Category Archives: Gratitude

Lessons from MacGyver

12 Wednesday Sep 2018

Posted by in Connecting the Dots, Gratitude, Tips and Tricks

≈ 2 Comments

Storm Prep the MacGyver Way

What do hard-boiled eggs, bar-b-ques (Sloppy Joes), pinto beans, and a very tall glass of OJ have in common? Yes, that’s right, folks. It is my supper. Lunch was a take-out box of spaghetti from Monday. I started to prepare some food that I could eat cold if necessary or that could be heated up easily on a gas grill bit first I have to get older leftovers out of the way to make room in my fridge. I stockpiled some fresh food and beverages (including a quart of cream for my instant coffee) that would sustain me for a few days during a predicted visit from Hurricane Florence – who at the time was not going to be a Cat 3 or 4. I bought the requisite water and disinfectant wipes, charged my flashlight and other electronics, put fuel in the car and truck, got cash. Remember, MacGyver’s M.O. was to use what he had on hand, keep his sense of humor and stay humble, and avoid conflict. Like MacGyver, I was planning to take it seriously so I could stay calm in the crisis.  That was the plan.

Before I could remove all the potential flying missiles (i.e., backyard crap) from the storm’s path, I also had to make room in my garage for the chairs, tables, doo-dads, trash and recycling bins, etc. It happens that our neighborhood will be having a community-wide yard sale in a few weeks, so double win for me: I could clean garage, pile things for sale on one side, and yard trinkets on the other.

That Other Flood

It’s So No Fun to do all of this by yourself. It’s hard work, lifting and shlepping and shoving and piling things precariously. I know; I’ve done it before. I lived through a flood, in which my house took on 51″ of water. But, luckily, that time I had my two boys and an entire community helping sandbag  and otherwise prepare.  In the end, I gave up the house rather than risk lives due to a breach on the other side of the river, my eight sump pumps taking turns taking breaks, and the threat of a compromised wall in my basement. So that’s all another story, but in the end, I could find not one good reason to stay strong and be tough in the face of calamity. So I evacuated. After two weeks of sandbagging, moving furniture, losing sleep, and accepting help, I walked away. I fought as much as I could, and then I couldn’t any more.

It’s now 21 years later, and instead of a flizzard (flood + blizzard), I’m preparing to outrun a hurricane that may or may not be a direct hit but will still carry plenty of danger. I have had a few offers of help, and I did take Jackie up on it. She helped me get plants and yard crap under the deck (behind the lattice) or into the garage.

Mishaps, Setbacks, and Tragedies

But I have to tell you about a little mishap I had on Sunday, pre-Jackie. Once before, another time not the flood, I had a little mishap also. The flizzard was a setback, and now I know the difference. That one took months to recover from physically, and years in terms of PTSD whenever I saw floods in the news on television. I have also experienced tragedies (death, health conditions) but these were not that. I’m not whining here, just giving you some context so you don’t judge me.

That Other Mishap

So that other time I was getting ready to go on vacation and needed to get the dog kennels out of the garage attic. I was home alone; in fact, my husband and I had a commuter marriage at the time, so he was 200 miles away. I placed the 20′ extension ladder into the access hole door in the ceiling, climbed up, and retrieved the crates. I had done this kind of thing several times.

I lowered the crates down to the floor, reached for the door panel while standing on the ladder, and promptly kicked the ladder out from under me somehow. I grabbed the frame around the ceiling/floor opening and held on. The frame was surrounded by an L-shaped metal flange that held the covering. It was sharp, and hard, and it hurt.

I couldn’t think how MacGyver would have gotten out of this predicament, but I analyzed the situation and came up with a few thoughts. 1. It was going to hurt, because it was about 10′ down. I am aware of my limitations, and I am not a gymnast. 2. The ladder was on the floor directly underneath me, and to land on it was likely to cause a further movement upon impact. 3. The ladder had round rails and round rungs or steps, meaning I could easily roll my foot/ankle/knee or whatever hit the ladder. 4. If I landed on one of the kennels, that could cause a ricochet slide/bump/fall.

I did not have my cell phone on me, and the garage door was closed. The cell phone would have been a good thing to have handy. No one would see my legs dangling out of the ceiling and come to my aid. Luckily, the dogs were in the house, so I did not have to consider landing on one of them. Unluckily, they also were not related to Lassie and would not likely be able to go get help.

I finally let go, swung my not-svelte body, and managed to clear the ladder below me. Concrete is hard, though, and there was no graceful way to land softly. My injuries were long scrapes on my arms and ribs and legs, but nothing was broken. I was mad at my absent husband for not being there. (I know, this was a little irrational, definitely not humorous or humble.) Worse, the damn kennels did not fit in the trunk of the car after my great sacrifice of skin! I had to disassemble them and put one in the trunk and one in the back seat. All this delayed my departure by a few  hours, making me grumpier. But I survived, and I learned from that episode.

The Latest Mishap

This past Sunday I had occasion to again MacGyver my way out of a somewhat similar situation, i.e., consider how to fall best so as to limit the inevitable injuries. shelfThis time I was up on a 6′ step ladder, maybe 4′ off the solid hard unforgiving concrete floor of the garage. Wearing flip flops. Holding a computer printer that I was trying to put on a shelf above my head. Between the staircase with wooden post and railing that goes into the house from the garage and a set of golf clubs I was also going to move up and out of the way.

