Phone Karen

The handwriting's mine. Written between cocoa and ferret food on my grocery list. I wrote it in a hurry one day last week hoping that if I put it on paper where I could see it, I'd remember to call. I never did.

Karen passed away yesterday.
I found out this evening.

We hadn't known each other long in terms of years of friendship - only the past 5 years - but we shared a bond of understanding that was of the forever kind. Although we lived in neighbouring communities our paths hadn't crossed until then. It took the internet to get us connected. When I was first having health issues and trying to get a diagnosis I posted a message on a forum for people diagnosed with PH, an illness bandied about by one of my doctors. One of the people on that message board wrote me to tell me that Karen lived close by and might be a good contact person for me. Was she ever.

Her story mirrored mine to some extent. She spent 4 years trying to get a diagnosis only to be told by one doctor to go home and get a life because there was nothing wrong with her. By the time she got diagnosed with PH her disease had progressed so far that medication couldn't halt it's progression. She was soon put on a waiting list for a double lung transplant. Fucking, fucking doctors.

Karen was my cheerleader. Because she had been doubted by doctors, which fed her own self doubt about whether it was all in her head or not, she was so supportive as I tried to get a diagnosis of my own. When I had a doctor look at me and tell me either I had all these funky things or I didn't and maybe I was simply hormonal (and he leaned towards the hormonal conclusion) Karen was there to listen to me cry and vent. In turn I could listen to her as she still doubted the seriousness of her illness, still worried that the fever she had or the abdominal pains were all in her head and she shouldn't bother the doctors. She knew I understood how it screws with a person's mind when the powers-that-be send you home like a chastened child. There was always a hint of this self doubt no matter how sick Karen got. I think it only left during the times she ended up in ICU.

Karen was there as I gave up on getting a diagnosis and stopped going to the doctor. She had done that herself at one point, too. She was also there to listen as my health declined. Eventually I got to see the doctor who was instrumental in getting her a diagnosis. This doctor believed me and told me she would be with me no matter how long it took to get it figured out. Figuring it out took 9 trips of 1500 kms each between June and November of that year plus a 10 day stay in a hospital far, far away. Eventually I had the gold standard test for PH and was found to be borderline. I remember the doctor telling me that even if my numbers had been higher he wouldn't do anything about it until the numbers got much, much higher. The medicine needed to treat it was so expensive that the government wouldn't pay for it before then. I looked at him and said, "so it's a crap shoot really - take me to the brink and then see if the medicine will bring me back." He nodded.

He did run every test he could. They even flipped me upside down for a second spiral CT scan of my lungs looking for the place where my blood vessels were bypassing picking up the oxygen. He was the doctor who referred me to a cardiologist who was so thorough in her listening that it led to a referral to a geneticist and eventually to a diagnosis. A diagnosis that scoops all kinds of funky health issues in because Elhers-Danlos has to do with the glue(collagen) that holds everything, even yours eyes, together in your body. When that's defective there's a never ending list of things that can be funky. I was thankful that funky won out over hormonal. Karen and I had a pet name for the doctor who had previously dismissed me. He had once treated her like a piece of crap, too.

Karen was the one who told me about the spoon theory to help others understand what it was like to lack the energy to do the simplest of tasks. We got so that we could tell by each other's voice how many spoons the other had.

Karen got her new lungs 4 years, 5 months, and 2 days ago. Her husband called on the way to the waiting air ambulance that would take them to a far off city to have the transplant. That transplant gave her several years of a much more normal life although she still spent way more time in the hospital than most people do in a lifetime. A year ago she spent every significant holiday and celebration from Christmas to Easter to Mother's Day to Father's Day to her birthday in July, to her wedding anniversary in August, in the hospital. We joked this year when she made it past several of those events without being hospitalized. Even throughout those days in the hospital she would call and be more interested in what was going on with me than talking about her. She had the greatest contagious giggle and even after she'd broken vertebrae in her back from coughing too hard, she still ended up in giggles. She'd sound like this....giggle, ouch, giggle, ouch.

Sometimes when she would call from the hospital I wondered if this time would be the last time I talked with her. I've lost count of how many times I thought to myself, "this is it, she won't make it through this time." only for her to bounce back once again and surprise even the medical team.

She fought to make it through when her daughter got married last year and when her parents celebrated their 50th anniversary soon after. How she summoned up the energy for either is a miracle. Sometimes she was let out of the hospital just days before the event.

About a year ago she brought up the subject of her death. It was the first time we had that conversation. In the time since she alluded to knowing she wouldn't be here to celebrate her 50th birthday or her 25th wedding anniversary. No too long ago she worried outloud about her remaining siblings because she thought that for sure within 10 years neither she or her parents would be here. Both her parents are battling terminal illnesses of their own. She felt bad that she would be leaving her husband alone.

I last saw her about a month ago. We didn't see each other in person very much. But we talked on the phone pretty much every week up until about a year ago. Even though we didn't talk as often we still connected regularly. I knew if I didn't hear from her for a while it meant she was most likely in the hospital either here or in the big hospital far away where she had her transplant. Sometimes her husband would call and let me know where she was and sometimes I had to wait until she was strong enough to talk on the phone then she'd call and away we'd go again. She always called eventually. I thought this time she would, too.

When I started this blog I wrote a post that explained how I chose the blog's title. I had just been diagnosed after several years of doctors and tests galore. Back then I could choose between breathing and talking but couldn't do both at once on the worst of days. Sometimes Karen would hear me take a breath between words and point it out to me. She always encouraged me to listen to my body. She could hear things in my voice that weren't on my radar screen. It's good for me to remember that. Life has changed so much since then.

When we saw each other last month she was surprised by my weight loss and I was surprised by her frailness. It was as if she'd come full circle from post transplant back to a pre transplant state of health. Her home care nurse helped her to the couch and got her oxygen straightened out before leaving us to visit. We sat on the couch and watched her favourite TV shows together. It was a comforting distraction. It was easier when talking on the phone to avoid thinking about her death. Seeing her in person made me face that she wouldn't always be here. I haven't grasped that reality yet. I'm remembering her voice in my head as I type and hoping it will never fade.

Tonight I opened up the file that holds all her emails. I only was able to read a few of them before I closed the page. I had to stop when I read the following:

"You know, I loved turning 40. My husband had a surprise birthday party for me which was great and although I was diagnosed with PPH, I was thrilled to be 40 years old."

Karen turned 47 last month. She cherished every day she had since diagnosis.
Tonight I will go to sleep in the same bedroom as she once slept. Ironically I live in the same trailer that she lived in over 15 years ago.

I stood at the kitchen sink tonight, the one that she'd once stood at too and let my tears fall into the dish water. I know goodbye isn't forever but tonight it feels so final. Breathe easy Karen, breathe easy.

Owning My Own

To be able to bypass my head and speak from my heart feels like a gift. Even if I don't always want to embrace what my heart then reveals, I still recognize it as progress. Yesterday in a counseling session, as I explored why I felt anxious about certain things, I knew I had bypassed my head and got to the heart of the matter when I could feel the tears forming in my chest and start to well up in my eyes. At the same time I said the word shame outloud. I knew from my body reaction that I'd finally figured that one out. What had looked like it was about many other things ended up being about one thing and far from what I had said it was on the surface. On the surface it was about other people. Ha. Beneath the layers of talk and thinking was my own issue. A feeling of shame about something I did to someone else 35 years ago. A malicious act that I then had told in public 20 years later. What I'd been certain was about someone else's behaviour ended up being about my own shame that I'd carried for so long and was projecting onto them. Thank God that my counselor has enough patience to listen to my bullshit until I get to what lies beneath it.

No wonder peeling back those layers that resemble an onion often brings tears to the eyes. I'd been feeling anxious about someone else's behaviour for several weeks already. Had tried to talk to them about it, putting the owness on them to fix my anxiety. What I'd really wanted was for them to toe the line. My line. They deftly sidestepped that and put my anxiety back on my shoulders. Damn. After I saw where the root of the problem lay yesterday I was able to go back to them last night and tell them where my anxiety came from. I think that's called owning my own shit.

A Dangerous Thing

"Let me tell you something, hope is a dangerous thing. It can drive a man insane."

~ Red in The Shawshank Redemption

Yesterday I picked about 8 gallons of peas from my garden. To help pass the time while shelling them I watched the above movie for the first time.

It got me thinking about the first stirrings of hope in my life. Just over 20 years ago I reached out to God and asked for help. It felt like the biggest risk I'd ever taken. I remember wondering what would happen if God turned his back on me the first time I screwed up. Then where would I be? Hopeless.

I remember rising from my knees relieved that I no longer had to try and change on my own strength. I felt hopeful. No matter how badly I've screwed up since then, and there have been major screw ups galore, there also has been a glimmer of hope that change was possible. There have been prisons of my own making. There have also been chains broken by the grace of God.

For today I can do this.
Thankfully I don't have to do this alone.
Some days feel more hopeful than others.
Just a glimmer is enough for me.

A Hint Of A Smile

There's a pureness to the morning air today that evokes a sense of contentment within me. A little bit of a chill combined with the sunshine make me feel grateful to be alive. Although being grateful for something that comes easily isn't really a big deal - the weather doesn't drive me batty very often - 40 below and snow for a week will do it - but little else does. I am glad to live in a part of the world where we experience all four seasons. Well, okay - they all make an appearance even if only for what seems like a day or two for the warmer ones and like a great aunt showing vacation slides for the coldest part of the year.

