Author Archives: Pat

Re-entry into my life

25 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Traditions

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From last camper

I grew up camping, with 3 sisters, 1 brother, our parents, and a very small camper.  When I got older, I would go tent camping with girlfriends in high school, and eventually with husband #1 (and 3 children). The n there were years when the only thing close to camping was a hotel room, until I met husband #2. We tent camped, went to a small travel trailer, then to a nice 5th wheel.  We explored South Dakota, where we lived; Saskatoon, Canada; Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri; Black  Hills; Badlands of both North and South Dakota; county parks in Minnesota; and many state parks in South Dakota as well.  We sold our 5th wheel when we moved to Virginia, thinking we’d get another one once we were settled here.  We hadn’t gotten around to that yet when Kevin died. I wasn’t sure I was up for camping solo after that.  But that was then, and this is now.

One of the things you do when you are grieving, when you are starting to remember, is to choose happy times. We had so much fun making memories camping, from when the water heater started on fire, to the rhubarb pie we forgot on the table when it rained, to going to the theatre because it was raining, to Gabe slicing his foot with an axe chopping firewood, to Donald’s motorized margarita maker, to the turtle that didn’t’ make it across the road in time, to stunning sunsets, and great fish fries.  Oh, and the time I tried to make tangerine yogurt.  Or when Kevin cracked the camper on the immovable yellow post at the gas station, to losing the tv antenna because we forgot to put it down, and on and on and on.

There were also such peaceful times when he would go out fishing early and I would get to sleep I late, meander along trails with the dogs, being mesmerized by the campfire, and reading a good book.  No worries.  True R&R.

Camping was one of our very favorite things to do.  The first summer we had our first camper we went out 11 weekends. I don’t think we slowed down much until we got to Pierre and everything was 2-3 hours away instead of 1/2 hour to an hour. On a weekend, that was a big difference.

So I started thinking about it again recently. I wondered if I would enjoy it by myself (well, me and the dogs).  I went to RV shows, I researched campers online, visited a few stores. And then I found the one.  I brought her home today.  I admit I was freaked out when I pulled out of the dealer’s place this afternoon, but it didn’t take long for me to get comfortable behind the wheel.  Backing it in the storage lot between a utility trailer and a pop up camper was challenging, but also exhilarating when I did it.  That’s progress!  I even got it unhitched without too much trouble.  Thanks to my friend Diane for her help. I’d still be there if it wasn’t for her.

This whole adventure signals to me that I am well on the mend from my grieving days.  I am truly “solowingnow,” getting on with my life, refusing to sit home alone in silence or deny myself the pleasure of activities I used to enjoy.  I know it won’t be the same as when Kevin was with me, but I also know I am capable, ready, and willing to take a few more risks, meet some new people, and make new memories.

It’s a Summerland 2020, and it sleeps 3.  Hint: that means I still have room for at least one more camping buddy, or two if they are very friendly, or if one takes the floor. And we might have to share the dogs. I am excited to get started!  I have almost all the camping “stuff” from before, so it’s a matter of time to get it all down from the attic and see what I need this time around. I suppose it’s possible the next RV movie will be about me, but let’s hope it’s not quite that eventful.  Just a way to re-enter the world on my own terms.

Spring Cleaning

22 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Traditions, Uncategorized

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I am excited to have a stream of company visiting in the next several weeks.  My cousin Debbie arrives this week Friday, my sister Diane and her family will be here the following weekend, and at the end of March, my friend Diane’s aunt and uncle will be staying here while they attend a family get-together so large Diane can’t house them all at her place.  I love having company and am looking forward to the flurries of activity.

For me, having guests means I have to do an extra cleaning routine, like dusting where I usually let the dust bunnies sleep in peace. But it’s spring time so I took advantage of the nice weather over the weekend to open the windows for a while and get some fresh air in the house. As it happens, last week at Toastmasters, my new friend Roxanne gave a speech on decluttering.  She emphasized how that process not only clears the physical space around us, but it has the added benefit of clearing out mental space as well.  She recommended a book called The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo, which I haven’t ordered yet. However, I was motivated to get rid of the last two boxes of stuff I brought home my work office when I started this sabbatical last November.

