Stop All the Clocks

'Tis the Season

The days are really, really short.  Trees that surround my apartment building and shopping centers and the houses on the roads between my home and my work are lit with ‘winter safety lights.’

Black Friday has come and gone.  I resisted the urge to splurge because, well, I don’t particularly enjoy being seduced by bargain prices on things that no one I know really needs.

My daughter’s favorite channel has been all Christmas, all day.  We are five days into the countdown to the 25 Day’s ‘Till Christmas.  Does anyone besides Ryan and I see the twisted humor in a countdown to a countdown? 

I’m feeling the pressure to get out the Christmas decorations, to bring the lights indoors, to keep busy planning for December 25.

Once upon a time, Christmas came at an easy pace.  Our family waited until December had reached a real roll, put out a few decorations every day until one day, the only thing left to do was go get our tree, string on the lights, and hang the ornaments.  Things were chill.  Life was full and rich and playful.

The past three holiday seasons have had a collection of different vibes; ranging from a full meltdown in a tree farm to self-isolation in my apartment to a frenetic search for something – anything to do outside of my apartment.  The common thread has been the pervasive, empty ‘something is missing’ feeling that sets me a bit on edge.  I find myself buying into the rushed pace set by stores and television to squelch that feeling because something is not missing.  Someone is missing.  Leo had a particular skill for setting the holiday schedule, giving each of us something to do a little at a time, for maintaining cheer.  He searched out quirky gifts – going so far one year as to hide and gift-wrap a kayak.

I can say, from experience, that sharing the holidays with the people we love reinforces the joy and meaning of the holidays.  In their absence, the holidays can become a collection of tasks, lists of ‘to do’s’ to complete.  

Just between you and me, I fake it until I feel it, going through the motions, hoping that I get so caught up in the business of the holidays that I fall into the cheer.

Many will argue that I’m missing the real reason for the season.  I assure you that I am not. When your world falls apart, the reason for the season provides the strength and the true rationale for picking up the pieces. 

The process, however, is long and paved with incredibly intentional steps.  I listen carefully to carols and to the promise of a joyful ending to the long wait of advent.   Sometimes, I even sing along.  I drop pocket change into the red kettles with a prayer that my contribution will make a meaningful difference and a prayer of gratitude for all that is right in my world. I watch intently for those moments when people close to me smile or laugh in surprise at some treat or tradition.   I drink those moments deeply, feeling the after effects for a long, long time. 

I’m finding that habits and traditions from my ‘before life’ provide a framework.  They are like footsteps on a familiar path that is easy to follow and always leads home.  The consumer hype and the media hurry hearken the arrival of the time to attend to the task until the task transforms into a cheerful glow of anticipation -- like the lights in the bare trees outside.  

 

Life is Like a Box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese

I’ve written the same performance evaluation five times.

“The system” is being selective about what information it saves:  the little clickety radial buttons are safe.  The paragraphs of associated evidence written three times before I finally smartened up and typed them into a document so that all I have to do is cut and paste.  On some level, I’ve given up hope that the evidence will ever stick.

Rather than start again and further proving that I fit the definition of insanity (doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results), I’m going to consider my options.

I’m at a crossroads.  Well, I’m at another one, really.  I’ve decided that life is a collection of decision points.  You take a step, pause a bit, live a bit, experience and then evaluate.  There is no ‘done.’  We are boxes of macaroni and cheese.  We need to add water, cook for 8 minutes, stir in some milk, butter and powder and then we are done… right? 

I miss being a student in school.  Considering a next degree -- adding another collection of letters after my name.  This time I’m smart enough to realize that I can invest the time and the money and be thoroughly engaged and on the hook for a whole pile of dough in student loans.  The issue is the significant investment in this particular pass time has no real long-term pay-off at the end.  I could wear a groovy gown and fancy hat as I pick up my diploma and then what?  Being academically entertained would be good, but not at that expense.

What if this is one of those points in time where I choose another path?  I want to learn something more.  I want to stretch my capacity to think and learn in a new direction.  I want the intellectual challenge of something outside of my workday.  I want find flow moments where I am so engaged in something that the rest of my day falls away.

What if I were to invest in something all together new? What if, instead, I opted out of education related to my profession?  What if I created for myself a different possibility? What if I truly explored a different part of my brain – the artistic side that gets swallowed up by evaluations and meetings and supervision?

