On recalling the past, or recoiling from it

"A safe but sometimes chilly way of recalling the past is to force open a crammed drawer.
If you are searching for anything in particular, you don't find it,
but something falls out at the back that is often more interesting."

~ J.M. Barrie, dedication of his book Peter Pan

It has painfully been made aware to me lately that memories are often in the eye of the beholder.

What we believe to be a memory, unequivocally, often is much more ambiguous. People interpret things quite differently, so while you may have thought a certain way or with a certain twist, another might have seen or felt completely the opposite.

Take love, for instance. Often a many splendoured thing, but too many times one-sided. It hurts, yes, to discover the truth: love is often open to interpretation.

Time has a way of turning the happiest of memories into the bitterest of sorrows. Upon reflection, most situations we believe to be good ones turn sour. It's becoming harder to believe anymore.

One thing I do know, I am doing lots of drawer-cleaning lately. And, in case it's not obvious, lots of interesting feelings are emerging. Looking for the joy is proving a difficulty. And finding hope, impossible.

So, where to go from here? At this point, it seems like only up.

So, I just keep moving. What are the other options?

Is that all there is?

The lyrics to an old song popped into my head today . . .

I know what you must be saying to yourselves.
"If that's the way she feels about it,
then why doesn't she just end it all?"
Oh, no - not me. I'm not ready for the final disappointment,
'cause I know just as well as I'm standing here talking,
that when the final moment comes
and I'm breathing my last breath,
I know what I'll be saying to myself:
"Is that all there is?"
(Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, as performed by Peggy Lee)

I just keep wondering, over and over to myself, how is this 'middle-aged' thing supposed to go? I am so underwhelmed most of the time and overwhelmed the rest, I just can't seem to find a 'middle' ground.

The lyrics to the above song were inspired by an 1896 story, Disillusionment, by Thomas Mann. It's an early existentialist work, and I remember reading it as an undergrad. The scenarios in the song are much the same as those in the book, but with one major exception: the book's narrator FINALLY has a freeing sensation moment when he sees the sea with its endless horizon. Or seemingly endless.

I always think - "Huh. What would he have happened if he'd found out there IS an end to the sea?" Is that all there is?

It's been two weeks since I posted - due, in part, to the fact I was out of state for most of the time. In this past 14 days, I have had such a plethora of emotional events occur, as I stated to a friend, :"[My past] two weeks haven't been a roller coaster of emotions. It's been more like dodge 'em cars, the tilt-a-whirl, and a (insert F-word) dump truck all at the same time."

The joy of loving children, fun with old and new friends, tons of photo-ops (including showing a child how to see the world through a viewfinder), amazing scenery, and a touching goodbye to an old friend. Contrast that with the heartbreaking soul-crush of a person you trusted really letting you down, coming to the realization that it is true . . . the future you thought you had is over, the past you thought you knew was a lie, and here you are, stuck in middle-age, with absolutely nothing looking up - biting your tongue so hard it's permanently scarred.

Is that all there is? Shit. Isn't that enough?

The question is, where to go from here? I look ahead and see that I have a good 25 years left of work, a decent eye for the camera, and a fair ability to write. I love teaching, I love my animals, and I love my farm. But is that all there is? Should I want more? Or am I simply wanting too much?

It's a beautiful morning. Time to kick the shit off my boots and get over it.

Killing the Romantic

Inside everyone of us is a hopeless romantic, whether we want to admit it or not. Mine is usually well hidden, but at times, I show my girly-inner-crazy side.

Several years ago, I fell in love with a fragrance called "Killing the Romantic". It's a strong, earthy scent. All natural. Very aromatic. It's still one of my favorites and, at any given time, I typically have a bottle or two setting around.

There are times it might be appropriate to "kill" that inner romantic. It's that side of ourself which causes us the most pain, anguish, and turmoil. No one tossed and turned at night because of a pastrami sandwich! (Unless, of course, it was from heartburn.) Every one of us, from poet to paleontologist, has known the pain of heartache, the stab of longing, the agony of wishing for a dream that one knows will never come true.

Pushing all the 'romantic' within us deep inside would only serve to sever the bonds that strangle our heart, destroy our self-worth, and make us cry.

In other words, killing the romantic would be like killing our soul.

On Patience and Passivity

Patience is a virtue. Or so the saying goes. But where is the line drawn between being patient and just being passive? Does it make one any less virtuous to be impatient?

The waiting truly is the hardest part. Tom Petty was right about that. But, do we wait because we are virtuous, or do we become virtuous because we are forced to wait?

Sometimes, doing what is right for you compromises your usual 'style'. Listening to the inner voice whisper when all you want to do is scream - that's the challenge.

There are times when outsiders, strangers, can see our truths more clearly than we ever could. Maybe because they are not close to the source, it's easier to see inside our protective bubble than it is to see out. Often, it's more than we could hope for, more than we feel we deserve, and more than we could imagine.

Let's just hope the outsiders are right, once in a while. Walk to the edge and fly.

On Wanting What We Cannot Have

Imagine if every day were Lent. (Non-Catholics, bear with me. It's just an expression.)

What if, every day, all of your favorite snacks, foods, and whole meals were off limits? What if every walk through Meijer, Target, or the mall was a complete and total exercise in self-control? What if every commercial on the radio or television reminded you of this? Every person who walked by, carrying a lunchbag? Or McDonalds.

Imagine not being able to give in to the smell of Auntie Ann's. Or popcorn at the movies. Or even a candy or granola bar because your stomach is rumbling and you're stuck in traffic.

Welcome to my world. I am the allergy queen.

I am realizing, as this new phase/second half of my life plays itself out, what it truly means to be this allergic to the world. I remember snickering at the movie, Safe, thinking the main character was an idiot and neurotic for reacting to all of those toxins. But, looking back now, at least hers were toxins. Mine is what is meant to nourish. And the less I eat them now, the stronger my reaction.

What if every time you went to eat, it could potentially be your last?

It came to me this morning, as I was throwing a Benadryl down my quickly-constricting throat, that a "mild allergen" doesn't mean you are mildly allergic to it. Oh, no. It means you can still die from eating it . . . it just takes a tiny bit more. And, sometimes, that amount is tiny.