The only way I could make room for the papers in these two boxes was to get rid of other stuff.  So I off-loaded an old computer printer and an equally ancient (2008?) laptop computer that Kevin does use anymore (ha ha).  And then I was fortunate to have a neighbor and kindred spirit of my hunter-fisherman husband come and relieve me of a large box of what a woman might call “excess accessories” and a hunter would call “necessary equipment.”  He’s also going to check out the options for a new home for some goose decoys and several fishing rods and tackle.

My thought is that I can help other hunters and fisher-people by providing equipment they might make use of and I no longer have need for.  Among the stages of grief, helping others is often recommended as an adjustment  step toward final acceptance of the loss and moving on in one’s life.  As I  let go of Kevin’s possessions, I have remembered how surprised I was when my stepmother still had not gone through my dad’s things nearly a year after his passing. At the time, I wasn’t sure what to think. Was she still in shock? Certainly she seemed disorganized and stuck, at a minimum.  Ah, if only I knew then what I know now! I had little enough compassion then, didn’t understand what she was going through.  I have since talked to her and apologized for my lack of understanding and what was no doubt some judging of her on my part. I’m happy to report she has forgiven me.

Many days fly by, and some drag on endlessly.  I take two steps forward and then one step back, and while it can be a struggle, that’s still forward progress.  I think most of my slide down the slippery slope of grief is over.  I haven’t had any emotional outbursts in quite a while; and even the occasional teariness is abating.  I am actively working on getting reorganized, engaging in more activities, and strengthening my relationships here.  A few new patterns related to a working style are emerging, and I am mostly optimistic about my future again.  Sounds like a healthy recovery, don’t you agree?

My mom was from that generation where Spring Cleaning (yes, with Capital Letters) and Fall Cleaning were traditions.  She, too, has joined the Angels Above, and I know she was telling her friends she taught me everything I know about bathroom floors yesterday.  I know this because I found a penny on the floor behind the commode in the guest bathroom (which I don’t use).  She always sends me pennies from heaven. Thanks, Mom.  And yes, it’s nice to have a shiny clean house.  At least until I let the dogs loose again. And if I don’t have any company later this year, I might forego the Fall event. I gotta tell you, I’m tired!

Ollin on My Life Purpose

19 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Sabbatical

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According to Kevin Hall, author of Aspire, a book I referred to recently, “ollin” is a word that describes me.  Here’s what Hall says: “Pronounced All-in, it is an expression of immense depth that conveys intense and immediate movement.”  He goes on to discuss its derivation, which is to move and act now with all your heart, or to follow your path in life wholeheartedly.

I know several people who would say that I do act with a certain amount of zest or passion when I decide to take something on. Or at least I did until last year, when I detoured into some deep grief. I’m working my way out again, though it’s not easy some days.  The funk I experienced about two weeks ago prompted me to get motivated about something, anything. So I read a book on self talk. Then I recorded myself repeating affirmations, which I listen to each night before I go to bed. I made a new vision board and posted some pictures on doors and mirrors. I bought another book and started reading it: Jack Canfield’s The Success Principles.  I made lists of things I like(d) to do and that I want to do again. .I pulled out some coaching materials from a course I took, and then  I made a deal with a friend to trade some personal coaching time. I made a coffee date to discuss some other partnership.  I engaged in a conversation with a new friend about getting organized.  I did some research on a Call for Proposals I am considering responding to. I cleaned some clutter in my office in order to clean some clutter in mind.  And yes, I do feel better (and a wee bit tired again!).  I don’t know if it’s because the funk passed, because I took (positive) action, or what … because I’m doing so much I can’t pinpoint what is working best.

I am doing all this, and I still can’t say with certainty that I have finally “discovered my purpose” as Hall’s book says I should be able to do, except whatever it is, I do it wholeheartedly.  I did Simon Sinek’s “Why” exercise, and I came up with “to inspire purposeful change so that people will help themselves to help others.” I have done the Canfield Life Purpose Exercise as well. What I’ve come up with there is: To share my knowledge and ideas in an energetic way that challenges yet supports people to help others in a positive way.  That’s kind of wordy, but maybe it says what I am trying to say .. and be.. and do.