I've been gardening and mowing lawns and enjoying the summer sunshine this week. Usually by now we can see a few leaves starting to turn colour. That hasn't happened yet. I've sometimes wondered if the trees that leaf out the earliest in the spring are the ones to lose their leaves the earliest in the fall. One year I'm going to mark some of those trees and see if my ponderings bear any weight.

Dearest one came home yesterday from work absolutely exhausted after twelve hours straight of patient care and emergencies. It was so busy he missed all his coffee and meal breaks. When I went to bed last night, only a few minutes behind him, he was already sleeping. I thought he was waiting to scare me. It was so dark that I couldn't see my way to the bed. I said to him, "Did you pull the blinds?" Then I took a closer look and realized it was simply dark out and that was what was making it pitch black in our room. Then I said, "I know you are just pretending to be asleep. You're waiting for me to crawl into bed and then you're going to growl at me and scare me." Total silence from his side of the bed. I'm thinking he's really going to try and scare me this time. When I did finally find the bed and crawl in I was a little disappointed to find out he was truly fast asleep. We would have ended up in laughter had he really been waiting to scare me. He has this growl that has a hint of a smile in it and while I pretend to be scared we both secretly like it. I am so grateful for his sense of humour. Without it I would be far more serious about life than I am already. I envy him that ability to have his head hit the pillow and sleep to follow a few seconds later. This morning he asked me when I had come to bed.

I got him back real good once when he scared me. I waited a good long while before I pulled this trick. It was pitch black, not unlike last night, and I hid behind a wall that jutted out a little bit making it so he couldn't see me. I heard his footsteps coming and at just the right moment I jumped out and scared him. He was so startled that he nearly punched me before he realized it was me and not some intruder. That happened over 10 years ago and it still makes me laugh. It's not often that I get him back for all the hijinks he pulls. As you can see I savour each opportunity I get.

The next time you need to visit the emergency ward, have a stay in the hospital, or visit someone who is a patient there, say a little prayer of thanks for the nursing staff. Dearest one enjoys his job so much that many days he can't believe he gets paid to do what he does. Then there are days like yesterday when he's really glad there's a paycheck when all is said and done.

An 80 Year Old Live Wire

I met the most lovely elderly lady the other day at a social function.
Her wispy hair looked a little matted, like she had put a hat on when her hair was wet. Her back was so hunched that she'd lost the ability to lift her head straight up to look at you. Instead she turned her head to the side and then looked up as far as possible. Her movements reminded me of a little bird. But her eyes. They were so full of life and humour and energy that I liked her immediately. What she lacked in youthfulness of body she made up for in her eyes.

We spent some time talking about gardening and canning. She has already put up 120 quarts of fruit this year. When she told me that I said, "Oh, and peaches aren't here yet." She told me that one of the local stores would have them this very week and how much they were for a ten pound box. I haven't done any canning in several years but one summer I did can 160 pounds of peaches. When I told her that she said, "You must have gotten 50 quarts at least." I smiled to myself. 50 quarts is exactly how many jars I had when I was done canning those peaches.

We ate our meal together and there was a lot of laughter. She's a live wire, a term mostly reserved in my mind, for little kids. Which is something to aspire to when one is 80+ years old.

Sane and Simple

It's dark enough at night now to see the stars again. From my pillow I could see the stars twinkling like Christmas lights through the trees during the night. I found that comforting. Throughout my childhood, when we would come home late on a clear night, we would look up at the stars.

In less than two weeks my parents and my sisters will gather at my house for supper. They live 600 miles away and are coming this way to attend oldest son's wedding. It will be the first time in my adult life that my parents and sisters will be together at my house. I can count on one hand the times any of them have been to my home in the 28 years since I left home. My parents are ageing and their health continues to decline. I am expecting this will be not only the 4th time they've been to my home, but also the last time they will make the trip.

One of the gifts of recovery is that I can stand back and take a simpler approach to having them here for supper. It will be the day after oldest son's wedding - which is taking place several hours from here - a day when I am expecting my spoon supply to be not quite up to par, so supper will be a weiner roast and salads with watermelon and ice cream for dessert. I am grateful that I can make a simple and sane choice. There was a time when simple and sane was outside my realm of possibilities.

Part of the Serenity Prayer talks about accepting the things I cannot change. Despite my inability to dictate the weather I am hoping to share a clear and starry night with my family.



PS: For all you Olympic sports fans - I was yelling at the TV last night watching the US 4x100 swim team go for the gold. That was a nail biter of a race.

Safety and Reality

"Silence makes us vulnerable because when we stop making noise, we lose control: who knows what thoughts or feelings might arise if we turned off the television or stopped yammering for a while? Laughter makes us vulnerable because it often comes in response to our flaws and foibles: who knows how foolish we might look when the joke is on us? We can share silence and laughter only when we trust each other - and the more often we share them, the deeper our trust grows.

The soul loves silence because it is shy, and silence helps it feel safe. The soul loves laughter because it seeks truth, and laughter often reveals reality."

~ Parker J. Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness

Dearest one and I have gathered weekly with a small group of friends for the past 7 years. What started out as a book study (the book study is nearly finished now!) grew into a safe place where we could share deeply with one another. As a result we've become comfortable with silence and laughter in one another's presence. We've shared through the years of raising our children, most of us either have all adult children or nearly so, and are now sharing the journey of ageing parents. Two of us will soon welcome daughter-in-laws to our families within a week of each other.

Seven years ago, when we began to get together, we all attended the same church. Over time that changed. Our friends have not only walked beside us as dearest one and I embraced our faith within the Catholic Church, they have been supportive of our choice to do so. Together we've shared the seemingly roller coaster ride of addiction, depression, job changes and job loss plus many life changes. We've opened our souls to one another in a way that we realize more and more is not only beautiful but rare. I wish everyone could be so blessed.

It's All Just Temporary

Last night brought some welcome relief from the heat wave we've been experiencing this week. Temperatures in the plus 30C range are quite a bit warmer than normal for this time of year in my neck of the woods. I am not a heat fan. Our little air conditioner was working overtime just to maintain a livable room temperature yesterday. When the rain fell last night and the air cooled rapidly it was a welcome reprieve. Today is supposed to be back up to 30C. C'est la vie.

My funky signature at the bottom of my posts lately is courtesy of a heads up from MPJ.It was fun to create. Yesterday as I was cleaning up around the house I must have come across close to 10 different objects with the word hope on them. I love me some hope.

Last night we enjoyed new potatoes and green beans from the garden. Raspberries from the same flavoured my breakfast yesterday, too. What a privilege to walk out the front door and spend 5 minutes picking enough goodness to help nourish this body for the day. It's been several years since I was healthy enough to do the work to maintain a garden. It's a gift to harvest her bounty.

Now that the Olympics are on I will be hoarding the TV remote more than my fair share. There's some irony in becoming a temporary couch potato in order to watch Olympic athletes show their muscles, discipline and skill. Go Canada Go!

Sharing The Treasure

Here are 3 good reads and 3 new to me blogs:

Creative Defiance

A Moving Letter ht to Owen

Interview with Heather King

A Room Of Mama's Own

Rae's Confessions

Trudging The Gentle Path of Happy Destiny

Go Deeper

" Embrace change -- knowing that life is always being reconfigured.
Befriend the person you are striving to become.
Welcome new paths. Enjoy the detours.
Strive to go deeper rather than just forward.
Know that most unnecessary demands come from the unfinished parts of self.
Beware of speed. It is often one's undoing.
Wholehearted is the way. Halfhearted will kill you.
Harness your evolvement.
Let go of what is outlived to make room for the unlived.

~ Joan Anderson in The Second Journey

Give Me A Sign

This week, when I hit the one year anniversary of going to rehab, I sat down and wrote a letter to my treatment counselor. Yesterday I decided to drop it off in person. In my neck of the woods it's recently become law that no one can smoke within 5 meters of the entry to a public place. Around town there are signs on lots of stores to remind patrons of that fact. I imagine most people eyeball the distance and stand just a little farther from the door than they used to. Who knows.

I was walking up to the front door of the rehab center yesterday when I saw a sign reminding people of the new law. I thought to myself, "I wonder how often inpatients get told they are standing closer than 5 meters to the door as they light up their smoke." Next I wondered how much resistance the inpatients had when they were told that. Or how many times someone tattled on someone else who habitually got as close to the door as they could get away with.

Perhaps that sounds juvenile and ridiculous to you. During my 20 day stay there last summer I not only witnessed others acting juvenile over piddly things, I did it myself, too. I had a real hissy fit in group counseling one day about people in another group who would just not shut up during a multi group workshop. I complained about the facilitator who didn't enforce the 'no cross talk' rule and how rude these people had been and on and on I went. When my counselor pointed out that I could have put my hand up and asked those people to be quiet I said, "oh." It never occurred to me that I was capable of handling the situation myself. I'd expected the counselor to tell the other group's counselor about their behaviour and she was such a tough cookie, I figured she'd straighten them out. Then I'd be happy, joyous and free, right? That's rather embarrassing to admit but hey, since then I have spoken up more times than I can remember, instead of waiting for someone else to take responsibility for my attitude. We all have to start somewhere.

Within a few seconds of wondering how much conflict the 5 meter rule created I looked around and saw a tall white stick with a pointed end attached to the flower bed quite a ways from the entrance. Written on it in blue letters were the words: "5 meters". I laughed right out loud when I saw that.

