I simply have no words, only exhaustion. I'm going to let my friend Bruce Cockburn do my speaking for me tonight. Maybe I'll have something more to say another day.
wb
Pacing the Cage, Bruce Cockburn
Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword -
No matter how I squint, I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward -
Sometimes you feel like you've lived too long;
The days drip slowly on the page -
You catch yourself pacing the cage
I've proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else
Then everyone was taken in -
Powers chatter in high places,
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage -
Set me to pacing the cage
I never knew what you all wanted,
So I gave you everything;
All that I could pillage,
All the spells that I could sing -
It's as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age:
Sooner or later,
you wind up pacing the cage
Sometimes the best map will not guide you -
You can't see what's 'round the bend;
Sometimes the road leads through dark places,
Sometimes the darkness is your friend...
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage -
Pacing the cage
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Clouds
I love living where there are a lot of open spaces, because I love to see the amazing sky. The cloud formations I see on the way to and from work, or just driving out and about, completely blow my mind sometimes. When the weather changes, though, and there is a seemingly impenetrable layer of clouds blocking the sun, it changes everything. People become gloomy, even surly, and grumble about where our sunny days went.
For the last few weeks, I have felt as if I were living under an oppressive cloud cover. Circumstances in my life have been such that sometimes it even felt I couldn't breathe. Certain things would set me on a downward spiral, wondering when I would hit bottom, and then wishing I would, because the slide itself was so scary. You probably know the feeling - the tightness in the chest, the fog over the thoughts, the difficulty making it through the normal day's tasks with this cloud of heaviness overhead, and all around.
It's rough to function normally when the clouds dominate the sky. We know the sun is up because we can see the world around us, but it isn't a cheerful world. Instead it's colorless and dull, and we can't experience the warmth of the sunlight, or the brightness on the changing leaves and the sparkle of the dew in the grass. Our surroundings become bleak, and we wonder if it ever will change.
Anyone who has appreciated the beautiful beginning or end to a day in a gorgeous sunrise or sunset will recognize that it's the sun that makes the clouds beautiful - gives them the glowing edges, the muted or brilliant colors, changing every moment to a new indescribable shade.
Looking at it another way, though, it is often the clouds that make the sunlight more beautiful. People like a blazing blue sky, to be sure, but there is more interest, more nuance, more play of light when there are clouds to diffuse and diffract the sun's rays. I was privileged a few years ago to watch the sunrise on Mount Haleakala in Maui, and it was beyond amazing. There was a thick cloud cover, and the play of light was like a symphony. Sunrise from the same spot without cloud cover would have been much less splendid. Although we revel in the brilliance of a sunny day, who hasn't thrilled to the moment on a cloudy day when the light breaks through an opening and spills over the autumnal landscape to brighten a patch of trees, while all around is shadowed? Without the clouds, that light shaft would lose its poetry. Without the clouds, there would be no "sun dogs" (rainbows in the clouds). Without the clouds, we would not notice and treasure the light.
I have to look at my life this way, these past few weeks. Despite the oppression and gloom, there has been light all along. I haven't appreciated it, because it was unnoticed - the cloud cover was too thick for me to imagine the sun. Even though I recognized its presence behind the haze, it wasn't at the forefront of my mind. All I could see were solid banks of grey, and all I could feel was heaviness. But sometime in the last few days, a shaft of light has pierced the murk, and spread its golden warmth over my bleak landscape. The brilliance of the light is made much more brilliant because of the clouds which had hidden it, for a time.
Our troubles and circumstances may cause us to imagine that there is no end to the heaviness of our souls. We wonder whether our lives haven't always been this way, with no hope of the sun in sight. Because of the daylight (no matter what the weather), we know that the sun has risen on us, but we don't feel the warmth, or see the colors around us the way they were meant to shine. But the clouds serve to make more beautiful the splendor of the sunlight when it finally breaks through the dimness, and we rejoice to see it.
In the hymn "Spirit of God, descend upon my heart," (George Croly, 1854) my favorite verse is the second one:
I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies -
But, take the dimness of my soul away.
Thanks be to the Lion for clouds, which show his glory, and for his light which breaks the darkness, and lightens our hearts, and gives us hope.
wb
For the last few weeks, I have felt as if I were living under an oppressive cloud cover. Circumstances in my life have been such that sometimes it even felt I couldn't breathe. Certain things would set me on a downward spiral, wondering when I would hit bottom, and then wishing I would, because the slide itself was so scary. You probably know the feeling - the tightness in the chest, the fog over the thoughts, the difficulty making it through the normal day's tasks with this cloud of heaviness overhead, and all around.
It's rough to function normally when the clouds dominate the sky. We know the sun is up because we can see the world around us, but it isn't a cheerful world. Instead it's colorless and dull, and we can't experience the warmth of the sunlight, or the brightness on the changing leaves and the sparkle of the dew in the grass. Our surroundings become bleak, and we wonder if it ever will change.
Anyone who has appreciated the beautiful beginning or end to a day in a gorgeous sunrise or sunset will recognize that it's the sun that makes the clouds beautiful - gives them the glowing edges, the muted or brilliant colors, changing every moment to a new indescribable shade.
Looking at it another way, though, it is often the clouds that make the sunlight more beautiful. People like a blazing blue sky, to be sure, but there is more interest, more nuance, more play of light when there are clouds to diffuse and diffract the sun's rays. I was privileged a few years ago to watch the sunrise on Mount Haleakala in Maui, and it was beyond amazing. There was a thick cloud cover, and the play of light was like a symphony. Sunrise from the same spot without cloud cover would have been much less splendid. Although we revel in the brilliance of a sunny day, who hasn't thrilled to the moment on a cloudy day when the light breaks through an opening and spills over the autumnal landscape to brighten a patch of trees, while all around is shadowed? Without the clouds, that light shaft would lose its poetry. Without the clouds, there would be no "sun dogs" (rainbows in the clouds). Without the clouds, we would not notice and treasure the light.
I have to look at my life this way, these past few weeks. Despite the oppression and gloom, there has been light all along. I haven't appreciated it, because it was unnoticed - the cloud cover was too thick for me to imagine the sun. Even though I recognized its presence behind the haze, it wasn't at the forefront of my mind. All I could see were solid banks of grey, and all I could feel was heaviness. But sometime in the last few days, a shaft of light has pierced the murk, and spread its golden warmth over my bleak landscape. The brilliance of the light is made much more brilliant because of the clouds which had hidden it, for a time.
Our troubles and circumstances may cause us to imagine that there is no end to the heaviness of our souls. We wonder whether our lives haven't always been this way, with no hope of the sun in sight. Because of the daylight (no matter what the weather), we know that the sun has risen on us, but we don't feel the warmth, or see the colors around us the way they were meant to shine. But the clouds serve to make more beautiful the splendor of the sunlight when it finally breaks through the dimness, and we rejoice to see it.
In the hymn "Spirit of God, descend upon my heart," (George Croly, 1854) my favorite verse is the second one:
I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies -
But, take the dimness of my soul away.
Thanks be to the Lion for clouds, which show his glory, and for his light which breaks the darkness, and lightens our hearts, and gives us hope.
wb
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Unexpected gift
This morning I was getting ready to leave the house for some things I planned to do today. I noticed as I walked by the girls' room that my elder daughter was up, but my 8-year-old was still in bed. That is their typical pattern, although very often they are both up early even on Saturdays, because then they get to watch videos from PBS kids on the computer before Mom and Dad are up. For whatever reason, though, she was still asleep. It has gotten cold and gloomy over the last week - a big change from the gorgeous, sunny 70-degreees we had last week - so I don't blame her for sleeping in.
I kissed her on the cheek before I went downstairs. She stirred a little, but didn't wake. I walked down the stairs, and then hesitated at the bottom. I felt a little nudge to go back up to their bedroom. I wasn't in a tremendous hurry this morning, anyway, so I decided to follow my "instinct." I walked back up to her room and lay down next to her on her mattress, which is on the floor. She woke up and said, "Hi, Mommy," with a groggy smile. Then she stretched her arm over and gave me a hug. I don't remember saying anything then, but soon she started talking about how excited she was about next Friday, when her class gets to have a pajama day. They earn "brownie points" (which show up as magnetic brownies in an actual brownie pan mounted on the board in the classroom) by having good behavior as a class. They got 7 brownie points the first day of school, and it has taken them this long to earn the remaining 13. Perhaps the teacher was lenient the first day.
