "Make sure he knows that this license is good for two years, and it expires on his birthday," she told the younger man. "So he will need to come in here before that date to renew it." 

The young man promised. The older man put the newly acquired license as well as the receipt in his wallet, murmured a "Thank you," to the woman, and the two of them made their way out of the building.

I thought about those two for the rest of the day. What a proud moment for them both! I found myself picturing the process they had just been through - wondering how much the younger had to convince the older that he could do this.  I thought about how this teenager was probably with the older man every step of the way as he learned the rules of the road enough to take his beginner's test, acting as interpreter the whole time. He may have gone out with him multiple times as he practiced. Finally, he went with his granddad when he was taking the road test (acting as interpreter for the instructions of the examiner). And that very day as I was there beside him, he got his 'graduated' license, something that sixteen-year-olds look forward to, dream about, and long for in our culture. 

We take it for granted. 

What an inspiration they both were - the young man for the commitment he showed, the caring that was obviously there on his face - and the time he took to be there for his grandfather. And the older man inspired me, reminded me that it's never too late to make a new start, to learn a new thing. Never mind that he only had a few years left to enjoy this new freedom he would now enjoy; the point was that he would be able to enjoy it. 

Over the last while I've had some doubts about how feasible it is for me to get my education in preparation for a new career. I'm in my fifties and to go to school with people who are less than half my age is somewhat off-putting. I enjoy the learning part (even if it scary at times) but sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it. And then I remember that old Korean man. So many strikes against him - the language barrier and his age being the top two - and yet he persevered because he saw value in having that license so he could help his family and possibly even so that he would not be a burden to them. 

It's never too late. No matter how much less time I would have than someone half my age, what matters is that I enjoy the rest of my life and that I'll be able to help as many people as I will be able to help. Me. Not my age, not my appearance, but me. With all the life experience that I bring to the table, I know that when I finally graduate (which won't be for a few years yet) I will be uniquely positioned to be able to help people to find their own pathway to freedom, to "get unwrapped."

And I guess it reminds me of another thing. 

I'm really looking forward to getting MY license, too.

Photo "Psychiatrist Examining A Male Patient"
courtesty of Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Some days are like that

Today is one of those "raw" days where I am not far from tears. 

I guess part of it is that yesterday marked a full month of having a nasty cough (so hard and long it makes me lose bladder control!) and congestion, and today I woke up incredibly weary with my eyelashes stuck shut in places - a weakened body leaving the soul bare and vulnerable. I'll be heading to the walk-in clinic this afternoon to deal with the physical side of things. 

Another part is that last night I learned of the sudden death of one of my baby's favorite famous people - comedian John Pinette - Saturday in Pittsburgh. Our best Christmas memory of our little girl is Christmas 2011 when we gave her tickets to see John in person - she was thrilled that we would give that to her, and I knew she would be, so I was prepared with my camera, and took a photo of her moment of realization.  

The moment of understanding what the
tickets were for (Christmas 2011)

Within a minute after I snapped the photo, she realized that we got her the tickets because we had seen him as a family the previous year, and she was not able to go even though we'd gotten her a ticket - and she had been so disappointed ... and now we were giving her another chance. She burst into tears of gratitude. 

And the camera was forgotten. She was in my arms.

And finally, I've been thinking of her a lot more lately since our church welcomed a young pastor and her husband to our church leadership team. Their last name is Willis (ours is Gillis) and their youngest child's name - - is Ariella. And her parents pronounce the first part of her name "AR" - the same way we pronounce our own Arielle's name - instead of "AIR" the way most people do.  FREAKY. The first time I heard them talking to her, I was mesmerized.  And Sunday morning, I was watching this little girl (she's about two) reacting to the music, interacting with her mom, talking to her dad, and eventually sleeping in the pew and tossing and fidgeting in her sleep. Her activity level reminded me of our own little firecracker. I found my eyes getting all watery just watching this little bundle of energy. 

I don't really like feeling the way I have been - perhaps because somewhere, in the mists of my early memory, is a voice that says you are only allowed to cry just so long and then you have to "get over it." Of course, that is a lie. Some days are just like that. There is nothing wrong with grieving; it is a sign that you love someone so deeply that you miss that person's presence now that he or she is no longer here. 

