Icing On The Cake

"So what are your plans for the day," my older sister asks me this morning.
We're settled in comfy chairs at the bed and breakfast 10 minutes down the road from my place.
"A walk, some yoga, some writing and a nap."
"Oh God, a nap," my younger sister groans.
She has a 10 hour drive ahead of her today, with 5 kids ranging in age from 10 to 16 in the van with her. That's enough to make anyone groan even with terrific kids like hers.

But here I am, typing away at the public library in the city an hour's drive further down the road. When I got back home from saying goodbye to my parents and sisters, nieces, nephews and brother-in-law, dearest one asked if I'd like to come to town with him. He had a few things to do at the office and then we could go for lunch and buy some groceries. We've hardly seen each other in the past three days. And not without other people in the mix, except at night when we fell into bed exhausted, hardly aware of the other person. That's what happens in a king size bed - you can sleep and roll over and not know you have a bedmate. Dearest one said a few times during the night he reached over and then reached over further to see if I was still in bed.

The office work is done, lunch is finished and dearest one is sleeping for a bit in the van. This is the third day in a row he's had a migraine and the last day for a week that he can take migraine medication. Three days running is the limit before side effects make it dangerous to ingest any more. I hope that with getting back to a regular routine he'll be pain free tomorrow. He asked if I'd park the van somewhere while he had a nap and slept enough until the medication kicked in.

So here I am.
A library is my second favourite place in the world.
The first is home.

Libraries have always been a safe, comforting haven for me. And today I picked up 5 books, in less than a minute, from the new books shelves. That's like icing on the cake to an already great day.

I do look forward to waking up tomorrow, making my way into the kitchen and fixing breakfast. I'll carry it into the office and eat it while I write a blog post. Then the energizer bunny and I will go for a walk.

Life is good.
Very, very good.

Freedom

Celebrations are so much better from a place of sobriety
than with all the booze in the world.

I cannot remember when I've had such fun.
The past three days has been full of fun, laughter and love.
Dearest one and I danced to our hearts content.
The first time we've ever danced without me being totally drunk.
We had a blast.

I still have company and more family stuff for tomorrow.
Until that's over this little tidbit will have to suffice.

Two things stand out for me right now.

First...after oldest son was married
he was standing with dearest one when he
looked across the pond (it was an outside wedding in a beautiful place)
and saw his new bride. He stopped and said, "Wow. That's my wife."
And he started to cry.
He is so tender hearted and I love that about him.

Today my older sister and my parents left a beautiful gift bag on my bed.
They stayed at our home a few nights ago while we were getting ready for the wedding
a few hours further down the road.
As a thank you they bought me this angel.
My sister picked out this angel from a line called Eden's Angels.
The one my sister picked for me was called Freedom Angel
The little card with it said this:

With the freedom to dream,
we have the Faith
to pray for the courage
to be who we really are.

That little card sums up this past year for me.
Today is one year since I came home from rehab.
What a year it has been.

Curling Up

All manner of my family is traveling today.
Making their way slowly northward.
I've moved houses 3 times since my parents or sisters
were here to visit last time.
It doesn't seem real that they'll be in my home.
But they will be.

My mom said my oldest brother is going to stop and see me
sometime in the next few weeks as well.
He's been in my home once.
His wife, never.

Every family has things that seem normal to them
but not to others.
Some of it is, in the end, very normal.
And some of it is bizarre.

I feel the edges of perfectionism gnawing at me today.
Wanting to feel control over something.
I am not my home.
I am not my yard.
I am not my body.
I am not my kids.
There's a lot of self talk going on within me today.
And nigglings of self doubt that
I've never really changed at all.

It's cold and rainy today.
Good weather to do some baking,
some self nurturing.
Weather that lends itself to relaxing
with a cup of tea.

I have a list on my fridge
that my counselor and I came up with
of positive self soothing behaviours.
With the rainy weather
and sorrow over losing my friend
I look at the list and choose curling up in a blanket and
rocking back and forth.

I can only change me.
Lord have mercy.

Their Own Path

This morning the energizer bunny sat right at my head,trying to lick my face, while I tried to go back to sleep. She thinks anything covered up with a blanket, be it feet, a toy, my head, is something to attack and play with. Eventually I uncovered my head, looked at her and groaned, "You're one of those morning people aren't you?". Well, not exactly a people but you get my drift. I gave up, or in, and got up.

It's chilly enough this morning to wear cozy flannel pjs and have a cup of tea with my breakfast. A much welcome rain is coming down as I type. The rain guage shows half an inch of the wet stuff in the past 36 hours. We are in desperate need of it.

This afternoon is the funeral of my friend. I've been in tears quite a bit the last few days as I try to grasp that she's really gone. The energizer bunny sat on my lap and was such a comfort. She can get such a look of concern on her face. She would fix it if she could.

