Keeping What I Will

Plumcake

 

Isn't she beautiful? 

She arrived in the mail from Kara, and though I've become loathe to blog about "things" (which feels boastful and acquisitive), I wanted to share what came up for me when I received it.

Of course, my first thoughts were "I love it!" and "Kara is so sweet!!" But then, other thoughts crowded it out. "She finished it. Why can't you ever finish anything?" "Isn't that neat how she made something you can hold in your hands? When was the last time you created something tangible?" "You are so untalented--you've never been able to crochet or knit anything. How many times have women tried to teach you? You're hopeless." "You should have learned to crochet. Mom and Granny crocheted beautifully, why didn't you learn from them?" "So much for living creatively. What have you done lately?"

From joy to despair in fifteen seconds.

I knew what was happening almost immediately--how could I not, standing there holding a lovely gift and feeling miserable? At first I felt awe--my demons are really good at what they do. Wow! Fifteen seconds!  Then, I started to laugh--which, as we all know, is the number one deflator of demons. Demons cannot bear to be laughed at.

Sorry demons, but I don't knit or crochet. I don't particularly WANT to learn to knit or crochet right now. And demons, I know you're worried because I still haven't finished a story, but you needn't be. I'm still working on that fantasy story, and I'm feeling optimistic about some other projects in the queue. Life's pretty good right now.

So why don't we all hush and admire Plumcake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 Thank you, dear Kara.

The Pool

 

 

 

 

  

 Lately, I've been trying to figure out how I can be me, while still allowing Nathan to be Nathan. This particular problem comes up with other people, of course, but Nathan challenges me more than anyone else. It seems like we're often locked into battle, with my only choices being outright refusal to bend or going beyond my boundaries and just sucking it up. This inevitably ends up leaving one of us upset--and it's usually me.

Take, for example, the pool.

I hate it. I hate the water in my ears. I hate the little plastic plug thingies to keep the water out of my ears. I hate having to use goggles with my contacts. I hate getting water splashed on my glasses. I hate the fact that for the pool to be warm, it means that the outside temperature has got to be a lot higher. I hate sitting out in the sun. I hate puddles of water. And yes, I'll admit it, I hate putting this body of mine into a bathing suit and being exposed for all to see. Exposed so that I can do all this stuff that hate.

Now Nathan? LOVES it. He's not at all athletically inclined--except for swimming. He'd go to the pool every day, if he could. And once he's there, it's hard to get him to leave. Stays for three or four hours are not unusual. 

In previous summers, his visits to the pool have been confined to weekends, when Mark could take him. But this year, I started thinking about it in April. It is so very hot here in the summer, and sometimes days go by without him playing outside. He doesn't like to go for walks, and he's not into biking, scooters or skateboards. All he likes to do in the summer is swim--especially since he took lessons over the winter and can now move like a fish in the water. The weekends are not enough for Nathan. It was beginning to look like I was going to have to suck it up.

But that's when I stopped and started to figure it out. I asked myself: How I can be pool hating me, while allowing pool loving Nathan to be Nathan? Does it have to be either/or? Can it work out for both of us?

I questioned Mark about the set up at the various pools Nathan likes to go to. Is there shade? Are there tables? Is it crowded? And I questioned Nathan. Does he have fun on his own? Do I need to actually get into the pool?

And you know what I found out? There are trees and umbrellas at all of the pools. If you get there early, it's not particularly crowded. There are always lifeguards on duty. Nathan is capable of having fun on his own, or with the other kids there. I don't actually have to get in the pool.

So today, we gave it a go. I took my writing bag, my Kindle and iPad. We got there right when it opened and were the first ones there--giving us first pick of all the tables and recliners. I chose a delightful shaded table, right between the baby pool and the regular pool. I spread out all my things around me, propped up my feet, and spent a delightful three hours. By the pool. Me.

And Nathan had a blast, too.

 

 

Rockin' the Granny Tote

I'm going to try a new thing, which is actually a old thing.

Though I finally gave up my attempts to completely read (and do) a Julia Cameron book, there was one idea in one of her many books (and I can't remember which one) that sprouted a root in my brain--the idea that it's not necessary to find a large block of time in which to write. Instead, she suggested that one look for little nuggets of time--perhaps having a breakfast, lunch and dinner type of writing times, with a few snacks thrown in for good measure.

While giving it thought, I realized that for it to work, I needed to make my writing portable. I needed to have it one place--my fountain pen, some miscellaneous pens, a couple of legal pads, a journal, and whatever notes or articles of inspiration I was using at the time--easy to get to and easy to carry.  At the same time as all this thinking, I actually stumbled over the perfect bag for me, for this purpose--a bag that's almost too much (and perhaps IS too much for some of you), a loud, in your face, painted cats and sequins bag. I quickly snatched it up.

And then lost it in the closet, forgetting all about the "little bursts of creativity."

