Tag Archives: life

SATURDAY AND SUNDAY MUTTERINGS

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I woke up to a snow falling on cedars Saturday morning. I’m getting used to strangeness and unexpectedness. It was rather pretty and serene. It gave me a peaceful feeling, as if everything is okay. And it is, isn’t it? I have food, water, clothing and shelter. I’m lucky that I don’t have to worry about employment and income. I’m retired with a pension. I don’t know what it is like to have those worries now. I have been there in my younger days, always thinking of how to stretch the dollar. I have paid my dues. I feel no guilt.

It is almost supper time. The day can go accounted for when you linger and scroll here and there. It’s that kind of a day. Sometimes it doesn’t really matter too much if things don’t go according to the plan. I learn not to get into a sweat and make another plan. I mustn’t be too lackadaisical though. There IS a deadline for filing income tax – June 1. I still haven’t made a move on it. Perhaps tomorrow.

Contrary to the popular saying that tomorrow never comes, it has. It is Sunday. I haven’t done my taxes yet but I haven’t been idle either. I’m not in the flow of things so my words come in stutterings. It is almost supper time. I’m tired, having fought Sheba to clean her ears. She hates it with a passion, snapping her teeth at me. But it is done. She got the whole body treatment today. A brush out, massage and range of motion exercise on her right hip. It’s been giving her trouble lately. It’s worrisome. I don’t want her to suffer.

It is Mothers Day. The world is still stalled and in limbo. This time last year we were seated around a big table at Yip Hong’s for a Chinese supper celebration. I wonder when we will be able to do that again. It seems unreal, like a dream or a bad joke that we can endanger each other, that there are over 280,000 deaths worldwide due to Covid-19 in these months.

BAKING BREAD, SNOW AND MY TOMATOES

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It is almost 4 in the afternoon. Cloudy and rainy. Not inviting weather for a walk. I shall forego it if Sheba does not kick up a fuss. She is slowing down, her right hip giving her grief at times. She is always up when I mention ‘walk’. But today might be a good day to play hooky. She had her morning walk. We’ve both earned a day off.

Conversations are much easier to start in the morning but I had bread making on the start. Somehow it is always most the day affair. The day is almost gone but I have 6 golden loaves, minus the slices we ate, bagged and in the freezer. The pans are all washed, dried and put away. I haven’t always been this organized and orderly. I’ve learned it pays to be so. I’m trying to apply that principle to everything that I do.

The snow is coming down now after the rain. It melts as it hits the ground. It’s a cool 2 degrees Celsius. I wonder at my wisdom of planting some of my tomatoes. It’s going to be -2 Celsius tonight, -4 for the next 2 nights. The nights won’t get above 0 till Wednesday. I hope they will be okay under the covers. It will be an interesting experiment. And why not? Everything is so uncertain this year. Who knows what the summer will be like. I can dare a little, stretching our growing season a little. Maybe I’ll get a bunch of early tomatoes.

I won’t try  to stretch this post any longer. My mind is scattered. And I don’t have much more to say. Sheba is restless and pacing back and forth. I think she wants me to go watch TV with her.

HEALING MY ADDICTIONS

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It’s another Covid-19 morning, cool but sunny. I’ve gotten my addiction, my cuppa Orange Pekoe out of the way. It is definitely a trigger for my bladder. I’m not quite as in love with it this morning. I drank it out of a Corelle mug instead of my usual one of china. It does make a difference. Tomorrow I shall try one of my fine china teacups. I have quite a few sitting in the cabinet, just for show. If I’m going to suffer, I might as well do it in style. And they are quite a bit smaller than a mug – 1/3 smaller.

My mood is an improvement over yesterday’s. There’s no need to trash myself about it. I am susceptible to anxiety and depression. There’s no shame about it. These are difficult and weird times. Everyone is feeling it. A dog walking friend admitted that he was feeling anxious and needing some help. I talked to a neighbour at a distance yesterday. She looked tired and a little worn. Worse than me, I thought.