This time I did have the garage door open. I also left the door to the house open but with a doggie gate in place. My reasoning was that if I fell, eventually the dogs would get hungry and bark at me, and when I didn’t respond, their barking would alert the neighbors, who would see it was dark and my garage door was still open, too. Eventually, someone would come to my rescue. The phone was on the table in the kitchen, unfortunately, but also fortunately because I would have smashed it given what happened next.

MacGyver Thinking

Can you guess what happened? Yessiree, Bob! I went down. But while in mid-air, I managed to stop time long enough to consider advice from my ex-husband back in the day when he was teaching me to drive a stick shift: If you have to hit something, aim for the cheapest thing.

My thoughts: 1) Don’t land on your back on the railing because you will then flip over and hit the steel post that protects the furnace. There is no way that can be good. 2) Don’t try and break your fall by putting out your hands because you’ll break your arms. 3) Don’t land on the golf clubs because a 60-year-old woman impaled on a putter or a 7-iron will not be pretty and will hurt a lot. 4) I only had about 4′ to fall, and the most padding I have naturally is in my “backyard,” so it might be jarring but best case scenario was to land on my arse if I could. ladder

I dropped the printer (not in my plan) and landed on top of part of that. I also landed on part of the bent leg of the aluminum piece of crap ladder (some of the bruises now match the width of leg of the ladder). I did stay face up and did not have whiplash that could have come from kissing the concrete. My glasses flew all the way to the garage door, so I’m certain there was a bit of head action somehow. No broken bones, nor an injured coccyx,  just a sprained wrist and the aforementioned bruise on my acidosilus. Which is the size of a generous salad plate, and very dark in color.

I lay there a minute and saw my neighbor pull into her driveway. She just moved in a week ago, so although I knew her name and had met her once, I didn’t really feel like this was a good time to chitchat. I quickly inventoried my moving parts: I could move fingers and toes, there was no bleeding. I was breathing normally and without pain. No double vision, no headache or wobbly neck.

I picked myself up and hobbled into the house to call my sister. I was all shook up and burst into tears as soon as she answered the phone. She is so great at listening and helping me to calm down; she’s had a fair bit of practice with me. I was furious at Kevin for again not being here so that I was alone and had to do this without him. One hour and two scoops of Colombian Coffee & Vanilla Bean ice cream later, I was “okay.” My ankle was swelling and the wrist was throbbing, so I got the ice packs out, put my feet up, and rested for most of the rest of the day.

Angel on Duty?

Now, here’s the interesting part. Yesterday, two days after the incident, I was having lunch with a group of friends. I was enjoying my status as Center of Attention while I told the story of why I was wearing a wrist support brace. I got to the part about being mad at Kevin for not being there, saying he should have used his angel capacity and either swooped in to catch me or flown under me to keep me from harm. And one said, “Well, he was there, don’t you think? You didn’t knock yourself out or break any bones or scratch your glasses. It could have been so much worse, and it wasn’t.”

Wow!  She was exactly right. He was there, he had to be! I was immediately contrite and grateful. And happy!! I have an angel, and he was on duty! I keep doubting, and he keeps proving to me he is here. How I didn’t get a serious injury given the fate of the ladder is at least a minor miracle, in my book. I didn’t  knock the golf clubs over either, just shoved them over a foot or so. My glasses skidded a good 10 feet across the concrete floor. I was a little sore Monday, and even more sore yesterday, but not so stiff I couldn’t move; just creaking a little.It is still awkward to try and not use my left wrist when I’m packing and cleaning, or closing the car door and putting on my seat belt.

Evacuating from Hurricane  Florence

So back to why I was doing this in the first place, Hurricane Florence. I have zero interest in seeing what a hurricane looks like up close and personal. None at all. As the predictions worsened, I started making plans to go visit my sister in Ohio.

The expectation is the electrical power will go out for maybe a week. Not sure about water availability. The biggest worry is if a tree(s) falls on my house. I would prefer to not be sitting on my couch and suddenly have a tree in my lap.  I also know that my three dogs will destroy my house if they can’t get outside to do Their Business, plus Sasha is afraid of thunderstorms. The food I had prepared (plus veggies, smoothies, yogurts,and sandwich meat) to eat during this extended storm now needs to be consumed or taken with me so it doesn’t spoil while I’m gone. I am nearly as dreadful as a one-armed paper hanger trying to load a cooler and carry it to the car. I will have to finagle a suitcase from the attic, pack it, and get it from upstairs out to the car in the driveway. I have to manhandle a 28# beagle into his seat belt and the other two into their car seats. The forecast keeps getting updated but I am ready to go.

It feels like a little bit like I’m running away, but honestly, waiting this out is not on my Bucket List at all, no way, no how. I have anxiety already just thinking about the risks. I give my angel so much to do already, just falling off ladders and stuff, that I shouldn’t press my luck. I will get out while I can, so others can worry about the ones who really need worrying over. I pray for safe travels for those who are leaving and a safe stay for those who don’t.

What to do once you are prepared and waiting…

As long as the power stays on, you should watch some MacGyver episodes.  (What? You don’t know who he is? Check out MacGyver here.) I haven’t seen the new version but the original series was always pretty good. You just never know when a mishap, setback, or a tragedy will come your way. Best to stay calm in a crisis if you can.

 

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Something MORE

16 Thursday Aug 2018

Posted by in Connecting the Dots, Dreaming, Gratitude, Grief, Making progress, Sabbatical, Transformation

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Have you ever felt SO-O-O excited and scared and nervous and sure all at the same time? That’s what I’m going through right now. Oh, it’s rather fabulous to be me right now! It’s only taken 60 years for me, and it’s only been the last year or so during which my potential is being revealed.