Luckily, I have friends. Friends who often think along the same lines that I do, and read a lot of the same books as I do. Today a friend suggested that big chunks of structured time may not work, especially right now with Nathan home all day. He referred to Cameron's idea, and it all came flooding back--my initial excitement about the idea, the free feeling it gave me, and the bag. The delightful bag.

So I've dug it out of the closet, and I'm choosing what to put in it. When it's filled, I'm keeping it right out in the open--maybe on the sideboard in the dining room, or perhaps next to the couch in the living room. Somewhere prominent, where I'll see it a hundred times a day. Somewhere easily accessible, where I can grab it as I head out door. 

I'm feeling ever so optimistic.

 

What Will Be

 

It's going to be a high of 96 degrees today (the heat index puts it in the 100s), so I'm sitting in my dark living room, grateful for the shade-giving trees in the front yard, the ceiling fan, and the a/c. My chores are done, my body exercised and fed, and now I have nothing much to do until it's time to meet Nathan at the bus stop. It's time to go internal.

Changes.

They're a'coming.

Summer vacation begins in a couple of weeks, and though I look forward to all the extra time with Nathan, schedules will have to be reassessed, and weekly doings will have to be reconsidered. This isn't a bad thing, it's just different--and I have my troubles with adjusting to new routines.

There's also the new school Nathan will be starting in August. Though this is an overwhelmingly positive change, there are little pieces of it that bother me. New things that have to be considered, new routines (again), and new expenses. Adjusting.

Then there's me. Change is going to have to happen--no matter how much I may resist. I've got to pull myself out of the bog and begin to move. How, when, where, why, isn't even relevant--I just need to put this body/mind/spirit of mine back into action. And once the motion begins, I've got to try to remember how hard it is to get started once I've stopped. And to not stop again.

With all the changes and all the adjustments, comes something else to consider. Can this be done with love and kindness? To myself and everyone around me? Can I meet life with joy, and perhaps a little serenity thrown in, as well?

Yes to change, no to drama.

Where It Begins

 

I went to the local organic market this morning, and while browsing the aisles, I spotted something new--veggie hot dogs "smoked style." They were bigger than average, and looked very intriguing. I've been on this quest for the perfect vegetarian hot dogs* ever since I stopped being able to find Morningstar Farm's version in the grocery stores. So I picked up a pack and tossed them into the cart.

Four hours later, I'm feeling a little light headed and my tummy's beginning to rumble, and I think, "hot dog!" I hadn't thought to pick up buns while I was at the store, but I knew that I would be content with just the dawg and blops of mustard and ketchup. My tummy totally gets into the idea, and so with both it and the brain clamoring for a hot dog, I take the pack out of the fridge and look at the directions for the "preferred cooking method" (this is very important with fake hot dogs--they easily turn into inedible rubbery logs of grossness). The preferred cooking method was to cook in a skillet, with a lid.

I paused...I'd have to dig out the skillet. And the universal skillet lid that I have for all my skillets. It would take a while to cook. And then, of course, I'd have to clean it all up afterward.

I put the hot dogs back in the fridge and went back to what I was doing before the hunger signal.

Within a few minutes, though, the idiocy of it all hit me. I'm not going to feed myself what I want because I'd have to cook it in a skillet? How many times has Nathan asked for a sunnyside up egg for a snack, and I've said "Sure, baby," and quickly dug out that same skillet and lid? Really, how many times?

Oh.

I'm not mad at myself, even though I've gone through this similar thing plenty of times before. (I think I've even blogged about it.) It's just interesting to me--I know that I don't love myself enough, which often translates into not taking care of myself. When I think of that, however, I think in big terms and big events and big consequences.

It's not actually the big stuff, it's the little stuff. It's stopping to go to the bathroom when I have to pee. It's getting myself a glass of water when I'm thirsty. It's finding twenty minutes to do yoga when I'm feeling tense and achy. 

It's cooking myself a vegetarian hot dog in a skillet.

I am a beautiful work in progress, and I've just re-remembered something I need to know. Fabulous.

*Alas, I still haven't found the perfect vegetarian hot dog. It was good, but not EXACTLY what I'd hoped it would be.

On a Thursday Morning

I'm in a bit of a funk, but it's understandable.

And okay.

My birthday is coming up.

It doesn't seem to matter if I have high expectations, low expectations, or no expectations at all--I'm always left feeling let down in some way. I take full responsiblity, however. I think it has to do with not liking myself much--and not being willing to truly celebrate me. I never advertise my birthday ahead of time (that I've done so here is unusual), never admit that it IS my birthday. So I set myself up for this feeling of, "See, it's true. Nobody cares!!"

Ridiculous.

