Author Archives: Pat

Feelings, oh, oh, oh, feelings!

25 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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This is a post about feelings and trusting my intuition. I give a few examples of not listening to myself, both in a personal situation with dog grooming yesterday and a business experience that still isn’t totally resolved. It all has a happy ending, though! 😉

I’m sitting here trying to type in that hunt-and-peck way, with one hand, and mostly one finger.  Sasha is on my lap and just does not want to get off of me. Yesterday was a bit traumatic for her…and me, too. It was grooming day for her and Harley. She has been quite needy since I picked her up from the groomer. Harley did just fine and has remained his usual self. But that cut is horrible. There is no other good way to say it.  And unfortunately, that goes for both of them.  The good news is that it has been a learning experience for me. I not only immediately started to trust my own non-tested clipping skills, but I know that I have grown and refined my ways of handling stress in a more productive way lately, which I am proud of.

Grooming 101 and 102 and 201.

I have combed Sasha almost every single night since I got her.  I have bathed her, cleaned her ears, clipped her nails. The vet clipped  a few  nails also when I took her in for shots 2 weeks ago. I have scissors-trimmed her eyes and tail area. It was the back and tummy I was worried about cutting or shaving, so I didn’t.  Harley has longer, silky, thin (sparse) hair, so I guessed a clippers was not the way to go with him, but scissors on his skinny legs intimidated me. I scoured Pinterest for pictures of cute Yorkie cuts and made up my mind what I wanted.  I thought the groomer could do that better than I could myself, but Geez-Louise, uneven, choppy cuts must be her specialty. Poor Harley; it will grow back, I promise!

Harley behaved just fine for the groomer, but Sasha apparently did not like her. Truth be told, neither did I – like her, I mean. I should have trusted myself  more. It’s highly unusual for me to make a snap judgment, but I had a feeling when I first talked to her on the phone, which became stronger when I met her yesterday and was solidified when she called me to pick them up. This must be my intuition at work, and I suppose I deserve what I got for not listening to it. It’s not fair to the dogs, though. Good thing they don’t have mirrors in their kennels!

Now, to be fair, when I got Sasha, I was told to expect possessive behavior from her, especially related to her toys. That has not been my experience with her at all. Not with me, Bo, Harley, or my friend Jackie and her dogs, or the neighbors we meet on the street. Once when she  escaped my fenced back, she was easily picked up and brought home without incident. So for the groomer to tell me a story of a somewhat mean dog who tried to bite her, well, I was very surprised.  Don’t worry, Sasha; Mama will figure out a way to clean it up for you.

Intuition at work

So back to my intuition. I heard it said a long time ago (I think it was Wayne Dyer, the motivational speaker) that prayer is you talking to God, and intuition is God talking to you. I have always wanted for the messages to be crystal clear – like a true “calling,” as when the phone rings  and there is a definite voice to be heard! But now I am finally recognizing my intuition for what it is, those sixth-sense feelings. Too bad it’s in retrospect, but I’m learning.

Feelings Run Amuck

A similar thing happened to me in quasi-work scenario recently. I volunteer for a local non-profit, membership-based organization. I have heard stories of the “leaders,” which I have discounted as gossip because that hasn’t been my own experience. But again, I ignored my intuition when I got a sour taste about a process being used for converting to a new way of doing business. I thought I could rise above the grumbling and do my own thing my way. Once, and I chalked it up to his having a bad day. Second time, I felt disrespected and said so. The response was that I was “curt” and should have tried harder. Third time, I was downright offended so called him on it and reported it. The response was I was being a tattle-tale! Do you believe this?!? Are we in junior high school??? But then, it still wasn’t over. Now the “leader” called to chew me out for “not staying in my lane.” Never mind that I had double checked, and I did exactly what I was supposed to do, so clearly she was trying to cover her tracks.  I started to get defensive, and anger kicked in, and then I almost gave it up for a minute. This was the apparent culture of the organization, and we all know how hard it is to change culture. But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s impossible.  I reminded myself that I was entitled to have my feelings (something I have learned through my grief process) and to express those feelings (something else I learned in my grief). And I also reminded myself that I have a lot of proven experience in turning around a bad situation.

Bad Leadership??

One of my business philosophies is this: There is no such thing as bad leadership. If it’s bad, it’s not leadership. Now I have finished this statement: It’s bad actors. Yes, I was dealing with a handful of bad actors, and I did not want to be in business with them. So I firmly told the director that I was not going to attend a meeting I was scheduled for. She hung up on me (proof of bad actor, right?).  I was then overwhelmed with all kinds of feelings (disbelief, disappointment, frustration, anger, self-doubt). So I did what any self-respecting woman would do; I vented to two other women, both of whom I highly respect and who know all the actors involved, good and bad. I wanted perspective in case I was being blind to my own piece of this bad-getting-worse situation. (They sided with me, in case you’re wondering.) (And yes, I also went shopping and got a really cute tea table for only $27!)

Personal Philosophy on Life

So in the midst of this, I thought about resigning entirely. But I have another philosophy that came into play here. This comes from Neale Donald Walsh, author of the Conversations with God series of books. He says, The only reason to do anything is as an expression of who you are. I believe in the organization and am committed to its purpose. I believe in the project I am working  on. The person who would be hurt if I walked away would be me. Who I am  (who I want to be known as) is a dedicated, honest person contributing to the improvement of communication and leadership in the world. This means I potentially have an opportunity to help the bad actor(s) improve as well. So I decided to wait it out a little longer.

Early the next morning,  the main bad actor called me with an apology. Which she unfortunately messed up with excuses. But at least she was trying, somehow, in her way. I felt a little vindicated, and I also felt sorry for her, wondering if I had ever done the same when I didn’t know better (and asking the Universe for forgiveness because it’s probable I have). I thanked her for calling, although I did not offer to rescind my objection and attend the meeting, which made me feel proud of myself. (You can teach someone how to treat you, and you can also teach them how not to treat you.)