So, having earned their brownie points, the class gets to have "pajama day" next Friday. The students get to wear their pajamas to school and bring a stuffed animal or a blanket or a pillow. My daughter was so excited about it, and really warmed to her subject as we lay there, looking at the ceiling, snuggled under her blanket. "The great thing about it is that we have our buddies that day." The older classes have buddies in the grades three lower than theirs - the third graders have kindergarten buddies. I asked her about her buddy and she said they rotate, so they don't have the same buddy every time. She told me about her latest one, and the two previous ones, and what they did together. With this last one, a "shy little girl with long brown hair," my daughter read her a book called "Too Many Mice," and she told me all about it, and the questions she asked her buddy about the book, and then what happened at recess.
I was completely charmed by this little exchange. I am not certain I would have gotten this information in the general melee of the day, or in the presence of anyone else in the family, or even by asking about it. Since she is the younger sister, I think she feels she has to vie for attention sometimes. I was the baby of the family and I remember wanting to be noticed and included sometimes, too. I think she appreciated the solo time with me. I did, too. Although the conversation wasn't anything that would bring down authoritarian regimes, or save an endangered species, or anything else "earth-shattering," it gave me a little window into her mind and what is important to her. That was more than worth the extra time. It was nice to have a "good mommy" moment.
I hope I can be quiet and humble enough to "listen" to those little nudges more often. They bring rich rewards when I do.
Lion bless
wb
I kissed her on the cheek before I went downstairs. She stirred a little, but didn't wake. I walked down the stairs, and then hesitated at the bottom. I felt a little nudge to go back up to their bedroom. I wasn't in a tremendous hurry this morning, anyway, so I decided to follow my "instinct." I walked back up to her room and lay down next to her on her mattress, which is on the floor. She woke up and said, "Hi, Mommy," with a groggy smile. Then she stretched her arm over and gave me a hug. I don't remember saying anything then, but soon she started talking about how excited she was about next Friday, when her class gets to have a pajama day. They earn "brownie points" (which show up as magnetic brownies in an actual brownie pan mounted on the board in the classroom) by having good behavior as a class. They got 7 brownie points the first day of school, and it has taken them this long to earn the remaining 13. Perhaps the teacher was lenient the first day.
So, having earned their brownie points, the class gets to have "pajama day" next Friday. The students get to wear their pajamas to school and bring a stuffed animal or a blanket or a pillow. My daughter was so excited about it, and really warmed to her subject as we lay there, looking at the ceiling, snuggled under her blanket. "The great thing about it is that we have our buddies that day." The older classes have buddies in the grades three lower than theirs - the third graders have kindergarten buddies. I asked her about her buddy and she said they rotate, so they don't have the same buddy every time. She told me about her latest one, and the two previous ones, and what they did together. With this last one, a "shy little girl with long brown hair," my daughter read her a book called "Too Many Mice," and she told me all about it, and the questions she asked her buddy about the book, and then what happened at recess.
I was completely charmed by this little exchange. I am not certain I would have gotten this information in the general melee of the day, or in the presence of anyone else in the family, or even by asking about it. Since she is the younger sister, I think she feels she has to vie for attention sometimes. I was the baby of the family and I remember wanting to be noticed and included sometimes, too. I think she appreciated the solo time with me. I did, too. Although the conversation wasn't anything that would bring down authoritarian regimes, or save an endangered species, or anything else "earth-shattering," it gave me a little window into her mind and what is important to her. That was more than worth the extra time. It was nice to have a "good mommy" moment.
I hope I can be quiet and humble enough to "listen" to those little nudges more often. They bring rich rewards when I do.
Lion bless
wb
Friday, October 18, 2013
Unsure
I feel sad today. The weather is gloomy, which doesn't help. I know what is making me sad, but I can't talk about it. Being
in this sad place is hard. I've been here before, and moved on,
eventually. But that doesn't keep me from coming back from time to
time.
1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."
I dream about a perfect love, in which there is no fear - no fear of upsetting someone when I talk about my feelings. No fear of retaliation if the person whom I tell isn't happy with what I say. No fear of judgment and subsequent "punishment," intended or not. No fear of being seen as "wrong" because of what makes me myself. I dream of a perfect love in which there is no fear of me becoming angry when someone else says what they think. No fear of criticism or of being "fixed" by me. No fear that someone will lose my love, even during the hard times. The dream goes both ways.
Absence of a negative isn't the complete picture of my desire, though. I dream of a perfect love in the positive as well - not just lack of fear, but with the full presence of acceptance, encouragement, grace, and mercy. A safe place to be honest, to be human, to be mistaken, to be myself. A place that feels like home.
Today my thoughts are so chaotic and jangled that I can't "hear" the voice of the Lion. Perhaps the questions I'm asking are too belligerent, too vague, too specific, too selfish. Perhaps I'm so rattled myself that I can't open my heart to listen.
I know this will pass. I will probably feel better tomorrow, or the next day. But I don't know how to get closer to this perfect fearless love, this welcoming acceptance, this homely place where I long to dwell. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or even if I'm supposed to do anything.
I hope I can "hear" again soon.
wb
1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."
I dream about a perfect love, in which there is no fear - no fear of upsetting someone when I talk about my feelings. No fear of retaliation if the person whom I tell isn't happy with what I say. No fear of judgment and subsequent "punishment," intended or not. No fear of being seen as "wrong" because of what makes me myself. I dream of a perfect love in which there is no fear of me becoming angry when someone else says what they think. No fear of criticism or of being "fixed" by me. No fear that someone will lose my love, even during the hard times. The dream goes both ways.
Absence of a negative isn't the complete picture of my desire, though. I dream of a perfect love in the positive as well - not just lack of fear, but with the full presence of acceptance, encouragement, grace, and mercy. A safe place to be honest, to be human, to be mistaken, to be myself. A place that feels like home.
Today my thoughts are so chaotic and jangled that I can't "hear" the voice of the Lion. Perhaps the questions I'm asking are too belligerent, too vague, too specific, too selfish. Perhaps I'm so rattled myself that I can't open my heart to listen.
I know this will pass. I will probably feel better tomorrow, or the next day. But I don't know how to get closer to this perfect fearless love, this welcoming acceptance, this homely place where I long to dwell. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or even if I'm supposed to do anything.
I hope I can "hear" again soon.
wb
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Of bacon and balance
Someone asked me today, when I mentioned I am a "blogger," "How often do you post?" I said, "As often as I need to." Apparently I have needed to a bit more often in the last few days. So many words in my travels these days.
This morning I had to get up at 6 for a meeting. I am not a gracious morning person, to say the least. I wasn't sure what to do about breakfast, because I'm never particularly hungry too early in the morning. When I was "post-call" at the hospital, whether in med school or in residency, I usually had no appetite for standard breakfast food. My good friend Jen would tease me about my breakfasts of "chocolate milk and bacon" that I used to eat, especially on the surgery service, where we often worked more than 36 hours in a row before going home. (Of note, when Jen did her surgery rotation the next year, she came around to my point of view, at least temporarily.)
Side note: I used to like drinking chocolate milk out of the 8-oz cartons, because after I opened them by the "push here" ovals (see below), they would smile at me, and sometimes I desperately needed a smile, even if it was from a milk carton.
So, this morning I hurriedly drank a glass of chocolate milk, thinking wistfully about the uncooked package of Oscar Mayer bacon in the fridge. I climbed in the car and drove through the dark to the Diocese of Grand Rapids, where my meeting for "new providers" was held. I found the building with no problem, parked in the ramp for free, and made my way into the building. A friendly security guard with a white beard and brown eyes pointed me in the right direction. And what was that? I smelled food.
Bacon.
Among other things.
I arrived, signed in, got my name card and presentation packet, and found a seat. Then I joined the line for a very nice breakfast, with fruit, muffins, bagels, and - oh joy - hot foods, including scrambled eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Not only was there bacon, but this bacon was perfect - flat, salty, and crispy, with that melt-in-your-mouth texture that is so rarely achieved. I think all told I had something like 8 slices. One doesn't often see or taste bacon this perfect. Sigh. Chocolate milk and bacon for breakfast. Jen would be so proud.
It was still pretty early, but we were in a big conference room with many windows, and although we were not facing the right direction to catch the sunrise, it was thrilling to watch the sky turn from an indeterminate dark color, through indigo with pink-stained clouds, navy blue, and then brightness. The outlines of the surrounding buildings were so sharp, and the early sunlight on the warm-colored brick was intense and wondrous. Such a beautiful accompaniment to breakfast.
