Pocketbook

I may not sure other women are like this, but I don't like others to get into my wallet...at all! The deeper or larger the request, the less likely I am to let you wander on your own into my wallet to retrieve it. See all those little pockets, those are mine, I have designated them for their purpose and no one gets into those credit card, money slots, picture holders but me.  

I am very particular when it comes to selecting a wallet, hunting it down with care and precession.  I have known this about myself for many years, it has been a running gag/sore point in my relationship with Hugh, although mostly just a joke.  There is also the "dirty purse shame" that threatens me but this is completely and all together another issue that we will avoid today.

I am not sure why I carry this weird sense of ownership about my wallet and my money...something to do with it being mine, that I earned what is inside, that I established as a teenager as some sort of "adult-sized" indicator that I had money I had earned, and a place to put everything.  There was identification, pictures in their spots to prove people liked me, products had been purchased and I had receipts to prove it...just don't go rummaging through my wallet...I will retrieve what you need...keep your sticky paws out of my beloved wallet.

A couple of years ago, I started carrying around a $2!  After watching a good but rather low budget film, it became a reminder to me to extend love, kindness and good will.  It sits in my wallet, unused.  It purely a reminder to choose.

Suddenly and without warning, someone took my $2 bill.  I have replaced it but I have had a rush of thoughts and emotions about it and all of them have surprised me.

Curiously, I had been asked just the day before it was taken if I had any change and had fibbed because I wasn't to be without my $2.  Now today, it was gone.  The range of emotions came fast and without brakes. 

Anger

Indignation

Hurt

after a few hours, Sorrow

Fear 

Feeling alone 

Shame

Violation 

Grace

Forgivenes

Eager for the growth I would experience because of being violated

As each day of my life gets smaller and I am forced to let more people into the little pockets of my life, I wonder myself what I have tried to tuck away that seems of value to me but that will be exposed and opened.  Many of these things are of high value and need the protection I have given them.  When all is said and done, every little pocket, chosen with care by me, will hopefully find love, care and kindness.  

The $2 bill may not be the original but the intent to remind me of goodness and kindness remains the same and the grace and forgiveness abounds.  I, we are all on the fast-track to learn about grace and forgiveness. I won't be robbed of the joy a new reminder brings. I do know that it will take a little more effort on my part.  Do I want joy, laughter and grace? Yes! 

If yes, I am on the fast track to have those things even when I am violated...even then I pursue all that I hold true and open up the hidden places to show you who I am.

dark...part two

night...you know, the time between when you go to sleep and when you set your alarm to go off, that time when it is dark and your desire is sleep.  If we must be up, it is typically dark but maneuvering our rooms is easy comparatively  because it is an area more known to us. We know we left our shoes at the foot of the bed...step carefully around known obstacles.

I see better in the dark so don't feel pity for me here.  I actually create dark during the day hours, closing blinds, leaving off the lights.  There is no profound, spiritual reason for this: as with most symptoms I am having, I am losing my vision due to cancer pressing on my vision centers. I am very light sensitive, so I create darker environments to make myself more comfortable. 

And, yes, there is wrestling between the dark and the light and it is on-going. The wrestling happens in the light and dark. The day-time wrestling match is more public, is shorter, quieter.  Please don't feel pity for me in this wrestling match because I feel no pity for myself.

And the wrestling happens in the dark too but I see better in the dark remember.  It can be a suffocating, choking, pressure-filled place.  I don't feel depressed or blue.   I feel I am being healed.  I am being prepared.  But there is stretching and pulling that must happen.  I am being prepared for the life I have been trying to truly grasp for a long time come.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I am His workmanship. Soon, I will know it inherently.

So in your prayers for me, don't feel sad for me in this dark wrestling match! It is dark because it must be. And rest is always part of the equation and rest comes with joy and peace. Rejoice with me in it! There are sad moments that bring me to my to my knees saying goodbyes and surrendering to the processes of comfort.  It is dark because God shows up in the dark and I want to be where He is.

It is dark here because I am being prepared, for healing, for a full understanding of who I am created to be. No pity please.  I see well in the dark.

dark

Pitch-black

Unseeable 

Dank

Suffocating 

Scary

Dry

Pushing against

Pushing back

Boogeyman 

No light

Blind

DARK

I am wrestling with God in a dark place.   I have been very aware of the darkness, but as my wrestling match continues I am even more aware of the match itself, and all the descriptive ways I feel as each wrestler enters the ring to work out.  I know very little of how these matches get scored or how to win but I am in the ring, it is dark, it is often suffocating, there is sweat.  Sometimes it feels less like a wrestling match and more like a garden patch...fresh soil in, bulbs planted in the cold, moist dirt, then wait for the sun to shine, roots to take hold and the push back against the process from bulb to beauty.

