April Moon 15, Day 2

The prompt: Knowing what I know now, I would tell my ten-years-ago self:

Ten years ago I was 57. It was 2005, and we were full-on into our real estate career, busy, active, working hard.

My mother was slipping bit by bit, too many miles away from me. I was on the Arts Council and very busy with that volunteer work. We were about to launch a new photo club which would meet with nine people in our great room on that first meeting, and which, ten years later, has morphed into something a bit different than our original ideas, but is still going strong.

I'd come a long way, however, and really was well-launched on a good path for me. But there are a few things.....


Today I would tell that person who was me then to let it go. The people-pleasing. The fear. The resentment. The anger. The only thing all of that angst will change is ME, and not necessarily for the better. It will not change the people, places, or things at which the fear and anger are directed.

I would gift myself with Mary Oliver's miracle-working poem "The Journey" and memorize it. And I'd read more Mary Oliver poems.

I would remind myself that the most important thing about life are friends and family -- and honestly, I was already very aware of that in 2005, but still too trusting, too ready to accept people as honest and true. People are often not what they seem to be, even dear, close, loved ones. That is a bitter, bitter pill to swallow and process. Lack of trust, deception, lies, and fear are devastating.

I would pull that back in myself, me who had always given too much and carried too many others along, trying to fix it all for them. I wish I had known -- and understood -- then:

You strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do,
determined to save
the only life you could save.

“

”

From "The Journey", in Dream Work (1986)
 

I would give myself permission to have more fun, to be more spontaneous (something I still don't do enough of), to enjoy things.

I would be grateful for each day for my health, although I was already working to keep it good.

I would remind myself that I am strong and capable and that I can weather some terrible disappointments and griefs, and still be loving and kind.

And I would tell myself to be kinder: to myself, to my family and friends, to clerks, to telephone callers, to random people I see on the street. Judgement serves little purpose: kindness does.

#Reverb14: Day 9

1. As you enter into the new year, what would you like to do/make/have/be more often? How will you bear witness and celebrate the tiny milestones? How will you respond on the occasions when your intentions do not come to pass?

2. The Plank: It has been said that you must learn to take care of yourself before you can be effective at taking care of others.  How did you take care of yourself in 2014?  How will you take care of yourself in 2015?

Yesterday slipped away from me -- a long day of shopping for both donation gifts (for kids, through my Bunco group) and the beginnings of my own shopping. Got home and left 45 minutes later for the photo club Christmas party, and didn't get home from that until about 10. I was ready for bed.

1. In other words, what do I want to do with my life next year? I would like to spend much less time going to doctors, for one, and more time traveling with my honey. I want to feel stronger and steadier on my feet. I want to learn some new things and practice some of those I learned this year. I want to feel content and happy more often. 

With the afib issue looking far more positive and the painful foot issue scheduled for surgery in early January, my health concerns should be pretty much resolved. Time to make exercise and rehab a priority again and regain all the strength and balance I've lost over the past three years. Feeling better and stronger will mark that successful venture. And always there is the January diet plan that will kick in, which I'm hoping will work in tandem with the getting stronger and steadier routine. How will I know it is working? When I can walk easily without getting winded quickly, and when I don't feel unsteady. 

There are always slips and lapses. The important thing is not to abandon the effort because things are not progressing as quickly as I'd hoped or that I escaped back into comfort food for a while. This is truly a lifelong effort that is done one day at a time. 

That's all we ever get anyway, one day at a time. I can handle pretty much anything for one day. And I'm a lot better about not beating myself up all the time. I can do this and I want to do this. 

2. I can save one life --  mine. Since I read Mary Oliver's life-changing poem "The Journey," a few years ago, that has been my touchstone, but this has not always been the case.  And while my husband looks out for me constantly, he can only do so much: the rest is up to me. 

I took a very proactive path about my health in 2014 and will continue to do so in 2015, although I hope 2015 will be largely rehab-oriented and not quite so much medical procedure and medication-driven! 

I own my mistakes and my faults, but I don't own any one else's, nor can I manage another's life. I think I may finally understand this, hard though it is. I am finally living life doing what I want to do, putting me (and us, my husband and me) first, and that is a radical change. Nobody else gets to call the shots on what I do or don't do; nobody gets to make me feel guilty about it either. What a concept, eh?

More of this in 2015. Happier. Wiser. Stronger. More generous with myself and my love.  

Reverb 13, Day 2: Nourishment and the BEST moment

The prompts:

1. The way we nourish ourselves determines our ability to shine our light in the world. And nourishment doesn't just come in the form of food and drink and sunshine; it's equally important to nourish your spirit.
What made your soul feel most nourished this year?

2.  Shine: What was the best moment of 2013?

 Ah, nourishment of the soul: what feeds my spirit? 