So I go back to my fail-safe position: taking one breath at a time. And I look after myself. And I wait as the billows wash over me, knowing they will pass. 

And they will pass. But even that doesn't mean they'll never come again. 

All I need to do is live in THIS moment, breathe THIS breath and not worry about the next one, or the next time, or to say to myself that I "can't wait" until such-and-such happens - or even to wish that I could go back and have another chance to do it over again. It is enough to just remain in today, this hour, this minute ... to simply be. It is Life's lesson for the times that are rough and raw, as well as for the times that are pleasant and happy: embrace the now and do not let the past or the future rob you of it. It is, after all, all that we have.

Self-talk

Any new venture can be exciting, but it can also be overwhelming.

Since I was accepted into an online grad school, I've been quite busy preparing for September. Whenever there is a lull in the activity, my meta-brain kicks in and I start having doubts, second-guessing myself.

It's been over twenty-five years since I graduated from university with a Bachelor's degree. I'm over fifty years old - what am I doing by launching out into a new career path at this stage in my life? how many years would I have left?

Taken right down to its most basic message, my doubting and questioning boils down to one accusation: "Just who do you think you are?"

Interesting question! Still more interesting that once reduced to its most basic nature, it becomes clear where it's coming from: the well-worn recording I have in my head that was etched deeply into my psyche from the time I was a child. That recording says, "You're a screw-up. You'll never amount to anything. Nobody's ever done anything like that before in this family. What, do you think you're better than we are?" 

Oh really?

This kind of thinking is part of the old life. That was the old me - and I am not that person any more. I don't have to listen to it and I certainly don't have to accept it, because it's not true.

The key to getting a song out of your head, they say, is to have an "eraser song" lined up that is more powerful, more meaningful, and more positive than the one you just can't shake. It's the same with thoughts, beliefs about yourself. 

"A new day dawning" - I took this photo
in May 2010 when we were staying at
Killarney B&B, a scent-free space
in Bedford, Nova Scotia.

My "eraser thoughts" look something like this lately: "I need to do this! No more cow-towing. Even if nothing ever comes of this latest venture, I am doing this for me, not for anyone else. I'm not my past, nor am I stuck there. The voices from that awful, hurtful place don't hold any power over me any more. I can do this. I can take whatever comes, one day at a time, just like always.  I'm worth the extra work and expense. It's time to look after my own well-being." 

Self-talk is important. What I say to myself about myself can make quite an impact. It makes the difference between being swept away on the wave of the opinions and thoughts of those around me, and being built up to withstand the onslaught of criticism and negativity - even if that stuff comes from me ... or from some person in my past who, perhaps out of some sense of inadequacy, paralyzed me with shame, trampled on my dreams and crushed nearly every spark of individuality out of me. 

I'm not that person any more. Sometimes I barely recognize myself. On the whole, I like myself better now. That someone else might still see me the way I used to be, needn't dictate the choices I make now. 

And if they can't handle or accept who I am now... that's their loss, not mine.

Getting Swept Away

Hubby and I have been picking away at a renovation project in our bedroom. The window (an old slider one) has needed replacing for a few years, and the room has had the same carpet in there ever since we moved in, in 1989. Over the years we got rid of one piece of furniture and bought another, so after a while, nothing matched anymore. 

So, last fall we began making plans to replace the carpet with laminate flooring, and the project got put on hold because other things took priority. 

However, this spring we decided to have it done, once and for all: new window, new floor, and new (and matching) dressers and night-stands.

The window was first to be replaced. A few days ago, a couple of people came to the house and replaced our window with an energy-efficient casement style window. It works great!!

For the past couple of weeks, hubby has been lifting up the carpet. Unknown to us, there were two layers of it in there: the emerald green we knew, and under it - well, let's just say that the previous owners were into the 70s African savannah tree-house motif or something. Eww. And let's not even imagine the dust and the mess.

Anyway, lifting up the carpet meant that we had to unearth the storage bins that seemed to be hidden everywhere. And all of them - I say red-faced - were filled to the brim with my clothes, clothing that I'd accumulated over the last ten years. All different sizes and styles were all jumbled up together - some pieces were winter pieces I had forgotten I owned and had bought new ones, and others were pants as small as size 8 Petite (yes I know that this is not considered small by some standards - but to me it is!) 

