Sunshine On My Fingertips

There is a strip of sunshine running across my fingertips as I type. It makes me smile.

A year ago tomorrow I stepped away from blogging, unsure of whether I'd start again or not. It took months for me to stop looking at happenings in my life as bloggable moments. The break has been good.

But here I am, giving it another go.

I don't know what exactly I've learned in the past year. I do know I'm further down the road including the times when the road has seemed to circle around to the same stuff. My spiritual director would say that even though the view sometimes looks the same it's from a different place on the road.

Deeper awareness. Hopefully, deeper acceptance. The more layers that get peeled off, the deeper the hope. Funny how the more aware I've become of my humanity, the more I've been able to accept myself. And then when that happens, change not only becomes possible, it happens.

I spent so many years fighting to distance myself from my humanity, protesting that "no, I'm not like that", whatever that was in the moment. Whatever I see in others is in me, too. I'm much more the same as everyone else than different.

I'm embarrassed at how long it took me to accept that reality. I was never going to be human. I was aiming for super human, better than, better. These days I am content to be me.Yes, there are moments what seems like long stretches when my ego runs the show. Sometimes I recognize it in the now and sometimes after the fact.

Yesterday I jumped off a diving board. Water went straight up my nose and burned like hell. I coughed and sputtered when I surfaced and swam to the edge of the pool where I heaved myself up and rested. One of many who jumped. No need to be the only one, the best one. Just me. Being a kid in a middle aged woman's body.

The Art Form of Sticking One's Foot In One's Mouth

"Tidiness is the art form of the non-creative." ~ wildlife artist Greg Beecham

If there is truth to that quote then judging by my desk pictured above I'm quite creative!

It's bitterly cold here today. So cold the Puglies won't go outside. Last night I took them for one last constitutional before bed and they both sat on their butts trying to get all four feet up in the air at once to keep from freezing. Needless to say I carried them both back to the house, each snuggled under an arm like a football. This morning the windows are frosted up to the tops and the sun is shining through making it seem like I have stained glass windows.

At least the weather gives me something to write about. I've had a full week with little down time. Gone for 12+ hours at a stretch. Three luxurious days lay before me with no plans to venture farther than the yard. Winter makes me feel like hibernating and my cave is rather full of stuff.

Once winter is here to stay, and judging by the snow and cold, it is, I feel closed in on, like my clothes are too tight except it's the house that feels too tight. Invariably this lead to me wanting to open the door and chuck most of my belongings out in a snow drift so I feel like I have more room to stretch. Contrast that with a sunny summer day when I feel like opening doors and windows to let the outside in! Same amount of stuff, same house, way different perspective.

I had a few places to stop yesterday to buy yet more stuff. Winter boots. Greeting cards. I am so grateful for warm boots in this weather. It was a spur of the moment buy as I have boots on order from the catalogue. But I couldn't face taking one more dainty step on snow and ice in my dress shoes. I'd already just about ended going ass over tea kettle coming out of a store the day before and this lead me to walking tentatively ever since. I'm the kind of person who would lay in the snow after a fall, declaring "You don't understand! I had to wait to buy them until they were on sale!" as they loaded me onto a stretcher. And I'd expect applause, too, for that ridiculous behaviour. Oh, come on, you frugal shoppers know exactly what I mean.

So there I was standing in line at the checkout counter, in my new furry lined knee high brown boots, buying a bunch of greeting cards when I put them on the conveyer belt at the exact moment that the clerk started that belt going into overdrive. It was like she was driving a car and her foot was stuck on the gas. I take a lot of time looking for just the right card and one of those cards had been the only one of its kind in the rack and I'd be darned if it was going to get wrecked by jamming up the conveyer belt.

I reached to save it and she just kept her foot on the gas. I grabbed that card and watched as the belt threatened to suck another card into that little space between belt and counter. I felt like I was playing Jacks and was scrambling to pick up the last Jack before the red ball stopped bouncing. At the last minute I grabbed up every last card, narrowly avoiding getting my fingers jammed in there when I said, "You're going to drive me crazy." You ever have that happen? Realize you've said out loud what should have stayed in your head and there is no going back? Not even on a conveyor belt.

The sound of my voice must have startled her because she suddenly let go of the belt drive button. She looked embarrassed to have been caught not paying attention. I was embarrassed to have spoken out loud what I thought I was only thinking. I kept my mouth shut after that for fear of sticking the other of my newly purchased furry boots in my mouth although I do think there's room for me to rest one of them up on my desk. Right beside the catalogue I ordered my boots from to be precise.

Fixated

Once in a very long while I feel like I get a nudge from the Holy Spirit. Most of the time I doubt those nudges, unable to differentiate between it and my ego. My ego is great at masquerading as so many things.

But last night I was sitting at a friend's house and got a sudden urge to call another friend. I ignored it for about ten minutes and then excused myself to go use the phone and call. Tears on the other end of the line. There really is nothing I can say to a sorrowing person that will make anything any better. But I can listen. So I did.

Kindness is seriously under rated. When I hear people talk about so and so is destined to do Big Things For God I recognize my own ego inflation tendencies. My experience tells me it's much harder to be faithful in little things. Especially when I get hung up on thinking there's something bigger I should be doing. What rubbish.