I think that for now, I will collect options so that I make a good decision.  Extending the macaroni and cheese idea from above, I’ll collect some good recipes – from instant to Velveeta from Martha Stewart mac to down-home chili mac.  In the end, it is all good and any decision will be better than none.

 

Must be Jam 'cuz Jelly Don't Shake Like That... especially in a wind tunnel

Have I mentioned that I am somewhat (seriously) afraid (terrified) of swimming?  It all comes down to the fear of having my mouth, nose and ears fill with water.  I feel suffocated when my face is submerged.  Friday night was David’s birthday.  After stuffing ourselves with sushi we waddled off to the new indoor skydiving dive in Tukwila. 

It turns out that having wind blowing at speeds around 105 mph has the same effect as swimming under water.  Yes, I felt as though I was suffocating in a wind tunnel… and I had a blast.  (get it?  I had a blast!)

Here are some life lessons, reinforced at iFly.

1. Relax and your body will be less buffeted by the wind than if you are stiff and resist.  We can’t always change what comes our way, but we can lean into it and respond with grace.
2. When heading in the general direction of a wall, you need to respond.  Slow movements are superior to quick movements. Small, measured movements allow your body position to adjust to the wind and buy you time for additional small, necessary adjustments.  Hasty, quick movements cause big, quick reactions and it is almost impossible for a novice to respond.  You end up pinging against walls, flailing in an attempt to regain equilibrium. Reactions, in life, have similar outcomes.  Unless the situation is really life and death, it doesn’t hurt to make small, careful moves and wait for a response.
3. Wind moving that fast into your face will clear you sinuses faster than any medication available on the market.  Not much of a life lesson there, I just find it interesting.
4. Your face is going to wiggle, jiggle, flutter and flop. Keeping your chops closed seems to keep the slobber contained. It was impossible for me to stifle a grin… especially when the instructor was laughing and cheering me on.  The instructors seem to embrace this silly aspect.  While they do not let their own spit fly in the wind tunnel, they do open their mouths to fill with air and take on funny shapes.  So, why not just embrace the silly and put on a show?
5. You can’t take the wind personally.  It blows.  That’s what wind does.  The man in the booth, turning the knob that controls wind speed, well that’s just his job too.  Earthquakes happen, people die, it rains out a game, people complain.  These things happen, and sometimes, we experience the brunt of the aftermath.  All we can do is hang loose and ride the wind.  With that, we are back to lesson number 1: relax.

 

The Grand, Cosmic Balance

I saw Orion tonight.  Often, he is lost to me, swallowed by the city lights. I frequently walk at night these days, because I feel safe thanks to the same city light that obfuscates my view of familiar constellations.  So, tonight, while driving to the train station, I had to pull over in the middle Edmonds just to look up through the open roof of my jeep. There he was, splayed across the night sky, connecting me to the place and time in my life where I last felt home in a location.

My former neighborhood, lit only by occasional porch light at the end of long driveways, did not provide a safe opportunity to walk at night. It was dark enough, however, that for ten years while standing in my front yard, I watched the constellations shift position by season.   Over the years, I noticed that constellations moved across the night sky.  I wondered at the density of stars in the band of the Milky Way.  The trees stood guard on the perimeter of our yard, making me feel protected and safe.

The light cast by street lamps and the sight of a full compliment of stars are mutually exclusive.  Here in the city, the cover of light provides a sense of security. At home in the woods, my friends, the constellations, provide a sense of belonging to a place. Here, I work to spot any star to cast a wish and, on the clearest of nights, only the stars of the highest magnitude are visible.  There, I see the stars without effort – even the smallest contribute to the stellar spray and my wishes are cast among the multitude.  The light of the city makes me appreciate the dark and the dark of the woods leads me to appreciate the light of the city.

I have this informal philosophy that I can be happy anywhere, it is just a matter of effort.  Actually, it is one of the central tenets of my practice of finding joy.  When I’m missing the sight of the stars, longing to be back in the front yard of my house, I have to be honest and acknowledge that I am doing so while standing in the center of a city where I can access theaters, concerts, movies and people I love in a matter of minutes.  And, while reveling in the sight of a clear starry night, I am also longing to be closer to the comforts and convenience of urban living.  I cannot help but point out that life and the universe is grand indeed.