My friend was often at the mercy of a lot of judgement of good church going people. It didn't turn her off faith but it did wound her. She talked often of not knowing how people facing the health issues she did, did it without a faith in God. She credited God with her amazing progress post transplant. Sometimes I wanted to scream, absolutely scream, when people would ask me about her faith journey. They assumed much because she didn't go to church, because she and her husband had lived together for years before they married, because she smoked until she got sick. And sometimes they would blame her sickness on her smoking when her illness was not in the least related to smoking. It was an immune system response where her body attacked it's own cells. Non smokers get the same disease all the time. So do underweight, overweight, and in shape people.

But judging others feels good. God knows I know that because of how judgemental I can be. I have to remind myself often that I never know the full story of someone else's journey.....that I'm not God.....that minding my own business and living my own life takes enough energy without spending it passing judgement on others.

While I was cleaning up the office this week I kept running across little pieces of paper that had quotes on them. Some made it into my computer notebook, like this one:

"The most compassionate thing I can do is allow (them) to be on their own path."

Lord have mercy.

Waiting and Walking

"The hope on the other side of despair is the unique gift of God to those who walk the journey. It is hope not based on anything in particular working out. It is a hope that comes to those who wait and walk at the same time.

It is not just a hope; it is The Hope; a gift not founded on circumstances or successes but a gift that declares that Reality can be trusted after all. Someone is Good somewhere. Goodness is at the beginning and the bottom of all of this. Goodness will win out.

~ from Richard Rohr's Near Occasions of Grace

Let Me Sleep

"Sometimes we wake up grumpy and sometimes we let her sleep."

They should have let me sleep this morning.
I am not a morning person at the best of times.
I'm not exactly a night owl either.
Just give me my sleep and no one will get hurt.
That about sums me up today.
It can only get better.

If you want to read some food for thought kind of posts today
try here and here and here.

As for me I'm going back to bed.
Have a good day.

Taking The Edge Off

We had a lovely water fight last night.
Dearest one was chasing the cat out of the garden with playful squirts
of the water hose.
I told youngest son to just wait and see
that his dad would try and get as close to me as possible with the water spray without actually hitting me.
Eventually he did just that and then miscalculated and got me wet.
And we laughed.
I went and got an ice cube and had youngest son put it down his dad's shirt.
At one point younest son took the watering can and started watering my flowers.
He suddenly turned and poured it right over my head.
Then over his dad's head.
Then over his own.
We all ended up wet and laughing.
Laughter takes the edge off the grief.

Baby Stepping My Way To Sanity

I just wrote out a day by day itinerary for this week.
I'm writing this Sunday night and posting it as if it's Monday morning.
Does that count as taking life one day at a time?
I think it will have to be a baby step by baby step kind of week.
Looking at the whole picture feels overwhelming.
Today I hope it is cool enough to do some housework. We've had 30C and a couple for about 4 or 5 days in a row now. That's about 90F and then some. The air conditioner is not keeping up with the heat. Sitting still makes me sweat, never mind moving.
I tend to clean a room and put what I don't know how to want to deal with in the next room. Then I do that with each room until all the left over stuff ends up in the last room. Housekeeping does not come naturally to me. Slobville does.
Tuesday will be more housework. There's carpet stains to get out (I found the greatest cheap cleaner for this)and a bathroom to scrub down. Bedding to wash and floors to clean.
Wednesday is my friend's funeral.
Thursday only daughter and her lover boy come home. She hasn't been home since Christmas. It will be his first trip here.
Friday my parents will come here and spend the night while we travel a few hours to a different province for the wedding preparations.
That would be the wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.
Saturday is the wedding.
Sunday my parents and sisters will be here for supper.
Monday I will wave goodbye to family and promptly cry.
Yep, I think a baby step approach is my only sane choice.
I'm thankful that I know that's an option.
Otherwise it would be dramaville around here.
I'm so glad to know I only have to do this step by step.
That's manageable.
For today.
Er, tomorrow.
Or on a Sunday night writing like it's Monday morning kind of day.

Rose Scented Comfort

Friday night I returned a call to another AA member telling him I wasn't coming into town the next day so no, I wouldn't be able to chair the meeting for him. We chatted about other things for a bit and then he asked if I would be willing to be a speaker at the treatment center this coming week. Every week AA does a speaker meeting at the center where two people share what it was like (when they were drinking), what happened (how they found recovery) and what it's like now (how working the 12 steps has changed their lives). I would have loved to be one of those speakers, this week's meeting being nearly a year since I finished the program there. However, I had to decline due to family obligations that particular evening. I trust another opportunity to share at the center will come my way if it's meant to be.