It turns out that "modified food starch" found in foods is often wheat, corn, tapioca, or a mixture of the three. I was told by a now-completely-unreliable-source that it was only tapioca. I found out how quickly that person was wrong this morning - while I was home alone. That scratch in the throat, or red-burning sensation, is horrifying.

Yet, oddly, I still crave my allergens. I would kill for a grilled cheese right now. Why?

So, why do we want what is bad for us? Is it just human nature?

Why DO we want what we cannot have?

When posed with this question, most people would think most people would say, "Greed". Huh.

So, it's greedy of me to want organic vanilla yogurt with fresh strawberries from my garden? Or whole grain toast? Or something with corn starch or corn syrup in it? (Check labels - some form of corn is in about 85% of all foods.) Or potato salad? Or turkey ham . . . the item I nearly died from this morning?

What the hell? HEALTHY foods. GREED? No.

I think it's exposure, then memory, and finally - longing. If I had not been exposed to shrimp, lobster, almonds, chicken, corn, wheat, oats, and especially eggs and dairy, sugar, and most starches, I would not have the memories of good times, of taste, of happiness, of the love I felt for others that I was with while consuming these things. I wouldn't miss them.

You can't miss what you have never known.

I still can't get my head around it. In so many ways, I feel so much better. But, in so many other ways, I still feel like that same old kid from childhood - the one who was teased for things beyond her control, the one who spent a lot of time on the sidelines, looking in at all the other kids having a great time. The only girl on the street. Knowing I will never get to have a plain, ol' birthday party again.

Life will never cease to amuse.

On Setting Examples

So, I don't have children, so maybe it's not for me to say. But, I wonder . . . what is becoming of the examples we are supposed to have become? I'm putting my foot down on this one - finally.

It has taken me two weeks, nearly, to decide how I wanted to broach this topic. Then, I just decided, "What the hell?"

I love Facebook. I have to say, it has reconnected me with many folks I have missed over the years. I have become friends with people whom I never was before. And, I have an "in" to the artsy/music community in the D. In case I ever decide to move back there, that is.

What disturbs me about Facebook, though, is the fact that I am finding out dark secrets about people which I shouldn't talk about, hence my hesitation about this subject.

You see, I realize it's the Internet, but doesn't everyone else realize this, too? If you plagiarize on a public forum, others will know. Those of us who are ardent creatives are a bit put-off by those who plagiarize for attention. Okay, maybe not a bit. More like A LOT.

When people who don't know each other and live 11 states apart have the same status post, and one of them credits the source, but the other does not, isn't this plagiarism? Does adding a little color to a classic photograph make it "yours"? Or is it the other artist's, with a little embellishment?

What kind of example are we setting for our children if this is how we represent our selves?

I guess, being in the profession I am, another MAJOR, irksome situation is the use of grammar. Sorry, but the word is "YOU" - a word, not a letter. And, what about "ARE" - also a word. Those with no children at home, I do not hold accountable. Your days of setting examples are pretty much over and your influence set in stone. But the ones with middle, elementary, or high school students under your wing? Oh, no. Let's not kill the language, please. Johnny can't read because it's not spelled phonetically, or in text talk, right?

Above and beyond all of this, it's also the idea of stealing ideas. Do people realize that stealing what is referred to as "intellectual property" is actually a copyright violation? Obviously not. I see my ideas, complete with tildes, all over my HOME page on Facebook now. It was bad enough a few years back when a foreign website was stealing health tips from my previous blog.

I am not really bitching, I guess. Again, "I say who am I to blow against the wind?" (Paul Simon, "I Know What I Know"); I don't have youngsters to whom I can bestow my wisdom. But, does that stop me from wanting to be the best role model I can?

No.

I guess it's sad that others don't see it that way, too.

View from Within, View from Without

This is my current window view, sitting in the study.

We finally have the waterproofers here to do the basement. Over 150 years of neglect have taken their toll. The basement leaks like a sieve - at least half of it. The previous owners' solution was to carve grooves in the cement leading to the sump pump. Great. The house was purchased from an estate, and we were told how much the parents 'loved their house'.

You can love something, but that doesn't mean you take proper care of it. All the love in the world can't make up for years of neglect.

Sixty-year-old wallpaper is also being torn from walls as we speak. The housepainter is finding that, beneath the surface, the walls were never tended.

So, mold in the basement; crumbling plaster in the bedrooms. Cover it up and it will be fine?

Our current neighbors get frustrated with us because sometimes the outside of the house doesn't meet their standards. Like during the 10 day period we didn't mow the grass because the new blades we needed were out of stock at John Deere. But, did they know that we were inside, dilligently working? The grass was still there when the blades came in. Or, last year when we did a natural agricultural process called leaching, letting the weeds grow up to cut down and burn to eradicate some of the toxins from years of crop abuse, cleaning the ground of over 100 years of pesticide. We hoped to plant a natural pasture for our horses. The neighbors didn't understand and so complained. The township could do nothing because we are zoned agricultural and it is a verifiable process.

There is a point to all of this.

Because we don't understand what is happening on the surface doesn't mean that something good isn't in the works.

I am learning, the older I grow, that being discontent today can be futile. You never know what the morning brings. But, taking rash action almost always ends in heartache.

Sometimes, it is just best to wait things out.

Typing from a Tiny Laptop

"In the noontime of my life I shall look to the sunshine,
At a moment in my life when the sky is blue.
And the blessing I shall ask shall remain unchanging -
to be brave and strong and true,
and to fill the world with love my whole life through."

So, here it is . . . the noontime of my life. Am I filling the world with love? I don't think so.

The world I know is crumbling. I find I may soon need to rebuild, but the rebuilding this time will be the most difficult task I have taken on to date.

Is this the 'middle-age crazy' we've always heard about? Is it really just a time in your life when you assess things around you, putting value where value is deserved, and walking away from those situations which you realize you will never win?

Is it enough to love someone, or should there be sparks? Passion?

We can try all we want, but unless the other party reciprocates, there is nothing. Sparks only fly when two objects collide.

