Dear Thin Lady with the Hoodie who stands at our subdivision mailboxes peering intently at the letters in your hand:
Please go find another job.
This is not working for us. It can't be working very well for you, either, based on the conversation I had with our postmaster one day last week, and a mail supervisor the day before. And honestly, I'm working up to another conversation with the postmaster about the quality of our mail delivery service. (I learned also that mine was among MANY complaints received in recent weeks, so this is not new.)
I know the current carriers are training you so that they can have a little time off from their current six-day-a-week delivery schedule. I talked to your aunt. She was not helpful. She said, "I'm doing the best I can."
It isn't enough.
You actually have a handbook that describes in detail the requirements of your job as a rural postal carrier. There is a lot to learn and a great deal of reporting accountability, and I can certainly see where aspects of the job are difficult to remember.
But when you get it all together, your job is to deliver the correct mail to the address on the package/envelope, and not put it in someone else's box. You are not doing that very well. If you are dyslexic, then find a job that doesn't require you to read numbers and letters with complete accuracy. It isn't this one.
Twice in the last two weeks, I have had packages placed in others' mailboxes (and I'm wondering now about things expected over the last few months but never received). You had no way of knowing what was inside: it could have been a priceless heirloom, a birthday gift, prescription medication, a freebie giveaway. IT DOESN'T MATTER what was inside: your job is to deliver the mail to the address. You failed to do that.
In one case, my neighbor/friend called to tell me about it, and I retrieved the package from him. In the other, it was left in someone's box who I don't know well, and it was retrieved by a Postal Service supervisor who came out to the subdivision boxes after I went to the post office to find out what to do, since the package sender had called to make sure I'd received it and was able to track it as having been placed in the parcel locker. The supervisor opened the main panel of the mailboxes and searched through all the individual slots until he found my package which, despite having been delivered the previous day, was thankfully still in the individual's locker box.
I'd really like to believe that the person in whose box it was placed would have notified me or returned it to the Post Office or left it in the box with a note that said "Misdelivered." That's what I would do. But what if they didn't? What if it was medication that they could steal or sell? Or financial account information that could be used for identify theft? A check that could be cashed? Government documents that could jeopardize a person's medical or legal benefits? Are we going to find stacks of mail behind a dumpster that you just didn't have time to delivery properly? Yikes.
YOU are liable and responsible, missy, just as much as the person who receives mail not intended for them.
You have a solemn and clear responsibility to deliver the mail only to the person to whom it is addressed, and you did not do that. I'm now waiting on a report from my doctor who told me it was mailed last week, and then again on Tuesday. Not here yet. We'll see if it comes tomorrow. (And of course I will check with the doctor before I head for the Post Office.)
Mail delivery is not just a job, it is a trust, a contract, between the sender and the carrier to get it to where it needs to go. I have great respect for the US Postal Service for doing an immense job correctly most of the time, and I am amazed that it goes as well as it does. But you're a weak link here, and it sounds as though you've had adequate time to learn the process. Please find something else to do, for both our sakes. Because I won't stop complaining until it's right.
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Sunday, March 25, 2012
The Scintilla Project - Bonus Day
Talk about a time when you lost your temper.
***************
I seldom actually lose my temper: I do a slow boil, a ramp-up that I can usually defuse before it blows because it takes a lot to get me to the breaking point. Sometimes that process involves little pops of emotion that help ease the ramp-up time, but those aren't too volatile and are quickly over. When I truly lose it, I deterioriate into pulsing, red-faced rage, spouting and shouting words that may be laced with obscenities and making little sense, and eventually resulting in hot, angry tears. It leaves me weak, wrung out, and extremely dissatisfied with myself.
One time that stands out happened when Princess #1 was a teenager and dating a guy who was a year older and who was not raised with a lot of limits, far as I could tell, despite the fact that he was a Southern boy and children are usually very respectful towards adults.
He especially did not like that I wanted to know where my daughter was going, what time she'd be home, and other such details. While he was very intelligent, he was not a particularly good conversationalist either, and I thought he coerced R into doing and seeing things that she didn't really want to do -- like watching "Silence of the Lambs," for instance, a rather intense, frightening movie that I knew she would never have willingly watched.
One afternoon -- a Sunday, because I remember I was reading the newspaper -- he was at our house and they were about to go somewhere. I asked my usual questions and got sullen, terse answers. I remember saying, "Well, be home at ..." whatever time I thought was reasonable and which neither of them, clearly, did..
On their way to the front door, they were talking in undertones, but I distinctly heard him mutter "Bitch."
I held the paper tightly in both hands, breathing hard, and thinking, "I will not react. I will not react. Let it go. I do not need to react."
And then my temper flared into brilliant redness and that little devil said, "The HELL I will..."
I threw the paper down and charged out the door, yelling at him. I don't remember what I said, but I think part of it was about respect, part was about about plain old courtesy, and part was about parenting. He came back to the front porch and we stood there, angry face to angry red face, my body tense and quivering with rage and indignation, and he informed me that he had been raised not to respect anyone who didn't deserve it, and that I didn't, that I was a bitch -- which of course fueled my rage even more.
R was extremely upset by this, watching her mother and her boyfriend yelling and furious, and began crying and begging us to stop fighting, and threatening to drive off in her car to get away from us. (I'm sure it didn't help that it was right in the front yard where anyone in the neighborhood could have seen or heard it...)
I tamped my fury down then, and went to my daughter to try to calm her down, to keep her safe. I remember that the whole fight was never resolved, but for her sake I wasn't going to pursue it further, and the boyfriend had at least shut up and was also trying to calm R down.They left, eventually, and I went back inside to try to deal with my bubbling anger and disgust at the situation, and to try to figure out how to deal with him in the future.
I never liked him, especially after that episode. And I probably lightened up a little on the questions and curfews (which perhaps were a little too stringent). But I was glad when she broke up with him, although it took at least another year, and I never trusted him.
***************
I seldom actually lose my temper: I do a slow boil, a ramp-up that I can usually defuse before it blows because it takes a lot to get me to the breaking point. Sometimes that process involves little pops of emotion that help ease the ramp-up time, but those aren't too volatile and are quickly over. When I truly lose it, I deterioriate into pulsing, red-faced rage, spouting and shouting words that may be laced with obscenities and making little sense, and eventually resulting in hot, angry tears. It leaves me weak, wrung out, and extremely dissatisfied with myself.
One time that stands out happened when Princess #1 was a teenager and dating a guy who was a year older and who was not raised with a lot of limits, far as I could tell, despite the fact that he was a Southern boy and children are usually very respectful towards adults.
He especially did not like that I wanted to know where my daughter was going, what time she'd be home, and other such details. While he was very intelligent, he was not a particularly good conversationalist either, and I thought he coerced R into doing and seeing things that she didn't really want to do -- like watching "Silence of the Lambs," for instance, a rather intense, frightening movie that I knew she would never have willingly watched.
One afternoon -- a Sunday, because I remember I was reading the newspaper -- he was at our house and they were about to go somewhere. I asked my usual questions and got sullen, terse answers. I remember saying, "Well, be home at ..." whatever time I thought was reasonable and which neither of them, clearly, did..
On their way to the front door, they were talking in undertones, but I distinctly heard him mutter "Bitch."
I held the paper tightly in both hands, breathing hard, and thinking, "I will not react. I will not react. Let it go. I do not need to react."
And then my temper flared into brilliant redness and that little devil said, "The HELL I will..."
I threw the paper down and charged out the door, yelling at him. I don't remember what I said, but I think part of it was about respect, part was about about plain old courtesy, and part was about parenting. He came back to the front porch and we stood there, angry face to angry red face, my body tense and quivering with rage and indignation, and he informed me that he had been raised not to respect anyone who didn't deserve it, and that I didn't, that I was a bitch -- which of course fueled my rage even more.
R was extremely upset by this, watching her mother and her boyfriend yelling and furious, and began crying and begging us to stop fighting, and threatening to drive off in her car to get away from us. (I'm sure it didn't help that it was right in the front yard where anyone in the neighborhood could have seen or heard it...)
I tamped my fury down then, and went to my daughter to try to calm her down, to keep her safe. I remember that the whole fight was never resolved, but for her sake I wasn't going to pursue it further, and the boyfriend had at least shut up and was also trying to calm R down.They left, eventually, and I went back inside to try to deal with my bubbling anger and disgust at the situation, and to try to figure out how to deal with him in the future.
I never liked him, especially after that episode. And I probably lightened up a little on the questions and curfews (which perhaps were a little too stringent). But I was glad when she broke up with him, although it took at least another year, and I never trusted him.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
A mixed bag of July
Such a month it has been, this July. Unusually for these parts, we had many cool days where no air conditioning or swamp cooling was needed, we had some rain, and only a handful of days over 100 -- nothing approaching the usual round of 112+ degree days that is the fare du jour here in the north state.
August may bring some of that, but it also brings a sighting of fall, although we know we will have some hot days well through September and sometimes even in October, but with cooler nights.
July has been stressful for both of us. Early in the month, Princess #1 rolled her SUV, totalling it. She was unhurt although shaken, miraculously, but that has left her without wheels and her boyfriend's car is unreliable on a good day. So I've done a fair bit of chauffeuring here and there, although I've tried to make it fit my schedule and not her whim, and have also done the bulk of research to find a new one for her, one that will last for a long time, and that is within her budget. Fortunately, she still has back disability dollars in the bank which need to be spent by this fall, so that along with the check from the insurance company should be sufficient to get her a decent car.
My ex observed cheerily from his home in Missouri that 'car shopping can be fun,' to which I suggested he get his butt out here and go with her. He backed off, but did send some pages from Consumer Reports which helped, and I've spent lots of time on Edmunds and Kelly Blue Book.