I felt a bit hesitant, but I offered a healing balm, in the hopes that I could help her. I suggested she was trying to do too much herself, which was stressing her out, and that over-managing or trying to control this issue was something she would better off delegating. This way she wasn’t running herself ragged, and she could teach the others who had their fingers in this mess, a better way. She didn’t immediately accept that notion, but a half hour later, I got an email from someone else asking for a conference call to discuss this issue. At that point, my feelings were calm again, no longer unsettled and tense. How this plays out completely is yet to be seen.

When all is said and done…

It’s been crazy to feel so many feelings lately. A friend said it was due to a strong geomagnetic storm among the planets that has my energy scattered, which it may be. That doesn’t explain the lopsided look of my poor dogs, but by tomorrow, these stars should be back in alignment, and then I may attempt a corrective trim myself. How much worse could it get, right?

Feeling my feelings, letting them surface instead of trying to stuff them, acknowledging them, and airing them out, has been healing. I get stronger when I release them and make room for more sunshine and rainbows and doggie cuddles. I just hope it doesn’t take me as long to edit this post as it did to type it! Sasha is still comfy in my lap.

 

And life goes on…

12 Thursday Oct 2017

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, Transformation

≈ 2 Comments

How can it be that nearly another month has gone by since my last post? I have all the best intentions to post regularly, but things just get in the way. My writing falls by the wayside, which is unfortunate because I really enjoy and otherwise feel the benefit of being productive and contributory somehow. Naturally (ha!), I have some good reasons this time for the days between posts here.

Pack Animals

Some interesting changes have taken place in my life…which means I have changed as I navigate the transition time from of an “event” until I find the “new normal.”  As you know, I’ve been grieving the death of my 13-year-old beagle Buddy last June. More difficult than my own sense of loss has been watching the effect on my other fur-baby, Bo. He went into a doggie depression, not wanting to get off the bed or the couch, not wanting to even be near me, reducing his food intake, and showing a general lackluster attitude. It is so painful to watch this and feel helpless. It was like watching him slip away even though he was still right here. I scrambled to try several different ways to help him bounce back – and I should have known from my own experience that you can’t make anyone (even a dog) feel and express and “finish” their grieving and mourning. Treats, toys, walks, cuddles, petting, indulging.  I even tried to find another beagle to bring into our home, but strangely enough, all three of those attempts failed for one reason or another: someone else adopted the dog already, I felt no connection, the dog had health ISSUES I didn’t want to deal with, whatever….

Chloe a.k.a. Sasha

And then I got a call from a rescue operation I had put in an adoption application with about a young (2 year old) female Morkie who was available. As cute and playful as she was (is), she wasn’t going to be placed with a family with young children because she had shown some “aggression” tendencies when her toys were taken away from her. My first thought was, “why do you have to take her toys away?” But of course, children would. I said I would consider it. It happened that the current foster parents  had a death out of town and needed to leave, so would I be willing to foster her, introduce her to Bo, and see how she worked out in our own home…a trial run of sorts. And so Chloe (now Sasha) came to stay for a few days that turned into a week and now is permanent.

Bo

Bo wasn’t enamored, to say the least, but he didn’t act out either. Basically, he ignored her, even when she tried to engage him in play time. Ah, indifference; it’s as hard to observe as outright dislike or rejection. Sasha is a lap dog and loves to cuddle and kiss. A few nights after she was here, she jumped off my lap to go slurp some water. Like a flash, Bo was off the couch and onto my lap, where he has not EVER sat in 11 years, and he staked his claim for a full 45 minutes.  As if she had planned it and was now going to bask in her success, Sasha just went and laid on her blanket without protest. Bo hasn’t come back to sit on my lap again, so I guess he feels like he made his point and is okay with things now. They actually walk together quite companionably, but otherwise they mostly ignore each other in some kind of truce.

Well, I love having this little girl to bathe and fluff and comb out. (Beagles get bathed, but there is absolutely no grooming to be had.)  I bought her a few dresses and a new harness.  (Yes, Bo got a new harness and leash just because, too.) A new crate, a booster seat for her in the car, a few new toys. It felt so good to open myself up both as giver and receiver. Truth: I could do without all the licking of my hands and cheeks but we’re all  learning to live together in harmony.

Rascal a.k.a. Harley

Two weeks went by. Barely. Somehow between September 12 and 22, I agreed to foster another dog, a refugee as a result of  the Florida hurricanes. Transport was delayed, but on September 30, I finally greeted Rascal (now Harley) and offered him a safe haven until a new home could be arranged.  Can you say FOSTER FAILURE?? Yes, that would be me! A 12-year old, toothless, partially blind Yorkie stole a piece of my heart and wouldn’t give it back.  Today I signed the adoption agreement so we can be his furever home.

Three is a bit much sometimes, I’ll admit. The good news is that he shows enough spunk to deflect Sasha’s occasional attempts to spark some  interest out of Bo, and Bo has decided to step up and help me train these other two by showing off how to “sit” and to “come,” and to go potty outside.  I have made sure to let them all know Bo is still First Dog (even though I am the Alpha) by feeding him first, harnessing him up first when we get ready for a walk, and letting him be the one to sleep in bed with Mama. He seems to appreciate that, and he shows me so by looking to me for “good boy” signals and not fussing around the little ones when they get too close. His appetite has returned, as has his interest in what’s going on around him. The additional benefit is that I, too, have found more opportunities to laugh, to exercise, to engage with my neighbors when they see the Crazy Dog Lady coming, and to relax and enjoy the moments.

I was raised to be a wife and mother, and my last boy baby has been gone from home for 14 years. Next month it will be 3 years since Kevin died. I don’t mind “Solowingnow” these days; it fits me quite well.  But it also fits me to share my heart and my home again.

Yawei

But wait – there’s more!! Yes, folks, that’s right! In addition to the two new fur babies, 20171007_145127.jpgI have also opened my life up to a 27-year-old Chinese woman who is studying for her Ph.D. at the local University. Her name is Yawei, and I’ll introduce you to her in a future post. Let’s just say for now that I’m seeing some sides of me that have been dormant for too long. It is amazing to me the things  I have said yes to, even when I have been adamant about saying no more often.

