Blossoming

I learned a lesson from a tree the other day.

There I was, walking hurridly past, caught up in yet another drama invented by my head on the recurring theme of how my life should be better than it is.

And, as if it were a whomping willow and not the charming little baby apple tree it is, it hit me.

"It'll happen."

I actually stopped mid-stride.

I had actually been pitying the tree as I walked because it is all tied down with ropes and stakes and such, but instead I realized that all this little tree has to do is wait. It is in position, been provided all the tools it needs to survive - no, to thrive. Everything else will just happen.

I grind my mental gears searching for ways to improve my situation and berate myself for wasting time - all for nothing. For all I'm being asked to do, as the tree showed me, is to grow - to take each opportunity offered and keep moving down the path. Right now, all I have to do is wait.

Is there a tree that can help with patience?

WARNING: Whining to follow

I'm Sick.

That's what I get for being the kind soul who stepped up to take care of two babies this weekend. And cleaning their boogery faces.

And since my brain is barely functioning all of my thoughts are playing out (barely) in front of Shel Silverstein.

Sick
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

From Shel Silverstein: Poems and Drawings; originally appeared in Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. Copyright © 2003

Except I never get to the "It's Saturday" part. My head is stuck on a horrible list of maladies that seem to grow bigger and more distressing simply by being named.

And oh boy am I whiny. I am even whiny about the fact I have no one to whine to.
My boss is in the midst of a family crisis, my boyfriend is also sick, and my co-workers are ghosts I see only occassionally.

"Hi! You came to see me for a professional visit? Great, sit down and listen to my tale of woe!"

Though I've tried to contain myself, I did actually greet my first appointment of the day with "I'm grumpy."

Seriously. Tres professional, wouldn't you agree?

Perhaps not. But at least I know her pretty well.

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

But REALLY I am whiny because I have to go to work. There is no room for sick today. Or this week. It is the busiest time of the year and not only do I have to be at the office and hold in my moans and groans, I have to work a double shift and be professional for an extra SIX HOURS. Blech. The two hours I'm taking off in the morning are so not going to cut it. I predict whininess well into the future.

Especially since this double thing will play out again Thursday and one more time the following Tuesday.

Happy Happy Joy Joy.

T'ya. As if.

More like Grumble Grumble mumble mumble.

I wish my pants would fall down

I bought a treadmill last weekend. I have owned it now for nine days. I have been on it ...uh, I'll be generous and say three times.

My pseudo granddaughter was on it more Saturday alone than I have sine we lugged it home (I use "we" euphamistically). Then again, what seven-year-old could resist what is essentially an escalator in your own living room? Even her stuffed puppy took a ride or two.

But I digress.

I also got a fancy gravity lift thingie that is really quite fun. I've been on it, um, say five times. The first time it hurt me. There is a plant on it right now.

This morning I intended to be good (Mondays are just like that)and set my alarm for 5 am. I finally dragged my ass out of that nest of a bed at 7. Then for breakfast my man fixed me giant slices of french toast (with the bread he made yesterday) slathered in syrup.

In the midst of another child emergency at lunch today, I scarfed a bowl of honey-nut cheerios. We're on a carb roll now!

Later the inevitable carb overload - I want to eat my arm - hunger kicked in and I ate what was supposed to have been my lunch in the first place - a nice, healthy Kashi frozen meal (Lemon Rosemary Chicken). It was yummy, but still not enough so I continued on with the yogurt and the carrots and everything else in sight. Because what I really want is chocolate and damn if I don't wish I hadn't discovered the vending machine down the hall with its siren chorus of kit-kat, reeses and snickers voices.

Because I know I will go home and eat what my man has lovingly fixed for me, which will inevitably be fried and accompanied by potatoes, probably also fried.

I'm doomed.

Full moon part 2

Today was a big day. Groundhog day and all. Our local prairie dog may or may not have seen her shadow this morning. It matters not. At the time she deigned to look it was around twenty below zero. Spring ain't comin' any time soon, that's fur shur!

BRR!

It was also a big day because I found myself sitting on a counselor's couch. (Which is WAY comfy. If he wants to get people out of his office on time, he'd better switch.)

The event had been planned for ages as a way for my honey and I to get some perspective on our relationship and some new tools for improved growth. Calling in a specialist to help us clear our garden of rocks, etc.

