My Week On Retreat

January 21, 2012 By

Iphone camera with wide-angle lens.

What was it that I said last Monday?  Something about a retreat?  Well, in some ways it has been like that and in other ways it hasn’t.

It’s been a busy few days, that’s for sure.  There hasn’t been any lolling around.  I’ve been busy every minute.  At the moment I’m sick.  When Bill went off to New York he took his blasted cold with him.  I thought I was safe.  Hah!!  I took care of myself, took Chinese herbs, got plenty of sleep and ate healthy foods.  I was feeling great until yesterday morning when I woke up with a head that felt like it was filled with concrete.  My nose dripped like a faucet that hasn’t been properly shut off and I have not one scrap of energy.

I didn’t go to yoga. But with an ice storm on its way, I did hurry to the grocery to stock up the pantry.  I bought fruit, deli quinoa salad, greens.  Two small almond cookies went home with me. But I turned my back on the dark chocolate and those almond croissants I adore. I’m suffering now.

Iphone camera with telephoto. Don't like what's happened in the corners. Something to figure out.

Besides doing some writing, I’ve mostly been going through one of the boxes of old journals I’ve kept.  It’s been interesting and is helping me to get life events in order for my memoir writing.  Many of my entries are boring lists of what I was doing from day-to-day.  But there is meaty material as well. I’m so glad I didn’t burn those ratty looking notebooks. I threatened I do just that during the last move.  But Lisa, my daughter, came to their rescue, saying, “Don’t you dare.”  So their lives were spared.

Iphone camera with macro lens.

Just last week I discovered a range of inexpensive lenses made for the Iphone camera. (I think they’ll fit most cell phones.) They came yesterday and this morning I’ve had fun, trying them all out.  There is a macro/wide-angle lens, a fish-eye and a telephoto lens as well.  The instructions say to place the small, magnetic metal ring (provided) around the lens on the phone.  It has an adhesive on one side that is supposed to keep it stuck to the phone. But it didn’t stick to the glass the Iphone is made of and came off with the lens I was using every time I wanted to change it.  So I stuck it on the phone case instead and that did the trick.  You simply place the lens on the ring and it is held in place by the magnet. What fun!!

I have been head-over-heals in love with my Iphone camera.  It is amazingly as good as the fancy Mamiya I used for my work in fine art photography.  The only problem is stability and when you get to be my age and have a bit of a tremor, it’s a problem.  But with practice I’m hoping that will improve.  I’m very excited since I still love to do some photography but am well past wanting to lug around a tripod and a bag filled with heavy, expensive lenses. I can tuck these cute, tiny things in a pocket or my purse and be prepared to capture an interesting moment that I might want to use on this blog.

Iphone camera with fish-eye lens.

All in all this has been a great mini-retreat.  I’ve enjoyed everything but being sick. And a few days after Bill left, I remembered that I had to do his chores as well as my own.  I’d forgotten to clean out the litter pans and with three cats choosing to use the same pan, even when there is one for each one of them, it gets problematic if you forget.

Another problem is that there are only a given number of hours in each day.  I must have dreamed that when you are on retreat you get a few extra hours each day.

More Macro work.

Filed Under: Dreams, Memoir, photography, Retreats, stories, Writing

New Beginnings

January 6, 2012 By

Zoe, Bill (also known as Granddaddy), and Noah reading Brer Rabbit.

I’m tired.  The period between Thanksgiving and January 1st, always leaves me out of breath and exhausted.  There is too much to do. Time to write, paint or stare into space is diminished.  Instead I get pulled into the rush, rush of the season, stay up too late, get up too early and am tempted by the yumminess that pervades store shelves, edible and otherwise.  It isn’t that the holidays are nasty. It’s that these big celebrations come all at once and last for well over a month.

Bill and I had a fun visit with our daughter, her partner and our two amazingly wonderful grandchildren in North Carolina.  We rented a small Townhouse just a quarter of a mile from their house for a week.  We took turns cooking, went to see the movie, Tin Tin on Christmas eve, and spent Christmas morning wading through gift wrap. Zoe spent two nights with us, Noah only one.  He said he heard strange noises in the night and couldn’t sleep.  We did a lot of walking and I was thrilled that Lisa took me to her Groove class, a delightful dance/exercise class featuring fantabulous music and soaking wet clothing by the end of the hour.  The weather was cold but perfect.