What it all means:

My loss three years ago when Kevin died has uncovered other unfinished grief that I am now embracing. My doubts about my future have slowly vanished as I’ve identified and focused on the priorities in my life. Recognizing that I have options and making deliberate choices has become more than an academic exercise of making lists of pros and cons; there is a knowing-in-my-heart confidence that has come from taking time to make meaning, not just take things at face value or be superficial in the effort so I can “just” move on with my life. My discomfort with not having answers all the time has given way to the fun and excitement of discovery – like opening a gift that turns out to be a part of me I had forgotten. The level of understanding I have about how I got the way I am, who I am when I’m alone, what’s truly more and most important, is all a fascinating journey. I feel myself being more generous, more focused, more satisfied because the Me I am is more whole now. The dues I have paid to get to this place have been extraordinarily, outrageously high, and I am grateful to my Higher Power that I recognize myself now.

So, yes, life goes on.  I’m living proof.

 

So, you’re single again??

19 Tuesday Sep 2017

Posted by in Grief, Traditions, Transformation

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No, as a matter of fact, I am not. I probably shouldn’t be offended, but I am, a little.  To most people there are two statuses: single or married. Divorced and widowed each connote the lack of a spouse, but that doesn’t have to mean one is single. In fact, when I was divorced, I had three children at home, ages 7-15, and the youngest was still at home (age 17) when I remarried. Sure, I dated in those 10 years, but I was only unmarried, not single. No one with children at home is single, IMHO. I was most definitely in a relationship with them, and if you don’t know, raising teenagers is a time consuming and highly prioritized activity, not to mention financially challenging. I did it willingly then, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but really? No, I was most definitely NOT single.

My actual singlehood up until now was short-lived and lacking in experience. I graduated high school at the end of May of 1976, and was off to US Army Basic Training in early August that same year. Uncle Sam took over where my parents left off. But even if you consider that I was unattached and otherwise available for a romantic relationship, by February of 1977 I was pregnant, and in April I was married.

So marriage #1, three babies, divorce, parenting, and then remarriage in 2002 until his death in 2014. It’s only the past almost-3 years I would consider myself single again, although I still have those 3 kids and a handful of grandchildren. And the dogs. It’s been 41 years since I was so footloose and fancy-free.

But an interesting lunch conversation today with someone who I had not met before had me even rethinking that. She asked me about my life these days, and there was I was again, tearing up over my salad. Two years and 10 months, and I’m still prone to crying. Here’s the thing she said, though, that made so much sense to me. She said that I was still in a relationship with my husband. Which is completely right; I am. I talk to him all the time. I feel his presence every now and then, sometimes stronger than others. I’m mostly okay about this, but I do have times when I very much miss him being physically present, and it is those times when I get angry at him.

You might remember when I couldn’t get the BBQ grill hooked up because the valve was overtightened. Well, a similar thing happened last Saturday, and I’m still feeling these feelings. I decided rather spontaneously (yay, Me!) to go camping. I made a reservation, started packing, made arrangements for mail pickup, watered the house plants, and headed off to the hitch up the camper.  But no-can-do. No power on the tongue jack to raise the camper to set it on the ball hitch. I assumed it was a battery issue, even though I had connected the electrical cord to the car. I left the car run for about 15 minutes, thinking I would at least get a flicker of juice. Nada. So plan A didn’t work; I was on to Plan B: You Tube it. I learned where the manual override was, and I tried that. Except I didn’t have the physical strength (nor the desire) to do this up, down (to hook it up), then up, down (at the campground), then up, down (hook it up to come home), and up, down to store it again at the RV lot. And I wasn’t even sure it was the battery that was the problem.

Plan C was to catch one of my neighbors (the male kind) to verify it was a battery issue and help me figure out if I should replace the battery. Neither one I would be comfortable asking were home. So Plan D was a call to a local friend to see if I could borrow her husband, but I got voicemail. On to Plan E, call my brother and cry. Usually when we talk and I have a problem, I tell him he is not supposed to fix my problem; he is supposed to agree with and commiserate with me. This time in between tears, I asked for advice. But as we got started talking, friend with husband called back, so I hung up on my brother and called the husband, who willingly agreed to come over. Then I called back my brother to tell him I thought I had a work-around for now. He gave me a few options to consider, including going to his shed to get another battery. The problem with that is he lives about 1200 miles away, give or take a few hundred miles.

Tom came over, he zippity-do-dah twirled the manual override thingy, and I was hooked up in a few minutes. By which time the damn electric tongue jack was powered up..enough!  He agreed it was probably battery issue, and since I have a battery charger, suggested I bring it along on my trip and hook up the battery before I prepare to leave again to go home. 

Once he left, I cried again, mad that I couldn’t do it myself, and therefore must be weak and inadequate and incompetent, and mad that Kevin wasn’t here to take care of this. If he was here, the battery probably would have been already in the garage being trickle-charged until needed anyway, thus avoiding this kind of problem in the first place.

So yes, when I was describing this scenario to Marilen today, and she said I was still in a relationship with Kevin, she was absolutely right. Do you ever feel that way? I guess that’s why “breaking up is hard to do.” At least then the person is probably still around somewhere so you can choose to call him or not when the car dies and you need it pushed off the street or have a flat tire (yes, been there, done that with ex-husband; now I am a AAA member).

The reality is that I may have been standing alone in the RV lot for a while, fuming while watching the guy on You Tube show me where the manual override was), but I did have neighbors I was willing to ask if they had been home, I have a friend whose husband was willing to help, I have a brother who was only a phone call away, and I have a friend who met me at the campground to set up the camper in case the jack (and/or battery) failed again. We are only as alone as we want to be, and only as unmarried as we feel. I may have wanted someone else to be all those people at once, but he’s not of the physical world any longer. And I suppose I could have asked him to use his energy to power that battery for me so I could just hit the retract/extract switch on the jack, but I didn’t think of that. That he maybe could have done. Even if I did not know anyone else to ask, there are people I could have asked that I just didn’t know yet.

Bottom line, I’m Solowingnow….solo, widowed, single, all mixed up, for now. I’m actually okay with that status; I wish it was an official option on government forms. And when it stops raining, I’m going to disconnect the battery and put it on the charger for a while….