I think we've found a car for her, and possibly one for us, actually, although we weren't really looking hard. (Our 12-year-old Corolla has been a steady, reliable vehicle, requiring almost no extra maintenance, but it also is on the brink of things starting to deteriorate from sheer age.) So today Tony and I will go to the dealership so he can drive the car -- another econobox, really, but with some cute factor thrown into the practicality) -- and then I'll try to negotiate a deal for both cars.
R also goes on Medicare in August, and that has been a huge learning experience as well, as I've learned about 'benchmark' prescription plans, low income financial aid, and what and how expenses are covered.
And then there is the Congressional circus, with all the posturing and pontificating and pouting and pandering that has made news night after night. As we look towards retirement, this is extremely unsettling for our financial wellbeing, and unbelievably frustrating to watch the self-righteous Tea Party members who are refusing to play nicely with anybody, including members of their own party, and to wonder if anyone in the Republican party even is aware that there are more people in their districts who are not millionaires and big businesses than those who are. Most seem determined to throw our country under the bus in order to make their stand and get their own way; certainly they seem quite willing to bring federal programs and paychecks to a complete halt.
They underestimate us, I think. Obama's speech this week woke up some of us and the switchboards and websites were flooded with messages telling representatives to shape up and get on with it. But that will be a mere ripple compared to if Social Security, disability, and veteran's benefits checks are missed, even one. People will lose their homes, will go hungry, will die, and there will be rioting, I believe.
Pretty dire scenario. I hope the Congress will start behaving like mature adults who are elected to represent ALL of the people, not just a wealthy few, and do what is right for our country. In raising the debt ceiling -- something that has been done over and over and over in the past, and is simply agreeing to pay bills we've already incurred -- we keep our credit rating in the world and act responsibly about paying our debts.
The budget issues are separate from this matter, and deserve to be addressed as such, but again, not by throwing people who depend on such programs as Social Security, disability and veteran's benefits to survive under that big honking billionaire bus. What they seem to forget -- and have for years -- is that WE fund Social Security with our wage dollars. It is not money to be spent or withheld by Congressional whim: it belongs to us and the government has been the (poor) caretaker of those funds.
Okay. I'm getting off the soapbox. For now.
But it is stressful to read and watch, even the bits I permit myself to do. Suddenly I feel like our financial future -- our retirement nest egg -- is badly threatened by the actions of people who are not even elected by me and those in my area (not that our Wally Herger is a lot better). And it's all beyond our control to do much.
I feel as though I'm maintaining, not growing, not creating, just maintaining and doing what needs doing. I try not to beat myself up about not getting in a garden this year -- the first time in years I have not done so -- or about the other things that clutter my office space -- receipts, notes, assorted R papers -- or about losing that stupid 8 lbs that has gone back on again, and dealing with my own health issues. But these times are stressful right now.
I'm longing for some ocean time, too -- the constancy of the waves, the sea air, the crying of the gulls overhead, the smell of the salt and seaweed and fish all mixed together. The ocean helps me clarify and sort through things and dismiss those that are less important. It blows out the cobwebs and the sun-baked ennui. We're planning a trip for fall. And with August's coming, each day moves that relief a little closer to reality.
August may bring some of that, but it also brings a sighting of fall, although we know we will have some hot days well through September and sometimes even in October, but with cooler nights.
July has been stressful for both of us. Early in the month, Princess #1 rolled her SUV, totalling it. She was unhurt although shaken, miraculously, but that has left her without wheels and her boyfriend's car is unreliable on a good day. So I've done a fair bit of chauffeuring here and there, although I've tried to make it fit my schedule and not her whim, and have also done the bulk of research to find a new one for her, one that will last for a long time, and that is within her budget. Fortunately, she still has back disability dollars in the bank which need to be spent by this fall, so that along with the check from the insurance company should be sufficient to get her a decent car.
My ex observed cheerily from his home in Missouri that 'car shopping can be fun,' to which I suggested he get his butt out here and go with her. He backed off, but did send some pages from Consumer Reports which helped, and I've spent lots of time on Edmunds and Kelly Blue Book.
I think we've found a car for her, and possibly one for us, actually, although we weren't really looking hard. (Our 12-year-old Corolla has been a steady, reliable vehicle, requiring almost no extra maintenance, but it also is on the brink of things starting to deteriorate from sheer age.) So today Tony and I will go to the dealership so he can drive the car -- another econobox, really, but with some cute factor thrown into the practicality) -- and then I'll try to negotiate a deal for both cars.
R also goes on Medicare in August, and that has been a huge learning experience as well, as I've learned about 'benchmark' prescription plans, low income financial aid, and what and how expenses are covered.
And then there is the Congressional circus, with all the posturing and pontificating and pouting and pandering that has made news night after night. As we look towards retirement, this is extremely unsettling for our financial wellbeing, and unbelievably frustrating to watch the self-righteous Tea Party members who are refusing to play nicely with anybody, including members of their own party, and to wonder if anyone in the Republican party even is aware that there are more people in their districts who are not millionaires and big businesses than those who are. Most seem determined to throw our country under the bus in order to make their stand and get their own way; certainly they seem quite willing to bring federal programs and paychecks to a complete halt.
They underestimate us, I think. Obama's speech this week woke up some of us and the switchboards and websites were flooded with messages telling representatives to shape up and get on with it. But that will be a mere ripple compared to if Social Security, disability, and veteran's benefits checks are missed, even one. People will lose their homes, will go hungry, will die, and there will be rioting, I believe.
Pretty dire scenario. I hope the Congress will start behaving like mature adults who are elected to represent ALL of the people, not just a wealthy few, and do what is right for our country. In raising the debt ceiling -- something that has been done over and over and over in the past, and is simply agreeing to pay bills we've already incurred -- we keep our credit rating in the world and act responsibly about paying our debts.
The budget issues are separate from this matter, and deserve to be addressed as such, but again, not by throwing people who depend on such programs as Social Security, disability and veteran's benefits to survive under that big honking billionaire bus. What they seem to forget -- and have for years -- is that WE fund Social Security with our wage dollars. It is not money to be spent or withheld by Congressional whim: it belongs to us and the government has been the (poor) caretaker of those funds.
Okay. I'm getting off the soapbox. For now.
But it is stressful to read and watch, even the bits I permit myself to do. Suddenly I feel like our financial future -- our retirement nest egg -- is badly threatened by the actions of people who are not even elected by me and those in my area (not that our Wally Herger is a lot better). And it's all beyond our control to do much.
I feel as though I'm maintaining, not growing, not creating, just maintaining and doing what needs doing. I try not to beat myself up about not getting in a garden this year -- the first time in years I have not done so -- or about the other things that clutter my office space -- receipts, notes, assorted R papers -- or about losing that stupid 8 lbs that has gone back on again, and dealing with my own health issues. But these times are stressful right now.
I'm longing for some ocean time, too -- the constancy of the waves, the sea air, the crying of the gulls overhead, the smell of the salt and seaweed and fish all mixed together. The ocean helps me clarify and sort through things and dismiss those that are less important. It blows out the cobwebs and the sun-baked ennui. We're planning a trip for fall. And with August's coming, each day moves that relief a little closer to reality.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Reverb 10 - 2010 encapsulated
5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.
- Broken wrist led to re-evaluation of what I want and don't want to do, how I want to live, realization of how quickly life can change, and what a strong mind-body connection there is in us, especially as we age ...
- I love the ocean. I love the ocean especially when I'm there with my honey. I need the ocean.
- Princess #1 finally has received aid to help with expenses; her illness continues to color our lives...
- Some friendships eroded for unknown reasons; new friendships sprang to life or were rejuvenated; long-time friendships were celebrated and honored. Grateful, so grateful, for friends who are loyal, who are honest, who are THERE through good times and bad, who truly care.
- There was plenty of anxiety, doubt, uncertainty, fear, and frustration; lessons of patience and one day at a time; but also extreme gratitude for each other, for what we have in our home and our community. Grateful, grateful, grateful that we are together.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Like a duck
...I'm trying to float on the stream, but underneath I'm paddling like mad.
There are a lot of things up in the air, some of which won't be resolved anytime soon. My brother's surgery is today, so part of me is there with him, feeling anxious, and trying not to be. There are challenges with work for both Tony and me, and again, part of me feels assured that we will be okay, but there is still anxiety. We continue to see problems with our daughter come up, and it's disruptive and a little frightening.
When you've lived a fairly low-key life for a time, it's hard to get dropped back into drama and uncertainty.
And I sure don't need to talk about the global economy. Money that was there (on paper, at least) a few months ago has disappeared. That's for everyone. These are unsettling times, tight times, anxiety-ridden times.
I don't like not knowing. I can cope with whatever a known issue is, but I have problems with the what-ifs and the wait-and-see ones. I want to know NOW.....whine......
I feel like there are so many loose ends, so many threads that are unraveling, and no time to really complete anything, not that it could be completed anyway. That extends to chores around the house and yard as well: we need to get rock and gravel and then spread it, but when? I need to yank out the summer garden and till. I'm nearly done with changing out closets, but part of it is still sitting in my bedroom. And then there are stories that need doing, if I can ever get hold of the people I need to talk to.
Too many what-ifs. Too much up in the air. And it's not just me. Nearly everyone I know feels much the same way.
There are a lot of things up in the air, some of which won't be resolved anytime soon. My brother's surgery is today, so part of me is there with him, feeling anxious, and trying not to be. There are challenges with work for both Tony and me, and again, part of me feels assured that we will be okay, but there is still anxiety. We continue to see problems with our daughter come up, and it's disruptive and a little frightening.
When you've lived a fairly low-key life for a time, it's hard to get dropped back into drama and uncertainty.
And I sure don't need to talk about the global economy. Money that was there (on paper, at least) a few months ago has disappeared. That's for everyone. These are unsettling times, tight times, anxiety-ridden times.
I don't like not knowing. I can cope with whatever a known issue is, but I have problems with the what-ifs and the wait-and-see ones. I want to know NOW.....whine......
