Unmasked

"Do you want me to cover your nose or your mouth?
We leave only one open so you can breathe."

Crap. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Momentarily, I panic. Please don't take away my voice. If she covers my mouth I will feel like I have no voice. If she covers my nose I might hyperventilate. Uncertain, I ask what other people have done. She tells me they usually choose to have their mouth covered. I breathe deep and tell her okay, cover my mouth then. God, this takes trust. I am truly at her mercy. I hadn't thought that far ahead, either.

And so my therapist begins. Gently she wipes my whole face down with Vaseline, making sure my eyebrows, eyelashes, and the hither and yon wiry hairs that grow above my upper lip, are covered. Neither of us wishes to turn this into an impromptu waxing session although I've always thought it might be nice to have my eyebrows done. Satisfied that every bit of skin is covered she then cuts strips of plaster. I watch as the powdery mesh piles up on her lap.

Next she dips a strip of mesh into water and starts placing it on my Vaseline caressed skin. First a strip across my forehead, then one along my jawline. One down the center of my nose. One by one she lifts the wet strips and places them on my face. Before too long I sense my expression becoming fixed. Just before she places a strip over my mouth she warns me. We grin at each other, for we both know how I love to talk. I feel my cheeks move up against the plaster as I smile and I tell her she will have to push the wet strips back in place. She works deftly, fingers smoothing out the roughness, as she places layer upoon layer of wet plaster on my face, working quickly before it sets.

She tells me she is going to do my eyes now. Oh, so that's why my eyelashes needed to be Vaselined. I had imagined a mask with eyes open and mouth free. How else can I see the world around me? How else can I know what's going to happen next? Down go my eyelids and as the wet mesh covers first one eye, and then the other, my world becomes dark.

I decide that the only thing to do is go inward, so I sit quietly. I feel the weight of the mask on my face. It does not escape me, the irony of how heavy a mask truly is. I notice how unmovable my face is becoming, my expression set. A swirl of thoughts runs through my mind as soothing Celtic music plays in the background. I sense my therapist's fingers smoothing and touching my mask. Some bits of the mask are thin and soft, her fingers could easily penetrate the shell. Others places are thick and hard already and it would take a lot for either of us to break the protective covering.

I think on these things.

My mind wanders back to my first session with Fr. Charlie. "Do you wear masks?" he asks me. "Oh, no, not me," I proudly tell him, "wearing masks is what other people do". He sat quietly then, leaving my words to hang in the air. Before too many sessions had passed we both knew I wore layers upon layers of masks. I told him that if I had my way, I'd wear sunglasses year round, because then I could let down my guard. Wearing masks took energy.

The Celtic music rises above my meandering thoughts and it reminds me of my favourite movie. I think about William Wallace and his fight for freedom. I love his passion. His determination. His fierceness. I love his freedom. My body relaxes as I let the music wash over me.

I think about what I might feel when my mask is removed.
My face will be smooth because of the vaseline.
Fresh.
Will I feel reborn?
Breaking through my thoughts comes the phrase,
"You have been set free."
Over and over, like a record stuck on a warp,
the phrase repeats itself,
drowning out everything else.

Slowly, it fades.

Next comes a phrase Fr. Charlie has told me countless times:
"You shall know the truth
and the truth shall set you free."

I picture William Wallace
looking at me as he cries, "Freeeedommmmm."

Goosebumps rise on my arms.

Fr. Charlie and my therapist have never met.
It feels like a hop, skip and jump kind of journey,
one leading me to the other though.
And now, in this session,
the one where I am masked and then unmasked,
the two have merged, both so pivotal
in my quest
for inner freedom.

The mask dries.
I move my face,
first my lips
and then my cheeks
and lastly my eyes.
As I do so, the mask separates from my skin.
Gently my therapist pries the mask
off the last strongholds.

I blink in the daylight
and smile at the mask.
The mask that is
and isn't
me.

Numbering My Thoughts

Thump. Thud. Thud.

Those are the early morning sounds that woke us up a few days ago.
The energizer bunny had rolled off the bed.
I grinned in the dark and sang to dearest one, "They all rolled over and one fell out..." We giggled and went back to sleep, once the energizer bunny was safely on the bed again. Yeah, I know, there is a kennel in our room just for the Pugs. It's doing duty as a table for a laundry basket at the moment.

Speaking of numbers, you know the all in that little ditty up above, when you count all my posts this one is numero eleven hundred.
Which is cool, eh?
Except eleven hundred sounds weird.
One thousand and one hundred doesn't roll of the tongue well, either.
Some days most words sound weird.
Does that ever happen to you? You write a word out and think to yourself it can't possibly be spelled that way even though another part of your brain is telling you you've been spelling it that way for decades. I wonder why words look or sound so alien some days.

I had something interesting happen today.
Well, let me back up a day.
There's a person in my life who I instinctively don't trust.
Passive aggressiveness is hard to pin down sometimes.
I tried earlier this week but the person smoothly side stepped my bluntness.
Wriggled right out of my question.

I've been known, in my former life, to grab people by the shirt, just under their throat, and threaten them. There is nothing passive aggressive about that but I don't recommend trying it. That was before I knew that I have a voice for a reason and it's much better to use my voice than my might. Anyway, I just was irritated all the day long by my inability to make her own up to something she did that crossed one of my boundaries. I do get tempted to grab people by the shirt now and then but that day wasn't one of them. Mercifully. Making amends keeps me from reckless behaviour more often than not. This morning I prayed that there would be a time lapse between my impulses and actions.

Yesterday I was talking to God and saying that if only I knew a little something about this person who I don't trust, something that would put a human face to her, it would help.
Today a little tidbit of info came out of her mouth and I asked her about it.
Within 5 minutes there was enough humanity spilling out that my heart softened.
I still don't trust her, and that is just fine.
I can trust my instincts.
But it is nice to know there is a soft heart underneath the hard exterior.

Next post will be eleven hundred and one.
That sounds better.
Thankfully there are only two pugs in the bed.

The Ranting Heckler

Sometimes, when I write a post, like the one I did yesterday, I get the urge to delete it after a day or two. I try not to rant on this blog. I don't rant much in real life, either. Not even in my head where there is only me, myself, and I. I used to rant all the time. I had a fix for everyone and everything if they would only let me be in charge! Friends call dearest one and I the diplomat and the heckler. Diplomat I am not. It took getting sick to lessen my desire to rant. Ranting takes precious energy and when you only have a few spoons it's a shame to use them that way.

Only daughter and lover boy are here for a visit. I am having a hard time enjoying it because I already feel sad at her leaving tomorrow morning. Just typing that makes me teary. So I'm going to sign off for now and go give her a hug and spend the day in her company. She's only heard me rant once since she got here and it was so mild compared to days of old, she might not have even noticed. That's progress.

Within Me

"I'm going to have a stupendous, wonderful, incredible day!"

We're standing in line at the checkout counter as he tells me this and I look at him while thinking a rather sarcastic, "I'm happy for you."
There have been wind warnings for days now
and windy weather makes my lungs hurt.
My shoulders haven't stopped throbbing for 48 hours and my fatigue level is off the charts. I cannot seem to muster a good attitude, or gain perspective, I simply want to sleep.

He'd asked me earlier how I was and when I replied that I was tired, it was windy out there, but otherwise okay, he had countered with, "It's a beautiful day outside."

I look outside at the 50km/hr wind gusts and think rah, rah, rah.