3 Little Words

21 Monday Aug 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

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Of course, you know I love you.  That’s what we expect to hear when someone hints at “3 little words.” Usually we want someone else to say those words to us. Or we say them to someone else.  But what about saying it to yourself? I’m trying to do that every day, by way of coming up with one thing I’ve done well today.  Here are some more that have been on my mind.

License and registration.  (That one because I was driving past the State Police HQ when I was thinking of sentences with only 3 little words. Really! It’s been years since those words were said to me.)

I am enough.  (I have been telling this to myself quite often lately. When I don’t have any paying work lined up, it helps to remind myself that I get to make up my own rules about work and naps and expectations and all that jazz.)

Can I help? (Good enough, but if I were doing 4 words, it would read How can I help? When I need to feel useful, or when I see someone in need, although I have to be careful to avoid going from helping to interfering.  Listening is actually a skill and one that is often overlooked. I’m trying to do more of it.)

Yes, you can. (Accepting help is sometimes hard for me. And it also works when supporting others and helping them give themselves permission for whatever.)

I like it! (Another way to approve of myself, to reinforce that I have made a good decision or that my opinion counts.)

You showed courage. (When I don’t have another response to someone else’s openness and honesty, or when I need to bolster my own self esteem.)

That looks good. (A way to build my confidence when I’ve already managed to knock myself about my weight, or a troublesome haircut, or a new recipe, or any number of things.)

I am enough. (Worth repeating multiple times. When I feel insecure, when I think I am lacking something, when I feel like someone bought into my b.s. and I am a fraud and they will find out.)

Home, sweet home. (When I have to make another mortgage payment and funds are getting low so I’m thinking I should consider downsizing. Or it looks like a water stain on the ceiling that could mean a leak somewhere, and I let my imagination go wild about the cost when I’m not yet even sure of the cause. I have to live somewhere, so why not here in this lovely house that I have worked hard to make a home.)

Thank you, God … or Thank you, Whoever.  (It’s not just a common courtesy expression. I mean for it to be an expression of true gratitude. Sometimes it comes out “Oh, my God!” I used to only thank God for the BIG things that happened, or didn’t happen. But I heard someone ask “what if you woke up tomorrow with only the things you thanked God for last night?” So now I am thankful for much much much more! And it seems to help me be positive, calm, and more sure that I will continue to receive because I have already received and am receiving, all the time.)

WTF or WTH??!?  (‘Nuff said about that. Usually means I’m not focusing.)

Just do it.  (When I am floundering, wavering, scared. Often followed with, “What’s the worst that could happen?)  (The corollary is Just say No! which I use when I’m feeling overwhelmed, or when I want to be free and lazy and unencumbered and I just don’t want to. It turns out that “No” is a complete sentence. You don’t even need to give an explanation if you don’t want to.)

Work in Progress.  (That’s me in a nutshell. I remind myself of this every single day. I even wrote it on a few Post-It notes and stuck them around the house so I can see it as well as hear it.)

And finally: Bless your heart!  (A common phrase here in the South, and it means just what you think it does. When it is said like Bless your little ol’ heart, that means the same thing but more of it.  In Minnesota, we might say: Well, that’s interesting! It’s noncommittal, but it carries a lot of intention, especially when accompanied by rolling one’s eyes.)

Three-syllable words, sentences with more than three words, paragraphs with more than three sentences…yeah, I’m trying to simplify my life right now, so I’m working on little-izing instead of supersizing. Do you have any particular 3-little-words you want to share? I bet it would be fun and maybe useful to know yours.

 

 

The best day!

08 Tuesday Aug 2017

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When is the last time you had one of those days, the kind where After All That’s Happened, you had a simply peaceful, just-right, nothing-is-going-to-stop-me-from-feeing-this-good kind of day?  It’s like having a sore muscle or pinched nerve relieved with a massage, and now you can’t remember what the discomfort was like. It feels that right. It’s a bit of a it’s-finally-coming-together kind of day.

Today is one of those days for me, just simply fabulous. The funny thing is, there is nothing exotic about it except for its fabulousness. It’s not even 3:00 in the afternoon yet, but let me tell you about it.

I was awakened by the sound of the Recycling Co. truck in the distance, so I hurried to get my bin out to the curb. You just never know what time of day they are coming by, and it had rained hard off and on yesterday, so I kind of forgot about it last night.  But out I went, in my pajamas, which is really a light pink, sleeveless shorty nightgown. Mission accomplished with no neighbors outside – although for all I know they were peeking out their windows and waiting for me, since I seem to usually be the last one on the street to get my bins out there.

I felt a little bit of guilty pleasure for my pj escapade, and when I got back in the house, I did check quick and see if I had on dark underwear that might have shown through, but I was safe.  It was so beautiful out, though. I wanted to stay out and enjoy more of it.  Alas,  the cushions on my deck chairs were soaked from yesterday’s rain. One of these days I have GOT to get covers or one of those Rubbermaid chest things to keep them in.

So I made my coffee and sat in the living room with the back door open. It smelled earthy and fresh and promising somehow, like a secret waiting to be told. The birds were chatting about it, probably commenting to each other how all the flowers and bushes and plants were so perky this morning. The light breeze not only felt like breath on my shoulders, but the deck flag floated back and forth, like it was a Royal giving a wave. It was just so perfect in that moment.

I realized that Something Was Happening. In me.  I was totally free. For no reason except that I wasn’t just seeing some distant silver lining, it was within reach and inviting me to touch it.  That fleeting feeling stayed with me, though, and became a long minute, and then it was several minutes.  I actually checked the clock to see if time was standing still for me, but it wasn’t. Nothing out-of-body going on, just that for once I was truly In The Moment. And it was amazing.

I started wondering: how does this happen? Why wasn’t there a notice of this upcoming special day? If I had been given an opportunity get ready, would I have done so? Where do I put in my order for another such day? And when I did that, when I got into my analytic mode, I could literally sense it slipping away. So I stopped. Just like that. I stopped asking anything, and I just reveled in the perfectness. It was a few minutes after 9, and the lightness has stayed with me all day. I feel open, and happy. It’s inexplicable. And fabulous!!

