It’s another cool and grey morning with the sun trying its hardness to shine through. At least there is no smoke in the air. I still find no reason to smile and feel peppy. I’m having another cup of tea. Maybe I’ll get out of my pjs. Just because the world and life is not as I desire, it’s no reason to mope either. I can try a little, do a little and live a little, bit by bit.
So I’ve gotten out of my pjs into something summery. I’ve been living in sweat pants and t-shirts. They were easy and comfortable. Being a cool spring/summer they were the ticket. I wore them everywhere – to the gym, out for lunch, to the mall, to the garden. Being a sad sack, I didn’t care. I wasn’t fussy about my appearance. But I still shower, brush my teeth and comb my hair once in a while.
June was intended to work on my habits, improving on them and reporting here regularly. It didn’t happened quite often enough. I hit a slump. The weather was bad. There was/is wildfire smoke. And a million other excuses. Now I’m trying to reboot and restart. Not easy. Not feeling like or up to it. Nevertheless, I will just do it. There’s no other way. I will have to stop being a cry baby.
Today is one of those many cups of everything day. I’m wanting to drown all my feelings. I can’t and I don’t. Instead I sit with them all. I draw my #95 teacup for my #100dayproject and my day 5 of Daisy Yellow Index Card a Day Challenge. Today’s prompt for the #dyicad is hydrangea. I like prompts. They are my guiding lights not only for my art work but also living in this year of being lost in the strange wilderness of grief and loss. It’s a mouthful of a long sentence but you know what I mean.
I’m also standing with all my feelings. I like washing dishes by hand. I’m soothing my nerves as I clean each piece in the warm sudsy water. I’m washing away my cares and woes. The chaos goes down the drain with the dirty water. Peace fills its place. I’m soothed and smoothed.
I go out to the garden even though I don’t feel like it. The lettuce and spinach are in need of harvesting. It would be a shame to let them get too old to eat. I snip and pull and stuff them into bags. They will keep in the fridge or our walk in cooler. There’s enough to share with friends and family. Sharing is good and takes me out of focusing on myself.
It’s been a good day in the end. I got out of the house and out of myself. My sister and I took our father out for coffee in Circle Centre Mall. After, we cruised the Dollarama Store and found some neat stuff for the garden. I bought a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as a reward for a day well done. We stopped at the library on the way home to pick up some Chinese books for my father. I think we all went home soothed and smoothed. I hope so anyways.
I hate the feeling of dread, of putting off things I should be doing or should have done. I can’t really identify what it is that I’m putting off. I don’t want to either. I would have to do it then, wouldn’t I. So I rather sit with this discomfort, this dread till it passes somehow. I wash the breakfast dishes, sweeps the dust off the floor and now here I am, at the keyboard.
Thoughts are not flowing. The words are hard to come by. I feel languid. I feel limp. My iMac freezes again and I’m on my laptop. My second cup of tea is almost finished. I’m using tea to fill in the gaps like I used to use cigarettes. At least it has no bad side effects except increased trips to the bathroom. I’m restless. I move to the deck and repotted some tomato seedlings. I’m not sitting stuck.
I cut some tulips and elephant ear blooms from my flowerbed to take to mom’s grave this afternoon. I put them in water and stuck them in the cooler to keep fresh. I head out to London Drugs to get a bath mat for my father. While there, I also got a new pair of sunglasses. I made sure that the bottom of the lenses does not touch my face, leaving their mark long after taking them off. The next stop, The Asian Market for incense sticks and josh paper. Not sure whether we will use them but I will have them. The last stop was to get a potted geranium for mom. It will last a while longer than the tulips. Mom loved flowers.
That was yesterday. Another year. Another Mother’s Day. Now it’s a reminder that my mother is no longer here, a reminder that it’s the day before that she fell and broke her hip and the downward spiral to her final resting place 5 months later. I suppose I am grieving, not only for her but for all of life. I have had more than a few regrets, of roads not taken. I have to live with it all somehow, someway. I am no Frank Sinatra. I didn’t do it my way.
Here I am again, sitting in sunshine, sipping my tea. I’m tired already, thinking too much on life, death and taxes. I’m working on not letting all that get me down. That’s life as people like to say. Every day babies are born and people die. We know we can’t escape the tax man. I must set a time within the next 6 days to file mine. Everything sits heavy. There’s no escape. Maybe a tylenol might give me some ease.
I don’t want life to drown me. I’m trying to find my way to the shore and get on solid ground. I tell myself feelings aren’t always real. I can still move and function well inspite of them. My mantra in life has always been No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up. During this April it has been make it simple, make it easy. I break jobs into bits and pieces. They add up. I’ve been doing things this way for a long time, even in writing. First, a word, then a sentence. String them together and you have a paragraph. I learned the importance of one small step at a time from Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird. It’s a wonderful little book.