This morning, I’m finally feeling that I can get back to things I left on the back burner while I was otherwise engaged.  Last night, I decided it was time to get over the big overwhelm and holiday grind.  I plan to take a long walk today instead of going to Yoga.  The day is sunny and on the warm side.  I slept in until 7:30 (I know, I know!) and took my time walking Sam and having my breakfast.  From my kitchen window, I caught a glimpse of a neighbor I haven’t seen in months and ran out to give her a hug and meet her new dog, Mystique.  It felt wonderful to renew our connection and we promised to get together soon for tea and allow Sam and Mystique get to know each other.

I’ll tackle the heaps of paper surrounding my computer.  They keep sliding down onto my mouse pad, making writing extremely difficult at times.  And then there is the stuff in my head that needs attention.  Things I haven’t had time to write about, like the fact that I have made the commitment to write a memoir.  It’s been hard for me to say it out loud or to jot it down on paper because once I put it out there it becomes a fact. I can’t hide from myself anymore or the voice of my inner critic who screeches, “Who the !#@$ do you think you are?  Write a memoir?  You can’t do that.  There is nothing in your life that other people would be interested in reading!!”

Sound silly? I think it’s pretty typical and since that screechy voice comes from someone I envision as being about three feet tall and wears her hair standing on end, I can only laugh.  I tell her,  “It’ll be okay.  I am writing a memoir … because I can, because I want to, because I need to understand who I really am and how I got that way. I can file away all my stories in my head, but they will never become clear to me until they are written down on paper.”

Bill is going on a trip for a week this month.  I’ll use the time to tend to myself and retreat from the usual business I get bogged down in.  I did it for a week in the fall at the beach and it was lovely. At home I’m tempted to ramp up that kind of alone time with too much stuff. Since I’ll miss Bill, keeping busy helps the time pass quickly until his return.  But I won’t do that this time.  I plan on rolling in and out of bed when I feel like it, not knowing how the day will unfold.  I’ll just let it happen. Let it be a surprise. Take long walks, deep breaths, write, read and leave the holiday season behind for another year.

Filed Under: Christmas, Classes, family, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Retreat & Workshops, stories, Thanksgiving, Travels

Molly, 2001-2011

November 29, 2011 By

Miss Impy Molly !!

Molly came to us on November 22, 2003.  She was rescued during the middle of the previous night from a severely abusive living situation where she lived outside, chained to a cement block.  Her Home was made of 2 more cement blocks with a piece of ply wood fitted over the top.  Her food, table scraps, were tossed on the ground.  The same place where she pooed and peed.

She was delivered to us with a big pink ribbon tied around her neck and a brown paper sack filled with mats that my friend had clipped from Molly’s body.  We all fell head-over-heals in love with her, especially Sam who was her soul-mate right from the beginning.  My mother who was living with us at the time named her and spent hours massaging her as she herself was dying of lung cancer.

Molly was scared, ate as though she’d never been fed before and slept with us that first night.  We discovered she had heartworm. She mostly walked on three legs and found she needed both hind knees repaired so that she could walk and sit normally.  She was not spayed.  We attacked the heartworm first, then the knees, then the spaying, though now I regret that she never had a chance to have a litter of pups with Sam.  They would have been the world’s most perfect dogs.

We think she was a Maltese mix, perhaps a Malti-poo, meaning half Maltese, half Poodle.   She knew how to set your heart to beating very fast with love and how to sneak around and get the cat food when you thought you were looking, but apparently weren’t. She loved everyone, showed no signs of anger or victim behavior.  And she was great with kids.  When Noah, our grandson, was very small and grabby, he one day  took hold of her leg, looking as though he might try to pick her up that way.  Molly gently took his hand in her mouth and removed it from her leg, as I watched on in awe.

She constantly licked and cleaned Sam’s ears and eyes and anything that might hurt. When she sat in your lap she would clean every inch of skin that was not covered by clothing.  She would have made an amazing mother.

This past Sunday, at around ten years of age, after being sick on and off for several weeks, she passed, leaving this family totally bereft.

She had been doing well on Saturday, wagging her tail whenever she looked at me, went for her walks and ate well.  On Sunday her breathing became labored and she couldn’t walk.  We took her to the local emergency vet where she died on her own, as we hovered over her.  She was taken by a tumor on her spleen that suddenly split open on Sunday.  There was nothing to be done for her.  Sam came into the room after she died, sniffed at her, looked at her then sat down as if to say, “Yes, I knew she was dying.”  He is doing well, played with me this morning and later I watched Lily, our tuxedo cat, love him from head to toe as he slept on the floor.  He is very clingy though and does not want to be alone.  I know how he feels.

