Embrace The Suck

When approaching the door of one of the local branch libraries, this notice was clearly posted on the glass front: EASY OPEN DOOR: Pull to operate Except for the doors that need to be pushed instead of pulled, don't all doors work this way? Just wondering. Merry ME

[Retreat Continued] 1/28/07 “Nothing is worth more than this day” Goethe Standing in the doorway gazing out to sea, the ocean seems little phased by the night's rain. The waves are still capped by puffs of white foam. The beach at low tide still resembles a fast food lane for the birds. I wonder if the jelly fish are gone, but I can’t tell from this vantage point. I’m tempted to go down and put my feet in the water before I leave, but decide I better not chance frostbitten toes. For all it’s tumbling and churning, the ocean looks little different or worse for wear. I, on the other hand, feel lighter, more in control of my emotions, ready to go home. I’m having a debate with myself as to where to go to church, but if I don’t close this computer and get going, I’ll be late whatever I decide. Next time I run away (and I feel sure there will be a next time) I’ll work on being more decisive. And I think I’ll change that phrase. Instead of saying I want to run away, I’ll declare it’s ti...

[Retreat continued] 1/27/07 Later that day: One of the things that’s tied me down lately is the day in/day out routine of fixing meals. I know that’s what I signed on for when I agreed to be Dad’s caregiver. I know that’s part of the job description that goes along with the position of Kitchen Maven. I know that I told Jack I like cooking. And all that is true. But it gets so tedious. Cook, eat, clean. Cook, eat, clean. Go out, eat, and so on. Left on my own, I think I might be more like a cat. I’d snooze most of the day, eat when the mood struck, clean myself regularly (in my case this would involve a long hot shower rather than that intricate licking process) then I’d do it all again. It, too, might get old after awhile, but it sounds like the life of Riley when you’re worn out, stressed out and burned out. After giving myself permission to take some time off, I decided to break a few more rules. I wondered around Target without regard for time. The irony was not lost on me that this...

“Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.” Hermann Hesse [Retreat, continued] 1/27/07 I read a little, wrote a little then wondered what to do with myself. I succumbed to the TV screen and the implication of control by not having to share the remote. I could surf through channels, if I wanted to, or keep it on some sappy Lifetime drama. I passed quickly by anything that looked remotely scary – Cops, crime scene shows or CNN news. I ended up watching most of a documentary of how Oprah traced her African roots through genealogical research and DNA. You’ve come a long way baby, and I mean that in only the kindest, most admiring of ways. At any point in her life, or the lives of her ancestors, had a different choice been made, the story would have had a different ending. I think that must be true for all of us. And since I’m doing some introspection, I think it is a good thing to realize that the decisions and choices I’ve made in the course of my life...

Friday, Jan. 26, 2007 7:45PM I left the house about six hours ago but my retreat didn’t officially start till 3:00p.m.when I checked in. So I’ve been on my own for a little over four hours. Well, not really on my own, as I went back to the place where I got my healing rocks and had a Tibetan Singing Bowl massage. It sounds weird, and the girl suggesting I try it agreed it was a little weird at first. According to her, the two things it had in its favor over traditional massage were #1 you don’t have to get undressed and #2 a stranger is not rubbing oil all over you. I would add my own #3 that it was cheaper than the other massaging choices and #4 the man who does the bowl treatment was on call and was taking late afternoon appointments. I had no idea what I was getting in to, but since this weekend is an experiment in inner healing, I decided it couldn’t hurt. Jeff was not at all what I expected. Not that I knew what to expect, but I had visions of a bald guy in an orange sheet, or som...

January 26, 2007 A little after three in the afternoon. Well, here I sit, by myself in the Best Western Motel at the beach. I whined and cried and growled enough for the last week that everyone decided it was time for me to have a break. I feel a bit of a decadent thrill coming on, mixed with a degree or two of guilt, a pinch of sadness and a giant scoop of loneliness. I’ve only been here for 10 minutes. My oceanfront room is nothing fancy, two queen beds – one for tonight and one for tomorrow. I’ve got the door open to my 3 foot by 3 foot balcony, where the ocean does what it does best. The repetitiveness of the waves breaking on the shore, lulls me into a sweet place. Breathe in, breathe out. In with the guiding light that brought me to this place. Out with the negative energy that has held me captive. (Question: Is it me who clings to the negative instead of the other way around.) Upon arrival, like any little kid who needs to check out her new surroundings, I peed. (Okay, Carolyn,...