Bin by bin, I stood and sorted clothes by destination: closet, dresser, donation, garbage. It was daunting, but I took each bin as it came and dealt with each piece with a critical eye.

Photo "Dustpan And Brush On White" courtesy of artur84
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Some of my old favorites were painful to release: they were chock-full of memories of thinner, healthier times. I could picture how I used to look in them. Those were the hardest ones to let go, because they were all tied in with the hope I've had for many years: "Maybe I'll fit into that again." It was the vain hope of turning back the clock that kept me stuck in the never-never land of eternal discouragement when I couldn't measure up to a younger, much thinner me. Letting go of that unrealistic hope was not pleasant. But let go I had to - and after an hour, there was a garbage can full of items, plus three and a half large leaf bags full of various-sized pieces to donate to a local thrift store. 

And you know, afterward, I felt differently than I thought I would. Yes, it was tiring, and yes, it was dirty and I had to take a break from it once in a while because the dust was flying so much and quite frankly, my back couldn't take much more standing still in one spot. However, when I'd sorted the last piece, I felt ... freer somehow, unencumbered, as if the future was not tethered to the past anymore and that if my size changed, I could have the pleasure of shopping for new things that fit and flattered me in the moment. Not ten years ago. 

Sometimes it helps me to simplify my life; lately, it had gotten rather cluttered with a lot of baggage - emotional, spiritual, and mental - that simply didn't need to be there. Doing my "clean sweep" helped to remind me that there are things that are worth holding onto, and there are things that really aren't, and need to be released so that there's room in my life for new things, better and more enriching experiences, and fresh ideas. 

I think that tonight I will sleep well, and I am glad that tomorrow is a new day, full of promise and potential. Everyone needs a fresh start - and I am part of everybody. And it's okay to pare off what doesn't belong and keep only what fits. It helps me stay in today. 

And you know what? Today is pretty good.

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.

Want Not

In my last post, I talked about growing up as a child of parents who grew up in the Depression.

My dad was a factory worker; he worked on an assembly line making oil stoves for Fawcett, before the company was taken over by Enterprise. He didn't make much money, and we lived a very simple, very spartan life.  

To keep the "past due" notices at bay, in desperation my mother hired her services out to various clients as a weekly housekeeper, when I was eight years old. By the time I was ten, she was helping to pay off debts that had piled up: car loans, oil bills, grocery bills, even. At least the collectors weren't calling anymore. Yet money was still a major issue; there seemed to be barely enough to survive, even with a large vegetable garden. Extras were almost unheard of. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, the lessons we had learned about not wasting what little we had, paid off, and I can't ever remember a time when there was no food to put on the table. 

Yet, there were times when I would "want." I longed for a certain lifestyle that I could never have. I spent a lot of time imagining and fantasizing about what we'd do if a lot of money dropped into our laps. 

At times, it seemed as though our lives revolved around money. Not the way rich people's lives can ... but ours was more of a "poor man's greed." We were preoccupied with saving what we had for the essentials to the point of re-using milk bags to freeze food, for example. We wondered if we'd ever get enough ahead to have something nice: we were thrust from pillar to post by circumstances beyond our control, and the wolf of potential poverty was never far from our door.  All it would have taken was a prolonged illness, or some sort of disaster like a fire or a flood or even a car accident - and we would have been left with nothing. We all were keenly aware of it, and yet we didn't want other people to know how close the wolf was... a classic case of "poor man's pride."

Photo "Between Seasons" courtesy of Evgeni Dinev at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It wasn't until many years later, after I had moved away from that atmosphere and had lived many years as a wife and mother, that I realized how it was possible to "want not." 

Always in my life I had looked away to what I didn't have, the next big purchase or the next nice thing I wanted, as if I were trying to make up for my parents having to eke out a living. 

I only focused on what I didn't have. 

It never crossed my mind to be grateful for the good things that I did have.