The presentation was entitled, "The Work-Life Balancing Act: You Have More Control Than You Think." Since I've been with the company for almost 16 months, I'm not exactly a new provider (what professionals who provide medical care to patients are called - docs, nurse practitioners, physician assistants), but once the talk got started, I was so glad to be there. The presenter was David Posen, MD, who used to be a family doc but got into stress management about 30 years ago, and the things he had to say resonated deeply with me. He has several books published: "Always Change a Losing Game," "Is Work Killing You?" and "The Little Book of Stress Management."
I won't give you a blow-by-blow of the presentation, but the main thrust is that there are things over which we have control, and we can decide to control them to provide more balance in our lives. Since I graduated from residency I have worked part-time; that was my decision because I had a baby at home, and then two. This is my second "career," and I knew from the outset that I didn't want to devote 50 hours a week to work. That was my first decision toward more balance in my life, and I'm not sorry I made it.
A lot was said about the physiology of stress, and beliefs people have that they "can't" change anything or "don't" have time, or "should" be a certain way or do a certain thing. A certain amount of stress is necessary for us to perform optimally, but past a certain point it leads to exhaustion, illness, and burnout. As someone who has recently recovered (and perhaps is still recovering) from burnout, I am grateful to be on the "plus" side of the stress curve.
Another couple of interesting things he mentioned was that "multitasking" is a cognitive impossibility, because our brains only focus on one thing at a time (the exception here is something "mindless" or automatic, like driving a familiar route in normal weather, or knitting, or doodling). A statistic he threw out was that "people who check their e-mail between 20 and 40 times an hour reduce their functional IQ by 10 points. This is 2-1/2 times the IQ drop of smoking marijuana, which drops one's IQ by 4 points."
I wish I could have had a recording of the whole presentation, although I did take notes on the handouts. I had asked him a question during the presentation, and he was intrigued by it and asked me to write it down for him, so I talked to him for a little while during the break. Later on, he had us fill in a "personal mosaic" with "work" as only one of the pieces. After we did that, he had everyone stand up. The instructions were, a soft ball would be thrown, and if you caught it, you had to say your name and what one of the pieces of your mosaic was. Since I had spoken to him at the break, he threw the ball to me first. The mosaic piece I mentioned? "Blogger." It was on the tip of my tongue, although I could have said "mother," "wife," "singer," "chain maille jewelry maker," or "teacher," among other things. Hence the exchange at the beginning of this entry. (Another side note: each of us was given a signed copy of "The Little Book of Stress Management" at the end. I thought that was a nice touch.)
Overall, although there are some things I can change to make my life even less stressful (such as go to bed earlier, something I intend to do, but perhaps not tonight), I was pleased with the amount of balance I have in my life. Some might call it laziness, but after having been "burned out," I never want to go there again, so I take care to surround myself with things that energize me - hobbies, exercise, friendships, teaching - so that I can be refreshed to go back into the fray that is work, or even life.
What refreshes you? Are you taking time for yourself? When was the last time you did something just for fun, just because you wanted to, without "should"-ing on yourself about it (as in, "I should be doing ______ instead")? Who told you that you must make your bed every day? Are you taking things that don't matter and elevating them to a place of power, at the expense of taking care of yourself?
David (the presenter) mentioned that especially for caregivers (parents, those caring for a sick loved one), it is vital to decrease our stress and take care of ourselves. I remember a striking analogy that came to me when I studied the anatomy of the cardiovascular system. The heart pumps blood to the entire body via a huge artery called the aorta. Smaller arteries branch off the aorta, channeling life-giving blood to various parts of the body - the head, the arms, and so on down. The very first arteries that branch off the aorta? The coronary arteries, which supply blood to the heart. Block those, and the heart is in trouble. If the heart is in trouble, the rest of the body does not do well, to put it mildly.
Make sure you feed yourself. It isn't intended to be at the expense of others. Nourish yourself, and you will find you have more energy to give away to those who need you.
Or, to put it another way, as we heard in church this past Sunday:
2 Corinthians 9:8 (NLT) "And God will generously provide all you need. Then you will always have everything you need and plenty left over to share with others."
Wish I could have shared that wonderful bacon with you. But thanks for sharing my memory of it with me.
May your life be filled, and balanced.
wb
This morning I had to get up at 6 for a meeting. I am not a gracious morning person, to say the least. I wasn't sure what to do about breakfast, because I'm never particularly hungry too early in the morning. When I was "post-call" at the hospital, whether in med school or in residency, I usually had no appetite for standard breakfast food. My good friend Jen would tease me about my breakfasts of "chocolate milk and bacon" that I used to eat, especially on the surgery service, where we often worked more than 36 hours in a row before going home. (Of note, when Jen did her surgery rotation the next year, she came around to my point of view, at least temporarily.)
Side note: I used to like drinking chocolate milk out of the 8-oz cartons, because after I opened them by the "push here" ovals (see below), they would smile at me, and sometimes I desperately needed a smile, even if it was from a milk carton.
Bacon.
Among other things.
I arrived, signed in, got my name card and presentation packet, and found a seat. Then I joined the line for a very nice breakfast, with fruit, muffins, bagels, and - oh joy - hot foods, including scrambled eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Not only was there bacon, but this bacon was perfect - flat, salty, and crispy, with that melt-in-your-mouth texture that is so rarely achieved. I think all told I had something like 8 slices. One doesn't often see or taste bacon this perfect. Sigh. Chocolate milk and bacon for breakfast. Jen would be so proud.
It was still pretty early, but we were in a big conference room with many windows, and although we were not facing the right direction to catch the sunrise, it was thrilling to watch the sky turn from an indeterminate dark color, through indigo with pink-stained clouds, navy blue, and then brightness. The outlines of the surrounding buildings were so sharp, and the early sunlight on the warm-colored brick was intense and wondrous. Such a beautiful accompaniment to breakfast.
The presentation was entitled, "The Work-Life Balancing Act: You Have More Control Than You Think." Since I've been with the company for almost 16 months, I'm not exactly a new provider (what professionals who provide medical care to patients are called - docs, nurse practitioners, physician assistants), but once the talk got started, I was so glad to be there. The presenter was David Posen, MD, who used to be a family doc but got into stress management about 30 years ago, and the things he had to say resonated deeply with me. He has several books published: "Always Change a Losing Game," "Is Work Killing You?" and "The Little Book of Stress Management."
I won't give you a blow-by-blow of the presentation, but the main thrust is that there are things over which we have control, and we can decide to control them to provide more balance in our lives. Since I graduated from residency I have worked part-time; that was my decision because I had a baby at home, and then two. This is my second "career," and I knew from the outset that I didn't want to devote 50 hours a week to work. That was my first decision toward more balance in my life, and I'm not sorry I made it.
A lot was said about the physiology of stress, and beliefs people have that they "can't" change anything or "don't" have time, or "should" be a certain way or do a certain thing. A certain amount of stress is necessary for us to perform optimally, but past a certain point it leads to exhaustion, illness, and burnout. As someone who has recently recovered (and perhaps is still recovering) from burnout, I am grateful to be on the "plus" side of the stress curve.
Another couple of interesting things he mentioned was that "multitasking" is a cognitive impossibility, because our brains only focus on one thing at a time (the exception here is something "mindless" or automatic, like driving a familiar route in normal weather, or knitting, or doodling). A statistic he threw out was that "people who check their e-mail between 20 and 40 times an hour reduce their functional IQ by 10 points. This is 2-1/2 times the IQ drop of smoking marijuana, which drops one's IQ by 4 points."
I wish I could have had a recording of the whole presentation, although I did take notes on the handouts. I had asked him a question during the presentation, and he was intrigued by it and asked me to write it down for him, so I talked to him for a little while during the break. Later on, he had us fill in a "personal mosaic" with "work" as only one of the pieces. After we did that, he had everyone stand up. The instructions were, a soft ball would be thrown, and if you caught it, you had to say your name and what one of the pieces of your mosaic was. Since I had spoken to him at the break, he threw the ball to me first. The mosaic piece I mentioned? "Blogger." It was on the tip of my tongue, although I could have said "mother," "wife," "singer," "chain maille jewelry maker," or "teacher," among other things. Hence the exchange at the beginning of this entry. (Another side note: each of us was given a signed copy of "The Little Book of Stress Management" at the end. I thought that was a nice touch.)
