Reverb 13: Day 5. Risk and challenge. Oh yeah.

1. What was the greatest risk you took in 2013? What was the outcome?

2. Challenge | Did you take on a new challenge in 2013?  What was it?  Are there challenges you deliberately avoided?  What do you want to do to challenge yourself in 2014?

So I've been thinking about risk and challenge today. I can find challenges aplenty, but risk? I don't know that I am a risk-taker very much, at least not any more. I mostly analyze (probably to death) situations and choices before I take actions, especially when those choices are hard or impossible to reverse. And sometimes I wait until the way forward is impossible to miss, until there is such a clear indication of what must happen.

I suppose the greatest risk I took in 2013 was the surgery I had in December 2012. Walking had become painful and I knew that not doing something about it was going to end up with me in a wheelchair eventually, and I am way too young for that. So while the risk was literally taken at the end of 2012 with the surgery, the rehab was up to me to do in 2013. And it was both a risk and a challenge: I had spent so much time accommodating the bad foot that my whole body was off, and I had to learn how to stand, how to walk, how to get up and down, and so on pretty much all over. 

 When I began walking in the boot, I lurched, literally. When I  went into a shoe and used the walker, I was hesitant to let the walker go. I faithfully went to rehab twice a week and did everything they threw at me, including skipping. I haven't been able to skip for a long time, hurt foot or not,  but I skipped down the gym floor, awkwardly and unsteadily, knowing they'd catch me if I became totally unbalanced and began to fall. That was a risk. And a challenge.

I am careful where I place my feet and aware of my balance these days, but walking is not painful anymore. My new challenge is to resume going to the gym to work on my balance and core strength, and to be faithful to the commitment. 

My other challenge for 2014 is to continue to detach from the issues surrounding my daughter, eventually coming to a place where I can be loving and kind without the fear and anger and worry that has been so prevalent in that relationship this year, especially.  I'll get there.

 

Dear Universe, give me patience. Now, please.

That 'patience' lesson has been one that the Universe has offered to me over and over most of my life, but since 1997 I've been really aware when it presents itself.

I think I'm there again, although I'm not sure exactly what I'm needing to be patient about this time.

My life changed drastically in 1997  (although there was actually a lead-in of several years that I can see now that I have the perspective of time and hindsight). I was working in Birmingham, Ala., for a multinational company that sent me to the San Francisco area to visit other offices and to meet with my colleagues from there and from the East Coast offices.

It was a wonderful time: I explored the city, went to a meditation retreat in Marin County, ate wonderful food, met with my colleagues and worked on planning and projects, and thought a lot -- a LOT -- about what I wanted. I was 49 years old and so many of my friends were going through huge changes in their lives -- illnesses, divorces, moves -- best known as "mid-life crises." About that time I discovered Gail Sheehy's New Passages, a followup to her best-selling book Passages, and realized that we women were not losing our minds and that certainly our feelings and actions were not unusual. It was liberating to understand that.

I came home knowing that I belonged in California, more specifically in the SF Bay area, and that I did not want to look back at my life when I was dying and wonder "what if." I wanted to be who I was, not who I was expected to be any longer. That message from the Universe was crystal clear.

So I started to work towards that goal, involving many long distance job applications, hours of reading and talking to friends who lived there already and with those who knew me best, approaching my company for a job, and  -- yes, a divorce.

From April until August -- really not long at all -- I worked single-mindedly at this, crying a lot, praying a lot, meditating a lot, reflecting on who I wanted to be, and trying -- STRUGGLING -- to be patient. In August, one of my employers' offices in the SF area came through with a job offer and I flew out to look for housing, which required more impatient patience as I waited for applications to be approved. (I HAD to live on the coast within a few miles of my beloved ocean, after all...)

It was the absolute right decision for me. It was not the easy path, however, and being on my own in California was sometimes very difficult and lonely (at least until I found Tony -- something the Universe clearly had planned for us).  The Universe kept throwing 'patience' lessons at me, though, and I have learned to deal with it a little better over these last 14 years.  At least I recognize when I need to let go and let it be, although it is always a struggle not to try to take it back and try to control it.

And once again I feel 'patience' as the lesson of the moment, but it seems to be patience for the next right thing to come along. I've felt very uncreative for quite some time -- fleeting ideas about writing, jewelry-making,  sewing, gardening, singing, acting --but not anything that I feel passionate enough about to actually spend much time doing, and therefore I haven't done much of anything. Since I've always been passionate about the creative things I've chosen to do, to be so wishy-washy about doing anything is a little unsettling. 