I am sure scenarios like this have been played out for centuries. This is my first time, however. I know I have made mistakes, I know I will make more. I am trying to learn to forgive myself FIRST so forgiving others can follow.

This is gonna hurt like hell.

On Missing Things

I miss the Belle Isle Conservatory. I used to love to wander through it, frequently. Gloomy Sundays used to often find me there, or the DIA, or used book shopping. Gloomy Sundays, like today, always take me back.

Living outside of the metro Detroit area has proven difficult and challenging. Detroit has really come back into its own the past few years, but I was too busy living out of state for a while. Now I live about 90 miles north.

What I miss most is my friends. It's hard for me to get away, it's hard for them to get away. Life is busy right now, so making new friends is challenging. I have a few here, but they all work outside of the home. I took a few semesters off work and am out of touch with others. Or, they are the wives of my husband's partners.

Maybe it's not the metro-Detroit are I miss. Maybe what I miss most is my younger days - when I lived there. I miss parts of the past so desperately, and find myself clinging to them even when all hope is gone.

Is it people or time that we start to miss as we get older?

For me, I know, it's a bit of both. And I would give anything to go back. So many things I would do so differently!

Baby, Can I Hold You . . . never again

"I love you
Is all that you can't say
Years gone by and still
Words don't come easily
Like I love you
I love you

But you can say baby
Baby can I hold you tonight
Maybe if I'd told you the right words
At the right time
You'd be mine..."

~ Tracy Chapman, "Baby, Can I Hold You Tonight"

There was a period of time when I believed these lyrics, wholeheartedly. Work an "I love you" in edgewise, especially when the tension is high, and maybe (just maybe) it would work. It never did.

Tried the whole "visualization" thing. Pictured it already having occurred. Send lots of love, happiness, and gratefulness to the vision, and it would be mine.

Obviously, I wouldn't be writing this if it had worked.

Why do we humans cling to notions? Believe in superstitions, perform those little 'rituals' so our luck won't change? Maybe it's Friday the 13th talking, maybe it's the voice of reason. One thing I know for sure is that our future will always be there - tomorrow.

Ironically, I made a joke to a friend the other day about how Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker's character on Sex in the City) ruined the modern girl's tragic ending in a relationship. And SJP played Annie, who sang "Tomorrow", of course. But her Carrie Bradshaw eventually got the man, her dream, and all that went with it just when all hope seemed gone.

Bitch.

Having said that, though, she also had a really great line once: "We only obsess over relationships we feel are unfinished."

Ain't THAT the truth?

There's a Lesson To Be Learned From This - Perhaps?

"The roller-coaster ride we took is nearly at an end.
I bought my ticket with my tears, that's all I'm gonna spend.

And I think it's gonna be alright.
Yeah, the worst is over now.
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball."
~ Paul Simon, "Red Rubber Ball"

How do you tell someone whom you told, "I hate you", that you don't, really? And that the pain with which you lashed out was never a lie, but always your truth? And, while hurtful, it was just an extension of the 'longing'? And that being in the city today which the two of you once shared, at least in part, made the pain and longing dig even deeper?

Will you ever be forgiven? Or are you doomed to repeat it? And is that what the other fears?

Can we ever forget our own emotional crises long enough to see that others share them, too?

Sometimes, we just have to let go. Maybe that's the lesson to be learned. But sometimes the letting go is the hardest part of all.

It's human nature to grip tight, especially to things you've loved for so long, dreams you've dreamed for a lifetime, and hope you've held on to when it all seemed hopeless.

We have to learn to release. It takes strength to hold on, but even more strength to let go.

Turning Something You Love Into Something You Lose

"I'm leaving you alone.
You can tend the garden, it's yours.
Separate and alone . . ."

~ Stephen Sondheim, "Last Midnight" (Into the Woods)

Into the Woods is a very deep and somewhat dark musical by Sondheim. It deals with dreams and hopes, on many levels, and how what we want when we 'walk into the woods' of life isn't always what we find, or what we end up with when we re-emerge. The fairy tales of childhood are personified. The play itself is multi-layered and thought-provoking. What would happen if wishes did come true?

There comes a time in life where we have to grow up, give up, and learn to move on. Dreams from high school can easily become nightmares of middle-age. What we thought was ours isn't always so, and the reality of it can be painful and nearly devestating.

But, you decide to go on. Or at least to try.

There has never been a time in my adult life that a dream that's been nagging in the back of my brain since age 16 ever faded. That is, until now. Sometimes when we lash out, in our own pain and frustration, we don't get the understanding that we had hoped from the 'lash-ee". In his or her own pain, lashes are returned. Doors and windows of communication are slammed shut, and you realize, for the first time in nearly two-thirds of your life, that you are now alone, to tend the garden of memories you planted. And watered with your tears.

Perhaps, though, understanding comes from a surprising source. Your pain can be transformative. So they say.

But, how does one "move on"? Where does the strength come from? Why does it seem insurmountable?

"'Don't slip away and I won't hold so tight'
What can you say that no matter how slight
Won't be misunderstood?"

~ Stephen Sondheim, "Children Will Listen" (Into the Woods)

What do you say when words fail? What if words are the reason for failure?

"People make mistakes,
Holding to their own,
Thinking they're alone.
Honor their mistakes . . .
You decide what's right you decide what's good
Just remember:
Someone is on your side."

~ Stephen Sondheim, "You Are Not Alone" (Into the Woods)

It's in times like these I am grateful for friends. On a side note, always listen to your heart and watch those signs. I learned my lesson.

Where Once Love Simmered . . .

I know my thyroid is working again . . . I only sleep 3 - 4 hours per night. I usually never have trouble falling asleep, it's staying asleep that's challenging. Hence so many "wee small hour" references.

"Where once love simmered, hatred now boils."

That thought came to me as I was waking at 2:54 this morning. Why is it so easy to suddenly, sometimes, turn "love" off, like with a switch? How does "hate" so easily replace it?

I truly don't believe hate is the opposite of love. I think, instead, it's the byproduct. Or remains.

There are times we should listen to our hearts and times we should, instead, listen to our head. It's too easy to let emotions rule us when we are already in a vulnerable spot, like 'love'.