I’ve heard it said that when something like this  happens – and this was really really good  for me – people tend to say that that they are in the heart of God at that moment. I think, though, that God was in the heart of me. I was in Ray Steven’s old song, everything is beautiful in it’s own way.  I have been given a gift today.

I remember one Sunday afternoon  when Kevin and I were motorcycle riding in South Dakota; we were out by the Oahe Dam. There were some darkening clouds in the West but we thought we had time yet to make a quick run up to the bluffs past the overflow thing.  I was in the lead, and as I came up the hill and took the last curve to the West, it was like a door to the world had opened up in a movie scene.  I had to pull over because the awesomeness of it, the raw natural beauty, was overwhelming. I felt my soul filling up and I was totally in the moment. Kevin pulled up beside me and we both just took it all in. The only words spoken were when  he said  “My God,” and it was a prayer.  I was totally connected to him in that moment as well.  We were both dressed in full leathers, but trust me, that was one of the most intimate moments we ever shared.

This morning was almost like that. I wasn’t meditating, I hadn’t been drinking, I had no particular musical or other inspiration.  But it was a perfect moment. I’d like to think I’ve had many of these kinds of perfect moments, and now that I’m giving my memory a workout, a few others are coming to mind, once in Germany, that afternoon  in Indianapolis, several in Santa Fe, outside Charlottesville; yes, I’ve know I’ve been blessed. In over 21,500 days of my lifetime, I must have had many more I just don’t recall. I can’t make up for lost time, but I can and will start paying better attention.

Please tell me about your perfect (or near-perfect, or even just-pretty-damn-good) moments. I’d love to hear them. I think that by sharing them, we can spread a little more joy and prime ourselves to find more of them.

It’s about 4 pm now, and I have probably 6-8 more hours of this fabulous day left to me. I wonder what’s next!

 

 

 

Reprioritizing the busy work

02 Wednesday Aug 2017

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It seems that no matter how much I try to streamline my life and keep things simple, I somehow find myself practically meeting myself in the driveway just coming and going.  It’s not that life is hard but that there seems to be a lot going on. For a semi-retired woman who is not working a lot, I surprise myself with how little I am home.

Today I was supposed to start training to become a tutor for Literacy for Life. I have been thinking about  volunteering, and since I love to read, I thought that helping others learn to read would be a good thing. I signed up months ago, and finally today at 1:00 the training would start. So at 8:30 a.m. I notified the coordinator that I was postponing my involvement for a while. I felt bad, but the weight of the idea of doing it was too heavy. The program wants a commitment of 1 hour a week for 1 year. That doesn’t include travel time, preparation time, reading, paperwork, phone calls, or anything else. I know a few people who are saying Yes to everything; I’m learning how to say No.

In fact, I belong to three professional organizations right now, and a fourth if I pay my dues which are overdue. One of these is Toastmasters, which I have been a member of since 1990. I just completed a one-year term as president of my club on June 30. I figured that was good timing for me to accept an invitation to become Membership Chair of the Virginia Chapter of the National Speakers Association. I didn’t know at the time, though, that Toastmasters would be rolling out its new Pathways educational program and would be needing “guides” for about 6-9 months. Guess who applied to be a guide? Yeppers, that would be me. And of course, I’m still Immediate Past President of my club, which keeps me on the board for one more year.

Then there are the networking and business-building groups I have joined.  Solopreneur Success Connection, my bank’s Power Women group, and e-Women Networking (which has been inactive but now has a new director, so maybe something will happen) are three women-centric organizations. I am stalling about joining the Peninsula Women’s Network.  There is also the Unread Book Club I just went to for the first time. As it sounds, you don’t read the (business-related) book unless you are the one who is doing the “report” for the month to tell the others about it and make a recommendation yea/nay for others to consider reading.  Umm, yeah, I agreed to do the September book. (Sounds fun, though, doesn’t it?!?)  And then there is the Cobbler’s Collective, a local group of diverse small business owners who get together every Thursday morning to talk about issues they are facing and to seek or share some perspective or ideas or help.

And let’s not forget the personal groups or events that I want to make time for: my neighborhood ladies go to lunch once a month, but that is going to conflict with the once-a-month Unread Book Club. So we’ll see…  And I play Bunco once a month in my neighborhood. I have recently been invited to join a group of other semi-retired folks who fell into consulting work and have coffee downtown almost every morning at 8:00 a.m. Yeah, I have only been to one of those so far.

It’s time to evaluate my priorities again, or I won’t have any time left for afternoon naps,  lazy morning phone calls with distant friends,  long lunches at a new restaurant, bargain hunting at the Habitat ReStore, camping during the week, reading, and organizing and reorganization and other sprucing up that keeps my house my home. Never mind things like getting the oil changed in the car, getting the annual state vehicle inspection done (both due now!), balancing my checkbook, walking the dog, getting groceries, etc.

Most importantly, though (get ready – it’s a cliff hanger!), I have recently made a commitment to myself to engage in some serious personal development. In May I joined Al Anon and have been attending meetings about twice a week, albeit somewhat irregularly until now due to travel. In July I also joined Adult Children of Alcoholics, and that also is twice a week right now, but will drop to once a week maybe after a particular “introduction” program I’m doing. I’m tired of feeling unsettled and unsure, believe it or not. Dysfunction is dysfunction, regardless of how or why it originated, and I’m ready to find answers to questions I don’t even know how to ask. You can expect to hear more about my continuing transformation as time goes on.

Something’s gotta give, as they say.  I don’t know yet how it will play out, but changes are a’comin’.  And since I’m a believer in “physical clutter office closetmakes for mental clutter,” today I invested about 5 hours in retrofitting the closet in my office and rearranging a few other things so I’ll have clean space in which to do the workbooks and other assignments, which ultimately should help my revenue-generating work as well. And yes, I still do some work for pay.  I have a 90 minute workshop coming up next month, among other things….lots of other things, as you can tell.

Til next time, I’m enjoying the new look of my office, basking in the security of knowing I made a good decision, and giving myself a pat on the back for the hard labor of moving and lifting and schlepping things around and around this afternoon.

deskOh, yeah, and if any of my kids read this, please let the grandkids know that Grandma is interested in some artwork for the wall in her office now that I can actually see the wall!  Nikos’ painting looks a little lonely all by itself…

 

Brave Woman is back!