So, Universe, I'm waiting to see where I should go from here. You are in charge here, not me, and I get that, finally. I'm just trying to keep my eyes and my heart open to possibilities, and watching for open doors and windows. And to be patient, trusting that all will be well eventually. (But please remember that as I get older this time becomes more precious, okay?....)

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.

Reverb 10 -- Friends and learning lessons

For Dec. 16 -- Friendship. How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst?

I spent a lot of time thinking about friendship this year, and also have been blessed to spend time with many friends.

One dear woman who I've known since 1982, through our divorces, through our children's trials and growing pains, through grandchildren, through cancer and surgeries, lives some 2000 miles away; yet when we do see each other every three or so years, it's always like we were never apart.

Despite fighting two different cancers over the last two years, her outlook is positive, grateful, and very down-to-earth. She inspires me to see the glass as half-full, and to just move through whatever comes along.

My husband is also my best friend, and there is nothing I cannot talk to him about. I am so grateful for that bond and the love which wraps us up daily. There is nowhere I'd rather be than with him, no matter where that takes us. He helps me to be grounded in what is real and now, and calms me if I get 'wrapped around the axle' about something. I adore him...

I've learned -- again -- that there are seasons for friendships, and that sometimes you 'outgrow' people who were important in your life at one time. Or they outgrow you. It is hard for me to let go of a friendship, even one that has clearly cooled. This year I've spent far too much time trying to accept that, questioning myself (as I tend to do) for a possible cause. The simple fact is that sometimes people move onto other things -- I've done it too -- and it isn't anyone's fault but simply is time to bless it and let the relationship drift.


For Dec. 17 -- Lesson learned. What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward?

I believe that I have finally learned patience and that all things will change, given time. That lesson has been given to me over and over and over for years. But this year brought healing the broken bones in my wrist, listening to what my gut is telling me to do, accepting changing friendships, and moving through a long and tedious process to help Princess #1 with her illness and disability claim. I did it without having a nervous breakdown, going on medication, crying every day, or wishing my life away by saying ...'when this happens, then I will be happy-glad-okay-.' That is progress. I hope I can keep that outlook.

Reverb 10 -- Community and being different

Two in one today -- yesterday's prompt:

Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

Facebook has been a developing source of community for me this year, but what it's done is to deepen friendships with people I met elsewhere (not online) because we comment back and forth nearly daily, or 'like' each other's comments, and then when we do see each other, we know more and feel more comfortable with each other. That online presence is growing into more regular face-to-face friendship.

I've also reconnected at least some with family members who I've not laid eyes on in decades, and a few long-ago friends from school or past jobs, and it's been fun to get a glimpse of where they are now. I'd hestitate to say that I 'know' them anymore; yet, through their comments, photos, even the games they choose to play, I can get the flavor, if not the substance.

For the coming year, I'd like to join/deepen a spiritual community, but not necessarily one based in a physical church/building. I am drawn to those who find spiritual nourishment in the earth, the moon, the heavens, and in support of each other.

************
And today's:

Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful.

Man, this is hard for me. I see myself as different, but not often as beautiful. And yet my husband and some of my friends are so affirming of me and of who I am, and it helps me to see myself a little more through their eyes.

I do not play headgames or corporate political games very well at all, never have, and that has earned me the 'difficult to work with' label on occasion. I pretty much either say what I think or I shut up completely. I work to control my body language and my rubber face, because it's easy to see what I think or feel about something and I don't always want to advertise that.

As I age, I see that as a positive thing. I no longer need to be around people I don't like and don't trust just because it's the 'nice' thing to do, and I don't work with any of 'em anymore either. So I avoid being in situations where I encounter such folk.

I don't tolerate lying and meanness and bullsh*t well. At. All. Lying to me destroys trust quicker than anything else.

I work at being kind and compassionate, at being a loyal and true friend (I value loyalty very highly), at speaking my truth through my words both written and spoken, but not abrasively, at least deliberately. I try to listen with both my ears and my heart.

I have lots of experience with patience, with waiting, and although I chafe internally against it, I know that all things change eventually -- nothing lasts. I think I project calm assurance, generally, and people respond to that. It's sort of the 'fake it 'til you make it' attitude sometimes, but it usually works.

