I'll Ride the Wave

Nine weeks today. And it's Mother's Day weekend.

I've never been a big fan of Mother's Day for starters. Mom and I never had the BFF type of relationship, and we're both at fault for that. Make no mistake -- there was always love present, but it was an imperfect love at best, as most love is. I believe that she had an expectation that her daughter would be a sweet, compliant, dependent child ..... and she got me, the most noncompliant, independent child ever. I baffled her, I'm sure. She'd have to wait for her son to come along in order to have that beautiful compliant-dependent thing happen.

On top of all that, I came to the realization in my 20s that my own expectations for being a mom would probably not happen. That was, at that time, a very hard pill to swallow -- while at the same time, I had the fleeting thought of "well at least I won't have to repeat things....." Such conflicted emotions about my own chances for motherhood as well as my feelings about my mom. As time has gone on, I purely have loved being a godmother and honorary auntie and "Miss Annette" to a slew of kids -- and I'll take that as my stab at motherhood such as it was. But I also know that God is wise and there's a damn good reason I don't have children of my own...... Mother's Curse and all that? It's real. I cannot imagine how far under the jail I would be if I'd had a girlchild with even half the sass and dark broodiness that I had. So yeah......

But then February 22 happened..... and all that came with it. And my heart is forever seared by March 2, the last time my mother spoke to me. Her last word to me was my name: "Hey Annette!" said with an enthusiasm she hadn't had in days. My heart shattered that day -- I knew why I was there, and I sometimes think Mom did too. All three of us in the room at the same time in the middle of the day? She had to know. After that, she went so quickly and steadily downhill, and seventy-two hours later, she was gone.

On that Friday, I couldn't hold her hand, but I put my hand on her shoulder. I kissed a dry scaly forehead over and over. I told her not to talk, that there was nothing else she could say. She was so out of it and so drugged at that point, I don't know that I would have wanted to hear her thoughts then. Then again, she might have been the most unguarded she'd ever been. There were so many things I thought I wanted to say, to get off my chest, but in the end, none of that would have mattered. Only love did. And I gave it to her in copious amounts. I sang to her....... I told her I was so glad I'd gotten her voice, her strong alto, and her love of music.

I sang "Given to Fly" conveniently omitting the F-bomb. Believe me, while it wasn't like Mom had never heard me utter the word before, I surely didn't want that resonating in her head during that time, and I didn't want her waking up out of a drug-induced stupor and using her last reserve of energy to sock me in the jaw and tell me to be more ladylike...... Although, honestly, it wouldn't have surprised me either.... HA!!! I sang "I Am Mine" -- not sure why but it was beautiful and I wanted to.

And 3 weeks ago, when I was damn lucky enough to see Pearl Jam here in Greenville, they did "Given to Fly" and I shed not one single solitary tear. I was too busy beaming. But I had told my brother that if they did "Release" then he would have to find someone to pull me off the floor, because I didn't know if I could do it on my own -- I would be a sobbing heap.

Instead, I did use lyrics from both songs when I did the Pearl Jam Fan Portrait session that day. Worth every penny (and can't wait to get my photo, can't wait to see the book when it comes out later this year!)

Today, as I type this, I listen to "Release" ..... I shed a few tears but not many.....  because I am myself like her somehow. Not just with her voice (still one of the best gifts she ever gave me and it didn't cost her a dime), but with other things too. Dad always said Mom and I were too much alike, and now I believe it. Both stubborn and headstrong -- perhaps me, even more so. Both voracious readers. People told me all throughout mom's visitation (where we used the above photo of mom) that they couldn't believe how much we looked alike. I never ever noticed it until a couple of years ago, and I still don't always see it.

I see the world, feel the chill
Which way to go, windowsill
I see the words on a rocking horse of time
I see the birds in the rain

Oh dear dad (mom), can you see me now
I am myself like you somehow
I'll ride the wave where it takes me
I'll hold the pain, release me

Oh dear dad (mom), can you see me now
I am myself, like you somehow
I'll wait up in the dark, for you to speak to me
I'll open up, release me
Release me
Release me
Release me

I still talk to her..... every time I see a bird swoop near the car. Whenever I find a feather lying on the ground in my path. Wings and birds and flight and feathers......... And there are days when I say to the air around me, "Dang it, you old bat, why? Why did you not fight harder for years when we told you to? Why did you just stop trying? Dammitall, we miss you and we wanted you here just a little longer." Yeah, just me working through that lovely little "anger" phase.

Well, I've said it a million times before and I'll repeat myself: Grief is never linear. It comes in waves and at the most inopportune times and places. And those stages are not stages but phases and you will come and go in and out of them for years on end. You do not graduate and move to the next one -- "hooray! all done with denial!" -- but you move in them for years to come.

And you do not ever -- ever, ever, ever, ever, ever -- get over it.  How in the world can you ever expect to get over love? You live with a gaping, yawing chasm which can never be filled.

This year, I have all the more reasons to hate Mother's Day. I probably will for years to come.

Saying Goodbye Today

It didn't take long. Mom passed at 5:55 am on Saturday, March 5. I felt sad but at peace. Her suffering was over, her pain at an end. Thursday night had been bad, apparently. She had 3 rounds of morphine and 2 doses of Ativan... 

She was out most of Friday. I went down Friday afternoon and spent three hours with her, just sitting in the silence. Then I talked to her. I again thanked her for all the gifts, and I expanded on what I'd said to her on Sunday. Once upon a time, I would have let loose, knowing she couldn't have responded.  But now, eh, what would it have mattered? It wasn't important, truly. Only the good stuff really mattered. 

Then I sang to her. I sang some Pearl Jam and Chris Cornell songs. I could have sung hymns but my brother had done that. Somehow, I needed to sing things that would soothe both her and myself. God forgive me -- hymns were not going to cut it. I told her that she needed to fly... that when it was her time, she needed to spread her wings and SOAR!! That if anyone in this life deserved to soar, it was her. And my God, did she ever need some unfettered moments.

So many times in life, she found it hard to fly because she was weighted down: helping her disabled parents, taking care of her mom after her father’s sudden death, and being a wife and mother and having a career herself. She was also weighted down later by a body that wouldn’t work properly: hypertension, fibromyalgia, congestive heart failure, atrial fibrillation, chronic bronchitis, and many other ailments – worst of all,  anxiety and depression. I think those ailments, while being partially treated, weren’t explored well enough. My mother could have benefited tremendously from talk therapy, but none of her medical team ever suggested that she seek it out. What a tragedy. How many years might have been added to my mother’s life? My mother also steadfastly refused to do anything that she didn’t want to do….. Didn’t want to exercise? Wouldn’t. Didn’t feel like eating properly? Okay, no problem, junk it is. As much as I loved her, she didn't exactly help her own cause.