 The arts, short answer. Theater, books, magazines, movies, music, even television. Creativity unfolding in story, notes on a scale, words on the page, actors and designers and directors creating timeless emotion and story. 

When I was recuperating from surgery, I literally could NOT do things and thus sat still for days. So I read more than I usually get to, devouring books and stories and articles daily and luxuriating in that freedom to just read. My first real excursion outside the house was to a play while I was still non-weight-bearing in a wheelchair. Nearly the first outing when I graduated to the boot and using a cane was to a play, the annual performance of The Vagina Monologues, held this year at Rolling Hills Casino. We watched movies a lot, have our favorite television shows.

They make me think. They stir my emotions and my beliefs. They help me find answers to hard questions, and ponder paths and options. Bits of music -- yes, even the dreaded earworms -- help me through difficult times and even pain (my iPod was with me in the hospital and got me through some hard and noisy hours). 

I am challenged and found and redeemed by the words I have read and seen this year, and I am so grateful for the ability to see and to hear them. 

The best moment of 2013: hmmmm.

I think the best moment was when we drove to our favorite Oregon coast spot in Bandon on our 13th wedding anniversary to spend a few days, and seeing our glorious Mama Ocean rolling in. It rained quite a bit while we were there, but we watched her from our windows facing in two directions and went places anyway. We met by the ocean 16 years ago and were married on the ocean. She never fails to settle our spirits and minimize our worries and fears, and we've happily spent many more days this year on her coast than we have in some time. But that day, May 20, we had come through months of surgery recovery and work and worry, and it was so good to be together by our beloved ocean and not to have a list of chores to do. It was a beautiful time away and apart from everything else.

Reverb11 -- Day 28 -- Forgiveness and thought

#1 Prompt: Forgiveness - What one thing do you need to forgive yourself for this year?

#2 Prompt:  Thought: What new thought, idea or action have you taken this year that gave you a true sense of freedom?


#1 -- I need to forgive myself for those blasted 20 lbs that have slowly gone back on over the last several years, despite my being able to lose 10 of them (and gain 'em back) more than once this year. And a few other things...

I am so very critical of myself in so many ways: I know the weight must come off in order to keep this body physically in better shape and to better control the things I actually have some power over; I still have that too-big-too-tall-too-loud-too-opinionated image of myself, although every year some of that goes away as I accept more about who I am and how I look (you'd think I'd be so over that by now, hm....); and dredging up past embarrassments and shoulda-coulda-wouldas is so totally pointless, since it's a damned sure thing that nobody but me remembers them. I've actually forgiven myself  this year for those, and given myself permission to never think of them again. Or, as my angelic counselor Jessie would tell me, I've 'thanked them, blessed them, and sent them to God' to deal with.

Good idea for 2012 too.


#2 -- Well, this keeps coming back to that Mary Oliver poem and 'aha' moment, doesn't it! Finally realizing that the only life I can save is my own was a HUGE step forward for me. I suppose that sounds a little silly -- but it's one thing to understand something intellectually, and quite another to actually 'get' and accept the truth in one's heart and gut.


Actually absorbing  that truth down to the very marrow of my bones has given me the freedom to not only stop putting off enjoying my own life, despite the troubles and issues of those I dearly love, but also to be more proactive about taking steps to make my life better, healthier, and happier. I've been able to do all of these things this year, one step at a time, and I do feel that I'm in a better place all the way around this year because of these choices.

Reverb11 - Day 26 - Gifts and music

#1 Prompt: Gift: Name one gift that 2011 gave you; what treasure came your way gift wrapped in experience, that (maybe in hindsight) you want to hold onto and place on display?

#2 Prompt: Music is powerful - Think of one song that you turn to time and again, and describe why it's important to you.

#1 -- I've already told you about reading Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" late one dark and stormy night, and having its message hit me squarely in the head -- and in the heart. That's the gift I most treasure about 2011, the clear message that mine is the only life I can save. 

It's a gift that has two sides, however. It exempts me from the responsibility that I've tried so hard to assume of trying desperately to save my child , especially these last three+ years, because it is an impossible task. But it also frees me to look at what is left of my life and decide how I want to spend it without feeling guilty or responsible for the outcome of other people's choices -- hers or anybody else's.

(I suppose a more enlightened person would have figured all this out years ago, right?) While I understood intellectually that I am 'powerless over people, places and things,'  I still felt that somehow, if I worked hard at controlling her choices and monitoring her treatment and recovery, I could 'save' my child from a road she'd set out on through a combination of a few bad things happening to her, genetic predisposition, and some bad life choices.

The poem gobsmacked me upside the head, however, and since that amazing 'aha' moment, I have been able to let go of that need to control, and to allow her to travel whatever path she will. That doesn't mean I am not involved, but I finally accept that her life is not my responsibility, and I have been able to set boundaries for myself.

