I remember a blanket of confusion....how did all of the items that had just a breath before been in my hands, find their way to the floor...Why did my arm suddenly twist of it's own accord? Standing in the middle of my office surrounded by my friends as I lurched to the right, I was able to utter one word...."stroke". Beloved, trusted voices swirled above me....hands took mine. I could feel that prayers were being said; I could not understand the words but I could sense the power and love behind them.
In that moment, I felt the separating of the wheat from the chaff....the cream from the milk....the ego from the id. I could feel the rending...I could see the separation. Every once in awhile, as the EMT's were working on me, transporting me..I would try to make words. When unsuccessful, I would retreat to that place - where my essence was floating....a spectator - watching the vortex that surrounded me - trapped in my head...all my lost words and thoughts....faces....worries that had seemed so pressing moments ago.
Upon arrival at our local hospital, I was rushed into the CT scan, whereupon I left my cocoon of Id to feverishly fight to find the word that I needed above all others...."Claustrophobic!" The son-of-a- gun word remained elusive, and into the tube I went. Once inside, I was greeted by what others might have previously discovered through various chemicals and herbs in the 60's....I could see the colors and shapes of the various tones emitted by the machine. I became one with the Sound, and as it changed tone, color and shape, so did I. Now THAT was some trip.
I never lost consciousness, so I was aware....through a series of early cinema type flickering moving pictures. So many people....words about a clot busting drug... Baby Girl, John, Babiest Girl, SoonToBePeaceCorps Boy...colleagues, YaYa's...tests to gauge whether the clots were breaking up....the shock that the one phrase that hadn't deserted me was one of my most colorful sets of kitchen words, and the fervent prayer that if those were the last words I uttered before I stood in the presence of my Creator, that He/She and I would share a similar sense of humor and irony.
I was to learn later that I had fallen victim to a spray pattern stroke. 9 strokes, affecting both hemispheres of my brain. At fault - free floating bits of a blood clot hanging out on some calcium on my Mitral Valve. My life and way of life saved by a miracle drug.
Through ten days of hospitalization and multiple MRI's, CT scans and a test that required me to swallow a Buick sized camera, I have discovered that my heart function is good, my Cholesterol is low and I am in good health for a "woman of my age"(Thanks Zumba)....save that pesky little Mitral Valve Problem.
Multiple treatments have been discussed - back and forth, until we are back at the beginning determination that a course of blood thinners and 8 weeks of wait and see (I can already tell that I am NOT a natural at that regimen) is the best first approach...hopefully avoiding heart surgery.
Of the many miracles that I have experienced in these 12 days, one of the most surprising is that I rate a Zero on the stroke scale...meaning my deficits are mild and, with time and therapy should resolve. I lose some words, and can't figure out how to pronounce others. I cry.....a lot - over nothing. I suffer crippling anxiety that comes out of nowhere and goes from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye...both (hopefully) temporary effects of the strokes. I can't retain names of new people and some familiar people. I have to walk with a walker - my balance is not so great, my right leg is heavy and that foot now turns out at a 45 degree angle. My right arm and hand are weak and clumsy. I am exhausted most of the time, and require help to do so many things. I can no longer abide Law and Order SVU (Too intense, I think...and hopefully another temporary thing.) My vision has changed, permanently I think...
I am alive. I am home. I have felt the prayers and good wishes from all across the globe. I am humbled by the friends and acquaintances that have offered help in a myriad of ways. I have been buoyed by the visits...and I especially cherish the visits from "My" kids....their hugs and cheerful chatter have been the best medicine of all.
Some friends sat on my sofa last night - Christmas Night - their sons, a couple of my favorite little fellas, in the kitchen, helping Baby Girl frost some treats. As we chatted, the Husband of the pair said "So....what have you learned from all of this?" I had a few obvious answers, but I was left with a feeling that his question will haunt me, as I "unpack" this whole experience, and journey on towards health. As I remember each of the Doctors, Nurses, Aids,and Lab Techs that treated me with such expertise, skill, humor and tender care. As I remember - when I thought perhaps that I might be dying, my only thoughts were of my awareness of the presence and love of the being I call God, and my concern for John, Jake, Katie, and Maggie....my love and thankfulness for them. As I remember how superfluous all those words and worries swirling in the vortex around my essence seemed, as I was in the throes of the strokes....
My colleague....the person I consider my Minister, read a Blessing over me in one of the first days. It resonated so with me, I asked her to make me a copy. I had Babiest read and reread it to me until I could remember the words, and these were the words that I chanted to myself in the hour long specialized MRI in a totally enclosed capsule, during my anxiety attacks while I was waiting for the meds to kick in, during the crying times.....I leave you with these words to ponder, as I will continue to do. I sadly can not give credit to the author - because I have no idea what book it came from (Update: I have found that these words were written by Jan Richardson - look her up - you will be blessed!) - I only know that it gave me the greatest comfort imaginable....."Now the world falls from beneath your feet, all over again, as if the wound were opening for the first time, only now with an ache you recognize as ancient. Here is the time for kindness - your own, to yourself - as you fall, and fall, as you land hard in this layer that lies deeper than you ever imagined you could go. Think of it as a secret room - this space that has opened before you, that has opened inside you, though it may look sharp in every corner and sinister no matter where you turn. Think of it as a hidden chamber in your heart where you can stay as long as you need...where you will find provision you never wanted, but on which your life will now depend. I want to tell you there is treasure even here - that the sharp lines that so match your scars will lead to solace, that this space that feels so foreign will become for you a shelter. So let yourself fall. It will not be the last time, but do not let this be cause for fear. These are the rooms around which your new home will grow - the home of your heart, the home of your life that welcomes you with such completeness, opening and opening and opening itself to you, no part of you turned away."
Monday, December 26, 2016
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
10 days beyond the Silence.
But the wind was cool and brisk, and it played around my neck, ruffling my newly shorn hair. The feeling was one of pure pleasure, so I closed my eyes, tilted my head back and gave myself permission to feel the feels, to delight in the wind - to lean in to the freedom.
So here I am 10 days beyond the Silence. I still feel free. I still feel like I am on the Ferry....looking behind....looking ahead. I am still in that place of Giving Over. I have rediscovered something that I used to know - that there is Music between the notes...the Silence itself is beautiful music.
I have read and re-read my journal. My word art for happiness. My flow chart of Joy, and Joy Drains. I laugh at the musically notated Mantras that I wrote...I will keep these - they have power.
There are entries that are deeply personal, entries that are heartbreaking to and for me. There are words of hope. Words of anger and words of exhaustion. My words...words and feelings that have bought me my freedom.
Dusk is my favorite time at the beach....but only at the beach - anywhere else, I find it full of Melancholy. At the beach, it is golden....you can feel a shimmering aura, and the air has a particular taste. Tonight, as I was sitting there watching John fish in the surf, I realized the tide was coming in at an alarming rate. Our chairs were on a raised portion of the beach, and the tide was coming up and circling around - effectively cutting us off - making us an island - rimmed in by the sea on an increasingly diminishing patch of sand. I grabbed the chairs and towels and beach bag, and slogged through the new channel of ocean to even higher ground, where I had a great view of the spot I had vacated. It was there that I learned my last lesson from my Silent Retreat....the words that my journal have been trying to tell me.
