SUFFERING THE GUILT

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It’s snowing again, big fluffy flakes floating down. Looks like winter is here to stay. I don’t mind. I’m not going anywhere. I’m warm and well fed. I have all the comforts right here at home. I can just hunker down and wait for spring. In the meantime, I can enjoy my cup of tea, a somewhat dried though good cinnamon bun and a bit of cheese. I’ll see if I can tap out 500 words again. Was yesterday just a fluke?

Ah, Sheba is starting again – barking. She’s like an alarm clock. I’ve made her do a ‘down’ but it lasted only a minute. At least she’s quiet. Now if she would stop nuzzling me for her food. We still have half an hour to go. I will see how strong my will is versus hers. Will – that has been a problem for me. I give in too easily. I give in to the guilt of being responsible for everyone’s happiness. I’ve been told that I am not that powerful, that I can’t make everyone happy. Nevertheless, it is difficult to shrug off. I’ve worn that duty call for a long time.

It has been too long wearing that cloak. It’s heavy and weighing me down. I am starting to ask, Hey what about me? It helps. It reminds me that I have been standing and living alone for many years. I have been my own keeper and comforter. Not that I am complaining. It has made me strong and resourceful, seeking my own solutions, finding my own way. I’ve listened to others while seldom heeding my own cries. I feel that I am that one hand that is clapping. And not a sound can be heard.

That is why I love the tap, tap of my keyboard. I can hear myself talking as I watch the letters and words march across the screen. My sorrows and joys are heard. They resound in that heartspace, as Mattie Stepanek would call it. I am listening to me. I am heard. I do matter. I am that stone sending ripples through oceans and the universe – as you are, too.

It is 3:00 pm, that bewitching supper hour for Sheba. I do have the will. Sheba does, too. I have overcome the guilt that I’m making her suffer by waiting. She is not suffering. She can wait. She is a Lab. She always want to eat if I let her. Now that she’s fed, she’s noisily squeaking her rubber chicken and fussing for her walk.

We’ve been for our walk and back. It’s good to move, change my posture, change my space and be in nature. Much easier to go earlier than later. Do the hard stuff first. Then there is no guilt in putting my feet up. The day is done. We’ve trudged through heavy wet snow and shovelled the same. My must-dos along with a few may-dos are crossed out on the to do list.

  • Get up, dress up and show up
  • Post for Navigating Through November on Instagram
  • Draw
  • Write
  • Make yogurt

The rest of the evening is gravy as they say. Wine, anyone?

 

 

JUST CALL ME HONEST LIL

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I have this tune running in my head for several days now. It’s very upbeat, not my usual kind of thing. But it keeps playing on and on. The only words I hear is electric company. It’s nothing I can find on YouTube though there is a show with a theme song called Electric Company. Maybe I wrote it up myself – in my head. I have to turn it off and move on with my words and day.

I am cranky though nothing is wrong. I attribute it to the cold, the layers of clothes I have to ply on, scrunching up my shoulders to ward off the chill, and my naturally sour disposition. Whatever else I do, I do not let myself off the hook. I am like that. One time I turned myself in to my manager for swearing at a staff in the presence of a patient. It did not matter that the patient was confused and probably never heard, or that I abbreviated the oath. What I said was, “F off, Jack.” Jack peed me off because I asked for help and he was too busy visiting.

What followed was a bit of a circus. Because I reported it in a written note, my manager said she had to go through all the channels. I was to get my union rep. Jack was to get his union rep. A date was appointed and we were to meet with some official. I had some instructions from my rep, a lady who would never say any bad words. She told me if I felt like crying in the course of the interview, don’t hold back. Cry, let it out. She also asked me if I felt Jack was racially discriminatory. I said no though I hated how he always sing my name. Lily, Billy, Kabilly, etc. Even if I felt it was racial, I did not want to go there.

The day came for the meeting. The official was a man. He was gruff and curt, asking why I needed help. By the time I had finished explaining that I was doing Jack’s job while he was visiting with another staff and wouldn’t come to my assistance, I was crying. I sobbed that I was angry and huffed out, ” F off, Jack.” My union rep chimed in. “Lily said f off. She did not say fuck off.”