Well, my man couldn't come. He hadn't slept in nearly 30 hours by the time of the appointment, what with helping baby calves be born and live through the nasty shock of leaving a cozy one-hundred degree nest for negative 30 degree exposure. Poor babies. {I have officially been in Wyoming too long. Or I've officially become a Wyomingite. What's with the "what, with helping"? What happened to my grammar??}

So anyway, I went on my own, which turned out really really well. It was supposed to be a consultation to see if the two men could get along (I already knew the counselor). Consultations are normally 15 minutes. My comfy ass didn't shut up for nearly 90. Whoops!

It was a really great conversation and he highlighted for me some of the things I am doing to sabotage my relationship and also my own well-being. Top of the list is feeling the need to carry the responsibility for other people. {That train's leaving the station, so get yur bags and get OFF, other people's crap.}

He also referred frequently to a psychologist named Schnarch, which I have to admit kind of sounded like a dirty word to me at first. But Schnarch's theories are pretty right-on. Basically he says we are defined by our relationships. How we react to them is the primary driver of our own personal growth.

I was also fascinated to hear about the idea that all the self-help talking and reading in the world doesn't do anything. I was surprised at first, but once it sank in it made a lot of sense. Only experiences can really "retrain" our brains. Talk never leaves the cerebral part of the brain where we toss around ideas and think about things. Experience, by contrast, maps how we react to situations and controls what choices we make. Apparently this has all come out of studies of post-traumatic stress disorder. Fascinating.

"Talking will not fix it," says mr. smart man with nice couch.

"Huh," says intelligent, articulate woman sitting on it. "Hmmm. How 'bout that."

He left me with a parting gift: a small business card he clearly keeps handy because there are lots of people like me who are more fragmented than differentiated. Look at me with all the lingo.

So here's the nuggets of wisdom in case you don't get a chance to sit on the comfy couch.

Four characteristics of the differentiated self:

1. A clear sense of self in the presence of the other
2. The ability to regulate one's own anxiety.
3. The ability to remain no-reactive to partner's anxiety.
4. The willingness to tolerate pain for growth.

There ya go! Now go differentiate yur bad selves!

- keepin it real, here in Wyomin'.

the hormone SS

What exactly are hormones, anyway?

Monday I was bloated - I felt like I wouldn't fit into the seatbelt. That was awful, but yesterday I got worse - I was irritable, antsy, unsatisfied and generally unhappy. I tried to crush those feelings with many cookies and 7&7's, but alas, I awoke this morning with a full-blown revolution going on inside. [Some may blame the sugar for exacerbating the problem, but I'll defend my friendly chocolate chips to the death.]

There I was , laying in bed all snuggly with my honey and totally ready to scream.

I wasn't even awake!

So, I ask - what are these nefarious things that can take over our lives and generally rewire our whole lives for a few days, leaving a trail of emotional flotsam and jetsam to clean up after they say "Bye! See you next month!"?

Who gave them the power anyway?

What did God tell you to do?

My new hero, Iyanla Vanzant, said God told her to do four things: tell her story, teach His law, write books, and make people laugh. What are you being driven to do?

I once worked with a woman who had struggled against her gift her whole life. It made her very unpopular, she said, even with her family.

What was it?

This woman could cut through BS like no one on the planet. There was no duping her at all. Easy to see how she made people uncomfortable, isn't it? But when we think more globally, people like her are important for society. When we live in our illusions we think we are "greasing the wheels" and making life easier for everyone.

What we are really doing, however, is drawing out an already painful process. Kind of like ripping off an emotional band-aid as slowly as possible. If we all accepted our gifts and refused to be strayed from that path, each and every one of us would benefit. My client's ability to cut through BS, for example, would teach us to stop using it as a tool. We all could use a little less BS in the world, couldn't we?

I'm not sure how Vanzant came up with four, but I'll go with it - four is a pretty powerful number (think squares).

Four things God told me to do:

1. Teach people there is a better way, that struggle is not necessary.
2. Lead a life of health and honor.
3. Go forth into the world with a vision and illuminate that vision with his love.
4. Find solutions to the prickly problems that catch people up and distract them from their paths.

Now, if only I could learn those lessons myself!

Fear factor or T-shirts and dreams

Whereas some people spend their asleep hours in places from their pasts or in peaceful dreamy activity, I have recurring dreams about espionage. I am the center of some big, dangerous operation that certainly threatens my life and usually all of the people with me.

Last night, I helped retrieve dead bodies from a sketchy prison by climbing through a very Alcatraz/run-down Russian gulag kind of place. Sometimes we were saving a real person, sometimes retrieving the bodies of the honored fallen. Then swoosh! I am in my hometown in a whomping willow-like car chase with my brother's friends, trying to navigate crazy streets. Both times we managed to outrun our potential captors. Phew! No wonder I wake up tired!