I think all of this is what I have been doing in my career, regardless of the title I held or the geography I camped out in.  I’ve always had good enough reasons why I didn’t just go ollin on this path. But I think now is the time for me to break out of the confines of my past  work environments and go for it.  Solowingnow seems appropriate still. Speaking of camping, Kevin and I used to talk about my becoming a speaker or author or consultant, and he being my manager. We dreamed that we’d buy a motorhome, he’d sign up my gigs and chauffeur me around the country so I could do my work, and we’d camp along the way and see some sites while we were at it.  But we always ended up working for someone else, on their priorities.  We always thought we’d have more time, and of course, we found out we didn’t; but I do.  So among my other “intense and immediate” actions, I bought a camper today.

I’ve decided I’m going to keep on this path, and I’m ollin!  This sabbatical has already proven useful, as I’ve resourced myself up with all kinds of books and webinars and meetings.  Now I have the time also to pull together a solid business plan. And make some contacts.

One thing grief does – after it forces you to shut down and rest – is that it helps you sift out the “I don’t wants” so you can not only feel lighter but see things more clearly.  It gives you the time to find your reserve energy and get comfortable with expressing the “I wants” more often.  It’s so easy to give in and settle, to take cover and stay there, to defer to what everyone else (including society at large) thinks is better for you. Grief makes you say out loud that you didn’t do the things you planned – and it reminds you there is still time for YOU if you so choose.  I no longer ask “what’s the worst that can happen?” I already know the answer to that one.

Solowingnow

15 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Sabbatical, Uncategorized

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Just about five years ago (4/20/11), I engaged in an exercise recommended in a book titled Aspire by Kevin Hall.  I asked my friends and family to send me one word they would use to describe me.  The intent is to “discover your purpose through the power of words.” No “purpose” was revealed to me, or at least I didn’t find it.

This is that list. I keep it on my desk and look at it regularly.  Usually I’d guess that people would stop seeing this kind of thing after so long, but it struck a chord with me. I use it as a reminder of who I am, or was, or at least who people think I am.  File_000 (1)Perception has a way of becoming reality, and I’m grateful the words are positive.  Even though I’m on a personal sabbatical now to examine my life and prepare for The Next Big Thing, I sometimes feel as if I’m trying too hard to force the issue and have some answers.  You’ll note the word “patient” is not on this list!

 

I know different people now and my life has changed significantly since then.  I wonder what people would say today.  But I’m not going to ask….yet. I have to make sure I’m strong enough to hear whatever they have to say.

 

Here are a few words I would use to describe myself today: insecure, unclear, observant, inquisitive, responsible, careful, deliberate, impatient.

This is why I called this site Solowingnow – being on my own. powered by own wings, not yet adopting the term widow but not feeling single, trying to focus on the present moment, when things run together sometimes and get jumbled up.

 

The Swiss Cheese Remedy

10 Wednesday Feb 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Sabbatical, Transformation, Uncategorized

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Well, I AM feeling better today, thankfully.  And yesterday was better than the weekend’s funky days, too.  If you read to the bottom, you’ll see why…or at least, what helped.

I’m one of those people who has a bit of trouble trying to just let things be; I usually have an urge to fix things.  If that doesn’t work, I avoid it completely, usually with some kind of distraction like retail therapy or running away.  Running away doesn’t usually help, because you can’t run away from yourself; wherever you go, you’re still there!

That’s why Kevin was such a great partner; he helped me keep it between the ditches of the crooked roads. When I was tempted to wallow, he wouldn’t let me get away with that. When I wanted to try a zillion things to find a cure, he pulled me back and encouraged me to focus on a reasonable one or two.  So in this recent funk, I again turned to him for advice.

What came to me while I was making myself a cheese sandwich for lunch (yes, true story) was that I needed to break this down .. this feeling of being overwhelmed and down and out.  I wanted to figure out if there was a trigger that I could disable for the future.  I didn’t come up with anything specific, but I did have some productive outcomes from my efforts.

First, I made a breakfast date with my friend Diane.  A chocolate chip pancake is always a good idea!  Having someone to bounce ideas off of is also a good idea.  She was telling me about her recent trip to see her mother, who was evaluating options for moving into senior living center.  Ultimately, they mind-mapped what it would take for Mom to feel joyful if she stayed in her own home.  (Key words: feel, joyful.) They then added dates for certain things to be done, and voila! they are already making progress.