I paid for my purchases and we parted ways.
I sat in my car feeling irritable as hell.
I watched him walk to his vehicle and get on with his stupendous day.
In all the time I have known him
we have yet to have a conversation
where I felt like we related
as one human being to another.

I put my car in gear and get on with my day.
This time, as I'm heading into the next store,
I see someone who is dear to my heart,
who has been pivotal in my journey.
Someone I believed who was placed in my path
several years ago by God, for my good.
I haven't seen him in nearly six months.

We ducked out of the wind and chatted. I told him about my summer, the stress, the emotional pain, the incredible opportunity for growth and change. He looked at me and said warmly, "It's exciting, isn't it?" His question caught me off guard and I stopped to think about it. I told him I would never willingly sign up for that kind of pain again
and I was continually humbled by the opportunities presented to me for growth.
Tears threatened to overflow as gratitude washed over me.

As we parted ways I told him that on a day like today, when it was so windy, I was grateful for warm house to go home to. He kind of harrumphed at me and I had to chuckle at how my irritation had faded.

Next stop was my home group AA meeting.
Just before the meeting started,
another group member came in.
He took one look at me and said,
"I'm going to give you a hug."
I told him I was really tired
and he told me with a measure of compassion
that the tiredness would pass.
It was comforting to be treated
with kindness.

Three different encounters,
two felt life giving and one soul sucking.
Although it hasn't escaped my notice
that's the second time in less than 10 days
where someone's happy, happy outlook
has gotten under my skin.
Oh, don't you just love it when you realize once again,
that the problem lies within you, not within them?!

Here's hoping I wake up rested and pain free tomorrow.

Getting To

When I left big city far away on Wednesday morning I
was hoping to beat rush hour traffic.
Ha.
Six lane freeways are busy at 6 AM.
Darn.
I feel all panicky until I successfully merge onto the freeway
without either hitting someone or they hitting me.
Then I give a big sigh of relief and go on my merry way.
It's a stretch to go from driving in a city of 50K
to a city of over a million.
But I did it.
I only got lost twice this time around.
That's progress!

The upside of leaving so early is that
I saw a beautiful orange sunrise
with everything in the foreground still black.
I normally always marvel at sunrises and sunsets.
That one was extra beautiful.

Last night I stopped on my way into the house
and looked up at the starry night sky, soaking it in.
I don't remember a clear starry night
when I didn't stop and take a few breaths
while I marveled at the sight.
I can see the big dipper out my bedroom window
for part of the night.
It's a good night when I don't see it
because it means I'm sleeping
while it passes by.
A few nights a year the moon
shines right onto my face,
through my other bedroom window,
waking me up.
I feel kissed by God when that happens.

I feel very grateful for life this morning.
For the ability to do lots of things
that weren't possible several years ago.
Even though I am rarely rested,
I function at a much higher level
physically than I used to.
I was telling both the geneticist and the cardiologist
this week that sometimes in the midst of a cold winter day,
when I am getting ready to go for a walk in -24C weather,
dearest one looks at me and asks why in the world would
I do such a thing.
I tell him it's because I can.
I had too many years when going for a walk wasn't an option
and I never want to take it for granted that today I can.

Maybe I'm warped but you know on days
when it is windy, cold, rainy,
and I am outside
I think about how nice it will be to get inside,
have a cup of tea,
warm up, and sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket.
I feel grateful for the little things
like slippers for my feet
and it makes me all happy inside.
If I never felt cold I would never appreciate
how nice it is to get all warmed up.

One of my favourite childhood memories
is of going into my grandparents' home
on a cold winter day
and putting my hands over the woodburning
cookstove and warming up.
It was always a bonus if my grandma
let me lift the little round lid and
throw my kleenex into the fire.

It's not winter here yet
but this morning there is frost on my windshield.
In a short while I will be getting in my car
and driving to see Fr. Charlie.
It's another one of those days
when I'm not thinking along the lines
of "I have to..." but rather
"I get to...."
Just by being alive we get to do so much.

Doing A Happy Dance!

Saw both doctors today.
No heart surgery required.
They were both so supportive of all my lifestyle changes
and so happy with the results that I don't have to see them for 3 years.
Stuff they wanted to give me pills for
has resolved itself by lifestyle changes.
How cool is that?

A Guy Named Bob

I'm in a city far away this morning.
Yesterday I arrived here at only daughter's empty apartment.
A place to sleep while she is away.

The walls are paper thin.
I heard someone's alarm clock beep at 5:30 AM.
Someone else's shower go on.
Someone else coughing.
In hockey season you can tell who they are cheering for
and which game is being shown on TV.
It made me hesitant to blow my nose
for fear of wondering who I might be waking up.

I'm sure they wouldn't be impressed with my morning routine
if I lived here full time.
Yoga at 5AM. Complete with occasional swearing at
the Biggest Loser trainer Bob
as he tells me you are almost finished, don't give up now!
while my legs feel like they are on fire
and I am going to be frozen in place forever.
Some days I tell him right where to go and how to get there.
He has the most annoying voice.
All chipper and you haven't seen anything yet
while I am pouring sweat and dying over here.

I always thought I could be one of those contestants on his show
that could suck it up and rise to the challenge.
Which I could.
But not without some hissy fits.
Some whining.
Some get out of my face moments thrown in.

If I lived in this apartment
soon my neighbours would wonder
why I kept putting up with
a guy named Bob.
Or he with me.

Mental Gymnastics

It's been a good weekend.
I've never been to an AA Assembly before.
I kept tearing up
when I looked around the room
at several hundred fellow alcoholics;
feeling overwhelmed with gratitude
for my sobriety and theirs.

I feel somewhat embarrassed to admit
that I also kept tearing up during elections.
I kept sensing that there was Something much bigger
at work than any of us and that was humbling.

It is a wonderful experience to hear the Serenity Prayer
said in unison in such a large group.

I also sat there and periodically thought
about whether or not I'd like these people
if we were all drunk.
Some I would probably like more
and some less, no doubt.
Some I could not picture drunk.
They did not fit my stereotype.

In treatment we were given an assignment
about what stereotype we had of an alcoholic.
The stereotype we kept alive
so that we didn't have to face
that we had a drinking problem of our own.

One of mine was that because I wasn't
in the neighbourhood bar
getting pissed with the neighbours
and going home with them
I didn't have a drinking problem.
Somehow I thought getting pissed at a bush party
and leaving a 2 year old and newborn in the car
was normal,
just don't get pissed in the bar
and sleep with the neighbours.
The mental gymnastics one does, eh?
Absolute insanity.

Thank God there is a solution.

Push Button Perfection

"There is no future."

Sigh. It's after the meeting and we are cleaning up the tables. I had shared in the meeting some feelings of fear about my health. In addition to the heart stuff some new issues have cropped up. Could be serious and could be simply a blip on the radar screen. Time will tell. Yesterday I wanted to get the swirl of worried thoughts out of my head and onto the table. When people come up to me after a meeting and say things like the above statement I know they mean well. They want me to have peace and not worry. I know that. Sometimes in reply though, I want to tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have my own decades of experience in telling people just exactly how they should think and feel so that life would be perfecto. Trying to fix their lives when they haven't even asked me to. When I do that it's really been about my uncomfortableness with being human and how that means having a multitude of feelings. I've put a lot of energy into dismissing people's very real and understandable feelings when life isn't turning out how they had hoped and the circumstances are out of their control. I didn't want their pain to touch me.