When the Children were little, John and I had a series of unbelievable catastrophes...one right after the other, each worse than the one before. Our friends, in solidarity, and at an attempt at humor started a little phrase. If their car broke down..."Oh no, I am starting to feel like the Kennedys!" If their basement flooded..."Oh no, I am starting to feel like the Kennedys". Somehow, in the intervening years - we have bought into that phrase...Oh no...WE are the Kennedys - shutting ourselves off - becoming an island. When our friends moved away, either in distance or in spirit, we did not search out others. My good, smart, funny Husband and I became removed and wasted our emotional currency bracing ourselves for the onslaught of the tide. Well NO MORE.We are the Kennedys.....free and seeking. Giving over to the experience of the Ferry. Looking behind AND ahead.
AlmostPeaceCorps Boy has a Childhood friend....she is wise. She had a Facebook post on the night before I left for the retreat. It so resonated with me, that it was the first entry in my Journal. "Respond out of clarity, rather than reacting to Chaos".
The gift of Silence - breaking free of the Chaos on my way to clarity. Thanks be to God.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Psalm 55:5
It was a little strange, knowing that the Check-In Lady would be the last person I spoke with for 5 days. She was lovely and sympathetic as she pulled my information and uttered..."Oh - a SILENT retreat." Quick as a wink, I had my map, my meal schedule and my key...."Good Luck", she said by way of farewell.
Room "H"....that was my destination. Beach Side - not Sound Side. I had been told that I would be able to hear the waves from the porch of my building. Little did I know, that the only time I would spend on that porch would be dashing in or out, as quickly and bravely as possible.
You see - Room "H" was housed in a cinder block building of 4 units that hold Instructors during the School Year, but they rent them out in Summer to those wanting more of a "no frills" experience. On the phone, making my arrangements, this sounded right up my alley. (This would be the time to recall that I am NO GOOD at being alone overnight....NO GOOD at all - and that is in my own HOME! I have never tried it somewhere else)
As I drove from Sound to Beach side, I had the passing thought "Room H - for Heaven, Health, for Happiness!".......Room H......Horrifying, Hideous, Heinous, Horrendous.....Haunted?! Built on top of an Indian Burial Mound?! OK, Fine - that doesn't start with H.
Isolated doesn't even begin to describe this place.....deep in the scrub oak Hammock, you walked through a tunnel carved out of the tree branches to get there. Sounds Romantic? Ummmmm......no. There was no one....anywhere. None of the other rooms were occupied. I had no cell service once I entered the covering of trees. I could hear the surf from the porch alright, but it was muffled by the knocking of my knees and the chattering of my teeth.
A quick inspection of my room turned up two beds,a straight chair, a closet, a bathroom with two doors - one of which led to the empty room next door....and the A.C. unit, which was more than likely my senior and sounded like the very gates of Hell (Oh - there's another "H" word) creaking open.
In true Scarlett fashion, I determined I would think about it later, put on my bathing suit and made the hike to the beach. I returned to "H" after supper. I read for awhile. Paced for awhile. Sat on the bed and listened to the night noises for awhile. After availing myself of a little liquid courage, I shoved the empty bed in front of the door leading outside....and thanks to my Mothers' early training of me, I knew enough to jam the straight chair under the doorknob of the bathroom door. More reading, more pacing. Around 2 AM, I fell into a fitful sleep which lasted until first light around 6.
I threw on clothes, went up to the beach, sat in the open air pavilion (Which truly WAS Heaven), and read until Breakfast. Beach until 11, more Pavilion, Lunch, Pool, Pavilion, Dinner. You see, I had everything I needed in my Beach Bag - no need to go into That. Room. I returned to the Pavilion after Dinner. It was then it came. The Storm. Violent and loud. Ominous and evil. I was covered by a roof, but exposed by the open sides. I have never felt so alone.....so bereft. For some reason, the Scripture about Paul and Silas came to my mind, and I focused on that....on the Selah song that starts "In prisoners chains, with bleeding stripes, Paul and Silas prayed that night...." I sang that song over and over in my mind........."Some midnight hour, if you should find You're in a prison in your mind, reach out and praise, defy those chains, and they will fall, In Jesus Name."
"A prison in my mind". That is what that night became. After an hour of huddling against the storm in that exposed place, rocking, praying, singing in silence, I took advantage of a slight break in the weather to run all the way down the hill....back to Room H. Breathless from the run, the weight of my beach bag and fear, I slammed the door behind me, just as the thunder and lightening resumed. The pounding rain sounded like an assault on the walls, the roof, my soul.....and there, in Room H I knew the true meaning of Psalm 55:4-5 - "My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death have fallen upon me. Fear and Trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me". I was trapped - in that room, in my head...in every fear that I have ever had. Other than 2 hours of repeated dozing off and jerking awake, I sat in that bed, back up against the cinder block, knees tucked in, praying, reading....tormented by an unrelenting sense of something dark. The storm raged all night, both in and out. My senses were razor sharp - I could taste the lightening....I could feel the thunder.
Just before dawn, I got out my journal, turned to the back and put pen to paper. On it, I outlined my difficult two nights, and asked for help - I saw that, in and of itself, as a sure sign of my distress. I asked to be moved to a room on the sound side, where I would be less isolated. If no rooms were available, I would pack up my car and head home.
At sunrise, I stood and opened the blinds and stared into the deep foliage that hemmed me in on all sides....the leaves covered with drops of leftover rain - turned to diamonds in the new light. I breathed a prayer of thanks for the daylight. As I packed my clothes and books, preparing to leave that room for good and ever, a sense of peace came upon me....a sense of a battle fought and won....a sense of being tested and proven.
After breakfast, I went to the office, passed my note to the lovely lady, and allowed myself to be comforted by her and others. A key for room 24 was pressed into my hand - a room as light as the first one was dark. The air as fresh as the other had been fetid. As peaceful as the other had been tormenting. I lay down on top of the bedspread, and fell into the sweetest sleep I have ever known. After an hour, I sat up - completely refreshed, renewed - in a sense, reborn.
" Fear and Trembling come upon me....horror overwhelms me."
"Some midnight hour, if you should find, You're in a prison in your mind, reach out and praise, defy those chains, and they will fall. In Jesus Name."
Room "H"....that was my destination. Beach Side - not Sound Side. I had been told that I would be able to hear the waves from the porch of my building. Little did I know, that the only time I would spend on that porch would be dashing in or out, as quickly and bravely as possible.
You see - Room "H" was housed in a cinder block building of 4 units that hold Instructors during the School Year, but they rent them out in Summer to those wanting more of a "no frills" experience. On the phone, making my arrangements, this sounded right up my alley. (This would be the time to recall that I am NO GOOD at being alone overnight....NO GOOD at all - and that is in my own HOME! I have never tried it somewhere else)
As I drove from Sound to Beach side, I had the passing thought "Room H - for Heaven, Health, for Happiness!".......Room H......Horrifying, Hideous, Heinous, Horrendous.....Haunted?! Built on top of an Indian Burial Mound?! OK, Fine - that doesn't start with H.
Isolated doesn't even begin to describe this place.....deep in the scrub oak Hammock, you walked through a tunnel carved out of the tree branches to get there. Sounds Romantic? Ummmmm......no. There was no one....anywhere. None of the other rooms were occupied. I had no cell service once I entered the covering of trees. I could hear the surf from the porch alright, but it was muffled by the knocking of my knees and the chattering of my teeth.