When my life took a 180 degree turn in February 2009, I learned a whole new way of looking at life, one that demanded rigorous honesty with myself, one that required an attitude - a daily attitude - of thankfulness and gratitude. Thankfully, there were those who came alongside of me and modeled that lifestyle for me ... because I didn't have any clue how to do it; nobody had ever showed me before. Nevertheless, as I learned how to let go of unrealistic expectations and to live in "Today" instead of "If Only" - a new experience for me - I began to notice something I hadn't expected.

I smiled more. I was more relaxed, more ... content. Less and less did I care about "what if" and "if only." (I can't say that's disappeared completely, but it's a work in progress!) I could live more and more in Today; I could be present in the Present and not fret about the future or rail against circumstances (or against people) I couldn't change. 

Learning how to live in the Now helped me to allow others be who they were, and gave me permission to be who I was... and am. I began to feel a little more comfortable inside my own skin. That was a new feeling, too.

I started to "Want Not." I started being content with exactly who I was - and with where I was. 

I began to realize that I was right where God intended me to be, and I finally determined to just do the next right thing. It doesn't sound complicated - and it isn't - but it was at the point of desperation, because life wasn't working for me, where I was willing to let go of my old lifestyle. After I did, and I started to get unwrapped from all the constrictive, nasty grave-clothes I'd had wrapped around me all my life, my life was slowly transformed.

Of course, I am far from having arrived ... but all I can say, now that I'm on this journey, is that I wouldn't want to go back to the way it was before. 

Not for anything.

Hello, 4 a.m.

Yes, it's another of those mornings. I went to bed last night with one thought pertaining to sleep on my mind: Gotta get some, catch up that lost hour, maybe even more. 

Wrong. 

This year, daylight saving time has really taken its toll on the little hamster that lives inside my head. Part of it could be that my body is run-down from fighting sickness all winter. It could be stress (I've got lots of stressful situations to pick from). I believe, though, that it's a combination of these in addition to the "what if" component. 

A friend of mine calls it awfulizing. That's pretty much what happens, too. I think that it's a vestige of my old lifestyle - where my mind imagines all kinds of things that could happen in any given situation, then plays out that scenario to the final conclusion - usually based on my fears of what might happen and my core beliefs about what I deserve. 

The thing about that whole process is that it is focused on a period of time I have no control over: what happens next. 

The future has always been a specter for me - the unknown - replete with black robes, scythe and that maniacal grim-reaper's grin. I've spent most of my life trying to control whatever outcomes pertain to me and to my loved ones. It is an illusion of course, and it wastes a whole bunch of energy. 

Still, the clock mocks me with each blink of the colon between the hour and the minute - 4:00. In the morning. Toss, turn, think, pray. By 5:00 I suspect I won't be getting back to sleep; by 5:30 I'm sure of it.

So I get out of bed, slip on my bathrobe and pad out into the kitchen. I set the timer on the microwave to go off in about 90 minutes - and I head to the computer to write. 

Writing clears my head, helps me to make sense of what is going on inside of me. 

"Sunrise at First Sight" courtesy of Keattikorn at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

My thoughts dwell on upcoming events, schedules and plans for those. It surprises me how much I have on my schedule.

Another thing that looms large is my family - specifically my kids. With one expecting surgery in the next few weeks, and another making tentative plans to strike out on her own, I find myself wondering what will happen, being concerned about possibilities that I can't influence: outcomes that - as much as I want to - have nothing to do with how much I fret about them. 

I pray. I tell Him all about it, leave it in His hands. 

I choose to let go. Again.

Day dawns inside of me, sunlight evaporates the mists of worry. 

This is a matter of trust, not of trying. 

I relax. I come back from the foggy realm of 'what if' - return to this specific twenty-four hour period - and leave the phantom of 'tomorrow' alone. 

'Today' looks a bit brighter as a result.

A Nothing Day

Today is another "snow day" - we might have about three a year where I live (in the Maritimes of Canada). This is the second one in a couple of weeks, timed (conveniently) to land on a weekend and give us a little longer to enjoy time with family and friends.

It's one of those kinds of days I used to call "a nothing day." Nothing gets done, nothing is open, nothing much happens. 