We had made the arrangements in the prior week: cremation, with burial of the ashes. Visitation the night before the funeral services, everything at the mortuary. And so we did just that. We followed through with the plans, gathered pictures for a slideshow at the end of the service, and began a mad frenzy of housecleaning. The only snag -- what song to use for the slideshow? 

I'd been singing Pearl Jam's "Given to Fly" quite a bit to Mama, conveniently leaving out the F-bomb in the song. But there went that idea -- no way to take that out. Richard thought about "Time" by Alan Parsons Project, which I love but couldn't have handled. Richard suggested a hymn, but I said we already had a religious song in the program, and this one didn't have to be, so we had wide options! I thought about "The Last  Farewell" by Roger Whittaker, a song Mom liked and I did too but we both immediately thought "Naaaah..." Finally, Dad said, "Oh, I never did my Scripture reading today..." My brother said, "How about reading Ecclesiastes 3? You know, 'a time to be born, a time to die'..." I looked at him, he looked at me and we said, "THAT'S IT!" We knew we would use "Turn Turn Turn" by The Byrds. 

The visitation turned out beautifully -- the line began about 5:30 and didn't end until 8:30. I don't think I stopped talking from 5:15 until 8:45 by the time all was said and done. The flowers were absolutely amazing, once I got a moment to view them. Flowers from our workplaces, from churches, from dear friends -- including one gorgeous arrangement from my brother's football buddies! He was shocked, and they were beautiful. And the line seemed to go on forever!! What a testament to Mom that she was so well-loved and that her children's friends and loved ones came to offer their condolences as well.

The one amazing part was the photo.... We used a solo picture of Mom. I have no idea when it was done. Dad thinks it was maybe her senior year? I think she was a little older myself. But at any rate, it was a Glamour Shots type photo, only waaaay less soft focus and troweled-in makeup. She looked so beautiful!!! And everyone said so -- while also saying, "oh my gosh, you look so much like her."

I never ever saw either of my parents in me. I have Daddy's eyes for certain, and the McClellan feet (give me the boxes, thankeemuch). And I got Mom's abdomen... Ugh!! But facially, I never saw them in me. But a couple of years ago, in my mid-40s I finally started seeing just the tiniest bits of resemblance of Mom in me. And now everyone is standing there, telling me I'm her clone. I smiled and took it as a compliment. Many years, I would have sneered and aimed for their jaw. 

At the funeral itself today, I held strong -- I was proud of myself for not falling apart. Not to say I didn't cry because I did. But I did not have a meltdown. In fact, most of the time, I sat there beaming, thinking how Mom would have been proud of the send-off we gave her. It was not too stuffy, not too casual, not too maudlin, and not too insincere. It was perfect. I had quite a few folks tell me they felt good when they left .... THERE! Is there no better compliment than to leave a funeral feeling good?

And I was so glad to have my family there. A good many of Dad's siblings, nieces and nephews and their families..... all saying goodbye to their Aunt Nancy. Others came to the visitation who couldn't make the funeral. That was such a tribute to her. And one of my favorites was from a cousin's child who said, "I always felt that she never forgot us" (after her folks split) -- and I replied, "Gosh no, and she made sure we always remembered you as well!" To feel such familial love and their shared grief has been a blessing, especially since so many have now lost a parent or grandparent too.

But even with all that, there is always going to be a void for me. There will always be a hole that cannot be filled. I will always miss my mom. I've not even begun to unpack my feelings, to explore the depths and breadths of every emotion I have. I don't know where to start. I still feel a lot of numbness, as if I know it's real but my mind is slow to let the rest of me warm up to it. I don't know when I will reach tat point, that meltdown moment. I've joked with Richard that if Pearl Jam sings "Given to Fly" or "I Am Mine" I might lose it, but if they play "Release Me" then they'll need a spatula to scrape me off the floor of The Well. It would be ugly, ugly tears..... I can't even listen to that song right now. I can listen to "Fly" all day long and smile -- because I think of Mama soaring, free at last from her earthly impediments. 

Mama, I think of you .... I am looking for strange spots in the sky. I see feathers and scars on the sky, and think of you. I sing loud and proud, and hear your voice. Like I told you last week, we didn't always see things the same way, and we butted heads an awful lot, but there was no doubt that love was present.

Big Nance..... You were definitely one of a kind!

A Difficult Decision

Yesterday, I logged in to work from home. I needed a distraction from the chaos that has been my life this week, ever since our own "Black Saturday." But at 10:20 AM, Daddy called, "Hey, the doctor wants to meet with us, how soon can you get here?" An hour later, I was at the hospital.

The news was not good -- labwork showed that Mom's small upswings were not indicative of recovery. In fact, the numbers were getting worse, especially for the kidneys. She was approaching, if not already in, renal failure. In addition, her liver was beginning to lose function. The lungs still had fluid in and around them, so much so that she doesn't even have one fully functional lung. All of this is putting extra pressure on an already overtaxed heart. What did we want to do? How did we want to proceed?

We had already begun the discussion of this on that Saturday. What would we do if it came to this? Well, now it is here; what do we do? We knew we only had one choice -- Hospice. We went back to the hospital, found Dr. Jay, and gave him our decision, through a veil of tears. Dad and Richard went home and I stayed with Mom a while longer.

Today, we met with the Hospice nurse and they accepted Mom as a patient. They moved her within the hour, and she's been there the rest of the day. The feeding tube is gone; oxygen remains. A pain med patch is on her to assist with the discomfort.

I hated to leave her, but I had to...... We had to. We are absolutely exhausted. Hours on end at the hospital have completely drained us. We come home utterly limp, and we stare into space and fall asleep......

Hospice care workers are angels. Absolute angels. 

Two Weeks

Two weeks.

Two weeks ago, Tuesday, February 16, 2016. My mom was here at home, with her usual limited mobility, but here. She was able to pull herself up out of a chair, albeit slowly. She was able to swing her legs off the bed and bring herself to a seated position. She wasn't in the best health but able to manage.

By Friday, February 19, she was requiring assistance for everything. She could not pull herself into a stand. She could not remain in a seated position. My dad was having to help her get off the bed. He would follow her into the bathroom, fearful that she could fall into the glass shower walls.

Monday, February 22, 9:35 PM. I got home from a cappella practice to find mom and dad in the bathroom. He was loudly saying, "Sit up! Sit up!" because she was seated on the toilet and doubled over. He gently pushed her up into a seated position and she began sliding forward. I heard the commotion and suggested to my brother that we go help. It took all three of us to get her out of the floor and into a stand. It was like wrangling Jell-O, a five-feet, 170-pound lump of Jell-O. She pitched forward toward me, doubled over at the waist. My dad tried to get her to stand up straight so she could walk out but she couldn't support her own weight. The knees buckled and we gently lowered her into the floor into a horizontal position.