I'm having a really hard time lately living in this day only. I constantly feel like I'm waiting for something. Right now it's for the time change next weekend. I'm not sure why I feel like an extra hour of sleep is going to change anything but in my mind it is. My whole growing up I was fixated on the next thing, never this thing right in front of me. It was the only way I could cope with my reality. I know my restlessness is temporary but it is not fun waiting for it to pass.

To Be Witness

The leaves are gone off the trees today. A hard wind came along and away the last of them went.I don't know what fits a death more - grey skies and bare trees or a sunshiny blue sky.

This is Thanksgiving weekend here. I came home mid morning and put a pie in the oven and made the cranberry sauce. The turkey was slipped in to the oven to roast just a few minutes ago. Dearest one was gone when I came home. I thought maybe he'd gone to have coffee with a friend. Nope. He was at the hospital with his dad, who had been feeling ill enough that dearest one's mom called and asked for help. He is okay, no heart attack as was feared. Dearest one will be home as soon as he can. It's been that kind of a weekend.

I am beyond grateful that I am sober and emotionally healthy. Otherwise I would not be in this place of accepting life on life's terms today. I don't do it perfectly of course. I'm just grateful for those times when it is so clear what the right thing to do is regardless of what my idea of the day was going to look like. Thy will be done is a really brave thing to pray some days. There is a bigger plan than I can see. That sentence doesn't answer all the questions. I don't think faith needs every question answered in order to be real and vibrant. Maybe just the opposite.

Last night my sponsor and I settled into her hot tub after everyone had gone home. She reached both her hands out to me and under an inky black sky with pin pricks of stars trying to shine through, we prayed together. A first for both of us. The first words out of her mouth were ones of gratitude. We then sat and talked and even laughed a bit. It is a privilege to be witness to someone else's journey.


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Treasure Trove

"You know, Hope, just live in this moment. After all, you could be dead before tomorrow."

"Hey, that's right! I could be dead and then I wouldn't have to deal with this would I?"

Oh, lovely thoughts that come into my head when I am feeling stressed to the max. Thoughts that sometimes make me laugh right in the midst of gut churning and heart racing anxiety about something I have no control over and have no idea how it's going to turn out.

I am very grateful to be in recovery.

It helped me delete an entire paragraph in an email where I had been trying to deflect my stuff by pointing out someone else's. I sat here and told myself that all I could do was own my stuff. End of sentence. So I deleted a paragraph that I'd thought might work in my favour in the situation. My side of the street. That's what I'm responsible for.

It doesn't absolve me of consequences. It doesn't even make it turn out pretty. But even in the midst of it all I feel clear about what's mine to own and what isn't.

I wrote the above about an hour ago. Then I made a phone call and found out that the gut churning, heart racing anxiety had not been founded in the reality of the situation. There were no dire consequences. There weren't even any consequences. The situation had been resolved by my email and then the whole thing vanished like a thin puff of smoke. The other person laughed and waved it away as it hadn't been a huge concern to them in the first place.

Yesterday, when it all started, I asked myself if this bodily reaction was what I felt as a child growing up in an abusive home. Instantly I knew I spent most of my childhood with my gut churning and that high level of anxiety running through my body. I felt a deep sorrow about this because I'd never recognized it before. Even typing that makes me teary. I can't remember the last time I thought I was in trouble and that bodily reaction came so instantaneous.

It took a lot of talking and praying to separate my childhood reaction from what was happening yesterday. It really bothered me that once I was clear in my head my body was still on high alert. For hours.

I spent the evening with a group of friends and talked it out. As the conversation shifted to the rest of the group and I sat quietly listening to where our journeys intersected my body relaxed enough that I was left with perhaps 5% of the original anxiety.

I prayed before I went to sleep. I didn't sleep well. The situation was on my mind the moment I woke up. I went to sleep and dreamed about the person and the situation. I woke up with more than a touch of gut churning and heart racing. Dearest one prayed with me and then lit prayer candles before heading to work.

And then I made the phone call and everything was okay.

I've been reading this book a little bit every night before I go to sleep. Last night I read:

"....you can use anything - everything - as a wake up call; you can find a treasure trove of information about yourself and the world in the big trials and the little annoyances of daily life. If you turn around and face yourself in times of loss and pain, you will be given the key to a more truthful - and therefore a more joyful - life."

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The Answer Would Be "No"

"I wish I could go home and have a drink to relax."

That's the thought that went through my head on the way home every night this week. I didn't freak out at the thought, because a drink was not what I was after, but I did let myself sit with the thought. I wondered what was it beneath it that I was looking for. What was it about the scenario that was attractive to me? The previous week I had sat in a bar with coworkers as they closed their evening with a drink while I sipped on peppermint tea. I found the scene such a foreign feeling that I excused myself early and went to bed. I wonder if being in that setting had prompted my thoughts.

This week I have worked double and a bit more hours than I normally do. By yesterday late afternoon I had handled 350 pieces of paper. Most of them 4 times once you include photocopying, scanning, signing, double checking. They are still in a pile waiting to be filed now. All that to say it has been a very busy week. I have driven home exhausted every evening. I have never worked a Saturday in this job until yesterday. It was wonderful to leave my desk finally cleared of papers yesterday afternoon and go home.