A quick inspection of my room turned up two beds,a straight chair, a closet, a bathroom with two doors - one of which led to the empty room next door....and the A.C. unit, which was more than likely my senior and sounded like the very gates of Hell (Oh - there's another "H" word) creaking open.
In true Scarlett fashion, I determined I would think about it later, put on my bathing suit and made the hike to the beach. I returned to "H" after supper. I read for awhile. Paced for awhile. Sat on the bed and listened to the night noises for awhile. After availing myself of a little liquid courage, I shoved the empty bed in front of the door leading outside....and thanks to my Mothers' early training of me, I knew enough to jam the straight chair under the doorknob of the bathroom door. More reading, more pacing. Around 2 AM, I fell into a fitful sleep which lasted until first light around 6.
I threw on clothes, went up to the beach, sat in the open air pavilion (Which truly WAS Heaven), and read until Breakfast. Beach until 11, more Pavilion, Lunch, Pool, Pavilion, Dinner. You see, I had everything I needed in my Beach Bag - no need to go into That. Room. I returned to the Pavilion after Dinner. It was then it came. The Storm. Violent and loud. Ominous and evil. I was covered by a roof, but exposed by the open sides. I have never felt so alone.....so bereft. For some reason, the Scripture about Paul and Silas came to my mind, and I focused on that....on the Selah song that starts "In prisoners chains, with bleeding stripes, Paul and Silas prayed that night...." I sang that song over and over in my mind........."Some midnight hour, if you should find You're in a prison in your mind, reach out and praise, defy those chains, and they will fall, In Jesus Name."
"A prison in my mind". That is what that night became. After an hour of huddling against the storm in that exposed place, rocking, praying, singing in silence, I took advantage of a slight break in the weather to run all the way down the hill....back to Room H. Breathless from the run, the weight of my beach bag and fear, I slammed the door behind me, just as the thunder and lightening resumed. The pounding rain sounded like an assault on the walls, the roof, my soul.....and there, in Room H I knew the true meaning of Psalm 55:4-5 - "My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death have fallen upon me. Fear and Trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me". I was trapped - in that room, in my head...in every fear that I have ever had. Other than 2 hours of repeated dozing off and jerking awake, I sat in that bed, back up against the cinder block, knees tucked in, praying, reading....tormented by an unrelenting sense of something dark. The storm raged all night, both in and out. My senses were razor sharp - I could taste the lightening....I could feel the thunder.
Just before dawn, I got out my journal, turned to the back and put pen to paper. On it, I outlined my difficult two nights, and asked for help - I saw that, in and of itself, as a sure sign of my distress. I asked to be moved to a room on the sound side, where I would be less isolated. If no rooms were available, I would pack up my car and head home.
At sunrise, I stood and opened the blinds and stared into the deep foliage that hemmed me in on all sides....the leaves covered with drops of leftover rain - turned to diamonds in the new light. I breathed a prayer of thanks for the daylight. As I packed my clothes and books, preparing to leave that room for good and ever, a sense of peace came upon me....a sense of a battle fought and won....a sense of being tested and proven.
After breakfast, I went to the office, passed my note to the lovely lady, and allowed myself to be comforted by her and others. A key for room 24 was pressed into my hand - a room as light as the first one was dark. The air as fresh as the other had been fetid. As peaceful as the other had been tormenting. I lay down on top of the bedspread, and fell into the sweetest sleep I have ever known. After an hour, I sat up - completely refreshed, renewed - in a sense, reborn.
" Fear and Trembling come upon me....horror overwhelms me."
"Some midnight hour, if you should find, You're in a prison in your mind, reach out and praise, defy those chains, and they will fall. In Jesus Name."
Monday, July 25, 2016
"You can't always get what you want...."
I will never forget the first time I saw it.....tall, sturdy, shiny. A chair unlike any I had seen before. It was Babiest Girls first sporting event at the Fancy Pants school. I schlepped my ancient, raggedy foldy chair (Truly, I was just carrying the chair, because the case had disintegrated the year before) over to the spot where the other Mothers were sitting. And there it was.....taller than your average foldy chair - it looked like a super sturdy directors chair, with side tables that folded up, to hold your drink, your phone, your book, your keys...AND it came equipped with a super cool strap, so once you folded it up, you didn't have to fight with it to get it in the damned carrying bag, you just put it over your shoulder and sauntered away to the car. "WHERE did you get that?!", I said to my new friend....I determined then and there, that by the next sporting season, I would have one too. That was Babiest Girls Freshman year. I have schlepped the shabby rusty blue chair to every game since....she is a rising Senior.
Don't get me wrong....I have shopped for one for YEARS! Every time I see one, I get that itchy, twitchy feeling in my fingers....that covetous desire to have one for my own. Yet when it comes down to it, each time, I can not justify spending that kind of money on a foldy chair.
A few weeks ago, I spotted one at the TJMaxx. RED!! With the cutest little pop up side tables and fancy attached carrying strap that you have ever seen. I slipped one on to give it a test go. Oh....it felt good. Layed in just the right spot on my shoulder....nice and light. THAT'S IT!! I would splurge big and purchase one for my Silent Retreat....Oh, I could already see myself sitting on the beach with this beauty.....regal in my solitude, on my foldy Red Throne with the pop up side tables.
As soon as I get paid, I told myself - that chair is MINE. Payday rolled around, and I was the first customer in the store when it opened. The heavenly light came down....the angels sang...there was one Red chair left. It was folded up, leaning against a large summer porch cooler. "Maybe I better unfold it, just to make sure I can get it open and closed", I thought to myself. (I am smart that way). It opened like a dream, and as I stood there admiring it's Redness, I decided to sneak a sit down. It would be my first time sitting in the glorious chair. I set my purse on the floor, and eased myself down into Nirvana......It took me a moment for the ugly, unthinkable truth to sink in....."Wait a minute", my brain said to my covetous dark heart...."This......this is not right. What is that bar pressing into my hip? Why is there no back support? WHY is this the most uncomfortable chair EVER?"
And just like that....my dream of the fancy shiny chair faded and turned to black. After all of these years.....WHY?! HOW could this be?
My first day on the beach, I schlepped my ancient blue chair (Resting in a case stolen from Johns old blue chair) down the steps and onto the sand....I struggled with the damned carrying bag....finally got Methuselah out and unfolded. I put my seltzer water in the floppy, worn little cup holder in the arm rest, and sunk down .....into perfection - The chair back resting at just the right spot at the top of my head, shielding me from the sun and cradling my neck - My arms in perfect resting alignment - My hiney wonderfully comfy in the permanent dip of the seat.
My perch was not the Regal Red throne of my dreams, but it was exactly what was required. Deep Breath in......and exhale. As I started the first of my meditations, a variation of a song danced in my brain...."You can't always get what you want.....but if you try some times....you find you have what you need."
The Parable of the Coffee Shops
In this last year, I have developed an obsession with light. Natural light. I think it started the afternoon I was in a colleagues home. This young woman bought her first house, and has done such a beautiful job in making it an oasis...of light....of comfort...of peace. I was loathe to leave when our meeting was over. That afternoon, I became fully aware of how dark and without any natural light Chez Kennedy is. I now lay awake at night envisioning skylights and transom windows....in the den, the kitchen, upstairs....