I was still chuckling as I got back into my van. I glanced up and realized I was parked right in front of my old group counseling room and that it was time for the afternoon session to begin. The huge windows are covered in that material that lets people inside look out but prevents people outside from seeing in. It was all I could do to not make a big sign that said, "If there's hope for me, there's hope for you. Just ask your counselor."

Hope Needs.....

I got this meme from MPJ and had a bit of fun following the rules (imagine that!) Wait, I didn't follow the rules absolutely....it took 4 pages of google hits to find 10 "hope needs" that were not repeats or were appropriate.

The rules: Google your first name with the word "needs" behind it and post the first 10 results. Then tag others if you so desire. Consider yourself taggged if you so desire to be.

1. Hope needs some tough love. This was the very first hit. I thought to myself, who's been spying on me? I think it's a tie between fellow members in AA and Fr. Charlie for dishing out the most tough love my way. At the end of the day wanting God's will to be done in my life over my own will is what motivates me to consider, accept and stop kicking against truth spoken in the vein of tough love in my life. Notice I said at the end of the day. Some days it takes that long for me to stop kicking against it.

2. Hope needs help. Well isn't that the truth? On my own strength I am sunk. It's taken me a very long time to accept that needing help and then asking for it is a strength not a weakness. And it can be as simple as realizing shopping for a dress for the wedding should not be a solo event to picking up the 10 pound phone and calling my sponsor when I am wobbling in my program. I echo Anne Lamott when she says that one of her two favourite prayers is "Help me, help me, help me." (the other is 'thank you, thank you, thank you.)

3. Hope needs your prayers. Always. I wonder if we'll one day find out just how prayer impacted our lives and who it was that offered up that prayer in a moment when we desperately needed it. After dearest one and I became Christians, and we had moved back to this neck of the woods, I phoned up a next door neighbour we'd had when we were newlyweds. I said to her, "You're a Christian aren't you?" She then told me that she had long forgot our last name but every Tuesday for 7 years she had faithfully prayed for us when her church had a prayer and fasting day. I think we're going to be surprised, if we ever get to know, just who prayed for us and when.

4. Hope needs leadership, vision and direction. Which is why I daily put my trust in a Higher Power. I've spent many years journeying blindfolded while convinced I could see just fine thank you. Kind of like one long Pin The Tail On The Donkey game. I hope my angel is someone like Grace's Angel, Earl. That's what I picture my angel muttering constantly "Hope needs leadership, vision and direction."

5. Hope needs never die. Well Virginia, we're all going to die. At least physically. Sometime in the past year I came to the conclusion that the part of me that feels in union with God - in those nanosecond bits - is the part of me that will one day be united with God forever. Kind of like the essence of who I am, who I was created to be, will be perfected and I will be at home with myself in a way that rarely happens on earth. Anyway that's my take on it. I keep those thoughts in an open hand, accepting how little I really know about what happens next.

6. Hope needs no religion. Well, isn't that a loaded sentence? It all depends on a person's take on that 'r' word. It isn't a negative one for me but I accept it is for some people. I did lots of things religiously before I ever came into a relationship with God. Like badmouth all those hypocritical Christians around me. I see it like this: religion gives form to my relationship with God. Like a vase holds water. That may be an absolutely lousy analogy but for what it's worth the word religion doesn't make me bristle. I spent far too much time dismissing people because they were 'religious' and find myself perfectly capable of doing so today. Which means I still like to think I'm better than the next person. Lord have mercy. Here's a terrific post that I can relate to, can you?

7. Hope needs work. At first I thought this meant work as in a job. And yes, I do hope to find a part time job this fall. But when I just typed it in now I thought about it in the context of being a work in progress. Of which I continue to be. Which sums up the 6 needs above this one quite nicely.

8. Hope needs journals. I laughed when I saw this one. My very first journal was a black duo tang. It was the year my grandpa was diagnosed with cancer and I was 16. We were visiting my sister in another city, staying a hotel when my mom got the phone call that her dad had terminal cancer. I had just been kissed outside the hotel room door by an old friend who lived in this city. Anyway I came home and started writing about my feelings about life. Since then I've had many different journals. They've varied from being spiral notebooks to a fancy one with green ribbing and a magnetic flap. That one was my very favourite. It takes me 6 to 8 months to fill up a journal so I've decided from here on in to buy the one I really want instead of the one that will do.

9. Hope needs to get a life. As in the one I have isn't okay as it is? When I think of someone getting a life, myself included, I think about regaining perspective and not sweating the small stuff. Problem is that it usually takes experiencing big stuff to let go of the little stuff drama. One of my biggest goals in life is to become a little old lady whose countenance shows that she knows what's important and what's not. A countenance full of life, hope and sparkle. I doubt that getting one of those is possible without experiencing some hard knocks.

10.. Hope needs to walk away. From what? Oh, the list could be a long one. I prefer to think about what I need to walk towards, to embrace. I've walked away from a lot of things in this lifetime and am sure there is more changing directions yet to come. Every day.....this day.....is a new opportunity to just that. And now I need to walk away from the computer as dearest one just pulled into the driveway from working a night shift. And I'm going to walk towards him and embrace him. The man gives the best hugs.

Fall Where They May

I just spent half an hour picking peas in the garden. I sat on my little gardening stool and picked and ate to my heart's content. I let the pods fall where they may.
For those of you who listened to my radio documentary you'll understand how good and freeing it is to just let things fall where they land, instead of trying to throw the evidence out of sight.

Ready Or Not

Last night a friend and I put on a bridal shower for my soon to be daughter-in-law. When I signed the card for my gift it was a bit of a shock to see "with love, Mom and Dad W" written in my handwriting. That's how my mother-in-law has signed every card to dearest one and I these past 26 years. I suppose until my dying day I'm going to be faced with more and more situations where I ask myself, half jokingly, "Does this mean I'm old now?" Don't get me wrong. The ageing process itself doesn't particularly bother me. Well, other than having wrinkles, grey hair and pimples at the same time.

For the most part I see growing older as a privilege. From my brother Rodney to my friend Ron and my brother-in-law Abe, there have been too many premature deaths in our lives. People I will never stop wondering how they would be if they had had the privilege of ageing.

Every year that goes by though, I understand my mom and mother-in-law a bit better as they reflect on how their body and the age on their driver's licence doesn't jive with their innards. I think the last time my nearly 80 year old mother-in-law and I talked about it, she still feels 18 inside. My mom was a mother-in-law at age 39, a grandmother at 41. I still remember her saying, as my sister-in-law laboured, that she wasn't old enough to be a grandma yet.

Am I ready to be a mother-in-law? Are we ever ready for any stage of our life? It's probably a blessing that they come to us ready or not. I wonder if it isn't more what we do with the stage we find ourselves in than in readiness to be there.

After the bridal shower was over my friend (who will become a mother-in-law one week before me) and I watched the movie Monster-In-Law, starring Jane Fonda as the MIL. I've written before about my experience with my own mother-in-law and no doubt my soon to be daughter-in-law will have her own story to tell one day.

I might envy Jane Fonda's toned arms and flat belly but I have no aspirations to follow her movie role example as a mother-in-law.
Thanks be to God.

A Growth Opporutnity

"Anxiety is the space between 'now' and 'then.'"
~Richard Abell

One year ago today I was full of anxiety as I waited for my 2 pm. intake appointment at the local addictions centre. Once inside the locked doors I was going to sign on the dotted line for a 20 day stay. Staying meant following the rules or being asked to leave. One of those rules was making my bed every day. I set a life time record in following that rule and it's never happened since. My bed is unmade as I type.

Other habits I learned in those twenty days have stuck though. What a year this has been. There hasn't been a year in the past 25 where I haven't thought the past year was the best one yet but really, this past year has been the best. I can hardly recognize myself as I am today compared with a year ago. I am humbled and grateful that change is always possible. As I surrender and do the next right thing, change happens. I don't always want to and sometimes I choose to wallow in the mud like a two year old having a temper tantrum. But, by the grace of God, I get up eventually and carry on. If that isn't hope filled I don't know what is. I don't have to stay stuck in the mud forever.

Here is my favourite post from this past year. Dearest one and I both read it over this morning and grinned at each other. I spend more time these days in awe, than in feeling threatened, by his growth and healing. When I came out of treatment it was the scariest risk to move forward in healing and recovery accepting that my marriage might not survive the changes. It seems like such a paradox that the more we let each other see who we really are, the more we reveal our pain, our flaws, and our humanity, the closer we become. On our own strength we would never had made it. Our relationship with God undergirds it all and is where the strength to keep facing ourselves comes from. Knowing at a gut level how loved we are gives us the courage to love ourselves and one another.

The hard work, the showing up, the putting one foot in front of the other, is all worth it. You all share a part in it because you continue to show up here as well. I am especially grateful for your presence on those days when I feel like all is lost, or rather that I am lost. You remind me that whatever state I find myself in today, it has the potential to be a growth opportunity, and that even in the worst of moments, a ribbon of hope continues to weave itself throughout my journey.

Thank you.

Help For The Seduced

"I may be powerless (over alcohol and my other addictions, over many things...) but that doesn't mean I'm helpless."

When I heard those words of wisdom yesterday I had a 'whoa, I need to rememeber that' kind of moment. Remembering that I am not helpless, that there are always choices to be made, could help me when I find myself being seduced by a victim mentality. You know, those times when I am pointing my finger at a person/situation/something and saying, "it's all your fault that I'm so miserable." Well, darlin', that's a load of bunk.