Overall, although there are some things I can change to make my life even less stressful (such as go to bed earlier, something I intend to do, but perhaps not tonight), I was pleased with the amount of balance I have in my life. Some might call it laziness, but after having been "burned out," I never want to go there again, so I take care to surround myself with things that energize me - hobbies, exercise, friendships, teaching - so that I can be refreshed to go back into the fray that is work, or even life.
What refreshes you? Are you taking time for yourself? When was the last time you did something just for fun, just because you wanted to, without "should"-ing on yourself about it (as in, "I should be doing ______ instead")? Who told you that you must make your bed every day? Are you taking things that don't matter and elevating them to a place of power, at the expense of taking care of yourself?
David (the presenter) mentioned that especially for caregivers (parents, those caring for a sick loved one), it is vital to decrease our stress and take care of ourselves. I remember a striking analogy that came to me when I studied the anatomy of the cardiovascular system. The heart pumps blood to the entire body via a huge artery called the aorta. Smaller arteries branch off the aorta, channeling life-giving blood to various parts of the body - the head, the arms, and so on down. The very first arteries that branch off the aorta? The coronary arteries, which supply blood to the heart. Block those, and the heart is in trouble. If the heart is in trouble, the rest of the body does not do well, to put it mildly.
Make sure you feed yourself. It isn't intended to be at the expense of others. Nourish yourself, and you will find you have more energy to give away to those who need you.
Or, to put it another way, as we heard in church this past Sunday:
2 Corinthians 9:8 (NLT) "And God will generously provide all you need. Then you will always have everything you need and plenty left over to share with others."
Wish I could have shared that wonderful bacon with you. But thanks for sharing my memory of it with me.
May your life be filled, and balanced.
wb
Monday, October 14, 2013
Happycakes
When I was in residency, we lived in Flint. It was not as bad back then (13 years ago) as it has become, although parts of it were problematic. Where we lived was quite nice, though. It was our first house, a little 3-bedroom two-story with a yard the size of a postage stamp, in a quiet neighborhood that was comprised mostly of elderly people. We lived in the second house along on our block, and our neighbor on the corner was a crusty old man named Bill. We often saw him out in the yard, mowing, puttering, his stooped form picking up sticks or raking leaves.
At first I was intimidated by him. No, not intimidated - scared. He hardly said a word in passing, although he would grunt a "Hello" in my direction if I said it first. Then he'd turn back to work, taciturn as ever.
I don't remember how I got talking to him, or whether it was my husband who did first. Likely it was my husband, because he mowed the yard with the somewhat dilapidated push mower we got from my Dad. We figured the yard was so small, it would be "good exercise." Well, thankfully it wasn't I who had to mow it. The mower was too tall for me anyway, and that time period was long before I started exercising, so I didn't have the upper body strength to move it.
Anyway, somehow we got talking to Bill. The exchanges would go something like this:
"Hey, Bill."
"Hello, there."
"How are you today?"
"Never better."
And that was about the extent of it.
I don't remember the exact sequence of events. I think I was pregnant, or else we had just had our first daughter, but somehow I was invited into the house. It was about the same size as ours, except extremely neat, and decorated in the manner of an older person, with lace on the kitchen curtains and a few dustless knickknacks on the shelf. I think Bill had invited me inside to meet his wife. This astounded me, because I didn't even know he was married. I had never seen her outside, and of course he had never talked about her.
His wife (and I feel bad; I don't even remember her name) was a sweet little lady in a wheelchair. It only took a few moments of conversing with her to realize she was in an advanced state of dementia. She was able to speak pleasantly, but not with much meaning. I let Bill show me around the house - he was so proud - and I think I had a cup of tea with them. It was obvious how well cared-for his wife and house were.
I went home, and thought later about his always saying, "Never better." Here he was, probably in his late 70s, crusty as hell on the outside but tenderly caring for his wife. I never heard him complain. I never saw any sign of unhappiness or dissatisfaction with his lot in life (although sometimes it was hard to tell, because his outward appearance was, as I said, crusty). It made me think. Sure, residency is hard - one of the most difficult things I've ever done in my life, for certain - and stressful, and my fellow residents and I coped with it by venting and grousing and complaining, and then picking up and doing the work anyway. But although it was always done in the end, it wasn't always cheerfully done.
One day when our elder daughter was a baby, I noticed an ambulance on the street in front of Bill's house. Now, I hate emergencies (that's why I'm a family doc, not an emergency doc), but I stopped to speak to the paramedics to see if there was anything I could help with. They politely but firmly turned me away. I found out later that Bill's wife had died.
He was a little less distant with us after that. I can't imagine the loneliness that must have enveloped him, even as his "burden" of caring for her was over. I think they had some children but I didn't know if they were in the area or not. One day he saw me in the yard with our daughter, and he came over with something in his hand. It was a little yellow stuffed dog, rather cheaply made, with "God Bless You" embroidered in red on one back paw pad, and a red heart on the other. Bill said, "Someone from the visiting service gave this to us before she died. I want you to have it." I thanked him and put it up on the shelf in the baby's room, but never really wanted her to play with it.
Bill died sometime after we moved to the other side of the state; I heard about it through another neighbor when we were back in Flint, working on selling the house (it took us 13 months to sell it). In the neighborhood, there were few people moving in, and the older people were just hanging on. It was a sad thing to see, when we went back. I liked that neighborhood.
That stuffed dog has moved with us twice now. Our younger daughter is absolutely mad about stuffed animals, and she found it one day. She thought it was the cutest thing she had ever seen (every one is cuter than the last, it seems) and she promptly named it "Happycakes" and grafted it into her ever-burgeoning stuffed animal repertoire. She's such a sunny kid. Her middle name, from Tolkien, means "land of the sun," so I guess she's living up to that, and spreading the sunshine around in the names of her stuffed animal friends.
Happycakes.
This evening Happycakes was sitting next to me on the couch after the girls were in bed. I looked at him, and decided I needed to have Happycakes nearby so I brought him upstairs to my room. I'm remembering Bill tonight, and his unshakable optimism in the face of real difficulty and pain in his life. I look at Happycakes sitting there, so sweet, and decide that no matter how I am, tonight I'm "Never better."
God Bless You <3
wb
At first I was intimidated by him. No, not intimidated - scared. He hardly said a word in passing, although he would grunt a "Hello" in my direction if I said it first. Then he'd turn back to work, taciturn as ever.
I don't remember how I got talking to him, or whether it was my husband who did first. Likely it was my husband, because he mowed the yard with the somewhat dilapidated push mower we got from my Dad. We figured the yard was so small, it would be "good exercise." Well, thankfully it wasn't I who had to mow it. The mower was too tall for me anyway, and that time period was long before I started exercising, so I didn't have the upper body strength to move it.
Anyway, somehow we got talking to Bill. The exchanges would go something like this:
"Hey, Bill."
"Hello, there."
"How are you today?"
"Never better."
And that was about the extent of it.
I don't remember the exact sequence of events. I think I was pregnant, or else we had just had our first daughter, but somehow I was invited into the house. It was about the same size as ours, except extremely neat, and decorated in the manner of an older person, with lace on the kitchen curtains and a few dustless knickknacks on the shelf. I think Bill had invited me inside to meet his wife. This astounded me, because I didn't even know he was married. I had never seen her outside, and of course he had never talked about her.
His wife (and I feel bad; I don't even remember her name) was a sweet little lady in a wheelchair. It only took a few moments of conversing with her to realize she was in an advanced state of dementia. She was able to speak pleasantly, but not with much meaning. I let Bill show me around the house - he was so proud - and I think I had a cup of tea with them. It was obvious how well cared-for his wife and house were.
I went home, and thought later about his always saying, "Never better." Here he was, probably in his late 70s, crusty as hell on the outside but tenderly caring for his wife. I never heard him complain. I never saw any sign of unhappiness or dissatisfaction with his lot in life (although sometimes it was hard to tell, because his outward appearance was, as I said, crusty). It made me think. Sure, residency is hard - one of the most difficult things I've ever done in my life, for certain - and stressful, and my fellow residents and I coped with it by venting and grousing and complaining, and then picking up and doing the work anyway. But although it was always done in the end, it wasn't always cheerfully done.
One day when our elder daughter was a baby, I noticed an ambulance on the street in front of Bill's house. Now, I hate emergencies (that's why I'm a family doc, not an emergency doc), but I stopped to speak to the paramedics to see if there was anything I could help with. They politely but firmly turned me away. I found out later that Bill's wife had died.