I feel like there are so many loose ends, so many threads that are unraveling, and no time to really complete anything, not that it could be completed anyway. That extends to chores around the house and yard as well: we need to get rock and gravel and then spread it, but when? I need to yank out the summer garden and till. I'm nearly done with changing out closets, but part of it is still sitting in my bedroom. And then there are stories that need doing, if I can ever get hold of the people I need to talk to.
Too many what-ifs. Too much up in the air. And it's not just me. Nearly everyone I know feels much the same way.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Powerless
I am working hard to accept that I am powerless over people, places, and things. As always, it is hard to do. I want to fix it.
Okay, okay. I'll admit I can be a bit of a control freak. I want things the way I want them -- which is to say I want the people I love to have a good life, to be free from undue suffering, to have the ability to bring themselves out of a funk and to cope with the big lumps life sometimes deals us.
And some things that have been problems for my loved ones seem to be smoothing out a bit, not that there still aren't issues. But one I thing I know is true: everything changes. Nothing stays the same.
I'm grateful for time and persistance, just slogging through the day sometimes, and doing the next right thing as it comes up, whatever it is. It's hard to do, but it usually pays off eventually, with some easing of the anxiety and fear and anger and grief. Not gone, but eased. That's where two of my loved ones are this day.
But when we're looking at major depression and the side effects of medicine, that's a whole 'nuther kettle of fish. How long do you give it a shot before you call the doctor? And how far do you push the person -- especially since I want to keep communication as open as possible?
I want it to be better. I want it NOW. (or in the near future...) I want progress.
A friend told me once that I was too analytical when it came to my own behavior and also that of others. I do analyze a lot -- maybe it's rationalization -- maybe it's the result of years of reading and self-analysis. I don't know how to turn it off, and am not sure I want to. It does help me to understand behavior and why people act as they do, mostly.
I do know that I need to try to let go the things that I can't change or fix. I guess that dealing with my own emotions is as involved as I need to be, and to once again try to accept that I can't fix other people's problems. (I bet I get obnoxious, too, when I offer "helpful" suggestions.....)
Eh.
On another note, I'm reading Randy Paush's The Last Lecture. He's the professor who has left this legacy for his children and his students, and who was featured a couple of times on Oprah. He died July 25 of pancreatic cancer.
It's about living with a death sentence, and it has the truths in it that I deeply believe: life is what you make it, and you can only live it one day at a time. But you treasure each of those days: none of us knows what day will be our last one. Tell people if you care about them. Mend relationships with people you love. Be good to yourself. Give thanks for what you have. Play. Pray. Laugh. Hug someone.
We are so busy "doing" what we have to do so much of the time that we forget about our inner selves that need nurturing and encouragement to just "be." I think that's one of the things that bothers me so about depression -- you can't SEE the disability, and it is frustrating both to not care what you do with your day and to watch someone you love spend their precious time like that.
Anyway...
I am grateful for September. That means that cool weather and rain isn't so far off. I am really done with summer, not that I ever do it very well. I want more cool nights with covers tucked up under my chin, and rain....settling the dirt and dust, and washing things clean.
And I'm powerless over that too, darn it. Patience and time will change it. Meanwhile, I have a life to live, one day at a time.
I am grateful for friends and for birthdays -- we celebrated another birthday in our little neighborhood circle this weekend, full of good food, good talk and laughter, and blessings. It is good to mark the years like this -- with people you care about and who care about you. That is truly the blessing of aging, to find that and cherish it. I hope my actions reflect how much I care about these people, and how important they are to me.
And life goes on today...another day, one day at a time. I am grateful for whatever it brings me, for I am still here to experience it.
Okay, okay. I'll admit I can be a bit of a control freak. I want things the way I want them -- which is to say I want the people I love to have a good life, to be free from undue suffering, to have the ability to bring themselves out of a funk and to cope with the big lumps life sometimes deals us.
And some things that have been problems for my loved ones seem to be smoothing out a bit, not that there still aren't issues. But one I thing I know is true: everything changes. Nothing stays the same.
I'm grateful for time and persistance, just slogging through the day sometimes, and doing the next right thing as it comes up, whatever it is. It's hard to do, but it usually pays off eventually, with some easing of the anxiety and fear and anger and grief. Not gone, but eased. That's where two of my loved ones are this day.
But when we're looking at major depression and the side effects of medicine, that's a whole 'nuther kettle of fish. How long do you give it a shot before you call the doctor? And how far do you push the person -- especially since I want to keep communication as open as possible?
I want it to be better. I want it NOW. (or in the near future...) I want progress.
A friend told me once that I was too analytical when it came to my own behavior and also that of others. I do analyze a lot -- maybe it's rationalization -- maybe it's the result of years of reading and self-analysis. I don't know how to turn it off, and am not sure I want to. It does help me to understand behavior and why people act as they do, mostly.
I do know that I need to try to let go the things that I can't change or fix. I guess that dealing with my own emotions is as involved as I need to be, and to once again try to accept that I can't fix other people's problems. (I bet I get obnoxious, too, when I offer "helpful" suggestions.....)
Eh.
On another note, I'm reading Randy Paush's The Last Lecture. He's the professor who has left this legacy for his children and his students, and who was featured a couple of times on Oprah. He died July 25 of pancreatic cancer.
It's about living with a death sentence, and it has the truths in it that I deeply believe: life is what you make it, and you can only live it one day at a time. But you treasure each of those days: none of us knows what day will be our last one. Tell people if you care about them. Mend relationships with people you love. Be good to yourself. Give thanks for what you have. Play. Pray. Laugh. Hug someone.
We are so busy "doing" what we have to do so much of the time that we forget about our inner selves that need nurturing and encouragement to just "be." I think that's one of the things that bothers me so about depression -- you can't SEE the disability, and it is frustrating both to not care what you do with your day and to watch someone you love spend their precious time like that.
Anyway...
I am grateful for September. That means that cool weather and rain isn't so far off. I am really done with summer, not that I ever do it very well. I want more cool nights with covers tucked up under my chin, and rain....settling the dirt and dust, and washing things clean.
And I'm powerless over that too, darn it. Patience and time will change it. Meanwhile, I have a life to live, one day at a time.
I am grateful for friends and for birthdays -- we celebrated another birthday in our little neighborhood circle this weekend, full of good food, good talk and laughter, and blessings. It is good to mark the years like this -- with people you care about and who care about you. That is truly the blessing of aging, to find that and cherish it. I hope my actions reflect how much I care about these people, and how important they are to me.
And life goes on today...another day, one day at a time. I am grateful for whatever it brings me, for I am still here to experience it.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Claiming your power
Boyoboy, the universe is certainly busily stirring the pot these days, not just in our lives, but from what I've heard from friends and family, it's pretty much everywhere.
Not sure what astrological things are happening to exacerbate the disturbance -- Mercury, my favorite culprit, is direct for another month. I know there's been a solar eclipse and a lunar eclipse, and the Perseid meteor shower has been going on the last couple of weeks, but there's gotta be something else.
Much of the turmoil is about power: who we are, what we are about, how we are sometimes challenged to remember that, especially when we are treated poorly or belittled or our contributions are not acknowledged to be of value.
Been there, done that. Numerous times in previous lives, and even some in this one.
Ethical people with a strong work ethic are not perpetrators here, but especially in the corporate world, there are all too many management types who have eyes only on the money and don't really care how they treat customers, employees, or vendors.
I believe you either have ethics or you don't. If you don't, it's not likely you're suddenly going to acquire them, unless you're Paul on the road to Damascus and God speaks to you.
That kind of management type probably wouldn't listen even if God did speak. Or would dismiss Him/Her. The kind of manager -- or person -- I'm referring to believes in just one thing: him/herself...Oh. Yeah... and money.
In my last corporate job, we had a big reorganization where some 25 or so were let go in one day. The few remaining marketing/creative types were kept because management thought we had the skill set to make a transition to a new organizational style. I'd made the cut.
My directive? My one and only directive was to "take marketing to the next level."
What was that "next level'? Nobody defined it. None of us in marketing knew what they wanted. Nobody in management could explain beyond that.
The result was that for the better part of a year, we all duplicated efforts rather than teaming up, we had different styles for different departments rather than creating an overall brand for the entire product line, resulting in confusion about what was used when and where. We tried to meet and discuss things, but it never worked because nobody would rock the "next level" boat.
In one meeting, I remember vividly, I let my frustration show at all of us going in such wildly different directions. And then I was accused by my manager of being difficult to work with and inflammatory (he had heard this third hand from someone who WASN'T EVEN IN THE MEETING.)
Oh, I tried to stick it out there until the end of the year. The goals I had to set as part of the review process were belittled, even though I took them from what management had said they wanted (the little bit that they did). I was plunked into a job that didn't remotely use my strengths with people who didn't respect me and who went behind my back to vendors with whom I was dealing. When I questioned --very strongly -- the ethics of using a package logo that was from a VERY POWERFUL SOFTWARE COMPANY on a product that had NOT been tested or certified as compliant with that software (and the process and consequences were clearly outlined on VERY POWERFUL SOFTWARE COMPANY'S Web site), I was ignored and my concerns were laughed at (even though I was the one who signed off on the package design and who would be the first one they came after).
I got sick. Really sick, physically, but I believe a great deal of it was because I was so mentally worn down and stressed out from trying to function ethically in an unethical place. Went on disability for the rest of the year. And they canned me about a month and a half into it, along with another 20 or so people in yet another reorg.
I was SO happy that I did not have to go back for anything more than to clean out my desk (which I'd mostly cleaned out before I got sick).
Being told you are worthless, that you can't do anything right, never being given a compliment about your work, never having your hard work acknowledged in any way -- never even being spoken to pleasantly, even to say "good morning" does a number on your emotions, on your own feelings of self-worth and value.