So, the overbooking snafu at the Retreat Center (My room for Sunday night was given to a group that had been there for several days and extended their stay) turned out to be a blessing, because that is how I wound up in Oriental NC, in a perfect AirBnB for the first night of my adventure. Oriental is the Mother Lode of Natural Light. From my tiny garret bedroom to the Riverside Establishment where I had dinner to the Coffee Shop......ahhhh.....the Coffee Shop.
As my hostess was acquainting me with my options for food, (She had a terrific information sheet), my eyes lit on the "COFFEE and BREAKFAST" section. I started to laugh, because the first entry was "The Bean". Sylvia gave me a quizzical look, and I explained that my Coffee Shop at home had the exact name, give or take a couple of letters.
Everything in town was within walking distance, so Monday morning, (Before the fateful trip on the Ferry) I took myself on a long walk along the River, culminating in a visit to "The Bean".
Located directly across from the harbor/marina, the Coffee Shop building is in what looks to be an old house, built up to withstand flooding. (It might be a newer build, but it was hard to tell). As I climbed the steps, I was greeted by a gaggle of retired folk, crowded around a table on the deck portion of the wrap around porch (You KNOW how much I love a good porch). There were a few open seats, and I hoped that one would still be open after I got my coffee and bagel. Inside...there was that magical light - It danced on the shimmering floor, bounced off of the high ceiling, and played about the counter. It was roomy inside, with lots of tables and chairs, dotted with early risers reading the paper...enjoying their morning brew.
Once served, I returned to the porch, where there was one chair left. Yay me! I settled down to drink and eat, ignoring my book in favor of the view. The large group to my right was catching up after the weekend, one older Gentleman sharing his excitement over the successful introduction of his boyfriend to his Children....to my left several strangers had struck up a conversation - and I learned that one of the ladies had grown up in the house just opposite - a beauty of a Victorian, right on the Waterfront. She was home, visiting her Mother. As I ate and drank, a steady stream of people entered the shop. Very few exited.
My coffee shop (Which I ABSOLUTELY LOVE) is just the antithesis of it's Riverside Almost Namesake....it is dark and moody....artsy and boho....all things that resonate deeply with me. The tables are spread out, so that each becomes it's own oasis of humanity....separate and somehow unapproachable. Great for private conversations or solitude.
Looking at my watch, I saw that my departure time was at hand. I drank the last of my coffee, picked up my bagel plate, and made for the shop to deposit my china in the bus tray...As I opened the door, tears welled up in my eyes, because I was confronted by what had happened to all of the customers, that had entered but not exited. There....20 or more folks - young, old, affluent, blue collar - had pushed table after table together until they were lined up as one long table - neighbors and strangers communing in laughter, caffeine and light.....oh....the light. A community of inclusion. Welcoming. Warm. Inviting....thrumming with vitality.
I stood on the porch before I left - torn between leaving and staying. I watched the woman who had grown up across the street walk down the steep steps and mount an old bicycle. As she passed her childhood home, she let loose of the handle bars. This woman in her 60's threw her head back, and made airplane wings out of her arms...riding out of sight with a smile on her lips, the sun on her face - memories of another time dancing in her heart.
Two coffee shops. One dark and moody....tables that are fortified islands in an oasis of humanity. One full of light and inclusion and ......community.
I am a native in this little town of mine, but I feel no community in this ofttimes rigid, aloof, good old boy, class preoccupied berg. I feel no life....I feel no light.
I find myself in this crossroads where I have a seat at the dark, isolated, solitary table when I want a seat at the table of light...a table that expands to include and embrace each person as they enter. I want a full table that pulses with life and openness and energizing creativity.
I spent a fair amount of time during my week of silence thinking about the two tables - the two coffee shops...the gulf between what is and what could be....the difference between making peace with my surroundings and giving in to them....wondering if I am up to the task of one more DIY project...that of creating the table of my longing with scant raw materials and resources...adding skylights and transom windows to the small solitary life that I find myself living...The Parable of the Coffee Shops. ...worthy of contemplation.
So, the overbooking snafu at the Retreat Center (My room for Sunday night was given to a group that had been there for several days and extended their stay) turned out to be a blessing, because that is how I wound up in Oriental NC, in a perfect AirBnB for the first night of my adventure. Oriental is the Mother Lode of Natural Light. From my tiny garret bedroom to the Riverside Establishment where I had dinner to the Coffee Shop......ahhhh.....the Coffee Shop.
As my hostess was acquainting me with my options for food, (She had a terrific information sheet), my eyes lit on the "COFFEE and BREAKFAST" section. I started to laugh, because the first entry was "The Bean". Sylvia gave me a quizzical look, and I explained that my Coffee Shop at home had the exact name, give or take a couple of letters.
Everything in town was within walking distance, so Monday morning, (Before the fateful trip on the Ferry) I took myself on a long walk along the River, culminating in a visit to "The Bean".
Located directly across from the harbor/marina, the Coffee Shop building is in what looks to be an old house, built up to withstand flooding. (It might be a newer build, but it was hard to tell). As I climbed the steps, I was greeted by a gaggle of retired folk, crowded around a table on the deck portion of the wrap around porch (You KNOW how much I love a good porch). There were a few open seats, and I hoped that one would still be open after I got my coffee and bagel. Inside...there was that magical light - It danced on the shimmering floor, bounced off of the high ceiling, and played about the counter. It was roomy inside, with lots of tables and chairs, dotted with early risers reading the paper...enjoying their morning brew.
Once served, I returned to the porch, where there was one chair left. Yay me! I settled down to drink and eat, ignoring my book in favor of the view. The large group to my right was catching up after the weekend, one older Gentleman sharing his excitement over the successful introduction of his boyfriend to his Children....to my left several strangers had struck up a conversation - and I learned that one of the ladies had grown up in the house just opposite - a beauty of a Victorian, right on the Waterfront. She was home, visiting her Mother. As I ate and drank, a steady stream of people entered the shop. Very few exited.
My coffee shop (Which I ABSOLUTELY LOVE) is just the antithesis of it's Riverside Almost Namesake....it is dark and moody....artsy and boho....all things that resonate deeply with me. The tables are spread out, so that each becomes it's own oasis of humanity....separate and somehow unapproachable. Great for private conversations or solitude.
Looking at my watch, I saw that my departure time was at hand. I drank the last of my coffee, picked up my bagel plate, and made for the shop to deposit my china in the bus tray...As I opened the door, tears welled up in my eyes, because I was confronted by what had happened to all of the customers, that had entered but not exited. There....20 or more folks - young, old, affluent, blue collar - had pushed table after table together until they were lined up as one long table - neighbors and strangers communing in laughter, caffeine and light.....oh....the light. A community of inclusion. Welcoming. Warm. Inviting....thrumming with vitality.
I stood on the porch before I left - torn between leaving and staying. I watched the woman who had grown up across the street walk down the steep steps and mount an old bicycle. As she passed her childhood home, she let loose of the handle bars. This woman in her 60's threw her head back, and made airplane wings out of her arms...riding out of sight with a smile on her lips, the sun on her face - memories of another time dancing in her heart.
Two coffee shops. One dark and moody....tables that are fortified islands in an oasis of humanity. One full of light and inclusion and ......community.
I am a native in this little town of mine, but I feel no community in this ofttimes rigid, aloof, good old boy, class preoccupied berg. I feel no life....I feel no light.