He was a little less distant with us after that. I can't imagine the loneliness that must have enveloped him, even as his "burden" of caring for her was over. I think they had some children but I didn't know if they were in the area or not. One day he saw me in the yard with our daughter, and he came over with something in his hand. It was a little yellow stuffed dog, rather cheaply made, with "God Bless You" embroidered in red on one back paw pad, and a red heart on the other. Bill said, "Someone from the visiting service gave this to us before she died. I want you to have it." I thanked him and put it up on the shelf in the baby's room, but never really wanted her to play with it.
Bill died sometime after we moved to the other side of the state; I heard about it through another neighbor when we were back in Flint, working on selling the house (it took us 13 months to sell it). In the neighborhood, there were few people moving in, and the older people were just hanging on. It was a sad thing to see, when we went back. I liked that neighborhood.
That stuffed dog has moved with us twice now. Our younger daughter is absolutely mad about stuffed animals, and she found it one day. She thought it was the cutest thing she had ever seen (every one is cuter than the last, it seems) and she promptly named it "Happycakes" and grafted it into her ever-burgeoning stuffed animal repertoire. She's such a sunny kid. Her middle name, from Tolkien, means "land of the sun," so I guess she's living up to that, and spreading the sunshine around in the names of her stuffed animal friends.
Happycakes.
This evening Happycakes was sitting next to me on the couch after the girls were in bed. I looked at him, and decided I needed to have Happycakes nearby so I brought him upstairs to my room. I'm remembering Bill tonight, and his unshakable optimism in the face of real difficulty and pain in his life. I look at Happycakes sitting there, so sweet, and decide that no matter how I am, tonight I'm "Never better."
God Bless You <3
wb
Wordlessness
It's strange to write a blog about not being able to write, but that's what seems natural right now.
I usually don't have a problem with words; those of you who know me understand that I usually have something to say about almost anything (hence the whole idea behind blogging in the first place). I'm not sure if that's versatility or tedium. I try to keep it to the former, but no guarantees. Lately things have been such that I feel robbed of the compulsion to write. I've made attempts at two or three different blogs of varying subjects, with zero success. The words are stilted and choppy, like puzzle pieces that look like they fit together but really belong elsewhere in the big picture. I'm not sure if it's my inability to see the big picture that is preventing me from fitting the pieces in properly. Huh. That's an idea.
As for emotions, I feel as if I've been sealed shut, or shrink-wrapped. I have occasionally experienced an inability to feel things, and it's usually so pervasive that I am unable to feel lousy about it. I just know I should, because feeling things is a deep part of who I am, and I'm usually able to tell what I'm feeling at any given moment in time. Not being able to feel something - anything, positive or negative - is Not Me. The first time I remember having this inability to feel things (in my adult life, anyway) it scared me to death, deep down. I remember feeling as if I were in a straitjacket with a gag, or in an iron isolation room that was too small to let me move or sit down. Feeling panicked about not being able to feel sounds like a contradiction, but there you have it. I was so glad when it was over, because it was frustrating to be there.
So, it's happened again. In one way I feel the same sense of frustration; although I am pretty sure the "non-feeling" will pass, it stinks while it's here, and I feel bound. But in another way it feels as if I'm waiting. I don't know what for; I'm just waiting. I've had this sensation as well; it feels as if I'm being held down for my own protection, like a soldier holding down a civilian to protect her from sniper fire through the window. It's an odd thing.
In the book The Magician's Nephew, the children Digory and Polly end up by magic in a place they call "the wood between the worlds." It is a sleepy, peaceful place, full of trees and pools of water. There are no insects or birds or wind, and the sunlight is dimmed by the branches of the trees. Says Digory later, "It's not the sort of place where things happen. The trees go on growing, that's all."
Maybe I'm in the wood between the worlds.
wb
I usually don't have a problem with words; those of you who know me understand that I usually have something to say about almost anything (hence the whole idea behind blogging in the first place). I'm not sure if that's versatility or tedium. I try to keep it to the former, but no guarantees. Lately things have been such that I feel robbed of the compulsion to write. I've made attempts at two or three different blogs of varying subjects, with zero success. The words are stilted and choppy, like puzzle pieces that look like they fit together but really belong elsewhere in the big picture. I'm not sure if it's my inability to see the big picture that is preventing me from fitting the pieces in properly. Huh. That's an idea.
As for emotions, I feel as if I've been sealed shut, or shrink-wrapped. I have occasionally experienced an inability to feel things, and it's usually so pervasive that I am unable to feel lousy about it. I just know I should, because feeling things is a deep part of who I am, and I'm usually able to tell what I'm feeling at any given moment in time. Not being able to feel something - anything, positive or negative - is Not Me. The first time I remember having this inability to feel things (in my adult life, anyway) it scared me to death, deep down. I remember feeling as if I were in a straitjacket with a gag, or in an iron isolation room that was too small to let me move or sit down. Feeling panicked about not being able to feel sounds like a contradiction, but there you have it. I was so glad when it was over, because it was frustrating to be there.
So, it's happened again. In one way I feel the same sense of frustration; although I am pretty sure the "non-feeling" will pass, it stinks while it's here, and I feel bound. But in another way it feels as if I'm waiting. I don't know what for; I'm just waiting. I've had this sensation as well; it feels as if I'm being held down for my own protection, like a soldier holding down a civilian to protect her from sniper fire through the window. It's an odd thing.
In the book The Magician's Nephew, the children Digory and Polly end up by magic in a place they call "the wood between the worlds." It is a sleepy, peaceful place, full of trees and pools of water. There are no insects or birds or wind, and the sunlight is dimmed by the branches of the trees. Says Digory later, "It's not the sort of place where things happen. The trees go on growing, that's all."
Maybe I'm in the wood between the worlds.
wb
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Seasons
The season of running is over. At least, for me it is. I know there are some races in the area yet to be run, but all the ones for which I registered this year are finished. A few I did not start, for various reasons, and my last one was cancelled (thank the Lion), but overall it was a busy running season. I was also privileged to be able to run some "firsts" with friends - a few races that were the friend's "first": first 5K, first 1/2 marathon, etc, and some others that were inaugural races in the area.
I used to think that if I ran a race in one season, I should run it again the next year, and the next. Thankfully I have realized that these things go in, well, seasons. For example, I ran the inaugural "Gazelle Girl" 1/2 marathon (in the sleet, in April) and although it was a nice race with an interesting course (despite the weather, and despite the fact that being around so many other women gives me hives), I feel no compulsion to do it again (and again). After all, I was there the first time. I don't need to repeat it. Unless I want to.
There are varied sources for running information and advice, but one of the bits of advice I read suggested that after a long race, one should rest a day for every mile raced. I took that to heart after my "episode" at the 1/2 marathon at the end of September, and today was the first day I have done anything resembling exercise. It hasn't helped that this is day 10 of my (improving) head cold. I hadn't been up to it before now. But I did want to start getting back into some shape - I have an upcoming trip that will require some athletic ability/stamina (in hiking form) and I don't want to become too deconditioned. So today I decided to ride my bike.
I haven't done a "long ride" in quite some time - in fact, probably not since last year. Last spring and summer it seemed I was on my bike all the time, riding hither and yon. Today was the first time back in the saddle, so to speak. It might have been overzealous to be riding for a few hours when I'd not ridden for a while, but more about that later. I was looking forward to it. A lot. I have been planning this trip for a few weeks now, weather permitting. Since I had been to Lake Michigan earlier in the week, I decided to go north today, toward Rockford.
My actual goal (if you can call it that) was to get as far north of Rockford as possible, even to see if I could get to the end of the paved portion. I have a road bike, so continuing on the gravel path was not an option. I had a nebulous thought of checking out campgrounds up there for future trips. My father went on a bike overnight nearly every fall when we lived in New England (bucket list for me: bike camping in New England in the fall) and I would like to start to do the same. I even had the wild idea that perhaps I would take my gear up and stay over tonight, if I could find a place. I realized that might be a bit ambitious, since I've never even taken a nap in my camping hammock - the only place on our property to suspend it is under the deck, which is rather spidery. My tarp is not yet ready, either. Ideally I think I will find a campsite one of these days and drive up with my gear, thus giving me the option to sleep in the car or go home if all doesn't go as planned.