You begin to feel that "they" are out to get you, when in truth, they probably rarely notice you. You begin to question your own competence and even skills you know are rock solid.
That's abuse of a sort, folks. That's giving away your power to people who are NOT WORTH it, who don't value you.
Take it back.
There are some good links about power and abuse that I've found...and I'm not done with this topic.
Not sure what astrological things are happening to exacerbate the disturbance -- Mercury, my favorite culprit, is direct for another month. I know there's been a solar eclipse and a lunar eclipse, and the Perseid meteor shower has been going on the last couple of weeks, but there's gotta be something else.
Much of the turmoil is about power: who we are, what we are about, how we are sometimes challenged to remember that, especially when we are treated poorly or belittled or our contributions are not acknowledged to be of value.
Been there, done that. Numerous times in previous lives, and even some in this one.
Ethical people with a strong work ethic are not perpetrators here, but especially in the corporate world, there are all too many management types who have eyes only on the money and don't really care how they treat customers, employees, or vendors.
I believe you either have ethics or you don't. If you don't, it's not likely you're suddenly going to acquire them, unless you're Paul on the road to Damascus and God speaks to you.
That kind of management type probably wouldn't listen even if God did speak. Or would dismiss Him/Her. The kind of manager -- or person -- I'm referring to believes in just one thing: him/herself...Oh. Yeah... and money.
In my last corporate job, we had a big reorganization where some 25 or so were let go in one day. The few remaining marketing/creative types were kept because management thought we had the skill set to make a transition to a new organizational style. I'd made the cut.
My directive? My one and only directive was to "take marketing to the next level."
What was that "next level'? Nobody defined it. None of us in marketing knew what they wanted. Nobody in management could explain beyond that.
The result was that for the better part of a year, we all duplicated efforts rather than teaming up, we had different styles for different departments rather than creating an overall brand for the entire product line, resulting in confusion about what was used when and where. We tried to meet and discuss things, but it never worked because nobody would rock the "next level" boat.
In one meeting, I remember vividly, I let my frustration show at all of us going in such wildly different directions. And then I was accused by my manager of being difficult to work with and inflammatory (he had heard this third hand from someone who WASN'T EVEN IN THE MEETING.)
Oh, I tried to stick it out there until the end of the year. The goals I had to set as part of the review process were belittled, even though I took them from what management had said they wanted (the little bit that they did). I was plunked into a job that didn't remotely use my strengths with people who didn't respect me and who went behind my back to vendors with whom I was dealing. When I questioned --very strongly -- the ethics of using a package logo that was from a VERY POWERFUL SOFTWARE COMPANY on a product that had NOT been tested or certified as compliant with that software (and the process and consequences were clearly outlined on VERY POWERFUL SOFTWARE COMPANY'S Web site), I was ignored and my concerns were laughed at (even though I was the one who signed off on the package design and who would be the first one they came after).
I got sick. Really sick, physically, but I believe a great deal of it was because I was so mentally worn down and stressed out from trying to function ethically in an unethical place. Went on disability for the rest of the year. And they canned me about a month and a half into it, along with another 20 or so people in yet another reorg.
I was SO happy that I did not have to go back for anything more than to clean out my desk (which I'd mostly cleaned out before I got sick).
Being told you are worthless, that you can't do anything right, never being given a compliment about your work, never having your hard work acknowledged in any way -- never even being spoken to pleasantly, even to say "good morning" does a number on your emotions, on your own feelings of self-worth and value.
You begin to feel that "they" are out to get you, when in truth, they probably rarely notice you. You begin to question your own competence and even skills you know are rock solid.
That's abuse of a sort, folks. That's giving away your power to people who are NOT WORTH it, who don't value you.
Take it back.
There are some good links about power and abuse that I've found...and I'm not done with this topic.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Frustration and fear
Frustration on many levels. Partly because I can't figure out why the post below insists on publishing in that large size. Partly because I'm concerned for my daughter and feel very powerless.
Which brings on the fear. And boy, it is there.
I am hesitant to say too much right now in this venue.
But I can ask for your prayers, your most fervent, loving prayers for her. And for me.
Which brings on the fear. And boy, it is there.
I am hesitant to say too much right now in this venue.
But I can ask for your prayers, your most fervent, loving prayers for her. And for me.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Nattering nabob of negativity -- or just nincompoop?
William Safire first penned that phrase, "Nattering nabobs of negativity," for a speech given by Spiro Agnew. It referred to members of the press, especially the liberal, anti-war media of the time.
Technically it means chattering by persons of great wealth or prominence that is marked by features of hostility, withdrawal, or pessimism that hinder or oppose constructive treatment or development.
I encountered -- again -- one such example the other night during a meeting of arts advocates. It wasn't anyone present; rather it is someone in the community who has decided to attack and belittle rather than to partner and build. We'll refer to that person as 3N -- Nattering Nabab of Negativity.
3N doesn't really fit the "nabob" category -- more like a 'wannabe' nabob, who because of the individual's approach to problem-solving, will likely fail in endeavors to be either wealthy or prominent. (Perhaps we could refer to this individual as a 'nattering nincompoop of negativity.')
But it sure made my blood boil briefly -- probably a result that was desired by 3N, actually, as I believe s/he rather enjoys stirring the pot and watching others hop.
When people partner to achieve common goals, everyone benefits and programs are strengthened. Especially in a small town, negativism divides, rumors fly, and nothing -- NOTHING -- is accomplished that actually has long-term benefits.
There is no hugely divisive issue at stake here, no radical philosophical differences that would preclude rapprochement. Far as I can tell, 3N is relishing the mean-spirited roadblocks s/he is throwing up, enjoying the discomfiture of those who would rather try to partner for causes that benefit everyone.
There are actually a couple of 3Ns around these parts. And it's a pity. Their superior attitude and contempt for the arts in Tehama County ultimately will hurt themselves most by alienating people who might otherwise support them. I don't want to nurture elitist and negative attitudes with my money and attendance and patronage. Bet you don't either.
Technically it means chattering by persons of great wealth or prominence that is marked by features of hostility, withdrawal, or pessimism that hinder or oppose constructive treatment or development.
I encountered -- again -- one such example the other night during a meeting of arts advocates. It wasn't anyone present; rather it is someone in the community who has decided to attack and belittle rather than to partner and build. We'll refer to that person as 3N -- Nattering Nabab of Negativity.
3N doesn't really fit the "nabob" category -- more like a 'wannabe' nabob, who because of the individual's approach to problem-solving, will likely fail in endeavors to be either wealthy or prominent. (Perhaps we could refer to this individual as a 'nattering nincompoop of negativity.')
But it sure made my blood boil briefly -- probably a result that was desired by 3N, actually, as I believe s/he rather enjoys stirring the pot and watching others hop.
When people partner to achieve common goals, everyone benefits and programs are strengthened. Especially in a small town, negativism divides, rumors fly, and nothing -- NOTHING -- is accomplished that actually has long-term benefits.
There is no hugely divisive issue at stake here, no radical philosophical differences that would preclude rapprochement. Far as I can tell, 3N is relishing the mean-spirited roadblocks s/he is throwing up, enjoying the discomfiture of those who would rather try to partner for causes that benefit everyone.
There are actually a couple of 3Ns around these parts. And it's a pity. Their superior attitude and contempt for the arts in Tehama County ultimately will hurt themselves most by alienating people who might otherwise support them. I don't want to nurture elitist and negative attitudes with my money and attendance and patronage. Bet you don't either.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Telling the truth
Truth: the true or actual state of a matter.
That's not so hard, is it. The actual state of a matter.
And yet we avoid it, we lie about it, we cover it up, we find ways to pretend it doesn't exist.
No, folks, this is not a political post. I'm just pondering truth these days and why it is so hard to acknowledge it.
Medical conditions, for instance. Why is it that we will avoid going to the doctor, gloss over a symptom, tell ourselves that no, that really wasn't a lump but muscle; no, that really wasn't anything but indigestion; no, the sharp pain in the leg is just because we overdid it.
Acknowledging the truth of the situation can save a life, ease pain, forestall greater harm.
Or why do we avoid friends and family, avoid telling them what is really going on with us, acknowledge to them that what they said hurt, that we really don't like them very much, that we are uncomfortable when they party too much?
Is it embarrassment for ourselves or for the other person? Co-dependence -- we don't want them to worry about us? Fear -- that actually knowing the truth is scarier than pretending nothing is wrong? That knowing then makes it real and we have to deal with the consequences?
And yet the truth eventually comes to light, doesn't it, and we deal with the issue AND the avoidance.
I hate not knowing the truth. My mind is capable of creating immensely complex, terrifying consequences when I'm not hearing anything from my daughter -- despite repeated phone messages and calls. So far, at least in similar situations in the past, the truth hasn't been nearly as stressful as the scenarios I've imagined (may that continue!) But goodgollygeewhiz, I dread the ice weasel parties that are in the planning stages, and the subsequent sleeplessness and stress.
And I don't understand why the lack of communication, the lack of truth.
I have a huge dental phobia -- I don't even like getting my teeth cleaned, and I confess I'm avoiding it right now. I don't want to offend anyone (like the hygenist), but it hurt last time. And I guess I don't want to be judged as a complete and total wimp, and far too old to behave that way at the dentist -- so I don't say anything when I finally DO get in the chair.
And yet who does my lack of truth hurt? Me.
How many of us have hesitated to go the the doctor because we're afraid something is wrong? Denied feeling depressed and worried when we really feel like hiding under the bed and never coming out? Put on a happy face to the world when we're clearly NOT okay?
Who does the truth hurt? Ourselves.
My mother insisted that we tell the truth: she hated lies, and always punished the lie far more severely than she ever did the truth, no matter how bad. I hate lying too -- tell me any truth, but never lie to me if you care about me. Once lost in a lie, trust is nearly impossible to regain.