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Remember the Personal Sabbatical I gave myself – one year to figure out my life, the year after the year after Kevin died? That was nearly three years ago. The first year after he died, I kept on working and trying to fit back into my old normal life, which was impossible. The job wasn’t living up to my expectations anyway, and I was smack-dab in the middle of mourning and grieving. The advice I kept getting was “don’t make any major decisions for one year.” It turns out that was good advice…for several reasons, but mostly because I was completely discombobulated and didn’t trust my own judgment about future decisions that would be needed to be made.

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The second year was the year of the sabbatical. I thought I could sit quietly and wait for God to call me on the phone and tell me what to do next, where and how to do it, and who to do it with. Instead of giving myself time and waiting for that call, I quickly (too quickly I think) started my own consulting biz and distracted myself from the grieving process. I listened to well-intentioned friends guide me back to their version of solid ground. What I really wanted to do was float and fly and drift for a while, but still not trusting myself, I let myself get involved in something I couldn’t really put my heart into. My heart was already busy, you see. That year flew by. So I agonized a bit about going back to work, getting a real job. In the end, I decided I needed another year.

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The third year that call still hadn’t come. I wasn’t any more clear about my work direction, but I was finding myself. I didn’t know if I had ever – in all my life – really known myself and committed to ME. I figured this out when I discovered that I hadn’t  really been happy in my life. Content, yes; satisfied, yes; accomplished, yes. But happy? I felt like I had sort of fallen into my life and hadn’t deliberately planned it out or said “I want this, and then went for it. So when people said to me now, “What do you want?”, I didn’t know.  I was frustrated that I didn’t know because I felt like I should. I felt guilty for not having figured it out sooner.

It was at that point I started my real grieving. Losing Kevin was one thing; losing myself was an extension of that. But losing our dreams when I didn’t have any of my own to plug into play was a different kind of sadness. I knew in my heart that his life was about him. Now, I had to face the reality that my life was about me, and I did not have my own dreams, my own plans, my own vision.

However, I had a new awareness that even if I wasn’t exactly happy, I certainly wasn’t unhappy. I was okay just as I was. In fact, I was getting happier than I could remember being, and I knew in my heart of hearts that there was something more waiting for me. I didn’t have to go in search, I just had to be ready. So I started to work on ME instead of working at a job for money. The pay was nil but the benefits are great!!!

Because of my philosophy about life after life, and that life goes forward, and that our children are Life’s longing for itself (thanks, Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet), I decided to stop being the grieving widow. Yes, I did just that – I made a decision to stop.  Besides, I was only doing a mediocre job at it anyway. Instead, I started to study my life and figure out what could make me happier, what events or people had influenced me in childhood and beyond, what forks in the road had I taken that made a difference to me. Then I talked to people who knew-me-when. My sister Peggy is only a year younger than I am, so we had a lot to talk about. My parents are both gone, but I talked to an aunt who was around all of my childhood. I talked to friends I’ve had for much of my adult life. I talked to my kids, too.  And I read dozens of old journals, books, magazine articles and blog posts, listened to music, watched movies, met new people who didn’t know me as a child or mother or wife.

I started a different kind of journal that has turned out kind of cool. I drew a family tree of sorts (more of a diagram with labels) and pasted in pictures of my mom and dad from when they were young and again about the time I was born, up through the years. I added pictures of me from infancy to today. I included pictures of my husbands and my kids as youngsters to today, plus my grandbabies. Then I described each person, somewhat objectively based on my “research.” Finally, I  followed what is the commonly known as the Fourth Step in AA, but I used the Adult Children of Alcoholics model, to do a “searching and fearless moral inventory” of myself, my parents, and my life then and now.

The more I opened myself to what I was discovering, the more light bulbs clicked on, the more puzzle pieces started to fall into place, the more the past came alive. I started finally to make sense of my life with a 10,000 foot view (or 60-year telescope):  why I am the way I am, why I do the (some of the) things I do, what my values are, how I stored my feelings, what behaviors have changed, the results of decisions I made. The good news is that as I began to understand myself, I fell in LIKE with Me and we became great friends! Slowly over the last year, I have been letting go of old unresolved hurts, feeling old feelings and saying goodbye to them, learning to be kinder and gentler with my new BFF, Me.

It wasn’t an afternoon at the beach, to be sure. I laid the cards on the table – really, I made up  index cards for my feelings – and I played them one by one. Abandonment. Fear. Shame. Guilt. Embarrassment. Betrayal. Loss. Insecurity. Anger. Love. Confidence. Hope. Safety. Pleasure. Inspiration. Excitement. Smart. And more. I would pick up a card and question myself about when I had felt that. I would try to remember a childhood experience related to that emotion. Many times I was unsure of what that emotion felt like; I had learned too well how to stuff it away, so identifying it and getting comfortable with it was a process, like defrosting old mystery meat so I could decide to cook it or throw it away. Fortunately, I was able to let go of many of my frozen feelings, which in turn lightened me up, which in turn made me happier. It was like Mario Bros. and I was jumping over the trolls and taking elevators to higher levels. Who knew this is what life was supposed to be about?!?

I still have to sit with my feelings and reflect by replaying old scenes, which now is a 60 year repository to go through. I have learned that living is truly an art; there is no one right way to do it. Social acceptability is worth less to me than it used to be. Praising myself and affirming my choices and decisions is actually more fun than I thought it would be.