What it feels like in the dark wrestling match from dirt; dank, moist and suffocating, to what will be a push thru to victory and beauty, dirt on my head, some sore muscles and maybe a bogeyman or two.

My dirty dark place is the why and the how, the on-going observation on the process of a body going from life into death, the acceptance or non-acceptance at times, saying good-byes and hoping it isn't the last good-bye, the curious wonder of each symptom or non-symptom.

The dark cries each night as I ponder and I think about the end of this life's journey as my family and friends continue on their longer road without me in it...that is a wrestling match only God and I can maneuver.   In the dirt, in the pushback, with the bugs and the mire, when all I can do is cry out, He is in it with me, dirty, sweaty, pushing back, crying out too and we wrestle until a rest is called.  After rest...and maybe some more rest, we wrestle again until a peace of some sort is reached.

But in the dark, wet space we are wrestling together to some sort of calm and peace until I need to push back more and understand. And the peace will come, in its time, in its way but through it He and I will find our way.

best served hot or iced

Tea!

Best served hot, with a little cream and sugar.

Iced is good on a hot day

Hot or iced...tea is good.

The tea always starts hot, steaming, inviting, ready!  Then tea delays happen. Children need help getting ready for school, gotta hop in the shower, answer an email, take the dog out.  The quickly cooling liquid gets transferred into a travel mug after a quick warm in the microwave and we're off. Typically, the one cup lingers about, now room temperature, and forgotten or barely given a second glance.  A fresh cup procured often finds the same treatment on my desk or kitchen counter.  

Many things should only be served hot or ice cold...not lukewarm!

Hot: soup (Loretta Hot please), corn on the cob, cocoa, pizza, brownies.  The "best served hot" list is endless

Ice cold: ice cream, champagne, watermelon, ice cold milk served on top of cereal, beer!

Interestingly, this week I was told to "avoid lukewarm".  Interesting!

The doctors think that the tumors may be pressing on my hypothalamus and pituitary glands causing them to quit functioning as the should. These two glands tell you when you are full and give your body signals to stop eating and drinking. My body is currently not receiving those signals making me very thirsty.  When I eat, I have to stop myself so I don't over eat. The liquid consumption is being closely monitored.

So why avoid lukewarm?  Hot and cold are more satisfying to the mouth.  When drinking or eating something hot or really cold, we have to go slower so we don't burn ourselves. There is intentionality about it.

Sitting and drinking a cup of tea takes on a whole different rhythym when it has to consumed while hot! You can't check Facebook or fold the clothes when your hands are occupied by hot mug of tea.  I am monitoring how much goes in so I want to make every sip count.

And of course, the whole idea of avoiding the lukewarm has risen to the surface as a theme for me as my days have begun to get smaller.  

There is not a lot of activity due to my worsening vision, dizziness and increasing fatigue.  Reading is difficult, writing even more so.  Negotiating my home is slow and methodical.  I have events I am stockpiling my energy for in the coming days.

But as small as my world is getting, hot and cold are present every day.

Hot fiery tears sting our faces everyday. Laughter can burn and still be tender.   Scary, I-don't-feel-very-brave-today, ice comes sliding off roofs, smashing its crystals in front of door ways that need addressing. 

There is the temptation to avoid the hot and cold...just stay lukewarm and positive.  If we just let things come to a more comfortable temperature, they will be easier to process and cope with. Satisfaction decreases as the hot cools and the ice warms.

Lingering and not rushing over that hot cup of tea, tasting it as it should be: hot and ready! Feeling the hot tears of anger or fear or the belly ache of laughter.  

When things run cold, when the crisp icy grip wets and coats and makes me feel frozen, I lean in and question and try to understand.  How can I really embrace what's been placed before me? By eating it as it was intended: hot or iced...not lukewarm. Don't linger...drink up...it's hot or cold now.

This path, this journey, this cup of hot tea or ice tea, is best when served hot or iced.  Choose one.

Avoid lukewarm

red fred

I'm in a car.  

I am a passenger not the driver...thank goodness!  Thank goodness because my vision is deteriorating.  

Double vision, very dizzy head, trouble focusing in general let alone all the turning and watching that maneuvering a moving vehicle requires! Seriously...thank goodness I am the passenger!

