Tag: being present

Elusive

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My cat is a fierce hunter-wannabe. She will chase and play with any bug that enters our house—well, most of them anyway. Occasionally, she is even successful in capturing her prey.

Last week, in her most recent fierce hunter move, she escaped onto the deck, chased a squirrel off our second story deck, and came running back into the house. While she totally meant to chase the squirrel (and win), she certainly didn’t mean to come running back into the house.

One morning this week, I watched as she tried to capture a moth. Her paw was right there batting it—once, twice, three times—slipping down the smooth glass of the window each time. The moth was still and unmoving, but moth and paw were not connecting. Despite her efforts to get the moth, my little cat was unable to capture it, and she couldn’t understand why.

The moth was sitting just on the other side of the window. But that didn’t stop the cat from the pursuit. She could see the moth. She wanted it. And she was sure she had a pretty good shot at it. She didn’t recognize the window as a barrier to her hunting skills.

I got to thinking about her attempts to hunt through the window, her ability to see what she wanted and go after it. And I considered how her actions compare to some of the actions in my own life. So often, it seems, I can see what I want—either literally or figuratively, but I can’t quite get there. There are unseen barriers, and my goal is elusive.

But one day, when I least expect it, I will open the door, and my cat will accidentally slip outside (she’s sneaky like that), or the moth will fly in. And in that brief moment, the barriers between fierce hunter and prey will melt away, and the cat will have access to what she wants. This same type of fortuitous moment might work out for me, as well. If I keep working, keep striving, keep pursuing my goals, a moment of opportunity may arise, and I, too, will have access to what I want.

Journey

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Recently, I have been feeling as though my life is spent attending to the needs of everyone around me—children, adults, felines, etc. I have lost touch with myself—the very things that make me who I am—and sometimes, I feel as though I am in danger of bursting into a million tiny pieces and floating off in every direction. I imagine my children’s initial shock at the explosion, like a ‘poof’ of something disappearing in a magic show, and then the scramble to gather the pieces. But it will be too late. I will be gone. As this image fills my head, I catch myself wondering whether ‘spontaneous explosion’ is a thing that can happen to humans.

Last evening, in my need to get out of the house for a few minutes of peace, I went on a journey. Okay… I lie. I took out the trash. But for me in my condo association, “taking out the trash” means a quarter mile walk to the dumpster. It’s usually a nice evening stroll, though if the trash is particularly heavy, it can be tedious. Last night, the trash was light.

My daughter had just come in from a walk and said she had seen a turtle laying its eggs by the side of the pond. As I approached the pond, I wondered if I would see the turtle. Because of the summer heat, the pond is covered in a thin, green film of algae, swirled by the breezes that sometimes play across the water’s surface. The pond is so evenly covered that it is reminiscent of the first skin of ice that appears each year when the cold sets in. The algae though, it makes the pond seem neglected, dirty.

Further down the path, I enter a thick grove of trees—the darkest spot on the journey to my destination. I am a week too late for fireflies, I think, though it isn’t quite dark enough outside to tell for sure. Last week and the week before, the fireflies danced under these trees.

On the walk back toward home, birds are flitting near a toppled and rotting tree stump left behind by a severe storm several years back. The smells of forest remind me that there is a drought, and in my mind, I am transported to the year I lived in northern California. There, the scent was similar—dry and dusty—but was tinged with eucalyptus and Manzanita. As I pass the pond once again, a bullfrog sings his mournful song.

The walk was not long, but the noise of the day has been replaced by the soft sound of my sneakers on the pavement and the night noises of nature. The last streaks of light are fading from the sky as I duck under tree branches hanging low above the walkway. I breathe deeply of the air that is beginning to cool down, and my mind is clear. The clarity may only last a moment, but I am ready to go back to work.

I open the door to my house and step inside, feeling just a little less likely to spontaneously explode.

Upward

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When you start with a blank page, anything is possible. Blank page, blank sky…

Blank is where I start today, and I move to the daily prompt: clouds. Some days the clouds match my mood; some days not. Some days the clouds can determine my mood; some days not.

Today, there are large, fluffy white clouds spreading across the sky, catching sun and shadows in a wondrous ever-changing pattern of beauty and sunshine and summer and lightness. The past few days, the clouds have been captivating, amazing, breathtaking in their summer glory. Uplifting.