Love strips away many barriers, but when unrequited or hurting, it can easily build them. And pretty damn fast, too. If only forgiveness came as easily, and people could set their own issues aside and try to see the other person's point of view, perhaps it would make love last longer.

I could be wrong about a lot of this, but I know I am unforgiven.

Some Call It Sleep

Lilliana is four years old and is solid black with pumpkin-orange eyes. She is also very tiny. Her mother, Pyewacket, was very tiny, too. It's kind of like having a perma-kitten.

Lilli rarely makes appearances. Joey, the behemoth half Old English Sheepdog/half Great Pyrenees, likes to chase her. Not to be mean, but because Lilli will always run and Joey can persue. But, Joey outweighs Lilli by 80 pounds, 5 1/2 pounds to Joey's 85 - hence the fear.

Because of her fear, we also call her "The Troll" since she lives under the master bed or the futon in the yoga room. Installing a litter box in the upstairs bathroom was a very wise plan (except for when Brody makes huge messes, but we'll talk about him another day!).

There are times, however, when Lilli forgets herself and becomes social. Like the other day, when I shot the above picture (gingerly with my phone), as she snuggled in for a nap with me. It's in those quiet moments I see her true self: warm, loving, cuddly. Happy to be with me. We communicate without even saying a word and simply enjoy each other's company. It's the time of truth.

But, then the dogs will bark, or another cat will jump up on the bed, the real world will crash around us, and the fear is back. She hisses, darts, and backs away into her 'cave' again. This is not really who she is, and I recognize this. I just wish she would see that I am here for her - I have loved her all along. And always will. Regardless of how angry I get at her at times (before the litterbox upstairs, she used to sometimes leave us 'surprises' . . .). It's called unconditional love.

Lately, sleep patterns have been messed up again. I think it's a sign my thyroid is picking back up. It's in those wee small hours, though, that I worry about her: will she ever lead a more normalized life?

I wish she could understand me. Or perhaps, I wish I could understand her?

"In the wee, small hours of the morning
When all the world's asleep.
You lie awake, and think about the girl
And never try to sleep."

~ Lyrics by Bob Hilliard, Music by David Mann

On doing what is good for us

This is Baruch, our male Red Eared Slider. I rescued him as a birthday gift to myself over 4 years ago.

As you can see, he has taken an aversion to eating greens lately. Nice organic lettuces are his nemesis. Carrot shreds, which he used to fight for, are now left on the tank bottom. The gorgeous turnip green floating lazily in there is probably the best food for him, but he takes only a tiny bite, then refuses the rest. Day after day after day.

He reminds me of a human sometimes. Why do we always refuse that which we know is the best thing for us?

Periodically, I find myself knowingly eating an allergen, because it's only a 'mild one'."Oh, I don't have THAT kind of reaction," I smugly tell myself. Then I ended up in anaphylactic danger Saturday. I haven't had one since. It took nearly having my airway slammed close for me to have that "Ah hah!" moment.

When it comes to life and love, we know who or what we need. We know what to eat to make us healthy. We know where we want to be and with whom. Yet, sometimes the fear of the unknown, or the rebellion of human nature, makes us refuse to do what is good for us. And we end up unable to breathe from the pain (or anaphylaxis, as the case may be), unable to sleep from the agony of kicking away what we really want, and unwilling to admit that we should have listened to our heart in the first place.

Stubborn. I think that's it. Or unwilling to forgive - ourself and others?

On flotsam and jetsam and the trails we leave behind

If only I could touch you,
like the wind can touch the sail.
If only I could touch you, darling,
now that words have failed.
Oh, flotsam still afloat.
Oh, jetsam, thrown out of the boat.
. . . Nothing here is what it seems.

~ Peter Gabriel, Flotsam & Jetsam

The flood has subsided, and in its wake, has left behind evidence of its existence. Like the delicate tracings of fingertips on a naked back, subtle.

We don't realize it, but everyone we come in contact with, in some way, is affected by us. Even if it's for the moment, even if it's for a lifetime (or the better part thereof). We leave our own trails.

Sometimes, that person recovers. Other times, s/he remains permanently affected. We never know what will happen or how a simple action will impact the future.

Choose what you do wisely. And what you say, even more so.

On "stuff" and substance

I have a dear friend whom I've never met.

He lives in London (and he is probably reading this right now - you know who you are! ). He has an amazing, selfless website and I met him through there. I used to help him out on the site, but with my health issues right now, I am trying to focus on my own well-being and getting things done around here that have long needed doing. We have known each other nearly 4 years, and while we have never met, we talk usually 4 times a week via email, sometimes 4 or 5 times daily. Most of it is silly nonsense, or sharing links to interesting lectures or songs. But just enough to know we are thinking of the other.

Just this past weekend, I heard his voice for the first time. He sent me a recording of himself singing "Blowing in the Wind" while playing guitar. LOVED it! You have NOT heard Dylan until you have heard it with a British accent!

So, while my dear friend is very dear to me, as are his beautiful boys and gorgeous partner, there is still a 'thing' between us.

You see, my husband and I may be visiting friends and family in London in the fall. Well, friends other than my dear one. He is concerned, and was open and loving with me about this, that he is not on the same "level" Husband and I are.

We own a farm - he lives in a flat in the city. In the urban, gritty guts of London.

I teach college & Tim is a surgeon - he is an artist, art instructor, and (in American terms) a handyman. Definetely a different economic strata, but what of it?

We are married - he is in a domestic partnership (with two adorable guys to show for it!)

But, what he perhaps does not realize, is this is all "stuff ". Stuff isn't what matters, it's substance.

Content of character has always meant more to me than content of wallet. And his carefree, Bohemian lifestyle he often describes to me makes me jealous (YES! I am jealous of you!). He has installations in schools, he has students lining up for his classes. He is living the life he loves instead of the one he pre-planned.

And I admire him for it.

But, because of his own 'fear' (for lack of a better word) of not measuring up (for lack of a better term), he feels he couldn't meet me face-to-face for coffee when I am in London.

Huh.

He lives the life he chooses. Maybe I am not worthy of him.