I love to drive! I love the control really! I feel in control, things feel controllable in the drivers seat.  Hugh has let me drive more in the last coulple of years when we are together because when everything has felt out of control, that feels a little more under my command.  Plus...I am a good driver.

Not anymore. Now I am not only a bad driver but a dangerous one.

Now I only ride as a passenger.  Today my chauffeur is a great driver, although he admits he is an overly aggressive one.  His driving has always sort of scared me but I have always been transported from one location to another without incident, although most times I am a basket case by the time I land at point B.  It's a running joke between us. I got my license before him although he is my older brother but I swear he attended a different drivers training school. Bottom line: things feel out of my control when I am in his car and I am all about that control.

Now, today, we are driving through the winding hills outside San Fransisco on our way to our next adventure.  Moving in and out of the car to house, or restraraunt or location is effort for me.  Moving about as a passenger in this speedy red wagon has become a beautiful lesson in surrender.

The other passengers are commenting on the sights around them, pointing out things of interest and intrigue. I can see yellow and orange but can't turn or see if it is oranges or lemons or flowers that is catching their eyes. My eyes are not working fast enough to process.  

Before there would be an on-going dialogue about slowing down, watching out and being careful. "Do you see that biker?" Hands out, feet pretend-braking, bracing myself, probably making him crazy with my paranoia of the for sure impending doom in our future because he is behind the wheel.

Today, butt warm from seat warmers and all buckled in, my eyes are down or even closed. The car is forward moving, turning, stopping, curving, winding, maneuvering, up hills, under bridges, on freeways, yielding to bikes, strollers, crosswalks full of California outdoor enthusiasts. 

There is no anxiety...not even an ounce. I don't know the way or the turns to take to reach our destination. I can't see clearly and with my history, I should be getting car sick but I am not.  I can tell he is adhering to my drivers training more than his own but as I ride I am feeling content and not concerned.  And not because he is driving differently.

I am surrendered. I have the choice and I have let it go. For the first time I am so happy he is in control and is taking care of the way.  Surrender has ushered in a lovely way to travel.  If I want today's adventure, he will get me there.  He knows the way, the shortcuts, and the traffic.  When we arrive, it will be because he safely transported me and not because of anything I did or said other than get in the car and let him take me there.

I can surrender because of his character, because I know he loves me, considers me very precious cargo and wants to see me safely arrived at our destination.  Yes, I choose surrender because of who he is and his love and devotion to me. Surrender is easy when there is trust, love, a kindness of character that allows it to happen with ease.

What a beautiful scenic ride!

laundry is life

I am going to cancel my dentist appointment in June! Is that bad?  I promise to keep up on my dental hygiene but I don't really like the dentist and can't see laying there for an hour to extend the life of my teeth.  You get that right?

I read this quote yesterday and it struck me deeply, "The art of living well and dying well are one" -Epicurus

Actions are made from moment one of life to extend and keep life safe: vaccinations, car seats, seat belts. We are trained and taught to make choices to live a long long life, to extend life and avoid death: eat right, exercise, don't smoke, don't drink, floss your teeth, take care of the body given because it, like life, is the only one you'll get. That is not a bad thing! We all want to live a long life gathering memories and balancing full life with healthy, life-extending choices.

Death is for everyone! No one is excluded from it. All the measures put in place to have a long life have shifted to another plane. There is a tension now in my life between the hopeful expectation of a miracle and the reality that my body is very ill and I need to be practical about dying.  

However, this is not a story about dying well, it is a story about living well...because they are the same.  My body will shut down. There are already things that are changing and impairing me.  But please when you look at me, don't watch me dying...watch me living...hopefully I can do both well.

So, no dentist!  I will shave my legs because I like smooth legs. But I am eating what brings me comfort. Sometimes I am turning things down because I know they will upset my stomach.  Captain Crunch will be enjoyed in the near future because I love it and haven't eaten it in 20 years.  Last night I ate yogurt and oats with fruit.  Good healthy choice but I don't typically eat dairy products or oats anymore, but it sounded good so I ate it! I love wine, and marguarita's etc., but they make my already dizzy head spin even more so I imbibe just very moderately so I can function.

And my days...well, yesterday I did some laundry! I know that sounds crazy but the calling on my life has been service to my family and our home.  I actually love it (not the laundry but that I do it serve the good of our home.). And it feels like living well. I like a clean house and folded shirts in their drawers.  I can't physically do as much as I used to and am not spending my time doing housework but I am finding everyday life doesn't start after the chores are done. The chores are part of life. I do believe that there should be fewer chores in life and way, way more people for sure but I don't begrudge the maintenance of days.