I find myself in this crossroads where I have a seat at the dark, isolated, solitary table when I want a seat at the table of light...a table that expands to include and embrace each person as they enter. I want a full table that pulses with life and openness and energizing creativity.
I spent a fair amount of time during my week of silence thinking about the two tables - the two coffee shops...the gulf between what is and what could be....the difference between making peace with my surroundings and giving in to them....wondering if I am up to the task of one more DIY project...that of creating the table of my longing with scant raw materials and resources...adding skylights and transom windows to the small solitary life that I find myself living...The Parable of the Coffee Shops. ...worthy of contemplation.
A Season of Ferry
So, I am home. My week alone in silence is behind me, and I am left to re-read my journals and make sense of all that I experienced. First, let me say that the week exceeded my expectations in every way.
I came up with a couple of new mantras to get me through the tough spots...all done in a slow 8 count with each word having a quarter note value. My first was "Baby rides the train to London" (Actually, I inserted Baby Girls name when I chanted, but here it reverts to Baby, to protect the innocent.) It was a tremendous comfort to remind myself that my Baby Girl is successfully embracing adventure every day in a land that is far, far away. My next, more emphatic mantra...well, I will spare you that one, as it is full of empowering kitchen words, and eventually took on the meter of a Nicki Minaj song - I even had a little dance move to go with it! The point is, even when spoken only in my head, they helped to remind me that I was bigger than my fears - and capable and worthy of far more than I allow myself on a daily basis.
At no time did I make more frequent use of my mantras than while waiting in the lane to drive aboard The. Ferry. When I first discovered that one of my routes to the retreat involved a Ferry, my immediate thought was "oooooh - I LOVE Ferry's!". That thought was eclipsed by a quick second..."Oh, I could NEVER drive onto the Ferry alone". While sitting in the kitchen the day before my departure, fretting about what to do, I was schooled by Babiest Girl, her feet firmly planted, her arms akimbo, her voice slightly raised...."MAMA! Just TAKE THE FERRY. You can do it." Alrighty then. I would take the Ferry.
Back to the queue. I experienced a moment of panic when I realized that I was hemmed in on every side. I no longer had the option of backing out of the Ferry route....my only way was forward. Mantras on my lips, a not so faint sheen of fear on my brow, I put the car in Drive and as the Attendant waved me on, slowly and perfectly drove onto the Ferry and parked. With a mix of astonishment and sense of accomplishment, I exited the car and took my place on the rail - ready to feel that beautiful breeze that comes with a trip on the Ferry....it did not disappoint.
We were about 10 minutes into the 20 minute trip when I was struck by an epiphany....this retreat....this time in my life - I need it to be like a trip on a Ferry. While on a Ferry, you have given over - you are letting someone else do the driving, and are in the unique position of being able to clearly see where you have been AND where you are going, in a way you would not be afforded, if you were in the drivers seat. And that one realization....that desire for Ferry, shaped the entirety of my Silent Retreat. I gave over. I let God, and the kitchen staff of Trinity Center take control. I did not have one single obligation for possibly the first time since I was 15 years old - no cooking, no caretaking, no driving, no cleaning or work of any kind. I looked behind. I looked ahead. I felt the sun on my face , the sand on my feet, and the wind....the blessed wind, blowing through all of my leaning places. I was sad. I was jubilant. I was angry.....so angry - at the situations in my life that had blindsided and overtaken me. At shoddy treatment and slights, real and imagined. I thought of the particular set of circumstances that allowed me to finally agree to let Baby Girl go thousands of miles away to find her path, reclaim the truth and joy that is her birthright. I wondered if my intransigence, my fears had been blocking years of blessings for me....for my family.
I luxuriated in the Giving Over.
I ended each day with a meditation particular to my surroundings. I stood on the shore- in that spot where the water, exhausted by the fury of the breaking wave, inches forward, then ebbs away. I would inhale as slowly and fully as possible, visualizing a worry, a sorrow, an anger. On the long slow exhale, I bent and blew that thought into the water....watching the undertow carry it out to the sea. When my mind was clear and peaceful, I knew the meditation was over....One night, I know I stood there for 30 minutes....
Through the course of my beachside reading, I discovered a new word. "Complementarity" - the theory that every great and deep difficulty bears in itself it's own solution. I love this word, this concept....finding the key to the solution....that, I think is the tricky part. But in my silence, my Giving Over, I started the search.
A time of Giving Over..... A Season of Ferry. This is what I claim for my life. This is what I wish for you.....
I came up with a couple of new mantras to get me through the tough spots...all done in a slow 8 count with each word having a quarter note value. My first was "Baby rides the train to London" (Actually, I inserted Baby Girls name when I chanted, but here it reverts to Baby, to protect the innocent.) It was a tremendous comfort to remind myself that my Baby Girl is successfully embracing adventure every day in a land that is far, far away. My next, more emphatic mantra...well, I will spare you that one, as it is full of empowering kitchen words, and eventually took on the meter of a Nicki Minaj song - I even had a little dance move to go with it! The point is, even when spoken only in my head, they helped to remind me that I was bigger than my fears - and capable and worthy of far more than I allow myself on a daily basis.
At no time did I make more frequent use of my mantras than while waiting in the lane to drive aboard The. Ferry. When I first discovered that one of my routes to the retreat involved a Ferry, my immediate thought was "oooooh - I LOVE Ferry's!". That thought was eclipsed by a quick second..."Oh, I could NEVER drive onto the Ferry alone". While sitting in the kitchen the day before my departure, fretting about what to do, I was schooled by Babiest Girl, her feet firmly planted, her arms akimbo, her voice slightly raised...."MAMA! Just TAKE THE FERRY. You can do it." Alrighty then. I would take the Ferry.
Back to the queue. I experienced a moment of panic when I realized that I was hemmed in on every side. I no longer had the option of backing out of the Ferry route....my only way was forward. Mantras on my lips, a not so faint sheen of fear on my brow, I put the car in Drive and as the Attendant waved me on, slowly and perfectly drove onto the Ferry and parked. With a mix of astonishment and sense of accomplishment, I exited the car and took my place on the rail - ready to feel that beautiful breeze that comes with a trip on the Ferry....it did not disappoint.
We were about 10 minutes into the 20 minute trip when I was struck by an epiphany....this retreat....this time in my life - I need it to be like a trip on a Ferry. While on a Ferry, you have given over - you are letting someone else do the driving, and are in the unique position of being able to clearly see where you have been AND where you are going, in a way you would not be afforded, if you were in the drivers seat. And that one realization....that desire for Ferry, shaped the entirety of my Silent Retreat. I gave over. I let God, and the kitchen staff of Trinity Center take control. I did not have one single obligation for possibly the first time since I was 15 years old - no cooking, no caretaking, no driving, no cleaning or work of any kind. I looked behind. I looked ahead. I felt the sun on my face , the sand on my feet, and the wind....the blessed wind, blowing through all of my leaning places. I was sad. I was jubilant. I was angry.....so angry - at the situations in my life that had blindsided and overtaken me. At shoddy treatment and slights, real and imagined. I thought of the particular set of circumstances that allowed me to finally agree to let Baby Girl go thousands of miles away to find her path, reclaim the truth and joy that is her birthright. I wondered if my intransigence, my fears had been blocking years of blessings for me....for my family.