In my grief this morning, I was suddenly made aware that it is no mistake that Molly was sent to me and that my tendency to bring home abused animals is part of their and my own healing. Molly and all of the others who have passed, those still living, and those yet to come are my teachers, who have taught me how to parent myself and to find the light behind every cloud.

Lily, Sam and Molly

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Life, stories

Giving Thanks

November 23, 2011 By

Today is Thanksgiving Eve.  There is so much to celebrate and to be grateful for, I don’t know where to begin. But needing to begin somewhere, I am grateful for this lovely Iris that I planted last spring.

It is one that blooms twice a year, in spring and in the fall.  I’ve been admiring them in a garden that I’m familiar with for several seasons. Even entertained the idea of slipping in one moonless night with a shovel.  But of course that is stealing.  This bit of loveliness that I carefully set in my garden in May did not bloom at that time, but weeks ago I began to see signs that she was getting ready to present me with a glorious Thanksgiving gift.  It has been a fairly warm fall here, but we’ve had hard freezes and still she stayed the course.  I am grateful for this bit of color, as the rest of garden goes brown for the winter.

Peppermint

I am grateful for my veterinarian, Richard,  who is working with two of my pets who have been strangely ill these last weeks.  He’s promised to not charge me for rent because I’m in his office so often and kindly puts up with my panic when Peppermint, the cat, can’t walk without falling over or when sweet Molly, my little Maltese-mix , throws up all over the place and is in serious pain.  Both are doing better, but seem to have life long issues that they will need medication for.

Molly

I am grateful for all of my family.  My supportive husband who edits and helps me clean up most of these posts. He seems to know where I’m coming from and where I’m going before I do.  My children and grandchildren continue to be my teachers and sparkling rays of sunshine on dark, rainy days. For my brother, Zed, who has helped me through much loss.

I am grateful for all my helpers along the way.  Kevin, for recently agreeing to be my writing coach as I begin to cross treacherous seas and entertain the idea of a book.  He will be going off on a Semester At Sea, Around the World Cruise in the New Year. With his other coaching and writing jobs he may not be with me for long, but he is giving me phenomenal direction, not by telling me what to do, but by asking pertinent questions.

I am grateful to my dear friend, Sharon, who through her own pain, steadily holds the torch for me while I dig through layers of the past.  I can’t do it without the light she sheds on my life.

I am grateful to all of you who come to visit here and let me know what you think, whether by leaving a comment or sending an email.  I am grateful for all of you who don’t leave comments but come back again and again.  I know you are out there.

I am grateful for the richness of my life … my friends, those I find difficult, and the day-to-day comings and goings of people and creatures who cross my path.

May Peace Be With You All!

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Gratefulness, Life, stories, Thanksgiving, The Garden, The Seasons

Unseen Shoals

November 19, 2011 By

Fog over the South Fork Rivanna River Reservoir.

“We record unspoken experience in the mind and body, but unless we can story it out, experience remains inside us shrouded like fog hanging over water.  We may act on these unspoken tensions, but we act blindly.  We whistle bravely forward, a small, lost skiff, sounding a horn in the mist.  And often we crash upon unseen shoals.  Unarticulated experiences that are not allowed into the story can show up years later as trauma, disease, mental illness or a midlife crisis.  But when these same experiences  are shifted into language and successfully worked through in the healing power of story, they lay the groundwork for transformative personal development.”

Christina Baldwin,  Storycatcher, Making Sense of Our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story

I’ve found myself crashing into “unseen shoals” these past weeks as I begin to bring my hidden stories to light … the ones cached in deep mud at the bottom of the river.  The ones I really don’t want to live through again, but know I must in order to make sense of who I am and where I’ve come from.  I know the ending of my story will be a happy one. It’s how I retell the stories of what happened in the beginning and in the middle that will make it so. It is a painful and difficult journey.  For the time being those stories need a bit of protection before I share them.  I will keep writing here, sharing resources and timely stories that will balance out all the rest.

Christina Baldwin’s book from which I took the quote above, is powerful. I plan on rereading it as I move through the next months and bring to light more difficult times.  It’s a must read for anyone wishing to write memoir.

Filed Under: Books, Life, stories, Wise Words
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