It's hard to know how to navigate it when someone tells me the answer to my problems as if there was some magic switch to turn on and all would be roses and glory. For me to be honest and say, "I'm scared" is such progress. To have someone basically tell me there is only today so don't worry, be happy feels like I'm not allowed to be human. Most of the time I can take comments like that in stride, knowing their reaction to my share is their issue. And that my reaction to their reaction is my own. Yesterday it was a little harder to do.

I suppose really it's about my ego. I sometimes get caught up into wanting to be the poster girl for AA. Look at me and my perfect program where nary a thing bothers me because I just give it all to God and presto, I'm good to go. The program isn't about perfection. But, because sometimes I still chase after imaginary perfection I don't share that I'm scared, I'm worried, I'm, I'm, well, human, just like everyone else. And so is the person who tried to make my world all better yesterday. Imagine that. Sigh.

I Will

"Will you marry me?"

Not many women can say they've been asked that
27 times in their life, but I can.
Before the day is over I will add one more to that number, making it 28.
Twenty-eight years ago today dearest one asked me to marry him
and he has repeated the question every year on this day ever since.

For the record, I've always said yes.
Sometimes that yes had been very faint in my heart,
and sometimes a little stronger,
and sometimes downright enthusiastic.

I've not always meant it.

While I can't imagine life without him,
some of the past 10,000 days (I counted)
I couldn't stand life with him, either.
I think those feelings,
both of them, are mutual.
Such is married life.

There is also something very comforting
being married so long to someone
who has known me at my best and at my worst
and is still here.

Even on the worst of days,
for more years than I can remember,
I rest my head on his shoulder
before we go to sleep.
I try not to take that for granted.

This past year has been the hardest
of all our years together.
I had not a clue what commitment looked like
when we married.
I'd seen my parents
treat their marriage commitment lightly.
I didn't know what it looked like
to treat it seriously.
Nor did I really know 10 years in, either.
Not even 20 years in.

Because of this past year,
I do now.
Learned it in such a painful way, too.
There have been several times in the past 28 years
when either one of us
could have walked away
with very good reason.
Reasons that no one would blame us for.
But here we are, still together.
And for that I am really grateful.

When I got home from town today
dearest one parted the drapes in the bay window
to show me a beautiful big rock with the word Hope
engraved in it.
He had gone into the flower shop this afternoon
and it was sitting there right in front
to greet him
so he said he just had to buy it.
It's just the kind of thing I would have bought
had I seen it first.

But the puglies?
Well.
They created a long and loud ruckus
at the sight of something so strange
sitting in the window.
They barked at it as if they had never seen hope before.
I am grateful, more than you could know,
that hope is as settled in my bones
as that rock is in the window.
I'm so grateful that hope
is no stranger to me.

We Have A Champion

Round Two: Humans.

They slept in the kennel without making a sound last night.
Except for snoring.
They may have me beat in that category
although I do give them a good run for their money.

Round One

Oh, the pitiful whine of a Pug in a kennel.
Dearest one was getting frustrated with them interrupting his sleep.
He got up at 1:30 and took the puglies to sleep with him on the couch.
Round One: Puglies.

Spoiled Rotten

The puglies have been sleeping in our bed ever since youngest son moved out 26 days ago. Twenty-six is the limit of how many nights I can share my bed with a dog. I decided that this morning. Two nights ago I slept on the couch, declaring to dearest one that I was sleeping wherever the dogs weren't. My bed is much more comfy than the couch. The only reprieve we've had is when youngest son has come home for night and the dogs go back to sleeping wherever he sleeps.

So this morning I cleaned the bedroom - finally found the floor after a six month disappearance - and made room for the kennel in one corner. The Energizer Bunny used to sleep in the kennel every night until Yoga Pup came along. I would tell her it was bedtime and she would reluctantly waddle down the hallway and into her kennel. Yoga Pup is not nearly so well behaved. I can already hear him whining pitifully at what he will no doubt think is unfair treatment.

The worst is that while I didn't give in to any of our children's pleas of whining might get me what I want tactics, I am not convinced I will be so unshakable when it comes to the toddler version of a Pug.

EDS

"I just wanted to wake up feeling rested."
It's nearing the end of the day and dearest one and I
are washing up the supper dishes together.
Tonigh I'm grateful that it will be a short work week.
I wake up feeling rested once every few months.
Sometimes, like tonight,
I have to admit that I have health limitations.
That's the short explanation of my sometimes lack of spoons.
The longer one wearies even me.
For the most part I try to take it in my stride.
Except when I get this tired.

Being

Yesterday I spent the day in my pajamas.
I'd have the flu since Thursday night.
I ignored my pounding head and went to work Friday anyway
because I had stuff to do.
As if I was indispensable.
Ha. As if.

I kept trying to ignore the body aches and fever and headache
until yesterday when it became clear
that ignoring it wasn't going to work any longer.
So I stayed in my pjs and did nothing productive all day.

Doing so helped me see that I have been living a driven life lately.
Pressured by unrealistic expectations of myself.
I wasn't aware of that before yesterday.
I was too busy trying to get things done.
As if that is the only sensible way to spend a three day weekend.

Nine years ago I had a bout of Bell's Palsy.
It's never completely resolved itself.
Whenever my immune system is under attack
that side of my face goes numb and droops.
It feels similar to having been to the dentist
and leaving his office with a tingly face
that feels funny when you touch it.

Yesterday my face went numb again.
I can still feel the tingling as I type.
Right from my forehead to my chin.
My body tries to talk to me.
To get my attention so that I will take care of her.
Sometimes she has to shout
so that I will stop long enough to listen.

It's hard to let go of what seems
like a mile long to do list.
To do nothing on a long weekend but rest.
I thought I had learned through my years of spoon counting that being was more important than doing.

Doing My Heart Good

Some days I watch my favourite youtube videos because they do my heart good. The ones below are among them. Last night I figured out why I like them so much. First, their countenances are very appealing. You know what I mean? There is a joy, especially in the first two, that is infectious. The last man has a sadness that is understandable and a heart that is beautiful. I was in tears at one point watching his bit. They all have a humility about them that is beautiful to see. These three have such a cheerleading squad behind them, both family and friends, and by the end, the audience. They have people in their life encouraging them to reach for that which they were created to do. I sat here and wished that every person alive had one, too. Wouldn't it be lovely if everyone did? Enjoy.



The 6 minute version of the one above is well worth the watch. Embedding was disabled on the longer version so I couldn't post it here.

Paranoia Pays Off Sometimes

"Did I roll up the windows in the car?"

I asked myself that question as we were driving away from the parking lot at work on Thursday. Dearest one and I had taken two separate vehicles in because our work schedules conflicted, but by the end of the day I was just too tuckered out to be safe driving home. Do you ever do that? Ask yourself some question and then dismiss it because you think you're just being paranoid again? I do.

I get to work yesterday, the morning after a severe thunderstorm, to be greeted by a coworker who told me that I might want to roll up the window on my car because it was starting to rain. When I told her I had left the car there overnight we both turned and rushed back out to the parking lot. I have no idea how my car stayed put all night. Why it wasn't vandalised or stolen. I figure a wet passenger side seat is a small price to pay for not listening to the voice in my head that wanted me to double check that I'd locked it up properly. I apologized to the car angels, if they exist, for tying up their time guarding my car when there is much more serious business for them to be doing.