So here I am, tapping out a bit of conversation. I’ve pushed my damp mop around already. I took my dust cloth along, giving a wipe here and there. The mop is much lighter and easier to push than a vacuum. It’s faster and saves on the power bill. I’m learning new and better ways of doing. Hard to give up those ‘healthy’ and yet not good snacks. I’ve just had a few pistachios. They’re on the ‘bad’ list for me. I shall counter act with a couple of dates. I’m off to indulge in my crime novel before tackling lunch.

Now I’m in the evening of the day. Sheba and I had our afternoon walk in the sunshine. I never got my intended work on the other raised garden beds. It can wait till tomorrow. I did indulge in my crime reading. It is a good addiction sometimes. It dispels those creepy feelings of anxiety. My attention is focused on the crime and the chase. It’s a good escape hatchet. Just what I need sometimes. But I did not spend the whole afternoon in escapism. I did a little chopping up cabbage and this and that. Now I have two jars of kimchi fermenting in the basement.

So ends another day. I’m glad I’m showing up here for myself. Self talk is comforting and can be enlightening. Keep well and safe.

 

 

TRAINING MY MIND AND BLADDER

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I’m consoling myself this morning with a cup of rooibos tea. I’m staring at another blank morning, another blank page. I despise this feeling of blandness and emptiness. But how to make a mark, to scratch the surface? Will it bleed? I resort to mopping up Sheba’s hair to get a start. She has never failed to give me a supply. At least the ice is broken now. We have a start of a conversation.

Lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have interstial cystitis. It’s not deadly but at the same time, there’s no cure. Oh joy! However, let me look at the bright side. It can be treated by dietary changes. I’ve decided to take up the challenge. I’m tired of continuous treks to the bathroom, not to mention getting up 3 times during the night and the water bill. At the same time giving up my favourite drinks and food is enough to spiral my mood downward. I feel a huge depression coming on.

On the list of foods to avoid are: tea and coffee, regular or decaf, carbonated drinks, chocolates, spicy and acidic food, wine….Just when I’ve discovered the wonders of ferments, kimchi and kombucha might be on the no list. Booo! Surprisingly, sourdough bread is ok. I will just have to experiment. I know for so wine is a trigger. It is not a hardship to give it up. On the other hand my Orange Pekoe is. I’ve already caved in and had a diluted cuppa after my walk with Sheba. I am so weak but I haven’t thrown in the towel yet.

I’m still showing up, tapping out each letter, word, sentence, urging myself onward. I felt so low after lunch, it was hard to keep my eyes open, to clean up and get the dishes done. It was one dish, one utensil at a time. Then there was the frying pan. Man, that was tough to get that beast washed. But I did it. I took Sheba for a long walk after. I felt the sun and exercise would be good for stimulating the production of serotonin.

My self talk/tap, urging myself onward worked. I mobilized myself enough to get six tomatoes planted in the raised bed. after our walk. They’re caged and under cover. Let the cold nights come. As for my bladder, I think I’m on the right track. I’m able to increase my holding time to 2 hours and sometimes 3 hours. It is on my mind alot. You know what happens with that! I feel the urge almost instantly the moment it pops into mind. I can talk myself out of it by relaxing a little. I put it off for 10 minutes at a time. Then another. And so on. I’m having some success. I got up only twice for the last couple of nights. Small victories.

HERE’S TALKING AT MYSELF

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Morning has broken again, just like the first morning. The least I can do is get up, dress up and show up. And I have. To do anything, to get anywhere, to change anything, one has to move. That is the law. I have limbered and warmed up to the day by pushing my damp mop over the floors. There is no good reason for me to be despondent and be like a wet noodle. Regardless of what is happening in the world, I am alive and breathing. I still have to get up, brush my teeth and eat. Sheba greets me each and every morning. She still sheds her hair everywhere.

I haven’t gotten the world by the tail but I have made a stab at the day. I’m having a little celebration with a second cuppa. I haven’t cleaned my winter footwear nor filed my income tax yesterday. I did get the humidifier cleaned and put away. Some things are easier to do than others. I try to work with that. No use in fighting against myself. I have a ‘bad’ neighbour for fighting, though I’m brainstorming on how not to let her ‘undo’ me. It is hard. When I see how she is still ‘interfering’ into our yard, I feel anger starting up inside. I know it’s not proper to hate, but I truly hate her and her ‘boyfriend’ from across the street. I take a deep breath in and let it out. I will discard and disregard those few inches of my yard. She can scrape and scratch around our trees if it makes her happy. I will call the police liason again if she goes any further.