21 Friday Jul 2017

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It’s July and I haven’t had the camper out yet except to clean her last weekend. That’s about to change as I get ready to head to the Eastern Shore and see “the ponies swim” at Assateague and Chincoteague. Wild horses are moved from one to the other island, I guess similar to how the buffalo roundup is done in the Black Hills of South Dakota. So I’m going to go watch. We will miss our Buddy.

From last camper

Except for possible extreme heat and humidity (it is July, after all), it should be a good time. Oh, and bugs. I’m told it is a haven for skeeters and other such annoyances.  Not to worry –  I have 40-proof DEET.

What I like most about camping can’t be narrowed down much, but here is my Top 5 List.

1. The very idea of camping, in the woods or near the water, conjures up images of relaxing and slowing down. It’s a break from the psychological pressure (self-imposed) to do the laundry that is waiting, or mop the dirty floor, or pull weeds, or pay bills, or vacuum up dog hair that is ALWAYS in the back of mind a home. I have NEVER vacuumed dog hair while camping, I’m happy to report. And mopping is limited to once a year – when opening for the season.

2. Getting back to nature. For some reason, I almost get in those elusive 10,000 daily steps when I’m camping. I walk at least 2-3 times a day. I usually take the dogs twice, and then I gift myself one solo walk where I don’t have to worry about ticks hitchhiking or piggybacking on my boys, or other dogs to tease and bark at. I breathe deeply and just let my mind wander. And I see such amazing sights. Water, wildlife, wildflowers, secret paths, and history leaving its mark someway, somehow. Wide open spaces. Ah, the vistas and views.

3.  Food cooked over a fire…even though I admit I enjoyed that more when Kevin did the cooking. Now I tend to use the stove inside  more than I ever did before. But food tastes more succulent, more flavorful, more natural. I don’t overeat, and except for trail mix when playing a board game maybe, I eat only when I’m hungry. It’s a great connector to meet the neighbors, too. No one is shy about saying that something smells good, and the conversation just takes off from there.  My favorite – which I haven’t had since SD days – was oven baked oatmeal for breakfast, which Kevin would fix in a special Dutch oven he got just for me and my oatmeal. (He wasn’t a fan.)

4. Memories are made here. I remember Don making margaritas in a blender that had a lawnmower motor or something. The storm that sent me to the nearest hotel. The Scrabble games. The buffalo that was so large we didn’t see it! Or maybe we just didn’t believe it was real. That humongous turtle. Climbing that ladder while geocaching. Gabe and the ax in his foot. Mt Rushmore lit up at night. Molly chasing Buddy around the campsite. The rattlesnake in Nebraska. Waking up to snow. Being pushed around the campground  in a wheelchair on my 50th birthday. Kevin, Jeff, Gabe, and Andrew fishing in the fog and rain. The never-ending sunlight in Saskatoon. When the water heater started on fire. The garage sale where we got those bags of books for $1 and spent the entire summer reading every chance we got. And more….sunsets in the Badlands, melodrama at Medora, the Peace Gardens at ND/Canada border, Truman house in Missouri, Little House on the Prairie in DeSmet, Lake of the Ozarks, Custer State Park in the  Black Hills.  And the Piankatank – just saying that name of the river is fun!

5. The stuff! GPS for geocaching. Hats. Walking sticks. Special lawn chairs. Hammocks. Dutch ovens. Colored lights for the awning. Signposts. Outdoor rugs. North Woods or western-themed mugs and other décor. (Right now I’m into Bohemian, so….new stuff!).

Bonus! I know I said 5, but I just thought of another really cool thing.

6.  A chance for my inner child to play and create and dream. Judgment gets left behind. Ideas spring up. Crafts are begun and abandoned without regret. Acceptance is high. Observing and daydreaming is encouraged. All pretense is gone. For a few days, I get to be Brave Woman again, living off the land so-to-speak. I believe I can do things I don’t normally get called on to do out here. All things are possible, or at least worth trying. And that’s a feeling I’m in need of. Lately, my body is telling me I need this time for introspection and reflection, to remember who I was and figure out who I am and envision who I want to be.

So, yeah, Brave Woman is going camping for a few days.  I might usually look and act and sound like a city girl (or at least a townie), and I don’t exactly “rough it” while I’m out there. I don’t need to explain it; it makes perfect sense to me.  This time ocean, next time maybe mountains.  Here I go!

 

Who knew??

06 Thursday Jul 2017

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Buddy wasn’t the first dog to live with me/my family, but I loved him best, if I’m honest. The others- four of them in the past 40 years- were apparently starter pups for my benefit, and now I know how I failed them. I just didn’t get it then, how to give them love, how to let them be good at what they were, how to accept what they offered me. Caring for a pet was not in my upbringing, and those I knew who did have dogs all had outside “working” (read: farm) dogs. I had no idea that a dog could be love.

Actually, I didn’t want another  dog at first, and certainly not a house dog. But Kevin thought I really needed something to love and nurture after my youngest son left for college. I stood firmly against it. Not in my house. Those tails would slap my plants, jingle my china, knock things off the table; there would be drool and dog hair everywhere, not to mention the smell.  Even tiny dogs would bark and yip and squeal. No thank you very much.

And then there was Buddy. Have you ever seen a beagle puppy? Held one? Those chocolate drop eyes, the silky long ears, the white-tipped happy tail.  It’s enough to make you believe in love at first sight. I kid you not.  This little thing scampered across the floor into my lap, crawled under my sweatshirt like he knew exactly what to do and had every right to do so, and stuck his head out at my neckline to give my face puppy kisses. What could I do? What would you do?? Yes, I took him home. Even after he peed on me in his excitement. And barfed on me in his anxiousness about being put in a box for the car ride.

I was still adamant, though, he would sleep in a kennel in the laundry room. That edict lasted for about an hour after we went to bed. The noise from down the hall,  down the stairs to the basement, and behind a closed door was relentless. I have no idea how such a little thing could make so much noise. And it wasn’t even a bark; it was that baying sound hounds make, the kind that makes you smile and listen instead of wincing and shouting back to be quiet.  So for “just this first night, until he’s used to the crate” he slept with us in bed. Uh-huh! You know how that story ends. The queen bed was traded for a king-sized one, and white noise was tried to drown out the snoring. Dogs snore?!? Oh, the things you learn!! The silence is deafening now, and the bed is too big, just in case you are wondering.