Yesterday morning, as we were driving away from the yard, I thought to myself, I wonder if I unplugged my curling iron? That's a question I ask myself nearly every morning as I drive out of the yard. We have turned around, too many times to count, sometimes a mile from home, so that I can make sure I unplugged it. We have yet to find a plugged in curling iron waiting for my attention. So yesterday morning I dismissed that small voice and went on my merry way. Yesterday afternoon dearest one calls me and says, "Did you mean to leave your curling iron plugged in? Um, that would be a no. He tells me that when he walked into the house he smelled something hot and my curling iron was the culprit.

Do you ever wonder how to distinguish paranoia from the Holy Spirit's prompting?Sometimes they seem like a tag team.And those angels? They were probably sighing and rolling their eyes after I got my window rolled up because they had to morph in to house angels and go stand watch until dearest one got home to unplug the curling iron.

Slowly

"I can't take in one more piece of information today."

My boss looks at me and doesn't quite know what to say. She's used to me making a note of what needs to be looked into with a quick turnaround time. I make the note although I know I won't look into it until the middle of next week. The moment she asked it of me I envisioned 35 other requests coming my way today and I just couldn't handle the thought of that happening. My comment was meant to stop all those remaining requests from being made.

Yesterday was both exhausting and fun. I love detail work that is methodical. I also like working with the public. Yesterday was full of detail work and the public. I went home last night feeling like I rocked at my job. Which I do. I am so grateful for a satisfying job.

This morning however, in the aftermath, there is so much paperwork to deal with that I am buried in it. My desk, normally organized and in place, is piled with stacks of paper. I am so tired that I've been working for several hours without attending to the stacks one little bit. My head is aching, the same weird headache I had last night, and I momentarily feel totally sick. The phone has rung constantly since I came in, there have been contractors in and out all morning, and I can't figure out what the next step is so that I can make order out of chaos.

My boss finds her voice and tells me that I should tell them all to shut up and leave me alone. Which isn't my style, so I don't. She does however leave me alone, in a good natured way, the rest of the day.

By the end of the day there is semi order and the stacks of paperwork have been sorted through once, notes made, although I still have to email the whole lot to the next person up the chain of command and then photocopy them all for my files. At least they are in an orderly pile on my desk for next week.

Next week.

When another batch of paperwork will be added to the pile.

Most of the day this song was going through my head:



I can't remember the last time I was so grateful for a Friday.

Random Emptying Of My Head

I am tuckered right out.
It will be an early bed time tonight.
I am so grateful for all that life offers.
So much opportunity.
I try to reframe things from "I have to" to "I get to".

I don't know how it is for you but so often for me
I delight, take great comfort, in those daily routines,
the little things.
For slipping my feet into my pink slippers every morning.
For throwing on my caftan and wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.
For my favourite tea mug that fits my hands just right.
I don't know why those things mean so much to me, but they do.
Ordinary moments of ritual that feel like such a huge gift.
Sometimes I look at people out in public
and think about how every one of them
has some such routine every morning.
Open the cupboard, take out the pot,
fill it with water, cook my cereal,
shake on the cinnamon, stir in the margarine,
thoroughly enjoy the eating.
Those kind of things comfort me on a daily basis.

I had the chance this week to take part in a workshop
where one of the facilitators took us through a simple
exercise and then really challenged us
to own our choices and our lives.
He had a great sense of humour and I could tell
that he longed for every person to grasp
how ownership of their lives
was not only possible
but the best choice one could make.
I loved watching him communicate
the truths that he had come to embrace for his own.

I made a decision the first week at my job
to have a fresh flower on my desk every week.
It doesn't have to cost much.
I have this wonderful swan vase
that holds a single flower.
Last week I got a beautiful pink rose,
complete with baby's breath,
for a mere three bucks.

Work is ridiculously busy right now.
I am normally pretty even keel and not much fazes me.
Tonight dearest one commented that
he wasn't used to seeing me be fazed by anything.
I'm not either.
When I get these next few days behind me, Lord willing,
I'll have a whole bunch of new experiences to put in context.
I am grateful for the chance to learn new things.
Lately I feel like I have been showing up for life,
fully engaged.
I am thankful.

Ole!

As I sit here with writing projects on the back burner, trying to figure out how to get to them and do them well, this talk really encouraged me today. I was in tears by the end of it. I hope you enjoy it, too.



~ht

Nurturing What?

"Go talk to her now, Hope. You won't be able to sleep tonight unless you do."

I had just left the office for the day, put my backpack and purse down and decided to make a bathroom stop before I headed out for the hour long drive home. I had no desire to risk this. No siree. I'd already said goodbye to my boss and dearest one was waiting for me in the car. There is nothing so sweet as the thought of going home at the end of a work day.

As I prevented getting wet feet I thought about Step 10 - and how I needed to go back into the office and talk to my boss. I thought about dearest one waiting in the car, my boss wrapping up her own day, and how tired I was. In the end none of that mattered. I prayed for some humility and went to see her.

Earlier in the day I'd gone to her office where she was working on a powerpoint presentation. I didn't wait to see what she was doing, just saw my job title on the page and made an offhand, rather condescending remark, about how that really wasn't my job title as I really did this instead. There was just enough of an attitude behind my words that I realized soon after that my ego had just hit a home run. Ugh.

My boss is pretty easy going. Nothing much impresses her. She takes people at face value. After I told her I'd had an attitude about my job title she told me she didn't think I'd had an attitude, no worries. I told her that if it didn't show outwardly I had at least sensed it inwardly. What followed was a conversation about my job and how I really did do the other job. She figured she should submit a letter on my behalf so that my job title got changed because I'd get a nice pay raise if she did that. I smiled. It had nothing to do with actual job title or my paycheque, but with my attitude about it. I didn't try to make her understand anything at that point. I'd just fessed up to my arrogance and left it at that.

It's been a very busy few days. It will only get busier over the next few weeks. It might seem like a little thing to not have let that initial conversation go but to me it wasn't. If I can't fess up about those little things then you can bet your booties they will grow into bigger things that I could decide don't need any attention either. I would grow spiritually sick. There are many opportunities every day at work to cop an attitude and feed it. There are those who would help me nurture a bad attitude, too. I just don't want to go there. It doesn't lead to any good thing. AA has taught me that.

I wrote this all last night and left it for this morning to see if I still wanted to post it or hit the delete button.
So here you go.
I hope you have a great day.
I plan on it.

Scary Presence

"Boo!"

I lean forward and say it close to her ear as she appears in the doorway. It's the only thing I can think of to do that might distract her from how I am dressed. Somehow, in my rush to get out the door on time, I get to work and realize I am still in my caftan. My attempt to scare her doesn't phase her one. little. bit. It's the first day back to work and she's on a mission. Eyes straight forward, rushing to her office. She barely acknowledged my presence. I stand there a bit perplexed that my attire warranted nary a second glance and a bit relieved at the same time.

Thank God it was only a dream.

My alarm certainly jolted me awake this morning and once I had some clarity of thought, I decided that my first day back at work would be just fine no matter what.

I did contemplate scaring my coworker anyway but decided that since I'm the only one in the office without CPR training, I best behave myself.

Caftans are incredibly comfortable though.
It's a shame they aren't appropriate work attire.
Scary thought, that.

Six Words Says It

I feel blessed in every way.



~ Show My Face.