Is it that these clouds only come in the summer time? Or is it that I have only noticed them in the past few days because I have finally slowed down enough to do so? I have slowed down enough to pay attention.

For much of the year, I am closed off and focused inward in an attempt to keep things together and running smoothly. I am maintaining schedules for far too many people. Often in these times, the winter sky is gray and heavy with the possibility of snow and ice and disruption.

In the summer, I can loosen my grip, let go and be free. And looking up is a joy. I can go out into the world and experience the beauty of nature in the clouds that seem to dance from west to east.

Yes, the summer clouds are different. They certainly seem different. By maybe it’s just me.

Good Fence/Bad Fence

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As poet Robert Frost writes, “Good fences make good neighbors.” In New England, there is much evidence of good fences in the miles of rock walls that amble over hills and through meadows in their forgotten quest to separate the farms of yesteryear. As I look at these walls, I can see the neighbors, each on his or her side of the wall, walking the line together piling stone on stone after each hard winter.

I, however, would like to argue that good neighbors exist regardless of the state of the fences that separate them.

As the resident of a townhouse, walls are generally all that separate me from my neighbors. Thankfully, my neighbors and I get along. At least I like to think we do….

Take my neighbor with whom I have an adjoining deck. For a long while, we had a lack-of-privacy fence between us. Granted, it was supposed to be a privacy fence, but it failed miserably at that job. In fact, the fence actually rotted and began to fall apart. For two-plus years, there was a large hole—at adult eye level—which allowed us to chat without looking around the fence by leaning on the railing. If I stepped out my door, I would often hear, “Howdy, Neighbor!” and a lengthy conversation would ensue through the hole in the fence.

The new privacy fence, rebuilt earlier this season, has just enough space between the slats to allow for partial view from one deck to the other. There certainly is no true “privacy.” As we often say, it’s good we like each other!

On the other side of our house, our former neighbors had two little girls. While our decks were not joined, we did have a more effective privacy fence separating us. But that didn’t stop the girls. If they heard us on our deck eating dinner, they would lean over the railing and engage us in entertaining conversation. It usually started something like this:

“Are you eating dinner?” one would ask. And when we replied with the affirmative, the conversation would continue. “What are you eating? Are you almost done? I have sand in my shoes from the sandbox. Wanna see it?” On a crazier night, one might announce from just behind the fence, “I’m naked. Is that embarrassing you?”

Perhaps it’s true that good fences make good neighbors. But bad fences make better neighbors. Honestly, who needs fences anyway? I suppose I might need a good fence if I had bad neighbors.

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[Image is a photo of our privacy fence, stealthily snapped out my back door so my neighbors wouldn’t think I was creepily stalking them. Clearly, “privacy” is not the strong point of this fence.]

Welcome Home…

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Below is the first journal piece I wrote in my friend Kate’s amazing Soul Reclamation workshop over the weekend. I was not able to give the exercises of the workshop my full focus because of the demands of my job, so I will be working through some of them over the next couple of weeks.

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How long has it been since you’ve been here? Truly been present in this place? Too long ago, I saw you here, lingering just outside the bounds of your self. Lingering longingly, like you had a sense you still belong here.

We’ve missed you. Welcome home. It’s been a long road, and I am hoping you can stay for a while. I know what you’re going to say… life, and all that. That’s always the first excuse. But you need some time to hang out here. To reconnect and get to know us again. To be present with us.

This is a journey, and I will grant myself permission to reconnect with myself, my life, my soul. There is so much that pulls me away on a daily basis. So much that grabs my attention and sucks me out in all different directions so I can’t possibly focus and center and find my wholeness.

This journey, this workshop is about reconnection. It is about finding myself, becoming whole once again, and granting myself the time to recognize that I need attention. I cannot continue to put all of myself, my attention into outside forces if I do not focus some attention on me, on the inside, on the person who makes it happen.

So grab a pen and take a seat. Linger awhile and do the work you need to do.

Welcome home. We’ve missed you.

Soul Reclamation Workshop

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This weekend, I will be joining my friend Kate and several others for her “Soul Reclamation Workshop.” I have written with Kate before, and I am looking forward to the opportunity to do so again this weekend. If you are not busy, or if you are looking for something to jump-start a new direction for your writing, join us! You won’t be disappointed!