Needless to say, I was speechless with mouth opened along with everyone else. The official man said, “She said f off? We’re done.” Everyone packed up their briefcases and went home. No further mention of more meetings or rehab.

I am cranky today but I did not swear at anyone. I was edgy and irritable. I felt like walking out of my step aerobics this morning but I didn’t. I let electric company played in my head. I wondered why I was feeling like that. Was it the bright lights in the gym, having to gather all the equipment, the violent yucky movie from last night? I don’t know what it was but I talked myself out of behaving badly. That’s the main thing.

 

CEMENTING WITH HENRY MILLER

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It’s a wintery snow falling on cedars kind of a day.  It’s a good day to snuggle up with a hot cuppa. If only Sheba would cooperate, be quiet and snuggle on her bed. No such luck, of course. Come any time after 2 pm, she’s a fussing for food and her walk. It’s early but she likes to push the clock. I’m giving her the silent treatment. So far, so good. Keep my fingers and toes crossed. It’s hard to type that way but…

It’s easy to let a few days and my routine go. Then it gets tricky to get back on track. I’m hoping the feel and rhythm of the keys will bring my flow of thoughts and words back. If not, then I will have to WORK like Henry Miller suggests. Good advice from a great writer. I like his 11 commandments:

  1. Work on one thing at a time until finished.
  2. Start no more new books, add no more new material to ‘Black Spring.’
  3. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
  4. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!
  5. When you can’t create you can work.
  6. Cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.
  7. Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.
  8. Don’t be a draught-horse! Work with pleasure only.
  9. Discard the Program when you feel like it—but go back to it next day. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
  10. Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
  11. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.

Number 10 is easy. I’m not writing or even thinking about writing a book. I’ve given up on NaNoWriMo after a few tries. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days mean I would have to cough up 1700 words a day. I’m a snapshot and punchy lines girl. I have trouble writing a 500 word post. Forget 1700 words! I can revamp and my goal for 500 words/day. See how that goes. Aim a little higher.

Good luck to me. I didn’t make 500 words today, not even with Henry Miller’s help. I’m doing Number 6 though – cementing a little every day. Better luck tomorrow.

REHABBING MY BRAIN

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Some people are born with good dispositions. They wake up cheerful and full of zest. I am not one of them. I’m the one who always get up on the wrong side of the bed. I growl, snarl and likely spit at you till I’ve had my first cup of tea. I’ve had a few cups now. I’m a little mellowed out. But that Sheba! In the afternoon she fusses and barks and get underfoot. I could just *!#* Grrrr.

I’m still growling a bit. Life is hard. Nothing works, nothing gets done until I move. How unfair is that? Yesterday I looked at the piles on my desk and my file cabinet bursting with paper. Everything was still the same. I sighed a few times and wondered why it was so hard to move my hands and arms. I had to do it myself. Nobody could do it for me.

One thing I do is not feeling sorry for myself. I heaved another sigh, moved a few papers around the desk. I thought I should do something relatively easy for my tired and not so clear brain. I went into my Mastercard file and pulled out all the bills saved the last year and a half. That’s enough to keep. I took the two and a half year pile downstairs to shred.

I saw that I had a previous pile beside the shredder. It was transcripts of my high school, university and nursing exam marks. It felt strange shredding them. It felt like I was shredding and disposing my life. I let the feelings flow through me. The transcripts were no longer of use. The marks do not define how good or what worth I am. It felt good to rid of them. I can now define myself.

It felt good clearing my file cabinet. Somehow my head feels less cluttered. One less pile to tangle up the cogs. Now my neurons can complete their synapses. No more mixed messages. The day is looking brighter. I’m less grumpy. Who could ask for anything more?

NEW AND IMPROVED

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I am a creature of attachment. I hang onto the familiar. However, I can change. It takes me a little longer. Having successfully updated my Mac to High Sierra, I am now updating my MacBook Air, hoping it will improve the Photo app there. I am spending more time on my gadgets. But hopefully in the end it will save time.