Marking Time

Yesterday was my dad's birthday.
I have a history of either sending cards waaay too early
or late or sometimes I just save them for the next year
so they have a hope of being somewhat on time.
Sometimes I have to look at the postage stamp
and see how much it cost
to decipher what year I meant to send the card.
Seriously.
I have a card for one of my sisters that is probably a decade old.
I can tell by how cheap the stamp is.

This year I wrote a note in my dad's card that said,
"Finally got one to you on time."
and then I let the card ride around in my car for three days.
Which meant it might get there on time
or I'd have to eat crow for a while.
The card arrived yesterday, right on time!
Wonders never cease.
My dad would have had a great chuckle over
my note had the card arrived late.

In his birthday card I put a photo I'd received of
the gravestone I bought last month
for my brother Rodney's grave.
I've never heard my dad say his name.
Yesterday when I called the first thing my dad said to me was, "That was a very nice idea to put a gravestone on (momentary pause) Rodney's grave."

My dad turned 79 yesterday.
Rodney would've been 49 this year.
Doing the math I realize what a young man
my dad was when Rodney died.
He was the only one in our family
who knew where Rodney was buried
until I asked him 20 years ago.

It's taken 20 years for me to make good on the promise to put a marker on Rodney's grave. I am so glad my parents are still alive to see the promise fulfilled.

My parents go for coffee with a group of cronies twice a week.
Today is one of those days.
I sit here wondering
if my mom slipped the photo in her purse
to show her sister
or if his memory will always be
unspoken.

Really Truly

I loved this saying when I read it here.

Don't believe everything you think."

I need that tattooed somewhere I could see it all the time.
Most likely my navel. :)

Choosing

Read this over at Rae's blog.

Step 1 tells me there's a power that want to destroy me.
Step 2 tells me there's a power that wants to save me.
Step 3 tells me I get to choose which power wins.

Full Of Promise

I have always liked this song and this video. A good way to start the day - with gratitude. It is a beautiful day outside - sunny and warm. We spent the evening last night with good friends. Today is full of promise, just waiting to be lived.

**Some people might find the nudity in this video offensive. It is about so much more than that. Which makes me want to go off on a tangent. I spent much of my life only being able to see black and white, what was before me. There was a time when I would have only seen the nudity in this video and for that reason called it bad, incapable of discerning anything deeper than she's naked, omg, close your eyes, get thee behind me Satan. Yep, that really was me at one point. I didn't want to look any deeper at life.(Just ask my kids, they are rolling their eyes with remembering that me as they read this I'm sure.) Nuance, reading between the lines, seeing the spirit of something, was beyond my ability. I have been blessed with friends who have shown me what it's like to see what's written between the lines of life. I continue to learn.**

Blurry

"You are one inch away from God."

That's what it said on this gigantic black and white poster my dad showed me in a dream I had this morning. Weird, eh? It was one of those posters where if you looked close it was just a bunch of circles, numbers and shapes with gaps here and there. You had to hold it a distance away before you could see that the gaps were what formed the letters.

Sometimes we are too close to a situation to see what it has to tell us.

One Day At A Time

Just want to point you in the direction of of this post so you can tell Ellie congratulations on celebrating 731 days of sobriety. Thanks.

Hearing Myself Think

Moments into being at my home group AA meeting yesterday I shared laughter with friends. Instantly I noticed just how tight and tense I had been. I'd had several days of appointments with people who cut through the crap with me which left me facing stuff that I'd like to ignore, but that wouldn't be the wisest choice, would it? Thank goodness God gives grace for the situation and not the imagination.

Good meeting. Great people. Good sharing. Just what I needed.

This morning I have no spoons. Not sure I have the energy to even have a shower. A day of gentle self care is in store. We spent the day yesterday helping oldest son and his bride of nearly a year(!)move into a bigger place. It felt good to not be the one moving. In the midst of cleaning I realized that 16 years ago on that day we moved. That was 4 houses ago now. Anyway, as I cleaned I was totally happy to use one of my favourite cleaning products. I am no house cleaner. I have stuff all over the place. It is a struggle for me to have a clean house on any day. But using that product makes me smile and gives me a feeling of accomplishment. The shine can't disappear in a day.

I have one more week left until I go back to work. I had planned on a quiet week of no appointments, no outside the house happenings, but that dang tooth that I broke the other day will need attention tomorrow. That's when my dentist returns from holidays and my mouth/throat/neck gland is pretty sore on one side already. I had thought because the broken tooth itself didn't hurt it wouldn't hurt to leave it to get attended to until the dentist came back from vacation. However, every time I talk, swallow, eat, or drink, my tongue runs over a sharp edged crater. It's done it so much I have a canker sore on the underside of my tongue. In an effort to not be in pain I am talking much less.There's a conspiracy in there somewhere!

Youngest son moved to town yesterday, to join oldest son and his bride at their new digs. We are now empty nesters. I have mixed feelings about that. More positive than not but it is an adjustment. When people hear that both dearest one and I drive 150km round trip daily to work they ask if we've thought of moving to town. We have, but we value our privacy and quiet out here on the farm. Of course at the end of a work day we'd like to be a 10 minute drive from home but in summer and on weekends, when we don't have to go anywhere, it sure is nice to sit on the deck or around a campfire and hear ourselves think.

Which is the only thing I'm going to be able to do if I don't get my tooth fixed soon.

Of Saints and Jewels

"And lend your voices only
to sounds of freedom.
No longer lend your strength
to that which you wish
to be free from.
Fill your lives
with love and bravery,
and you shall lead
a life uncommon"

~ Jewel's lyrics to Life Uncommon




Today is the feast day of Saint Maximilian Kolbe. I read about him here. As I was driving this morning I was listening to the above song by Jewel, my very favourite one, and couldn't help but think of Fr. Kolbe. How he lived a life of love and bravery and so, a life uncommon. As I listened I thought about Jewel and Fr. Kolbe and how a modern song could point me to a saint.

Gratitude Fix

I'm feeling really irritable this morning....so a gratitude list is in order:

• for good health benefits. Yesterday I was doing errands around town and saw a woman who looked like she's lived a hard life. I could see by the shape of her face that she most likely has no bottom teeth and no dentures. I think I take a dental plan for granted. That's what I thought when I saw her - "Hope you have it good." Last night I broke a tooth. The dentist will fix me up no problem, no money, no worries. That is something to be grateful for.

• for words of wisdom. My therapist has a key phrase she taught me. "What am I pretending not to know?" I have a love/hate relationship with that phrase but it cuts through the bullshit like knife through hot butter.

• for a fridge full of good food. Yesterday was grocery shopping day, something I do about twice a month. I have a little print out on my fridge that reads: "If you have food in the fridge, clothes on your back, a roof overhead, and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75 percent of this world." Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?

• for people who will cut through my bullshit without a second thought. I have an appointment with Fr. Charlie today. He's called me on more bullshit than most anyone in my life simply by being fully present while I hear myself trying to bullshit my way through stuff. His silence can be deafening sometimes, it makes my own words ring in my ears. Today he'll help me sort through some stuff that I'd rather not deal with. I am grateful that I know I can't be healthy journeying solo....I need the input of others to help me keep an even keel.

• for life. "I get to...." is a phrase I use when I need an attitude adjustment. It puts things into perspective from "I have to....(oh poor me)" So for today I get to choose just how much those irritable inner feelings are going to pollute the world around me. And I get to choose whether they'll define my day or not. Part of me wants to milk them for all they're worth. "Cept they aren't worth much other than a potential barometer of some inner shit I need to deal with.