I can still get caught offguard when I think something is a done deal and then I realize there are options. I have a love/hate relationship with taking responsibility for my choices/my mood/my life. Well, except when others are trying to make my choices for me. Then it's very cut and dried. I can give Clark Kent a run for his money by how fast I can morph into a "back off and no one will get hurt" stance. Oh right, he was morphing so he could save someone else. I morph so I can save my pride. Ok, I'll just back quietly and slowly out of here.

Misery is optional.
That's my mantra for today.

Really, Really

My goal for today is to do the next right thing whether I feel like it or not.
I don't feel like going to the hassle of getting ready to go to town for my AA meeting. I'm going anyway.
I could list a whole long list of don't feel like it stuff yet where would that get me? Welcoming a long slide into apathy. Apathy feels wretched. When I get to that point I want to wallow in it while hoping the feeling will pass. Which makes me remember a day 20+ years ago when I told a friend I was sitting there praying to be inspired to do the housework. She said that I had to get off my butt and pick up the broom and then maybe God would inspire me to do the rest. My response was really? She gave me a "really, really sweetheart" look. On days like today that little conversation reminds me to get off my butt and do the next right thing.

Acting Up

Time soon for bed.
It's been a good day.
A full blown pajama one.

My spoon supply feels refueled tonight.
I'm glad I listened to my body and took it easy today.

Blogger is acting up tonight.
Let's see if it lets me post.

Hey Babe

I am no extrovert.
I do not get my batteries recharged being around people.
I am going to relish being alone for the next 8 hours.

Yet, when I think of looking for part time work come fall, I want a job working with people, not a solitary job where I see no one.
This week has shown me that the stretching that comes by being
around others is good for me.
It gets me out of my comfort zone.
I love me some comfort zone.
Okay, I love whole fields of comfort zone.

And yet....

Yesterday as I was bemoaning my state of exhaustion
one of the women said, "Listen to that babe (referring to my age not my physique!!) over there."
Then I realized I was sitting next to an 86 year old woman
who came and volunteered just because.
She lives across the river so her day is at least
an hour longer than mine due to the commute.
I did some quick calculations which put me
in the middle of the pack as far as age goes.
All those younger than me had young children
to deal with at the end of a long day.
Surely those older and younger than me went home far more exhausted than I
but I was the only one complaining.

Funny how just one random comment
from someone else
can make me examine myself
and encourage me to grow.

Okay, not funny, but welcomed, anyway.

Butt Glue

It's sunny and windy and I am exhausted.
Last day of Catechism classes today.
Last day of the month, too.
A month where I've managed to show up daily to write here.
Some authors call it butt glue.
Get your butt in the chair and show up to the blank page.
Often I type away and then delete it all,
having gotten whatever I need to get out of the way
off my chest.
Other days I run out of time and simply type away and go 'oh well'
and hit the 'publish post button'
Today is like that.

Being Me

The last few days I've been leading a women's session at church using resources from this site. These daily meditations have added greatly to my journey and I have several of them saved on my MP3 player. I listen to them at night if I can't sleep. Some of the music is especially soothing and several of the meditations continue to challenge me months after I originally heard them. I decided to use them as a resource to begin discussion in our sessions this week.

It's been nearly 5 years since I facilitated an adult class of any kind. The last time I did and every time before that, I did so with an unhealthy amount of ego and agenda. I had a certain way of viewing the world and more than a bit of disdain for those who weren't as enlightened as I thought I was. Since then I've had several mentors show me what it looks like to not be ego or agenda driven. There is an expanding of oneself that can happen when given the freedom to simply be on the journey without an accompanying judgement that where that is, is inadequate. Everyone has a certain way of viewing the world and I'm feeling less threatened by someone else's point of view.

So this week has been my first experience of not making facilitating all about me. My first experience of being able to accept that these meditations that so feed my soul, might not be everyone's cup of tea. It's been a bit of a surprise find that I can enter in to something like this and not have an agenda or have my ego running the show. I think I'm more comfortable in my own skin than I've ever been. (Skin that is sagging its way to China, but comfy all the same.)

Part of being me is telling relevant bits and pieces of my story when it's appropriate to do so. I did a bit of that yesterday. I wasn't planning to before we started but at one point it seemed to be the next right thing. I then realized these women I worship with every week know next to nothing about my story nor I theirs. I left the church yesterday afternoon having no idea how my sharing was received and didn't give it a second thought. Not having to check and see if I was still okay as a person based on other's reactions is becoming less foreign all the time.

Today one of the women shared in our group time how my candor yesterday had helped her. I smiled and told her I could only do so because I no longer feel shame about those aspects of my journey. I couldn't have known beforehand that sharing these bits and pieces of my story would resonate with any of them. This particular woman has her own story which overlaps some of my own.

I don't know about you, but I have a continual need to know that I am not alone in my humanity. That my struggles are not unique but common. I feel relieved when I feel less alone in the journey. The blog world has helped me in this for sure. But today I feel less alone in my face to face community and for that I am grateful.

The Skillful Master

"The cruel chisel destroys a stone with each cut. But what the stone suffers by repeated blows is no less than the shape the mason is making of it. And should a poor stone be asked, "What is happening to you?" it might reply, "Don’t ask me. All I know is that for my part there is nothing for me to know or do, only to remain steady under the hand of my master and to love him and suffer him to work out my destiny. It is for him to know how to achieve this. I know neither what he is doing nor why. I only know that he is doing what is best and most perfect, and I suffer each cut of the chisel as though it were the best thing for me, even though, to tell the truth, each one is my idea of ruin, destruction and defacement. But, ignoring all this, I rest contented with the present moment. Thinking only of my duty to it, I submit to the work of the skillful master without caring to know what it is."

~ Jean Pierre de Caussade in The Sacrament of the Present Moment

Don't Confuse Me

I've no idea what today will bring.
Do I ever?
I'm praying to approach the day with an open hand and an open mind.
It's much easier and much worse to have a tight grip on my activities and attitudes.
Rigidity comes easier than suppleness.
So today I'm starting out
acknowledging that God is God
and I am not.
I can so easily confuse the two.

Ready To Give

"Be prepared at all times for the gifts of God and be ready always for new ones. For God is a thousand times more ready to give than we are to receive."
~ Meister Eckhart

I read the above quote just before heading out to work at Cathechism classes at church today. After only a few hours sleep last night I was not at all enthused about going. My bed felt far too comfortable and my body weary. But I read this and prayed to be open.

We are a very small parish. There are only 3 children who attend Mass with any regularity. So it was wonderful to hear the sounds of over 20 children fill the sanctuary this morning and even greater to see them enthused throughout the day. Many of these children's grandparents or great grandparents were once regular attendees in our parish. Through quarrels and misunderstandings quite a few of their descendants stopped coming and those hard feelings are still festering. Insensitive priests, misunderstandings between parishioners, and who knows what all, lies between the faith of the generations. Only yesterday I heard the story of one family who left the church because of a mean spirited comment made by the priest in the midst of the Mass. A comment he stopped the Mass to make. I don't blame them for walking out 30 years ago and I believe that there comes a day when one has to take responsibility for nursing a grudge for so long.

One of the activities the children did today was to go outside and pick a rock to symbolize how hardened we can let our hearts get. Then they used play dough to make a shape that symbolized a softer heart. During the course of the day I over heard one little girl look resentfully at a group of boys, who were doing their best to make her miserable, and say, "They make my heart so hard." I hear you, sister.

I have my own issues with hardening my heart. Every day is an opportunity to release a bit of that hardness. Today was no exception. After classes were over and I was on to other things, someone commented on one of my glaring character defects while I was in the midst of repeating it for the umpteenth time. I found myself shutting down emotionally lickety split. It wasn't too long before I was sitting in silence and brooding. I thought to myself, "I'm nursing a grudge." My next thought was about how I really had no desire to let go of it....nursing it felt rather good. Then I thought about where nursing a grudge would lead me and I prayed for the courage to let it go.

One of the best pieces of advice I heard in these Joe and Charlie Big Book Study talks was about resentments (step 4). There they say that the original hurt at the hands of someone else - the first time, they did it - no problem - it's only natural and human to feel the hurt. But the second time I replay the situation in my mind, to feel the pain again - I'm doing it to myself now. And every time I replay it I make what they did a little bit worse and what I did a little bit better. This is the way an alcoholic mind works, anyway. The way my mind works.

So I'm in the process of letting go of today's hurt.
Before I shut my eyes tonight I will have worked it through and let it go.
I'm not always so willing to do the next right thing.
But hanging onto my hurt will only harm my recovery.
And I can be stubborn in the weirdest of ways.
Remaining pissed off at someone, while knowing full well that the consequences will do more damage to me than them, is enough motivation today to make the smart choice.
I'm grateful to know that choice exists.
I often don't want to follow through on it.
But I'm still grateful to know it's possible.
Sounds like a gift to me.

Ripped Open

It's the middle of the night and here I am on the page about 6 hours too early. That's going to mess with my day tomorrow. C'est la vie. My compounded tiredness of the week caught up to me and I chose to nap in the early evening. At this moment I'm fully experiencing the relationship between cause and effect.

Yesterday I went to church an hour early and enjoyed sitting in the sanctuary alone. I set up the altar for Mass and then sat in my pew with the lights off. Daylight streamed through the old fashioned single pane windows, keeping me company. It was a very peaceful place to spend time in contemplative prayer. A real stillness settled within me. For once the stillness was bearable and even soothing.