That gave me an idea, which became my second step.  I have used mind-mapping and vision board techniques in the past, so I came up with a hybrid plan, sort of.  On March 15 of 2015, almost a year ago, as I was fighting to see a solo future for myself, I had written in my journal what my dream life might be like, what a great day would be like.  I described my bedroom when I woke up, the weather outside, how I would begin my day, who my friends were and what I did for family time, the kind of meals I ate, the activities of the day, my work, etc.  Yesterday I got out a different colored pen from what I had written in, and I checked off those things that I have in place already: getting up between 7 and 8 am, in a spacious, comfortable, calm, restful bedroom that is one of 4 bedrooms in a spacious, comfortable, calm, restful house; walking for an hour with the dogs, not in a hurry to get home to get ready for work; meditating or reading for a while; no commute except to walk down the hall to my home office for work that didn’t feel like work.  You get the idea.  By and large, I could check off nearly all of the things on that list.  Among what is still waiting for fulfillment is the engaged, positive, productive clientele I have in my coaching business, or the financial serenity of a reliable income stream and nice cushion in my bank account.

I decided for now to first focus on what I have, not on what I don’t have.  I headed to the tubs I keep my vision board supplies in.  While I listened to Simon & Garfunkel sing Bridge Over Troubled Water, I cut out pictures of houses with pools and green yards; a healthy looking, active woman; a few whimsical things to enhance my yard appeal.  I spent some time imagining what it would feel like to be in those pictures. I wanted to imprint those feelings.

Then I moved on to the business I don’t have yet, the future that can and will be mine now that it’s all up to me.  I had actually recently done a vision board for a speaker’s academy that I enrolled in. Here is what that looks like.vision board

Because I had the time, I spent a couple of hours skimming through magazines, Facebook and Pinterest. I had another fun idea.  I made myself an affirmation slideshow (using PowerPoint) that I can click on and watch any time I want to.  Click below if you want to see that.  (Once PowerPoint opens, click on “slide show” and then “from the beginning.”  It’s not Academy-Award footage, but it makes me smile.  You can guess what the theme was.

Pat’s affirmation show.

The important thing is that taking action, but not too much at one time, helped me push my way forward.  By poking holes (like Swiss cheese) in my funk, I gained more clarity about what I want.  Sometimes it’s productive to help other people so you don’t dwell on your own problems, but sometimes you have to help yourself. I woke up feeling good today.

In a funk

08 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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(Spoiler alert: this post is a downer, even to me.)

Today has not been a great day (except that I had a great phone call with my friend Karn this afternoon, and I did take a walk with the dogs this morning before it got cool, windy, and cloudy).  And yesterday wasn’t that great, nor the day before that.  I’ve been in a funk and am struggling to get out of it. I am on the verge of crying all the time and feeling stressed. Proof: another fever blister has started.  And I don’t have anything to be stressed about.  And no reason to cry either.

This is what grief does to me. I think it’s only fair to let you know that there isn’t some turn in the road where the potholes are all fixed and it’s only smooth riding ahead.  I’m not the only one to have days like this, I’ve had them before, and I’ll probably have them again some day.  It must be an important part of the transition from who I was to who I am becoming, that I’m even aware there doesn’t have to be a known reason for these growing pains. But it sucks to be me right now.

I start to think to myself that FINALLY I’m moving on, making plans, things are getting pretty steady, and … then I wake up one day and can’t beat the blues.  Something inside me is blocking something else.  Suddenly, the little things set me off, one right after another.  The computer loses it’s connection every 30 seconds, the DMV wants me to appear in person to retitle my vehicles, I got a $20 charge for “self installation” of a “free” mini box on my cable tv.  The weight of the world has caught up with the me who has been strong for quite a while, and I guess I’m tired of being strong and don’t want to be that anymore.  At least not today.

Karn told me I should–I must– go ahead and cry, that I need to release something even if I don’t know what it is.  Crying is cleansing, it’s healing, it’s good for the soul.  It feels like if I start, though, I might not be able to stop.  I know she’s right, but it’s scary in it’s own way.  It’s a crazy conundrum: I’m losing control, but control is an illusion.  Right?!? So I’m chasing my tail.  What is behind this funk?  On some level I must have a fear of not being able to keep it together and get on with my life.  Or fear of some other kind of failure.  Or maybe I just think too damn much, which is what Kevin would say if he were here. Come here and have your cry and it will sort itself out, he would tell me, and hold me so I was safe.  He was never afraid of my tears.