She was shaking, twitching. Her mouth was moving, like she was trying to say something, or even chew food, but no words came. All she could say to anyone was, "I'm sick." Well, Mom, that's everything from a cold to death's door; can you be more specific?

I looked at Dad, and said, "That's it. You may not like it, but I'm calling an ambulance." And off I went to call EMS. They brought a gurney and took her to the ER. At 4:00 am, Dad came home to pick up some clothing and other things and informed us that she was being sent to a larger regional hospital.

I didn't go until Wednesday because Tuesday was complete chaos -- find doggy daycare, go to work, keep up with the hospital news.....  But when I got there, I was shocked. There was no progress. She was just lying there. She had already had an MRI that day because they suspected she might have had a mini-stroke during the night. Thankfully, this was not the case. She did have a pretty strong infection, however, that was causing issues.

There were still no changes the rest of the week. Saturday was an awful day. Her vitals were slipping, and her kidneys were failing. Even her doctor appeared to be giving up. He decided to move her to CCU for some individualized care, but otherwise, we needed to decide -- and SOON.

We came home and began the hard business of making those difficult plans. How do you do that? How do you possibly put a timeframe on someone's life, to put a value on how long you give them? How did we get here so quickly?

We looked back at the previous ten days. What had we missed? How did we not see it? When should we call people? What did we want? What would mom want?

We visited Sunday..... Eyes were opening a bit more but I wasn't holding out a lot of hope. I thanked Mom for everything..... Basically, saying my goodbyes without using that specific word because (1) I wanted my father and brother to have their opportunity to do the same and did NOT want her to fade out on me!!!!! and (2) I did not want her to believe that we were giving up on her. I wanted her to believe that we still had hope for her, even if it was dim. I felt like I was lying through my teeth, even though I wasn't. I still have hope that she will come around, that she will want to get better, that at last she will choose to participate in her own recovery.

We visited yesterday.... Eyes opening even more but still only able to keep them open for a second or two. Trying to talk to us but I'm still telling her, "shhh, you don't have to say a word, OK?" I said something about our dog and she smiled. My aunt told her about their great-grandchild, and Mom smiled. Her vitals are improving slowly -- mostly her BP and her kidneys but the rest isn't improving as well.

It is frightening to think what can happen in two short weeks. We still don't know where things will go. Today, Dad and I will go to the mortuary to make plans just in case. We need to have something in place, because you don't know. Mom could continue to improve or she could take a sudden nosedive ......

We are in a strange place: the in-between. We are in suspended motion. We wait. Every time the phone rings, I hold my breath. Is it the hospital? Is it Dr. Jay, telling us to get there post-haste? I go to sleep each night praying "thy will be done," knowing those are the four hardest words that can ever be prayed. I wake not knowing what lies ahead. I've been given the okay to take whatever time I need at work, or to login from home if I need the distraction. I am putting guitar lessons on temporary hold until I have a better idea of what lies ahead. The in-between is a difficult place, indeed.

If you see this, please say a prayer for us, for our peace. For God's will. For sanity. That's what we need most.

Open Letter To A Favorite Band

Dear Soundgarden,

You'll probably never see or read this letter, but I felt compelled to write. You see, I'm typing this from my mother's hospital room. Right now it is an uncertain future as she continues to shuffle off her mortal coil ever so slowly and yet far too quickly for my liking.

Let me backtrack to September 2015, and an NPR piece on "Weekend Today" regarding Higher Truth, Chris Cornell's new solo album. Forgive me, I'm an old fart, they're still albums to me. I was intrigued by it especially after hearing a clip of "Murderer of Blue Skies." I've lived a similar situation so to hear someone put into words those sentiments, I knew I'd have to listen.

I downloaded the CD in early October and I was hooked. Listened to it nonstop for at least 3 weeks, and downloaded or bought hard copies of all the solo CD's. Ordered all the Soundgarden CDs when I couldn't find them in stores or even at the used CD stores (where I found all 3 Audioslave ones and grabbed posthaste). I determined that I need a 20-CD changer for my car since my 6-disc limit is woefully inadequate.

I listened to the music in the 90s but only casually. I wasn't a devoted fan. What a HUGE mistake that was! I hated not seeing you in the 90s but back then I had a crap job with crap wages, an assload of student loan debt, and a whole lot of other stuff going on in my life. If I had to do it over, there's a LOT I'd have done differently then.... But that's another story.

Back in this beautiful early autumn, I couldn't have foreseen that I was about to undergo a major battle with the depression and anxiety that have trailed  me most of my life. Normally, my mild Seasonal Affective Disorder sneaks up on me gradually in October (before the time change even kicks in) and so I can make adjustments. But not so this year. Instead, it waited until mid-November, so powerfully that it knocked me over like a wave. Insights and reflections about my 46 years so far on earth came fast and furious, almost more quickly than my brain could process them. My emotions were all jumbled, and only the music helped soothe things, helped me begin to make sense of my place in the world. 

Three songs in particular allowed me to stay sane and sober:

• "Fell on Black Days" -- it is a sad song that doesn't make me sad. It gives me hope. It reminds me that others have been through the same places I have been and made it through. Perhaps with scratches and gouges but they're here, alive and telling the story. I know. This month, I celebrate 25 years of my "semicolon" story. I plan to commemorate it with a very small tattoo later on.

• "Blow Up The Outside World" -- this song was the one I'd cue up every time in December, when I'd come out of a store filled with people behaving as total arses and justifying it in the name of Christmas. When I had "peopled" too much and the world was too much with me, I could play this song and feel a measure of sanity return.

• "The Day I Tried To Live" -- the song became a daily mantra for several weeks. Days when on the commute, I'd find just the right spot on the interstate, cue it up, and belt it out at the top of my lungs, giving myself a boost before going in to the office. Sometimes during the day, I'd sneak into the private washroom, put my head against the mirror, breathe deeply, and whisper in a shaky voice, "one more time around" .... telling myself to hang on, sometimes for the next hour. Sometimes for five minutes. Whatever length of time I could. And do it again. One more time around.

I found other gems.... "Burden In My Hand" is five minutes of pure delight when I sing along and forget that an outside world exists. "Boot Camp" is the first 17 years, 10 months of my life, raised in a small town culture that isn't always kind to its misfits. "Black Saturday," a now far too poignant piece that reminds me of my relationship with my mom... the times over the past 25 years when I'd tell my friends "if I EVER get like that, you have my full permission to take me out!" And now watching her slowly fade away..... Countless others that offered beauty and solace.

