Well, it has been an edifying weekend.
I have learned that the phrase two steps forward, one step back is truly applicable to stroke recovery. I have learned that driving home from the Fancy Pants school the next town over ( a drive that after 4 years, I should be able to do in my sleep), even with 2 other drivers in the car ready to take over should I fall out, is beyond my capabilities just yet. I have learned that overtaxing myself in that way produces sit straight up in the bed at 1:00 in the morning post stroke anxiety of epic proportions. I will let you know when it subsides.(I may have to resort to the green pill of oblivion to reset my nervous system) I have learned that in a domino "no sleep" effect, my brain reverts to swiss cheese. I have learned that it is tremendously mortifying to have to ask for assistance when using the self pay machine at the Teeter because you can't figure out where to put the money, even though you have done it a thousand times in your previous life. Subsequently, I have learned that I have retained the wherewithall to restrain myself, because I did not deck the woman in line behind me, who was loudly sighing and harumphing and muttering under her breath at my inability to move it along.
I have learned that sometimes trips to Italy really can be planned on the fly....I have exactly one week to help Baby Girl get ready to return to the Au Pair world.
I have learned that even though you are in the throes of the Sabbath morning "I am running late to work rush", it is NEVER advisable to take your morning meds with the dregs of your still hot coffee.
I have learned that when a 5 year old Moppet announces in Sunday School during our Mindfulness Moment that he feels like a rainbow, your heart melts and your tank is filled, even though you feel like a dogs breakfast.
And finally, I have learned that when you are on the phone with your Son in Africa, it is never a good thing when he says, "Do you want to hear about the exciting thing that happened to me today?" It is never the smart thing to assume that the words "exciting" and "great" are interchangeable.
I also learned that there are Spitting Cobras in Africa, and that they really do raise up and flair out that thing behind their head, and that sometimes when they strike, they miss, and that they then slither away into the grass right beside the path that a certain Peace Corps Boy travels every day, and can't be found by villagers wielding hoes and other assorted weaponry.
If you need me, I will be in the bed, nursing a raging bout of edification.
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Friday, February 10, 2017
Godspeed
He never did learn to crawl. It wasn't fast enough for him. He rolled. He would spy the place he wanted to go, then lay down and roll to it with unerring accuracy. His first word was not Mama, or Dada...no, something much more exotic for my boy - his favorite character in all of his many books....Big Bird. He did not walk, he danced on his toes. If he got a two step head start, I could not catch him. Every surface was a drum. Every thought a song.
At the age of two, he started doing this really funny thing. If he thought that you were sick, or sad, or just out of whack, he would come up to you and look deep into your eyes. He would take his little stubby fingers, and reach into that shaggy mop of black hair for a magic, invisible substance...he would then sprinkle it all over your head with a flourish. He called it Fee betters (feel betters), and oddly enough, you always did.....feel better.
At the age of four, he begged me to paint a jungle in his room, full of the animals he loved the best - zebras and giraffes, lions and monkeys....I had never so much as sketched an animal before, but over the course of a couple of weeks, his room was transformed by a four wall mural.
His bedtime prayers could rival the most eloquent southern preacher....long and specific, inclusive and imaginative - full of love for others and delivered with an absolute assurance that he was heard.
He liked to snuggle with his Mama long after his contemporaries had given up such babyish indulgences....he has allowed me to hug him publicly for all of his 23 years - even at 13, the age at which the aliens come and snatch your sweet little boy and replace him with something moody and foreign. (They bring them back, along about the age of 14)
At the onset of the driving years, he was a good sport as I called out the door, "text me when you get there" - and, out of his kind consideration for my feelings, he almost always remembered to do so.
Recently, he sat at the side of my hospital bed - late into the night, and early in the morning - going so far as to sneak his crowd of friends into the ICU close to midnight, bringing with them laughter and love (and reprimands from the night nurse).
Since my strokes, I have relied on him far more than I should, but I have been oh so grateful for the time it has afforded us - when he has been my driver and my shepherd.
Tomorrow, in the blink of an eye, he will be off. He will get his two step head start, and I will not be able to catch him.
At feeding time, when he was an infant, I would use those quiet, sacred moments to pray over that precious baby....Lord, help him grow strong and healthy....give him a loving heart....do not use him for war, but for peace.....over and over again, I would pray these things.
And so, tomorrow, the journey begins, as the Lord will use him for Peace - not war... perhaps, I should have mentioned to the Almighty that He did not have to be quite so literal in His interpretation of my prayers......the PEACE CORPS? AFRICA?
I know one day I will see the humor in that, but for now, in the wee hours of the morning, I am left with the remembrances of the boy who became a man. A man in whom I take such pride....for whom I have such love....a man/boy that I will miss, and worry about and pray for every minute of every day....
This song woke me up this morning at 3 - I imagine it will be the soundtrack in my mind for the next 27 months....the inimitable Dixie Chicks......."God hears Amen wherever you are, and I love you. Godspeed little man...sweet dreams little man...oh my love will fly to you each night on angel wings...Godspeed....Sweet Dreams....."
At the age of two, he started doing this really funny thing. If he thought that you were sick, or sad, or just out of whack, he would come up to you and look deep into your eyes. He would take his little stubby fingers, and reach into that shaggy mop of black hair for a magic, invisible substance...he would then sprinkle it all over your head with a flourish. He called it Fee betters (feel betters), and oddly enough, you always did.....feel better.
At the age of four, he begged me to paint a jungle in his room, full of the animals he loved the best - zebras and giraffes, lions and monkeys....I had never so much as sketched an animal before, but over the course of a couple of weeks, his room was transformed by a four wall mural.
He liked to snuggle with his Mama long after his contemporaries had given up such babyish indulgences....he has allowed me to hug him publicly for all of his 23 years - even at 13, the age at which the aliens come and snatch your sweet little boy and replace him with something moody and foreign. (They bring them back, along about the age of 14)
At the onset of the driving years, he was a good sport as I called out the door, "text me when you get there" - and, out of his kind consideration for my feelings, he almost always remembered to do so.
Recently, he sat at the side of my hospital bed - late into the night, and early in the morning - going so far as to sneak his crowd of friends into the ICU close to midnight, bringing with them laughter and love (and reprimands from the night nurse).
Since my strokes, I have relied on him far more than I should, but I have been oh so grateful for the time it has afforded us - when he has been my driver and my shepherd.
Tomorrow, in the blink of an eye, he will be off. He will get his two step head start, and I will not be able to catch him.
At feeding time, when he was an infant, I would use those quiet, sacred moments to pray over that precious baby....Lord, help him grow strong and healthy....give him a loving heart....do not use him for war, but for peace.....over and over again, I would pray these things.
And so, tomorrow, the journey begins, as the Lord will use him for Peace - not war... perhaps, I should have mentioned to the Almighty that He did not have to be quite so literal in His interpretation of my prayers......the PEACE CORPS? AFRICA?
I know one day I will see the humor in that, but for now, in the wee hours of the morning, I am left with the remembrances of the boy who became a man. A man in whom I take such pride....for whom I have such love....a man/boy that I will miss, and worry about and pray for every minute of every day....
This song woke me up this morning at 3 - I imagine it will be the soundtrack in my mind for the next 27 months....the inimitable Dixie Chicks......."God hears Amen wherever you are, and I love you. Godspeed little man...sweet dreams little man...oh my love will fly to you each night on angel wings...Godspeed....Sweet Dreams....."
Monday, December 26, 2016
There is Treasure even here....
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."
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."
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.
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