So I have been leaking tears most of the day.  Which is exhausting.  But not as draining as carrying out this funk for three days straight.

This is not an invitation to a pity party.  It’s an expression of where I am in the grieving process.  There are definitely way more good days than bad ones, and for that I’m grateful.  I thank God I have friends I can talk to, dogs I can cuddle with, and a warm bed to cry myself to sleep in since the shoulder is not available.

I hope tomorrow is brighter.

Letting go, piece by piece

04 Thursday Feb 2016

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First, I let the truck go, about two months after he had died.  It wasn’t paid for, and it wasn’t registered in my name.  It was big for me, and I had another vehicle – my car – so I didn’t need this…. this reminder of truckwhat we fought over from time to time.  When I talked to a friend about it, she said, “Why are you agonizing over this so much?” I told her it was because it meant so much to Kevin.  Her reply stunned me, “Well, you meant a lot to him also. Would he want you to be this upset over it?”  Of course not.  And so I surrended it (read: voluntary repossession) back to the finance company. I still felt bad, at least I did until traded in my cute convertible on a new Highlander, since I realized I did want something to schlep stuff in.

A couple of weeks lachairster, I started in on the house.  I called Habitat Restore to come get his recliner from the family room so I could think about redecorating.  And I got rid of my matching one as well.  They were nice chairs, still relatively new.  But the style was going to have to change when I got rid of the “man cave” look.  My same friend went shopping with me.  I put most of the rest of his things in his closet.  I kind of miss those comfortable, put-your-feet-up chairs.

It took a few more months before I could clean out his closet.  Luckily, we had separate closets so I didn’t have to look at or smell his clothes every day.  I just kept the doors closed.  At the end of May, about six months after Kevin died, my same friend came to help me pack up the clothes.  Everyone needs this kind of friend.  She even took the bags of clothes to the DAV Thrift Store so I wouldn’t procrastinate and drive around with them in my trunk for a few months.  I still have to get through the hunting clothes, the underwear box, the coats, and the motorcycle gear.

In May I consigned his motorcycle for sale. When it was still on the lot in August, I was about to put it back in the garage, and the very same day I made that decision, I got an offer.  So bye-bye.  I cried when I left it at the dealer.  It hurt to see him go out of my life one piece at time.

The boat had also been consigned, and it took from February until September to sell.  I felt bad that he had only had it in the water one time here.  I contemplated taking a water safety course and trying to use it myself, but that was foolishness. I didn’t even like it all that much when he was in charge!  It’s a small fishing boat, and I always felt vulnerable in it on big water.  I was relieved to hand the keys off to someone else.

Today I took another step.  I had dinner at a new restaurant a bout a year ago.  The owner was in the process of changing the theme from tiki bar to a hunter’s grille.  I asked him then if he might be interested in some dead animals (my term of endearment for Kevin’s mounts).  He said yes and gave me his card, but I lost the card. I guess I wasn’t ready yet.  File_000 (3)Last week I went back to the restaurant and saw that he had gotten rid of the thatched roofs over the booths and most of the bamboo was gone, but he was sorely lacking in décor.  I again asked him about the taxidermied trophies I had in the closet.  I had given a bear head to my nephew, and I wasn’t ready to part with the Redlin plates yet, but I did have 2 deer, a turkey fan, a goose, and two ducks, and a spare set of antlers.  This morning he came to the house and bought them all.  It wasn’t as if I won the lottery, but I’ll get a few free meals at a good restaurant and maybe a set of new cushions for the chairs on the back deck.

It’s a little over 14 months since he passed on.  And it’s still a tender moment when I let go of one thing or another, even if whatever it is has been sleeping in a closet all this time. Almost all of these things were very much Kevin’s taste and style, not mine. In fact, I remember my dismay when I first met him and he told he was a hunter. I could not believe I was so open to having dead animals in the house.  But I loved him, so therefore, I never minded.  It’s interesting to me…it was not a compromise at all; it was completely acceptable.

I think Kevin would be proud of the care I gave in passing along his things to people who really wanted them, and only when I felt ready.  Especially the dead animals. He called the small deer here “dog deer,” and I know he’ll be beaming to have people admire the nice Dakota-sized deer and the tasteful way the goose and duck were mounted.  This way I also can still visit them when I go have a free hamburger!  I still have the best part of him, though, my memories.