"Fireplace" - a photo by adamr at|
www.FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Yet I need - especially in winter - "a nothing day" once in a while. It's a time to think, dream, reflect. It's an opportunity to spend quality time with spouse, children, friends. The slow-cooker is doing a roast; I'll soon be starting a batch of home-made bread and rolls to combat the inevitable, "oh-I-forgot-to-get-bread" (or whatever you invariably run out of when there's a storm). It's so relaxing for me ... baking ... and I don't get much of a chance to do it anymore.  I find myself looking forward to it - as long as it's a "want-to" rather than a "have-to" thing. Making bread is therapeutic for me. I do it from scratch because there's something about feeling the dough between my fingers and watching it respond to my touch ... that ignites a creative spark in me.

As I was writing this post, I didn't even want to turn on the TV, at least not to watch any shows. So, I turned it on, and muted it, and put it on the "Fireplace Channel." Even if there is no fireplace in our living room, the continual do-loop of video showing a crackling fire does give a rather warm ambiance to the space, an air of peace and civility, and of a refuge in an otherwise cold and harsh atmosphere. At some point during the day, I will probably listen to some André Gagnon - like his Neiges (perfect for a winter's respite, you can even hear the wind howling outside). 

The silence, the absence of hustle and bustle, the ability to do what I want when I want to do it, these all recharge my inner batteries and nourish my inner me. Everyone needs that mental / spiritual break. I was going to say "once in a while" but ... I think it's more "on a regular basis" ...

I guess I'll watch the fire a little longer ... and then go start making some dough.

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.

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.

Taking care while caretaking

I'm a recovering codependent. 

It is an effort for me to let people make their own mistakes without trying to rush in and fix things, or to fix the people. When I put on my "Fix-it" cap, people either become more dependent on me (which breeds resentment on both sides) or they immediately beome defensive and angry. 

Usually. 

However, there are times when the "caretaking" skills come in handy - like when someone I love is literally unable to care for himself or herself. 

Like this weekend. My eldest fell on a patch of black ice while trying to get into the family vehicle. In that fall, she twisted her left knee so much so that the patella (kneecap) shifted around to the outside - and she had to shift it back until it "clicked" into place (shuddddder.) 

We finally (that is, after over 24 hours of arguing) convinced her that she needed to have it seen. Her dad took her to an emergency room in a hospital which is an hour's drive away - one that is known for shorter wait times. She was seen very quickly, X-rayed to exclude the possibility of a bone chip or cracked patella, had a huge knee-brace put on her leg to keep it straight - and referred to an extremely good orthopedic surgeon here in our community. The wait time to see him is usually 2 to 3 months. He called this morning and wants to meet her at our local hospital a week from tomorrow. (This gives the swelling time to go down so an MRI can get a better picture, quite likely). 

Oh ... did I forget to mention that she RE-injured the knee trying to get back into the house (5 stairs up to the top of the deck plus a lu-lu of a doorstep to get into the house) with the knee brace on? Once again, she had to click the patella back in place. In the rain. Sitting on a wet deck. The whole thing was a nightmare for all concerned - especially her.

A hand-held shower: simple solution to mobility problems

Anyway... today I called my boss and told her that I'd be taking some time off today to look after my daughter and arrange ways for her to look after herself in the day-to-day. 

If I need to, I'll take leave without pay to look after her, but I hope it doesn't come to that. 

Her dad is running unexpected errands today - getting items we never thought we'd need: a hand-held shower head, other assorted household items, a wheelchair rental, materials to build a ramp from the top of the deck to the driveway - and I'm looking at ways to get her access to the things she normally uses in the run of a day, so that she can function from day to day without help.

And herein is the greatest difference between the way I would have handled this four years ago and the way I'm approaching it now. I'm actually actively seeking ways for her to be independent. Before, I would have lapped this up and wanted more. Yes, in a way I am enjoying the opportunity to look after her hand and foot. However, I know that this is a danger zone for me - so I need to ask myself, even now, if this (whatever it is) is something I NEED to do or if I should let her try to figure it out on her own. 

Sometimes it's appropriate for me to offer my help; after that, though, it's more appropriate to make a way for her to do things for herself. 

It's a learning process. And I'm learning.

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.  

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.

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.