Stop, Look and Listen

June 5, 2013 By
Iris, May 2013

Iris, May 2013

Up at 6:30 this morning.  We’ve had a mini-heat wave going on, but thankfully it’s  over.  This morning’s walk with the dogs went beyond tempting me to stay away from the computer to start work again on a chapter I’ve been having a particularly hard time with.

It was just too beautiful outside. Cool temperatures (around 60), a light breeze, sun sparkling through the canopy overhead, and bird song were all I need to keep me from whatever else I had planned.  After my breakfast of cottage cheese and locally grown strawberries, I took another walk, by myself this time, climbing up the huge hill one street over from my house and ventured down a side street I’d never explored before.  There were few people about. Only several runners and a man walking his two, gorgeous, blue-eyed huskies.  The University is on summer break and there are few students around. Though I enjoy my morning walks during the school year, sharing the neighborhood with young and energetic students from all over the globe, I also love my quiet summer walks, when instead of people watching, I am alone with my thoughts … a walking meditation that is sure to rub away any of the rough edges I wake up with.

On returning home and still not ready for the computer, I noticed the red bud out front needed pruning, and the spent irises needed to be a trimmed back.  When I was about done with plant surgery, a neighbor, Ruby, whom I haven’t seen in a month or so walked by with her little dog, Mystique.

I was especially taken with her when we first moved here three years ago. She’d walk her ancient poodle, Bridgette, propped up in a baby carriage past our house every morning.  The dog was quite elderly, could no longer walk and was a bit blind.  But she loved her Mama, and Ruby wasn’t about to part with her until she absolutely had to.  Bridgette crossed over about a year ago and the entire neighborhood was bereft. We missed Bridgette, but mostly worried about Ruby and whether she would make it without her faithful companion. But Ruby is back out on the street with a new furry friend now. It’s especially good to see her out and about, since her husband has Alzheimer’s and she is caring for him by herself at home.

She stopped to chat. She told me that she is 89 years old. She says it’s hard taking care of of her husband and that she’s been wondering whether or not to move to a smaller home.  Though she continuously laughs while she tells her story, I notice a slight quiver of her chin, as if she might cry.  She also tells me that the reason she can no longer drive is that she has macular degeneration, and how much the medicines cost that she and her husband need and sometimes think about doing without.

We spend about thirty minutes together. She apologizes for taking up so much of my time and thanks me profusely for listening. I tell her it isn’t a problem and that I’d love for her to come by anytime. She walks back down the driveway smiling, as I breathe in deeply taking in the gift of her unexpected visit.  I helped Ruby by listening deeply and truly seeing her.  But she, bless her heart, helped me as well.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit down, chattering to myself about my purpose in life and how to make the world a better place … thoughts that haunt me particularly when I’m having trouble writing and want to walk away from my project forever.

Being listened to and being seen as a human being with our own joys and sorrows is one of life’s necessities. Being with and listening to Ruby today, was just the medicine I needed. I heard her and she heard me.  We recognized each other as if we were looking into a mirror, seeing ourselves in the other.

In our daily lives as we rush about and climb up the ladder to the next rung, we forget to take the time to stop, look and listen to the dear souls who inhabit our planet. Witnessing another person is one of the best gifts you can give or receive.

Filed Under: Compassion, Friendships, Gratefulness, Healing Tagged With: , ,

Compassion And Being Enough

February 27, 2013 By
Hellebores ready for the garden.

Hellebores ready for the garden.