 

https://wishingstone.wordpress.com/retreats-and-workshops/soul-reclamation-spring-2016/

Yesterday…

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Yesterday… I held my first child in my arms—all six pounds of him—as he wiggled his feet and studied my face, searching for recognition and committing my features to his brand new memory.

Yesterday, my first-born said good-bye to his childhood, adulthood dawning the next morning despite the fact that his birthday wouldn’t be official until late in the day.

Yesterday… I held my fingers out for two chubby hands to grasp, and I bent over to toddler level to “walk” him up and down, up and down, up and down the hall while he smiled his gleeful smile.

Yesterday, I stood on tippy toes to hug my son good-bye before school. The morning good-byes are now bittersweet, and I (at least) am holding on to each and every precious one.

Yesterday… I sat with my son at preschool because he didn’t want me to leave him behind. I sat in the classroom for several of the first few days, quietly watching, until he grew comfortable with the idea of me leaving.

Yesterday, my son walked out the door—too rushed for a decent breakfast—in his need to pick up his girlfriend and consult with this friend and that group adviser before the school day was underway.

Yesterday… my son spent hours at the kitchen table with paper, scissors, glue, stickers, ribbon, clay, etc. crafting some of the most impressive art projects seen in the past few decades. His eyes would be bright with ideas and possibilities as paper shards scattered across the floor where they would stay until the vacuum came through to gobble them up.

Yesterday, my son finished assembling the high school literary magazine. As with his projects of old, he was excited to watch it come together. To move from individual pieces of writing and artwork to a finished compilation, bound into a single, cohesive whole that will be distributed to the student body.

Yesterday… my son graduated from kindergarten. It was a warm, sunny day, and the room was sticky from little kid use. When the ceremony was over, we celebrated with ice cream sundaes, pictures with the teacher, and some playtime on the playground before we left the tiny “campus” to move on to a bigger school and a full day program.

Yesterday, my son’s graduation announcements arrived in the mail. The paper was stiff and fresh and official and embossed with the school seal and His. Full. Name. He promptly reported that his name was misspelled, compelling me look more closely. The glint in his eye and his sense of fun have not changed or faded over time.

Yesterday, when I was talking to my daughter about her brother’s birthday, I accidentally referenced it as his 13th birthday rather than his 18th birthday. Because in my mind, he will always be some combination of ages that is far less than his actual years. And because…

Time. It’s like that. It bends and warps and does crazy things to our brains, making us think that moments have stood still when years have passed.

Yesterday. So many yesterdays.

 

*Image is a photo taken yesterday by my talented daughter and used with her very gracious permission

Working from Home

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I am just finishing up my work at the job I hold during the school year, and I am shifting to a ramped up schedule in my second job, which consists of online work. It is a hectic time of wrapping up projects in one area and beginning new projects in another.

I enjoy the flexibility of working online during the summer because it allows me to be available for a more relaxed activity schedule and occasional day trips with my kids. I have been working in this position in one capacity or another for the past nine years, so my children were quite young when I started, and they have grown up watching me work from the kitchen table. However, this work is not without its challenges.

Last night, I was in my jammies, one of the perks of online work. I was on a training call with an instructor I will be supervising for the summer. Despite the fact that my children were in and out of the kitchen, preparing for bed and for the following day, the call was going relatively smoothly with few distractions. Over the years, the kids have become more accustomed to these calls that can sometimes stretch onward to two hours, as last night’s call did, and they are quiet (enough).

Midway through the conversation, the cat decided to jump onto a cabinet to make her way onto the refrigerator. Just as her little feet left the floor, my 18 year old coughed, completely throwing the cat off her planned trajectory. She touched the cabinet for only a split second—just long enough to scatter a few items onto the floor. The noise of these items scattering only served to frighten her further, and she bolted from the room. My son burst out laughing, and I could not stifle my own laughter.

Keep in mind, I had never met nor spoken with the woman on the other end of the phone before that conversation. So as not to seem rude, I explained why I was laughing. Meanwhile, her dog began barking for her to play with him.

Ah, the joys (and challenges) of online work. Of course, the flexibility and the pajama factor balance it all out.