There isn't a song off any of the CDs -- solo, Soundgarden, or Audioslave -- that I haven't liked or enjoyed. I began guitar lessons, inspired by their examples. After 8 weeks of lessons, I'm no less inspired, even though I am frustrated by my own inability to just relax and not overthink the simplest things, such as strumming. Yes, I overthink a basic technique. It's helped my vocal skills..... my range has finally gotten close to the three-octave range I've sought for years.

In all this, I have also rediscovered the joys of Temple of the Dog. I found old Pearl Jam gems and got tickets for their show in my hometown..... Because OMG they are really freakin coming here!!!!! and I'll finally get to see Matt Cameron!!!!!! And I can't wait for a new Soundgarden CD and for a tour, hopefully this year. 

All this to say thank you, more than these inadequate words can possibly convey. The music you have brought into my life has saved me many times over. Thank you for your words, your quirky time signatures, your offbeat chords, your non-standard tunings...... For all of this that has made your music unique and precious to me. And right now, I need all the salvation and sanity out there that I can grab. My words seem so small, but they are heartfelt.

Hello darkness, my old friend...

Dear migraine,

You suck! Three weekends in a row??? Why? What did I ever do to you to have you treat me this way?

The last two weeks, it was Sunday morning. At least this weekend, you were polite enough to wait until after I got home from a long day.

You had been actually rather kind to me this summer until now. The stress that is my life doesn't help things.

But you truly are the bane of my existence......

Chip off!!!!

You've Come A Long Way, Baby!

Six months ago, right about this time, I was waking up in my hospital room, having been admitted after a rough go in Recovery following foot surgery. Today, my brother came home after a week-long hospital stay, following an emergency appendectomy. As you might guess, it's been a rather momentous year for us and our insurance companies.
In the six months since my bunionectomy, I've learned a lot about the foot, the toes, the delicate nature of the human body intertwined with its resiliency, and my own capabilities. I am still hoping to be able to participate in this year's Jingle Bell Jog 5K in December but I may have to face the reality that I may not. I walked Maddox the other day for a relatively short distance, and realized I still have foot pain. All new shoes will be on the agenda, because none of my old ones fit anymore. Hello wide width everything.

And I really decided that should I ever entertain the notion of going to law school, I want to specialize in disability law. I'd never paid much attention to ADA requirements, etc. until I found myself the beneficiary of such regulations. The thing I wanted to say most was, "Hey, that blue striped section in the parking lot is part of the handicapped parking space, NOT an extra place to park ....."

And would I do it again? You betcha. To not have a muscle spasm in my foot, yes. To be able to walk more than 10 minutes without being in such excruciating pain that you have to stop, yes. To experience even a little of the dirty stares and assholish behavior of others while shopping, something that the permanently disabled face every day and more, sure .... It built character and compassion in me. It made me appreciative.

So yes, it was worth it.

Learn to write well.

Dear young people of the world..... you may not believe me now. And you certainly may think of me as an old fogey, but trust me on this.

LEARN TO WRITE WELL. 

Social media has created its own lexicon, and its own rules of grammar and syntax. However, these do not apply to the real world and to your first job outside of retail and/or fast food. Once you are out on your first adult job, communication will be very important. You will need to be clear, concise,

"y u mad, bro? #LOL" is cute on social media, or with your friends. In business correspondence, it won't be. Customers are far more likely to work with you and respond to, "Dear (Customer), it has come to my attention that there was a problem with your recent transaction. I'd be very happy to work with you to rectify the situation. Please contact me at (phone or e-mail address) so that a mutual resolution can be reached."  Or even with your first love, "y u mad #LOL" isn't nearly as cute as "I'm sensing that we need to work this out. Please talk with me and work to make things better going forward." (Trust me, if a former BF had said "u mad at me? #wazzup" he would have been an ex-BF even faster.....)

It does not matter if you are a game creator/designer, or if you own a cupcake shop, you will need to communicate well. So while you are young, run out now and buy a copy of Strunk & White's The Elements of Style. It is still an all-time classic. It is still relevant. It is still worthy. Learn the rules of punctuation, subject-verb agreement, and for God's sake, use the Oxford comma (as it, too, is still relevant).

It also wouldn't hurt to learn a variety of citation guidelines. It also wouldn't hurt to learn what a citation is: crediting work you borrowed from another published source. And you'd best cite anything from any other published source. You do not want a hint of plagiarism hanging over your head at any point in time. It quite simply is not worth it. While quite a number of teachers prefer the APA Citation Guidelines, you had best learn the other styles as well, primarily the MLA, Turabian and Chicago styles. If you don't know which kind a teacher requires, ask; do not assume. Oh, and cite your sources.

LEARN TO WRITE WELL.

How might you do this?

Read. There's a good start. The more you read, the more likely you'll encounter correct grammar and punctuation -- across a variety of authors, genres, and styles. Read. Read the newspaper, read the classics, read the newest bestseller, read legal briefs, or read medical journals. The important thing is that you just read.

Write. Sure you'll make mistakes. Run your work through a spell-checker, a grammar-checker, and a citation-checker (to ensure you haven't plagiarized by accident). Have an older person read it to provide some insight, or run it by another teacher. They'll help you find any glaring errors, whether with your grammar or with the flow of your writing. They'll check for redundancy, for ideas that stop cold, or for paragraphs that don't work with each other.

Never stop learning. I still make mistakes on occasion. Usually, I notice them first, after the fact, and I cringe. While it's true that some will never notice the error -- or at best, simply will choose to ignore it -- I appreciate the ones who have corrected me. By their correction, they have reminded me that my learning is lifelong, and that sometimes the rules that I knew years ago may have changed to reflect new knowledge. However, I will never give up my Oxford comma; they will pry it from my cold, dead hands.

LEARN TO WRITE WELL.

You never know where it may take you.

Breathing, breathing

Tomorrow is my foot surgery. I am a jumble of emotions, but mostly ready for this to happen and for the pain in my feet to be relieved. A little nervous, a little scattered, a little anxious but overall more ready to be one step closer to better.

On the left foot, it's a bunionectomy and realignment of toes 2 & 3 to help relieve toes 4 & 5. On the right foot, as long ad I'm out cold, they'll do a cortisone injection in my heel, to work on a calcification that's developing there. If they wanted to build a perma-arch in both feet, I wouldn't object either.... Small things to keep me off my feet a while for healing and rest. Rest. Ha..... I have to work, I don't have an alternative. So I'm hoping to be back at work with assistance on Monday. That's the plan anyway. But like so many of my plans, I'm prepared for God to laugh heartily and say, "you're so cute when you plan...." So I'm also gearing up for all those baby steps that have to happen first.