A feather in the hand is worth a bird in the air

This is BW. We call him B-dub for short. He is the uncle of all of our feral cats from Cincinnati - many of whom were left behind when we moved. Not out of neglect, but out of inability to capture them.

We managed to trap, neuter, and relocate six of them. B-dub and Patrick are the only ones who still live on our farm. Finnegan, Patches, Fiona (daughter of Finn & Patches) and another feral male were brought here but did not accept their new home. They escaped from the barn during the 'acclimatizing' phase and broke my heart. At least Finn & Fiona were together. And they are spayed & neutered and will not add to the population crisis.

One of the ones left behind in Cincinnati was Pyewacket*. She is a gorgeous little girl and tame enough that I could hold her. Her daughters, Luca and Lilliana, each aged a year apart, were quite ill as babies. We have kept both of them as inside pets, and Luca & Pye were spayed the same day.

The vet and I jokingly called it "Mommy/Daughter Spay Day" - as opposed to "Spa", of course.

Out of the kindness of her heart, a neighbor down in Cinci who was assisting the Ohio Alleycat Resource organization with the trapping, let Pye go. She's not a cat person, but she is a kind soul. Pyewacket was in a trap, waiting for the OAR to come get her, and the neighbor was concerned as it was hot and Pye was in the sun without water.

So, my beautiful Pyewacket is lost to me forever. As is my sweetheart, Finnegan.

But, these are the risks you take in life. You love, you lose. You love, you win. You never know where the roulette wheel will stop.

The seemingly little choices we make often influence the rest of our lives, while big ones, so we think, don't quite have the magnitude we worried about.

While I love Finn & Pye with as much love as an animal lover can, I hope they are well. But, there comes a point where I have to realize that no matter how much those two meant to me, they are not with me. Both of them left me. Both of them ran, out of fear of the unknown.

I am left with B-dub. He's a very good cat. He brings so much joy and asks for so little in return. And, he gives me gifts. He once brought me a shrew! (Shortly after moving here, I came out of the back door and a small, dead furry object was lying there. Patrick & D-dub were running down the sidewalk. I think it was a thank-you gift for their new home!)

I admit, at times he makes me mad - he is the reason we no longer have a bird feeder - but he is, after all, a cat.

Finn & Pye will always be in my heart. I will always look at Luca, their daughter, and Lilli, Pye's girl, and remember.

All I have is two photographs of them and memories; they are like birds in the air - lost to me forever.

But B-dub is here, feather in 'hand' . . . or is that 'mouth'? (He is feral, after all. And very vicious, as you can tell.) He always greets me, never fails to make me smile.

I will learn to be content with what I am given.

* The name Pyewacket is taken from the Jimmy Stewart movie, Bell, Book, & Candle but also refers to an imp "familiar" of an accused witch in 1644.

On tears and rain

I was perusing favorite quotes today and came across a great one:

"The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh." ~ Samuel Beckett

That's interesting to ponder - is there ever a moment in time when no one in the world is crying? Or are tears, as Beckett said, a constant? There never would be a way to check, so I just consign my own tears to the sigh of humanity. Yes, briefly, I broke a resolution.

Again, tagging my last post, I am coming to realize that we really are part of something outside of ourselves. And no one's pain is localized.

It's raining here again, still, making melancholia seem the norm. Even the dogs are grumpy and tired. It would be easy to lay in bed this morning, crying.

Instead, too many things to do. I think of another favorite line, from the movie Blade Runner. The head renegade replicant, Batty, is dying. He relates a list of memories to the human hunting him, then quips:

" . . . All these moments will be lost, like tears in rain . . ."

It's such a powerful scene. And a powerful thought.

I will lose my tears in the rain today. Moving on needs constant reminding.

Here comes the flood.

On broken resolutions, broken promises, and broken hearts

I broke a resolution, in the wee small hours of the morning.

I cried, just a little, over a long-standing dream which came crashing down a few weeks ago. An incident which has forever changed my perspective on life and love. But, one of my resolutions for my "new year" was not to cry anymore. At least it was only a little.

Sometimes, where you end up is not where you thought you would be. And, hearts mend, wounds heal, but it takes a long time to let go of what you understood to be your future. Especially when you find it will always be a mistake of your past for which you'll never be forgiven.

So, picked myself up, brushed myself off, and started all over again. And I forgave myself, if only for the tears.

High hopes. Even if I have to move that rubber tree piece by piece instead of all at once, I will still overcome.

There's a morning after.

It's not a sign, it's shared humanity

I used to believe in signs. Especially those expressed in music.

I would be feeling a certain way, or thinking about a certain person or event, and, suddenly (Miraculously! How did the gods know?) a song with poignant lyrics would come on. I would take it as a sign. My life was going to change, the one I loved would come for me, I would win the lottery. Fool.

I don't believe in signs anymore. I just realized that every time I hear a song, no matter how fitting the words may be to my situation, it's just proof I am not alone in this web of humanity. I am not the only one to have felt this way, or to do this, or to have this done unto me. It's happened since the beginning of time.

I am not unique in my pain. I am just unique in how I choose to suffer.

"Fools in love -
are there any creatures more pathetic?
Fools in love -
never knowing when they've lost the game." ~ Joe Jackson

And suffering is a choice. So, I just won't think about it anymore.

It's day 3 of my new year. Time to get my shit together. At last.

It's my New Year's Eve

I am sitting here, 3 hours 'til midnight, a bit worried, a bit excited.

I am hoping this is a whole new beginning for me.

But that's not something that I'm looking forward to . . . well, maybe

So, as my "New Year's" looms closer, I am taking a good, long look at what is going on in my life at present.

This week alone I have broken the three center toes on my right foot and had my (oversized) gloved hand attacked by one of the semi-feral barn cats, leaving me with some nasty puncture wounds and a whole lotta swellin' goin' on.

I am calling Friday my new New Year. It will be one year to the day since I woke up with the left side of my body shrivelled and withered with dystonia, caused by an allergic reaction to lisinopril. It left me with constant vertigo and balance issues, thanks to vestibular neuronitis and nystagmus of the left eye. And, it also left me with more than a trifling of fear.