And please understand that I am not giving up or giving in...I am not losing my battle to cancer! If I was, you might see me spending my days in bed, waiting to pass on to my next chapter.  My battle is being waged on a different front and sometimes i think the real battle was never cancer anyway.

I have so much to learn still.  I want to grow and learn and be changed from glory to glory. I have promises to claim! 

People! I want people! I am thankful in these days to have so many helping me with maintenance of my days that I am getting more time with people and less on chores.

What I want is to be here for a long time to see my children have children and to love my Hugh for years and years to come. And that is where I struggle the most.  Wrestling with God, fists raised, tears, on my knees, in His face, asking for more days.  And then He asks me to trust him without boundaries for my family and their life without me physically in it (I say physically because I believe I will live in in their hearts and characters).

So I lift my head and ask for His strength for boundaryless trust and i start the laundry. I am choosing to let myself laugh and stop apologizing for my tears.  We are having rich days together laughing and planning, and yes even arguing. There is life here and that is what I am after!

high dive

as scary as the moment was for me, I am now convinced it may have been scarier for my mom to watch it happening to me.

location: amazon pool

date: 1970-something 

occasion: swim lessons

our annual swim lessons were progressing easily and organically.  I loved to swim and this skill was one that was highly valued in our family.  We all were required to not just learn but be proficient at it.  As a family we spent lots of time in and around water so the lessons were a annual requirement.

however...I never factored into the equation that I would be required to go off the high dive as part of my lessons. Evidently this was important to someone in the swim curriculum world and as we approached my final lesson, this was something that was going to prevent me from graduating out of guppy class into dolphins.  Can't be a good swimmer without a jump off the high dive I guess.

I had climbed the ladder and walked to the end of the stationary board so many times but had always turned back.  The climb of shame back down to the pool deck was always met with a stern look from my burly swim teacher and giggles from the rest of the guppies. 

"You will have to jump to pass". 

final day of class...beautiful June day finds me climbing the ladder again, standing at the edge of the board...afraid! I am so afraid!  Even now, thinking about that moment, my stomach flips and flops.

And then, like a great red swimsuit-clad fog bank, my overly muscled swim teacher rolls in beside me. She has ascended the ladder to join me at the end of the board. I know she is going to try to encourage me to make the leap, and in my mind, I think how nice it will be to have someone descend the ladder when I decide that, once again, I will not be jumping.

What happens next...well, it is one of the more traumatic moments of my youth.  It would have been easier I think if she had just pushed me off, but that is not what she did.

After some verbal "encouragement" (harassment?) she turned me to face the water and stepped in behind me. Placing her large beefy hands under my armpits, she proceeded to lift me up and take a step forward so that I was no longer standing on my own but was being held by her over the water below.  I am not sure how long I hung there but it felt like an eternity and I know for sure she talked to me for a while so it wasn't just a quick lift and drop.  It was more of a lift, let's-chat-about-what-is-happening and then drop.

I was like a dog treat being dangled over the mouth of a hungry dog being commanded to dance. And the fear I had been feeling was now about to be released into a full blown, freakishly shrieking scream as she finally let go and I tumbled to what I was sure to be my early demise...death by swimming pool.

I survived the plunge but am obviously haunted by the experience.  I still to this day cannot...will not...jump off a high dive board...nope...not ever!  Bungee jumping is probably out also.

And then there was Loretta! My mom, watching the entire thing transpire. I am pretty sure she gave that lifeguard an earful but as a mom, my perspective has become about what she saw that day.  

She had sat and watched every lesson. With pride she had encouraged me as I made my way through guppy class.  Watching as I climbed up that board again and again and then back down everyday, believing in me every step up and every ladder step back down.  And then I dangled! At the end of the stiff arms of my instructor over the chlorine filled pool. She heard my screams and watched my flailing body as I plummeted toward the pool. 

I am the mother today. 

There are my brave children, working so hard to be courageous, taking their lessons, climbing the ladder up and down. But now it feels like I am sitting watching them be hung out over the water, as they are being strong armed into facing their biggest fear.  They will survive the fall, and there will probably be screaming and flailing.  I may feel like giving God an earful but I know he is not the instructor in this story.  He is the soft landing. He is the warm dry towel waiting by the side of the pool and the hot shower in the locker room.  He is the arms of comfort. He is the laughter over the absurdity of the whole thing.

I am the mother.