I don't have any brilliant, insightful conclusions here. I'm just feeling sad about how we deceive ourselves, sad about the sometimes hard consequences of such denials. Worried over lack of communication of the truth, whatever it may be. Fearful of those unknowns. And always trying to balance honesty and truth with compassion and kindness ...
The truth shall set you free. Free to take care of yourself properly, to live honestly, to be who you are without apology. I think I'll make that cleaning appointment in the morning.
That's not so hard, is it. The actual state of a matter.
And yet we avoid it, we lie about it, we cover it up, we find ways to pretend it doesn't exist.
No, folks, this is not a political post. I'm just pondering truth these days and why it is so hard to acknowledge it.
Medical conditions, for instance. Why is it that we will avoid going to the doctor, gloss over a symptom, tell ourselves that no, that really wasn't a lump but muscle; no, that really wasn't anything but indigestion; no, the sharp pain in the leg is just because we overdid it.
Acknowledging the truth of the situation can save a life, ease pain, forestall greater harm.
Or why do we avoid friends and family, avoid telling them what is really going on with us, acknowledge to them that what they said hurt, that we really don't like them very much, that we are uncomfortable when they party too much?
Is it embarrassment for ourselves or for the other person? Co-dependence -- we don't want them to worry about us? Fear -- that actually knowing the truth is scarier than pretending nothing is wrong? That knowing then makes it real and we have to deal with the consequences?
And yet the truth eventually comes to light, doesn't it, and we deal with the issue AND the avoidance.
I hate not knowing the truth. My mind is capable of creating immensely complex, terrifying consequences when I'm not hearing anything from my daughter -- despite repeated phone messages and calls. So far, at least in similar situations in the past, the truth hasn't been nearly as stressful as the scenarios I've imagined (may that continue!) But goodgollygeewhiz, I dread the ice weasel parties that are in the planning stages, and the subsequent sleeplessness and stress.
And I don't understand why the lack of communication, the lack of truth.
I have a huge dental phobia -- I don't even like getting my teeth cleaned, and I confess I'm avoiding it right now. I don't want to offend anyone (like the hygenist), but it hurt last time. And I guess I don't want to be judged as a complete and total wimp, and far too old to behave that way at the dentist -- so I don't say anything when I finally DO get in the chair.
And yet who does my lack of truth hurt? Me.
How many of us have hesitated to go the the doctor because we're afraid something is wrong? Denied feeling depressed and worried when we really feel like hiding under the bed and never coming out? Put on a happy face to the world when we're clearly NOT okay?
Who does the truth hurt? Ourselves.
My mother insisted that we tell the truth: she hated lies, and always punished the lie far more severely than she ever did the truth, no matter how bad. I hate lying too -- tell me any truth, but never lie to me if you care about me. Once lost in a lie, trust is nearly impossible to regain.
I don't have any brilliant, insightful conclusions here. I'm just feeling sad about how we deceive ourselves, sad about the sometimes hard consequences of such denials. Worried over lack of communication of the truth, whatever it may be. Fearful of those unknowns. And always trying to balance honesty and truth with compassion and kindness ...
The truth shall set you free. Free to take care of yourself properly, to live honestly, to be who you are without apology. I think I'll make that cleaning appointment in the morning.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Drawing the line
The phone rang last night.
At about 11:45 p.m.
There is nothing good that you're going to hear when the phone rings that late, y'know? I no longer fear that it's about my parents -- both are dead. But I do worry about my daughters when that happens.
And it was Daughter #3, who has made some choices for her life in the last five or so months that have caused us some angst and necessitated our establishing some boundaries.
It was not fun and it was not easy, and we'll talk about it for days. But we cannot help her. At 25, fast approaching 26, she has made conscious choices that have effectively put her future, her very limited resources, and her loyalities in one pot -- and that pot came to a big yelling, screaming boil sometime last night. And we can't help her.
Her call roused us from sleep after a long, exhausting day, which didn't make it easier. And we've expected the wheels to loosen on that particular train for some time, and have talked at length about what to do. Bottom line -- and what Tony told her last night -- she got herself into this situation and she is going to have to figure out how to deal with it. We finally figured out that our well-intentioned efforts to help her extract herself from ugly situations of her own making only enable her to go out and do it again.
She is smart, exceptionally resourceful, is very good at figuring out "the system," and she will be okay -- and that should make it easier to hear -- except that she is our kid, we love her, and we just weep at the obstacles she places in her life journey. Mostly they are her own doing, her own decisions. And we also know that while we can talk until we are hoarse, she will do as she wants and rationalize her decision so that it makes sense to her.
So we're done. Not with loving her: we always will love her and want good things for her. But her choices and her decisions are hers to deal with. Not ours.
At about 11:45 p.m.
There is nothing good that you're going to hear when the phone rings that late, y'know? I no longer fear that it's about my parents -- both are dead. But I do worry about my daughters when that happens.
And it was Daughter #3, who has made some choices for her life in the last five or so months that have caused us some angst and necessitated our establishing some boundaries.
It was not fun and it was not easy, and we'll talk about it for days. But we cannot help her. At 25, fast approaching 26, she has made conscious choices that have effectively put her future, her very limited resources, and her loyalities in one pot -- and that pot came to a big yelling, screaming boil sometime last night. And we can't help her.
Her call roused us from sleep after a long, exhausting day, which didn't make it easier. And we've expected the wheels to loosen on that particular train for some time, and have talked at length about what to do. Bottom line -- and what Tony told her last night -- she got herself into this situation and she is going to have to figure out how to deal with it. We finally figured out that our well-intentioned efforts to help her extract herself from ugly situations of her own making only enable her to go out and do it again.
She is smart, exceptionally resourceful, is very good at figuring out "the system," and she will be okay -- and that should make it easier to hear -- except that she is our kid, we love her, and we just weep at the obstacles she places in her life journey. Mostly they are her own doing, her own decisions. And we also know that while we can talk until we are hoarse, she will do as she wants and rationalize her decision so that it makes sense to her.
So we're done. Not with loving her: we always will love her and want good things for her. But her choices and her decisions are hers to deal with. Not ours.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Worry doesn't make anything better
I've been concerned about daughter number 1 in recent days, who is on the verge of making a huge change in what she's doing and where she's living. I believe it is a good thing, as Martha Stewart would say, and have encouraged her to make the changes --
But she's also been struggling with some personal stuff and is, I believe, somewhat fragile -- although I keep hoping that the assertive three-year-old who put her little hands on her hips, glared at me and emphatically directed, "You cook!" is in there someplace and is waiting to come back out.
What has been scary is that she's 2000 miles away and I haven't been able to reach her by phone or e-mail. Like so many others of her generation, she does not have a land line, just a cell phone. And she's been using her work cell phone in recent months, allowing the other to expire, and has just quit her job. Although she has Internet service, her email addy (through a domain name) is no longer valid. Bottom line: she's been unreachable at a time when all these changes require some communication with her dad and me to make them happen.
I've really done a fairly good job of not getting wrapped around the axle for the most part, but as I get tired and the day is at a close, my over-active imagination overpowers my rational self, and boy-howdy, it's off to the races.
I've stifled it enough to sleep soundly, thanks be. And I've been so busy during the day with various writing assignments that I haven't obsessed to the point of paralysis. But I've sure done a lot of talking to the Universe about it.
She's okay. Through my own persistence and the Internet, I managed to find some contact info for a friend she's spending a lot of time with, and sent him a message. I talked with her tonight. I hope communication will get better so that we can make this move happen.
Accepting adult children for who they are is very hard to do sometimes, especially when their behaviors seem to put them at some risk, or they make choices that seem to lead them down the most difficult paths when another appears to be so much more beneficial (okay, okay -- so I think I know what way might at least be easier and better for them -- controlling? Moi???)
I worry. I want my children to be happy, to have enough money to pay their bills and live in a decent place and to have regular, nutritious food, to enjoy life, to have a normal life. I don't want them to allow others to take advantage of them, to spend all their resources caring for some deadbeat guy who will never be in a position to take care of them.
I want them to be okay. I don't want to be afraid when the phone rings at night or early in the morning that I'm going to hear some horrible news. And I have been, justified or not.
The key to dealing with their mistakes and my fears is to let go. I am powerless over people, places, and things, including my daughters. They get to make mistakes, life-changing ones even, and no amount of worry is going to change anything for either of us. I can offer advice (oh, yeah, I do, but I've even cut that waaaayyyy back, believe it or not). We are no longer offering money -- not a good solution, we've found out the painful way. Sometimes we offer help to accomplish a goal -- but we've learned to draw our boundaries too, unfortunately.
But worry: it's about as useless as guilt. Neither of them help. The only person they imact is the worrier -- me -- in lost sleep, increased stress, and time.
I'm appealing to their angels: guard and protect this child. Guide her safely through this maze. Help her find happiness. And grant me serenity. Please. Again.
But she's also been struggling with some personal stuff and is, I believe, somewhat fragile -- although I keep hoping that the assertive three-year-old who put her little hands on her hips, glared at me and emphatically directed, "You cook!" is in there someplace and is waiting to come back out.
What has been scary is that she's 2000 miles away and I haven't been able to reach her by phone or e-mail. Like so many others of her generation, she does not have a land line, just a cell phone. And she's been using her work cell phone in recent months, allowing the other to expire, and has just quit her job. Although she has Internet service, her email addy (through a domain name) is no longer valid. Bottom line: she's been unreachable at a time when all these changes require some communication with her dad and me to make them happen.
I've really done a fairly good job of not getting wrapped around the axle for the most part, but as I get tired and the day is at a close, my over-active imagination overpowers my rational self, and boy-howdy, it's off to the races.
I've stifled it enough to sleep soundly, thanks be. And I've been so busy during the day with various writing assignments that I haven't obsessed to the point of paralysis. But I've sure done a lot of talking to the Universe about it.