The second night that thought above went through my mind I realized what I was looking for was some way to reward myself for the hard work I was doing. I was craving recognition and reward. So I got creative. I wanted a beta endorphin boost. I went and picked fresh veggies in my garden and dug potatoes for supper. An hour from ground to table. What a treat! Another night I got home and forced myself to put on my running shoes and went for a walk. That helped. I spent an evening with a group of friends. We did a lot of talking and belly laughing and ended the evening in prayer. By Thursday, when the thought was still rattling around in my head, I booked a massage for yesterday. A treat I have not had in several years.

And then came Friday. As I pulled to a stop at a red light there was that thought once again. I asked myself what was it I was looking for. Out of nowhere came a question,

"Has going home and relaxing with a drink ever been your experience?"

I started to laugh. Um, the answer would be no. It was never even a goal. I can't relate to it one bit. I can relate to drinking to get drunk. Drinking as fast as I can guzzle them. Drinking to numb the feelings.

But relaxing and having a drink, no. I had been romanticising an experience that was foreign to me. And with that the thought stopped harassing me. It still makes me laugh.

Yesterday I went to work early and then stopped part way through my day to have my massage (it was wonderful,I booked another one) and then went to my home group meeting where I shared this week's experience. I was so grateful to have a place where I could go and be honest and get understanding in return. I went back to the office with a lighter heart.

Now I have two days off to relax and refresh. I slept past 6 AM and soon family will be here to spend the day with us. Tomorrow I will tackle things that need to be done before work comes around again. I have a garden that needs cleaning out. There are simple every day chores to be done. Life is good.


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Making A Difference

When you read this I'll be on a plane, going to visit my family. My dad is having a milestone birthday and my sisters and I decided we needed to celebrate it. My poor mother is not in control of the gathering but we promised we'd do all the work so that all she has to do is show up.

Not too much has happened in my home of origin that was not my mom's idea. Excluding the stuff we snuck around behind her back to do. I was so convinced that she knew my every move that when I moved clear across the country once I turned 18, I sometimes thought she knew the shenanigans I was up to and semi consciously braced myself for the shit storm that never came. Turns out she really did not have eyes in the back of her head nor telepathy nor could she see all the way across the country. It took me many years to realize that.

My older sister and I had a comedy of communication errors and so my dad's celebration is two afternoons in a row, depending on which paper you read the announcement in.

I volunteered to be the one to tell my mom we had planned a party at their house, weather permitting, and were inviting the whole community. It was easiest to volunteer because I'm the daughter who lives far away.

The land my dad lives on has been in the family for nearly 100 years. Chances are there are not too many people in the surrounding communities who do not know of him, if they don't know him personally. We want to honour our dad because well, you only live once. And we don't want to wait to gather the community in his honour until after he's dead.

We want him to know he made a difference.

That probably pisses my mom off. I told her we wouldn't throw her a milestone party unless she wants one. She won't. That's okay. People are different. I just wish she could be happy for my dad. I need to let go of that expectation. People can only do what they are capable of doing/being. Myself, included.

One of my sisters came up with the idea that all the grand kids could write a note to their grandpa about what he means to them. My older brother wanted to be in on it, too. That lead to all of us being invited to contribute.

My dad was the nice parent. We used to talk as kids that if they got divorced (and could they please do it so we wouldn't have to wake up at 2 AM listening to their fights anymore?) we'd all want to live with him. They are still together. Had they divorced and had we gone to live with him he would have let us do whatever we wanted while he buried his head behind the newspaper. I doubt that any kid really wants that kind of nice. It's great in daydreams but not in real life.

And so when I got the email inviting me to contribute a note I came face to face with a whole whack of resentment towards him that I didn't even know was there. It just about convinced me not to write a note at all. As if the resentments cancelled out all the good memories.

They don't.

My earliest memories are of my dad. I was two years old and was coming home from the hospital after a serious surgery and my mom took me to his shop. I remember being happy to see my dad. All the men were really kind to me because I'd just about died.

When I was five I was in the hospital and my dad came to see me on his lunch hour. My room was several stories up and we pulled two chairs over to the window and my dad read me a book. I wanted to be on his lap but was too shy to ask. My dad was not cuddly and all that. But he showed up. That counts.

When I was six I broke my arm. It's really hard to change your shirt, (have to have a clean shirt on to go to the hospital you know), when you've broken your arm right near the shoulder. But change it I did because I was told to. I changed into a red shirt. At the hospital a nurse put me in a change room to get into a gown. I got locked in. To this day I still get a little panicky in change rooms that lock. My dad took me for ice cream after I was all fixed up. He bought a green ice cream cone and a pink one and I got to pick which one I wanted. I didn't have many choices as a kid so maybe that's why that one sticks out in my mind.

When I was learning to drive I once took a corner way too fast, so fast that my dad slammed up against the door on the passenger's side. He was brave enough to continue to let me drive after that even though he turned very pale as I careened around that corner. It's hard to keep a vehicle on the road once you turn a corner at 40 mph. We fishtailed for quite a ways and he never even raised his voice. Did you know my dad was prematurely grey?

Some of these things I will write down for him.

Fifteen years ago when he was having a different milestone birthday I wrote him a letter to tell him I wanted a relationship with him. That if he died tomorrow I've have to tell my friends I didn't know him; didn't know who he was as a person. I enclosed a little book with questions for him to answer that would help me get to know what goes around in that head of his. I was crushed when he didn't answer my letter and put the book on the shelf where it still gathers dust.