I sometimes have insights and intuitions about situations and ideas that are so clear and logical to me but which often strike others as innovative and creative. I'm told that I'm wise -- which I love -- but don't necessarily see it as wisdom, but rather opinion born from practicality and life experience. Perhaps that IS wisdom?

I have a wicked sense of humor and will find that nugget even in fairly grim-looking situations, sometimes to the exasperation of my daughters who have claimed I make a joke out of everything. I think that's better than falling to the ground sobbing in despair, however. I try to see the positive spin to every situation and to nearly every person (although there are a couple who I believe are just plain EVIL and beyond redemption at least in this life).

Although in the past I longed to be NOT tall with great hair that would curl gently around my shoulders, a body that was curvy but not plush, and a voice that didn't carry everywhere, I gave that up years ago. I like my eyes, my hair, my expressive face, my voice. I can see parades and performers over crowds of people, and in a hat and cape, I can wow a room.

I can soothe a crying baby or a troubled adult with my arms and my voice and my words. I can tell a story or play a part that keeps the audience hanging on my every word. I can reach most ears in a crowded room without benefit of a microphone. And I project confidence and calm. Mostly I like who I am; most importantly I've made peace with who I am.

You can say that again

From one of the bulletin board sites I read regularly came this post:

"I cannot love a person out of their life lessons ... they cannot love me out of mine either!

We all learn what we learn along the way and maybe, just maybe,
that is exactly howthe Universe plans for us to learn, slowly, intensely, and individually."

Smacks a punch, hm?

From another one:
"You begin and end somewhere and I begin and end somewhere else. Healthy boundaries are the foundation to healthy relationships. Don’t take on what you don’t own. Let others be responsible for what they are responsible for."

And also this one:
" If nothing changes, nothing changes. If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten. In order for things to change, you must change things."

The last two are from Getting Past Your Past, a blog I've read mostly daily for months. While I am not, thank god, in an abusive relationship nor have ever been, my daughters have been. I've shared some of these writings with them from time to time, although I also realize that you don't hear and see until you are ready to hear and see. But mostly I read because the lessons are good ones for any relationship.

I'm trying to learn to hold my tongue these days rather than instruct/inform/lecture/berate -- which, these posts remind me -- is pretty useless when you're dealing with anyone, sick or not. Sometimes silence is indeed golden -- something I forget too many times.

This is one of my life lessons: to learn to be speech-less sometimes, to remember that all the talk in the world will not effect change if the person doesn't want to/isn't ready to change.

All I can do is take care of MY business, to establish boundaries I need.

I'm grateful for the Internet and the lessons that are out there on so many wonderful sites, just waiting for us to find them, like books in a library. We teach each other by our stories, we encourage each other with subject-oriented bulletin boards. We are not alone in our experiences, or in our pain. That is important to remember.

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.

Keeping the faith

The Universe continues to stir the pot with various nastinesses rising to the top, alas. I still have no clue what's going on; I know that we are not alone in feeling its effects.

We are working in our family's house to keep our power, to take it back from those who would reduce our effectiveness, our talents and gifts, our self-esteem, our control over our own destiny.
Part of it is learning to feel empowered even when roadblocks are put in your path. Part of it is learning to be patient with circumstances beyond your control, and to try to maintain a balanced mind, to focus on clarity and calm in the midst of troubling thoughts and feelings.

Take a breath. Another. A third.

Purposeful breathing helps to break the hold of troubled thoughts, of fear and anger, and refocus your attention. I've been doing a lot of that. Probably will be doing a lot more.

We are dealing with illnesses right now -- cancers of the mind and body that want to take control over what is not theirs, but into which they have moved anyway, not because of anything we did or didn't do. It simply is what it is.

Those of us who love them would gladly share the burden of the illness, but you can't take some things onto yourself. So we hold their hands, we walk beside, we offer strong, loving words and voluminous prayers and encouragement and steadfast optimism for a positive result.

And we hope it is enough. We can't know what they think and feel other than what they choose to share, but we can guess -- we guess at how we ourselves would feel if in the same place -- but it is not the same.

All that's left to do is love them as much as we can, and to ask for the prayers of other family and friends and prayer chains and readers and strangers that pass them and us as we walk on this new journey.