But are new and improved better? I still cling to the old format of writing on WordPress. I am happy it’s still an option. I’ve tried the improved editor and it’s not copacetic with my brain. It stalls and won’t turn over. No letters or words are forthcoming. So why torture myself if it’s not better for me?

Day 7

Life and I are marching on slowly but steadily on this cold frosty morning. It’s -17 Celsius. The sun is brilliant. Sheba and I are toasty warm in the sunroom. I’m trying to be more in the real world, in real time. I’ve given thought as to what’s for dinner. The ham is out of the freezer, ready to be diced and fried with onions for the perogies. The soup from yesterday is ready to be reheated. The towels are in the washer. I’m experimenting using vinegar to boost the detergent power. Less detergent, less pollution of our water supply. Less detergent, more money in the pocket. It’s a win win.

The towels are done, looking clean and fluffy. I added 1/4 cup vinegar in the bleach dispenser and half of my usual detergent. Hope there is less soap residue left in the laundry and machine. It’s worthwhile to take the time to experiment new ideas and ways. It’s a good exercise for me to focus my impatient and fractured mind. I have to read directions, take each step and follow through. It drives me crazy, of course. But steps do quiet the frenzy in my brain. My MacBook Air has finished updating. The Photo app is much better with the High Sierra. Some improvements are real.

 

COME NOVEMBER

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November is not a good month to make changes, adopt new habits or to set the world on fire. It’s cold. It’s dark. My hibernation response is already triggered. I dream of eating and sleeping. I dream of snuggling up next to a fire with a hot chocolate.

Still, I am planning to do some changes, some renovations to the body and soul. But aren’t I always? This time around I plan to put my plans into action. I have already done a couple. I’ve upgraded my iCloud storage to 50G. Only cost $1.20/month. I hope I won’t have to keep deleting photos to make more space for awhile. Then I got brave and is installing the latest macOS – High Sierra on my iMac. I hope it will improve like they say and not create havoc.

I can’t say for sure if these 2 items will improve my life. They just might add to my wasting time habit, the thing I’m trying to eliminate. Life is full of ironies. I need to be on my toes. Focus. Be in the present moment. That is what I must do. The High Sierra is installed. It’s messing around with Photos. I hope I will like it. The Apple people are so smart. They have ways of making money every which way. In order to store all my photos in iCloud I will have to do another upgrade. I won’t bite on their hook.

Well, now I’ve identified some my biggest problem – lack of focus and addiction to gadgets. My mind is splintered in many directions. I have trouble listening to people, especially when they are giving directions. I feel as my ears are weak, sagging. Then they shut down. Or is it my mind? And how does one strengthen either? I wonder if YouTube would have an answer. That would mean messing around some more on the Internet. More wasting time. Egad!

I will chew and digest this for awhile. I can handle only small bites at one sitting. I will be back tomorrow- I hope.

NO MORE HEROES AND HEROINES

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It’s Tuesday but it feels like a Sunday morning coming down. My brain must be lagging behind. Too much stuff to process. What’s happening to me, to us, to the universe?

These are the 2 recent world events that I’m trying to grapple with. Less than 2 months before there was the shooting in Las Vegas where 58 people were killed. On Oct. 31 the truck attack in New York killed 8 people. Is it any wonder that my brain is stalled? It is a good mechanism. I don’t/can’t understand such atrocities of the killers. As to the greed and duplicity of the mega rich, I don’t want to understand. And how can the government say one thing and do another? Even the Queen is not exempt from greed and tax evasion. Then there’s Bono, Madonna….I don’t want to hear any more names. Are there no heroes or heroines anymore? And where is love?

My brain is putt putting this morning. It’s not depressed. It’s just a tad stalled. The sun is glorious, the air cool and crisp. We are happy and snug. I still feel hopeful despite everything out there. I will focus more locally – just within my vision. I cast about too much, distressing my self, losing precious energy.  I guess I will have to get into my phone booth and do a costume change. I will be my own heroine and do the right things.

BUT IT ISN’T MY FAULT

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I can’t believe I’m in the same place. But it isn’t my fault. How often have I felt and said that? The other day cleaning out stuff, I found some scribbling dated 1988.