I’m not done yet. But I know there is Something MORE for me yet in this lifetime. I was asked yesterday if I ever wish I could have Kevin back again. The obvious (and expected) answer is Of Course! But the courageous and honest answer is, Maybe. I have changed a lot in the past four years, and right now I  seem to be in a fast-forward phase of growth. Would he come back as he was then, or would he, too, have changed from his experiences wherever he is/was? I am not ready to really think about that too much, since it’s such a hypothetical question anyway. I’ve moved on, truly, madly, deeply. And I know I have more moving to do.

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Freedom of the Open Road

09 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Making progress, Sabbatical, Uncategorized

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The gas gauge indicated there should be half a tank of gas, on a truck that that has about a 25-gallon tank. Yet, the “Low Fuel Level” message lit up. A wind gust buffeted the side of the camper. Although finding a gas station would undoubtedly lower my stress level, still we sat still in the line waiting for the emergency responders to clear the roadway from of the semi-tractor that had jack-knifed ahead of us. There was no telling how long we might be there, and the need for air conditioning was competing with the need to avoid walking when I ran out of gas. Such was the dilemma of that moment.

Wouldn’t you know it? I made safely to a gas station not long after that, and I gave my thirsty truck a big (BIG) drink of fuel. I wasn’t in a hurry as far as the clock was concerned, and we were on our way again shortly. But then the Check Engine light came on, and at the next exit ramp, we were off again to figure a plan of action. Luckily, there was a truck stop with a 24-hour maintenance shop. Except they only serviced big rigs. However, they referred me to a 24-hour wrecker and auto repair shop nearby. Tommy, the technician, guessed it was a loose fuel cap, and hooked up a sensor to the truck’s computer. Yep. A quick reset, and we were on our way once again.

By the way, “we” is me and three dogs – who are unsurprisingly useless in a crisis, but at least they didn’t cause any further stress by howling and growling. They were much more patient than I was, thankfully.

This was the second leg of my adventure. I spent the first day traveling to Elkin NC and survived a wicked thunderstorm in 5:00 Friday night traffic in Winston-Salem. Yeah, I know, good planning on my part, right? Anyway, I had an absolutely wonderful time Saturday on the Blue Ridge Parkway, revisiting Blowing Rock, and getting the feel of my camper and truck on a cross-country trip. So making it through Nashville’s spaghetti system of interstate interchanges was done by a fortified driver.

I was relieved to make it to Memphis, anticipating Graceland’s tour scheduled for Monday. It was too bad some jerk parked his truck quite close to my campsite, making backing it and setting up harder than it should have been in the dark. But two women from Ontario, Canada, Dawn and Louise, were very helpful, so all was right again in the world. (If their names had been Thelma and Louise I might have had second thoughts about letting them guide me.)

The next day would be a long-awaited visit to Graceland, but as I finally laid in bed that night, my mind was filled with thoughts about how I was living out the Solowingnow name I had given myself. Of course, we are never fully alone. I did have my dogs, but I also am certain I had divine help in the form of angels helping me along the way. How else do you explain that I never once had a close-call with merging onto interstate traffic because the lane was clear a mile back? Or that I made it to a gas station in the nick of time, and that I found not one but two 24-hour service stations on a Sunday night? I think we often think we are alone because we don’t see anyone else, but I was not unaccompanied either physically or spiritually.

Other thoughts also kept my mind entertained for a while that night. I remember thinking that Kevin would have loved this trip. He would have loved the scenery, the challenge, the upcoming sights to see, the freedom of the open road. And then this bright thought occurred to me: as much as he would have loved it, I also loved it. I promised myself right then that I would start now to put myself first. It is all well and good to think of others, but my first responsibility now is me. I can invite his spirit to come along for the ride, but the realization that it is indeed an invitation means that I have completed another phase of adjustment toward this new life I am living. I am no longer waiting for it to be my turn; I am claiming my place at the fire of the strong, brave, wise women of the world. I have my own stories to tell now, and this trip is just one more collection of memories that comfort me.

I am blessed – and I know that I am blessed – to have this opportunity to travel. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as “they” say. I have been to the ocean, to the mountains, across the prairie. I do not have to choose one over another. That is freedom.

 

We go where you go, Mom!
Blue Ridge Mountains in NC
A Shriner’s parade welcomed me in Blowing Rock NC
Why, hello, Elvis!
Oklahoma – last stop before New Mexico
My home in Santa Fe for a the next while

Here are some sights along my way so far. More to come as I settle in.

Love is blind

16 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Gratitude, Transformation

≈ 1 Comment

My fur baby Harley is around 12 years old. I adopted him as a rescue 3 months ago. Harley hair cutHe has no teeth, and was undernourished. He suffered from some stress, too, as evidenced by his lackluster and very thin coat of fur. Most problematic was the vet’s diagnosis that he was nearly blind, due to cataracts. I didn’t think it could be as bad as she suggested because he seemed fearless, jumping up onto my lap, hopping down off furniture, taking stairs without hesitation. There was the occasional drift to the side when we walked around the neighborhood, and once in a while, he turned a corner too short and bumped into a wall. I loved him anyway and was blind to the issue.

But it was happening a little more often lately. And then this morning, I had all the proof I needed. We were leaving the bedroom and heading downstairs. He was right behind me, as usual, or so I thought. I happened to glance to my right when I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. chair landingOh My God!! Harley had walked over to the banister that overlooks the entryway foyer. It’s got to be about 10′ down. He thought it was the steps, I guess. He is pretty small at about 5#. He had his head and shoulder through the spindles and was ready to put his paw down on the first stair – which wasn’t there – so he would have flown instead of walked.