#2 -- Music. Indeed, it is powerful, evoking sadness, joy, beauty, power -- but I'll confess that I don't have a song that I turn to in crisis moments anymore.

 I often choose something classical -- I love the Saint Saens "Organ Symphony" (Symphony #3 in C Minor) with a really powerful pipe organ, for instance, and I also love parts of "The Planets" by Gustav Holst, especially the center section of "Jupiter" which was adapted as a hymn tune and is the melody to "I Vow to Thee, My Country," a very popular English hymn. I love that melody and can just get lost in the cello's voice as it sings. It is melancholy and sad and soaringly positive at the same time.

But there are times when I want the familiarity of the Grateful Dead -- the unique blend of drum, guitar, mandolin, bass, and raspy vocals that let me lose the moment and go back in time. I'm especially fond of "Terrapin Station," with the image of the 'spiral light of Venus rising first and shining best' and its 'rare and different tune.' But I also love other Robert Hunter lyrics with all his images of dark and light. One of them always speaks to where I find myself when I'm listening.

And then there is the high choral music that I love to listen to and used to love to sing:  from John Rutter arrangements and originals to Thomas Tallis and his 16th century anthems. Most choirs I sang with had a message somewhere in the choir room to the effect that 'He who sings prays twice,' and I found that to be so.

These choices are nothing new: they've been with me for many years now. Most new music -- at least that I've heard --  doesn't seem to have the profound messages of these (moldy oldie?) choices of mine.

Rewriting history?

It will come as no surprise to anyone who's read much on this site that I am not a Tea Party fan, other than the kind where ladies in big hats, gloves, pearls, flowery dresses, and sipping Earl Grey with a slice of lemon are in evidence.

It is also no surprise that I am a bonafide liberal. There. I said it. The *L* word (not to be confused with the Showtime series, thankyou).

I am, however, a child of the '50s and '60s, and I grew up reciting Longfellow's poem "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," and to this day I still remember April 18 as the day he warned Sam Adams and John Hancock that the British were coming.

But Sarah Palin apparently didn't read that poem, or perhaps she is revising history as she spoke recently (and a little too happily, perhaps) about Revere shooting and ringing bells as he warned the BRITISH that the Americans were going to fight. Uh huh. 

Oh, I'm but one little blogger who has a complaint with her version of the story. Google Sarah and Paul Revere and you'll turn up many more, or check out You Tube for her version.

She claims she got it right.

Please, America. Please don't let her or others rewrite history any more than they have already through textbook standards  in Texas. Such tampering is truly frightening.



.

More on life and death

Two poems I cannot get out of my head:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas -- one of my favorite poets and the subject of my senior English thesis in college. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

No Man is an Island by John Donne, another favorite from my college courses. "... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Too many conversations about death and dying and endings and letting go are running through my brain non-stop: Did I say the right things? Is he going to go through with it? What else should I have done? What can anyone do? What right have we to interfere in another adult's decision -- assuming, of course, that his intent is to harm no one except himself,  and thereby harming himself,  he harms others, undoubtedly irreparably, inconsolably. A moral conundrum. 


Until death at last appears unbidden on our threshold to complete our journey, there is always another chance. There is always a way through the pain, the uncertainty, the despair. It is hard work, to be sure, but there are many helping hands along the way if the person only can ask, can admit that death may not be the best solution at this moment, and allow himself to be vulnerable enough to accept a hand. 

We are always stronger working together than we are standing apart. An integral part of every 12-Step group is drawing on the collective strength of the group to keep going on every day, moment to moment, knowing that they are there to fill you back up at yet another meeting, to give you encouragement to keep on, to help you stay on track. 


I want so much for my cousin to know this and to find one shred of something that he still wants to do, to find, to be. Just one tiny thing can make all the difference between life and death. 


I always analyze my own actions and words after they've been done and spoken, and am a harsh critic: did I do enough? Did I do it well enough? Did I say what I meant, and was it received as it was intended? Could I have said something better, more clearly, more meaningfully? Why didn't I think to say/do this, or that, or something that would have worked better?


Yeah, I know. Gotta let that go.

 Deep breath.

Mine is the only life I can save. But may my prayers and my words and my actions reach others who need to hear that someone cares, that there is a way through the dark, that we are not alone in this world. 

Saving the only life I can

Like many whose nature it is to take care of others, I have an almost overwhelming need to make things 'all right' when I know a friend or relative is having problems, sometimes to the point of obsession and to the detriment of my own sleep and daily life.

I want to 'fix' it. I want to offer advice and care. I want their issues to be resolved and for them not to be troubled with whatever it is.

I've done this all my life.

Over the years I've learned to (mostly) shut up and only offer advice if I'm asked, although I still sometimes venture an opinion if I think it will be received as it was meant -- to be helpful. I don't leap in anymore (hardly ever) with my superwoman cape bearing food, money, or tangible 'help' that might ease the pain of whatever issue it is for the individual.