Pugged

"How long do you think I'll last?"

He looks at me and I look at him.
He tries to keep any sign of emotion out of his face.
I can read his eyes though.

"Two days, tops."

That's his guess.
I don't tell him that
I think he's being generous.

Youngest son is moving out later on this week.
The pugaboos sleep in his bed.
Dearest one thinks they should sleep in ours
once we are empty nesters.
I've been saying things along the lines of over my dead body.

They slept in our bed last night.
They kept this dead body warm.

Are You?

"Your life has been transformed. Are you going to live like it?"

I've been dreaming vividly every night for weeks now.
In last night's dream an old counselor of mine
was doing a dance of empowerment
with a group of women
when she danced right up to me
and whispered the above in my ear.
I've been pondering it all day.

Change Is In the Air

My own bed.
It will feel so wonderful to sleep in tonight.
I already slept in it for 5 hours today.
I was wiped from being with 50+ people for the past two days.
I realized over the weekend that I've been gone from home for 3 out of the 5 weeks I've had off from work so far. Another two weeks and it will be back to work. I'm hoping to stick closer to home for the remainder. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining - I consider being able to go anywhere a privilege. Often when I am out for a walk and see the traffic going by in the distance I wonder if the people in those vehicles consider it a privilege to be able to get up and go at the turn of a key in the ignition. I do.

This will be a week of change.
Youngest son is moving out.
I will miss him.
We've had some turbulent times, and I've always been grateful for a second chance with him.

This afternoon he was talking to me about music, normally he listens to songs I can't decipher the lyrics to, but every so often he comes and tells me there's this song he likes that he thinks I'll like. He hadn't watched the video but nonetheless I sat here and had tears streaming down my face as I listened:

A Praying We Will Go

"The one thing we can take with us to heaven is our children."

So said my preacher brother-in-law this morning during family devotions.

I was so tempted to disagree out loud with dearest one's brother but decided that restraint of tongue would not kill me and I really didn't need to throw a wrench into family devotions by giving my unsolicited opinion. After all, that's what a blog is for, right?

The prayer I do pray more than any other prayer for me, dearest one, my adult children and their partners, is that we would put God first in our lives. But it's each person who has to put God there, we can't do that for one another. And I don't even know if I can say when someone else has. It's simply not my job.

There are 50+ of us gathered for the weekend to celebrate my mother-in-law's 80th birthday. We're camping at the home of one of the siblings and it's going much better than I expected, morning devotions included. So well that we decided to stay for both nights instead of one like we had planned on.

Dearest one and I got home yesterday morning from visiting only daughter and lover boy (sorry only daughter but that's the pseudonym for him that sticks in my head) and arrived at this family gathering by supper time. And while there's nothing quite like my own bed, I am content to spend time tonight again with extended family.

It has been wonderful to have a holiday trailer to escape to whenever I need a little solitude and it's total luxury to have Internet access while I'm in it. Right now it's a way to pass some time while nearly everyone else is otherwise occupied. I've already helped cook and clean up from lunch then spent several hours visiting with family. Some are snoozing until suppertime, some are off fishing and swimming and riding motorbikes and the like. There will be a campfire tonight and more discussion, I'm sure.

My preacher brother-in-law asked for input from all of us gathered, what family values his parents had passed down to all present. Somehow the discussion got around to his mom and her disciplining the children - she had 11 of them - and how the boys would often make her run after them when she needed to discipline them and tried to make her laugh while they did so. I often think I have the best mother-in-law because she is so human and doesn't try to pretend otherwise. If you would ever see her hug someone she cares about, you would see her put her hand on their cheek and pull them close with her other hand and hug them tight. I love watching the way she does that.

I'm in the largest gathering of passive aggressive people I know. I had all kinds of conversations in my head before I got here about that. The kind where I am predicting who will say what and what my response was going to be. You know that fruitless inner conversation that wastes energy and can be so entertaining at the same time. Eventually I remembered an exercise that my therapist had walked me through the last time I saw her. First I had to list a judgement I had made of a person. Then I had to list what my presumption was. Then how I changed my behaviour as a result and what was I projecting. Finally she asked me to look at what the truth of it all was.

So I thought about one sister-in-law who has a sarcastic tongue. Barbed comments that in this setting are supposed to be taken in stride or else you're not being a good Christian.

So my judgement was that she was going to make many under her breath sarcastic comments. Then I looked at my presumption which was it was my job to put her in her place.

Next I looked at how I was going to change my behaviour as a result of these conclusions. I knew I would either avoid her or be tempted to give it right back to her. And when I looked at what I was projecting - well - I have had quite the sarcastic tongue of my own in my day. The only difference between us is that she often makes her comments under her breath to those closest by her and I just said mine right out loud for everyone to hear.

What might be the truth in all this? How could I reframe it? I was really surprised to reflect on her place in the family. She is the youngest of 11 children and most likely her sarcastic tongue developed as a coping mechanism. Probably needed it to survive the teasing and such that she would have been expected to take in stride, with no recourse to say stop it.

Reflecting on all this totally took the wind out of my sails when it came to thinking I needed to teach her a thing or two. There's nothing like believing my own sarcasm is going to help someone else lose theirs. Sigh. Let's just trade our passive aggressiveness back and forth shall we?

So after all that I prayed for humility and restraint of tongue. And also to speak my truth when need be.
Then I got in the car and drove here.
It's about supper time now, so there you go.
Not sure what the next discussion is going to be about
but restraint of tongue never goes out of style.

Thank God You Are Alive

It's one of those type and delete kind of evenings.
Wanting to write and not knowing what.
Restless.
It's been a very hot day.
At one point I was trying to nap when
I heard thunder and rain and saw sunshine out the window.
What a weird combination.
One part of the sky black and pouring rain.
One part sunny.
I could get all philosophical about that.
But I won't.

Dearest one is away until tomorrow.
Youngest son is packing, readying himself for moving out.
Soon we will have a real empty nest.
Not sure how that will feel
but I do know I have only my life to live.
I've tried to live so many others' lives for them.

Today, as I was driving to town for my home group AA meeting,
I was overwhelmed with gratitude for being alive.
That seems to be hitting me more and more lately.
It feels like an actual wave coming over me
and I get all teary with gratitude.
I wonder if that increases as one ages?

I hear people complain about getting old
and I think to myself,
"My God, you're one of the lucky ones."
Does that mean everything about aging is fun?
Of course not.
Dearest one and I had a good laugh the other night when
I was screeching because my "arm joints hurt."
I kept saying it over and over again until they limbered up enough
for the pain to subside.
Then he said, "You mean your elbows."
Right. I'd forgotten in the midst of the pain
what the suckers were called.
Arm joints. New name for elbows.
Makes sense to me.

This week I learned of another young person's death.
He was only 28.
I knew him when he was a teen and then,
only in a acquaintance kind of way.
But it's just too young, you know?

Sometimes I worry I have the makings
of being one of those people
who walk the streets with a placard
that says something corny but true.
Something like the title of this post.
Underneath, in tiny print, it will read:
" and thank God for your arm joints."
That'll make them scratch their heads.

Star Light, Star Bright....

There are stars in the night sky again.
I think the last time I saw them it was May.
Since then the sky has stayed alight way past bedtime
causing me to miss the stars.
And miss them, I do.