We pray for healing. We pray for patience. We pray for strength and courage and faith that all will be well.

One of my mother's favorite hymns was "It is Well with My Soul." The lyrics, in part, are:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, You have taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

I suppose that's the goal: to be able to be well in your soul, in your deepest self, with whatever is going on outside that. That's a hard goal.

So we breathe. Again. And a third time.

And focus on being all right there, in that moment, with these circumstances. We are keeping the faith that all will be well.

Telling the story 2

We accelerated the plan to last week -- Aug. 4 -- when several other details came to light about Princess #1's living situation in Alabama. Scary stuff including abuse and denial of food, among other things. And it already was pretty scary anyway.

So I met her dad there a week ago, and as soon as the jerk left for work, we got busy. R had prepared for this -- determining what we could pack into her car and her dad's van, and had weeded through clothing, made lists, and done as much as she could without arousing suspicion -- which she's not sure she quite managed, but came pretty close.

We loaded stuff in, including her two kitties, with the help of a couple of friends who I knew when I lived there, and eventually headed north to Missouri, where her dad lives. The little pile of possessions that made it out of there is not large -- but you know, the only irreplaceable things are people (and kitties).

The next day we headed for California, driving through Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, on I-80. It took all week, and we probably averaged over 600 miles a day. We got here about 5 p.m. Friday, after hitting most of the rest areas in all five states -- um, six including Missouri. Or actually more, when you count Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois, which we went through to get to central Missouri.

We played at a casino one night in Nevada, shopped a Walmart in Nebraska, had our cell phones squeal and lose signal in Wyoming. We drove through rain, a little lightning, dust devils and wind, and amazingly found the last room available at a hotel in Rock Springs, Wyoming -- which is seeing most hotels full most nights because of a gas and oil boom that has workers staying in the lodging from there to Evanston, Wy. If you're headed that way, make reservations EARLY...

And the kitties were great, except for the last two days when one of them cried for most of the mornings -- we think the altitude might have hurt his ears.

Played the iPod -- he likes Enya, apparently, and finally curled up and went to sleep between us. The other, much mellower, kitty was fine and slept her days away curled in little places.

What an enormous change for R, especially.... and it has not been easy, but we're trying to stay in the moment and deal with one day at a time. Please continue your prayers for her especially as she deals with the stress of coming out of a terrible situation into safety, and leaving a place she's known as home since 1990.

I am so grateful for the seemingly unending strength and patience I've had this week -- I drove nearly all the way, and talked a blue streak. I know this is from the prayers and loving energy of my friends and family -- there is no other explanation. While I am reasonably patient and pretty strong, the deep wells of both qualities have been amazing to me --

So we begin a new chapter with an adult child living with us again. Princess #3 is thrilled and showed up at our door barely 10 minutes after we drove in, and the girls have really bonded again, which pleases us all. This is a good place, a calming place, and I pray for serenity, strength, and more patience for each of us to see this through.

Change is afoot -- I'm not sure what is going on in the universe, but it's hit more than just us. It remains to be seen what happens -- but last year, a little earlier than now, we asked the universe for help, for what we wanted, and we were gifted with what we asked for. We're doing the same now. This, or something better....

Blessings to you. Thank you.

Patience. Again.

I can tell you up front that there won't be any new posts this coming week. I'm not going to have Internet access to do so, and while I know people use their cell phones or pdas to post, I use my cell phone only as a phone and I don't have a pda.

So tune in next weekend when I can tell you the rest of the story....

It's been another lesson in patience. And in living one day at a time. And in letting go. And using the Serenity Prayer over and over and over.

But I will ask for your prayers and your kind thoughts.

I am very grateful for the love and support of friends and colleagues -- I've been moved to tears more than once this week in gratitude. There are good people here. And elsewhere. Thank you.

Stay cool. Stay well. Hug your spouses and your children, and pet your dogs and kitties. Show your gratitude and your love, and be kind. Thanks for reading my musings...

The naked tooth

Three years, four months, 13 days ago, I got braces on my teeth for the first time in my life.

They came off today. It's gonna take a while to get used to naked teeth.