It took me many years to realize that I was asking something of him that he didn't have the tools to do. He had no tools to navigate the intimacies of below the surface relationships although my sister said once, when they were having an in depth conversation about how things were for us as kids, that she could tell by his face that he wanted to, he just didn't know how.

I thought realizing all that took care of the resentment but I can see now that it didn't. I am grateful to have the tools to know what to do about that.

I wrote this post over a week ago. I debated not posting it because of my obvious issues surrounding my parents. I alternated between wanting to pretty up the post and leaving it as is. Today I decided it is what it is. I am where I am on the journey. They are where they are, too. Lord have mercy on us all.


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It's All Connected

The rotten floor led to new flooring and new vanity, lights, cupboard and mirror.

We both were relieved when the actual rotten part was considerably smaller than it could have been.

Dearest one and I have lived in rented houses most of our married life.
This is our first ever remodelling project in our very own home.
I feel totally spoiled.



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Crazy Shit

I was driving to town yesterday feeling incredible gratitude for this beautiful summer convinced I've never appreciated it like I do this year. The thought flitted through my head that such gratitude and awareness must mean this will be my last summer. That's how my brain works.

I know.
Crazy shit.

This morning as I was watering my flowers (aren't they pretty?) I was thinking about that again and realized it was just a different take on that belief which drives me crazy ~ that life is so good, too good, so it must surely come crashing down soon. Whenever I hear other people talk like that I run around in circles in my head screeching NO at the top of my lungs. It's shitty theology to believe that God will surely heap misery on their heads because they're enjoying life as it is. It was a good come uppance to realize I still think like that, too. It had just shape shifted a bit so I couldn't recognize it as easily.

So I'm going to enjoy my flowers and the summer and leave it at that. There are people close to me fighting for their lives this summer that I am hyper aware of the gift of life and shitty theology. I am so grateful that AA teaches God is a loving God.

I chaired a business meeting yesterday and watched as it triggered my need-to-keep-everyone-happy button. I didn't realize it was still so present and willing to take front and center stage. Someone seemed offended at a group decision and shut down instantly. So instantly that they never said another word all meeting nor in the meeting after that. When they left as soon as we were done saying the Lord's prayer I had to stifle the urge to run after them and try to make it okay. I wanted to take responsibility for their shutting down. The anxiety I felt at not making it all better escalated somewhat and I had to really work at letting go of it and keeping to my side of the street. Chairing business meetings is not my favourite thing to do. I realized yesterday that I consider I've done a good job only if there is no conflict.

I know.
Crazy Shit.

It is a gift that we keep getting opportunities to recognize crazy shit. And hopefully the pile of it gets smaller every time the same shit appears on my radar screen. Once I told Fr. Charlie that it seemed like I kept dealing with the same shit different pile and he told me that I was further along on the journey and seeing it from a different perspective now. At that time I thought the goal was to eliminate crazy shit altogether.

I sat here this morning and enjoyed my breakfast while listening to a chorus of song birds greet the day. When I went to sleep last night after midnight there were still remnants of the setting sun filtering through the trees. Now that is not crazy shit. To me it's a piece of heaven.

Across The Prairies

You know you're sick when
you book an appointment for a student
and when they come back an hour later
to discuss another issue you offer
to make them an appointment again
and they hold up the appointment card
with your own handwriting on it
that you wrote an hour ago
and you have no memory of it.
That was way too long of a sentence.

I puked my way to town this morning.
It's hard to drive and puke at the same time.
I stayed home yesterday
and would have stayed home today
except all other staff were out of town
and we had students coming in for a
weekly teleconferencing class.

So I stayed until they were done
and went home right on their heels.

Tonight we planted the garden.
It was my idea.
It's late getting into the ground.
I bitched and moaned my way through
dropping seeds into rows.
I'd forgotten that I am a whiny sick person.
It's supposed to rain tonight
and I wanted those seeds in the ground
to take advantage of the moisture.

Tomorrow we are headed on a trip
to see family 600 miles away.
I am hoping I don't puke my way
across the prairies.
I am trusting that tomorrow will
be better than today.
I am grateful to be sober
and to be welcomed at a family event.
That could so totally be a different story.

My writing instructor commented today
that I seemed a little intense.
I laughed out loud at his statement.
Ya think?
A few of us talked outside the meeting
last weekend about how intense we each were.
I wonder if that is a common trait among alcoholics.

I wish I didn't think of it as a negative trait
but I do.
My boss is not an intense person at all.
I began to get an inkling that I could be
when she would hold up her hand
like a stop sign,
and preface what she wanted me to do
with, You don`t have to do it this minute.
Which made me realize I`d been jumping up from my desk
to do whatever task was required.
Funny how other people can show us who we are
without directly pointing it out.
Now I try to stay glued to my seat when she talks.

I`ll be offline until Sunday.
Have a great weekend.

Getting Outside Of Myself

I'm too lazy to write in paragraphs tonight.
Bullet points will have to do.
Which is interesting if I take that phrase literally.
I tend to take things very literally.
I am not great with nuances although I am improving.

Anyway, I hate bullets, guns and such.
A few weeks ago youngest son managed to get me
to hold his shot gun for a brief moment.
He took a picture.
I threatened him with a gigantic amount of trouble
if he posted the photo on FB.
So far he has resisted the urge to do so.
Smart young man.