I screamed and lunged, and by the grace of God, I grabbed his back legs. He was ready to fly when I swooped him up into my arms and nearly suffocated him. He was shaking and so was I. He didn’t cry but I sure did.

An hour later I had measured the banisters, put dogs in crates, and took off on a mission. It felt good to have a strong purpose, even given the circumstances. I went to Habitat ReStore, but no chic ideas came to me. Ace Hardware had lumber butlanding (1) that was not what I wanted. Danny’s Glass wanted almost $80 for one piece of Plexiglass, and I needed two.  Home Depot had options! There was a young man named Mike who was more than happy to cut a stock piece of thin clear plastic (whatever version of Plexi they carry) for me. When I got home, I gave quick thanks to the Angels in the Hardware Department of Heaven and drilled holes in the plastic sheeting without cracking it. I fastened it to the spindles with zip ties, and Voila! I have a solution to the dog-through-the-railing problem.

Then I rearranged the three baby gates and gatesthe aluminum shelf I use as a barrier to the stairwell, top AND bottom now. It would be nice if they had doors so I wouldn’t have to step over … since I took a fall a few weeks ago when I misjudged the height of one of them. Yes, I know I could buy the door kind but let’s say it’s not a priority. I’d prefer to think I’m young enough and agile enough that this is not a necessity…yet.

Now that I am calmed down (meaning I ate healing cookies and cinnamon rolls), I also have Googled how to care for a blind dog. Step 1 is to admit there is a problem. (Sound familiar?)  The vet says it’s cataracts, which may be surgically corrected or at least improved, but $2500 and no guarantee. Step 2 is to help him  use his  other senses, like smell and sound and touch. It’s unlikely I’m going to put bells on my shoes or the other dogs so he can find us, but I will talk to him more.

In fact, there are a series of things to do, some of which will be easier to implement than others. For example, I like to rearrange my furniture, but the advice is to leave it be so that the dog can learn his patterns. Use textured rugs to alert the dog to doors and stairs. Put scented oils on the rug under his food bowl and on his bed so he can find them easier. These are some of the to-do things.

Then there are the don’t-do things. He is so tiny that I love to scoop him up and cuddle him. But since he can’t see me or maybe always hear me, I need to be careful to not startle him. And carrying him from place to place is also a no-no, since he can become disoriented if he doesn’t recognize where I’ve put him down.

What it means is that we both have to adapt. Which is so obvious. I can’t believe I have never thought of me having to do the adjusting. How selfish is that of me?  I have never had to accommodate anyone (or anything) like this.  There was the time my son broke his knee and was on crutches and in a brace, but all I had to do really was to pick UP the throw rugs on the floor so he wouldn’t trip. He was the one who had to manage getting around. Am I a bad mama?

I’ve been blind about a few things apparently. I have a new appreciation for those with limited or no sight and how they adapt. I also have a new respect for those who live with or care for the blind or deaf. It may or may not be a hardship but it certainly takes compassion and selflessness.

I am going to be grateful that all I had was a close call today, one that could be fixed easily enough. I will be better prepared if ever I have the chance to help someone who has found themselves in need of help or understanding.  There are all kinds of blindness, and it’s up to me to figure them out and overcome or adjust to my own.

In the meantime, it’s probably safe to put the dog down now. It’s kind of hard to type with him on my lap and his paws tapping the wrong keys occasionally.  I will go read more on taking care of my nearly-blind dog. And if you see me in the store and I’ve forgotten to take off one of the bells on my shoe, just quietly point it out so I can stop jingling around.

Moving on…with your help, please

02 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation

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This Solowingnow blog has been an integral part of my expression of grief and the healing that is ongoing. I started it just over two years ago, which was then one year since my husband Kevin passed away. I got that familiar advice: don’t make any major decisions for at least a year.  So I waited, and then one year to the day I quit my job and started a personal sabbatical to figure out the rest of my life.

That year turned into two, and now I have decided to declare my sabbatical official over and done. It’s the start of a new year and it seems the perfect time for a(nother) fresh start.  I never quite got that Flash of the Blinding Obvious about what my passion is, what I should be doing with my life, but I am definitely moving on. I have figured out what my next thing is, for now, which is to continue Solowingnow in some form, in addition to co-sponsoring an Author’Academy to learn and share what I am learning about writing, publishing, and selling myself as an author. An Information Meeting will be held next week, with the first of 8 classes to start in February.

Your support and encouragement has been amazing, and I am grateful for that. I think it must be a divine sign of some kind when what you do to help yourself ends up helping others. This blog was (is) my outlet for processing my grief, as well as saying out loud  my reflections on the changes going on in me and around my life . For example, it turns out that I had past, unresolved grief that needed to be dealt with, too, and I appreciate how fortunate  I am to have had this time to do that. I have learned a lot about who I am, why I am the way I am, what my default reactions tend to be, how to feel my feelings and let them go. Most of all, I have let go of the pieces of the old me and my old life, and I have opened myself up to the new me and the new normal.

With that in mind, I am asking for a favor, which is for you to help me figure out how else I might better help you.

Please take this short 2-minute survey to give me your ideas. Click here.  I will leave it open for one week, and on January 9 I will compile responses. Shortly after that, I will post my plans.

Thanks so much!