Love at first sight, March 2004
Working with mama, 9 mo
Surgery on both knees, 1-1/2 yrs
about 5 yrs old
I’m 13 now!
I love going for a ride; 13 yrs
I’m so tired (13-1/2)

Over the years, I met a few veterinarians and their assistants thanks to my Budster. Aside from regular well-puppy check ups and vaccinations, there was the initial “fixing.” Then kennel cough. Ear infections, eye infections, yeast infections. Allergies. Parvo reaction (read: pet E.R. and 105 temperature). Bilaterial luxating patellas (yes, bad knees requiring surgery). Nail trims. Broken teeth, abscesses, and teeth removal. Uff-da.

But I didn’t spend all my money on doctors. There were also cute coats and booties and hoodies. Leashes he couldn’t chew through (don’t believe that one). Doggie seat belts.  Special shampoo and conditioner, and flea and tick ointments.  Cute water bowls and food dishes. Cute treat jars and puppy-themed photo frames. Replacements for the not-so-cute holes in gloves, wallets, shoes, pillows.  Torn underwear (that was paraded around the house and sometimes outside if he was faster than we were). Lint rollers (for dog hair) in every drawer in every room, plus in the car and desk at the office. Trash cans with lids, trash cans with magic self-closing lids, trash cans behind closed doors. Pupcakes on birthdays. Tie-out chains, gates, crates, and fences. Extra fees at hotels. Kiddie cups of ice cream at DQ. Plain burgers at McD’s or hot dogs at Sonic. Photos with Santa (yes, really). A dog stroller when it was too far for him to walk.

Buddy turned 13 this past January.  We had a great trip back to Minnesota in May. But by June he was in so much pain, I could no longer deny him release as I watched the decline in his health happen quickly over a single weekend. On Monday, June 19, I took him to the veterinarian and had him euthanized. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make – and I’ve made a lot of hard decisions, trust me. So difficult I still can hardly talk about it 2+ weeks later.  I know I did the right thing, but it hurts so bad. I still have his brother Bo (now 11), and I love Bo, but Buddy …there was just something about him. Buddy ashes He was the definition of pure love. He was everything a pet should be: a little crazy, a lot happy, satisfied, fearless, loving, forgiving, hungry, curious, persistent, vocal, observant, friendly. As my brother said, Buddy didn’t know he was a dog; he thought he was a boy. Bo knows he’s a dog, and he’s very good at it. I’m thankful he is here to help me through this next corner I’m having to turn.

If you have lessons to learn in this lifetime about unconditional acceptance, forgiveness, just-for-today thinking, happiness in little things, listening, joy, togetherness, selflessness, then I’d recommend a dog like my Buddy. Or group therapy, but I’d start with a dog.  Buddy was my best teacher…so far, although he undoubtedly got a lot of help (which I needed) from his human (now spirit) daddy. The grief when they are gone is red hot, but everything before that is spectacular raspberry fizz with whipped cream and a cherry on top!

(PS:  See-I told you! Buddy is on the left, and Bo is on the right. Who knew Santa wasn’t only a lover of reindeer???) santa dogs

 

Spitting Mad

10 Saturday Jun 2017

Posted by in Grief, Traditions

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Do you have times when you are just SO MAD that you want to spit tacks and cry? Maybe even say a few choice bad words? And blame someone who is not present?  I rarely have gotten this mad ever, but right now is one of those times. And it’s stupid really.  It has to do with Kevin, who not only is not here but won’t ever be back, and I can’t have him fix this. What’s “funny” is that when he wanted to fix things for me, I would often refuse that help.

So here’s the deal. We bought this nice bbq grill for camping a few years ago. He used to take care of it, to the point that it was washed down grillafter EVERY use and stored in its box. The other one we had for the house was a smaller WeberQ, just big enough for 1-2 people to use on the back deck.  The home one was connected to a 5# propane tank, and the camping one, which didn’t get used as much, has a tank about half that size. When I had the garage sale a month or ago, I decided to keep the camper grill and get rid of the small one, only because the camper one was almost new and the other one was in fairly crappy condition after nearly 10 years. Kevin used to cook outside a few times a week, but I have not used it in the past 2-1/2 years. (This one he didn’t clean much at all.)grill2

Today was the day I decided to do the switcheroo, because I’m having some friends over for supper later and wanted to grill outside. I have all the pieces and parts. It’s where I want it. I got the hose disconnected from the old grill and planned to hook up the larger propane tank. No can do.  Mr. Manly Who Over-Tightened Everything had that hose thing on so damn tight I could not undo the tank.  Out comes the pliers, then some WD40, now a hammer, even a rubber band for some grip.  Nope. Kicking didn’t help, neither did swearing and grunting and blaming and fuming.

Okay, Plan B.  I decide I will just connect the smaller tank to the newer grill.  Easy enough, although I am not really sure how much propane is in it because it feels rather light. So I lugged both tanks into the house and up the stairs to the bathroom scale.  (Yes, I know I could have brought the scale down but it’s a fancy-schmancy one Mr. Manly had to have and it isn’t so transportable as you might think because of the cords and separate display thing.)  One tank weighs 32# and the other 11#.  For sure the bigger one has propane in it, but not so sure about the smaller one.  So now I’m Googling tare weights.  Still don’t get it completely but my option since I can’t undo the big tank is to hook up the smaller one and see if it works.

Hook up is easy-peasy.  Yay! Turning the Open-Close knob is not.  It is so tight and the space for hands is so small I am afraid I will either break fingernails or gouge my knuckles. We have had this argument several times – ever since Mr. Knows-It-All forgot to turn the tank off one time and emptied a new tank overnight. Since then he turned it off every time, tight. I couldn’t turn it on by myself most of the time, but he was usually there to do it, so I let him.