Baby steps..... Essential but sooooo very hard to tolerate, especially when you've gone zero to seventy in 1.5 most of your life. But baby steps it will have to be. Literally, in this case. I have a knee walker for assistance and great advice from those who've had this and other foot surgeries (mostly consisting of, "slow your roll, luv...."). So here we go, going through a major thunderstorm so to reach the rainbow. Slow, halting, teensy steps until the storm passes..... all for a less painful, more colorful view.

In some ways, that's all any of us can ask for in any situation: to just be even one baby step closer to better.

What Really Matters

We put the tree up yesterday. We have one holiday decoration in the house and finally put one on the door this afternoon. Honestly, it wouldn't have bothered me in the least if we hadn't done anything at all. This year has been a lesson in finding what's important and discarding what isn't worth the time and trouble.

It's been a trying year, physically, for me and my family. Old physical nemeses reared an ugly head both with me and with my mom..... with me, more of an ongoing annoyance, but with Mom, much more severe. What's important is that she is still here, although right now, battling the beginnings of a cold (or at least we hope so). And even though the effects of the aging process -- and her illnesses -- baffle and frustrate me, I still have her with us here. What a blessing!

My brother -- simultaneously one of my closest peeps and yet another one who baffles and frustrates me -- nearly flipped his car earlier this year coming home from church. A slick road and an overcorrection, and almost down an embankment. We are so blessed that the worst of it involved cleaning out massive amounts of dirt and grass from the car's undercarriage. He is still here.

The house is old, amazingly still here after 80-odd years (we think), and it is safe shelter. Sure it's a little crammed -- what would you expect with four adults and their lives being interwoven here, along with one big dog? Sure we joke about who'd be the first to maneuver the backhoe if any of us ever hit a jackpot or came into a windfall somehow. (Answer: Me. Me. Me. Sorry, everyone else....) But it is home, and there are memories here, over 65 years' worth for my mom. It is safe, mostly warm, mostly sturdy, and there's lots of love contained therein. A blessing, when so so many can't say the same thing.

And for faith -- a hard-earned, fire-tested, broken-down-and-rebuilt faith. I'm getting ready shortly to go to my 23rd consecutive midnight Mass. Haven't missed one since 1991, and for me, Christmas isn't Christmas without midnight Mass. I know that above all else, I am loved, greatly loved. I have purpose and meaning, although some days it is so hard for me to see what my purpose is and if I am making any difference at all in this world. And I have hope and optimism -- sometimes blindingly so -- that keeps me going when everything seems its most dismal. It brings me to tears to think about how blessed I am. It is humbling, and leaves me in awe, asking, "But why?" No answer can be found, except this: "Because."

And I have friends, friends who have held my hand, picked up my basket, stood by me, stood up to me, challenged me to grow beyond anything I could have imagined. I don't know what I did to deserve them but I am so unabashedly grateful for them, I do not know where to begin.

This. This is what really matters. Not the value of the gifts at the tree. Not the amount of decorations or whether it's perfectly coordinated. Not whether or not the food is perfect. Only the love and the overwhelming gratitude for the best gift ever: a child who came to show a better way. A child who came to tell us how loved we are, how special we are, even when it is so hard to believe -- when we have owned our unworthiness and clung to it as our only shield. A child who was vulnerable to show us that when we are open, when we say "me too" and become community, miracles can happen.

For me, this is what really matters.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Reality Bites -- Twice!

This past week, we've been bitten by Reality twice..........

Last weekend, I sprained my ankle, and rather oddly. No twisting or turning, just landing as I normally would have when taking a step down. Finally, I couldn't stand it any further and I went to urgent care. It's just a moderate sprain, but the doc was very concerned because my ankle had "lots of arthritis" in it.

Wow, doc. You don't say. I was only diagnosed 25 years ago with it. It's high time the thing caught up to me. I've been outrunning it for ages. For the first 5 years or so of my diagnosis, I noticed it more often than I did over the last twenty. Or when it got to me, pop the requisite number of pain relievers and just keep plugging along. I've been referred to an orthopedist for additional work; the earliest they can see me is in 6 weeks. And that's with the earliest doc in the practice (who just also happens to be the one they are trying to get me in to see, because he's the arthritis specialist).

Then Friday, reality hit us again........... Well, really, Reality had been messing around on this one for about a couple of weeks. Mom had been telling us for a couple of weeks that she was really warm all the time..... odd, since this hasn't exactly been a record-setting summer for heat. But in this last week, which has been more like our usual "hammered-down hinges of hell's door" type of weather (hot, humid, horrific), it evolved into "I'm roasting and I am having trouble breathing...." By Friday morning, I asked her just what she intended to do about it -- given the fact that she's already had one heart attack and congestive heart disease. Was she planning to contact her doctor? Up came every reason why she couldn't..... Until 10:00 or so, when she called my Dad to say that no, she was really having trouble breathing, in an air-conditioned house, and having done nothing but remained in pretty much a seated or a horizontal position all morning.

Yep, her CHD/CHF had decided to rear its ugly mug yet again, and she has spent all weekend in the hospital trying to get the fluid removed and off her heart. They're keeping her a little longer than we originally thought due to a small bit of pneumonia and the need for an echocardiogram. Then we begin the real work -- life as a cardiac patient. Changing the way she cooks. Making time for even small activity (5 minutes at a time). Reading labels. It's not going to be easy for someone in her late 70s, but it's what must be done to make the most of the time remaining.

And you'd better believe I'm going to do everything I can -- not only to support my mom, but to make it as easy as possible. I'm thinking maybe a list of "green, yellow, red-light" foods or recipes (especially in terms of sodium, given the fluid issues). Maybe an easy way for her to track her foods and activities..... Just thinking of tangible things I can do in addition to offering support.

So yeah, reality bites -- but it is needed to remind us to do all we can for ourselves when we can. And to allow others to help when they can.

Behind Blue Eyes

Today, the world lost one of its funniest souls ever in Robin Williams. And sadly, if the reports concerning his method of departing this world are indeed true, it is another sign that sometimes the funniest souls contain the deepest sorrows and fears.

My best friend posted as a Facebook status: "Some of the funniest people I've known are also people who have battled depression. Don't assume that the jokesters and pranksters in your life don't battle their very own demons." Humor, that beautiful mask which hides so much pain, that deflects so much sorrow and serves as a way to shift the focus.

Some people learn to use humor to overcome shyness, or to make friends. Others use humor as a weapon, a defense -- make 'em laugh and maybe they won't pick on you or beat you up today (at least). I decided to try to become funny so people might forget I was fat.... at least for a little while. Of course, I had forgotten all about the dreaded Triple-F (Fat Funny Friend) but that's okay .... make 'em laugh, chica, make 'em laugh. I was never going to be as funny as Robin Williams, as my humor tends to be more like Daria Morgendorffer's, but hey, I could try.