I luxuriated in the Giving Over.
I ended each day with a meditation particular to my surroundings. I stood on the shore- in that spot where the water, exhausted by the fury of the breaking wave, inches forward, then ebbs away. I would inhale as slowly and fully as possible, visualizing a worry, a sorrow, an anger. On the long slow exhale, I bent and blew that thought into the water....watching the undertow carry it out to the sea. When my mind was clear and peaceful, I knew the meditation was over....One night, I know I stood there for 30 minutes....
Through the course of my beachside reading, I discovered a new word. "Complementarity" - the theory that every great and deep difficulty bears in itself it's own solution. I love this word, this concept....finding the key to the solution....that, I think is the tricky part. But in my silence, my Giving Over, I started the search.
A time of Giving Over..... A Season of Ferry. This is what I claim for my life. This is what I wish for you.....
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Now I lay me down to sleep....
I knew it was too good to last. I have been super chill for the last week. Gathering books and supplies. Washing my clothes. Packing my beach towel, hat and sunscreen.
It hit me about an hour ago....nerves gone wild.
At sunup tomorrow (Sunday), I leave for a week of Silence. Alone. In Silence.
Yes, I will be at the beach. Yes, it will be lovely. Yes, there will be a couple of good Fried Seafood Meals, Yes there will be other people around me, but did I mention the Silently Alone part?!? (I even have a sign that says "SILENT". One for my eating table, and one to wear around my neck in case I walk into a speaking area )?!?
After my Mother died, I started having frequent, vicious panic attacks. The two worst triggers? Malls and driving on the Highway. Go figure. This continued well into my 20's. I have since overcome the Mall part, and I do fairly well on short stretches of Highway with which I am familiar, but the last time I drove as far as I will tomorrow....well - let's just say it wasn't pretty....I was 22.
At 55 years of age, I have to confess that I have NEVER been anywhere alone. My Mom was the strongest woman I have ever known. (My baby girl comes in a pretty close second....just sayin) But for all of that strength, she was terrified of being alone. When my Dad was out of town, she would bring me into her bedroom, lock the door, turn the key sideways so a burgler couldn't push the key out, AND prop a chair under the door knob.....her fear imprinted on me, and, well.....I am 55 years of age, and have never been anywhere alone.
The Silent Part....that I am not too worried about. The unplugged part......YIKES! I mean, I have Graduated Boy soontobe PeaceCorpsBoy working at a camp in the Mountains, Baby Girl off in far flung England, Babiest Girl working and getting ready for Senior Year, and then John to keep in line.....I manage them ALL with the unseen interwebs and WiFi's......What if they can all survive and thrive just fine without me watching, listening and typing?
Bags are packed. A week's worth of Seltzer sits in the back seat of the car. I have taken my "Natural Calm"...a magnesium citrate fizzy powder that aides in relaxation before bedtime. (John got it off of the Interwebs). I guess the only thing left is to go upstairs and put my head on the pillow.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I must be silent for a week.
Alone and nervous I will be - I'm asking you to pray for me......
It hit me about an hour ago....nerves gone wild.
At sunup tomorrow (Sunday), I leave for a week of Silence. Alone. In Silence.
Yes, I will be at the beach. Yes, it will be lovely. Yes, there will be a couple of good Fried Seafood Meals, Yes there will be other people around me, but did I mention the Silently Alone part?!? (I even have a sign that says "SILENT". One for my eating table, and one to wear around my neck in case I walk into a speaking area )?!?
After my Mother died, I started having frequent, vicious panic attacks. The two worst triggers? Malls and driving on the Highway. Go figure. This continued well into my 20's. I have since overcome the Mall part, and I do fairly well on short stretches of Highway with which I am familiar, but the last time I drove as far as I will tomorrow....well - let's just say it wasn't pretty....I was 22.
At 55 years of age, I have to confess that I have NEVER been anywhere alone. My Mom was the strongest woman I have ever known. (My baby girl comes in a pretty close second....just sayin) But for all of that strength, she was terrified of being alone. When my Dad was out of town, she would bring me into her bedroom, lock the door, turn the key sideways so a burgler couldn't push the key out, AND prop a chair under the door knob.....her fear imprinted on me, and, well.....I am 55 years of age, and have never been anywhere alone.
The Silent Part....that I am not too worried about. The unplugged part......YIKES! I mean, I have Graduated Boy soontobe PeaceCorpsBoy working at a camp in the Mountains, Baby Girl off in far flung England, Babiest Girl working and getting ready for Senior Year, and then John to keep in line.....I manage them ALL with the unseen interwebs and WiFi's......What if they can all survive and thrive just fine without me watching, listening and typing?
Bags are packed. A week's worth of Seltzer sits in the back seat of the car. I have taken my "Natural Calm"...a magnesium citrate fizzy powder that aides in relaxation before bedtime. (John got it off of the Interwebs). I guess the only thing left is to go upstairs and put my head on the pillow.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I must be silent for a week.
Alone and nervous I will be - I'm asking you to pray for me......
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
You may call me Jasper.
We have this cat - Jasper. He is HUGE. Part Maine Coon, Part everything else. A gorgeous Gun Metal Grey/Silver - regal and sometimes aloof, he is a much loved member of our family. Crack House Puppy is his best friend. They sleep together, eat together, go outside together and play together. Sometimes, as you might imagine with a cinderblock of a dog and a behemoth of a feline, the play gets rather physical.....house shaking......fur flying physical. When Jasper has had enough, he will run into the den, and with one graceful leap, he will scale the antique china cabinet and land smoothly on top. He will then shake himself out, stretch and ever so gracefully recline - paws and head hanging just slightly over the edge, as to allow a better view of his kingdom. He removes himself from the chaos and seeks out a perch where, in solitude, he might view the situation with a different, higher perspective. That is one smart cat. I have often wondered what thoughts he thinks, while taking his break - gazing down at where he has been...is he formulating strategy for the next game of chase? Pondering new and adventurous hiding places from where he might pounce on the unsuspecting bestie? Plotting innovative moves that will allow him to swipe even more food than usual from the counter when my head is turned?
After more than 11 years in Children's Ministry, this summer I have been gifted with 6 weeks to "pull a Jasper". A time to find a perch, and a new perspective. A time of rest, study and renewal. A Sabbatical.
I am on day 11. For the first 7 days, I was virtually catatonic. I truly had no inkling of the toll the last year had taken on me. I was exhausted, anxious, and stressed beyond what could possibly be healthy. I slept, cooked, ate, and then dragged myself back to bed......that would be about it. Then, on day 8 as I poured my first cup of coffee I realized I felt like myself for the first time in a very long time. Day 9 saw the return of my creative zest, and I have been making art and jewelry nonstop. I have also been reading in the last several days - something I have been unable to make myself do in the last year or so, but something I dearly love. I have been reading a book on Celtic Sprituality, I have been reading the writings of The Mystics...I have been ruminating on Pelagius and Augustine and how different were their views of the Christian Life ( I am leaning towards Pelagius, if you were wondering)....I have read a tremendous novel, bought at our new local book shop....
I am starting to pack. As part of my Sabbatical, I am going on a Silent Retreat....alone.....in silence. Long a dream of mine, it is just days away. A week of me - the ocean and the wind - my thoughts - my prayers - too many books and art supplies.... There will be walking meditation and writing. There will probably be tears....and silence. Blessed Silence. I will unpack my life, and contemplate the best way to repack it. Like the cat, I will remove myself from the chaos. I will use this time as a perfect perch for perspective......You may call me Jasper.