It applies not only to writing, but just about everything in life as well. I’ve sewn 100 log cabin quilt squares that way a few years ago. I have yet to put them together though. It’ll be my square by square project in winter. I talked about getting moving on with my gardening. All I could do yesterday was water the greenhouse and plop 4 cauliflower seedlings in the raised bed outside. It’s not much but it’s not nothing. This morning I’ve managed to pot up 3 squash sprouted seeds before my mood got the better of me. I’m getting things done, living life in bits and pieces.
It is hard to know what to do with myself in the darkness of a November morning. I am at my keyboard tapping out my thoughts for the National Blog Posting Month. I don’t have it in me to write a novel in a month. I’ve tried and failed each time. A few mutterings will suffice. It will help me to breathe in and out. Difficult times and feelings are not strangers to me.
This human experience is not easy. Life is not for the faint of heart. It gives and then it takes away. I wonder how I can survive the loss without my mother. She was always there in her house down the block. We’ve always had her love as she had ours. She was presence. I have to remember that this journey is not unique to just me. We all travel the same road. We all are given this gift of life and suffer the grief of loss. We are all the same though we may experience it in different ways.
My house is not as clean and orderly as my mother’s. I’ve never had her knack. It is full of clutter and dust. I guess I’m drowning in my disorder physically and psychologically. I’m keeping my head just above the water. This writing helps sort and organize the mess in my head. I’ve rescued my pot of broth from the deck. It’s heating up on the stove to make something for lunch. After lunch my father, my brother and I will go to the bank to sign papers. Life goes on, one step at a time.
Another warm day but not the 34℃ of yesterday. 27℃ is plenty warm enough. The sun is somewhat hazy and there’s smoke in the air. I’m not feeling in a super mood. I’m trying to work through it. It’s a good thing that I have the Ultimate Blog Challenge to explore all this.
Have I ever mentioned that I have never loved summer? It goes way back to my childhood days growing up in Maidstone. We were one of maybe 3 Chinese families in town. We didn’t socialize much with the rest of the community being new immigrants. Our cafe was opened every day except Sunday, all year long. We never went anywhere except maybe North Battleford (an hour’s drive away) once in a blue moon for dentist, optometrist and maybe a little shopping.
Summer time the town seemed dead. The farmers were out farming. School was over. Seemed like everyone went to the lake or on holidays except us. I ordered books from the library which came on the Greyhound bus. I read alot of Laura Ingalls Wilder books, Trixie Beldon books, Hardy Boys books and alot of Superman comics and movie star magazines. I drew portraits of Elvis, Fabian and Ricky Nelson. I can’t remember what else I did during those long hot summers.
Another reason I did not care for summers was being hot, I couldn’t wear long sleeves or sweaters to hide the scar on my left arm. I got the scar when I was 2 years old. We were still in China then. I was scalded by a bowl of hot sweet syrup. It was winter and I had long sleeved top on. It was difficult to get it off. Doctors were not the common thing then. My burn would not heal for a long time. Someone advise taking me to a doctor. My arm healed, resulting in a large scar but I have full function. I didnot lose any range of motion but I did get teased.
I was very sensitive about it for a long time. I tried to imagine what it would feel like unscarred. I couldn’t since I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have the scar. I finally got over it when I became a nurse. All the uniforms were short sleeved. I was by then at the ripe age of 27/28. Took a long time to get over it. You can see dumb I was in this photo – how I turned my left arm in to hide the scar. I was not holding it naturally like my aunt behind me.
All these were long ago but feelings and memories linger still. They feel like part of my biology. But at least I understand the where, when and how. And I have this space to tap it onto the page. Then I don’t feel so bad.
Here’s what I want you to know. Maybe you already do, know that I’m a bit of a grump, especially these autumn days. I feel bad, guilty as if I am the only one who is. Logically I know it is not true but still I feel like one of a kind – mean, nasty, selfish, unkind. I wonder how others could be so wonderful while I am thus. Then I would feel so bad and kick myself to kingdom come on the inside.
And here’s what I do know. It is September. The days are getting shorter. The sun rises later and sets earlier. Some mornings, I feel sleepy drinking my first cup of tea. I was nodding over the Wordle puzzle this morning. Some mornings someone says the something to me and no matter their intention, good or bad, I start to bristle and a fire starts up inside. Though I can keep things from smouldering, I can’t let it go. The mantra of letting it go annoys me to no end.
Here’s what I like you to know. I’m mostly annoyed at myself for these feelings. I’m annoyed that they got teeth into me, hanging on as if for dear life. I can shake all I want. They won’t let go. Here’s what I have to do. They have to bide their sweet time. I have to honour them and let them be. Tomorrow is another day.
It’s the jolly month of May. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Everything is greening. Yet instead of jolly, I feel the beginning of a moody blue, a sense of foreboding, a dull ache behind my eyes. I like to close my eyes and dive into bed and hide beneath the covers. But I do not. My head is filled with swirling debris of useless thoughts going nowhere.