I do not want to dwell in the valley of negativity. I am just preparing myself for the coming summer, to foresee possible problems and solutions. I have not always been wise in my actions, words and judgement. I put too much trust in reason and doing the ‘right thing’. I forget not everyone thinks like me and see through my eyes. What I need to remember is boundaries and to respond instead of reacting.

Now it is afternoon. I HAVE cleaned my winter and summer footwear. They’re drying on the deck. I’m thinking how nice it would be to slip my feet into clean shoes. A pat on the back for me! I have to own the day by grabbing it in the morning. It means a little work and will power. What’s life without some work and effort. Nirvana is overrated. It leaves me without a compass. A little stress of the right kind makes for a happier, fulfilled life.

 

INVITATION TO CHANGE

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I’m suffering somewhat with this locked/shut down. Sometimes I feel as if I’m suffocating and can’t catch my breath. These times come with some tiny memories that drift in uninvited and unannouced of times before, of people lost and forever gone. They’re like mini panic attacks. I know now what it is meant by grasping at straws. Those times and people are gone and irretrievable. I feel such a loss, a hollow which cannot be filled. How callous I have been!

So here I have sat for the last while. I don’t know how many days. Immobilized, devoid of ambition, desires. I have not hula hooped, done my qigong, sew or painted. I cannot use being busy and no time for an excuse.  If not for Sheba, I would not have gone for any walks. My shame and guilt have been overpowered by lethargy. I’ve been caught up reading murder mysteries to quell my anxieties of uncertainty. After a long while, I’m nauseated and disappointed in myself enough to make a change.

What if I could just do one hard thing a day? It would be a start to rise up and out of this self-induced coma. There’s a whole slew of things that I need/could do.

  • Filing my income tax. It’s due June 1 this year because of the Covid-19.
  • Cleaning and putting away winter boots and clothes.
  • Cleaning and putting away the humidifier.
  • Showing up here again as a daily practice. It was keeping me sane and functional. I must keep what works for me.

This is enough to wake me up a bit and get me on my feet. I must not let this opportunity go for naught. I came across Mary Oliver’s Invitation yesterday. Her simple words have stirred me to thought and hopefully action.

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air

as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude –
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,

do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

 

LIFE NOT AS BEFORE

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It is another morning in this new ‘life will never be the same again’. Yet it comes and goes with the rising and setting of the sun – as usual. We still need the air we breathe and the sun on our skin. Have we taken them, and everything else on this breathing planet, too much for granted? Now we go to sleep and wake up in trepidation of the air we breathe and things we touch. We look at each other with suspicion. We keep 6 feet apart. We mask. We wash and wash our hands and everything we touch. It is not life as usual.

I wonder how to proceed each day, how not to dwell in the well of this nervous energy and uncertainty. If there ever is a perfect time for a makeover, I think it is now. We have this time of no distraction from the outside world. We are locked in with just ourselves. It can be discomforting. I am, at times, uncomfortable and alarmed with just my thoughts and voice. I cannot sit in silent meditation. I still need the soothing recorded voice of Mark Williams to guide me.

I tell myself it is all right. I can try again in silence another morning when I am feeling stronger. I don’t have to be a hero. I don’t have to be Wonder Woman. In this time I can just be, to explore, test, sample, sift through feelings and thoughts, decide what is valuable, what is not, to keep or toss. It is, of course, a bit disconcerting, somewhat like being tossed about on a stormy sea on a raft. There are no boundaries, no safety net, no known territory. I have to re-think, re-see with new thoughts and new eyes. How do I live in this new world now? Do I sink, just tread water or will I learn new skills of survival?

I’ve been sinking and treading water forever and a day now. I’m tired of just keeping my head above water. I want to survive, thrive and feel the joy that is supposed to be mine. I would like that without having to ‘work’ so hard at it all the time. Perhaps that’s asking for alot. Perhaps the joy comes from the work. Perhaps I already have the joy. Perhaps I have to explore and redefine joy.