During the last seven years of my mother’s life, I was her caretaker.  Except for the last five months of her life, she lived in my home with me and my husband, Bill.  It was a hard time for all of us.  My mother was narcissistic and difficult in the best of times.  But as she  crept slowly into the world that awaits all of us at the end of our lives, she became even more difficult.  Her behavior triggered responses in me that I regret and have been difficult for me to come to terms with.  No, I did not physically abuse her.  Above everything else I wanted to help her through the darkest of days and to feel loved by her.  Now, six years after her death I know that she did love me, but at the time I did not see or understand what was happening.  I searched for comfort where ever I could find it, especially in books.  I often read the following quote from Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s book, The Dance, to help me through those dark times:

“In My humanness I forget that who I am is enough, especially when I am hurt or afraid of being unloved.  Immersed in the pain and fear that are part of this forgetting, I sometimes hurt another.  Yet even this failure, for which I must take responsibility, calls me not to change who I am, to hold myself within my innately compassionate heart.  And I learn about the expansiveness of who we are, an expansiveness that makes us capable of compassion where we thought it was impossible.”

Filed Under: Books, Caring for an aging parent, Compassion, family, Fear, Kindness, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, Wise Words Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Making Progress

February 2, 2013 By

DSCF0295Yikes! Yesterday was the first day of February. I set a deadline to finish a draft of my memoir by September first. I don’t know where last month’s thirty-one days went. I swear it was just yesterday that I welcomed in the New Year with excitement. My head was filled with ideas. I jotted down notes every time a new one came along and began getting out of bed at six-fifteen every morning so that I could walk the dog, get some exercise in, and have breakfast before plunging into a two-hour write.

I set of goal of writing for at least twelve hours a week. It doesn’t sound like much for a serious writer, but that time allotment does not include reading other blogs about writing, checking email, wasting time on Facebook, meeting every two weeks with my writing coach, or keeping this blog up to date.

I also decided I would no longer allow myself to get fixed like glue to the television screen every night after the evening news, even if there is something “good” on. Bill and I have gotten into the habit of watching House Hunters International on HGTV, every evening at seven.  It’s the cheapest way to see the world and somehow very addictive for two old farts like us.

Instead, most nights, I’ve been taking that hour to try to make a dent in the piles of books I have sitting by my bedside and in the living room.  I figure a writer needs to read in order to write. But if I wait, like I usually do until I get into bed, I’ll be reading the same damned paragraph every night for the next three months. Don’t laugh. It really happens.

So how’s it going?  I’m sorry you asked. I’m completely frustrated, overwhelmed, and every day ask myself, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I LOVE my actual writing time, when there are two hours in a row to go at it without interruption. The morning is best, but in order to keep my aging body from pooping out, there are several sessions of Pilates and yoga to go to several times a week. They meet only in the morning.

And then two weeks ago I signed up for a six-week class with Dan Blank, on building my writers platform.  Oh my goodness.  If I wasn’t already overwhelmed before, I certainly am now.

What was I thinking? Though writing this book is not about making millions of dollars or being on the New York Times bestseller list, I certainly do want at least more than twenty or so people to read my book. And since I will in all likelihood self-publish this very well written gem, I’d best find out how one goes about doing what I think I’m doing. I’ve finished Dan’s first lesson with its homework and am now settling into the second lesson. I put a few drops of Dr. Bach’s Rescue Remedy, on my tongue when the anxiety of, “I have to do what?” kicks in.

Seriously, it’s scary.  I’m a seventy-year-old introvert, who loves to spend her time creating, not selling. Technology gets the best of me, and frankly, I don’t give a fig about social media and all that other stuff I don’t understand.

But rather than begin to sound like my mother, who a lot of my book is about, I’d best not say too much more.

Instead, I will pass on a quote from my daughter, Lisa, who in her latest, Sacred Circle Newsletter, wrote:

“What if there was no such thing as failure?  What if everything was akin to a great big fancy science experiment where the results simply gave you new information and didn’t define who you are? What if the results of your “experiments” changed with the seasons, shifted with your moods, and weren’t necessarily static and permanent?  What if at any time you can choose to change your mind about the direction your “experiments” are going?”

Reading that yesterday helped me to adjust my attitude a bit.  I know I can do just about anything for a little while and since the class is only six weeks long, I’ll experiment and see if this platform building stuff takes hold. By then my anxiety about creating a brand and building relationships with people I don’t even know, will hopefully find a new home.