But just like so many funny people, my heart contains much sorrow and fear. I already battle daily against a horrific monster myself, so I can understand how it feels to make the world laugh and have it ring hollow. And yes, I have felt so very empty that I pondered my absence in the world -- a very brief pondering, to be certain, but it did cross my mind. At that point, a fighter was born in me, and the fighter is still going. But I know what it's like to feel that sense of hopelessness, the sense that you have reached the end of your rope and there is nothing left with which to tie a knot and hang on.

But there is hope out there. There is help. There is no shame at all in reaching out for help. I was lucky that in my darkest moment, I had angels looking out for me who got me through my worst times. Find a friend, a neighbor, a trusted coworker, a clergyperson, or if you have no one, call one of these numbers:

*1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433) -- Kristin Brooks Hope Center; you will be connected to a mental health agency closest to you.
*1-800-273-TALK (8255) -- National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Find someone you trust. Talk to them. Find help. Get help. Reach out. Please. Please. Please.

The world has something only you can give. Please let us see it for as long as possible.

Rest in peace, Robin Williams. You gave me so much laughter from my childhood to the present day. You couldn't hide the shyness behind the blue eyes or the pain either, even through the humor. But oh, what gifts you had and shared with the world! You will be so sorely missed by a world that needs your humor. May the peace you sought in this life be yours in the world to come.

Do You Know Me - Really?

So you think I'm the average person-next-door. Miss Normal.

Erma Bombeck said it best: Normal is a setting on a dryer. Nothing more, nothing less.

If I ever look tired, it's probably because I'm dead tired from trying to fit in with what is perceived by a larger world as something close to "normal." How so?

• I'm an introvert. Introversion is greatly misunderstood. Introversion is not shyness. It is not anti-social tendencies. It is merely an indication of where a person derives his or her source of energy. Extroverts receive energy from outside sources or other people. Introverts get their energy from inner sources -- their minds, their emotions, their thoughts -- or by separating themselves from the world-at-large for a while. For years, I fought the label. No, no, no, I was an extrovert, I screamed. Look at me, could I do all this stuff if I were an introvert? But as I got older and wiser, I realized that I really did have to withdraw to recharge..... oh wait, right? Yeah. Introvert. I can turn it "on" -- and indeed, I must in certain circumstances such as phone work, stage performance, etc. But as soon as those things are over, I really do need to be alone. I need the solitude and relative quiet to unwind. It's one of the reasons I don't really complain too much about my commute. Yes, it can be an absolute drag at times -- yet in the afternoons, when I need to decompress, having that hour (or so) to myself is a thing of beauty. Sometimes I talk it out, when there's not another soul (but me) listening. Other times I need silence, with only the sound of deep breathing for a little while.  
• I have some chronic medical issues. Let me preface by saying I have friends who go through much worse. And my conditions are managed well enough that they don't cause me much grief -- though if I am in the throes of a migraine, my face will give it away. But on those days when I'm not feeling well, it truly takes every ounce of energy from every cell of my body for me to simply function at a basic level. Quite frankly, those are the times when the word "fine" would be understood as code for "go away, leave me alone, I'm not okay and I don't wish to discuss it." One of my conditions requires ongoing therapy, and after 6 years, is finally down to just once-a-month treatments. But I will need this therapy the rest of my life, if I expect to keep this condition in check. There are no cures. It's not especially life-limiting, though it can be. So far, the worst limitation for me is that this summer, I haven't been able to be outside in the heat and humidity. There goes sitting on my back deck until after the sun is sinking (usually after 7:00). The other condition requires that I carry an emergency kit (including injection meds) on me at all times, just in case. I also get chiropractic care every two weeks to keep my shoulders and neck from kinking up on me (the hazards of a desk job) and causing the migraines to be even worse. Things that only others with a chronic condition (or those who care for someone with a chronic illness/condition) would even begin to comprehend.......
• Concentration is extremely hard for me. I have never been diagnosed with an attention disorder, so let's get that out of the way. It would not surprise me, however, if I were found to have one. Concentration or focus has never come easy, as far back as I remember. I've always had to just force myself to do it, someway, somehow. So if I am ever in "the zone," I may not always be at my kindest if I am (how shall I say it?) "untimely ripped" from the zone, and especially if it's something that breaks the concentration just enough...... "Might I borrow your pen?" would be no big deal -- I can say "Sure" and keep going. "Hey, what do you know about....?" will get a "Wait, what, huh?" from me, because you have just completely stopped me cold. I didn't hear a thing you asked, I didn't pay a bit of attention to what you said -- because my brain had to change gears without shifting the clutch. 

So there you have it. Things you may have known -- or possibly not.

One more off the bucket list....

When I was in college, I fell in love with a certain Greatest Hits tape. Well, there were several of them, really, that I wore the absolute bejeezus out of, and this was one of them. I think I went through a couple of them before switching to CD. And nearly 25 years ago, when I was going through some difficult dark moments, the music from this tape kept me going, kept me moving. Why? I don't know. Something in the music resonated deep in my soul.

About 20 years or so ago, I had the opportunity to see them in a rare concert appearance..... and passed. I know, what was I thinking? Well, primarily, I was thinking I had massive student loan payments back then, at least as a percentage of my income at the time. And my friend who was offering to get the tickets had already paid for tickets before when I was in college. It didn't seem fair to have this person always foot the bill and have me pay back always. So I passed.

I kicked my butt for 20 years about that. When I found out the band was out on tour this summer, I decided that I would not make that mistake again. So last night, I checked another off the bucket list and saw Steely Dan.

Worth it all. Absolutely phenomenal show!!!! I knew almost every song, and the ones that I wasn't as familiar with were the deeper album cuts from a couple of CDs I don't have. And sure, there were a few (twenty or so - ha!) songs I would have loved to hear. But that show was a 4.8 out of 5!!! It was absolutely wonderful to have been there, and I am moving on to the next concert on the list...... Tedeschi Trucks Band.

By the way, Donald Fagen may be the voice of Steely Dan, but Walter Becker is the comedian.

The only gripes to be had concerned the venue itself. There needs to be FAR better signage and education on where your seats are. Something like "If your ticket says 'GAL_x_', go to the third floor" ........... or "If your ticket says 'BAL_x_', go to the second floor" ..........people were horridly confused over where there tickets were, and there just were not enough ushers. That being said, the ones who were working were amazingly helpful and cool under pressure at helping people to their seats. I would have been hard-pressed not to say, "Sir, I have pointed out to you four different times where your seat is, I'm not sure I really can assist you further."  Really. Yes. There were people who simply could not read letters and numbers easily enough to find their seats.