It was on Thursday, April 8, 2010 that I found out I had celiac. Potentially harmful but controllable if I do not ingest gluten. The control is just all-encompassing and pretty brutal. It was due to this celiac discovery that I changed medications. The one I was on was on the X-list AND not gluten free. The new medication, lisinopril, was GF approved. I just had no idea what two doses of it would do to my body and my following year. And, one week later on April 15, I found out.

So, for a while there, I was afraid of Thursdays. But, I fought hard for my year and my health. My sanity, too, come to think of it. And a change of doctors truly helped. I know - I thought being married to a surgeon, I would no longer have to go to a doctor. Turns out, surgeons have to cut you up to figure out what's up. Usually. He is very handy with sprains, preventing infection, and general medical trivia. But, I have always said I enjoy being married to a doctor (although I was more excited he was rock star!) because I am so accident-prone, I need a private physician. He, however, jokingly reminds me of how it ended for the wheelchaired evildoer in "Hannibal".

For this reason, I refuse to have pigs on our farm!

But, all of this rhetoric is yet another example of how I am living in the 'wrong moment' currently. All of, or most of, my recent accidents have been preventable with an ounce of prevention. I am going to face my New Year with new found hope and an even more attentive ear to my inner voice.

It's there . . . "life" has just been drowning it out lately.

So, c'mon, April 15th! I await you with a hint of trepidation, but a heap of excitement, too!

Spring has sprung!

So, it appears that spring has come to the farm. One of those days last week when I had my (now rare, used to be regular) migraine. Naturally, it would happen while I wasn't looking.

At the lake the other day, I found crocuses. I think they are the first of the year, or at least the first I have seen this year. I plan to pay much more attention this Spring!

I am making up for lots of time lost last year. My home, my health, my pets, my life - everything suffered due to circumstances out of my control. Three more days until MY New Year! It was April 15th of last year I lost use of the left side of my body. And it has been a challenge, battling to get it back.

The actual walking 'thing' took about 5 months to perfect.

My balance, however, and vision are still obscured. STILL! I am fairly sure that one never gets over vestibular neuronitis, instead the body just grows accustomed to the condition. The nystagmus I have in my left eye, on the other hand, can linger. Luckily, mine is not visible to the naked eye, nor is it debilitating. And, honestly, it seems to be getting much better. I can concentrate on things and focus now - more so than I could even a few months ago. It's just annoying.

But, all of these losses, and the loss of a year of my life, has left me with a new-found joy in the little things. I realize that time really is fleeting (sadly), and there is so much to do in life, but so few opportunities. And spending time with those that you love is one of the most important aspects of being alive.

So, here's to a New Year - a year full of hope and promise. I will keep my eyes open, my ears to the wind, and my heart at the ready. One never knows what a new year could bring!

Now here's something you'll REALLY like

It was a windy day yesterday. Followed by a windy night. It was tough to sleep - too warm for heat; too windy for windows. Opted for windows nonetheless, but the wind made sleep challenging.

That, and my mind twisting itself into a total state of panic. Some nights are just like that, disconcerting.

There are times when I think that perhaps I will sleep soundly, drifting off quickly and staying that way. Those nights typically end poorly. Like last night. The Universe laughs.

I was achy and sore. Gearing up for this two week fast now made me eat a few seemingly 'healthy' foods - which I should not have eaten. Interestingly, all of the aches, pains, and miscellania that I have thought were "old age" creeping in actually turn out to be food allergies. Having systemic reactions to allergens is much different than having an intolerance or anaphylactic reaction. And, all of my pains and odd ailments, it turns out, are just that ~ allergies.

Those muscle aches in my shoulders? Dairy or corn (two different types)
That itch that won't go away on my middle left toe? Corn - again
The joint aches in my toes and fingers? Eggs and perhaps sugar
Too many almonds or too much shrimp? Vomit (And I used to wonder why I couldn't eat even one FRIED shrimp ~ it's obvious now that I know I have celiac on top of food allergies. Ugh.)

And so forth. Yes, the list is quite long. I often tell people what I CAN eat as the list is much shorter!

It's hard, though, giving up things I really enjoy (like good whole-grain toast!). There are many of them. Being a good cook, so I've humbly been told, makes it even worse. And, oddly, human nature dictates that the craving continues. It is, after all, difficult to cut out 90% of the food in the world. And get enough protein.

I admit there are times I have resorted to animal sources. Being an ovo-lacto vegetarian for 31 years, it's tough to find out now that I am severely allergic to both eggs & (cow) dairy. And, wheat, as well as having the gluten intolerance! (Wheat gluten is the key protein in many "veggie burgers" and meat alternatives. Sigh) It makes that little bit of turkey - one of the few proteins I can eat - seem necessary. Nearly.

Okay, I DID say, after last year, this was the year to get healthy. Having my amazing doctor find out all of these allergies (as well as hypothyroidism!) is key to the issue. But, now, quality of life in terms of ease of just being able to eat where and what I would LIKE instead of what I HAVE to?

Who doesn't love a good challenge??

Imagine there's no heaven

"If God lived on earth, people would break His windows." ~ Yiddish Proverb

I would like to break His windows today. That is, if dogma is accurate and there is a Heaven and, conversely, a Heavenly Father.

The reasons I would throw stones today has more to do with my health than anything else. I woke with a headache, which has since turned to the beginning stages of a migraine. I didn't feel well yesterday - a bit off. Today, I had to cancel a trip with a friend, all because I don't know if a migraine is starting or not. And my left eyelid is drooping.

Seriously - it's been nearly a year since I had the allergic reaction and lost use of my left side. The use of it is back, but I still have this inner ear and left eye issue. Vestibular neuronitis in my left ear, nystagmus in my eye. Can't a sista get a break here?

By the way, the above photo, while lovely, is what a typical day looks like for me. Most people don't think I have anything wrong. I can walk pretty straight. But, it's kind of like being drunk: I stumble and my path veers a lot. I am fighting hard, here, and I refuse to let it get the best of me. And, the good news is, I CAN recite the alphabet backwards, Officer.

"Man does what he can, the Universe does what it will." ~ Proverb

So, in other words, I can quit my bitching now. Things will turn out as they will and unfold as planned. I just have to get over it.