I've been thinking such random thoughts lately.
Twenty plus years ago we had these neighbours.
The parents were about 40ish
and walked by our house every single night.
Getting their exercise.
They walked military like.
Didn't hold hands.
Brisk. They meant business.
Grim. Their faces were etched with it.

I was only in their home once.
She offered us mint chocolate chip cookies.
I'd never tasted them before.
She kept them in a gallon glass jar.
I saw her look at him as we each took a cookie.
Alarm bells went off in my head
as she gauged his expression.
I wonder if he got after her once we left
for sharing her cookies with us.

They sold honey. We were in their house to buy some.
We went down into the basement to pick out
which size pail we wanted.
On the way to the honey room
was their pantry.
There were several boxes of laundry detergent
on the shelf. The store had had a sale she told me.
It never occurred to me to buy
more than one box of detergent at a time.
Stock up on basics.
So simple but I needed someone
to show me by example it was possible.

I had a friend who was seriously depressed.
Everyone was concerned about her.
She lost so much weight she looked anorexic.
I would go visit, sit at her kitchen table and listen to her.
I vividly remember the day she told me that a person
had the right to change their mind.
"They did?" I thought to myself.
I didn't know that.
I had invested so much energy into being right at all costs,
that it didn't occur to me that saying the words,
"I've changed my mind,"
was an option.
Such a simple phrase but I needed someone
to show me by example it was possible.

Just random stuff I need to get out of my head.
Wonder why I'm thinking about those grim walking folks.
I suspect he was a mean son of a bitch.
I hope life has mellowed him.

My friend who was depressed.
I wonder if she's still curbing her dreams
to help her husband find his.
It drove me crazy watching her do that.
Our friendship hasn't stood the test of time.
I will always be grateful though
for her teaching me that it's okay to change my mind.
Even when it comes to friendship.

I've had lots of time to think this week.
The first full week in 4 months that I've spent at home.
Dearest one is away fishing with his brother.
I am cleaning and sorting to my heart's content.
Tonight I will crawl into bed and look at the stars.
Even though stars in the night sky
mean that summer is waning,
seeing them will comfort me.

And Baby Makes Three, Four, Five

This birthing story made me all teary.
Then it made me think of my own birthing stories.
Sometimes I get all smug that I birthed babies without pain medication.
Then I remember that I didn't create this body
that could go through labour without medication.
So really, I can't take any credit at all.
I need to remember that in so many areas of my life.

I might not have had pain medication but I did come awfully close to chucking dearest one out the window first time around. He made the silly mistake of trying to reach across my labouring belly to shut off the machine's alarm that said I was having a contraction. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, said some nasty things and pushed him up against the window. Not a good scene. First born, only daughter was ready to be born right when I held up the white flag of surrender and said I'd take some of that pain medication now. Too late. It was time to push her out into the world.

The second time around I told him I was going to have the baby NOW to which he replied,"bullshit" only to have me let out a sound that had them running into the room from beyond the doors. Baby two, oldest son, was born in a labour room without the doctor because baby number two came through that birth canal like a cannon ball through a cannon.

The last time around the doctor told the nurse to call him when I was at a 4 because then he had a chance of getting there in time. I remember going into the bathroom of the birthing room and thinking to myself, I'm enjoying this labour and then reminding myself to never say those words outloud lest someone throw me out the window. After birthing youngest son I started to fade and told dearest one that I was going to faint, he said, "faint then" at which point I told him if I fainted I wasn't coming back. I'd been in a tug of war with a bright light in the corner of the ceilinig for awhile already. I fainted, they called a code, eventually I came to. It took a few more months for me to come to believe. But that birthing experience was the catalyst for that to happen.

When dearest one and I were engaged the doctors told me they couldn't guarantee I'd ever have kids.....my own foolish behaviour had resulted in nasty infections that resulted in fallopian tubes which should have been scarred shut. The first time I got pregnant after I was married I miscarried. We were just staring fertility testing. I remember telling myself that if I never got pregnant again I would always know what it felt like to be a mother for a little while, anyway. I'd miscarried when I was single and would miscarry again in married life. I nearly lost both sons due to miscarriage, too.

Pregnancy is a privilege. So is birthing a baby. Both feel like miracles. Although your own life may be in danger if you tell a labouring mother that. This is where dearest one would chime in and say, "Trust me on that one. I have the scars to prove it."

Taking Care Of Business In Six Seven Words

My side of the street swept clean.



~ Show My Face.

7 Quick Takes Friday.

1. I've been working hard this week to get my blood sugar levels into a normal range. This morning I was close and that gives me hope. When I get absolutely honest with myself, the possibility of having Type II Diabetes bothers me mostly because of pride. I've read about it being totally preventable and I get a sense of failure at the thought. I was sure that maintaining my weight loss of 50 pounds over the past year would be enough to prevent it. After the pride it bothers me because I only have one kidney and I know diabetes can be hard on that organ. It took until yesterday for me to see that the best thing I can do is be proactive and do whatever it takes to keep my blood sugars as steady as possible. I was resistant to the thought of this being my reality up until then. That gives me pause for thought in so many areas of my life. I go get the initial bloodwork done on Monday.

2. One of our outside dogs died while I was away. She was the alpha dog of the whole works, pugs included. Our other outside dog is mourning. She stood guard outside the doghouse after the other dog died and wouldn't budge when dearest one tried to convince her to move so he could take the alpha dog out of it to go bury her. Dearest one had to physically move her away from standing guard. I was used to taking all four dogs on my walks with me. Last night I left the pugs in the house and the other dog couldn't be coaxed to join me. Dearest one buried alpha dog at the foot of some towering Evergreen trees.

3. One of my most favourite times on my recent trip was watching my niece read the novel that I wrote during NaNoWriMo last November. I have yet to do any editing on it and felt weird just handing it over to be read but this niece is in the target age group for which it was written and it was a joy to see her not being able to put it down. At one point there were three nieces reading it, passing pages from one to another. Pure joy.

4. One Sunday that I was away I went to Mass in a new to me parish. I don't think I will ever get used to some Catholic Churches without kneelers. I found out when I went to kneel anyway that the pews were so close together that I nearly chinned myself in the process. It's hard for me not to get an attitude when I kneel in a church without kneelers.....like a "look at little old holy me" and much worse attitude. Kind of defeats the purpose of prayer now, doesn't it? Or makes it more necessary. Lord have
mercy. The priest gave an excellent homily. Still mulling it over. What I took with me was that if we are struggling to be faithful then our hearts have been enlightened by Him so
don't lose heart. (Just lose the kneelers. Just kidding.)

5. That same Sunday I went to an AA meeting 5 minutes down the road from where I grew up. It's always interesting to me to see how another meeting/group operates. They were very welcoming and it was a good meeting. I could see it being my home group if I still lived there. There was one hard as nails woman who I could've been scared of but when she shared she was full of humility. I love that combination.

6. I got lost more times than I can count on my trip. The only city within driving distance to me has a population of about 50K. I was in a city of over a million. Driving down one of those 6 lane freeways that scare me. If you don't come down that exit ramp at top speed you are in danger of getting driven over. That's what it feels like. Due to forgetting my purse at at friend's house at one end of the city I ended up having to travel that freeway back and forth and then some. It no longer scares me like it did. Google maps doesn't tell the whole story either. One of the hostesses at the Bed and Breakfast, where I spent one weekend, looked at the other hostess and said, "This one has no sense of direction." That about sums it up. Staying at the Bed and Breakfast was another highlight of my trip. Getting lost wasn't. Eventually I decided that I was more capable than I thought of finding my way in scary situations. I need to remember that.