I'm delighted with the results, too. No, I didn't really need my teeth straightened -- had a little gap in the top front teeth, but not much, and that was just like my dad's gap. But I'd lost a lower tooth in the center front because of a perforated root canal that got infected over time, and I didn't like the options of implants (not insured and only "fair" chances of succeeding), a bridge (would have to put crowns on the two side teeth, plus potential problems with decay), or a prosthetic tooth (made me talk funny). When a dentist suggested orthodontia, I jumped at it, went for an opinion to Dr. Shoff, our local orthodontist, and he put 'em on.

My teeth are stubborn, apparently, and took their own sweet time about moving into place. My bite changed every couple of weeks; my gag reflex was very low -- I had to be careful about what and how much I tried to put into my mouth. Sometimes it was a little uncomfortable, but over all, no big deal. It was just all this metal grinning at me morning and night. And I always worried about big wads of food getting stuck in my wires.

No more. The bottom gap is closed (you'd hardly know), actually the top gap is closed too, and the teeth look great. I'll get retainers for night wear tomorrow, but no more metal mouth.

I'm ready for the popcorn. The caramels. The corn on the cob. And I'm grateful for dental insurance and positive thinking by both me and Doc Shoff. And for patience. It took twice as long as we'd thought it would.

Smile! I sure am. (but I never stopped, either)

In my dreams

I got to hug my parents last night in my dreams, and I can still feel their arms around me and mine around them.

I was going into a place -- like a movie theatre or an auditorium or somewhere -- in the midst of other people. I think I might have been with either my family or others that I knew, but I was pushing through ahead of the crowd. Around a little bend, I saw my parents coming towards me with others who were walking away from the entrance.

They were old -- Daddy's white, fine hair blew a little, and he was slightly bent. Mother was little and clearly fragile, but walking, holding to his arm, her white hair beautifully coiffed just as she liked it. They saw me and beamed; I walked up to them and wrapped my arms around both of them as they did to me, and we just stood there, holding each other, and so happy to see each other. I don't remember speaking.

The sensation of their arms around me has lingered with me all day, and I can feel Daddy's bony shoulder blades under my fingertips and almost smell his scent. Mother's thin little shoulders and arms wrapped around me with more strength than I'd have thought, and I put my cheek on her hair and just savored the feeling again.

It makes me puddle up to remember.

I woke knowing I wanted to remember this dream and to just treasure the feel of them, the look of them together again, the love on their faces on seeing me and the leap of joy in my heart when I realized it was them.

I don't know why I dreamed about them -- I don't remember a dream like that ever, and in fact, have had very few dreams about them since their deaths. Maybe it was worry over my brother, another abrupt reminder that we are mortal and we are fragile: our lives are changeable in an instant. Maybe it was knowing how much my mother would have worried about Jimmy had she known.

I would talk to them every Sunday evening for -- oh -- maybe the last 10 years before Mother died, maybe even longer. Sometimes I'd talk only to Mother; sometimes I'd talk more to Daddy; often I'd talk to both of them at the beginning and then to one later in the conversation. It didn't even matter what they'd talk about after a while: I'd close my eyes and just soak up the sound of their voices, trying to imprint their speech in my brain, knowing the time would come when I couldn't just call them and hear them talk. Their inflections...Daddy's hearty laugh, when I could almost see him squint up his eyes in mirth and see his wide grin. Mother's questions -- nearly always direct and clear and inquisitive -- how like her I am in that way!

The last time I saw Daddy, less than a week before he died although we didn't know it at that time, he held me very tightly for a long time. My arms were wrapped around him, hugging him tight, breathing into his neck and smelling him. His arms were strong and ropey, and we both got a little puddly, and said 'I love you" and 'take care of yourself' and 'call me when you get home' and 'I love you' again.

He hadn't gone in for the angiogram yet, and there was nothing to suspect his impending death, but I think we both felt loss, and love, and gratitude.

With Mother, my brother and I had visited her just three weeks before her death, and had had a lovely time, tempered by the knowledge we all felt that it would not likely be long before we were back for the last time.

The last night of that visit, I got on my knees in front of her chair, and put my head in her lap and wrapped my arms around her waist, and she petted my hair while I just sat there, hearing her frail little heart beat, feeling the ever-present tremors gently shudder through her body, and feeling her love through her fingertips. For that moment again, I was her little girl and she was my mommy. I remember know she smelled -- and feel her close everytime I catch a whiff of the scent even today -- and how she felt.