I wrote a bit about my story here and here.
I feel vulnerable posting those links for you.
I got a wake up call as to how big my ego is
by my private little pity party
about not getting many comments
in response to what I wrote.
I had dashed off the posts in 10 minutes
and let go of polishing them up at all.
I thought I was killing my ego by doing that
or some such heroic thing.
Not too long afterwards
I wanted to polish and polish them to bits.
I didn't.
Being upset because you think no one is noticing you
has got to be the same sickness
as being upset because you think everyone is talking about you.
The only redeeming thing I can think of about that is that I recognize it.

I had the opportunity to make a 12 step call this morning.
That was the best part of my day.
It got me out of myself in a real hurry.
I will be saying a little prayer for her
as I go to sleep tonight.
And again in the morning.
The call came at work.
I was shocked to hear her voice message.
I never take 12 step calls at work
because the public can open the door
and ask for my help at any moment.
Not to mention coworkers.

But dearest one said she sounded desperate
so he gave her my work number.
Mercifully my coworkers were around the corner
and in another room.
They stayed there for a good long time.
No one from the public showed up either.
In other words, it was perfect timing.
God's timing.

Waking Up

Last night I told myself that if I woke up an hour before my alarm that I would get up and do an hour of yoga. This morning I meandered to the bathroom, telling myself I wouldn't look at the clock. I wanted to be free of culpability. Of owning my choice to not do what I said I would. Of course I peeked just as I crawled back into bed to find that it was not even 4:30 AM. Ninety whole minutes before the alarm was to go off. I laid in bed for half an hour trying to go back to sleep but that nagging thought about yoga prevented it. And so here I am, right when my alarm is supposed to go off with breakfast eaten, blogs read and yoga no where in sight.

I contemplated going for a walk but this is the time when bears like to traipse through our field and last week dearest one puzzled over whether a paw print in the mud was a cougar's or that of a wolf. I decided to pass on a walk, too.

The birds are singing as I type. It seems like they sing around the clock these days as we inch closer to the longest daylight day of the year. By that time we will not really get pitch black at any time in the night here. Makes it hard to go to sleep and harder still to tell what time it is.

Of course if my alarm clock could it would flash TIME TO DO YOGA.

Wrestling Consumerism

We got home from work yesterday to see a raging forest fire directly south of us by about 7 miles. We had been able to see it all the way from town, which is about 80 kms away, so that tells you how big it was.

As we watched the smoke and the 50km/hour wind gusts through our front window I turned and picked up the phone. One of our close friends lives in that area and we wanted to make sure they were okay. Several years ago the man of this family had commented in Sunday School that he didn't care if his house burned to the ground tomorrow, if his family made it out okay, his house meant zilch in the big scheme of things. Five days later his house burned to the ground. Goosebumps went down the back of every adult who'd been with him in Sunday School that day. His family was fine. They have since rebuilt their home and their lives. Thankfully the fire was a little ways away from their place yesterday and this morning the skies are clear. There isn't even a remnant of smoke in the sky.

Dearest one and I talked last night about what we'd take if the winds shifted and the fire came our way. What we'd do if we had to evacuate. I boiled it down to the box of Rubbermaid photos of our family and the one of my writing. He added the tower of our computer and the Pugs, of course (I can't believe I forgot them!). I added my Big Book. I misplaced it last month and although I had my tiny pocket one and a large print copy I just felt restless because my original copy is all underlined and written in and it falls open naturally to pages I read often. Opening it feels similar to sliding into that faded pair of jeans that fit just right. I found it high up on a shelf last week and breathed a big sigh of relief.

I struggle a lot with trying to sort out what to make of having so many possessions in this life. Knowing that in the end they don't mean a thing. I heard a song a long time ago called I've Never Seen A Hearse With A U-Haul Trailer.

Sometimes I tell dearest one that if we live long enough to end up in a room in a nursing home what the heck are we doing accumulating more stuff just to get rid of it one day. And then there's the side of me that loves to be surrounded by beauty and the pleasure I get from beautiful possessions. Over the winter I packed up many possessions to get rid off. It hasn't stopped me from buying more although I ask myself now if I'm going to want that thing in 10 years. I started doing that after reading this quote from Warren Buffet "If you don't feel comfortable owning something for 10 years, then don't own it for 10 minutes." I look around my house and there's precious little I care about 10 years after I buy it. I don't know what the balanced way of being about this is but I do know I wrestle with it because I don't want my focus to be on stuff that doesn't matter in the end. I could analyze this to death and still not have an answer. I want to be more than a consumer in this life.

The friends of ours who lost their home in a fire don't care a rat's ass about possessions. They didn't before the fire and they still don't. They are however, big into relationships.

Resting

The Yoga Pup stands just like that duckling does between its mama's legs. When he first started doing this I thought he was trying to get through my legs, but no, he just wanted the comfort of being snug between them. I can be washing dishes and suddenly he is standing there or even when I sit at the computer he sometimes wedges himself in. Anytime he is feeling insecure he waits for dearest one or I to stop walking, then he quickly comes and stands between our calves. I can relate to his wanting some tangible security in knowing that he isn't alone. Sometimes I picture myself resting in God's hammock shaped palms when I am feeling out of sorts. I remind myself that all I have to do is rest there.