And I was highly disappointed not to find a Braves affiliate for the drive home. Really. That was pathetic.

Do yourself a favor.....

.... and if Marc Cohn is coming anywhere near you this summer (or really, anytime), spend the money and go to his concert.

Of course, we all know "Walking in Memphis" -- I won't even talk about how awesome that was live last night -- but if that's the only song of his that you know, please hit iTunes or eMusic or Spotify or Rhapsody or any other music-streaming, music-buying source and listen or download some others. You shall not be disappointed.

After "Walking in Memphis," the next time I heard of him was actually a few years later, when I found a CD in the cutout bin. It was something called "Discovery: Pop" and I want to say this was '98 or '99-ish .... somewhere in there, maybe? Anyway, it was the last cut on the CD and it was his cover of Harry Nilsson's "Turn Up Your Radio."

Let me pause right here: if you haven't heard that song, just stop right now and go listen. I'll wait. No, really, I mean it. Go listen NOW. It is that damn good.

Told ya.

Well, that was that. Marc Cohn fan for life. He could have sung the phone book, and I would have been thrilled.

Time came and I liked the Facebook page. Saw something on there one day that said, "Greenville SC people, tell me some good places to eat while I'm there. Making my first visit to....." and I don't remember anything else. I bought my ticket the next day. I was going come hell or high water. If I had to drag myself in the midst of a migraine, by God, I was going to make that concert!

I was not disappointed in the least -- not even when he didn't sing "Turn On Your Radio" (which is still the song that just melts me). He does so many other good songs that I wouldn't have complained if he'd sung that phone book.

And you best believe I will be buying tickets for the next time he comes to Greenville.

What lights you up?

Over the last few weeks of illness/recuperation and of odd Internet outages, I caught up on some reading, and specifically on The Desire Map by Danielle LaPorte. Funny, I'm still working on her Fire-Starter Sessions, but I got into this one and it really seemed to get to me, especially recently as I pondered some things in my life.

One of the things that she mentioned was the phrase "what lights you up?" and I thought, "YES! What if we really asked ourselves that more often?" I thought about how I would answer....

Music. Oh my gosh, music has lit up my world since I can remember, maybe even longer. I cannot remember a time when there wasn't a radio, a musical instrument, a music book, sheet music, a hymnal, or some form of music available. And if nothing else, I have a brain full of lyrics, songs, memories of music, whatever it takes. I've always sung, always listened to music, always had a deep need to express myself musically. And no matter what style of church I've attended or place of worship, music has always been the essential ministry for me. It is my solace in hard times and my joy in good times.

Writing. Words, my second love. I've been a reader longer than I can recall. Math has confounded me, science intrigued me, but words .... the spoken word, the written word, the word portrayed on stage .... words are powerful, and I don't believe we realize just how deeply they resonate with us. Every favorite piece of movie dialogue. Every beloved poem memorized in childhood. The passage from a novel that has stuck with you since college. Someone's writing has had a deep impact on me, amd I hope that my small contribution has even a fraction of that to someone who may need the words of encouragement, or to be reminded simply that he or she is not alone in their emotion.

Performing Arts. There is nothing like being on stage. Singing or acting, there is something beautiful about taking those words and music and bringing them to life, to infuse them with power to move the soul.

Wow.... notice how all of these seem to link together?

Words and music. Sharing them with the world. In a myriad of ways, these are the things that set my soul ablaze and make me want to transport people to a place where they too may be infused with fire and spirit.

This, my friends...... this is what lights me up. I can tell you a million things I do well but which do not light me up. They do not move my soul. They do not feed my mind and my heart and my spirit -- much like a little bit of peanut butter swiped on a couple of pieces of day-old bread will feed my body but won't be as satisfying as a nice plate (for example) of pasta with homemade tomato sauce with fresh salad, garlic bread, and some Chianti.

Light your soul. ALWAYS. I'm not so sure about the advice of "oh follow your bliss and the money will follow...." No. Not always, but follow your bliss regardless. Even if you never make a dime off it. Are you doing this for profit or because you have to do this or die? Another difference......

Just some things I've been pondering lately.......

A Few Choice Vines

One advantage of being forced to slow down and rest is that the monkeys in your mind quit swinging around for a while. However, every once in a while, one of them will take off on a vine that is worth hanging onto, something your mind and soul needed you to know ..... something so important, it was willing to wait on the chatter to settle down.....

So here are some of the ramblings from the last couple of weeks that I call "choice vines" -- the ones that the wiser simians waited on:

* Never allow another's definition of success to define you. Oh my gosh, I could write a book(let) on this one as a "what not to do," how I allowed others' visions of success to supplant my own for far too long, how I sometimes still look to false measuring sticks of what it means to be "successful" .... forgetting that success is not my mission in life. If it happens as a by-product, that's great, but it's not my life's mission or goal. I must never lose sight of that.

* Even in the dark, there is always light. Far too often in the last few weeks, even my sense of humor had gotten a little darker than I would like. But in the last few days, the kindness of others has really helped me to see that people can be kind and understanding. I have seen just how amazing people can be: team members at my regular work, my part-time work, my fellow choir members, all the medical professionals who have treated me over the last few weeks (and YES, I will follow your advice to rest!).

* It's okay to say "no." It's perfectly okay to say no -- to things which do not work at all for you, your schedule, your hopes, dreams, goals, desires. It's perfectly okay to say goodbye to things which no longer serve you, remembering that they were once important but realizing that the time has come and passed. It's learning what your limits are, knowing when you need to push yourself a little farther, and knowing when it's more than the price tag. "No" is a powerful word.

I hope the chatter stays a little more silent and the choicest vines continue to make themselves known.

Confessions of a Monkey Mind

Monkey Mind. It's a term I first heard in yoga class to describe all the thoughts that run around in our brains just willy-nilly and unguarded, from front to back and vine to vine. Here, no there, no wait here I am again, whoo hoo!!! Part of the benefits, goals, what-have-you of yoga is to cage the monkeys for a while, to sedate them if we can, so that when we return to the real world off the mat, the swinging is a little more orderly.

Good luck.

I've had an experience in the last few weeks that no matter what, the monkeys overtook the zoo. They didn't just swing to and fro and from vine to vine, but the monkeys decided to fling poo whenever, wherever, and however often they could. To say I've had a rough time has been an understatement. And now it has caught up with me. I have been told by no less than 3 medical professionals to rest more.