The night she died, three weeks later, I rubbed that scented lotion into her arms and hands and legs, and sang hymns to her and recited poetry from Eugene Field and Robert Frost, and tried to stroke my love into her with every caress. She knew I was there, but did not talk, although the nurses told me she spoke to them while I was out for a little while, and was glad to hear my brother also was on his way. And then she went back into that twilight state where she remained, although she squeezed our hands in recognition. She died knowing she was surrounded by love, ours, our daddy's, and the cloud of witnesses who I felt in that room all through the vigil. She just crossed over, very quietly, through the door between the worlds.

All of that love and generosity of spirit was in my dreams last night. I am grateful to have felt it again and it lingers still.

I hope they will visit my brother too, in his dreams, and share a hug with him. I think he needs them too.

We will know more about his condition after tomorrow, we hope. For now, he's stable and doing as well as he can, given that both arms are either braced or in a sling. And he is grateful for his life and for the outpouring of love and support for them both from his friends near and far.

That love, my dears, is what matters. The rest of this is merely interesting.

My 10th anniversary

I left Birmingham, Alabama -- my home for seven years--10 years ago yesterday. I arrived home -- my childhood home in Springfield, Missouri-- the same day and spent two days there with my parents and brother before I started my trek to California and a new life.

I *had* to do it. I had known for some time that I needed to be elsewhere, in a different life, because I did not want to say, at some hopefully far-distant day when I'm near the end of my life, "I wonder what would have happened if..." I did not want fear to keep me from fully living -- fear, nor complacency, nor indecision, nor codependence, nor the expectations of other people. I did not want to settle for the life I had.

I visited California on a business trip earlier that year for 10 days, and knew almost from the moment the plane touched down that I needed to be here. I'd never had any desire to live here until that time. And after that, I explored every possible avenue to find a way to come. Persistence paid off -- that, and some colleagues who believed in me--and my company created a job for me in the Bay Area where there were two offices.

It was the best move I ever made.

If I'd been told then that 10 years later I'd live in a little town in northern California with a husband I adore, living on land with a house I got to plan, and that I'd sell real estate, I'd have wondered what they were smoking. And dismissed it as pure fantasy.

What I've learned in the past 10 years:

• I can do just about anything if I'm willing to work at it and am patient. And persistent.
  
• I am a loving and very loved woman who has discovered wonderful things about this body -- and a little more about taking care of it.
• There are soulmates. I never expected such love to come to me, and I am deeply grateful every single day for my husband.
  
• If you wait to seek happiness until you have a job, a house, a car, a child, lose weight, stop smoking, whatever -- you will never have it. Life is in this moment: it is all we have, one moment at a time.
  
• If you don't like where you are, who you are, or what you have, change it. You are the decider of your life's path, and of who you are.
• It is never too late to change. Not until you are expelling your last breath.

I'm sure I'll think of others -- but the essence is here. Life is a gift, every day. We are fragile, but we also have amazing strength. It is not a dress rehearsal: we seldom get do-overs.

I am grateful and blessed. Thanks be.

Monkey mind

I've opened the "New Post" window half a dozen times in the last week and closed them each time after sitting here staring at the ready-and-waiting blank text box.

My mind is swirling with fragmented thoughts, many of them anxious, and I don't seem to be able to put them into words that are going to say anything to me or to you. Usually writing is very therapeutic for me, but I think some of my thoughts lead to dark places that are speculative and unfounded, and home to an entire megacity of ice weasels, and I have tried to stay away from them.

So let's see where this takes me.

My uncle's death made me feel very disconnected from family, and I've touched a few of them via e-mail, but that's not tremendously satisfying. It has made me very aware that while my cousins and I share some DNA and some common childhood memories, there really isn't much else, at least in recent years. We had a big family reunion in 2001 -- a month before 9/11 -- and every sibling except my mother was there (she was too fragile to travel). Most of my cousins were there, some with their children and children's children. It was at once fun and stressful: I missed my mother and dad very much, and felt that my mother's sibs should have called her during the event, which they did not, although I talked to her daily.

In fairness, two of her sisters and their daughters visited her just weeks after to share pictures and stories, and in fact got stranded because 9/11 happened the day they were to fly back to the West Coast and nothing was flying. I very much appreciated their visit to her, and she did too, especially with the subsequent events.