 

Opening myself up further

31 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by in Gratitude, Traditions, Transformation

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I sometimes find it incredibly hard/difficult/challenging to acknowledge that I am enough. Just me. All by myself. I am enough. I am smart enough, kind enough, successful enough, generous enough, pretty enough, rich enough.   I have enough – money, time, education, resources, friendships, opportunities, things, ideas, food, work, love.  I do enough: volunteering, reading, resting, appreciating, cooking, talking, sharing, listening, thinking, cleaning, shopping, crying, laughing, learning.  So why do I keep trying so damn much to prove this to – of all people – myself??? It’s time to give myself a break; even I know that. So….

This past August I welcomed into my home a young Chinese woman who is here to work on her doctoral program at the local college.

Yawei halloween

Haloween decorating

Yawei is of the generation in China in which couples were only permitted to have one child, meaning she has lead the life of an only and somewhat spoiled girl in her small family.  She had never been to the United States before she came for school a few months ago. I have occasionally thought I was brave, but this woman is something else. Already I have learned much from her that I almost feel bad accepting the rent money!

Having her here has stopped me in my tracks to think about what I take for granted every day. I try to express gratitude daily, ever since I read somewhere this question: What if you woke up tomorrow and all you had was what you gave thanks for yesterday?  So anyway, I even had a gratitude challenge of sorts going on with my daughter for the past few months. Every day, we text each other 3 things we are grateful for. I try to stay away from just the material things, which  isn’t always easy.  Sometimes we mix it up and come  up with one thing we did well that day. That’s one way to remind ourselves that we are enough.  It’s similar to something else I read about recently called “praise work.” It has to do with when we seek approval outside ourselves, from others, which can border on neediness or co-dependency in the extreme.  If you Google “Praise work” it’s likely you’ll get results about praising others (especially employees), so why I haven’t heard of this or thought of it like this is just one more thing I am behind the times on, apparently.

Anyway, I am constantly reminded of how many things are great about my life, my house, my friends, my dogs, my community, my family, my country.  Yawei is like a child in some ways, full of  questions and unfiltered comments.  She is an industrious woman. She cooks all of her meals and takes them with her to school, meaning sometimes it’s late at night or early in the morning when she is clanging pots or the microwave is beeping. She is wide open to trying vegetables she has not seen before and can’t pronounce the names of.  Yawei cookingShe has been to every grocery store around to check out what each has to offer. She goes to the Outlet Mall several times a week. And she is diligent about her classes and homework, spending longs days at the college and signing up for tutors and taking recommended (but not required) English classes.

And she is learning about living with me, too. I recently had the opportunity to show her how I want the stove cleaned when she is done. Have you ever thought of how you explain something that seems so routine to you? Explaining why a shower needs to be cleaned when she says she  only uses clean water to wash with, or that scented aerosol spray doesn’t sanitize the toilet bowl, or that rugs can be “cleaned” by  shaking them out  or washing them. These  are just some of the things I have talked to her about.  Showing her what she does that is “teasing” to the dogs is another example of something I struggled with at first. Luckily, I didn’t have to teach her to drive but I have had to ask her to move her car that is parked too far into the road or in the middle of the driveway.

I am still at the laughing stage, as in “really?!??”  Sometimes it feels like I’m playing Scrabble and can’t come up with the right word because a letter is missing. I know she has good intentions and simply has not had to do these things before now. I love how open she is to learning, though, and it reminds me that I don’t know everything either. I imagine I would be in the same position if I were going to school in China and living with someone whose habits I did not understand.

About the time I wonder if I’m being played by her, I will hear her shout from upstairs, thanking me because the house looks so new and clean, and exclaiming how lucky she is to live here, and that she loves me…. I stop right in my thought and give thanks for her innocence and this chance for a do-over of sorts. A chance for me to let go of feelings of inadequacy, or of loneliness, or being taken advantage of. I am reminded that I have been given a place of honor to teach her what life is like in the USA that is not what you see on F-R-I-E-N-D-S on tv (which is where she learned her American “slanguage”). Whatever she tells her friends back in China will largely depend on what I have represented to her.

She has taught me to use chopsticks (I need more lessons), and to eat more vegetables, and to limit my sugar intake. She is a lesson in counting my blessings. She is an example of how joyful life is, and it’s not just limited to youth. She is curious, quirky, and competent at 27, a time when I was already a mother of 3 and acting all responsible all the time. It’s pretty cool that she is here to help me remember to be curious, quirky and competent today as well. We have a lot in common being two women on our own. Her life has changed dramatically in the past few months, as has mine in the past couple of years, and I daresay she is ahead of me in a few ways in accepting the changes and courting a positive future. poster (1)

It’s is freeing to open myself up as much as I have opened my home up, to let the love in, to share my day, to give of my blessings. I am so grateful for this opportunity, this detour from the plateau I had found myself on.  I have this sign on my desk, and it’s so spot on!

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.

 

All because of a gun cabinet

13 Thursday Apr 2017

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Grief, Traditions, Transformation

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Recently my friend Rosanne asked me if I had done anything with the gun cabinet I inherited when Kevin died. I had once said I was going to paint it and repurpose it.  The bottom door grabs are deer heads and it also has shotgun shell decorative touches; plenty of Kevin memories will stay attached to this piece. gun cabinetI thought I might be able to add some glass shelves and use it for books or cds or dvds … or something, maybe just use it as a curio cabinet. I might even be able to put a mirror backing.  Paint it up shabby-chic like and I would have an unusual piece that might become the envy of my friends.  Anyway, the answer is no, not yet. It’s just sitting in my hallway. At least I have moved it out of the closet where it has been hiding from chalk paint and all its glory for the past two years.