PS. I still have a few things, like a remote controlled mini helicopter, and a set of golf clubs, and a bicycle…among others. If you are interested, let me know.  :o)

 

Gratitude for the Walking Wounded

02 Tuesday Feb 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief

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The first thing that made my gratitude prayers yesterday was that I had been given the opportunity to be of service to someone else. About grief and moving on. Twice recently, and again last night.

The first time, a woman I do not know was referred to me by a mutual friend. She lost her husband a few months back and was struggling to make sense of her life now. The woman didn’t ask me for anything except to be her Facebook friend. She needed someone who has been where she is.  When she is ready for more, I’ll be here for that, too.  This blog has been helpful to her, and for that I am thankful.

The second was a former coworker I had the chance to catch up with.  A 1-1/2 hour phone call was hardly enough time, but we covered a lot of ground.  Among other things we talked about was that she felt I had been a mentor to her and she encouraged me to consider writing about that.  She helped me see value in my past experiences.

Then last night a friend contacted me and asked for advice. Her daughter suffered the loss of her baby boy a while back. She is pregnant again now, and has another child as well.  My friend is at her wit’s end trying to help with the granddaughter, providing a home for the daughter, being with her own mother who lives nearby, and paying attention to her own marriage. She needs support to put her own needs on this list of people she is nurturing.

It occurred to me again how we are all walking wounded, carrying our own crosses, so to speak. Some of us are able to put them in a pocket or a purse. Some of us have to use both hands, and some of us have chains to drag them along with us. We can’t always tell what that cross looks like because we can’t see it; we don’t know how heavy it is; we don’t know if someone needs or wants help if they don’t ask.  And even when help is offered, it is hard to share or hand over our cross because we think the other person has their own cross, too.  The interesting thing is that I can set my own cross down while I am helping someone else.  There are times I don’t even realize I have forgotten to pick my cross back up, or when I do, it’s not as heavy as I remembered.

It’s one thing to ask for help, and then it’s another to receive it. I’m at that place where I am doing both again – I’m not stuck in one place any longer.  Asking for help is a sign of strength; it means we are strong enough to know we need help and that we are trusting the world is ultimately a good place and the helper is a good person.  Being allowed to help is also a gift. It lets us show how much we care.  It lets us feel strong because we are needed.  And it helps us understand how our own past needs or experiences have led us to being able to help now.

You know who you are – thank you for sharing your stories with me and asking me to listen or letting me help.  You  have helped me take another step forward in my own recovery.  Today I ask for the opportunity to be of service again, to help make the world a better place, to help the wounded get better.

 

 

 

 

 

Books, books, and more books

28 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Reading

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I’ve always been an avid reader. It started with Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, moved on to Kathleen Woodiwiss,  Danielle Steele, and Harlequin romances, and then to biographies or autobiographies of strong women (think Katharine Hepburn and Eleanor Roosevelt), and before I knew it, I now have six bookcases and other random places filled with books, books, and more books.  I just recently bought at an auction 3 years’ worth of back issues of a particular trade magazine!  Mostly I have leadership and “success” books, with a few shelves reserved for self-help and inspirational books.  Kevin was also a reader, and his preference was either thriller or historical non-fiction…although I did get him to read my all-time fave, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (unfortunately, he didn’t get it).

I keep telling myself I need to utilize my local library instead of buying books, but I have a severe weakness in that regard apparently.  Don’t get me wrong – I still get the trashy romance novels from there, but I buy a LOT of books still.  I probably have over 20 cookbooks (stashed in a kitchen cupboard), at least 14 books by John Maxwell, about a dozen on public speaking, and lately I’ve been collecting books on writing (I’m up to a half dozen, and two should be arriving tomorrow from Amazon. I like having books around, writing or highlighting in them, re-reading them, stacking them here and there, and getting comfy by the fire with a blanket, a book, and a vanilla latte.  Occasionally I come across a book that makes no sense or I think is stupid or hasn’t hooked me.  I’ve been known to purposely leave books in the airport or a hotel room because I can’t make myself throw them in the trash.  I am always interested in recommendations, so let me know if you have a favorite I should check out (or buy). This morning I was referred to Falling Upward by Richard Rohr, so that’s next on my list.