My body is paying the price - literally. As I type, I am recuperating from shingles. Over the last three weeks of stress, a long-dormant virus from a childhood case of chicken pox reared its ugly head and said, "OH! So you don't know how to rest? So you think this stress puppy business has no consequences? Think that little meltdown in the shower that left you crying at Mass was nothing? Fine. I'll show you....." And I developed a case of shingles. It's like an adult version of chicken pox only worse. There's pain involved that I don't recall at age 6. Pain that doesn't let me sit at my desk and do actual work. I can work from home right now, but I can go a short time (2-3 hours) before I have to stop for pain meds. The pain meds allow me to work about another hour or so, but then OUT. I still have to sit on an ice pack at my back and one on my side where the nerves tingle and jangle.

The monkey mind has slowed down. Right now, I have two things on which I focus: my work when I can do it, and simply resting and vegging the rest of the time. Everything else, just doesn't matter. At least the worst of the stressors at the time has resolved itself, but all the other minor annoyances just aren't nearly as important as they seem to be.

An important lesson there -- are the minor annoyances really all that important anyway? Are they worth pain pills, missed time at work (albeit with sick time), and knowing I've done this to myself with worry? I have literally made myself sick with worry. How sad...... how very, very sad.

Take a lesson from me. It doesn't matter if you ever had chicken pox and may or may not develop shingles. The bigger lesson is don't make yourself sick with worry and stress. Stop letting monkey mind rule your head and your life.

Stop letting your life be overrun by damn dirty apes..... cage the monkey mind!

Rest and Busy-ness

I took some time off from work this afternoon. I rarely take days off, and the planned vacation days I'd allotted for myself in May went entirely up in smoke ..... well, not so much up in smoke as under the carriage of my vehicle. Don't even ask.

It doesn't take a genius to see from my posts across all my various blogs, FB posts, tweets, etc. to see that I have been pretty dang stressed lately. A lot of it is self-induced, to be sure. For most of my life, I've set a very high bar for myself and I get very put out when I fail to reach my own expectations for myself -- let along what others may expect of me. I don't give myself much slack. It is not good. There's something to be said for self-discipline and for expecting the best out of yourself. It's quite another to turn it into a relentless drive .... as I tend to do.

The last few days have been busy. Holy Week is always a busy one for people who are part of church ministry, and I choose to be part of it as much as possible because for me, they are the High Holy Days. I missed my first Good Friday services in 22 years due to car troubles (yeah, another fun element to the weekend). I came to a decision over the weekend to let go of something -- at least short-term -- that isn't really helping me in terms of my stress levels or anything else. Better to let it go for a while. I just have to work out a few more details before moving forward with it. And after all the stress (both good and bad) was over and done yesterday ---- hello, migraine, my old friend...... yes. Seriously.

So today, I took some time to rest. I truly did have a doctor's appointment for some labwork, but I really did need to rest more than anything else. So what did I do on my big afternoon off? After the doctor's appointment, I drove myself home and promptly fell asleep. For two hours. Maybe two and a half. I really didn't keep track of it. I slept so deeply that when I woke up I didn't know what day or time or anything that it was. It's now later at night, normally around the time I'd start preparing for sleep and you know something..... no problemo. Instead of feeling like I could stay up for another two hours, nope. I'm good.

I have struggled with sleep issues for years -- if you consider "pretty near all my life" as a good indication. What I've really struggled with is a circadian rhythm issue. Even in childhoood, I couldn't fall asleep until late and couldn't wake up until later. It's like my whole life, my sleep cycle has always been an hour or two behind what the real world says "work time" or "school time" should be. It's like I'm a Mountain Time girl stuck in Eastern. Forever. I cannot bounce up in the mornings, bright-eyed and ready to go..... I have to slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y slink my way into morning.... but I can fall asleep in about 3 breaths at night.

So, we've discussed rest ..... and how NONE of us (I don't care who you are) never get enough. WHY? What is it about busy-ness that is so attractive? I'm as guilty as the next person of being busy, busy, busy doing absolutely nothing of any real consequence. None of it will really matter a hundred years from now and that's pissing me off..... if I am going to be busy about something, by golly, it ought to be about something of grave importance. But even more importantly, WHY? Why am I choosing to entangle and engage myself in these things? Is it because our society believes that if we're not overbooked, over-engaged, over-wrought, over-stuffed, over-this.... then we're nobodies? What are we trying to hide with all this activity? Who are we trying to fool - especially ourselves? What are we avoiding? Are we that afraid of the silence of our lives? Why do we care if someone down the street thinks we're lacking because our little Johnny isn't involved in soccer AND piano AND jiu-jitsu AND .... like their little Freddie. Are we just that uncomfortable with our own imperfections, our own spaces between, that we cannot tolerate it for a moment and........ okay, so what can I add? What more can I do?

How about rest? How about just being?

Chica, heal thyself.

Shaken and Stirred

There are times when God/the Universe/Fate/call-it-what-you-will taps you on the elbow or hand to get your attention. And then there are times it grabs you by the shoulders, shakes you so violently you will get a concussion and screams at you, "WAKE UP!!!!!!"

Guess which has been happening with me lately?

And I will not complain. I've been needing wake-up calls. Correction: I've been needing a wake-up call on the level of the Carolina Marching Band to stand over me and blast "Henry the Eighth I Am" in my ears for hours on end.

So what has the universe been telling me lately?  Well, this is one of them.....

(from the MyYogaOnline page at Facebook)

s
WOW. And far too often lately, I've been getting in my own way: Overanalysis. Vacillating. "What-iffing" myself into indecision with too many alternatives.

Then.............

(from rawforbeauty.com)

Oh my. Another one, right to the heart. I sometimes have such trouble with this for so many reasons -- wanting to be a "team player" or not wanting to upset an already tense situation. But I'm getting much better with that, especially in the last year as the migraines have been more frequent and my ability to simply do has been more limited. If I don't set boundaries for myself, someone else will....

And then this one. I wish I could tell you where I got this shortened version, but I can tell you I've found the full text at OurAscension.com .... but this abridged text still is powerful:

My biggest problem -- realizing that it's okay to be broken. It's okay to be flawed. It's okay to remember that the cracks are where the light comes in (to paraphrase Leonard Cohen). It's okay. It's okay. It's not my job to be perfect. It never was. This is dawning on me -- ever so slowly, one step forward, two steps back some days -- and it is rather freeing. 

So here's a prayer to go with all this:

Oh, and one more thought........ I made this particular "meme" from one of my own photos, taken at one of my favorite places. It's a place I try to escape to at least once a year (preferably twice, if I can) for a weekend alone -- no, even Maddox stays at home for this one! -- just me and an open trail and my thoughts and a sense of adventure. I'd tell you where, but I'm kind of protective of my sanctuary that way! (HA!)

May we all learn this!!