She's okay. Through my own persistence and the Internet, I managed to find some contact info for a friend she's spending a lot of time with, and sent him a message. I talked with her tonight. I hope communication will get better so that we can make this move happen.
Accepting adult children for who they are is very hard to do sometimes, especially when their behaviors seem to put them at some risk, or they make choices that seem to lead them down the most difficult paths when another appears to be so much more beneficial (okay, okay -- so I think I know what way might at least be easier and better for them -- controlling? Moi???)
I worry. I want my children to be happy, to have enough money to pay their bills and live in a decent place and to have regular, nutritious food, to enjoy life, to have a normal life. I don't want them to allow others to take advantage of them, to spend all their resources caring for some deadbeat guy who will never be in a position to take care of them.
I want them to be okay. I don't want to be afraid when the phone rings at night or early in the morning that I'm going to hear some horrible news. And I have been, justified or not.
The key to dealing with their mistakes and my fears is to let go. I am powerless over people, places, and things, including my daughters. They get to make mistakes, life-changing ones even, and no amount of worry is going to change anything for either of us. I can offer advice (oh, yeah, I do, but I've even cut that waaaayyyy back, believe it or not). We are no longer offering money -- not a good solution, we've found out the painful way. Sometimes we offer help to accomplish a goal -- but we've learned to draw our boundaries too, unfortunately.
But worry: it's about as useless as guilt. Neither of them help. The only person they imact is the worrier -- me -- in lost sleep, increased stress, and time.
I'm appealing to their angels: guard and protect this child. Guide her safely through this maze. Help her find happiness. And grant me serenity. Please. Again.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Talk to me
Some days you're the bug. Some days you're the windshield. Today was a windshield day.
Expectations. We all have them in some form, whether it is of ourselves or of others. They come from so many sources, from so many influences in our lives, beginning when we are tiny, dependent on our parents for food and shelter and emotional nurturing. We're taught how to get what we want partly by watching how others get what THEY want.
Like this: if mom is manipulative and martyristic in order to get what she wants, chances are the kids are going to grow up emulating at least some of her behaviors. If mom works hard, tries to be fair, is honest and ethical, guess what. Some of that is going to rub off too. Even in adulthood we watch how others get promoted or rewarded, and emulate those behaviors -- which can account for the intensely political culture found in most of corporate America. Or, truly, in just about any job situation.
We want to please others in order to be rewarded with approval, with love, with affection, raises, whatever. We need to meet expectations in order to do that. And when it all gets totally FUBAR is when we don't know what those expectations really are, and those who have 'em aren't telling us, won't communicate with us, perhaps don't even really know themselves exactly what they expect.
What we know is that we failed to meet whatever they were, and we're gonna get punished: someone stops speaking, there is a bad performance review, reputations are smeared, relationships deteriorate.
For me, my inner judge holds a big fat hairy session in which I am always, ALWAYS found guilty and wanting.
Okay, at least I recognize it and I'm better at keeping the judge in his chambers than I used to be. (But sometimes he talks really loudly through the door.)
And even then, there's a vague uneasiness that hangs over me, a feeling that there should have been something I could have, should have, would have done better that would have met those unarticulated expectations and made it all better.
In truth, the only person I can fix is me. I don't read minds. If I don't know what someone expects, my chances of success are about as good as being able to compose a symphony by throwing rocks at a piano in a dark room.
Clear, honest, open communication can be hard to listen to sometimes, but it is so far preferable to hidden agendas and disappointment, and all the angst that can bring on. It can take a long time to recover regardless of whether you're the one who didn't get them met or the one who didn't meet them. And if you can't talk about it to figure out what happened, nobody wins. Ever.
Tomorrow starts with a clean windshield again. But I feel pretty spattered up tonight.
Expectations. We all have them in some form, whether it is of ourselves or of others. They come from so many sources, from so many influences in our lives, beginning when we are tiny, dependent on our parents for food and shelter and emotional nurturing. We're taught how to get what we want partly by watching how others get what THEY want.
Like this: if mom is manipulative and martyristic in order to get what she wants, chances are the kids are going to grow up emulating at least some of her behaviors. If mom works hard, tries to be fair, is honest and ethical, guess what. Some of that is going to rub off too. Even in adulthood we watch how others get promoted or rewarded, and emulate those behaviors -- which can account for the intensely political culture found in most of corporate America. Or, truly, in just about any job situation.
We want to please others in order to be rewarded with approval, with love, with affection, raises, whatever. We need to meet expectations in order to do that. And when it all gets totally FUBAR is when we don't know what those expectations really are, and those who have 'em aren't telling us, won't communicate with us, perhaps don't even really know themselves exactly what they expect.
What we know is that we failed to meet whatever they were, and we're gonna get punished: someone stops speaking, there is a bad performance review, reputations are smeared, relationships deteriorate.
For me, my inner judge holds a big fat hairy session in which I am always, ALWAYS found guilty and wanting.
Okay, at least I recognize it and I'm better at keeping the judge in his chambers than I used to be. (But sometimes he talks really loudly through the door.)
And even then, there's a vague uneasiness that hangs over me, a feeling that there should have been something I could have, should have, would have done better that would have met those unarticulated expectations and made it all better.
In truth, the only person I can fix is me. I don't read minds. If I don't know what someone expects, my chances of success are about as good as being able to compose a symphony by throwing rocks at a piano in a dark room.
Clear, honest, open communication can be hard to listen to sometimes, but it is so far preferable to hidden agendas and disappointment, and all the angst that can bring on. It can take a long time to recover regardless of whether you're the one who didn't get them met or the one who didn't meet them. And if you can't talk about it to figure out what happened, nobody wins. Ever.
Tomorrow starts with a clean windshield again. But I feel pretty spattered up tonight.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Gottados have gotta go
My to-do lists are growing, not shrinking, and I'm feeling the pressure of'gottadogottadogottadoNOW.'
I thought I'd gotten to the point where I might actually get those stupidbathroom curtains done. I bought the fabric in Davis a few weeks ago and allit takes to finish it are seams -- they're nothing fancy. Our bedroom stillneeds to be deep cleaned and a few more things hung, and my desk is stillfairly disastrous, but the other rooms have been cleaned and done, mostly.
It's spring (or is it?) so once again the spring-winter closet dilemma hasresulted in clothes from both seasons slowly migrating from one closet tothe other, leaving storage boxes open on the floor and transitional clothingon the spare bed.
I have many routine tasks for real estate -- ads, posting online, followupwith clients who we've talked to or written over the last several months,sending letters, designing cards. Oh yeah. I wish it brought better results.
And then there are the writing gigs we're both working on. You wouldn't knowit from anything that's made its way to paper, at least for me, but it'sperking in my brain and slithering through my sleep. I started one thing today that I expect will pretty much write itself tomorrow because I've beencogitating on it for about a week. That's how my creative muse likes towork...research, think, research, muse, research, putter, more think, moreputter, a little gardening, some clothes folding, and then BOOM. It flows out of the fingers.
It had better. I need it Friday.
I still want to plant some spinach and start a row of beans in the garden.All the lettuces, onions, radishes and sugar snap peas have poked theirheads up and really liked today's rain. It won't take long -- it's just getting out there to do it.
And then there's a meeting next week for which there needs to be somepreparation. Volunteer stuff hasn't been high on my "gottado" list lately,although the first magazine from our Realtor association has been put to bed and will be here next week (YAY!)
So I feel back to "doing" rather than "being." I gotta find some "being"time this weekend, I think, in the garden or on the sewing machine, or maybejust reading for an hour or so. I haven't posted what I'm reading becauseall I've been doing is catching upon magazines! Oprah, Cooking Light,Sunset, Newsweek, various Realtor magazines, AARP, plus newspapers. Since I finished the last novel, I haven't even started another.
Gottado. I gotta do something about these 'gottados.' Life is too short tospend too much time like this.
I thought I'd gotten to the point where I might actually get those stupidbathroom curtains done. I bought the fabric in Davis a few weeks ago and allit takes to finish it are seams -- they're nothing fancy. Our bedroom stillneeds to be deep cleaned and a few more things hung, and my desk is stillfairly disastrous, but the other rooms have been cleaned and done, mostly.
It's spring (or is it?) so once again the spring-winter closet dilemma hasresulted in clothes from both seasons slowly migrating from one closet tothe other, leaving storage boxes open on the floor and transitional clothingon the spare bed.
I have many routine tasks for real estate -- ads, posting online, followupwith clients who we've talked to or written over the last several months,sending letters, designing cards. Oh yeah. I wish it brought better results.
And then there are the writing gigs we're both working on. You wouldn't knowit from anything that's made its way to paper, at least for me, but it'sperking in my brain and slithering through my sleep. I started one thing today that I expect will pretty much write itself tomorrow because I've beencogitating on it for about a week. That's how my creative muse likes towork...research, think, research, muse, research, putter, more think, moreputter, a little gardening, some clothes folding, and then BOOM. It flows out of the fingers.
It had better. I need it Friday.
I still want to plant some spinach and start a row of beans in the garden.All the lettuces, onions, radishes and sugar snap peas have poked theirheads up and really liked today's rain. It won't take long -- it's just getting out there to do it.
And then there's a meeting next week for which there needs to be somepreparation. Volunteer stuff hasn't been high on my "gottado" list lately,although the first magazine from our Realtor association has been put to bed and will be here next week (YAY!)
So I feel back to "doing" rather than "being." I gotta find some "being"time this weekend, I think, in the garden or on the sewing machine, or maybejust reading for an hour or so. I haven't posted what I'm reading becauseall I've been doing is catching upon magazines! Oprah, Cooking Light,Sunset, Newsweek, various Realtor magazines, AARP, plus newspapers. Since I finished the last novel, I haven't even started another.