After more than 11 years in Children's Ministry, this summer I have been gifted with 6 weeks to "pull a Jasper". A time to find a perch, and a new perspective. A time of rest, study and renewal. A Sabbatical.
I am on day 11. For the first 7 days, I was virtually catatonic. I truly had no inkling of the toll the last year had taken on me. I was exhausted, anxious, and stressed beyond what could possibly be healthy. I slept, cooked, ate, and then dragged myself back to bed......that would be about it. Then, on day 8 as I poured my first cup of coffee I realized I felt like myself for the first time in a very long time. Day 9 saw the return of my creative zest, and I have been making art and jewelry nonstop. I have also been reading in the last several days - something I have been unable to make myself do in the last year or so, but something I dearly love. I have been reading a book on Celtic Sprituality, I have been reading the writings of The Mystics...I have been ruminating on Pelagius and Augustine and how different were their views of the Christian Life ( I am leaning towards Pelagius, if you were wondering)....I have read a tremendous novel, bought at our new local book shop....
I am starting to pack. As part of my Sabbatical, I am going on a Silent Retreat....alone.....in silence. Long a dream of mine, it is just days away. A week of me - the ocean and the wind - my thoughts - my prayers - too many books and art supplies.... There will be walking meditation and writing. There will probably be tears....and silence. Blessed Silence. I will unpack my life, and contemplate the best way to repack it. Like the cat, I will remove myself from the chaos. I will use this time as a perfect perch for perspective......You may call me Jasper.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
I don't want to know....
I've been in bed all afternoon....I am heartsick...world weary, and truly baffled. I can not for the life of me understand the myraid viewpoints of hate floating around out there - all couched in "patriotism", "Constitutional rights" or "religious zeal" (using scripture to backhandedly justify this tragedy is NOT OK, on any level). People vomiting up the same old "If a car hits and kills a person is it the cars fault" rhetoric. If you know me, you know my mind on such matters as the gun culture, closed mindedness , bigotry/homophobia , fear mongering, and cherry picking scripture to support your particular brand of any of the aforementioned...so if you are peddling those, I don't want to know anymore.
Social Media is GREAT - it has allowed me to keep in touch with Baby Girl EVERY. DAY. that she has been on the Grand Adventure....it is also a bewildering, maddening window into the hearts and minds of friends, family, acquaintances and the friend of a friend of a friend. I don't want to know anymore.
I don't want to know that when Babiest posted a meme calling today's events the deadliest mass shooting in US History, someone snarkily commented that it was the deadliest "TERRORIST" attack in US History. I was proud when she quickly shut that down by reminding this person that a little something known as 9/11 might just hold that title.
I don't want to know that someone thinks that because the victims were gay they are somehow deserving of being gunned down. I don't want to know that this same person hates "them" almost as much as she hates those "damned Muslims".
I don't want to know that we have a candidate for President of the United States boasting of being congratulated for his being "right" about "them".
I don't want to know.
What I do want to know is how we got here. How did we turn into these people? Full of "us versus them" rancor - whoever the us, and the them might be. How do we not see that those biases and hatreds that we feed and stoke and stroke and tend are more dangerous than anything, except maybe for the "Me, Me. Me - Mine. Mine Mine" filter that is applied to every situation. How are "we the people" turning into "only we the people who look, think and act like me"?
I read of people praying for the death of our President. I read of filthy, vile messages sent to his young daughter on her birthday, and more of the same to his other daughter on the happy occasion of her acceptance into an Ivy League School. I read of aspersions cast against our Smart, Classy First Lady, yet barely a peep have I heard about the multitude of nude photographs of the woman that might one day hold that title. I read of state governments legislating hate and discrimination and the taking away of women's rights. How is this conceivable?
I don't want to know.....but I need to know. I need to know if the polite silence I try to maintain - the one that is respectful of the job I hold, makes me complicit....if I don't add my voice of outrage and mortification over the amount of vitriol from the "virtuous" - does my silence amount to furthering the cause of hate and hypocrisy?
I don't want to know......but I need to know.
Today, I have taken to my bed - because I am heartsick....and hatesick.....I just don't want to know.
Social Media is GREAT - it has allowed me to keep in touch with Baby Girl EVERY. DAY. that she has been on the Grand Adventure....it is also a bewildering, maddening window into the hearts and minds of friends, family, acquaintances and the friend of a friend of a friend. I don't want to know anymore.
I don't want to know that when Babiest posted a meme calling today's events the deadliest mass shooting in US History, someone snarkily commented that it was the deadliest "TERRORIST" attack in US History. I was proud when she quickly shut that down by reminding this person that a little something known as 9/11 might just hold that title.
I don't want to know that someone thinks that because the victims were gay they are somehow deserving of being gunned down. I don't want to know that this same person hates "them" almost as much as she hates those "damned Muslims".
I don't want to know that we have a candidate for President of the United States boasting of being congratulated for his being "right" about "them".
I don't want to know.
What I do want to know is how we got here. How did we turn into these people? Full of "us versus them" rancor - whoever the us, and the them might be. How do we not see that those biases and hatreds that we feed and stoke and stroke and tend are more dangerous than anything, except maybe for the "Me, Me. Me - Mine. Mine Mine" filter that is applied to every situation. How are "we the people" turning into "only we the people who look, think and act like me"?
I read of people praying for the death of our President. I read of filthy, vile messages sent to his young daughter on her birthday, and more of the same to his other daughter on the happy occasion of her acceptance into an Ivy League School. I read of aspersions cast against our Smart, Classy First Lady, yet barely a peep have I heard about the multitude of nude photographs of the woman that might one day hold that title. I read of state governments legislating hate and discrimination and the taking away of women's rights. How is this conceivable?
I don't want to know.....but I need to know. I need to know if the polite silence I try to maintain - the one that is respectful of the job I hold, makes me complicit....if I don't add my voice of outrage and mortification over the amount of vitriol from the "virtuous" - does my silence amount to furthering the cause of hate and hypocrisy?
I don't want to know......but I need to know.
Today, I have taken to my bed - because I am heartsick....and hatesick.....I just don't want to know.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
My Little Minions....
I was standing in line yesterday, behind two young Mothers who were chatting about their weekends. The one to my left was lamenting a Sunday trip to Build-A-Bear, where her little fella chose to make a Minion...you know...the little yellow guys from the movies. Left side Mama wanted her son to choose a bear or a puppy - something more in line with her taste. Right side Mama was in total sympathy over the recent shocking display of toddler independence.
I hate to tell them, but it only gets worse.
Standing there, trying not to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, my mind drifted to a day last week. We were in FINAL PREPARATION MODE for Baby Girl's Gap Year European Adventure. (I have to come up with some pithy name for the next 8 months). I parked the car in the ever crowded Teeter/TJMaxx parking lot. I opened the car door, got out, closed said door, and turned to talk to B.G. Ever since the kids were old enough to trust not to dart away in a parking lot, we have followed the same pattern - I stand by the driver side of the car, and they come around. We meet, and then walk together to our destination. Well...on this, the day before she flew off to lands unknown - she broke pattern....I waited.....looked back into the car to see what was taking her so long....No Baby Girl. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of her - striding confidently into the store - without.me.