I am especially guilty of asking too many questions, mostly of my daughters, although I have curbed that urge significantly in the last year or two -- admittedly probably not to their satisfaction. I try not to offer unsolicited advice very often, at least.

But I have mom-radar that works overtime and picks up little things here and there that sometimes can feed my obsessive mind and fertile imagination. Sometimes I'm wrong and everything is pretty much okay. And I hate it when I'm right and things start crashing down.

I want my children (and friends) to be okay, to have lives that are satisfying and reasonably calm and with enough of everything to keep them healthy, safe, fed, clothed, warm, and housed.

But I also understand with everything in me that is rational that I cannot live their lives and make their choices for them. I must be okay with watching them fail sometimes and without trying to fix anything.

(I'll admit that both Tony and I have, in the past, 'fixed' things, at least somewhat: Made it easier to get to a goal, or offered support when maybe it would have been better to stand back, lovingly. But we've worked on reasonable boundaries for our behavior and for their expectations, and it has succeeded fairly well, although not without some occasional pain and angst on both sides.)

When someone you love makes choices that appear to be dangerous either to their health or well-being, setting boundaries becomes far more difficult, and yet even more essential.

I've invested much time and money and worry in our girls, especially as some issues have proven to be so huge and ongoing, even a matter of survival. It's taken a toll on me that I've realized more clearly in recent months, and I've been working on relinquishing control, whether by giving my opinion or taking charge of getting things done, or checking in (asking questions).

I got smacked upside the head last week, though, when I was reading through the new O Magazine issue. It was one of our recently frequent stormy, windy nights with rain and very strong gusts howling outside, and I was reading in bed, just prior to turning off the light (as I do every night).

The issue is about poetry and the importance it has for so many of us, how it's shaped our actions or given us touchstones to live by. (I've especially loved Robert Frost since I first read him so many decades ago and still can recite several, for instance. )

On this night, though, I was reading Maria Shriver's interview with poet Mary Oliver. Shriver had included her favorite of Oliver's poems, "The Journey," which I read after I'd finished the article.

And it said exactly what I've needed to hear in exactly the words that would resonate so deeply that I couldn't rationalize my behavior and feelings anymore.

I've read it every day since, (puddling up every time) repeating the last words over and over to myself: "...determined to do the only thing you could do--determined to save the only life you could save."

That would be mine.

And that's my new mantra. It's making things easier for me, actually. It's on the order of the old 12-step saying, "I am powerless over people, places and things" -- but somehow it has been especially meaningful for me right now.

There is more of my life behind me than is ahead of me. I will not abdicate that in favor of someone else's life, no matter how much I love them and want to make things better.

I still have hopes and dreams and plans to achieve for myself. And nobody else can do that for me except me. No one WILL do that for me except me. And I must allow those I care about to do the same for their own lives, regardless of what I might think about it. It is not mine to live.

So I'm finally moving ahead with my own life: taking care of me first, doing things I want to do, living more in the moment -- my moment, not someone else's moment.

And I'm keeping my head up, watching for the stars to break through the clouds. Because they will. They are.

Books, Days 15-16 -- Comfort and Poetry

Day 15 – Your “comfort” book

I don't know that I have a comfort book, really. If I need comfort, I either go to a specific topic for which I need advice, like "I'm Still Your Mother," or I'll control my worried monkey-mind with a magazine, like O Magazine, which doesn't require much concentration to go from story to story but still lets me escape and not think about whatever it is I'm obsessing over for a bit. I don't do well with most novels when I'm worried -- takes too much effort to concentrate.

Day 16 – Favorite poem or collection of poetry

I've already talked about Eugene Field and his poetry, my favorites from childhood.

I have always loved poetry: the pithy bits of language that capture a feeling, a situation, a person. I love the strength of Walt Whitman and never see the ocean without thinking of his "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking." Or fog without recalling Carl Sandburg. Or hear of a death without remembering Emily Dickinson.

I wrote my senior English college paper on Dylan Thomas and his dark and eloquent poems. Arguably the most famous is "Do not go gentle into that good night, " and I'll confess that I remind myself with that poem to savor each day, each event, each emotion with all my self.

My favorite all-purpose poet, though, is Robert Frost and especially his "The Road Not Taken." So many times I've stood at that place where the roads diverge and looked down them, wondering what lay beyond what I can see. I remember him, fine white hair blowing in the wind, trying to read a poem written for JFK's inauguration, and because the sun was blindingly bright, ended up reciting another poem from memory, "The Gift Outright."

Long ago in high school I sang another of his poems, "Choose something like a star," part of Frostiana, a suite written by composer Randall Thompson. I've always loved that poem as well, although to recite it, I hear the music in my head!

And yet another of his prolific works, and one to which I've often referred, is "Fire and Ice."

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great,
And would suffice.