That conversation reminded me of one we had had several years ago. Rosanne and I were shopping in a consignment store (Phyllis might have been there, too, that day in Alex, remember?), and I found something I liked. She asked why I didn’t buy it, and I remember telling her that it just wouldn’t go in our house. I also said that if I lived by myself, I would have a totally different style, more eclectic, less matchy-watchy, with all kinds of comfy shabby-chic things; one-of-a-kind pieces that would have my personal touches all over them. I remember that conversation so clearly!

It’s been almost 2-1/2 years now that I’ve been living by myself, and I haven’t done much about that hidden desire except to paint walls and rearrange my living room furniture.  I did paint this “classic” style Hall tablehall table I’ve had for about 20 years and that used to be dark cherry colored. Phyllis also helped me paint a window my sister gave me, so I must have a little flair hiding in me somewhere, right?

Now, I have decided, is the time.  I’m ready.  And Fortune is smiling upon me.  Another friend, Betty, made a bit of an offhand comment one night at Bunco at my house about my kitchen table, saying if I ever wanted tableto sell it, to let her know.  I had wanted a bistro-style tall table and counter stools in my kitchen when we moved in, but Kevin wasn’t a fan, so this was our compromise. It’s a lovely look, sturdy for him, with enough feminine curves to please my eye. So I called Betty last week and said I did want to sell it. Pictures and measurements were sent, but, she told me, she wanted it for her daughter and it was too large for the small alcove she has. Another friend, Armen, overheard our conversation and immediately said, “I’ll take it. I’ll bring you a check tomorrow.” She said she had wanted to say something the night Betty expressed interest but was too late.  So it looks like I can start shopping!

Truth be told, I already found some stools. It was when I saw them that the wheels started turning and I made up my mind. counter stoolOur neighborhood ladies were having lunch together last week near a consignment shop. I got there early so I could have a peek – this was before I even called Betty.   They aren’t exactly what I thought I would want, but with a little paint, they could be fun. And the price is right.  I wonder if a cross-style of Mary Engelbreit and Kelly Rae Roberts would work? Definitely some kind of splash needed. Would depend on the table style I find, and if these stools are still available.

Then I had another idea. What if I only got the stools, waited on the table (I have a dining room with a table already), and either moved the hall table here nookand made a baby solarium or put one of my rocking chairs here and made a peaceful place to sit and meditate or read? I have a great outdoor bench that could work here, bench.jpgtoo, if I put a little elbow grease into sanding the rough and rusted edges.  And then I could just put an outdoor table on the deck – which I don’t have right now. Still get to shop!! Oh, the options! :o)

I really can do anything I want now. It’s totally up to me. The fact that that makes me happy instead of sad is a sign of my progress in healing from the grief.

I don’t know how you’d define my style exactly. I just know that when I see something I like, I know it.  I’m going to find out what else I like!

Oh, and about that light fixture hanging over the table. I think a chandelier might be better…and wouldn’t a chandelier over the Jacuzzi tub in the master bath be fun, too? Does anyone know a good local electrician?

 

 

 

Living with Questions

09 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by in Gratitude, Traditions, Transformation

≈ 2 Comments

There is something about someone dying that makes you question death, and now I know there is something about living that makes you question life, too.  Lately, I’ve been in the mode of exploring both, through questions, more questions, better questions, trying to not have to force answers. It’s a challenge sometimes for me to be patient, but today was one of those days it was easy.

I’ve accepted the New Age philosophy that if something keeps showing up in your life, you should pay attention. Over the past 40 years in total, but really over the past 20 years or so, and specifically over the past couple of years, I’ve been introduced to people, books, ideas, and beliefs that I’ve now accepted are meant to be for me. And that has to do with my worldview or belief system about what works and what doesn’t work for me, what is effective or ineffective.  When some words, ideas, people just won’t go away, it’s time to engage instead of ignore. Let it not be said I couldn’t learn a new trick, even if it took me a while.

So I’m working hard, consciously, deliberately, to move away from a mental model that uses judgment, conclusion, right and wrong, and good and bad, as the way to view what goes on around and within me. When what used to work doesn’t work any longer, I am pretty quick to make a change. When something comes along that is just different, outside the scope of my experience, interesting, and even exotic in some ways, where I used to hesitate I’m happy to report that I have opened up to further exploration. That’s a hard row to hoe sometimes. I’ve got a lifetime of conditioning to overcome.

But today I hosted a group of women friends to discuss and explore energetic wellness and an active consciousness of possibility for improved  health and energy.  I wish I had pictures to prove it, because in this day and age, it seems that those are requirements, but trust me – it DID happen!  I coordinated having two new friends come to demonstrate some complements of energy healing I’ve barely been acquainted with. I really liked how Mary, one of the women, gently explained that she wasn’t here to heal any of us; that we are our own healers, and she was here to help us figure out better ways to do that. I want more of that! Whether it is through releasing blocked energy, or clearing emotional trauma through the use of oils and crystals infused with frequencies, or anything else, one of the messages for me today was that times have indeed changed, and so have I, or at least I’m ready for change.

Equal to that, finding a supportive environment in which to do that is a blessing I am well aware of. I remember when my uncle George used to go to a local chiropractor, way back in the day, and there were whispers that he was going to a “quack.” But it worked for him and he kept going, and they found it hard to diss the results. There are still miles of imagination between other forms of alternative healing and the traditional Western forms of medicine, at least in my family history, but that, too, is changing. So for me to find a group of women I respect that were open to this gathering was way cool for me. Now when I have questions, or thoughts and ideas, I don’t have to go it alone, feeling strange about it, hiding it.  I have peeps!