Until now. Six of one, half dozen of another. Can’t hook up one tank, can’t open the other. I’m sweating like crazy and will have to shower again before they get here. So now I’m on to Plan C for dinner.  Chicken breasts go in freezer, beef in freezer comes out, along with buns. And things go from bad to worse.  The buns appear freezer-burned. I boiled the eggs for the potato salad but I forgot to cook the potatoes. It won’t have time to blend (something he used to tease me about).  The fruit salad hasn’t been made yet. The iced tea I made is weak and tasteless. Dishes need to be loaded in dishwasher. Banging the pan in the kitchen doesn’t make me feel better either.

I have strong neighbors who would likely be happy to come over and help me out if I asked them. But I want him, Mr. I’ll-Cook-Tonight, to be here and do it. I want him to listen to me tell my stories of my recent vacation to the guests. Better yet, I want the stories to be about our vacation instead of my vacation. Or at least so I can spit tacks at him and tell him for the hundredth time to NOT overtighten the damn connections.

And now, it occurs to me as I write this that I’m really mad because he died. Every time I think I’m moving on, I find a stupid reason to hold back.  I think maybe this is a step I have missed in my grieving, this getting mad. You just can’t skip any of the steps, or you keep coming back to this place on the path until you get it all done. Whew! Guess I’ll go make some potato salad quickly and get those dirty dishes out of sight. Tomorrow I will ask for some help with the damn grill(s).

The grief bone is connected to the…

25 Thursday May 2017

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Traditions, Transformation

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The more I process my grief, the more I realize that peeling back these layers reveals the usual suspect feelings but also opens the way for other unanticipated issues to come up that can be (have to be?) dealt with. What I have discovered so far about grief is that it has little enough to do with Kevin, except for the obvious loss of his physical presence, and everything to do with who I am and who I choose to be now.

I have recently started back on the path of how I got the way I am, trying to understand myself differently so I can refine or change some things I don’t like about myself. My post from back in January 2016 (Remembering Dad) is one I go back to time after time, thinking about how my parents’ grief over the death of my baby brother affected me then and continuing while I was growing up, and how that is a prime ingredient in the make-up of who I am so far.  And how all that might have influenced how I parented my children, who are now parenting their own children.  This is how cycles get rolling.

So why now? Well, here I am trying to figure out my future, make sense of the options I have. I am conflicted about calling myself an entrepreneur, since I don’t really have a business with products to sell. I am a trainer (underemployed at that) with services to offer.  I haven’t marketed myself much, though, so I feel sort of like a starving artist, living on principle and principal. Even though it’s been a year and a half since I left my last job, I’m still unsettled about what’s next.  And I still cry, but I am making new friends and developing a strong support network. Now I just need to find more meaning and make some money.

An alternative that could solve my financial insecurities showed up in my Inbox recently. I applied for a job back in Minnesota, one I hadn’t made up my mind I really wanted but was interested in enough to apply.  I got a first interview, and I started making up reasons why this was a good idea.  The prime factor was the salary and the stability of a regular paycheck with fringe benefits like health insurance.  A strong but secondary factor was that I would be geographically close to three of my siblings and two of my very best friends.  But my heart just couldn’t get excited about Minnesota winters, nor especially the structure of a Monday-Friday, 8-5, 50 weeks a year job, carrying out someone else’s priorities and directives.  I kept hearing in my head that saying, “If money weren’t the issue, what would you do?”  No clear answers yet, in case you’re wondering.

While I was waiting to hear about a second interview, I decided it was time to put my house in order, so to speak. Not just physically clean and well-maintained, which I would have to do if I were potentially going to list it for sale; more importantly, I wanted to mentally prepare myself for giving up the freedoms I have now. I rationalized like a champ all the positives of a move, and discounted the hassles of moving and starting over again. Suffice it to say that I want my roots to go deeper instead of broader now.  And I wanted peace of mind, whichever way the cookie crumbled.

My friend Rosanne once asked me while I was packing for a move what it was I was running from, and I told her I wasn’t running from but toward, except I didn’t know what toward either.  I still don’t know.  Or rather, I don’t know yet but I’m getting closer. Note to self: what I have been doing all along is making money, not making a life. That’s going to change.

Yeah, so that cookie crumbled, and I didn’t get the job. I didn’t even get the second interview. And I still don’t have peace of mind (although the anxiety of moving has subsided, which must be a good sign).  I’m very okay with this, because I didn’t really want to go (and my Spirit Self didn’t want to go either, I’m sure of it).  But if not this, then what??? This is my time, right? Finally? No kids to worry about, no husband to convince, not even any bills except the mortgage and monthly utilities and other living expenses.  Not the next thing, but the last thing, a legacy act.

I have often said to myself, I wonder what I’d be capable of if I just applied myself?  I have had significant achievements in my life, which I am proud of, but if I really tried, imagine that!  So I hired a coach/business start-up strategist to help me.  The first thing she had me do was fill out a questionnaire about my job history.  Which got me to thinking about how many times I have moved, how many jobs I have held, how many times I had that fresh start. Those Millenial kids have got nothing on me! I have held 12 positions in the past 40 years, always chasing more money, but eventually climbing a career ladder.  I have had 13 addresses in six cities in four states (not counting the Army).  Looking at that list laid out in black and white was an eye-opener. Having to articulate what my ideal day would look like, and define what success looked like so I’d recognize it when I hit that mark…those were tougher tasks. Trying to align all these bits and pieces into a vision and voice is going to be some work.

I know I would get along okay if I didn’t do all this thinking and analyzing and conjuring and … whatever else I am doing.  I know I would be just fine if I put away the questions and reverted to “normal,” albeit a new normal, and society would readily accept that without question. People I know would probably be relieved I have finally settled down.   I think I have done a swell job with processing the early stages of grief – the loss and doubt, the discomfort and discovery, even the understanding. But there’s more for me.  I’m seeking full integration in this new life, fuller satisfaction, and confidence in the new me.

I have started something that won’t let go of me now. In this past month’s time, I’ve turned inside out. Move over, Alice, I have to go down this rabbit hole and see what there is to see. I just know that the door marked Grief is not the only one that has opened. I’m curious about what labyrinth I will find myself walking on this journey.