I made it past Rockford, but not as far as I originally thought. As I said, I had intended to try for the paved trail's end, but my ischial tuberosities (seat bones) were telling me otherwise, so I turned it around. I was also forcibly reminded by the same entities that I had to traverse the same distance on the way home, so it was probably just as well. I had my Camelbak hydration backpack on - didn't want to risk not having enough water. It stayed cool for the duration of the ride, and even though it was heavy (70 oz of water plus the weight of the bladder and the pack), it kept my back warm in the morning without making it too warm later in the day.
One thing I really like about riding my bike as opposed to running is that I can think while I'm on my bike, whereas when I run, all I can think about (if you can call it thinking) is running - my pace, my mileage, my breathing, my form. That's one reason I like to run with a friend, especially on long runs, because I don't do very well listening to music, although audiobooks are promising. The conversation keeps me from long stints of boredom. When I'm on my bike, not only do I not always have to move my feet to go forward (one can coast, sometimes), but I can also think about things. And I do. I am even able to store up words in my head for later, to be put into, say, a blog.
It was a gorgeous day. Gorgeous, gorgeous. It was about 48 degrees when I started out. The day was unbeatable. Diamonds on the grass, brilliant sunshine lying on golden fields, mist rising from various bodies of water, reflections of autumn color, milkweed pods displaying their drifting gossamer contents; the individual whispers of leaves under the tires, incessant song of insects, the scent of fall - you know the one. Geese, ducks, swans, herons; people out with dogs, strollers, on roller blades, bikes, tandems; running, walking, meandering, milking out the last wonder moments of the bright blue weather. At one point there was a breeze, and a sudden multitude of yellow leaves rained lazily down along shimmering trajectories before alighting on the path. Sigh. So much glory contained in the tiny things. It is a world of wonders.
Somewhere in there I stopped to eat and chatted with a couple of people about the bike trails in the area. Although there is always room for more, we are blessed to have a solid system of bike trails, and a hearty thank you to the late Fred Meijer for many of those. I also noticed on my way through Rockford that the big outlet was still having a tent sale. I wasn't so interested in shoes, but I did manage to make my wallet lighter with the purchase of a shell jacket that the salesman said was guaranteed waterproof, not just water resistant. I needed something light, breathable and packable to take on my upcoming trip, and the jacket I bought fit the bill perfectly. I have to admit that what Imelda Marcos was to shoes I am to coats/jackets. I find them nearly irresistible. Not sure if it's because I like to be cozy, or merely independent. Whatever the reason, I have a lot of jackets. This one was blue; although I like blue, I would have preferred black. I remember learning that certain insects like blue, although it might just have been tsetse flies, and I don't think there will be any of those where I'm going. I even made a point to tell the salesman that in some African nations (Malawi, for example), they use blue cloth immersed in cattle pee to attract and trap the tsetse flies. (See what an entertaining person I am. At least I don't bring it up at dinnertime.)
I had a moment where I fell in with a herd of sweaty high school cross-country runners downtown, and finally had to holler to get them to let me by, because I was surrounded and they were determined. I was starting to tire as I neared the end of the journey, and wish I hadn't put my inhaler in a poorly accessible place, but I made it home all right. I rode a bit more than 50 miles all told and although my legs are feeling it and my feet are very glad not to be in those stiff shoes anymore, it was a very good day. So many impressions and thoughts to ponder, and sights to remember and treasure.
Plenty of bad poetry (and probably some that is reasonably good) is written about the spring, but I tend to wax philosophical in the fall. (Certainly there are more out there like me.) Right now there is a lot of change going on in my world - nationally, at church, at work, in my children, in social circles - and riding through the glorious fall day I was reminded of the seasonality of so many things. The great thing about seasons is that even though they change, they also repeat. Even something we think is irretrievable may only be waiting for the next season to reappear. It may be in a slightly different form, but we can recognize it if we keep our eyes open. It gives us hope, and brings us life. Many thanks to the Lion for the spiraling of the seasons, in our world and in our hearts.
blessing always
wb
I used to think that if I ran a race in one season, I should run it again the next year, and the next. Thankfully I have realized that these things go in, well, seasons. For example, I ran the inaugural "Gazelle Girl" 1/2 marathon (in the sleet, in April) and although it was a nice race with an interesting course (despite the weather, and despite the fact that being around so many other women gives me hives), I feel no compulsion to do it again (and again). After all, I was there the first time. I don't need to repeat it. Unless I want to.
There are varied sources for running information and advice, but one of the bits of advice I read suggested that after a long race, one should rest a day for every mile raced. I took that to heart after my "episode" at the 1/2 marathon at the end of September, and today was the first day I have done anything resembling exercise. It hasn't helped that this is day 10 of my (improving) head cold. I hadn't been up to it before now. But I did want to start getting back into some shape - I have an upcoming trip that will require some athletic ability/stamina (in hiking form) and I don't want to become too deconditioned. So today I decided to ride my bike.
I haven't done a "long ride" in quite some time - in fact, probably not since last year. Last spring and summer it seemed I was on my bike all the time, riding hither and yon. Today was the first time back in the saddle, so to speak. It might have been overzealous to be riding for a few hours when I'd not ridden for a while, but more about that later. I was looking forward to it. A lot. I have been planning this trip for a few weeks now, weather permitting. Since I had been to Lake Michigan earlier in the week, I decided to go north today, toward Rockford.
My actual goal (if you can call it that) was to get as far north of Rockford as possible, even to see if I could get to the end of the paved portion. I have a road bike, so continuing on the gravel path was not an option. I had a nebulous thought of checking out campgrounds up there for future trips. My father went on a bike overnight nearly every fall when we lived in New England (bucket list for me: bike camping in New England in the fall) and I would like to start to do the same. I even had the wild idea that perhaps I would take my gear up and stay over tonight, if I could find a place. I realized that might be a bit ambitious, since I've never even taken a nap in my camping hammock - the only place on our property to suspend it is under the deck, which is rather spidery. My tarp is not yet ready, either. Ideally I think I will find a campsite one of these days and drive up with my gear, thus giving me the option to sleep in the car or go home if all doesn't go as planned.
I made it past Rockford, but not as far as I originally thought. As I said, I had intended to try for the paved trail's end, but my ischial tuberosities (seat bones) were telling me otherwise, so I turned it around. I was also forcibly reminded by the same entities that I had to traverse the same distance on the way home, so it was probably just as well. I had my Camelbak hydration backpack on - didn't want to risk not having enough water. It stayed cool for the duration of the ride, and even though it was heavy (70 oz of water plus the weight of the bladder and the pack), it kept my back warm in the morning without making it too warm later in the day.
One thing I really like about riding my bike as opposed to running is that I can think while I'm on my bike, whereas when I run, all I can think about (if you can call it thinking) is running - my pace, my mileage, my breathing, my form. That's one reason I like to run with a friend, especially on long runs, because I don't do very well listening to music, although audiobooks are promising. The conversation keeps me from long stints of boredom. When I'm on my bike, not only do I not always have to move my feet to go forward (one can coast, sometimes), but I can also think about things. And I do. I am even able to store up words in my head for later, to be put into, say, a blog.
It was a gorgeous day. Gorgeous, gorgeous. It was about 48 degrees when I started out. The day was unbeatable. Diamonds on the grass, brilliant sunshine lying on golden fields, mist rising from various bodies of water, reflections of autumn color, milkweed pods displaying their drifting gossamer contents; the individual whispers of leaves under the tires, incessant song of insects, the scent of fall - you know the one. Geese, ducks, swans, herons; people out with dogs, strollers, on roller blades, bikes, tandems; running, walking, meandering, milking out the last wonder moments of the bright blue weather. At one point there was a breeze, and a sudden multitude of yellow leaves rained lazily down along shimmering trajectories before alighting on the path. Sigh. So much glory contained in the tiny things. It is a world of wonders.
Somewhere in there I stopped to eat and chatted with a couple of people about the bike trails in the area. Although there is always room for more, we are blessed to have a solid system of bike trails, and a hearty thank you to the late Fred Meijer for many of those. I also noticed on my way through Rockford that the big outlet was still having a tent sale. I wasn't so interested in shoes, but I did manage to make my wallet lighter with the purchase of a shell jacket that the salesman said was guaranteed waterproof, not just water resistant. I needed something light, breathable and packable to take on my upcoming trip, and the jacket I bought fit the bill perfectly. I have to admit that what Imelda Marcos was to shoes I am to coats/jackets. I find them nearly irresistible. Not sure if it's because I like to be cozy, or merely independent. Whatever the reason, I have a lot of jackets. This one was blue; although I like blue, I would have preferred black. I remember learning that certain insects like blue, although it might just have been tsetse flies, and I don't think there will be any of those where I'm going. I even made a point to tell the salesman that in some African nations (Malawi, for example), they use blue cloth immersed in cattle pee to attract and trap the tsetse flies. (See what an entertaining person I am. At least I don't bring it up at dinnertime.)