In better news, it's badminton and bocci ball season soon!

Here comes that rainy day feeling again

It's raining again.

The sky has grayed over completely, it's sprinkling as we speak. The mounds of mud in the pasture have increased 10 fold. The horses sink knee deep in spots. The flood has subsided somewhat in the creek.

My vertigo continues. I am still having difficulty moving my arms above my head and looking up simultaneously. I am sure the mild nystagmus contributes somewhat. It's been nearly a year now, and the relief I have been promised has yet to show itself. So, I have come to a very hard decision: I think we are going to have to find a home for the horses. Only the most kind & loving one will do.

I know we saved Suzi's life - I KNOW we did.

She looks amazing. To see the skeletal version of her that came to us in July makes my heart swell with pride, because I see where she was and how far she has come.

I have made a difference in someone's life.

I think about that, and I think about the few lives I know I have touched. Obviously, many, many furry & finned lives. Also turtles, if you count our two here and the numbers I have moved out of roads.

I also think, though, that there are at least a few people whom I have helped over the years. I think about my ESL teaching - working with international, corporate bigwigs & dignitaries and their families. I think about my at-risk tutoring and the lives I touched there. I think about the small, private colleges where I taught: hating every moment but making a difference nonetheless. Even at University of Cincinnati. The few students I keep in contact with from there do still remind me I was their favorite. Or one of their favorites.

But, I think about losses, too. And I think about how I feel today - gray, lonely, empty - still seeking fulfillment. Still pining over things long gone.

"It's raining again
Oh no, my love's at an end.
Oh no, it's raining again
Too bad I'm losing a friend."

Seriously? ANOTHER Supertramp song? I don't even like them!

It's that rainy day feeling again. Time to get in the shower and wash it away.

On withdrawal

Withdraw:

1. to draw back, away, or aside


2. to retract or recall


3. to remove oneself from an activity, competition, etc.


4. to cause a person to go through withdrawal from an addictive substance

There are times in life when we realize what we really want is never going to come to fruition. We learn to deal with it. We may have to go through withdrawal first, but we survive. Love can be as addictive as street drugs and as lethal, too.

Coming to peace with decisions, especially ones long past which are best forgotten, is one of the hardest things to do. As humans, we have a tendency to grip tightly and beat ourselves up over things over which we have no control.

We know our own heart, but we cannot know that of another.

The Buddhists have a great concept: just let it go - all of it. Holding on to thoughts, people, wishes, wants - having expectations of life, love, the future. All of it is futile as the universe is going to turn as it will, with or without you. The major dilemma that seems so insurmountable today will be a passing fancy tomorrow.

Hearts break everyday. But, the sun still comes up. Life goes on.

The sun is shining today - for the first time in what seems like a long time. Maybe it's just because my eyes are dry. Either way, I have other, better things to do.

"I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings.
Coming down is the hardest thing." ~ Tom Petty

Fools & Flight

A fool and his money are soon parted. Fools' gold. Fools in love. Only a fool tests the water with both feet.

So many quotes and sayings about a fool and foolishness. But, perhaps the one I am most concerned about is this:

Fools rush in.

So, how long is appropriate until you are not considered a fool? Or, conversely, if you wait too long, are you foolish for having waited?

Time waits for no one, so another saying goes.

My feeling? Sometimes you just have to take the leap of faith, trust the universe and each other, and do what your heart dictates. You always have it within you to know what you truly want. You just have to rely on your heart to make the right decision.

Go to the edge and fly.

Or, as media maven Al Bernstein once said -

Sometimes the fool who rushes in gets the job done.

(I post this above picture for my dear friend, Gayle. I, too, love the history and not just the subject!)

Customer Service - Part Deux

What do you think of when you hear the word "postal"?

Many people think of "going postal" - crazy, in other words. Bringing a gun to work and mowing down everyone who has always ticked you off?

I was working in the Washington Square Building across the street from the post office in Royal Oak, Michigan, when the first "going postal" event occurred. It was a bit scary, not knowing where the gunman would run when we heard he exited the building. This was in November of 1991 - a month that would change our lives forever.

My changes would be irreparable - but that's a different story.

We also tend to think of poor service - like the postal carrier who folded the two paintings a friend sent to me, even though they had "DO NOT BEND" written all over them. Or how someone at the post office in Cincinnati slit open an envelope containing some vintage craft books, helped him/herself to a few, then resealed and labeled it. I know the person who sent these to me . . . she dropped it off at her own post office. No one had their hands on it afterwards except postal employees. I had to fill out federal paperwork to file a complaint!

So, I was NOT surprised when I was tracking my husband's birthday gift package and found it had been sitting at the Saginaw USPS hub, about 7 miles away, for over a week. What DID surprise me was what happened when I called there and spoke to a postal worker, Sharon. She located the paperwork, looked it up in their internal tracking system. Come to find out, it had been on a pallet with 477 other packages, all of which had a delivery date and location. Except mine.

She and two supervisors (Saginaw & Bay City offices) spent over seven hours hunting, manually tracking , and essentially trying their best to locate this one small package. ONE small package. A pallet of 478 total items. They found it (I think it was in our crappy carrier's car). Tim got it one day late.

I think the towing company from two weeks ago could take a pretty decent lesson from the Post Office today! I never thought I would be saying that!

Maybe this is a lesson for me, too, about hope. And jumping to conclusions, based on the past. And having faith that the system is working, the world will fall together as it should, and that there are people out there for whom we should just hold on. It will all work out in the end. And good things are worth waiting for.

I would post a picture of said mug, but it's filled with morning coffee and wandering around a hospital in downtown Saginaw right now . . .

Waiting for spring

I found it a little odd that one of the feral 10-month-old kittens from the barn, the one I called (Play) Misty (for me), was hanging out on the porch yesterday. She let the dogs sniff her, and I took a few pictures of her that I was going to title "Kitty doesn't feel well today". I sat down beside her, gently stroking her head, and then tried to feel her over to see if she had been hit by a car and was injured. She felt amply fed for her size - her mother, Luna, is very tiny and so are her siblings - but she had been having tummy trouble; the evidence was on her tail. It was most likely coccidia, a very virulent intestinal issue and difficult to cure. We have been going through it with Brody for the past 5 months.