I see the pattern, though--and that's the first step in changing/healing it. And I feel on the verge of a breakthrough with that whole not liking myself thing. Right now I'm in the molten mess of emotion--feeling past and present hurts. Really, truly feeling them. I'm also asking myself a lot of questions, trying to trace back these negative feelings. Where did they come from? Can I forgive the person who said or did that terrible thing? Even if it was me?

I'm finding that I can--which is why I feel I'm on the verge of something good. So it's a funk, but a productive funk.

And by the way? It's my birthday on Sunday.

What if...

"If a rabbit shows up, it means:

This is a very creative time for you, so it's important to quickly take advantage of any opportunity that comes your way unexpectedly...Rather than steady, step-by-step progress, you'll see it happen in leaps and bounds...You're going to find yourself going through a period of quiet and stillness followed by a burst of intense activity. Express your love freely and readily to those you're closest to.

Animal Spirit Guides by Steven D. Farmer

 

I never quite realize how important routines are to me until they are disrupted.

Nathan wasn't feeling well this morning--an extremely "hurting" throat, he insisted. (Of course, it cleared up two hours later, after the risk of being sent to school was well past, but that's beside the point.) My thoughts initially rushed to the "How sick is he? Is he 'going to the doctor' sick?" They didn't stay there long, though--that motherly intuition was telling me he was actually okay. But since I knew he was quite likely to go to the nurse and put on his puppy-dog sad face, and that I'd probably end up having to go and get him, I decided to just save us both the bother and keep him home.

So then my mind rushed to the "How am I going to do everything I need to do?"

My Wednesdays are the same, every week, and I have the morning schedule down pat:

While getting Nathan ready for school, I make and drink a green smoothie, strip the beds, start a load of laundry, get the second load sorted into the laundry basket, do a general pick up of the house, and unload the dish washer. After he's gone, I meditate, get dressed, go grocery shopping to two or three stores.  I come home, put away the groceries, eat breakfast, play with the cat, write, remake the beds, and shift the laundry.

The afternoon schedule varies, but that's the my Wednesday morning, every week.

Except when Nathan unexpectedly stays home, and I haven't planned for it, and I go into complete mental break down mode. Unusually (for me, at least--and perhaps this means progress), the break down happened only in my own head--I didn't actually share any of it with Nathan or Mark. Even so, it was difficult enough.

The schedule had to be adjusted--and all my insecurities flooded to the top. I wasn't going to be able to maintain my "perfect" schedule--I would have to do things out of order, and maybe not at all--and my mind couldn't handle it. I felt on the verge of tears, or maybe anger--directed at myself and everyone around me. My brain was scrambling, trying to fit everything into new slots. Could I shift it all over one day? But Thursday has its own routine, and so does Friday...that made me feel even more anxious. Not just Wednesday messed up, but Thursday and Friday as well.

 I paused, took a deep breath, and then something unexpected happened. I thought, "What if..."

What if I waited to have my smoothie until lunch? What if I went to only one store, right then, while Mark was still home and getting ready for work? What if I skipped the sheets today? What if I postponed the meditating until tonight? What if I saved the laundry for the weekend? What if I give the grocery list to Mark for him to take care of on his way home? What if...

It's not that I had any illuminating answers...or that I ended up not doing most of what I needed (or thought I needed) to do. It's that I gave myself a moment to actually think about a different scenario, to actually consider why I do things the way I do, and whether that order is valid or necessary. By asking myself "What if," I was able to see that the world (my world) wouldn't fall apart if I changed it.

When I finally did move, my actions felt effortless. I finished almost everything I had planned to do--not in the same order, and not completely--but enough to calm me. 

And all before noon.

 

What Lies Ahead

 

 

 

"If a heron shows up, it means:

You've approached the opportunity before you at a leisurely pace, but now it's time to grab it and go for it with gusto...Take some time for self-examination, reflecting dispassionately on your goals, motivations, actions, feelings, strengths, and limiting beliefs. Only you know what's best for you, so follow your inner wisdom and guidance rather than the dictates and pressures of others."

 Animal Spirit Guides by Steven D. Farmer

 
As always, this beautiful bird brings a sense of stillness to the normally bustling lake.  Walkers pause, mothers hush their children, bikers slowly brake, and everyone just stops, breathless. For a few minutes, we are all truly living in the now. Right now, on a warm spring day, at a lake, each aware of the others, the sun shining down on us, the water sparkling, watching the majestic heron.

Moments before I came around the bend and saw the heron, I'd been stuck in the past. An odd whiff in the air, smelling exactly like my step-grandfather's tackle box, wormy and metallic, transported me back and I was remembering Bob--how much he loved me and my brother, and how much we all took him for granted. How he was always the last to be considered in any situation. And then he died when I was ten and we all realized just how much he meant to us, only it was too late to say or do anything.

But here was the heron, and I had to let all that go so that I could experience the wonder. I was back in my body, feeling the wind on my skin, laying my hand over my heart, holding it close.