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[A photo of the cat in question]

Lyme Awareness #2

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When I was diagnosed with Lyme disease, I was thrust into a world that was far from the medical world I was used to—the one in which doctors listen to patients and generally have at least a marginal degree of respect for the patient’s symptoms. This new world seemed completely upside-down. Before long, I started to think I was in the twilight zone of some alternate reality.

In those early days, I read and researched and learned as much about Lyme as I could. I contacted friends who had fought this battle, and I met with a Lyme patient advocate. Through my research, I realized what I was up against. Lyme and its treatment are very controversial, and the mainstream medical community will wash its hands of you in a mere 28 days, saying they have done their job. The problem lies in the fact that many cases of Lyme do not respond to the 28-day cycle of antibiotics recommended and approved by the CDC.

Halfway through my 28 days, I knew I still had symptoms of Lyme. I was fairly certain that this relatively short course of antibiotics wouldn’t do the trick to cure my Lyme and whatever coinfections lurked, as yet undiagnosed, in my body. By the time I met with my doctor again, several days after my antibiotics were gone, I still had fatigue, brain-fog, and a host of other symptoms. I remember asking, “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” she responded. “Hopefully, you are fine. If not, you have what’s called post Lyme syndrome.”

I’m sorry, post Lyme syndrome? Are you kidding?

True story: if something doesn’t go away and it’s still present, it’s not post- anything. I immediately started my search for a Lyme literate practitioner. I booked her first available appointment—in five months! Luckily, I was able to get in on a cancellation after only two. At that point, my blood tests were still positive for active Lyme.

If you are struggling with this disease, you are not alone. Together, we will get through this. Through our struggles, we will improve the way Lyme is diagnosed and treated.

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[Image is a Lyme awareness bracelet from Bravelets. They will donate $10 from the sale of each bracelet to the cause of your choice.]

Lyme Awareness #1

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I recently learned that May is Lyme Disease awareness month. Most likely, May was chosen because this is the month when nymph ticks are most active—from May to July. And because nymph ticks are so very tiny, they are extremely hard to detect….

I was feeling pretty good the day I was diagnosed with Lyme disease. I was tired, but I had been traveling with my daughter. Under the circumstances, that was normal fatigue, right? Then again, as a single mother, I am not sure I have any idea what “normal fatigue” is since I seldom get more than five or six hours of sleep at night. I scheduled a visit with the doctor because I had a strange rash—large blotches covered my torso and had begun to spread down my left arm.

I had first noticed the blotches in the hotel bathroom mirror.  The first day, I had a couple of spots. Strange, I thought, examining what appeared to be a welt with an odd grayish color at the center. I touched it. It didn’t itch, and there was no pain. Huh, I pulled on my pajama top, dismissing the spot from my mind, as if covering it up would make it go away.

The next morning, the spot had faded (though it hadn’t disappeared), and I dressed quickly to get to our morning commitment. We were attending an athletic competition that kept us busy and away from the hotel for the majority of the day. We also spent long hours sitting around—in stadium seats and on the floor of the field house.

Back at the hotel at the end of a long day, I stumbled into the bathroom, exhausted. As I lifted my shirt, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My heart skipped a beat. The two spots had multiplied, and now covered my torso in angry pink and grey blobs that wound across my side and on to my back. The sight was startling. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself as I dressed. My brain was reeling while I consciously tried to calm myself enough to go back into the room without alerting my daughter to anything unusual. Funny how deep-rooted our mom instincts are.

It’s nothing, I told myself.  I probably picked up some nasty fungus or something from the field house floor or the hotel or….  I breathed slowly, deliberately. My thoughts were convincing enough that by the time I was ready for bed, my mind had moved on to other things.

The spots remained through the following day, Thursday, and when I finally arrived home on Friday, I was able to schedule an appointment with the doctor for that afternoon. By this point, I had convinced myself that it was something I had picked up from one of the many unclean surfaces I had come in contact with on my trip.

The doctor took one look and immediately said, “That’s Lyme.” I was shocked. But then again… Suddenly, all the other symptoms I had been experiencing over the previous months came together. A series of odd, unexplained viruses? Not at all. One diagnosis and everything made sense.

I consider myself lucky that I had that rash. I was lucky that I didn’t brush it off as nothing and wait for it to go away on its own. I very well may have contracted Lyme in my house from a tick that hitched a ride on my cat. But I was lucky. I am lucky.

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