Unable to clear and dust my inner space, I started to do so to my outer world. I gathered up my ski pants, mitts, gloves, scarves, hats and headband. They’re washed and hanging up to dry and another load of various items are swirling in the washer. The kitchen floor is swept. The makings of a stirfry are prepped, waiting for me to throw them into the frying pan. I’m sipping a cuppa decaf. I crave a cuppa of anything when thus. I’m trying to stay on the narrow low caffeine path. I might stray today.
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I did not stray too badly yesterday, having only an extra cup of decaf. I can rationalize that I’ve earned it, having taken my 90 plus mother for another medical appointment. It seems we’ve travelled a long and rocky medical path. Now we are on the last stage. I should be grateful that it is a much smoother and pleasant experience. I am and yet I can’t help but wondered why it wasn’t so before. I thought I had reconciled that I/we did the best I could. And whatever happened, I/we did alright. My mother will be turning 92 this July. She and my father are still living in their house on their own with minimal help from us.
I should have stayed with those thoughts but I’m not always in control. Bad thoughts and questions filtered through. Could I have done better as an advocate for my mother? Why didn’t I insist on this and that? Why didn’t I do this or that? If I had, maybe their health would be better today. So those thoughts go round and round inside. They immobilized my being. I’ve felt responsible for my parents’ lives most of my life. That’s what happened when I’m an immigrant child of immigrant parents. They do not understand or speak English well. I’m been their appointment taker and translator. It’s hard to be objective and not feel guilt.
So this is where I’m at in this jolly month of May. It’s 6:30 in my morning. I’ve been up since 5:15, unable to sleep more despite a little sleep aid last night. I’ve had my cuppa Orange Pekoe. I do want another but I’ll try a dandelion tea instead. I’m making a concerted effort not to let my strong emotions control me. I can. I can. The sun is beaming in agreement. I’ve tapped out my stored stagnant energy. I can breathe and move again to live another day.
It’s a brand new morning, a brand new day. Rain is in the forecast. I hope the rain will fall. I can’t remember when we’ve had a full day of rain like in the good old days. Where have all the rain gone, long time gone? I’m feeling nostalgic and melancholic for the seemingly good and steadifastness of the past. I wonder if I am deluded. I wonder if it’s my advancing age. Nothing seems safe, steady or predictable any more. I’m feeling a bit weird, unhinged and anxious about our present world. Life has a strange overcast. I feel the disconnect, that sound of one hand clapping.
Instead of just talking about it and drowning myself in a sea of useless words and thoughts, I could sit down and do some real work. I’m going to find some antidotes for those thoughts and feelings. I think our mothers and grandmothers were smarter than us. They believe in the house beautiful and cleanliness is next to holiness. At least my mother did and I’m sure she learned it from her mother. I believe that, too, but somehow I hadn’t acquired their ability and skill. I’m up for the challenge of learning though. It would give me a sense of purpose. It would engage my mind and brain so that they will have less time to wander willy nilly.
There’s no time like the present time to start. I see the way forward each day is to clear my mind, empty it of overwhelm, be a blank canvass. It’s difficult to make a start when it is jam full of stuff. I will have to do it any way that I can – meditating, solving a wordle puzzle, do my daily drawing…and work from there. This morning I’m working on putting things away after I’ve used them. Having done my drawing, I’ve put my pencils and erasers back in their case instead of leaving them lying around on the table. If I do this habit enough times, it will become automatic in time.
I suppose everyone has heard Patsy Cline singing, Have you ever been lonely, have you ever been blue. What I’ve been feeling lately is restlessness and things shifting. I don’t like it. Nothing is the same and I’m out of sync. It’s nothing new. I’ve been here before. What is new is that I’m trying to stay the course and not freak out, looking for an out. I don’t think there are any escape hatches. I might as well buckle down and see how I can benefit from these periods from hell.
I think the universe is always listening and offers answers. It threw me a podcast on the very subject. I was paying attention this time and heard. I offer you this transcript on The Gift of Restlessness by Casey Tygrett, a spiritual director. I have to read it again for myself to digest it. Restlessness surely is uncomfortable. It is hard for me to define though it is an often enough visitor. Do you get these feelings? And if yes, how do you deal with it? I like to get rid of it as soon as possible. Sometimes I try to distract myself by calling someone but often no one is home. That tells me that it is a problem for me to solve and not run away from. But a fast escape is my natural instinct.
Now I do try to sit with it all, feeling all the unpleasantness, fear. I’m letting them all rip through me. Nothing happens. They’re not lethal. I’m still here, tap, tapping, watching the words and sentences march across the screen. There’s a relief that comes from saying/writing it out loud. I’m out of the closet. I’m a mess inside out. I’m cleaning and tidying inside and outside. It might take me a long while. There’s pleasure in finding out. There’s pleasure in fixing/mending one small thing at a time. That’s what I need to do the next time these feelings come a-knocking. Mothers and grandmothers always knew the value of good housecleaning inside out.
onethousandandtwo 