 

Alert: Adulthood Has Perks

Sometimes I feel like I am still a kid.  Not a child, but a kid of a certain age who is not in charge of all of the responsibilities that come with adulthood:  off-spring, a mortgage, a bank account, a job, a wicked shopping habit.  

I spent a hot day, drinking, what is best described as child size portions of cider -- if we allowed children to drink.  David and I lolly-gagged around the park, hopping from tent to tent, swapping tickets for big sips or small single gulps of adult apple juice.  We took a bus, walked a bit, dallied on the way there and back.   Half way through our tickets, we rested in the shade and I floated while David read me excerpts form one of the vendor’s blogs.  Yes.  I had a nap and story time.  For hours, I felt freed from all of the responsibility and hassle of adult life.  No car, no kids, no specifiic place to be.  I felt the freedom of being a kid.

Often, I find myself fantasizing about a life free of the junk of adulthood.  My line of thinking almost always leads me back to reality.  Because I am adult, I have choices.  The responsibilities of my adult life provide an income to go places I’ve never been,  work in a place that is all about improving people’s lives, and interact with people as incredible as my kids.

There is another piece to this.  I feel under-qualified to deal with adulthood.  Life comes so quickly.  I make decisions, grasping for the best possible outcome.  I cannot count the number of times that I have thought, “I’m not ready for this,” when I’ve had no choice but to deal with the situation in front of me.  In fact, I said those exact words weeks before Ryan was born.  I said those exact words on my wedding day as my grandfather grabbed my elbow and tugged me down the aisle.  I said those exact words to the nurse who collected me to Leo’s bedside as he was coding.  

I have arrived at the point where I call BS on myself when those words pop into my head or out of my mouth.  There is a difference between being ready and being able to deal.  Life keeps progressing, whether or not we are ready.  Timeouts in life do not exist.  The responsibilities and experiences of adulthood equip us with the knowledge and skills to do what needs to be done whenever. In other words, we are prepared even when we are resistant.

And being an adult, living the experiences, embracing the responsibilities allow us to know exactly how sweet those moments are when we are playing like kids, feeling freed from the ties of adulthood, on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

I Am Fine As I Am

David came up with an idea earlier in August. “Let’s each write a story to read at the end of the month.”  We negotiated the details, defining ‘the end of the month’ and the consequences for failing to meet the deadline.  Then, we each set about writing our stories. 

My story, fiction, actually began years ago, with a line that came to me in a quiet moment.  I wrote it down somewhere and have let it percolate for years.  I finally used it to begin what amounts to chapter one of a book that will probably never be written.

David’s story, titled ‘Adam’s Story,’ is non-fiction.  I wheedled him for weeks, in a half-hearted attempt to get some sort of information out of him.  David gave me devilishly honest clues that kept me thinking without divulging the story.

‘Adam’s story,’ it turns out, is about a man that we have encountered on our walks.  Adam is a solitary man, carries a black bag, and wears tattered clothing.  He is clean and he is dignified.  There is, what I would describe as a ‘grace’ to Adam.  David, for his story, spoke to the man, inquiring into his circumstances.

What stood out in David’s story, and Adam’s Story, is a phrase that David characterizes as a mantra.  To each of David’s offers of assistance, Adam responded, “I’m fine as I am.” 

This phrase, like David’s carefully crafted clues, has been nudging the edges of my thinking.  Whether David intended or not, there is a message for me in those words.  I tend to worry about all sorts of things, some important and some trivial.  I spin about what I need to change or learn or let go of to be better at my job, to be more organized at home, to be a better parent, to use my time better, to be healthier. This is not to say that I am perfect at all that I do.  I’m the first to admit that in all areas of my life I have room to grow – I am a work in progress and I am self-aware.  

Sometimes, I miss the balancing point.  By being so wrapped up in what I am not, what I do not know, and what I still have to learn, I forget to remember and honor what I have accomplished.  By over-focusing on what I am not or where I want to be, I no longer see all that I am.

I am good as I am and that is a joyful thing.

 

Digging Out -- on finding a way to become unstuck

I’ve known people to say, ‘if you come with a problem, bring solutions as well.’  I hate that.  Seriously.  If I had a solution, it wouldn’t be a problem and I wouldn’t need to seek the brainpower of someone else. 