Gottado. I gotta do something about these 'gottados.' Life is too short tospend too much time like this.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Disappointment... and beyond
Such a mixed few days -- roller coaster emotions. Not fun.
We spent some time this weekend with a former colleague in Davis -- talking, eating (of course), laughing, visiting on Sunday with other former colleagues.
But in the middle of an interesting tour of the UC-Davis campus, we got a phone call from daughter number 1 telling us that she could not find daughter number 3 -- yes, the one who went just a week ago to Birmingham. R was very worried and went to the apartment where V was staying, to a friend's house to see if they knew, and then, we found out, had a policeman friend check out the accidents and hospitals. Nada.
Today we found out that V has returned to CA to be with her boyfriend. The same one she left just two weeks ago, claiming she was done, couldn't stand this and that, etc.
Oh, it's got lots of twists and tangles and dark corners. Bottom line: we still believe this is not in her best interests and that it will come off the rails again at some point.
Parents, do not make the mistake of thinking that once your kid hits 18 and is out of high school that you can stop worrying about them. What happens is that stakes in the MIStakes are much higher, and they haven't held your hand crossing the street for a long time. In fact, they tend to snarl a bit if the hand is offered -- unless, of course, it is holding money.
Ours won't be extended nor offering money any more.
Grown children are entitled to make their own mistakes and find their way out of the tangles without interference from their parents. In fact, if they are to grow in maturity and figure out who they are and what they want, parents need to let them fall.
It's just hard to watch. Especially when it happens over and over and over.
We hope things work out. But I don't think we'll be asking many questions, nor do I think there will be much communication for a while at all.
Disappointment is too mild a word for this feeling. Heartsick is closer.
An anniversary week
Seems the last week in March isn't very good for my family. Three years ago one uncle died this week after a long illness. A year ago my Uncle Tom died after an accidental fall. Yesterday another uncle died, also after a long illness.
There is still much sadness about Tom. When a loved one dies, as did my mother, from complications of a long illness, it is almost a relief -- and certainly a blessing that they are not in pain or suffering any longer. Oh, I don't mean to understate the grief, for it is certainly difficult to lose anyone you love, but I've often said in this venue and others that I wouldn't wish Mother back for a single day as she was -- I am so glad she doesn't suffer anymore. In that regard, death is a blessing and a natural end to a live well lived.
Tom's death, though, is much harder to reconcile. He died from such a freaky accident and at far too young and vigorous an age. There is no blessing that I can see in it, other than he died doing what he loved and believed in. I don't know what to say to my cousins and aunt except how sorry I am and that this, too, shall pass (which it WILL. Eventually pain becomes manageable, if not gone. This is the blessing of time and one's mind.)
So another March is going out with a death in the family. I pray that April will bring healing.
We spent some time this weekend with a former colleague in Davis -- talking, eating (of course), laughing, visiting on Sunday with other former colleagues.
But in the middle of an interesting tour of the UC-Davis campus, we got a phone call from daughter number 1 telling us that she could not find daughter number 3 -- yes, the one who went just a week ago to Birmingham. R was very worried and went to the apartment where V was staying, to a friend's house to see if they knew, and then, we found out, had a policeman friend check out the accidents and hospitals. Nada.
Today we found out that V has returned to CA to be with her boyfriend. The same one she left just two weeks ago, claiming she was done, couldn't stand this and that, etc.
Oh, it's got lots of twists and tangles and dark corners. Bottom line: we still believe this is not in her best interests and that it will come off the rails again at some point.
Parents, do not make the mistake of thinking that once your kid hits 18 and is out of high school that you can stop worrying about them. What happens is that stakes in the MIStakes are much higher, and they haven't held your hand crossing the street for a long time. In fact, they tend to snarl a bit if the hand is offered -- unless, of course, it is holding money.
Ours won't be extended nor offering money any more.
Grown children are entitled to make their own mistakes and find their way out of the tangles without interference from their parents. In fact, if they are to grow in maturity and figure out who they are and what they want, parents need to let them fall.
It's just hard to watch. Especially when it happens over and over and over.
We hope things work out. But I don't think we'll be asking many questions, nor do I think there will be much communication for a while at all.
Disappointment is too mild a word for this feeling. Heartsick is closer.
An anniversary week
Seems the last week in March isn't very good for my family. Three years ago one uncle died this week after a long illness. A year ago my Uncle Tom died after an accidental fall. Yesterday another uncle died, also after a long illness.
There is still much sadness about Tom. When a loved one dies, as did my mother, from complications of a long illness, it is almost a relief -- and certainly a blessing that they are not in pain or suffering any longer. Oh, I don't mean to understate the grief, for it is certainly difficult to lose anyone you love, but I've often said in this venue and others that I wouldn't wish Mother back for a single day as she was -- I am so glad she doesn't suffer anymore. In that regard, death is a blessing and a natural end to a live well lived.
Tom's death, though, is much harder to reconcile. He died from such a freaky accident and at far too young and vigorous an age. There is no blessing that I can see in it, other than he died doing what he loved and believed in. I don't know what to say to my cousins and aunt except how sorry I am and that this, too, shall pass (which it WILL. Eventually pain becomes manageable, if not gone. This is the blessing of time and one's mind.)
So another March is going out with a death in the family. I pray that April will bring healing.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Health insurance is expensive...IF you can get it at all
The state of healthcare insurance is just dismal unless you're around 20 years old, don't drink, don't smoke, have never been sick or seen a doctor for anything other than routine vaccinations and checkups, are perfectly proportioned height and weight, and have an incredibly perfect genetic background. And you make tons of money doing something you simply adore doing.
Otherwise you're gonna get hit with a big bill -- unless you work for a large enough company that your healthcare benefits are great and the employer portion foots most of the bill. And then, of course, there's always a good chance you'll eventually get laid off and have to find new insurance or choose expensive COBRA. And if you choose self-employment ... well, prepare yourself.
Blue Shield has notified the group with which we have our (self-employed) health insurance that it will not renew the contract. While the association is seeking an injunction to buy some time to find other insurance options for the 8000+ members who are going to be dumped, there's no guarantee that'll happen. So we've been looking at other options.
Like nearly everyone who is baby boomer age, we have our health issues -- they're fortunately not terribly scary ones, but we've seen doctors faithfully for years and continue to be successfully treated. About five years ago, I came down with a gangrenous gall bladder that was misdiagnosed as a cardiac incident -- and that lurks in my healthcare file like some bomb waiting for the hair trigger to be tripped. I defy you to find anyone in my age group whose arteries DON'T show *some* plaque.... it's just that mine happen to have been investigated and documented.
Oh, it had an enormous effect on me (fear will do that). I eat healthily, I lost weight, I walk, I'm careful about stress. I get regular checkups. Far as we know, the doc tells me, I'm healthy. The couple of issues I have are controlled and cause no problems long as I'm continuing to do the right stuff.
But it's fairly unlikely, I'm told, that an underwriter will approve my application for health insurance because of this, and because it's happened within the last five years == I'm three months shy of that fifth anniversary.
I know I'm not alone in this. Millions of Americans are uninsured because the premiums are so high -- if they can get it at all -- that they can't afford to have it AND have things like food, shelter, transportation, clothing. Every political candidate agrees that something MUST be done about healthcare, about the high cost of insurance, about the difficulty in getting insured. But nobody seems to be able to come up with a plan that will stand up to the deep pockets of the insurance lobbyists.
Pardon my cynicism, but our Congressional representatives don't see this from the same perspective as do their constituents. Our elected representatives are set with health insurance for life. And it's GOOD insurance... no $7500 deductible for them -- at least from what I understand. Oh, they know their districts may be concerned about the high costs of healthcare and want them to support legislation that will reform the industry -- and okay, okay, some of them are very proactive about it and really have tried to make a difference.
But it doesn't hit them where they live. It doesn't affect them personally. Politically, yes. But they have insurance.
We'll get insured one way or another, although our premiums may soar and we may have higher out-of-pocket expenses. But some serious illness or accident without insurance would wipe us out otherwise -- just as it has so many, many thousands of Americans.
It ain't right. It's not fair. It's depressing to work hard at keeping yourself healthy and then get slapped with a rejection of coverage.
I suppose I'm anticipating gloom and doom -- it hasn't happened yet (this time). I'm trying to think positively and find that nugget of gratitude -- but it's covered right now under piles of medical records, I think. Maybe tomorrow I can see more clearly. On my two-mile walk...after my high fiber oatmeal and skim milk breakfast...because I'm trying to stay healthy and live long (and prosper...)
Otherwise you're gonna get hit with a big bill -- unless you work for a large enough company that your healthcare benefits are great and the employer portion foots most of the bill. And then, of course, there's always a good chance you'll eventually get laid off and have to find new insurance or choose expensive COBRA. And if you choose self-employment ... well, prepare yourself.
Blue Shield has notified the group with which we have our (self-employed) health insurance that it will not renew the contract. While the association is seeking an injunction to buy some time to find other insurance options for the 8000+ members who are going to be dumped, there's no guarantee that'll happen. So we've been looking at other options.
Like nearly everyone who is baby boomer age, we have our health issues -- they're fortunately not terribly scary ones, but we've seen doctors faithfully for years and continue to be successfully treated. About five years ago, I came down with a gangrenous gall bladder that was misdiagnosed as a cardiac incident -- and that lurks in my healthcare file like some bomb waiting for the hair trigger to be tripped. I defy you to find anyone in my age group whose arteries DON'T show *some* plaque.... it's just that mine happen to have been investigated and documented.
Oh, it had an enormous effect on me (fear will do that). I eat healthily, I lost weight, I walk, I'm careful about stress. I get regular checkups. Far as we know, the doc tells me, I'm healthy. The couple of issues I have are controlled and cause no problems long as I'm continuing to do the right stuff.
But it's fairly unlikely, I'm told, that an underwriter will approve my application for health insurance because of this, and because it's happened within the last five years == I'm three months shy of that fifth anniversary.