Later that day - new suitcase packed and repacked....and repacked, she stood with it in the kitchen. In the joy of the moment, she started twirling with the suitcase (which is equipped with 360 degree spinning wheels). Skirts flaring, hair splaying....she laughed in the freedom of the moment...She has found the gumption and courage to choose the Minion, when I would have chosen something cute and safe...like a teddy bear.
In four short days, College Boy will have to be given a new moniker. He will become College Graduate Boy. He will spend his summer working at a Camp, and awaiting word on the final decision from the Peace Corps. He has made it through all of the eliminations and has had his final interview. If he is accepted, he will spend a year in Zambia.....sweet Lord in Heaven, I may have to call my first born PeaceCorp Boy....or Americorp Boy....or one of any other names that all have the same translation....FarFromMama Boy....He has chosen the Minion, when I sure as heck would have chosen the Teddy Bear.
Babiest Girl, still has one more year at home....but I see that damn Yellow Minion gleam in her eye on a daily basis, and know what is coming.....no teddy bears for this one either.
Through the weight of all of the unchosen TeddyBears sitting on my chest, and the tears of pride and grief, I see the bright shinning light of their futures....I hear the strains of that Lion King Anthem - The Circle of Life. I marvel at their courage and their hearts and minds wide open to the possibilities of life as a citizen of a world without borders....and I sympathize with the Mothers on my left and right....wondering how the three year old came to choose a Minion over a Teddy Bear.
I hate to tell them, but it only gets worse.
Standing there, trying not to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, my mind drifted to a day last week. We were in FINAL PREPARATION MODE for Baby Girl's Gap Year European Adventure. (I have to come up with some pithy name for the next 8 months). I parked the car in the ever crowded Teeter/TJMaxx parking lot. I opened the car door, got out, closed said door, and turned to talk to B.G. Ever since the kids were old enough to trust not to dart away in a parking lot, we have followed the same pattern - I stand by the driver side of the car, and they come around. We meet, and then walk together to our destination. Well...on this, the day before she flew off to lands unknown - she broke pattern....I waited.....looked back into the car to see what was taking her so long....No Baby Girl. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of her - striding confidently into the store - without.me.
Later that day - new suitcase packed and repacked....and repacked, she stood with it in the kitchen. In the joy of the moment, she started twirling with the suitcase (which is equipped with 360 degree spinning wheels). Skirts flaring, hair splaying....she laughed in the freedom of the moment...She has found the gumption and courage to choose the Minion, when I would have chosen something cute and safe...like a teddy bear.
In four short days, College Boy will have to be given a new moniker. He will become College Graduate Boy. He will spend his summer working at a Camp, and awaiting word on the final decision from the Peace Corps. He has made it through all of the eliminations and has had his final interview. If he is accepted, he will spend a year in Zambia.....sweet Lord in Heaven, I may have to call my first born PeaceCorp Boy....or Americorp Boy....or one of any other names that all have the same translation....FarFromMama Boy....He has chosen the Minion, when I sure as heck would have chosen the Teddy Bear.
Babiest Girl, still has one more year at home....but I see that damn Yellow Minion gleam in her eye on a daily basis, and know what is coming.....no teddy bears for this one either.
Through the weight of all of the unchosen TeddyBears sitting on my chest, and the tears of pride and grief, I see the bright shinning light of their futures....I hear the strains of that Lion King Anthem - The Circle of Life. I marvel at their courage and their hearts and minds wide open to the possibilities of life as a citizen of a world without borders....and I sympathize with the Mothers on my left and right....wondering how the three year old came to choose a Minion over a Teddy Bear.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Intersection of Life
I know you know what I am talking about.....those sign people. The ones that stand on corners holding, sometimes twirling a sign advertising tax time, a sale, or a going out of business. After lunch today, I was stuck at the Main Major intersection in my town, at the longest light in history. It provided ample time for the following observation.
Today, our corner held not one, but two sign people - very unusual in my experience. Both men were dressed for the cold - one holding a tax preparation sign and the other, a going out of business sign for a furniture company.
The man holding the largest sign (going out of business) was hunkered down behind it, face burrowed down into the collar of his coat....hat pulled down to his eyes, his gaze planted firmly on the ground - one hand holding the sign, the other hand deep in his pocket.
His compatriot was wearing the identifying Statue of Liberty costume - the fabric clearly screaming out "Let us do your tax returns!". Over the Green robe, he sported a gorgeous black cape, long with a white Aztec design woven throughout. Under the Lady Liberty crown, he sported sizable earmuffs . In all fairness, they could have been headphones, but I like to think he was moved by the music in his soul, because, Lord was that man dancing. Tribal and joyous, executed with the form and grace of a natural dancer. Every now and then, he would raise the metal flag that he held (in the hand NOT holding the sign) so that his eyes were just peeking over it. For a moment all would be still, and then he would start to move his head side to side, and shimmy it up over the flag, then the twirling and jumping would begin again with abandon.
Two men. The same lot in life.
One was hiding, shielding himself against the painful elements, as if to say " no more.....I am done.....leave me alone"
The other had reached deep within himself to find that thing that caused him to dance in the midst of less than ideal circumstances....to explode in the bliss of being.
Lately, I find myself siding with one of these men, and let me tell you, it is not the one working the gorgeous Aztec cape.
I wanted to pull the car over....to sit at the feet of the dancing man. To catch the spark of his joy....to feel the beat of the soul tune fueling his dance.
"Shielded and Still" and the "Bliss of Being", sharing the same street corner - they themselves becoming the intersection of life. Two people, doing the same job. So close, and yet.....so far.
Today, our corner held not one, but two sign people - very unusual in my experience. Both men were dressed for the cold - one holding a tax preparation sign and the other, a going out of business sign for a furniture company.
The man holding the largest sign (going out of business) was hunkered down behind it, face burrowed down into the collar of his coat....hat pulled down to his eyes, his gaze planted firmly on the ground - one hand holding the sign, the other hand deep in his pocket.
His compatriot was wearing the identifying Statue of Liberty costume - the fabric clearly screaming out "Let us do your tax returns!". Over the Green robe, he sported a gorgeous black cape, long with a white Aztec design woven throughout. Under the Lady Liberty crown, he sported sizable earmuffs . In all fairness, they could have been headphones, but I like to think he was moved by the music in his soul, because, Lord was that man dancing. Tribal and joyous, executed with the form and grace of a natural dancer. Every now and then, he would raise the metal flag that he held (in the hand NOT holding the sign) so that his eyes were just peeking over it. For a moment all would be still, and then he would start to move his head side to side, and shimmy it up over the flag, then the twirling and jumping would begin again with abandon.
Two men. The same lot in life.
One was hiding, shielding himself against the painful elements, as if to say " no more.....I am done.....leave me alone"
The other had reached deep within himself to find that thing that caused him to dance in the midst of less than ideal circumstances....to explode in the bliss of being.
Lately, I find myself siding with one of these men, and let me tell you, it is not the one working the gorgeous Aztec cape.
I wanted to pull the car over....to sit at the feet of the dancing man. To catch the spark of his joy....to feel the beat of the soul tune fueling his dance.
"Shielded and Still" and the "Bliss of Being", sharing the same street corner - they themselves becoming the intersection of life. Two people, doing the same job. So close, and yet.....so far.
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