Is this all the result of the many, many murder-mysteries I read? Like Robert Parker, Diane Mott Davidson, Katherine Hall Page, Anne Perry, Elizabeth Peters, etc.? (In case you needed some reading ideas.)

Maaaay-be.

But since I was given a dream interpretation book for Christmas and since these dreams are so recurrent, I decided to look them up. Nope, no listing for espionage. Or bodies. There was prison, but it was about being in a prison, bot orchestrating a body break-out. There was also escape and that is where I got in trouble.

The entry for escape is basically one big chastising. If you dream of escaping, you are trying to escape your fears, says Mr. Dream Expert. Who, me? As if I would ever do such a thing (she said in her most innocent, little red robin hood voice.)

Dammit. Even my dreams are calling me on the carpet.

So, what ARE these Fears which I cannot face?

Let's brainstorm, shall we? (If I'm really that unwilling to face them will they come out in a list?)

1. I may have to live the rest of my life without sugar (chocolate)
2. Rejection. Being accepted and loved by well, everyone, is very important to me (says She Who Will Not Ruffle Feathers)
3. Nope, I think #2 is about it.
4. I may never get married
5. I may never be a mother to a child (my horse and kitties don't really qualify)
6. I will never accept my gifts and pass them on
7. I won't ever be able to put on paper what I need to say
8. If I ever do get it on paper, no one will publish or read it
9. I will alienate my family and friends in the process of releasing all this
10. I am a hypocrite, preaching honesty and truth while hiding behind a pleasant smile and chewing on anger and doubt
11. If I ever unlock my voice and start talking I will look like a fool
12. That I will never get through all these fears and let go of it already.

[Note: There is a woman in front of me wearing a shirt that says "His Word is in my heart like a burning fire, shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in, indeed I cannot." Jeremiah 20:9]

For real. There it is, printed on a green tie-dyed T-shirt. That about sums it up. It is starting to hurt to hold whatever is in there in. I need to finish Iyanla Vanzant's book.

laaaaay zeee

Well, we've certainly observed the Sabbath today! It is 5 pm and I am still in my pajamas! My great cleaning plans were stymied by a broken vaccuum cleaner (in my defense, I was extra-productive yesterday). So it's still cat hair city around here.

In other news, I did in fact *give* the money to my friend and it is all working out swimmingly. She is much relieved and happy and that makes me feel good. Yesterday was spent getting organized and then we had a very nice dinner with friends.

It was a Wyoming-style dinner party - we knew the hosts, but not the other couple who came (though they live two houses down). We were there until 11! It was very nice to just sit around and visit with people. Among the dinner table conversation was ethanol, jewish tradition, and a born-again commune in Waco, Texas. Also rebuilding a CCC bridge near Gannett Peak. We also touched on global warming. It was very relaxed and nice.

wonderment

So I realized my theme for this blog was to be all the things I wonder about in a day and I've yet to write about one. But nope, this isn't when I start, either.

Also while home in Maine I met with a woman who really made an impression on me. She is not only heartily down to earth (the friend who recommended her said she was more believable with all the four-letter words) and real, she is an inspiration for me.

Courageous. Determined. Imperfect, but doing it already.

"It" is tuning in to all the Divine guidance available to us. It's hard when we are so hell-bent on not listening, so people like this woman do a great service to them and us. I know in my bones I am one of those here to help other people listen better to their own inner guidance, but I've yet to find a way to do it. Scratch that. I've yet to find a way I feel comfortable with, which is very different, isn't it?

Anyway, she told me to get my rear in gear and start writing my book already. Which I've heard a few million times before. But this time it was more defined - with subject clarity and phrased in such a way that I know I cannot wait for lightning to strike. I have this great image of her all scrunched up showing me what it takes to get it done. So, in sum, I am psychically and energetically constipated.

Spiritual laxative anyone?

But seriously, I have a lot inside I need to get out and beyond that, some I just need to share. Duty-bound to do so, even. Like St. Theresa's prayer and 1st Peter 4:10. We have gifts and are here to use them and make the world a better place.

And yes, I watched Pollyanna about 6,917 times.

I still love it.

St. Theresa's prayer

May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you....

May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of you.

Saint Theresa is known as the Saint of the Little Ways. Meaning she believed in doing the little things in life well and with great love She is also the patron Saint of flower growers and florists. She is represented by roses.