Eventually people started to come in for the Mass. First the priest and then little by little, we gathered. I can always tell when the priest comes in because the first thing he does is turn on the lights. Sometimes I wonder what big city people would think of our relaxed ways out here in the boondocks. The Mass starts when we figure all the regular attenders who are going to show up, do. If that means it starts 5 minutes late then, oh well. If that means there's only three of us, oh well. Today we had 15 or so gathered around the altar for the Eucharist.

One thing I especially appreciate about this priest is his emphasis on a heart relationship with Christ. He often talks about the emptiness of praying, attending Mass, receiving the Sacraments without those things coming out of a heart relationship.

Today, as he was emphasizing that point, I gazed at a statue of the Sacred Heart Of Jesus. Often when I look on it I remember a day when I felt like Jesus told me he wanted my heart open, exposed and touching his. It wasn't a pleasant image - more like my chest had been ripped open and Jesus then grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me close so his exposed heart could mingle with mine. I don't exactly know how the cause and effect of that translates into daily life, but I continue to find that image a comfort, a challenge and something to ponder every time I gaze upon His face.

Feeling The Feelings

Life's given me opportunity in the past 12 hours to put the AA program into solid practice. Thank God a person has options instead of just knee jerk reactions. I can still feel angry mighty fast. There's a saying around the rooms of recovery that the program works if you work it. Last night I felt the anger (got a bit teary, too) and then decided what to do with it. In days gone by, I acted out faster than thunder follows lightning, be that phsyically, verbally, or emotionally. I fought pain with pain.

The sun is kissing my cheek as I type. A hint of rain touched grass is floating in the window. The energizer bunny is sitting here looking at me expectantly like it's a new day or something. There's nothing like a dog to keep a person in the here and now instead of the yesterdays and tomorrows.

To Have Relationship

Last night I was cooking up a storm for oldest son's stag party today. In less than a month he will marry and I will officially become a mother-in-law. I do hope to not be one of those horror story mother-in-laws. Without recovery I am quite sure I could be.

My own mother-in-law has set me a terrific example. I've often told her that I look up to her in that regard. She has loved me through some rather difficult to love me times. Dearest one's family was my first experience with Christian people and back then I was an atheist and a sarcastic one to boot. I spent a goodly amount of time baiting them and combine that with huge cultural differences, well, let's just say they gave me a first hand lesson of grace in action.

Twenty six years have passed since then and now my mother-in-law and I enjoy a good relationship. She is one of my favourite people to visit with. She is honest about her struggle as a human being and if you ask her a question she'll give an honest answer no matter what it makes her look like. She has a great sense of humour, too. We also share a love of reading. One of the things I love the most about her is her huge capacity for accepting children as children and not as minature adults. She's more likely to laugh at their behaviour than anything. Nothing much fizzes her in that department and I'm grateful.

She's never made me feel wretched for being a terrible housekeeper. I remember her once being in my home when it was a mess and I was worrying out loud about it. She looked around and told me that it was nothing that 15 minutes wouldn't fix and that there was a huge difference between messy and dirty. She knew I'd rather be reading than cleaning and while her culture wouldn't allow the room for her to do that freely, she didn't hold it against me when I simply read instead of cleaned.

She read to her (11!) children every night before bed and because of that tradition I did the same for mine. Even some of the same books. I expect that tradition will be one that will be passed down to the next generation, too. It's such a wonderful tradition.

Last month we worked together in my garden, visiting side by side as we pulled weeds. She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot as she wielded the hoe, fully enjoying the dirt between her toes. She is nearing 80 now and has leukemia. I've made a point of telling her what I need to....told her how grateful I am for the example she set for me. She tries to protest a bit only because of the inner struggle she had to love and accept me when doing so meant saying farewell to the chance that her son would ever be a member of their ultra conservative church. A church that espouses membership as the only guarantee one will see heaven. So, she let go of a lot in order to have relationship.

The years have mellowed us both.

An Invisible Thread

"The thing about healing is that I have no control over the twists and turns it takes. Don't know what I'm going to feel until it's too late."

I said this through tears to Fr. Charlie yesterday. There are times when 'oh, for fuck's sake' seems far more appropriate than 'glory, hallelujah' to describe the healing process.

A few weeks ago I was writing away - working on an article about women and their struggle with sexual addiction. I was free writing - typing every thing that came to mind, not having a particular direction I was looking for. Often writing is akin to playing for me. I was writing in a "let's see where this will take me" mindset. Playing with fire was more like it because in the midst of this came a paragraph from my own journey. A paragraph that, when I saw it in black and white, left me stunned. It had been 30 years since the incident had happened and seeing it converted from thoughts in my head to words on a page, stopped me in my tracks. It left no room for denial, showing me that despite a black hole in my memory when I was being sexually abused, my response in this particular situation confirmed what the black hole had tried to hide.

Instinctively I knew the paragraph would make an opening paragraph of a book. It's a sick, twisted paragraph but gut honest and pivotal to my story. I promptly printed off everything I'd written, stuffed it into the clear plastic sleeve with other material for the article, and shoved it under a pile of books and papers on my desk.

I haven't looked at it since.

But it's contents have been haunting me.

Yesterday I shared the specifics of that paragraph with Fr. Charlie, the first time I'd spoken of this particular incident to anyone. I couldn't look him in the face as I spoke because I still feel some shame about it. It makes me look more like a whore than anything.

I told him how seeing it all in black and white on the screen had stunned me. How it forced me to face that what I suspected had happened, had. That my involuntary response in the incident showed me that my subconscious knew all along what my conscious mind didn't want to. I could see an invisible little thread tying my whole story together from the sexual abuse to this incident to every other bit of my sexual story. No wonder I felt like I really need a punching bag yesterday. When we talked about forgiveness I told Fr. Charlie that I wanted to beat the shit out of this person first, then I might consider it. He gave me a 'that makes sense' look and left it at that.

We talked about how was I going to honour my story. Fr. Charlie talked about the responsibility to that little girl within me to set her free. Into my mind popped a picture of her coming and sitting in a chair beside my computer. She talks and I type. She isn't sad, she feels important and listened to, and she's ready to tell it all because there's someone willing to listen, to validate her story, to not try and shush her up for speaking the truth.

I looked at Fr. Charlie and told him of the picture in my head.
Then I said, "I can do that."
I don't feel brave, just determined.
It also scares the shit out of me because I have no control over the mix of emotions that may come but I know that until I let her tell her story I will continue to be haunted by that paragraph.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Day 617

I'll be on the road today making a 200 mile round trip to see Fr. Charlie.
Some people express surprise when they find out I still see him for spiritual direction despite his move to a different parish. Many people simply move on to another SD when circumstances change.
Next month it will be three years I've been seeing him for sessions.
Maybe other people have an easier time building trust relationships.

I trace where I'm at in my recovery, in my spiritual journey, in large part to the grace of God working through Fr. Charlie. He's listened as I talked around and around in circles. He continued to believe in me long before I was able to do that for myself. In short, he had hope in me while I was still hiding in the shadows. It was in his presence that I first spoke the words 'sexual addiction'. When he didn't die from shock at the phrase, I saw a glimmer of hope that I didn't have to continue living in the shame of that addiction forever. Through many relapses he continued to affirm my journey. I'd sit there all teary over losing 90 days of abstinence, looking backwards as if I was a total failure. He looked at the 90 days of grace and held it up as a beacon of hope that 91 days was possible. I have lost track of the times he has said to me that the truth will set me free. Today is day 617.

I've learned that the sessions where it feels like no progress is being made are just as much a part of the journey as the times when huge 'aha' moments happen. (Kind of like blogging.) I remember phoning him between sessions once to tell him that it all just felt like same shit different piles. That I was wasting my time and his. He replied that going from one pile to the next was still movement. Could you just get as weary of me as I am? I wanted to shout. But he didn't.

So today finds me making a worthwhile journey.

How Do You Spell R-e-d-n-e-c-k?

There's a scribbly black line on my kitchen floor courtesy of youngest son.
Let's just say he has strong feelings about the energizer bunny being in the kitchen.
He's trained her to get out of there at his command.

Up until now there's been an invisible line that the dog had to stay on the other side of. Youngest son would say, "out" and she'd obediently walk to the edge of the boundary, turn around and sit there looking at him. She must have been pushing her luck one too many times lately though, because this past week I walked into the kitchen to see a black marker line on the floor clearing up any misunderstanding about where the boundary is. I could tell whoever made it must've been a bit irked because it was made by scribbling back and forth, back and forth all the way across the floor, as if the overlapping wavy lines emphasized the point to stay out of the kitchen.

Too bad Pugs can't read. Well, she does recognize words, we have to spell the word w-a-l-k because she goes beserk if you forget to. She gets all excited that you're going to take her on one otherwise. She looks at you with such eagerness and it's a shame to disappoint her. Youngest son is convinced she's beginning to figure out how the word walk is spelled now, too. But I'm digressing.

I looked at the line and considered having a hissy fit. I wondered how much scrubbing it would take to get the mark off the floor. I was glad youngest son's job this summer has given him stronger arm muscles. Youngest son may complain about living in redneck country but that line looked mighty redneck to me.
I looked at it and at the 35 year old flooring and said to dearest one, "He could at least have used a yardstick and made a straight line."
After all, I am a visual person.
And I left it at that.