I felt then that there were many twigs on that family tree that I would never know -- in fact, would be hard pressed to recognize some of them outside of a family setting. It's a big family -- six sibs, 17 cousins, and a whole big bunch of seconds and thirds and in-laws. They have lives, busy ones, with young children and careers, and few of us live near each other.

On the other side of the family there were four sibs, with only one still alive, far away from here. We never had a reunion, and there's at least one cousin I'm not sure I'd know by sight. Nine cousins there, and I stay in fairly regular touch with a couple of them. And none of us live nearby.

So I've been working on wrapping my arms around the fact that I have acquaintances who are relatives, that everyone has busy, involved lives, and that their extended family is their immediate family -- their parent(s), children, grandchildren. Oh, we still share that heritage, but the connection gets buried underground for the most part.

I think too that I've been dwelling perhaps overlong on family because mine seems to have fragmented in the past few months, and it is painful. Right now communication with any of our children is zip, and I miss them very much. The choice to communicate or not is theirs -- and to be honest, we don't understand the whys and wherefores.

One is going through painful personal growth, including a divorce, and has chosen for the time being not to stay in touch with us. This is a child neither of us raised, although she was loved, and with whom we had established an adult relationship within the past 10 years -- but it was at a disadvantaged distance of some 2000 miles, and with unspoken expectations that were not met -- by golly, it's hard to read minds at 2000 feet, much less 2000 miles! We hope -- and believe -- she will come out stronger and better, and that we will eventually be in communication with her again. We are sending her occasional cards and letters to let her know we love her.

Another has chosen not to communicate since that late-night phone call a few weeks ago where we finally were pushed against the boundaries we'd had to set -- for our sake, and for hers, although I'm sure it doesn't feel like that to her. We don't know the outcome of that crisis, and yes, it is cause for ice weasel parties. Her cell phone is not working. We've written a letter to her last address. We believe she will be okay because she is resourceful, street-smart, and has experience and credentials to find a decent job. But not knowing is hard. We love her too. We believe she knows that deep down. And we believe she will call us when she is on her feet.

The third is the one that has me completely at a loss to understand what is going on. She is a beautiful, competent, talented young woman who has owned her own business, bought and fixed up a house, gathered a following of fans for her work. And she's battling depression now, possibly more, and she's not talking to me nor her dad. I found out this weekend that she moved to a new place a few weeks ago and that she is working. But not from her lips. Not from her fingertips via e-mail, or even snail mail. Just silence.

We saw her just about six weeks ago, and while all was not well, it was a wonderful visit, and we talked openly and candidly, and she seemed to miss me as much as I do her. I've talked with her only a few times since, and received an e-mail three weeks ago -- and then nothing. She has removed herself from a very toxic work situation -- yay for her! -- but I have many, many fears -- most of which have only a tenuous foundation. For instance, I wonder if she continued health insurance, and if she's still on meds. And if not, what effect is it having? Where is she working (I know she's working in a restaurant -- but I've only found that out in the last couple of days)? How is she feeling? Does she feel secure with her roommate? Does she have enough to eat? Does she feel secure at ALL? IS SHE OKAY!!!!???

and why. Why, oh why, is she so reluctant to call me and tell me? To talk to me? Or her dad?

So last night the ice weasels had a party. I knew the invitations were out, but I wasn't sure when it would take place. jAnd they partied hearty until -- oh -- I stopped looking at the clock after 2 a.m.

And I realized that while I know how to deal with physical illness or many other life issues, I have no clue what to do with major depression issues, or similar personality disorders. I know enough to know that it varies wildly from person to person, that I mustn't take it personally and that I neither caused it nor can fix it. I don't know whether to give her space and write notes (I don't know if she checks e-mail -- I've been sending those, but also have done snail mail card -- all just supportive generalities), or to call her now that I have her phone, to let her come to me or to go to her, to just show up at her door, or what.

And the ice weasels considered all of those last night, in addition to a whole darker side that I don't want to even consider talking about. They danced around all of it. Made up new angles that I hadn't thought of. Partied hearty until I finally -- finally -- fell asleep.

And I guess that's what I needed to get out, hm.

I'm sure I'm not done with this topic. I have more questions than answers -- and I also have enough sense not to bombard any of them with questions, but to work on patience to allow them to tell me what they need to say at their own pace. So the other lesson here -- AGAIN -- is patience. My never-done, never-completedly-learned life lesson.

*sigh*

May your ice weasels go into hibernation for a very long time.