The other night I had to pick Yoga Pup up off the couch, where he was waiting for dearest one to come home, and pack him to bed. Sometimes we wonder what his story is because he sure has some insecurities. I know that when dearest one comes home today he will go absolutely berserk and chatter like a squirrel to show his excitement. Yes, sometimes we wonder if he isn't another animal in a Pug's body. He plays like a cat, chatters like a squirrel and nestles like a duckling.

Yesterday I went for a walk in the field and the Pugs and the outside dog plus the cat joined me. Rain was falling like a dripping faucet and the earth smelled like decaying leaves. If I closed my eyes I couldn't tell if it was Spring or Fall. I kept stopping just to breathe it all in. All too soon the crop will be too high for me to walk in and I will have to go back to walking on the road. Sharing that space with vehicles makes taking the animals along no fun at all.

The quiet was hard for me yesterday. It brought me an awareness of my online usage that I have been kidding myself about. My house is in need of cleaning not because I need a housekeeper but because I am using my time online instead. I wrote in my journal for the first time in 6 months yesterday. It took several pages before I stopped sounding like I was writing a blog post instead of a journal entry. I am glad to know there really is a difference.

Dearest one has many family members who have no radio, TV or Internet in their homes. They go about their days in silence all the time. Of course one can find distraction anywhere if you're looking for it. I know that. But yesterday was as comforting as it was disconcerting. I'm going to try it more often.

Remembering

"It's him," I whisper as I cup my hand over the phone before handing it to dearest one.

That's the first thing I remember about that day 10 years ago. One of our nephews was supposed to come over the night before to borrow a pickup truck. We had been looking forward to his visit as he was one of our favourites out of over 3 dozen nieces and nephews. He never showed and we'd gone to bed disappointed. Early the next morning the phone rang and when I answered it I thought it was him. It wasn't. It was his brother phoning to tell us that the night before a friend and his brother had taken one last flight in their ultra light plane and hadn't returned. No amount of searching had found them. They had called the appropriate people sometime after midnight and before too long we heard the roar of an air force search plane overhead.
It took them very little time to find the wreckage. There were no survivors.

Just two days before we had been together for a family gathering and I watched this particular nephew as he played with someone's baby. I noticed the ease of his play and his unselfconsciousness of being in the moment with that baby as if there weren't 30 people sitting around visiting as he laid on the floor playing. Before we'd left that night he and dearest one talked about going up in the plane together soon.

The passage of time is a funny thing. On one hand one can hardly believe it's been that long. And on the other one remembers that day as if it was yesterday.

I just remembered that we'd learned of my granny's suicide at age 90, three years to the day we learned of this young nephew's death. I rarely remember to remember her on this day but I rarely forget him.

I missed celebrating my AA birthday last month with my home group because I was away so today is the day for cake, cards and medallions. My head has been way too busy with what I might say at the meeting so I've been praying to let that go. I am amazed and appalled at how much my ego wants to run the show. Sometimes I want to beat it over the head and say, Will you shut the fuck up already! Instead I pray for God to direct my thoughts. I laid in bed this morning and prayed the third step prayer before I got up. I've been doing that lately to help me get my bearings before the chatter in my head has a chance to start up.

Later on today we will help oldest son celebrate his birthday. While he was growing up the death of his cousin and his great grandma overshadowed his celebration on two separate occasions. I look forward to celebrating with him and his wife and their friends.

I refused to keep my grandma's choice of suicide a secret although I had to pry out of my mom how my grandma died. After I found out I had several conversations with one of my sisters that morning and she was grateful grandma's death had been peaceful in her sleep. Before the morning was over I phoned my mom and said I am not keeping this a secret. My sister wishes I hadn't told her the truth. I hate secrets. I grew up in a family where my mom told me to my face that what went on in our house stayed in our house. After my grandma died I met her brother for the first time since childhood. Every time he would tell me he was so grateful she had died in her sleep I gritted my teeth a little.

I don't know why this topic is coming up in my writing lately. I suspect I am still pissed at my grandma for ending her life that way. It just popped into my head that I could pray to have some compassion for her. That never occured to me before. If you knew her life story you would most likely have compassion for her in a heartbeat.

My dad, who will be 80 this summer, often says that getting old and having health problems and the like sure beats the alternative. Any day above ground is a good one is a phrase he heartily agrees with. Wish my grandma had thought that way.

Rambling Hither And Yon

I should be in bed. It's inching closer to midnight with every key stroke. I haven't kept a journal since my unbloggable summer ended last year ago so tonight the blog will have to do. If I go to bed before I unload the minutae that has accumluated in my brain over the course of the day I will be awake until 2 AM.

Today it was nearly 30C here, which is almost 90F for you Farenheit people. Unheard of in these parts for this time of year. The trees are greening up in record time. We get our garden tilled in a few days. My grandma always told me there would be a hard frost after the first of June so don't put out your bedding plants early. She has been right every year. I wonder what she would say about hot weather this early. I wondered last night, when I listened to the weather man talk about some kind of clouds in the sky that had no moisture in them, if my great grandparents knew that kind of thing during the dirty 30s. Did the farmers know then that ceratin kinds of clouds were just a teaser of the hope yet to come? The hope they scanned the sky for without end? I wonder.