That evening dearest one, youngest son and I were standing in the kitchen when the subject of the black line came up. I told youngest son he could've at least used a yardstick and made a straight line. A look of increasing horror contorted his face as he said, "You don't think I made the mark right on the floor did you?"
As my face registered "yes" I peered closer and realized he'd put down a strip of clear medical tape on the floor first and then had scribbled away.

Now his face included a look of "you trained me better than that, Mom"
I laughed more at his outrage than at my assumption.
I was so glad I didn't have that hissy fit.

Wait, there's more.
It doesn't matter if the energizer bunny is over at her food dish or just passing through the kitchen, whenever you say the word "out" her eyes search out the scribbled black line and once she's recognized it she looks back at you to confirm her findings. The best is when she's sitting right at its edge and she drops her head down, as only a Pug can do, well, has to do to see it, and then stares into it's depths.

Don't tell anyone but I'm secretly teaching her to recognize the word redneck.

Solitude and Community

"Solitude does not necessarily mean living apart from others; rather, it means never living apart from one's self. It is not about the absence of other people -- it is about being fully present to ourselves, whether or not we are with others. Community does not necessarily mean living face-to-face with others; rather, it means never losing the awareness that we are connected to each other. It is not about the presence of other people -- it is about being fully open to the reality of relationship, whether or not we are alone."
~Parker J. Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness

This puts a whole new spin on solitude and community for me. You?

A Little Bit Of Grace

The smell of rain kissed grass is wafting in the window as I type.
I'm looking forward to a walk in the gentle rain.
My Bell's Pasly is flaring today.
My chest hurts when I breathe.
I will be glad when allergy season is over.
When my immune system isn't under such constant attack.

Dearest one and I sat up late watching the first six
episodes of Saving Grace, Season One on DVD last night.
It won't appeal to everyone.
Too much sex, swearing,
and humanity.

I wonder if there isn't a little bit of Grace in all of us.

Being Found

He calls a camper his home.
His worldly belongings
divided between the camper
and his vehicle,
he's full of gratitude for his circumstances.
Fully content to be where he is on the journey.
Easily listing all he's grateful for,
right down to the little cat curled up
at his feet every morning.
The cat he tried to leave behind
only to have it find him
again and again.

I watched his peace filled face as he spoke.
Observed warmth, sparkle and peace co-mingling
like a stained glass window
illuminating his soul.
For a split moment
I let it's rays
touch me.

I had arrived at our meeting impatient.
Finding it next to impossible to be present.
Fretting over trying to fit an hour's worth of errands
into the 30 minutes left over before I had to leave town.
Where was I in such a hurry to get to?
A funeral luncheon.

Oh, the irony.

Between my friend's gratitude
and my arrival at the luncheon
I found myself in the grocery store
grumbling over the price of cat food and razor blades.

I can picture my friend
taking pure delight in feeding his little cat every day,
Smiling right up to his eyebrows
at life as it is
right here
right now.
Giving thanks for being found
all over again.

Safe Enough

"The people who help us grow toward true self offer unconditional love, neither judging us to be deficient nor trying to force us to change but accepting us exactly as we are. And yet this unconditional love does not lead us to rest on our laurels. Instead, it surrounds us with a charged force field that makes us want to grow from the inside out - a force field that is safe enough to take the risks and endure the failures that growth requires."
~Parker J. Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness

A Room With A View

Friday.
Dearest one is done working nights.
We are going to spend the day together,
travelling in his car to places north and west.
I love driving with him.
He is fun to be with.
Last night we caught a ride with friends to visit some other friends who were working nearby at a Bible camp.
As I got in the vehicle the door unexpectedly swung closed behind me.
I said, "Watch, dearest one is going to comment that I didn't leave the door open for him."
As soon as I said it, dearest one opened the door, got in and muttered in a half jesting tone, "For pity's sake I even have to open my own door."
We all errupted in laughter.
I told him it was good he was so predictable.
He is fun to be with.
Later on he went for a walk and came back into the dining hall with his hands cupped.
He motioned for me to open my hands to receive what he had to offer.
I hesitated. Was it a grasshopper? A frog?
I got ready to scream.
"Trust me," he said.
Into my hands he dropped two very tiny wild strawberries.
They tasted so sweet on my tongue.

I'm leaning against the wall as I type. Above my shoulder is a small window. Every morning the sun shines on my face as I write these posts. I read once in a book on small spaces about how people often want a bank of windows to look out in their home. The writer challenged the idea and talked about how a view, however small, has a story of its own to offer. A snapshot of sorts. There is a little piece of one of our livingroom windows that was left exposed when we put the air conditioner in. This tiny piece of glass was something I looked through whenever I did a certain yoga pose in my yoga routine. I'd turn and bend and hold the pose. My gaze out the window revealed a sturdy tree trunk and then trees in the distance behind it. I often thought about how I would be watching the changing seasons through this bit of a view. I never spoke of it. It was simply a comfort every time I did that pose.

Then dearest one covered it over with a blue file folder. Blue file folders may fade in the sunshine but they remain static. However small the view out this piece of glass, I looked forward to its stability. When I wash the dishes I look out another small window and observe the fields, the trees and in the distance, a bit of the highway as it curves up the hill. On winter days I can guage the road conditions by how much of the highway's black ribbon is visible. Other times there's a long string of lights and it tells us there's most likely been an accident. Occasionally a huge harvest moon appears for a few moments in all its orange glory as it crests the hill. The same view with subtle changes on a daily basis. All I have to do is open my eyes to see.

Last night we met at the Bible camp a man we used to spend quite a bit of time with when we were new Christians. He and his wife were missionaries nearby, ministering to people who were raised with a different view of Christianity. Hospitable people, rigid, very rigid in their beliefs. I liked rigidity back then. It made me feel safe. Over time that has dissipated. Occasionally I still find myself drawn to it. When that happens I know I am afraid of something. Now I worship in a setting with the very same people this man spent so much of his life trying to convert. Because of this I found myself feeling on guard last night. I realized I was holding my breath and tensing my body. As if ready for flight. Which really says more about me than him. I had to remind myself to breathe, to relax. This morning I wrote in my journal that I needed to give this man the benefit of the doubt. That in the interceding years since we last met that perhaps he has softened his rigid ways, that maybe he's changed as much as I have. I believe the people who I feel the most threatened by are my best teachers. They show me parts of who I am and where I am on my journey. I usually embrace those as opportunities after the fact. In the moment I tend to want to run the other way. I hope that one day I will be settled enough in who I am and where I am that I will embrace whoever I meet.

We all look out our windows and see the same sun, sky and moon.
Depending on where we are in this world, we see them from
a different perspective.
From a different view.

Open the eyes of my heart, Lord. Open the eyes of my heart.
I want to see you. I want to see you.

It Is Not Always Difficult

"Change is not a miracle. Change doesn't just happen. We have to make it happen. We have to work at it - but it is not always difficult. In fact, sometimes it is so easy that we don't believe that it's possible, we don't believe that we can change. The Buddha is supposed to have said that change is as easy as flipping a coin to the other side. What I believe is that if you want to change, you will change.
Maybe you are a little skeptical, and you feel like the wife and mother who went on a weekend workshop retreat and came back and told her family, "I had such a great weekend. I had breakthrough experiences. I gained all these wonderful insights." Then, looking at her family, she said, "But what's the use? None of you have changed."
If you really do experience change, trust that your family will change toward you, and if you truly embody the change, the world will change with you." ~ Paul Coutinho, SJ in How Big Is Your God?

The Shortest Path

"Many things in life are beyond our control. We can do very little about the weather, natural calamities, sickness, and so many things that happen in our lives. Often we see things as hardships, as unfair situations. But we do have the power to decide how we will respond to situations beyond our control. One effective response is the Serenity Prayer........Or we may use the Eastern way of looking for the divine presence in the unexpected. The Bible begins by telling us that in the beginning there was chaos and confusion all over the world, and God hovered over this chaos and out of it brought forth a new and beautiful creation. When my life is chaotic and I find it difficult to understand what is happening, let me allow the divine spirit to hover over my darkness, and let me wait for the new and the beautiful to spring forth in my life. Chaos is often the shortest path to our spiritual core. ~ Paul Coutinho, SJ in How Big Is Your God?

Minutae

A new day.
The sun rests on my face as I type.
Opportunities not yet known.
I can do this.

That Place Within

I'm sitting here wearing the same toque I wore for my morning walk and it's nearing bedtime. I never got it together to have a shower and carry on after I came in from outside. Dearest one is working the night shift and that often curbs my daytime activity. Not that I need a reason. Tonight is his first night shift and I've been mostly inactive for days already. A combination of that inactivity that is fully interior with the outer kind that means the newspaper's gathering dust on the floor and the laundry hamper is overflowing.

Today I remembered something I've heard in an AA meeting more than once: "pray for guidance, then do whatever's in front of you." It was said in response to some one's "paralysis by analysis". I think I fit that category. Paralyzed by thinking, over thinking. Even over thinking why I can't seem to put together a blog post that comes from that place within - that place which seems just beyond my reach at the moment.

Remembering to do the next thing in front of me means the day's dishes are drying on the counter instead of piled by the wayside. Doing the next thing in front of me - that seems realistic and possible no matter how hard it is to shut off my brain. I've been in a funk for how many weeks now? Many. I don't have a clue what the answer is other than to simply accept this is where I'm at and to remind myself it's not a permanent state.

"Pray for guidance, then do whatever's in front of you."