  1. I have trouble cleaning my house. I accumulate too many things
  2. I have trouble trusting other people with my feelings
  3. Right now I have a negative image with my head nurse which stems from the past
  4. I find it hard to take care of my car properly
  5. I can’t cook
  6. I need more time to pursue my goals

The list was from a course called Adventures in Attitude. From where I am sitting now, I can’t really say that I was successful or adventurous. I am mostly talk. I am very good at taking courses and reading self-help books. As for applying the principles, I’m not so sure.  I’m still talking the same lingo. I still have that same problem of keeping my place tidy. I still have piles of clutter. I can’t seem get pass GO.

I am not a total failure. I have rid a few items on the list. I can cook now. I don’t worry about the car anymore. I take it in for servicing. I no longer worry about head nurses. I’m free of working and answering to authority figures. I have time and yet still not enough. As for trusting others with my feelings, I’m here talking, aren’t I?

Where to go from here? Seems like I need to work on #1. So simple and yet so hard.  29 years later, I’m still crying and whining about the same damn things.  I better read Portia Nelson’s poem again. Better yet, if only I could DO the clearing and cleaning.

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

 

 

 

MEANWHILE THE WORLD GOES ON

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Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.

Mary Oliver sure can wrangle them words. Wish that they were mine! Meanwhile the wild geese fly. Meanwhile I’m tapping out my words, my distress. Yes, I have been listening to someone’s despair again. Not that they would have call it such. But what would you call it – the losing of one’s identity, job, home, life partner?

I have no need of telling mine. I tap it out here on the page. It does me more good here than recounting out aloud to someone. Then I would be just begging. Oh, please, feel sorry for me. I have suffer so!  I need no such sympathy or pity. It would only make me wallow deeper in my misery. I am listening to the tapping of my keyboard. The cadence is soothing on my frayed nerves. I’m comforting myself. I wonder if cutting or flagellating oneself have the same mechanism of relief.  It’s good that I don’t have to physically hurt myself to do so.

There! I’m almost myself again – soothed and smoothed.  I’ve listened to too much despair and sadness. I’m not willing to do so anymore. I will offer them Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese instead.

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

THE PLACE CALL HOME

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I think too much. Today, I’m thinking about the place call home. Where is it for me – the China where I was born, Maidstone, Saskatchewan where I took grade 1-12 or here, in Saskatoon, where I have lived since?

Was it Thomas Wolfe who said you can never go home again?  It’s true. On a trip to Hong Kong, I tried to speak Chinese to the store merchants while shopping for souvenirs. They could not understand me. My travel mates told me to speak English for heaven’s sake. I was crushed. On another trip to China, I tried to find my way back to my home village. No luck for various reasons. On my return home, my mother informed me that our cousin laughed about my clumsy Chinese when I tried to talk to her on the phone. More crushing. It’s not for lack of trying but lack of appreciation by others that I couldn’t find home.

Is home a place then? I spent most of my formative years (12) in Maidstone. I always refer it as my hometown. But is it home? We owned the house we lived in. My father and his cousin owned the Rex Cafe they operated together. I knew the teachers and most of the kids in school. The year I finished grade 12, my family moved to NYC. But even before the move, I sensed that we were really not part of the fabric. We were one of the 3 Chinese families in town. We had the cafe.

My parents didn’t belong/participate in any community groups or activities. My mother had only a spattering of English. I had never felt the aloneness and separation of homelessness till that end of that summer. I came back to Maidstone to pack up for going to university in Saskatoon. We had not yet all moved. My father was still in the process of finalizing the sale of the house and cafe. My grandparents were still in the house. But already I was feeling gone and invisible. It was as if the town had shifted and filled in the spaces we once occupied.

For me then, home is not so much a place as the warmth of feelings, the rushing arms of a welcoming. Home is the moment that Sheba runs out the door, tail wagging and squealing with delight after just a couple of days away. She gallops back and forth, unable to contain her happiness at seeing us. We watch her antics, misty-eyed and hearts full – owners and dog sitter. We were all home in the moment of pure love.