Work is very busy and often stressful right now. In my whole adult life I haven't held a job this long before. That's because I married young, became a mother young and stayed at home nearly the whole time my kids were growing up. Then I was sick for quite a few years. My goal was to get well enough that I could hold a part time job. Dearest one and I used to walk by a department where he works and I'd say, "I'd just like a job there. Part time." I have a job just like that one. Part time. Most days it feels like a dream. A good one. I like my job. I'd like to stay in it until I retire. There are times though when I just want to go home and pull the covers over my head and sleep for a few days. In my more immature moments I wish I could get a paycheck without going to work. I am most grateful that I know at a gut level that I get to choose my attitude any day. I've been a bit negative at work lately, caught up in circumstances beyond anyone's control. Tomorrow I get another chance to lean further on the positive side of life. I can do that. God help me.

I left work early today to get acupuncture needles stuck in the top of my head, my ears, legs, arms and between my toes. They helpd with the work stress. Tonight I went to a board meeting and left it feeling certain that deciding not to extend my term another few years was the right decision. That means only one more board meeting and I have completed my commitment.

I am allergic to scents and perfumes. That means no "smelly" candles in the house, no air fresheners, no perfume to be remembered by. For many years already I have planted those flowers you see in the photo up there. My grandma had them in her garden and they are called Evening Scented Stock. I have harboured the idea that my kids and perhaps grandkids will think of me by that scent. You know how that is when you catch a drift of a scent and are transported back in time? Well, those flowers will be my rememberance. I plant a full, thick row of them in the garden and on certain evenings when the wind blows gently it's intoxicating to breathe in their scent.

It really is a good life. I do hope it rains soon.

Mercy Softened The Edges

"If that's the last time I talk to her am I okay with how that went?"

That's the question I asked myself after my weekly phone call to my mom this past Saturday. Yesterday she was scheduled for a pretty invasive medical test. I spent much of that weekly phone call listening to my mom read me several pages of information the hospital had sent her. As I listened to her read I was torn between listening to her and wanting to put the phone down to go check on supper, which was in danger of burning in the oven. I told myself that I wasn't going to interrupt her, in what may be our final conversation, and that a burnt supper wasn't the end of the world.

Funny how much more considerate I can be when I think you may die the next day.

My mom has spent her life being stoic (in capital letters.) She doesn't need anyone, ever. She had a different medical test last month and told me she was scared. Well, she didn't actually say she was scared. She said the the test was scary, because she could have a heart attack during it. A very real possibility.

It was so surreal to listen to this woman, who I lived in fear of my whole childhood, be vulnerable and admit, in a round about way, her fear. She is so self sufficient that when she got sent to the hospital several years ago and was hooked up to 5 different machines within a few minutes of arriving, she told my dad to go home, that there was no reason to wait around, while, you know, she died. She didn't die but might have had she not been sent by her doctor to the hospital. I told dearest one that I hoped she didn't send my dad home yesterday because if something happened, he would get the news over the phone.

I did not want to get bad news over the phone either. I have a tendency to put life on hold when I'm waiting to see what the outcome is going to be. It could be the outcome of the World Curling Championship or it could be the outcome of a scary, invasive medical test that my mom was having. I'm not picky. When I was a kid I made it through by waiting for the future, instead of being in the here and now. Living in the moment is still my biggest challenge.

I was worried something would go wrong and it would be lights out for my mom. Yesterday I knew I could either waste all my energy worrying about what might happen or I could put that energy into what was right in front of me, which was dealing with staff and students. I asked God to be merciful to my mom and let her live. Then I realized that dying might be more merciful. How did I know? Which brought me right back to praying, Thy will be done. I told myself on the way to work that God would supply whatever graces needed, whatever happened.

And nothing happened.

When I phoned my mom last night her voice sounded rough, but she came through okay. Said she never wanted to have that test again, though, thank you very much. My dad had cooked her a lovely supper and she was taking it easy as per doctor's orders. She said she wasn't taking the pills they presribed though and she was telling her doctor that when she saw her in a week. When a person's being feisty there's not too much to worry about.

When I was newly sober I hated my mom. I worried that if my mom called me during that time I would have screamed an unending scream of hatred over the phone at her. I blamed my alcoholism, my being an abusive mother, my inability to feel anything other than rage, on her. Eventually, (that word tidily sums up 20 years of healing) I made my peace with her and took responsibility for who I had become. That peace didn't hinge on her doing anything at all. It didn't condone her behaviour, as if it had never happened, either.

However, when I stopped holding my own behaviour against myself, stopped defining myself by my past, I was faced with the decision to stop holding hers against her, too. I felt like I had been tricked when that realization hit me. I wanted to clutch my new found mercy to my chest with one hand while holding the other hand out in front of me like a stop sign, protesting about the unfairness of being tricked into seeing that mercy received flows outward into mercy extended. I wanted to have a little temper tantrum about that. Slowly mercy softened the edges of my hatred until the day came when I saw my mom as my equal.

I can't imagine my mom as an old lady, vulnerable to caregivers, etc. Her own mother killed herself at age 90 to avoid that being her fate. My sisters and I have talked about the possibility of my mom choosing to do the same thing one day.

I don't know what to write about how I feel about that possible outcome other than I hope she chooses life. This post has gone in a totally different direction than when I started writing it so I'm going to change the subject.

That nice little piece of glass in the photo above hangs in my kitchen window. I took comfort in it yesterday.

In between bouts of worry.