Kevin was a traditionalist and conservative about quite a few things, and health was one of those matter-of-fact issues for him.  Take 2 aspirin and call me in the morning! But one of the ways he showed his love for me was to listen to me when I had “far out” ideas, or read a book I thought he should read so we could talk about it, or go see a movie that pushed the edges of the envelope. The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran is my all-time favorite book, and I remember when he tried to read it.   He didn’t “get it,” but still he honored me and wanted to learn what was so special about it for me. When we visited Washington DC a few years later, although he never did read the entire book, he discovered there was a Kahlil Gibran meditation garden not far from our hotel, and he encouraged me to go visit it (no, he didn’t go with me). That’s the kind of guy he was, letting me be me and do my thing.  We were pretty good at agreeing to disagree, but always with high regard and care. (You should have seen his face when I put Vic’s Vapor Rub on his toenails to help with the fungus, or when I got him to drink Throat Coat tea one time (and one time only) !!!)

I miss being able to talk to him about this new energy wellness thing I’m into. I’m learning, though, that I can still share it if I’m willing to accept that I can’t see him; that’s not my go-to way, though. The new way, the question is: What if he is here, and I just don’t see him? Am I willing to accept that I’m not alone, that he’s near still? I do have to be very conscious about this right now; can’t wait until it’s second nature.  Anyway, he would have been skeptical, I’m sure, but he would have listened and informed himself at least enough to have a reasonable conversation with me about it.  The poetic justice in this is that it was his dying that was the catalyst to a different way of thinking for me.  Being here on this earth without him physically has given me the time and the space and the urge to do this kind of exploring. Luckily, thankfully, I have found support with new friends. I don’t miss him less, but I understand better this circle of life somehow because of this twisted (in a good way) connectedness. It feels right, and I know he would totally accept that.

So tonight I’m wearing a new frequency-infused pendant, and I even got one for Buddy because of his ailments and other aging issues. Three of my friends got their “bars” run and two were enthusiastic about it; the third one is still deciding.  I’m excited about thinking in terms of questions instead of conclusions.  I’m thrilled to feel accepted by my friends who are exploring this with me. And the next time I talk to Kevin, I’m going to tell him so, although I’m pretty sure he already knows how I feel. He probably just loves that he is the one with the answers now. And I’m okay with that. He earned that. I’m just glad he’s on my side still.

Less Than 100!??

08 Wednesday Feb 2017

Posted by in Gratitude, Uncategorized

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Yes, it’s true. Today I took my motorcycle to the State Inspection Station for the annual mandatory vehicle inspection.  The temp this afternoon was already over 70, so I decided it was a good time even though the sticker is good until the end of the month. The guy asked me if I’ve been riding much, and I told him, not really, that today was the first time in “I can’t remember when.”  He wrote down the mileage for the inspection report: 13,777.

I had to wait a few minutes while he checked brakes, lights, horn, etc. And very shortly he was done. I received a copy of the report, and as I was putting it away with my other registration and insurance paperwork, I pulled out last year’s report to toss.  I glanced at it and noticed the mileage from one year ago (admittedly, it was on the 16th, and today is only the 8th).  Mileage 13,699.  Wait – what?!?? Yes, that’s right, I had driven only 78 miles since last year!!!!!!

I remember when I got her, Valentine’s Day 2011, a gift to myself.  Kevin and I were in South Dakota, and I had two somewhat silly goals. (1) Drive “year round” by getting her out of the driveway at least once every month.  That first year I was chopping ice at the end of the driveway so I could get out and then go up and down the street because the road itself was dry and it was almost +40 degrees out. And I did it; I rode at least once every month that first year.   (2)  In this first year, by February 14, 2012, I wanted to have driven her 5,000 miles. I had a friend who drove 10,000 miles annually on her bike, but I was a newbie.  The Sunday before this magic day was up, I was still short. It was COLD outside, and windy, but the roads were dry. So Kevin bundled up with me and we drove around the countryside for a hundred or so miles until I turned the magic 5,000. It was a proud moment.

pat-black-hills

I used to really get into it!

And then today…78 annual miles … the proof stared up at me.  Uff-da! My first thought was, clearly it’s time to sell her. My second though was, I’m glad she’s paid for because if I was making payments on her while she just sat in the garage taking up space, I would not be happy. Then I thought, it’s time to go riding.

So I did. After what seemed like an hour-long ride , I stopped at Au Bon Pain for an afternoon coffee and a croissant. My hands were a little stiff from the reach between the clutch handle and hand grip, and the breeze made it somewhat cooler than 73 degrees on the back deck with my feet propped up. I looked at the odometer and was surprised to see I had gone all of 15 miles!!! Two more miles to get home, and I’m still short of 100 for the YEAR by 5 miles. But I just didn’t care to drive around so I could hit that mark. So I came home and put her away.

my-new-honda

My Honda VTX1300T

I don’t know if I’ll ride again….and that does make me just a little bit sad.  Maybe it’s time to release her to someone else who will get more joy out of having her. Maybe I should try harder (or just try) to find a riding group. Maybe I’m just done. I guess time will tell.  In the meantime, I will remain grateful for the good times we had together (Beartooth Pass, Pig Trail, Nashville construction zone in the dark and rain, Sarasota, Black Hills, and more). I am especially grateful that all my rides have been safe ones. I hope yours are, too!  If you don’t ride, please SEE MOTORCYCLES so they can be safe. Maybe they’re trying to hit 100…or 5,000 miles…or some other milestone.