I must say I am enjoying working with a group of writers who experience the same fears that I do and Dan is fabulous. He has a lot of patience with us and everything he says makes a whole lot of sense.  So I’m sticking with it. I’ll keep on writing as well and work at trying not to be so OCD about getting a draft done by 11:59 PM on September first.

What about you?  What’s causing you to be overwhelmed and filled with anxiety?  How do you deal with it?

Filed Under: Addiction, Being Creative, Books, Classes, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, Time, Wise Words, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Living Simply

November 17, 2012 By

I thought yesterday was October first and here I am preparing for Thanksgiving.  Why do I feel like I’m living in a time capsule that moves forward at a gazillion miles an hour?

As a little kid, I felt time moved too slowly.  Adolescence was the worst.  All I wanted was to be grown up and out from under the boundaries my parents set up for me.  During my twenties it sped up a bit. But being the caretaker of two little people, I still felt pretty limited.  Once those little ones were in school, the pace picked up from that of a turtle to that of a hungry dog anxious to be fed.  Once Mark and Lisa left home there was no stopping the hours from rushing to the finish line.  These days I get up in the morning and before I know it, it’s time for bed.  There are never enough hours in the day to do all of the things I put on my list of daily intentions. It can be so very frustrating.

I want things to slow down a bit now, thank you very much and I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way. Most everyone I know complains about there being too much to do in too little time.  While we whine about our computers being too slow, we wish for the time to take a nap, soak in a bathtub filled with bubbles, or simply lounge about, dreaming of what a real vacation might look like.

Today is my seventieth birthday.  It’s once more time for me to stop my craziness and think about what is most important to me.  Is it more pressing for me to spend my time and money accumulating more stuff and being seen at every community event? Or is it more important for me to slow down and smell the proverbial roses?  What about seeing friends for lunch or going for long walks in the woods or through streets crunchy with falling leaves? Do I need to go see every movie that is now playing at Charlottesville’s new fourteen screen movie complex this very week? Or might I stay at home, sitting in front of a fire, with a good book, snuggled up with my dog, Sam?

This past year, I seem to have opted for the long walks and the good book with sweet Sam at my feet.  And even though my pace is slowing naturally as I age, it’s not all that easy to stay in the slow lane.  If I’m running late for an appointment, I find myself swearing at the numerous red lights and the heavy traffic that makes me even later.  And if it’s too cold or too hot, I can easily find myself wishing that the season would move on and bring me more comfortable weather.  What I too often forget about, is living every moment as it arises.

I’m not one who is fond of this holiday time of year.  I do love being with my family and eating turkey with dressing and pumpkin pie, but I’m not happy with the consumerism that I sometimes feel wants to devour me.  Now Black Friday is set to begin Thanksgiving evening.  Will we now call it Black Thanksgiving? Those who have jobs in the big box stores that are so popular because of their low prices, are in many cases forced to work on one of the few days of the year that they have off to spend with their families.  A recent news report pointed out two women somewhere in California, already on line at their local Best Buy, so that they won’t miss out on the latest whatevers that they absolutely must have.

I could easily sit here and wish this season away, preferring it were March, and being able to work in my garden.  But where would that get me?  I’d have to skip tonight’s dinner at one of my favorite dining spots, and then hearing our local  symphony orchestra perform Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major Opus 92.  I’d miss being with my grandkid’s on Christmas day and most likely miss out on a snow storm or two that could transform my world into a fantasy land dressed in white.

It’s true that there may also be some very painful and unhappy days that I might be able to avoid by wishing life away. But if I didn’t enter the darkness from time to time, I’d never appreciate the light and the joy that surrounds me.