I was grateful I rememebered that saying this afternoon. Having the dishes washed as a result feels good.

Grace In The Moment

I found this quote on someone's blog (sorry for not remembering who's):

"God gives grace for the situation, not the imagination."

As someone who tends to make a big deal of things in my head beforehand I really like this quote. It reminds me that grace is found in the present.

Talking Statistics

Dearest one is in the other room working on Statistics.
I'm pretty sure he thinks Statistics is the spawn of Satan.

We slept in this morning after having a full day yesterday.
We saw our niece exchange vows with her beloved.
It was a small wedding in her faith community's terms.
That means it was less than 400 people.
We sat with family and enjoyed their company.
I visited with different women, some of dearest one's aunts,
people I don't usually see unless there is a family function.
It was good.

My journey to becoming comfortable within this cultural circle
has been long and winding.
That I can simply be myself is a gift.
Which is a far, far cry from my days as a newlywed
when I hadn't the foggiest idea of how different
dearest one and I had been raised.
Pure culture shock.
I went from living in a city apartment
to a 10 x 20 bunk shack with no running water.
A five gallon pail served as a bathroom.

Despite our path going in a different direction than his family's
I do take comfort in living in a community
where dearest one's last name is widely known.
Where his family has lived for over 50 years now.
Yesterday another woman and I stood talking about dearest one
and her husband's common family trait of being able to
strike up a conversation with anyone.
That the journey from the table to the car would no doubt be
stalled by countless conversations along the way
and the possibility of an hour's delay at least.

We left the building together
and when I turned to talk to dearest one
he was in another conversation
back on the front steps.
This is the way of most of the men in his family.
It used to drive me batty
in the days when I took it personally.
Today I take comfort that it is a trait passed down from
generation to generation.

Now if only Statistics could talk.

Losing Something

"Because our stories make us vulnerable to be being fixed, exploited, dismissed, or ignored, we have learned to tell them guardedly or not at all. Neighbours, coworkers, and even family members can live side by side for years without learning much about each other's lives. As a result, we lose something of great value, for the more we know about another person's story, the harder it is to hate or harm that person.
~Parker J. Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness

I'm sitting here this morning wondering if the truth of the above quote sums up why I blog anonymously. Why many of you know more about my journey, about who I am at my core, than the person who sits next to me at church.

Pitiful Hope

Thank God his mercies are new every morning.
It's very tempting to not post when I'm in
that head space that makes me feel like a pitiful
example of hope.
Yet to avoid posting then would violate
my belief that we need to know other human beings
are as human as we are.
It's one of the reasons I blog as I do.
And so I let you know.
For those of you who emailed, left a comment,
prayed for me, or simply listened,
thank you.

I read this morning in one of my daily readings
that whining is self pity pushed through a very small hole.
It comes as a result of not taking responsibility for one's life.
As a result of falling back into victim mode.
God help us all.

I spent time yesterday figuring out some things.
Took some action as a result.
Life seems more manageable this morning.
Stepped out of victim mode and took responsibility
for my own life again.

Stopped apologizing to myself
for having needs.
Stopped getting wound up about things
that instead needed me to take action.
When I let myself stay immobilized
I lean back into the numbness
as if it is a gift.
What a lie.

The fog has lifted for today.
Thanks be to God.

A Gift In Disguise

I am close to a full blown self loathing melt down.
I keep typing and deleting the whole shebang here.
What would I say if I was in a meeting right now?
I need help.
I know the journey is worth it.
It just doesn't feel that way today.
I know my feelings are not a permanent sentence.
But dang, I wish they'd pass.
Thank God I have a place
where I can come and share.
Where people will love me
in the moment
no matter what the moment looks like.

That a risk taken
may be a gift in disguise.
I'd really like to believe that.
But I have to take the risk first.

Last night I came to some conclusions
about what the next right thing is for me to do.
I remembered a conversation with a friend
from 15 years ago.
She told me I'd been talking about the same thing
for as long as she'd known me.
I remembered being startled at
how much time had passed.
To find I was still talking
and not taking action.

When I spoke of my angst last week
with Fr. Charlie he simply reminded me
that until the answers came to keep
putting one foot in front of the other on the path.
I gritted my teeth slightly at his suggestion.

I look forward to the day when
I accept life on life's terms
more easily than
"let's have ourselves a little crisis, shall we?"

Will I?

Will I show up for my own life?
That's the question that's hounding me of late.

Showing Up Part Three

Dearest one and I both had appointments in town today.
When we woke up neither of us felt like
going through the motions of getting ready and heading out the door
for a 150 km round trip.
Energizer bunny looked sad that we were going away.
But here we are.
Tired, but here.

In therapy today I looked at a list of questions
about the process of zoning out in the midst of my day.
I think it is so second nature to me to do so that to
identify when I'm doing it is going to take some work.
Never mind assessing what I do not only in my head but in my body
when I check out of the present moment.

No wonder I've had such a struggle
with being disciplined
in contemplative prayer.
But this is the second week
of consistently showing up for those 20 minutes set aside
to be present in the moment.
I used to look at the timer when I'd sat for 10 minutes.
Often feeling like they were the longest 10 minutes of my life.
Now I look when there's anywhere from 1 to 4 minutes left.
Being quiet, being present, being open.
Who would have thought it would be so hard.

Walking The Walk

It's been a day. A good day. I went to the funeral of my friend who passed away last week. He was a cradle Catholic and was really good friends with a group of men from the Mennonite Church close by. My friend's funeral, held at the Catholic Church, was a wonderful celebration. The music ministry from the Mennonite church really blessed us with meaningful music. The priest led the service and turned it over to the Pastor of the Mennonite Church after the Gospel reading. This Pastor acknowledged what an honour it was to preach in the Catholic Church and was grace filled, loving and gentle spirited. He is a man my husband grew up with, his father a man my husband had the greatest respect for. He said nothing that was contrary to Catholic belief. I am convinced there is more that unites than divides us and I am grateful this pastor focused on that.

A few weeks ago at a different funeral, a Protestant Pastor got up to say his piece towards the end of a Catholic funeral, time courteously given him by the priest and at the request of a few family members. Time with which he then ran roughshod over the message that had been preached. Correcting people's faulty perspective. There's a certain rudeness about doing something like that that irks the daylights out of me. I don't know about you but words don't speak to me near as much as actions do. What's that saying? Your actions speak so loudly I can't hear what you're saying. Advice I need to take to heart as well. Sigh. Excuse me while I take the log out of my eye.

Today, the priest went out of his way to explain the order of the Mass without apologizing for it, nor making people uncomfortable if they were unfamiliar with what came next. Here's how we do as Catholics and here's the meaning behind this symbol or that one. I've rarely seen such inclusivity without apologizing for the differences. No watered down Catholicism, no dissing one another's faith communities. The mutual respect was beautiful to see.

My friend's life touched many people. He let the Holy Spirit guide him and more than half the people attending raised their hands when asked if they had prayed one on one with my friend. He not only talked the talk, he walked the walk.

At the luncheon afterwards I was able to connect with a friend whose husband is undergoing chemotherapy, his second round tomorrow. It was good to talk and honour her tears as they overflowed. Tears of all that is unsettled within her. In the circles we know each other in there have been several deaths and diagnoses of cancer lately. She knows firsthand that no one is immune to suffering. It's a painful road of transformation for her right now. I don't know how her story will end. She is still raising young children and is also a grandmother. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.

I wonder....

This day feels like its been 40 hours long.
In other words I am bored.
I'm headed out to mow grass
for lack of something better to do.

Eons ago I trained as a journalist.
I learned to write about whatever I was asked to.
I've forgotten stuff like how to craft
a grammatically correct sentence.
But I still know how to write about whatever someone suggests.

All that to say your questions would be
more than welcome.
From the ordinary or humourous to the serious.
I've let you in on some pretty intimate
moments in my life.
Ask me what you'd like.
I'll do my best to entertain you with the answer.

A Keeper

If I turn my head to look out the window
the sun shines directly on my face.
I love sunshine.

Last night I went to a bridal shower
for one of my nieces.
On dearest one's side of the family we have
over 35 nieces and nephews.

This niece is one of my favourites.
Her wedding is this coming Sunday.
I wrote her a little card to go with my present:

"Dear Niece,

I spent some time looking online for a wise quote
about marriage that I could share with you.
Eventually I decided that with 26 years
of marriage under my belt maybe there was something
from my own years that would do.
I have always held onto those wonderful qualities
I saw in dearest one when we first met.
Basically, he's a good man.
That has held me steady through all these years.
The good you see in your own dearest one today
will always be there no matter what life holds for you
together as a couple."

love,
Hope

I sat beside a stranger last night.
I'm not big on social gatherings.
Give me one person to talk to and I'm fine.
Conversing in a group is another story.

As this new to me person and I chatted
I was able to simply listen to her
without trying to fix her or give her any advice.
People, that is a record.
No, wait, it's a miracle.
I can be so opinionated.
Yet, last night I found myself able to speak my truth
without having an agenda about her own.
She has a certain bitterness about her.
Lots of emotional pain for where her journey's brought her.
It was new for me to gently hold open space for her to share
without trying to change her direction at all.
In the end I simply liked her.
Her bitterness and hard edges
didn't stand in the way of that.
It left me wondering if liking people
isn't more about where I'm at than about who they are.