7. Today can be as good as I decide it to be. I can't control all the circumstances but I can choose my attitude about it. There are days when I could hit someone who has that outlook on life even when I know it's true no matter what is on my plate. You know, those days when you just don't want to hear it? That happened to me when I initially got to the B&B and told the hostess how lost I had been. I was not okay. I wanted to cry. I really wanted drama. In return, she told me what a sunny day it was and how good life was and how getting lost was not the end of the world. I felt dismissed and pissy when she said that. I just needed a moment of "you poor thing" and then I would've been fine. I wouldn't have milked it, I would've felt validated in my anxiety and fear and then would've been able to let it go. See. I wanted her to act in a certain way so that I would feel okay. Talk about giving my power away. In the end I decided she was a lousy listener and might have a problem with validating anyone's feelings, including her own. I have lots of practice at that. And then I decided that I could make the most of my day and I put my car in gear and went back to the freeway, still scared but I managed just fine. And it was a beautiful day, life was good and getting lost wasn't the end of the world. Although I never told her that.

LIfe in Bullet Points

• Getting lost is not the end of the world.
• I should know. I got lost so many times in big city far away.
• Eventually I found my way.
• With much help.
• Which sums up life as I see it.


• Getting chest pain during one medical test this week freaked me out.
• Getting tested for diabetes freaks me out, too.
• So I'm putting it off for a few days yet, hoping my blood sugar levels
• will somehow miraculously right themselves.
• I think that's called denial.
• None of this freaks God out.
• I'm trying to remember that.
• Diabetes is not the end of the world either.
• That much I know.
• Even so I have an urge to become Chicken Little and proclaim the sky is falling.
• Thankfully it's a momentary urge.


• Yoga pup is getting a little vet time today.
• I'm hoping it helps him stop peeing on the carpet.
• At least he can aim.
• Wish he wouldn't aim at my new couch.
• The bugger.
• Every day, including this one, is a good day to be alive.
• Full stop.
• Oh, the waving arms and "But, but , buts..." my mind wants to interject.

Peeing On My Feet Part 2

"Hmmm, I wonder if that was a wise idea?"

I ask myself that question after finishing off a litre of water just as I pass the last town I will see for an hour. Before me the highway snakes like a ribbon between as-far-as-the-eye-can-see forest. No one lives along this stretch of highway - every so often there is a lease road branching off - roads used by oilfield workers and that is as close to civilization as I will get for the next 60 minutes.

I'm half an hour past chugalugging the water when I realize that I won't make it to the next town for a bathroom break. I remember there being a really nice meadow like area along this stretch of highway if I can only remember which side road it's on. I've felt every little bump of the highway for miles already so I turn off the highway and pull down the road far enough so no one can see me. I look up and before me is no meadow. Instead there is an open gate with a large oil company sign attached that says no one is allowed past this point without authorization. No problem. I stop the car just shy of the gate and take a look at the ditch. I could almost hide in the tall grass to do my business but it's still early in the morning and the grass is wet. Somehow it escapes me that dew on my feet would feel so much better than the alternatives. I decide to just walk to the front of my car, well hidden from the highway, and pee right there. Surely no one will come from the other direction - from beyond the no tresspassing gateway. In my haste I don't look where I decide to pee. Only after it's too late do I realize I planted one foot on the top of the road and one foot on the side of it. I cringe as I watch a trickle becoming a small river heading straight for my foot. There's only so far a girl can stretch without either doing a face plant forwards or landing on her tush. Sigh. Peeing on my feet again it is. I can hear the sounds of vehicles rushing past, too far out of sight for either of us to see one another, and also so loud I can't hear whether I'm done peeing or not. Bad timing means I end up peeing on my hand, too. I have just stood up when I hear a vehicle coming from beyond the gate. Lickety split I pull up my pants, note I've peed on my clothes, too, grab my last remaining wet wipe and clean off my hands and feet. I've just jumped into my car before he rounds the bend. I'm pretending to enjoy the scenery, when he pulls up and rolls down his window.

"You doing alright there?"

I blush as I tell him I am just fine thank you. He nods and goes on his merry way. He's had to drive past the kleenex laden puddle in front of my car to greet me. I'm thankful for my sun glasses hiding my mortified eyes. Seconds earlier and I would have been literally caught with my pants down. Peeing on my feet doesn't seem so bad considering what just about happened. After he's gone I manouver my car around on the narow stretch of road and head towards home. Paranioa sets in within a few miles and I just about convince myself that there were cameras on the gate connected to some monitor beyond him back in no man's land. That the guys back at the gas plant convinced him to come check on me to see if I was okay.

I sail past the next town and decide not to stop. It's another hour to the next town. Damn. Not a wise choice. But I am not stopping by the side of the road one more time on this trip. No siree. I daydream about driving all the way home without stopping at all. About hugging dearest one after nearly two weeks apart, and saying " Get out of my way I have to pee." Dearest one is known for hugging me when I am uptight and not letting go until I calm down. I envision myself warning him I have perfected the art of peeing on my feet while away and if he doesn't let me go I will pee right then and there. And furthermore, with any luck the one time I try to pee on my feet, I most surely will pee on his.

Bet he will let me go in record time. Don't you?

I am so glad I didn't have to find out.

Peeing On My Feet

Yesterday I drove through miles of flat prairie land.
The kind where you really could see the dog
three days after it ran away,
on that flat piece of land waaay over there.
The prairie will always be my home. There is something soothing about the wind of the prairies, swirling around me like a comforting blanket, that I've never felt living in the tree filled north.

I've made it a tradition to listen to the song below every time I drive this long stretch of road.



The vastness of a prairie sky always leaves me in awe.
As I was appreciating its beauty out of my mouth popped the words,
"Life is a privilege."
Sometimes gratitude takes me by surprise.

I tried to remember what a privilege it was when several miles down the road I was mulling over how to take a roadside bathroom break, where someone's dog might happen upon me, without peeing on my feet. I'd been driving a long time without seeing any trees to hide in. I have perfected on this trip how to park the car just so, so that passersby can't see me doing my business on the side of the road. Sorry if that's too much information. It is however, a handy skill to have, when need be.

If you're wondering why I didn't just stop at a gas station for a bathroom break know that they were so far apart on this stretch of highway that it was either stop on the side of the road or pee my pants.
I know. What does any of that have to do with being grateful for life?
Well, I guess if you're dead you no longer have to figure out how to pee on the side of the road, now do you?

I eventually stopped on a sandy side road. The place where I grew up, and where my folks still live, is all sand. I used to take a tablespoon outside and dig holes in the yard when I wanted to play marbles. That's how soft the sandbed was. My car has sand all over the floor now. It has prairie sage drying on the dashboard, too.

After a 7 hour drive I made it to big city far away; to the comforts of a bathroom, where there is no sand or runaway dogs or any figuring out to do. I took an above ground subway last night for the first time. Today I will lie in one of those very tight MRI tunnels as they take pictures of my heart.

There is heart trouble and then there is heart trouble.
I've had my share of both kinds in the past few months.
Driving along the prairie is a great remedy.

I do love the prairie.
Always will.
Even when I pee on my feet.