I had a moment where I fell in with a herd of sweaty high school cross-country runners downtown, and finally had to holler to get them to let me by, because I was surrounded and they were determined. I was starting to tire as I neared the end of the journey, and wish I hadn't put my inhaler in a poorly accessible place, but I made it home all right. I rode a bit more than 50 miles all told and although my legs are feeling it and my feet are very glad not to be in those stiff shoes anymore, it was a very good day. So many impressions and thoughts to ponder, and sights to remember and treasure.
Plenty of bad poetry (and probably some that is reasonably good) is written about the spring, but I tend to wax philosophical in the fall. (Certainly there are more out there like me.) Right now there is a lot of change going on in my world - nationally, at church, at work, in my children, in social circles - and riding through the glorious fall day I was reminded of the seasonality of so many things. The great thing about seasons is that even though they change, they also repeat. Even something we think is irretrievable may only be waiting for the next season to reappear. It may be in a slightly different form, but we can recognize it if we keep our eyes open. It gives us hope, and brings us life. Many thanks to the Lion for the spiraling of the seasons, in our world and in our hearts.
blessing always
wb
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Apple run, part one
Today was a gorgeous day, reminding me of a poem my Dad always quotes, proclaiming "October's bright blue weather." Sometimes it seems as if there couldn't be bluer skies than October's. Maybe it's the trees in mid-change, or the shortening of the days making the daylight all the more precious. Whatever the reason, today was a beautiful day, and I decided to make an "apple run" up to Rennhack Orchard Market in Hart, about 75 miles from my house. The Sweetango apples have been in since just after Labor Day, and I have already made one "run," about a month ago. Sweetangoes, for those of you who are unaware, are a Honeycrisp/Zestar hybrid, and they blow any other eating apple out of the water, at least for me. (They are extra delicious when eaten sliced on a multigrain cracker, atop pieces of warmed Juusto squeaky cheese. Drool.) We discovered them in the orchard market on Labor Day weekend, three years ago. We had a peck bag of Honeycrisps in our arms, ready to check out, when one of the employees pointed out "samples" on a sideboard, and suggested, "If you like Honeycrisps, you'll like Sweetangoes." I took a bite, and after a cartoonish pause and sidelong glance, abandoned my Honeycrisps back on the shelf and grabbed a bag of Sweetangoes. Haven't looked back since. There's a reason the owner called them "crack apples." My friends concur.
Typically I drive up on one of my days off during apple season. I usually solicit "orders" from friends, to make the trip worthwhile, but honestly, if I were just going up to get a 1/2 bushel for us, I'd still make the trip. It has become a kind of ritual day-trip for me, and all the better if the weather is glorious. In the past I have gone with a friend, and that's fun, but in recent months I have realized exactly how much I like driving alone. The fact that I got a new job last year and exchanged a 25-minute drive in one direction for a 30-minute drive in the other direction didn't bother me at all. The time in the car is "my" time. Strangely enough, I don't listen to music so much, although sometimes I put the mp3 player on "Divine Shuffle" and see what comes up. More often I will trade off listening to something, and then talking to the Lion about things. It's amazing what he reveals in that protected time, when I really can't be doing many things other than piloting the car.
I usually drive up to the orchard market and get the goods, and then (since I'm up there) I take some time to drive over to Lake Michigan, or to Silver Lake Dunes, stopping to take photographs along the way. On my last trip up there in September, I had no sooner gotten the apples loaded into the car than I got a call from the school. With some trepidation (and thinking, "I don't remember one of them saying she was sick this morning"), I answered the phone. Genevieve (my 10-year-old) had split the seam of her shorts and needed a fresh, undamaged pair. Hm. How to handle this from 75 miles away? I asked if she could get some safety pins, and make do until I could get home and take her some different shorts. She said, "OK, Mama." Later on, when I saw the damage, I realized that no number of safety pins could have helped, though perhaps some duct tape might have been in order. The back seam of her cotton Bermuda shorts was split from the waistband all the way into the mid-crotch and down the inseam of one leg. When she does something, she does it thoroughly. Apparently she covered it up by tying her sweatshirt around her waist, but she did it so suavely that nobody in her class noticed. Clever girl.
Because of the Great Ripped Shorts Incident, I had greatly to curtail my activities normally pursued on an Apple Run day. (Bad Mommy Award - I didn't drive straight home, because I figured it was going to be at least 90 minutes anyway, and if she could make do for 90 minutes, she could make do for longer. Witness my dedication to furthering my 5th grader's stamina and independent thinking skills.) So today I made sure everyone was wearing clothes that fit, that no one had any unexplained rashes or strange coughs, that everyone had her lunch/sneakers/library books/whatever so that it would be unlikely for me to have to return early. I meant to enjoy the day.
And I did. The drive up to Hart is roughly a right-angle - west for 13 miles, and then north for another 62. Not much construction (and what there was I had encountered the last time, so the detour didn't throw me) and little traffic. Not that Michigan has a real traffic problem compared with other places I've lived, such as Chicago and Boston, but for around here, it was pretty normal. I had a full tank of gas, some good tunes, bright sunshine, my camera(s), and the prospect of some unfettered "me" time, with pleasant decisions to make, such as what to have to lunch, and what body of water to photograph.
One nice thing I noticed today was that I noticed things. In the last couple of weeks I haven't been feeling the greatest; I'm getting over a cold, and I have been a little down, and kind of in my own world. That isn't my usual "me" state. I was pleased that today, instead of only seeing what I needed in order to function safely, I saw pieces of the world that flickered around the edges and caught my attention with their beauty - like seeing what's really there, instead of what one merely expects to see. It also "happened" that one song I listened to on the drive up was Bruce Cockburn's "World of Wonders." Perfect song for noticing things. In case you don't know already, I'm a big Bruce Cockburn fan - love his poetry and his music. A few months ago we got to see him perform at Calvin College, at the Festival of Faith and Writing (or "Writhing," as he called it from onstage). He's a splendid performer, a funny guy, and he just KNOWS. He's been there.
So, I'm going to end here (lest this get hugely long[er]) with those lyrics, and see you another time for the remainder of today's story.
**************
Stand on a bridge before the cavern of night
Darkness alive with possibility
Nose to this wind full of twinkling lights
Trying to catch the scent of what's coming to be in this
World of wonders
World of wonders
World of wonders
World of wonders
Somewhere a saxophone slides through changes
Like a wet pipe dripping down my neck
Gives me a chill, sounds like danger
But I can't stop moving 'til I've crossed this sector of this
World of wonders....
There's a rainbow shining in a bead of spittle
Falling diamonds in a rattling rain
Light flexed on moving muscle
I stand here dazzle with my heart in flames at this
World of wonders...
Moment of peace like brief Arctic bloom
Red-gold ripple of the sun going down
Line of black hills makes my bed
Sky full of love pulled over my head in this
World of wonders...
**************
It truly is. Good night.
wb
Typically I drive up on one of my days off during apple season. I usually solicit "orders" from friends, to make the trip worthwhile, but honestly, if I were just going up to get a 1/2 bushel for us, I'd still make the trip. It has become a kind of ritual day-trip for me, and all the better if the weather is glorious. In the past I have gone with a friend, and that's fun, but in recent months I have realized exactly how much I like driving alone. The fact that I got a new job last year and exchanged a 25-minute drive in one direction for a 30-minute drive in the other direction didn't bother me at all. The time in the car is "my" time. Strangely enough, I don't listen to music so much, although sometimes I put the mp3 player on "Divine Shuffle" and see what comes up. More often I will trade off listening to something, and then talking to the Lion about things. It's amazing what he reveals in that protected time, when I really can't be doing many things other than piloting the car.