I know I'm not alone in this. Millions of Americans are uninsured because the premiums are so high -- if they can get it at all -- that they can't afford to have it AND have things like food, shelter, transportation, clothing. Every political candidate agrees that something MUST be done about healthcare, about the high cost of insurance, about the difficulty in getting insured. But nobody seems to be able to come up with a plan that will stand up to the deep pockets of the insurance lobbyists.
Pardon my cynicism, but our Congressional representatives don't see this from the same perspective as do their constituents. Our elected representatives are set with health insurance for life. And it's GOOD insurance... no $7500 deductible for them -- at least from what I understand. Oh, they know their districts may be concerned about the high costs of healthcare and want them to support legislation that will reform the industry -- and okay, okay, some of them are very proactive about it and really have tried to make a difference.
But it doesn't hit them where they live. It doesn't affect them personally. Politically, yes. But they have insurance.
We'll get insured one way or another, although our premiums may soar and we may have higher out-of-pocket expenses. But some serious illness or accident without insurance would wipe us out otherwise -- just as it has so many, many thousands of Americans.
It ain't right. It's not fair. It's depressing to work hard at keeping yourself healthy and then get slapped with a rejection of coverage.
I suppose I'm anticipating gloom and doom -- it hasn't happened yet (this time). I'm trying to think positively and find that nugget of gratitude -- but it's covered right now under piles of medical records, I think. Maybe tomorrow I can see more clearly. On my two-mile walk...after my high fiber oatmeal and skim milk breakfast...because I'm trying to stay healthy and live long (and prosper...)
Saturday, February 24, 2007
"Twas a cold and blustery day
Wellll...the deathless prose I just created got lost in a Firefox crash. Everything wiped out except the title. Mercury retrograde is snickering gleefully.
I wrote about the pregnant tarp over the woodpile that is billowing in the very gusty wind. And the 47 degree temps that feel like 37. And the daffodils and blooming almonds that are going to get their little premature heads nipped. And the fact that I'm not ready for sandals and tee shirts yet -- I want more sweats and sweaters, and yet I note how cold it feels in the office.
I wrote about feeling unsettled like the weather, and acheybreakey in the joints despite the remedies we take for it, and chalking it up to aging.
I mused about saying gratitude prayers every morning for being in this wonderful place, for the tremendous love with which I am blessed, for family, for friends old and new, for enough food, enough warmth, a beautiful house, for loving pets and being whole. And yet I still groused about endless to-do lists and little foreseeable financial gain, and no recreational respite in sight.
Guess that crash was a message that I need to just suck it up and remember how blessed I am.
I wrote about the pregnant tarp over the woodpile that is billowing in the very gusty wind. And the 47 degree temps that feel like 37. And the daffodils and blooming almonds that are going to get their little premature heads nipped. And the fact that I'm not ready for sandals and tee shirts yet -- I want more sweats and sweaters, and yet I note how cold it feels in the office.
I wrote about feeling unsettled like the weather, and acheybreakey in the joints despite the remedies we take for it, and chalking it up to aging.
I mused about saying gratitude prayers every morning for being in this wonderful place, for the tremendous love with which I am blessed, for family, for friends old and new, for enough food, enough warmth, a beautiful house, for loving pets and being whole. And yet I still groused about endless to-do lists and little foreseeable financial gain, and no recreational respite in sight.
Guess that crash was a message that I need to just suck it up and remember how blessed I am.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
I hate computers
More accurately, I hate when they hang for no apparent reason and then everything comes to a screeching, hourglass-screen halt.
It happens when you're trying very hard to finish something so you can put it on someone's desk, get it in the mail, post it online, send it in e-mail.
You know, don't you.
Three times this morning I tried to copy and paste one snippet of text from an e-mail (one of those html ones) into a Word doc. Three times I got the blank screen with the hourglass running. The first time I waited, got another cuppa, waited, tried to close everything else I had open, and finally ended up banging the keyboard with "Alt-Control-Delete" half a dozen times or so in sheer frustration. Fat lot of good THAT did.
The second time Tony came to my rescue (he'd been on the phone while I was swearing at the computer) and managed to get things calmed down (he unplugged it) and then back up. Hung again.
The third time took. But not until I'd pasted the text into another doc and from there into the one I was working on. GRRRR.
Computers are wonderful when they work. And yeahyeahyeah, I know it's operator error most of the time when they don't. But they're like cars: you need them to get from here to there, and when they work, they're great. When they don't, you can't do what you need to do, at least with any kind of expediency.
It happens when you're trying very hard to finish something so you can put it on someone's desk, get it in the mail, post it online, send it in e-mail.
You know, don't you.
Three times this morning I tried to copy and paste one snippet of text from an e-mail (one of those html ones) into a Word doc. Three times I got the blank screen with the hourglass running. The first time I waited, got another cuppa, waited, tried to close everything else I had open, and finally ended up banging the keyboard with "Alt-Control-Delete" half a dozen times or so in sheer frustration. Fat lot of good THAT did.
The second time Tony came to my rescue (he'd been on the phone while I was swearing at the computer) and managed to get things calmed down (he unplugged it) and then back up. Hung again.
The third time took. But not until I'd pasted the text into another doc and from there into the one I was working on. GRRRR.
Computers are wonderful when they work. And yeahyeahyeah, I know it's operator error most of the time when they don't. But they're like cars: you need them to get from here to there, and when they work, they're great. When they don't, you can't do what you need to do, at least with any kind of expediency.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Seeking balance, and not the yoga kind
It appears as though Muggle has at least a few of her nine lives left -- she's in residence in our second bath and is alert, eating, and eager for petting. She's still got a little medicine left, and probably this weekend we'll move her back outside. Only a week ago we were convinced she was dying. Amazing little animals, they are.
The inside boys certainly had their respective noses out of joint, however, when we put her in there, although they seem to have pretty much forgotten now. Cheswick actually huffed and got angry when Tony restrained him while I was moving Muggle in. They had their own traumas this week when we plunked them into the cat carriers and went to the vet for shots and a checkover -- Ches hissed at me, and meowed pitifully all the way there, while McMurphy huddled with big yellow owl eyes looking even bigger. Both were pronounced to be fine, although Mac is 13 lbs and change, and needs to lose weight. We're putting the food up at night, and he is waiting right there by the water bowl in the mornings for his breakfast -- much like the outdoor kitties who charge the front door when we open it to put their food outside.
I've become very accustomed to the relative lack of stress in our lives here -- we have a routine that may vary some with our different activities, but is generally predictable. So when something happens to inject stress -- be it sick kitties, ripples from real estate, worrisome news from one of the kids, or our own minor aches and ailments -- it doesn't roll off as easily.
Sleep becomes elusive. Or troubled, with repetitious, anxiety-ridden dreams. I have difficulty getting motivated to do tasks which need doing, or I do those which help me avoid other, more stressful, tasks. I spend more time thinking about perceived character flaws, or recalling incidents long past that I wish I could do over. It is not productive thinking nor acting.
Such unexpected interruptions can trigger self-analysis -- good when it helps to illuminate areas that need adjustment -- in attitude, behavior, motivation. It is not good when you get stuck in the shoulda-coulda-wouldas and simply spin in place.
It comes back to balance, to learning to accept those things I cannot change. To figuring out how to change the things I can. And therein lies the third tenet: the wisdom to know the difference. That's the real work, right there, that wisdom thing, right along with the acceptance part. Achieving those, even momentarily, is to find that balance.
As long as I am alive there will be unexpected stresses complicating life. But the key to dealing with them -- good and bad -- is in finding balance. I need that reminder every so often, and so the universe throws me a few curves. I'm grateful that they are mostly small ones, distressing, perhaps, but not potentially shattering. And I'm grateful for the blessings revealed by seeking balance in stressful moments.
The inside boys certainly had their respective noses out of joint, however, when we put her in there, although they seem to have pretty much forgotten now. Cheswick actually huffed and got angry when Tony restrained him while I was moving Muggle in. They had their own traumas this week when we plunked them into the cat carriers and went to the vet for shots and a checkover -- Ches hissed at me, and meowed pitifully all the way there, while McMurphy huddled with big yellow owl eyes looking even bigger. Both were pronounced to be fine, although Mac is 13 lbs and change, and needs to lose weight. We're putting the food up at night, and he is waiting right there by the water bowl in the mornings for his breakfast -- much like the outdoor kitties who charge the front door when we open it to put their food outside.
I've become very accustomed to the relative lack of stress in our lives here -- we have a routine that may vary some with our different activities, but is generally predictable. So when something happens to inject stress -- be it sick kitties, ripples from real estate, worrisome news from one of the kids, or our own minor aches and ailments -- it doesn't roll off as easily.
Sleep becomes elusive. Or troubled, with repetitious, anxiety-ridden dreams. I have difficulty getting motivated to do tasks which need doing, or I do those which help me avoid other, more stressful, tasks. I spend more time thinking about perceived character flaws, or recalling incidents long past that I wish I could do over. It is not productive thinking nor acting.
Such unexpected interruptions can trigger self-analysis -- good when it helps to illuminate areas that need adjustment -- in attitude, behavior, motivation. It is not good when you get stuck in the shoulda-coulda-wouldas and simply spin in place.
It comes back to balance, to learning to accept those things I cannot change. To figuring out how to change the things I can. And therein lies the third tenet: the wisdom to know the difference. That's the real work, right there, that wisdom thing, right along with the acceptance part. Achieving those, even momentarily, is to find that balance.
As long as I am alive there will be unexpected stresses complicating life. But the key to dealing with them -- good and bad -- is in finding balance. I need that reminder every so often, and so the universe throws me a few curves. I'm grateful that they are mostly small ones, distressing, perhaps, but not potentially shattering. And I'm grateful for the blessings revealed by seeking balance in stressful moments.
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