I’ve been waddling in a huge quagmire.  In fact, I’ve been quite stuck, looking at the problem from multiple angles, analyzing the path that led me directly into the present problem, and knowing only that I need to find my way out of said problem.  I’ve been miserable.  In my attempts to understand the situation, the whole thing has grown so big that it consumes my entire field of vision and I’ve begun to feel, quite literally, that I am choking on stress.  I’ve felt like a hypocrite because I cannot find the joy in the situation. 

A couple of key conversations this week have provided the necessary, direct kick in the ass.  The problem doesn’t really matter in the long run.  The way that I respond does.  Analyzing the situation may give me insight, if I analyze the situation in the distant future.  Right now, I’m too close and dwelling doesn’t fix anything, it actually exacerbates the problem.  I’m looking down at my feet, sinking past my knees in quicksand rather than plotting a route out of the pit.

I got through Leo’s death by being forward thinking.  Doing so has led me to a life significantly outside of any course planned, let alone imagined.  The solution to my current problem does not lie in understanding it.  The solution is in plotting a way through it, onto my next step.  Being forward thinking, planning for a goal, being strategic in my own growth, looking at myself to find ways to improve – that is my solution.

My breathing is returning to normal.  I’ve developed plan, outlining tasks to complete and information to acquire and possibilities to explore.  It is time for me to stretch – and I’m on it!

 

Shh. He's sleeping

I have not counted the days since David left.  Once upon a time gone by, when Leo died, I did that.  Thankfully – mercifully -- my brain doesn’t let me keep counting the stuff that drags me down.  Conversely, it doesn’t allow me to count up, toward the stuff that I’m looking forward to.  Like Wednesday.

So here is what I’ve been up to while David sleeps in a different time zone.

Hogged the bed.  I’ve decided that there is merit in switching things up, crossing the width, consuming the length and stretching corner to corner. 

Started five books.  Mostly work related non-fiction.  The ideas stick, more or less.  Maybe I’ll finish reading them this year.

Drank the Kool-aid with colleagues at a conference.  It is nice to be on the same page as the people I spend my days with.  Especially when those ideas are good ones.

Gone back to work – with the focus of a mosquito.  I’ve spent significant amounts of time imagining, considering, contemplating rearranging my office.  That’s what I do when I’m restless.  I rearrange furniture.  The problem is that I haven’t committed to the change because, well, it’s probably a dumb-ass idea anyway.

Considered my closet.  I have way too many clothes.  I’ve begun the editing process.  Something’s got a give – and it is going to be me.  Wanna shop in my closet? 

Remained in constant contact with facebook and email in hopes that something really fabulous would happen to stay the boredom.  Reoccurring revelation?  The good stuff doesn’t happen on facebook or email.  That’s where the good stuff is chronicled!

Caught up with old favorites like Project Runway, True Blood, Hell’s Kitchen, and Food Network Star.  Hid in other parts of the flat while Nick catches up with her favorites.  I suspect that the television might be sucking the soul out of me in 30- minute increments.  I steal my soul back by writing.

Put on my big girl pants and begun the task of sorting though photos from ‘life before Leo died.’  Thankfully, I’ve reached a place where I can do this without tears.  It also reminds me that David might be gone, but he’s the kind of gone that comes back… on Wednesday.

When Life Gives you Lemons, Become a Pirate

Travel Log 7.15.2011

Preparing for vacation feels a bit like preparing for my own funeral.  I’m selecting the right clothes and the most appropriate ‘treasures’ to carry along to my final destination.  Am I the only one who feels this way?

Travel Log: 7.16.2011. 

David lost his front tooth eating pizza.  It is Saturday; tomorrow we board the ship for Alaska.  Where can I obtain a pirate shirt and eye patch?

Today was the first day that David told people that he lost his tooth in a fight.   Probably would cause a stir if I told people the tooth is still lodged in the back of my head.

Travel Log 7.17.2011

I’m digging this pirate themed vacation.  I wonder if they will force someone to walk the plank that is currently protruding from the side of this ship.  David happily grinned for the camera as we took our required and optional photos at check in. 

Travel Log 7.18.2011

This sailor went to sea sea sea, to see what she could see see see

But all that she could see see see, was the surface of a great bit sea sea sea.