I usually drive up to the orchard market and get the goods, and then (since I'm up there) I take some time to drive over to Lake Michigan, or to Silver Lake Dunes, stopping to take photographs along the way. On my last trip up there in September, I had no sooner gotten the apples loaded into the car than I got a call from the school. With some trepidation (and thinking, "I don't remember one of them saying she was sick this morning"), I answered the phone. Genevieve (my 10-year-old) had split the seam of her shorts and needed a fresh, undamaged pair. Hm. How to handle this from 75 miles away? I asked if she could get some safety pins, and make do until I could get home and take her some different shorts. She said, "OK, Mama." Later on, when I saw the damage, I realized that no number of safety pins could have helped, though perhaps some duct tape might have been in order. The back seam of her cotton Bermuda shorts was split from the waistband all the way into the mid-crotch and down the inseam of one leg. When she does something, she does it thoroughly. Apparently she covered it up by tying her sweatshirt around her waist, but she did it so suavely that nobody in her class noticed. Clever girl.
Because of the Great Ripped Shorts Incident, I had greatly to curtail my activities normally pursued on an Apple Run day. (Bad Mommy Award - I didn't drive straight home, because I figured it was going to be at least 90 minutes anyway, and if she could make do for 90 minutes, she could make do for longer. Witness my dedication to furthering my 5th grader's stamina and independent thinking skills.) So today I made sure everyone was wearing clothes that fit, that no one had any unexplained rashes or strange coughs, that everyone had her lunch/sneakers/library books/whatever so that it would be unlikely for me to have to return early. I meant to enjoy the day.
And I did. The drive up to Hart is roughly a right-angle - west for 13 miles, and then north for another 62. Not much construction (and what there was I had encountered the last time, so the detour didn't throw me) and little traffic. Not that Michigan has a real traffic problem compared with other places I've lived, such as Chicago and Boston, but for around here, it was pretty normal. I had a full tank of gas, some good tunes, bright sunshine, my camera(s), and the prospect of some unfettered "me" time, with pleasant decisions to make, such as what to have to lunch, and what body of water to photograph.
One nice thing I noticed today was that I noticed things. In the last couple of weeks I haven't been feeling the greatest; I'm getting over a cold, and I have been a little down, and kind of in my own world. That isn't my usual "me" state. I was pleased that today, instead of only seeing what I needed in order to function safely, I saw pieces of the world that flickered around the edges and caught my attention with their beauty - like seeing what's really there, instead of what one merely expects to see. It also "happened" that one song I listened to on the drive up was Bruce Cockburn's "World of Wonders." Perfect song for noticing things. In case you don't know already, I'm a big Bruce Cockburn fan - love his poetry and his music. A few months ago we got to see him perform at Calvin College, at the Festival of Faith and Writing (or "Writhing," as he called it from onstage). He's a splendid performer, a funny guy, and he just KNOWS. He's been there.
So, I'm going to end here (lest this get hugely long[er]) with those lyrics, and see you another time for the remainder of today's story.
**************
Stand on a bridge before the cavern of night
Darkness alive with possibility
Nose to this wind full of twinkling lights
Trying to catch the scent of what's coming to be in this
World of wonders
World of wonders
World of wonders
World of wonders
Somewhere a saxophone slides through changes
Like a wet pipe dripping down my neck
Gives me a chill, sounds like danger
But I can't stop moving 'til I've crossed this sector of this
World of wonders....
There's a rainbow shining in a bead of spittle
Falling diamonds in a rattling rain
Light flexed on moving muscle
I stand here dazzle with my heart in flames at this
World of wonders...
Moment of peace like brief Arctic bloom
Red-gold ripple of the sun going down
Line of black hills makes my bed
Sky full of love pulled over my head in this
World of wonders...
**************
It truly is. Good night.
wb
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
The first step
Well, this ought to be interesting. For me, anyway, if not for anyone else who reads this.
Welcome to my first blog entry ever. I've often heard people mention blogs, and suggest them to me as a way of communicating. Since I seem to have more than the requisite 30,000 words (or whatever the statistic is) that women are supposed to have daily, I thought I'd give it a try. At least it is a safe(ish) repository for some thoughts, accessible to those who wish to read it, and ignorable by those who do not.
I am grateful to see that the gateway seems to have a spell checker. Good, since I'm a stickler for grammar and spelling and hate it when I see misuse or typos, and hate it even more when I perpetrate them myself. It's good to have safeguards.
I decided to call the blog "Travels with the Lion," because I like to travel. and we try to make sure our family goes somewhere interesting every year. I am thankful that our girls are such good travelers, and I'm hoping we are opening the world to them in a special way, even in the logistics of learning to travel with carry-ons only, and how to manage the many different kinds of bathrooms we come across.
I also like to travel on my own - to conferences, and sometimes even solo vacations. This helps me strike a balance between doing things my family can do, and doing things to challenge myself. The name also addresses the "journey" (cliche, but true) that is everyday life. The reason I travel with a Lion is that the figure of Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia resonates deeply with me. Even as a girl, I always liked stuffed animals better than I liked dolls. CS Lewis really did a great service to many people by embodying the qualities of Christ in the figure of this powerful, tender, good-but-not-safe character. For me, the portrait of God "with skin," but in a lion skin, is easier to grasp than picturing him as a man. That's all the explanation you're going to get right now, and if it doesn't work for you, that's all right with me. It works for me. For those of you who may be offended at the idea of God embodied in an animal, I'm more than happy to hear your arguments, but that's a discussion for another post.
That Lion goes with me in all my travels.
I decided to start a blog because I used to write these long e-mails about my daily experiences on trips and send them to my friends. I realize that sometimes I have more words to say than they are really interested in reading. This way, I can post for myself, link to my Facebook page (or send an e-mail link to those who don't have FB, such as my parents) and those who want to see them will see them, and others can feel free to ignore. I tend to have long FB posts anyway, so this will help clean that up a bit. I have an upcoming trip in a few weeks, and I thought it might be nice to get this established before I go, to get the hang of it.
I realize this first entry is rather pedantic and explanatory, rather like the introduction of a book. Sorry about that. Once I get used to it, I'll feel less clammy hands and throat-clearing and more real me. For now, let this be my first step on a new path as I continue to travel with the Lion. In his relentless tenderness (phrase borrowed from Brennan Manning), may he guide me, and you, as we go.
wb
Welcome to my first blog entry ever. I've often heard people mention blogs, and suggest them to me as a way of communicating. Since I seem to have more than the requisite 30,000 words (or whatever the statistic is) that women are supposed to have daily, I thought I'd give it a try. At least it is a safe(ish) repository for some thoughts, accessible to those who wish to read it, and ignorable by those who do not.
I am grateful to see that the gateway seems to have a spell checker. Good, since I'm a stickler for grammar and spelling and hate it when I see misuse or typos, and hate it even more when I perpetrate them myself. It's good to have safeguards.
I decided to call the blog "Travels with the Lion," because I like to travel. and we try to make sure our family goes somewhere interesting every year. I am thankful that our girls are such good travelers, and I'm hoping we are opening the world to them in a special way, even in the logistics of learning to travel with carry-ons only, and how to manage the many different kinds of bathrooms we come across.
I also like to travel on my own - to conferences, and sometimes even solo vacations. This helps me strike a balance between doing things my family can do, and doing things to challenge myself. The name also addresses the "journey" (cliche, but true) that is everyday life. The reason I travel with a Lion is that the figure of Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia resonates deeply with me. Even as a girl, I always liked stuffed animals better than I liked dolls. CS Lewis really did a great service to many people by embodying the qualities of Christ in the figure of this powerful, tender, good-but-not-safe character. For me, the portrait of God "with skin," but in a lion skin, is easier to grasp than picturing him as a man. That's all the explanation you're going to get right now, and if it doesn't work for you, that's all right with me. It works for me. For those of you who may be offended at the idea of God embodied in an animal, I'm more than happy to hear your arguments, but that's a discussion for another post.
That Lion goes with me in all my travels.
I decided to start a blog because I used to write these long e-mails about my daily experiences on trips and send them to my friends. I realize that sometimes I have more words to say than they are really interested in reading. This way, I can post for myself, link to my Facebook page (or send an e-mail link to those who don't have FB, such as my parents) and those who want to see them will see them, and others can feel free to ignore. I tend to have long FB posts anyway, so this will help clean that up a bit. I have an upcoming trip in a few weeks, and I thought it might be nice to get this established before I go, to get the hang of it.
I realize this first entry is rather pedantic and explanatory, rather like the introduction of a book. Sorry about that. Once I get used to it, I'll feel less clammy hands and throat-clearing and more real me. For now, let this be my first step on a new path as I continue to travel with the Lion. In his relentless tenderness (phrase borrowed from Brennan Manning), may he guide me, and you, as we go.
wb
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