The shower was held outside.
I was dressed for an indoor one.
Which meant I came home with cold, cold feet.
One of dearest one's wonderful qualities
is that my cold feet on his bare skin
is something he will put up with.
Normally we end up laughing or tussling.
Well, no, when it's his cold feet
on my bare skin I scream and carry on
as if his cold feet will be the death of me.
There's only so much bed to get away from him in.
He has long legs, too.
Either way we eventually end up laughing
about it and snuggling close.
The man really is a keeper.

Seeping Through

Dearest one and I live in a 35 year old house trailer.
It's not going to last another 35 years.
We're looking at what to do when we replace it.
Looking at our values, what's important to us.
At this point in our lives we don't want to
accumulate a huge amount of debt.
Originally we hoped to replace it with a 10 year old trailer.
But the rise in real estate prices here
make their price tag not much different
than a brand new one.

We've talked about building a house.
Do most of the work oursleves.
Do we want the stress of that?
And the cost?

We don't have to make a decision overnight.
Which is a nice position to be in.
But with 2x4 walls and windows that rattle
when the washer does its spin cycle
eventually we need to do something.
Back up heat with a wood stove is nearly
a necessity in our harsh winters.

I heard someone say
values aren't believed,
they're lived.
That sentiment has stuck with me.
What I live is what I believe.
Neither have I been so challenged
to look at what I'm living
since hearing the Gospel preached
Sunday after Sunday these past 3 years.

I was hashing this all out
with my mom last night.
What to do. What to do.
At one point I told her
that when a person dies
it really doesn't matter
what kind of house they lived in.
She replied that people don't think like that anymore.
Not that it was a new thought to her
only an old thought renewed.

I remember going to a home
a good 15 years ago
that was ramshackle.
Yellowed newspapers piled 3 feet high.
Plywood floors.
Old, old worn out furniture.
Part of me felt repulsed.
Yet as I was feeling that
the thought came into my head,
"love lives here."
The people knew how to love.
They lived it.
I knew it.
There was no cutesy little wooden sign over the door
that announced 'love lives here'
love simply seeped through their pores
and into ones soul.

My soul.

Ain't No Sunshine

Typing this is the limit
to my spoons.
Lifting my arms to wash my hair right now
seems like too much of an effort.

Hopefully as the day goes on
my energy will increase.
Sometimes it works like that.
I just can't predict when.

The energizer bunny is snoring gently at my feet.
She snored between us all night in bed.
If you'd asked me a year ago
if I'd ever let a dog sleep in my bed
My face would have said it all.

Last night an inch of rain
fell on our hay crop which is
lying in swaths in the field.
The rain was sorely needed in general.
Just not on our hay.

I was talking to only daughter as it rained.
Several times the phone crackled as lightning struck.
I remembered hearing a tale from when I was young
of someone killed while talking on the phone
during a thunderstorm.
After one loud crack that nearly disconnected
the phone line between us
we agreed to end our conversation.

Seven weeks from today
my parents and sisters
will be at my house for supper.
In the 28 years since I left home
it will be a first to have
them here together.
Only the fourth time my parents
have ever been to my home.

Oldest son is getting married in
seven weeks less a day.
I watched as his bride to be
tried on her wedding gown last week.
She looked beautiful.

Despite my lack of energy today
it still holds the promise of being a good day.

Hard Fought

My friend with the 30 year medallion passed away last night.
I can't get our last conversation out of my head.
He knew he had a lesion but no biopsy results yet.
He said he hoped his time wasn't up,
he wanted to be around for a while yet.
That was less than two months ago.

A week ago his wife asked for prayers
that he wouldn't linger long.
That they both wished for his time to come quickly.
I imagine this past week has felt
both exceedingly long
and exceedingly short.

I rarely pray farther than
"Thy will be done" anymore.
To some that probably sounds lame,
as if I don't expect anything from God.
To me that prayer is simply
acknowledging that God's God and I'm not.
I don't know what God's will is.
For me. For you. For anyone.
I can so quickly get my will
and God's screwed right up.
As if I know what's best
for me. For you. For anyone.
I don't.

I do believe that God is with me
in whatever my life's circumstances may be.
I don't have to like those circumstances.
Sometimes I sit here, look at what is and
think, "Oh, for fuck's sake."
As if I'm on a merry go round
for which there is no stop button.

But whatever is happening today
is not permanent.
It just is.
I take comfort in believing
that Jesus hunkers down with me
in both the worst
and the best of days.

It's easy to type that right now
because this is not the worst of days.
I've had a few of them though.
I'm thinking of this day in particular.
That day will always be a defining moment in my life.
Where the rubber met the road when it came to my faith.
Where I had to decide whether God was with me in the midst of such anguish
or I was left on my own to blindly make my way through.
I don't know what the future holds for me
any more than my friend knew his two months ago.
Hope is a hard fought word for me.
It would not be my favourite word
without the worst of days.

Rest in peace my friend.

Showing Up Part Two

Darn. I've had to enable comment moderation and not let anonymous commenters do their thing. So you may need to set up a blogger account if you still want to comment. First I lost the previous post to delete the 100 comments, then I found it again sans comments. Such is life.

It's Saturday.
Dearest one and I are headed to town.
He to work on his Statistics course.
Me to go to my home group AA meeting.
I have never heard anyone say they enjoyed Statistics.
More like it's a course to be endured.

I think I'm getting the far better deal today.
Then again, I think that nearly every day of my life.
I rarely want someone else's life.
At least with my own I know what I'm dealing with.
In AA there is a saying about the danger of
comparing our insides to another's outsides.
What you see is rarely what you get if swapping sides was possible.
I'll take my own issues over someone else's anyday.

Showing Up Part One

There's a freshness wafting in the window as I type.
A thunder shower went through a little while ago.
A nice reprieve from the 30C weather of late.
My rain barrel was getting low.
The tic tic tic of the sprinkler
went back and forth
over the garden just this morning.
Dearest one set it at one point
so that I would be in its rainbow like arc.
So like him.
So like me to screech and run away.
I couldn't help but laugh.

I spent some time playing with
my skip it
before I went to bed last night.
I always smile big
as I make it go around and round.
Play is good for my soul.

It's been a slow lazy day.
A nice way to start the weekend.
Today is day 6 in a row of
contemplative prayer.
I just show up and do it.
Who knows what difference it's making.
I try not to analyze it.
Perhaps the only area of my life where I don't.

It's been a good week.
Much more even keel than last week.
Even keel feels better than helter skelter.
But the whole journey is to be embraced.
Not just the parts that suit me.

Here I am on the journey.
Here I am.
Here.
Such a small word

Shifts Are Happening

This afternoon I had a session with Fr. Charlie.
We sat in the coolness of a basement room
and visited for 2 hours.
We laughed quite a bit.
We shared back and forth.
We sat in silence, too.

As I reflect on the session
I see I need to relax and simply
be where I am on the journey.
Shifts are happening within me
and I need to let them work themselves out.
Or rather in.
There's no hurrying the process.

There is no end to the areas in my life
where I will go look for distraction
rather than be present.
I had my eyes opened
to a whole new area today.
I don't feel discouraged
but I do feel surprised.

That void that only can be filled
with His life
I often try to be fill
with other things.

Fr. Charlie rarely has answers for me,
Just questions.
Pokes and prods my soul.
Stays out of the way
while the answers take
their own sweet time to surface.

Such is Life

A lone bird sings as I sit here and type next to the open window.
Soon the heat will descend like a blanket just warm from the dryer.
Closed windows, the air conditioner running will soon be the order of the day.
The forecast is for 30C today.

Yesterday dearest one was able to get all the hay cut
and it's lying in lush thick swaths drying in the sun.
Allgeric to every blooming(literally) thing out there
My time outside is limited these days.

I did however just come in from weeding the garden.
As I weeded I looked up and saw a doe at the edge of the field.
Her bambi was a casualty of the hay bine yesterday.
It's instinct to lie still and close to the ground
made it impossible to see nestled in the tall hay.

A few days ago dearest one and I went for our morning walk.
Energizer bunny came along.
Right now she's running around the lawn and barking at
imagined or real critters in the bush.
Anyway as we were walking we came upon fresh bear scat.
We both took a quick look around
but the bear was already out of sight.
Every other day or so it leaves its droppings on the side of the road
letting me know we share the same daily route.

When we were newlyweds dearest one and I applied for a homestead.
There were still such things to be had back then.
My only caveat was that if a bear ran across our hoped for land
the deal was off.
As we entered the boundary of the land
a black bear ran across in front of us.
Such is life.
Actually when we sat down and figured out how much money
it would cost to go from a bush quarter
to a farm that would bring a return
we withdrew our application.

There have been many homes since then.
Now we're settled on 80 acres of hayland.
Dearest one is happiest when he's on a tractor.
He calls it his therapy.

A few more birds have joined the chorus outside.
A few vehicles in the distance can be heard, too.
It's early in the day yet.
One full of hope.

The Power of Choice

I stopped self sabotaging myself yesterday.
Recently one of my friends talked about how sobriety
gave him the power of choice back.
Yesterday I took a good look
at what direction my choices were taking me.
Where I was headed if I kept on feeding my feelings,
looking for distraction, avoiding doing the hard work.
Did I really want to return to that place?
Where self loathing and shame
were my closest companions?
No.
By the grace of God I reached for help
out of the miry clay.
Which put me squarely back in the now.
Today finds me doing the next right thing.
Where I'm grateful for the power of choice.
I wrote in my journal this morning
for the umpteenth time
"I can do this."