Travel Log 7.19.2011

Glaciers calve like cows, throwing off chunks of ice.  Nature has put together blues and greens that I attempt to wear in my cruise garb. This far North, the sea, sky, glacier and hillsides are as God intended.  It just works – unlike when a pirate wears them mixed with reds and blacks.

Travel Log 7.20.2011

The sun rained down on Juneau today.  David and I chased tail all day – whale tail.   I sat in little vessel, fifty yards away from humpback whales bubble net feeding – something rarely seen, let alone by a boat full of people.  I tried to shoot them.  My camera lens was being snarfy.  I captured a couple of whale tails while David snapped up quite a bit of tail.   Oh, and the nice people from other countries have caught my pirate vocabulary on video.  It is quite frightening with that many whales surface that close to a boat that small.

I reached that point in vacation where I’ve forgotten the worries that burden me at home.  I should let them be. However knowing they are out there, out of reach, makes me cry.

7.23.2011

Co-pilot Pirate Monica reporting from the cockpit.  We’ve embarked on a death- defying trip through the Misty Fjords of Alaska on a well-worn float plane.  I have the task of overseeing the propeller and in the event of an emergency water or tree landing, I have the supreme task of being first through the windshield. 

7.24.2011

I have decided that naps and buffet lines are key factors to a quality pirate life.  I have also decided that in lieu of assisted living, I’ll take up residence on a cruise ship, where I can exercise, eat, and sail into the sunset. 

7.31.11

I’ve been back a week and today I miss the sunshine of Alaska.

 

 

Living Gets Easier, Grieving Does Not

While on a walk today I was asked, “with your loss, does it ever get easier?”  I’ve thought about that in the three years after Leo’s death.   When he first died, people often suggested that things would get easier with time or repeat the adage, ‘time heals all wounds.’  As a result, I have this habit of gut-checking every so often, asking myself, ‘is this easier now?’  I could compare this to the habit that dieters develop, doing a check at meal times, “am I still hungry?”

 The adage isn’t exactly true.  Time doesn’t heal the loss of a loved one, nullify their absence, or make us forget.  Leo’s absence is as real this minute as it was the moment he died.  I’ve learned to cope.  I have learned to live and allow space for myself to grieve.

People who experience loss develop a skill set and refine those skills over time.  We become accustom to the hole in our lives. Our ears stop seeking the familiar sound of their footsteps or their voice.  Our hands stop reaching out in the night.  We share the stories of our day with friends and adjust to the feeling that we’ve forgotten to tell the one to whom we tell everything.  We come to a place where we just do the work of living, no longer expecting to share the daily tasks like driving or dishes or cooking or parenting.

We learn to distract our thoughts.  When a memory surfaces, we tenderly explore the edges and quickly tuck away the memory until we are alone or in a safe place.  We cluster mementos and pictures and place them where we can interact them on our own terms. We learn to turn conversations in directions that allow us to remain composed, we learn the art of a deep, cleansing breath, and we learn that it is absolutely ok to feel sadness and cry. 

Some find ways to seek joy – first as a commitment to remaining alive and hopeful and then as intentional daily practice, and eventually as a way of being.  Joyful living becomes as much a part of us as the loss and longing. We also come to a point where we realize that finding happiness and joy in our lives is not an affront to those we miss. 

I am happy and I miss Leo. 

I choose joy and I grieve his absence. 

I am in love and I loved. 

I recognize that I live in the land of ‘and’ and that is an honest place to be. 

 

I Appear to Be Leaking Stress

A teaspoon of sunshine would bring a pause just long enough for me to glimpse reason.

One level measuring cup of said sunshine would elicit a deep breath, infusing my lungs with fresh air.  That inhale would fill me with enough strength to form a firm grip on that moment of reason.

A small bathtub of sun rays would certainly halt the b.s. thinking that is circling in my head and wash off the salty residue, leaving me with a far better perspective of where I stand.

Oh, one solid week spent basking in real sunlight, next to a massive body of water or a wide, wondering river would, without a doubt, leave me in a better state to begin the whole process again next fall.  I dare not imagine the giddiness that two or three or four weeks might cause.

Maybe I’m being greedy here.

Give me a spot.  Just a speck of sunshine, no larger than a dime, tap dancing in front of me on the linoleum, carpet or cement that I’m walking.  I promise that I will remember that stress, like a slip of a sunbeam in a Northwest spring, is transient.  And sunshine, like life, is joy.