This phone conversation took place before I found out that my friend Karen had passed away. When that phone call came my first thought was that I needed a meeting. I talked with my sponsor and left it open for us to go together to the meeting the next morning. I went to bed pretty sure I was going to stay home. I slept poorly that night. The next morning I was watching the energizer bunny be her cute self when I remembered Karen's small dog and how it had been her constant companion these past few years. How much joy it had brought her and how much that dog was going to miss her. Tears welled up as I thought all this and I thought to myself yet again that I needed a meeting. I had just looked at the clock to guage how much time I had before I had to decided whether I was going to go when the phone rang. It was my sponsor asking me if I was going to the meeting.

Just over an hour later we were both warming chairs at the meeting. That the doors were open, that someone stepped up to chair the meeting....I was so grateful. I told the chairperson that I'd no idea that between the time I talked to our friend to decline chairing the meeting and this morning that I would be the one who would need a meeting the most.

Yesterday I realized how safe I feel in the rooms of AA, especially my home group. I can cry in front of these friends and feel no shame or embarrassment about it. I could simply be myself without pretense, which included sharing how I glared at someone this past week with a fuck off times ten glare. How strange that recovery depends on letting go of pretense when often letting go of pretense in a faith community will get one ostracized. We have things a bit screwed up there I think. No wonder Philip Yancey talks in his book, Church,Why Bother? about how church should be more like an AA meeting. [Okay - I'm off my soapbox,now.] I looked at the guy who chaired the meeting and thanked him for opening up early, for chairing the meeting when he had other plans for the day.

My sponsor and I spent a few hours together after the meeting, having a leisurely lunch, and getting a few errands done. We sat in her car at the end of our time together and dabbed rose scented cuticle moisturizer on our fingers. That scent always reminds me of our Blessed Mother. Who better knows what grief is all about?

Last night in the dusky moonlight dearest one and I went for a walk.
That is my favourite way to spend time.
It was a comforting day all around.
Thank you for your prayers.

Relaxing Rigid Ways

One week from today oldest son will be married.
I had a dress hanging up in the closet.
One with a deep blue/purple hue.
It made my eyes look that colour, too.
But it stuck to my belly.
The belly that, with a 60 pound weight loss,
is on it's way to China.
Too bad there isn't an Olympic sport for that.

So with just over a week to go
I found a new dress.
One which floats over my skin,
relieving me of the feat of trying to
suck in my belly for 12 hours straight,
(underneath a girdle and all).
The new dress is navy with a beautiful beaded front.
I'll be able to put it on and
forget about what I'm wearing.
That's been my guiding mantra in clothes shopping this past year.
"Do I feel comfortable and confident in this?"
It's good when I ask myself that before I shell out the money.

This period of my life is my first experience
of wearing clothes that flatter my figure
without it triggering feelings of being slutty.
It's a foreign, but getting more comfortable feeling,
to celebrate this body of mine, however saggy it's becoming,
by wearing clothes that don't make my body
look like it's a tall, rectangular box.
I no longer hide my curves
as if I'm ashamed of them.
I walk differently now.
There's a confidence to my step
that is brand new.

There's something hopeful about breaking rigid ways of being
half way through life. Because of the childhood sexual abuse
my perception of sexuality and absorbing responsibility
for anything remotely connected to sexuality were warped.
How do we even begin to challenge warped thinking
when we believe it's normal?

A few months into counseling
to help me heal from the sexual abuse,
I related an incident to my counselor
where I was walking through a parking lot,
on the way into a store, when
a strange man said hello to me.
Instantly I took all responsibility for his hello.
Believed I must be sending out a vibe, a bad one.

I was in grade three when one day a boy I was helping
with his spelling, looked at me in such a way that I knew
he had a crush on me.
My instant sense within was of how much power that gave me.
I never challenged that conclusion in over 35 years,
until my counselor pointed out to me that
"no" I didn't have power over all men.
I'm almost embarrassed to type that,
her words were a brand new thought to me.
She gave me several reasons why a man could say hi to me.
Ones I never even thought of,
was not capable of figuring out on my own.

Hmmmm, I wasn't aware this post
was headed into this territory when
I started typing.
Sometimes when that happens I push
the delete button and start over.

It's only in this past year
that I've started to inhabit
this body of mine.
Started to be in it comfortably
instead of being detached from it
as if it was something to reject.
It's been a relief to learn
and believe that I'm more than a sexual being without
having to reject my sexuality in the process.

I also know when I start typing posts
in this poetry like pattern
I haven't the emotional energy to try and make
sense out of formal paragraphs and coherent sentences.
That I could be detaching somewhat from that deeper place
that I'm learning to live from.
That most likely has more to do with my friend's death
than anything else.
I didn't sleep well last night.
Morning came way too early.
I can feel the tears lining up in my body
waiting their turn to be released.

For today I can do this.
Thank God I don't have to navigate
this journey all by myself.
Thank you for being a part of it.

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?