I’ve also been given books as potential self-help for dealing with my grief.  Two of the better ones are A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, and The Way of Transition by William Bridges. Both men suffered the loss of their wives, and these are about their experiences.  One coming tomorrow is A Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion about her loss of a spouse.  Novels like Mitch Albom’s The First Phone Call From Heaven also appeal to me at this time of my life.

Just this morning I was looking for Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way on accessing your creativity is around here somewhere, but I can’t find it.  My books are not organized much anymore.  They used to be – before I moved, and then moved again, and then brought home books from the office when I started this sabbatical.  I think that is what I should do today – organize my books.  I keep saying I’ll do it “someday” when I have time, and I have that in abundance right now.

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An unorganized library

You can tell a lot about a person, I think, by the books they read, by what’s hidden and by what’s out in the open, by what is on the top shelf or at eye level, by which ones are obviously well read and those that haven’t cracked the spine yet.  Looking at my books right now would tell an observer that I’m probably spending a lot of time alone (if I’m actually reading them), and that I’m interested in writing a memoir (given those are the ones not on a shelf), and that I am not a student of library science (because of the shelving system..or lack of one).  Reading is not a haphazard activity for me, but I do go in spurts according to genre.  Yes, I’ve just decided: today is going to be Book Organization Day for me.  One shelf at a time, one bookcase at a time, one room at a time, and it will be all be done.  Like life, like grief, like a lot of things – one at a time keeps me from being overwhelmed.

And when that is done, I might think about tackling the DVDs and the CDs next.

More than a sassy new haircut

25 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in Transformation

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I can’t just sit home any longer.  I’m itching to DO something.  I need to put my reflections and loose conclusions about my life into some context; that is what is at the heart of a sabbatical.  So I am thinking of a solo (+2 dogs) road trip  across the USA , or possibly a Road Scholar (travel & learn) trip to Cuba for a few weeks.  I think there needs to be some adventure aspect to all this, not only because it gives you good stories to tell (ha!) but because that’s how we know we are alive and remember what is important and a priority.  Being alive is what it’s all about for me – I MUST prove to myself that even though Kevin is gone, I have a life here on Earth yet, and it’s a good one.  So today I took a step in the right direction.  Women might relate – I went to a new hairdresser today.

New place, a somewhat random choice (although I don’t really believe in that kind of randomness), certainly a spontaneous stop (another thing I don’t really believe, i.e., there are no accidents). This place is called Jon’s Salon. I passed it on the way to the Veterinarian Clinic this morning to take in dog “samples” for testing (another story).  Jon is  normally closed on Mondays. He normally only takes 2016-01-25 18-22-47appointments, not walk-ins. His salon is next door to the place I was thinking I’d go.  (Get all the dots connected here?)  So Jon welcomes me in while he is finishing up another woman (the one he opened for specifically), tells me I look like I need to “get some sass back!”  and invites me to have a seat.  He tells me he does not like my current haircut and that he can fix it if I want but I have to ask him to fix it. So I do.  The man was incredible.  He showed me why he was using a razor instead of a scissors, how he was doing things, asking about my life and making sure the cut would be appropriate.  He was funny and inspiring and quite a playful guy.  I like the cut – it’s not wild and crazy, just a little spunkier than I’ve had it in a while. He does not like the conservative look on me, and I’d better plan to keep the silver because he LOVES it!! He is sure that this new look says I am “mod, confident, and sassy now.”   I left there feeling like a million bucks, for the price of  $40. 

I actually do feel like I want to go out and be seen.  Is it the cut, or Jon’s enthusiasm, or my belief in my good decision to stop there?  Even little moments like this,  just being open to new people and new experiences, help us know we are on the right track to aliveness. I don’t want to jump out of an airplane or sail around the Cape, but I am ready to take some small risks.  It’s amazing what a haircut and a fabulous stylist can do.  People have said my sabbatical was a bold act.  I may just feel brave enough right now to put some things in motion.  After all, Jon saw zest in me and wanted to help it come out (he said that!). 

I was reminded that our lives need texture to show us we are alive, to inspire us to put our thoughts in context, to keep things simple, and to reach deep for our feelings. Those things Kevin and I were planning to do were all set aside last year; I thought I wouldn’t want to do them alone. Kevin used to call me sassy when I beat him at Scrabble.  I think he sent me to Jon’s door today, to tell me it’s time. I’m not like Stella looking to get her groove back; I’m just feeling … ready.  Ah, it’s been a very good day.