Expanding My View

Because of this wretched cold of mine I've had lots of opportunity this week to listen to my body. Some days I phoned in sick and others I went in late or left early. I wanted to somehow take care of myself and go to work. If that's not a touch of insanity I don't know what is.

Thursday night I went to a service commitment and came out of the meeting to snow flakes so big and fluffy that pedestrians were covered in snow as they walked. It was pretty to look at. Not so much fun to drive in. The only way I knew I was on the road was because of the tire tracks of the vehicle in front of me. Thankfully half way home the weather cleared and I could sit back in my seat again. Dearest one pointed out to me the next day that driving with my face inches from the windshield didn't actually help a person see any further than maybe 6 inches anyway. I didn't tell him that scrunching up my face and straining forward in hopes of seeing further made me feel like I was doing something. He told me I could have sat back in my seat and relaxed all the way home and still had pretty much the same view.

Which is something for me to remember the next time I get my panties in a knot about stuff I have no control over.

Want Some Cheese With That?

~ I've been sick all week and for the first time saw what a whiny, sick person I can be. I've always judged whiny, sick people harshly.
~ I took one day off work and spent far more than 15 minutes surfing the web that day.
~ Someone spent way too much time reading my blog yesterday. I alternated between thinking why would they? and holey moley, someone loves my writing. Then today, when I saw that someone else from a different country did the same thing, I got all conspiracy theory paranoid like they are getting ready to spam me or something evil like that.
~ I have 550 envelopes to stuff and get in the mail tomorrow. I feel too sick to care about getting that done.I hope the people getting those letters don't think I am spamming them.
~ I usually take life pretty much in stride. Today, little things at work irritated the hell out of me. After the third try at loading staples into our copier stapler, only to see them fall on the floor once again, I nearly chucked the whole lot somewhere, anywhere, but refrained at the last minute. I refrained mostly in order to protect my take it in stride image at work, not for any lofty reason.
~ After several phone calls to tech support where they asked me stupid questions I decided to stop calling them. I'd noticed my attitude was taking a nose dive after I continually answered the tech person's questions in monotone one syllable words. I've judged people harshly for speaking in a monotone voice when I thought they should be good representatives of their company.
~ The phrase fuck off, especially said with a pause between the words, fits that one syllable word category rather nicely. I don't think I've ever said it in a monotone voice.
~ It might surprise you that I write that word more here than I actually say it in real life.
~ I'm watching TV with the sound off. It drives dearest one batty. He stole the remote control before to change the channel, because in his mind I wasn't really watching TV anyway. I turn the sound off most of the time when I watch sports because I either can't handle the tension of the game or the commentators' comments make me want to resort to using one syllable words.
~ I'm going to spend the rest of the evening and all day tomorrow lying on the couch watching this great sport.

Strewn Along The Path

"I obeyed him, but I don't always. My newly married daughter said I wasn't being a good example to her when I disobeyed him. I think most women have trouble with obedience."

Stunned into silence I look away from her and into the room of couples. We are sitting in a corner visiting quietly. She is eighty years old and battling leukemia. A bout of chest pain had plagued her the day before so her husband had told her to do nothing today. Still, she struggled to obey him because it was Saturday; the day in her religious culture where floors demanded washing and bathrooms scrubbed. After I told her I'd done nothing that day she told me, as if we were keeping a secret from all the other women in the room, how my day of nothing made her feel better. Had I a litany of tasks completed she would've most likely hidden a sheepish smile behind her hand before confessing to doing absolutely nothing. She saw it as a victory of having obeyed her husband. As I gaze at the other women in the room I notice how angry and sad I feel that she most likely will die before ever owning her own life.

I didn't grow up in her culture but still, I see my own story in hers. During one period of my life, a time which I tell my adult children should have given them spiritual whiplash, I defined being a good wife by not having any thoughts about anything. I became opinionless because I held deferring to dearest one as the ideal. He didn't ask that from me. His observation of women trying to be submissive was that they often were skilled manipulators. I'd decided, after reading many books on being a good wife, that deferring to him was what a Godly woman did. Which is humourous in itself now that I think about it, considering I decided how best to be submissive without consulting him one bit. Oh, the irony.

It became one of the most manipulative, passive aggressive times of my life. One day a friend asked me about something and I told her I'd have to ask dearest one. Exasperated, she questioned, "But what do you think?" Her question startled me. I hadn't even considered what I thought.

But deep down of course I knew what I thought. I'd never lost my opinionated ways. I just stuffed them deep down inside while striving to be sweet and quiet on the outside. That was interspersed by episodes of going absolutely ballistic verbally. Oh, the joy.

One morning I looked in the mirror, weary of the facade, and decided I could either continue to put on my mask or I could shed the outward appearance of submission and begin owning my choices. I was both relieved and scared to step into my life.

I didn't tell this woman last night that I no longer relate to her view of marriage. She assumes because we are both women of faith that I too, wait for permission to have a life. I couldn't tell you exactly how I see it. All I know is that I don't see it how I once did. In the decade since I stepped into my life I continue to shed who I think I should be. There's no straight line between then and now. Just a crooked path with layers of onion skin strewn along the way.

Being in active recovery has shown me that I not only need to own my choices today but also my choice long ago to pretend to have no choices, too.

That doesn't stop me though, from feeling sad about an 80 year old woman feeling the need for permission to skip doing her Saturday work.