Today, I’m reminding myself once again, that rushing my way through life is not worth it. I don’t want to miss the smell of wood smoke in the air, and early daffodils poking their frilly, yellow heads out in February.  Once Thanksgiving is over, I’ll sit down and listen to Handel’s Messiah, while sipping a steamy mug of mulled cider as I write down all of the things I am grateful for this past year.

I’m convinced that I need to live more simply, being present in every moment.  Time here is too short. It should not take cancer or any other dreaded disease to slow me down, forcing me to finally begin appreciating the littlest things that I too frequently overlook each and every day.

Happy Thanksgiving Y’ All!
I hope you enjoy every precious moment.

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Childhood, Dreams, family, Gratefulness, Matters of the Spirit, Music, Navigating Through Life, Thanksgiving, The Garden, The Seasons Tagged With: , , , , ,

Parenting And The Unfairness Of Life

November 10, 2012 By

Amaryllis, © Joan Z. Rough

I will be turning seventy years old next week, and one of the lessons I’ve learned over the years is that being a parent doesn’t end when your child walks out the door, goes to college, and then gets married.  Being a parent is a life long proposition.

There is a huge amount of letting go one must suffer through in order to live life with ease, once the kids are gone. But no matter how much I let go, I find that I’m still alert to the tone of their voices and body language. And by indelicately stepping over the line from time to time, I disturb their peace, as well as my own.  But like a little kid touching a hot stove, I tend to learn what not to do by doing it anyway.  At last, I’ve figured out that they are learning about life the same way that I am. If someone tells us the stove is hot and we touch it anyway, we get burned and learn to trust the signals we are given.

As parents, Bill and I have been very lucky. Our two grown children, have had happy and meaningful lives. When there are narrow roads filled of boulders to navigate through, I worry a bit as any mother would.  But I’ve learned that being mindful of boundaries, both theirs and mine is of the utmost importance. During difficult times, I might think about them more often than I usually do, and send positive energy their way. But other than that I usually feel my job is done and know they are perfectly capable of getting through their troubles. But there are times when their pain is so great, that I want to sweep them up into my arms, rock them like I did all those years ago, when they fell and got hurt. I want to tell them that everything will be alright, that the pain will soon be gone and the sun will shine once again.

I’m in one of those spots right now.  It seems that life can take turns that are not fair.  Hurricane/Super Storm Sandy, was not fair to all of those who lost their lives, their homes and are living without electricity as winter comes on.  I can send a donation to the Red Cross and make myself feel better, but it’s still heartbreaking and unfair.  So much of life is like that and I often join the ranks of those yelling and screaming about it. But it’s one thing if it’s a political issue. When it comes to the weather or illness, no amount of breast beating, yelling, threatening or screaming can stop what we deem to be not right.

About a month ago, Mark’s adopted daughter, Casey, was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer.  She has had a double mastectomy and is preparing for some eight months of chemo and radiation.  She is twenty-four years old and none of us, including her Doctors know what will happen.  Every day, I hear myself repeating that it isn’t fair. That one so young can be struck by such a horrible disease, makes my heart break.  But it also aches for my son, her mom, Jane, her sister, Trish, her brother, Dustin, her boyfriend, Ian, and all of the people who care so deeply for this beautiful young woman. Everyone who knows her is grieving and we all pray that she will be well again and be able to live out a long and happy life.

For most of my life, I have wanted to save the world from suffering. I find it almost unbearable to see those I love in pain.  Once in a while I’ve been able to bring a smile to a sad face, but it lasts only a few moments. Right now I feel paralyzed. I wish I could do something to help all of those I love ease their way through this life as it is. I wish I could remove cancer from the land and bring an end to all pain.

As a mother and a parent, I grieve for my son, a parent himself, going through what could turn out to be the unspeakable pain that no parent should ever have to go through … The fear of losing a child.

Healing thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated for Casey, as well as for all those who also have had their lives turned upside down by cancer.

May peace be with all of us through difficult times.

Filed Under: Childhood, family, Fear, Life, love, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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