WEREN’T WE BEAUTIFUL

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I am having a bit of a struggle this morning just with the thought of being in ‘locked down’. My daily life activities have not really changed all that much. I do miss not being able to go to the library, swimming Saturday mornings and our Monday, Wednesday and Friday exercise class at the YWCA. The thought of not being able to get closer than 6 feet of another living human being (other than the ones you’re living with) makes me feel claustrophobic and breathless. It’s much like the time I accidentally locked myself in the car. I was in a  panic then. Even Sheba was taking up too much of my air. I had to roll the window down and stick my head out.

I had a talk with myself just a little while ago, put a load in the laundry, made myself a cup of tea and here I am with the poem of the day. The words are beautiful,  bringing to mind of different days and different times. I know the wisdom of being in the NOW. But it is also in our nature to look back as well as ahead. We are a sum of our total experiences. Our body registers pleasure moments as well as those frightful ones that come back to haunt us long after they are gone. It’s healing to recall those golden times evoked by photographs and poetry. I can close my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, feel the breeze in my hair. I feel the vitality of my youth and the presence of my cousin next to me.

Now I’m soothed and smoothed, sipping another cup of tea. I’m no longer breathless and panicky. I can still feel the warmth of those sunny golden days and the presence of my cousin on this earth, knowing she is an angel in heaven.

Were’t We Beautiful

growing into ourselves
earnest and funny we were
angels of some kind, smiling visitors
the light we lived in was gorgeous
we looked up and into the camera
the ordinary things we did with our hands
or how we turned and walked
or looked back we lifted the child
spooned food into his mouth
the camera held it, stayed it
there we are in our lives as if
we had all time
as if we would stand in that room
and wear that shirt those glasses
as if that light
without end
would shine on us
and from us.

– Marjorie Saiser

 

 

STARTING HERE

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William Stafford’s poem captured my morning moment with Sheba. Starting here, it is what I want to remember – the two of us in this room, sunlight dancing across the floor and her back. We are breathing as one. I could not ask for a more perfect moment in time. I could not feel a more selfless love than this. It brings back other memories of dust motes in sunbeams. These are the moments when I feel at peace with the world, when I feel we are all breathing as one.

You Reading This, Be Ready – William Stafford

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this 
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

POETRY IN MOTION

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Once again poetry is helping me move through my words and day. Thank you to Laurie Powers for her 27 Wild Days. Today she reads Jane Hirshfield’s poem, Today When I Could Do Nothing. I’ve had too many of those days when I could not galvanize myself out of my lethargy.

Her words motivated me to try to do at least one small thing. I pushed myself out of my comfortable chair and into the dining room. I had to start somewhere. The table with many things on it was too big a challenge. My eyes glazed over and my head hurt at the sight. Somehow dusting the top of the china cabinet was ok.  I had to clear and dust the objects on top of it first. Funny how my mind and brain work. I will not try to figure it out. It is not essential. Go with the flow.

Even though I felt like mush today, I dusted the top of my china cabinet. With the excitement that I could move, I pushed a damp mop over the floor while the guy cooked breakfast. I was surprised that I finished doing all the floor after breakfast. Having warmed up, I did 5 rounds of hula hooping. My best round was almost 80 revolutions nonstop. I’m quite proud I was able to do all that and a little more. Now I’m telling you about it even though I felt like a wet noodle today.

I can’t wait to hear a new poem tomorrow.

Today, when I could do nothing,
I saved an ant.

It must have come in with the morning paper,
still being delivered
to those who shelter in place.

A morning paper is still an essential service.

I am not an essential service.

I have coffee and books,
time,
a garden,
silence enough to fill cisterns.

It must have first walked
the morning paper, as if loosened ink
taking the shape of an ant.

Then across the laptop computer—warm—
then onto the back of a cushion.

Small black ant, alone,
crossing a navy cushion,
moving steadily because that is what it could do.

Set outside in the sun,
it could not have found again its nest.
What then did I save?

It did not move as if it was frightened,
even while walking my hand,
which moved it through swiftness and air.

Ant, alone, without companions,
whose ant-heart I could not fathom—
how is your life, I wanted to ask.

I lifted it, took it outside.

This first day when I could do nothing,
contribute nothing
beyond staying distant from my own kind,
I did this.  – Jane Hirshfield