I left her in peace and went about my day. Later, I noticed her head was laying in the snow near the water dish. I didn't have much hope, but I prepared some of Brody's medication mixed in canned food and called the vet's office to make an appointment for Monday as it was too late Friday.

By the time I took the meds out, though, Misty was gone. Not off the deck, but out of this life. She looked so peaceful, lying in the sun. I wrapped her in a blanket to bury her.

I never realized she was even sick. It amazes me that, for living in a body, surrounded by other living creatures living in bodies, we can have no idea what is going on inside each self.

For many years I knew I was not well. For many years I was "poo-pooed" by the medical industry (ironic that I hate traditional western medicine but am married to a surgeon). I spent days in the hospital, hours and hours in ERs, developing a grave case of "white coat syndrome". Now, I am not surprised to find that I have a multitude of health issues. It took a holistic physician to find them.

But, I also think about the many other issues that go on inside others. We can know and love someone but never "know" that person. You never learn the little things - the hows, the whys. The private 'illness' that makes someone blinded to reality and binds the ability to communicate and share.

I'm tired of winter. I am ready for spring.

When is a coincidence not a coincidence?

So, when is a coincidence just that? When does coincidence end and "sign" start? Is it just hope that guides our interpretation of our world? Or, is it something more?

It's hard sometimes, interpreting what the universe has to say. After all, the universe has seen the drama of millions of lifetimes unfold and speaks the language of hundreds of billion of years of dust and emptiness. We, on the other hand, merely speak words, trapped in this 'mortal coil'. Full of self-doubt. Fear.

When is a coincidence not a coincidence? When it is a sign. But, how are we supposed to know the difference?

We have to trust in the process, and let the signs present themselves as such. The key?

Just pay attention.

Never, never on a Wednesday

"The last time it snowed on a Wednesday, we were still in love."

"I still had hope."

"You still called me."

These are lines that are swirling through my head today.

"It snowed last night and most of the day. The wind was even from the east again, instead of the usual west. It made me think of you."

I think any of these would be a great opening to a book. Or a short story. On any day but today, that is.

It really did snow last night. And most of the day - from the east. And none of the above lines now say, "Chapter 1" to me. They all say, "The End".

I hate feeling this weak.

I should be angry, but then what does that say of my nature to forgive?

Pardon, and you shall be pardoned

I am finding it hard to blog these days as the continual writing is causing me some very severe emotional issues. On so many levels. What I want to say is too personal; what I need to say is too direct.

I recently read a Nietzsche quote which touched me deeply:

"And if your friend does evil to you, say to him, 'I forgive you for what you did to me, but how can I forgive you for what you did to yourself?'"

The implications run deep. I can think of half a dozen people in my life to whom the above could apply, for many different reasons. But the one that boggles me most is fear.

"Part of the secret to living is simply learning not to be afraid of the unknown."

This was a friend's status on Facebook. It seemed as if it came from his therapist, I didn't ask. But it makes too much sense to me these days.

Crossing the gap

I've always hated "those women".

Those 30- and 40-somethings who are looking for themselves. Trying to write, or paint, or act, or . . . well, whatever they felt they missed out on in their earlier years.

Yet, here I find myself, 40-something, with so much to say and so many ways I wish to express it.

• I have a yoga room (which doubles as a spare bedroom, but still).
• I also have a craft room (or, as Husband says, a crap room).
• I try to take some sort of pictures at least 5 times a week.
• I made a pact with myself last year to write at least 5 times a week, and given health and computer issues, I am trying to make up for lost time.

The things I want to say, however, are not appropriate for this venue. They are too personal, too deep. But, instead I find myself wanting to sit down and write them anyway. In my craft room, after thinking about them during my yoga session. (hahaha)

This should be good. I'm becoming one of "them". I've always been my own person. It's really hard, now, to think I have conformed.

On a higher note, the fasting continues. I have two fasting partners now and feel I can conquer the world. It's such a liberating feeling. And after a period of being "glutenized" this weekend, my system can sure use a break!

Brody loves Allie. Allie loves Brody - usually.

Sometimes, he gets annoying (surprise!) and Allie pulls out the Full Nelson.

"Waste Not, Want Not" or "want and the need for waste"

I pack my husband's lunch every day. So, today, I went shopping for 'add-ins'.

I try to make sure that every day he gets at least 3 of his 5 servings of fruits and vegetables from the breakfast and lunch I make him. He usually eats most of it: between patients, or in his vehicle between hospitals (he's in private practice and works out of three).

I don't think he goes to work and trades with the other surgeons . . .

But, I also add some fun stuff. And, yes, while I realize that bulk boxes from which I dole into plastic containers would be more eco-friendly, it's just not practical. A little bag of Cheezits slips neatly into a whitecoat pocket; a bulky Tupperware container does not. Many things do get plastic boxes (like the sandwich), but not the all of the fun stuff.

These pictures represent what I purchased for him today.
Look at all the boxes!
Look at all the waste!
All of the above will just be sent to recycling.

But, I fell in love with this:

That is the entire package - just a sticker around a stack of granola bars. Ten to that package, only five to this huge box:

And all of the snacks I bought today, in their infinite boxes, all fit neatly in the snack cupboard in the pantry. In a very tiny space on one shelf.

Wow - so much waste. So much that could easily have fit into a much smaller, less wasteful packaging.

No, this isn't a blog today about environmentalism, much as it seems.

I took a deep look this afternoon at the empty waste in my own life:

• How much time have I wasted on things that never will 'fit' into my life?
• How many tears have I wasted on things which I realize now just don't matter?
• How much of my life have I devoted to people that will never 'get it'? People who will never see the real me and what I am capable of and my value and worth.

And there are many of them.

It just all seems so futile now. And I am angry, now, for waste.

Much like the hour I lose at every time change, I wonder about the other projects, other energies I could have utilized in this lost time.

My new religion - no waste.

(If you are curious, no. I can't eat these. Sugar, starch, so much to avoid - ah, food allergies.)