I understand that humans are a more refined species than say, cats or dogs. We walk upright; we shake hands instead of sniff bottoms; we eat food that has been cooked and made to look pretty; we walk around, instead of roll in, really stinky stuff, and we, for the most part, don't like to throw up. Still, I can't for the life of me understand why a 16 year old cat who's main objective in life is to eat and sleep, and who can no longer leap tall buidlings or make it to the top of a table without a lot of head bobbing and a good dose of "I think I can" will attempt to climb the cat equivalent of Mt. Everest just to nibble on a house plant that he knows is going to act as an instant emetic. He risks life and limb for a green treat that immediately comes right back up. What's that' all about? Recently I brought in a plant that had been residing outside and needed some TLC. I trimmed off the brown parts, replanted it into a perky little pot, gave it a good dri...

"For me, writing is exploration; and most of the time, I'm surprised where the journey takes me." Jack Dann "No one is able to enjoy such feast than the one who throws a party in his own mind." Selma Lagerlöf "We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little." Anne Lamott I read a newspaper article recently in which the much younger and hipper columnist described the transformation of the seemingly innocent "Hello Kitty" diary of bygone days to the tell-all-no-holds-barred-secrets-be-damned MySpace blog of today. Capitano describes information revealed by today's teens that, quite frankly, shocks me. "Our reckless youth are comfortable with their lives being an open book," she wrote.* She calls these bloggers egocentric. So I started wondering. Even if my postings pale in comparison, does the fact that I have started my own ...

1. The smell of a fresh cut pine tree: When I was vacuuming this morning, I realized that even though the 2006 Christmas tree is long gone, there was still a pile of fallen needles behind the table where it stood. I realize that by making this observation, then posting it on a blog that I am letting the world know my cleaning habits are subpar. Then again, the fact that I've only told three people about my blog and they love me despite the fact that I am house cleaning-challenged, I shouldn't have too much to worry about. My point, however, is not my cleaning habits or lack thereof, it is that even though it's been over a month since the tree was put up, lit up, decorated and dismantled, the trail of needles still smelled fresh. How cool is that? There seems to be some kind of phenomenon that happens when the vacuum picks up the neeldes, then swirls them around in its vacuum vacuum that re-energizes the pine molecules and sends the scent of piney woods through the room. It...

As I was dishing out my Dad's breakfast serving of five (not four, not six) stewed prunes this morning, I decided that whoever is in charge of prune public relations must really have a hard job. I just don't think it's humanly possible to come up with an advertising campaign that could possible make eating something that looks so much like a round little poop ball appetizing, let alone more desireable than, say a banana or an apple or a kiwi (which in my opinion could use a haircut and a shave). I doubt that even dancing, Motown-impersonating, prunes could convince me with a hip, toe-tapping tune to taste this shriveled up fruit. I'm pretty sure concentrating on the packaging, would also have little effect on my decision to eat such an ugly thing. Easy open, zip-lock containers or citrus flavoring aren't going to change my first impression of something that looks like it came out of the toilet. I suspect there are prune lovers all over the world who might disagree w...

Near the St. Vincent's Medical Center in Jacksonville, there is a new park decorated with bronze statues depicting the Sisters of Charity who founded the center in 1916. The various poses signify the various aspects of the work the sisters did - the Dreamer, the Pray-er, the Breadmaker and the Planter. I think of those four, I'd probably be classified as a dreamer. I like to think of myself as an idea girl. Perhaps, before I tell you a particular success story, this would be a good time to point out that all my ideas are not what you'd call winners. Like the time I lit all those candles on the beautifully evergreen draped mantle just as my holiday guests were arriving. Who knew the flames would reach so high they would burn the fake (and obviously meltable plastic) moulding on the mirror hanging over the fireplace? And how was I supposed to know when I talked Wendy into driving eight hours through the night to get from San Diego to Tuscon for a hot air balloon festival 5 am...

I've been reading an interesting book. It's the follow on to a book by Joan Anderson who took a year's personal sabbatical near a New England seaside. Sabbatical might not be the right word since it implies a thought process, and some planning. Anderson, I believe, just sort of decided one day she was leaving everything she knew behind and went looking for herself. As a woman who has been on that same kind of search for as long as I can remember the orginal book was a tease. While I don't particularly want to leave my family, friends, pets, books, etc., behind, I often fantasize about having a beach house (or log cabin in the woods) to run to on any given day for an indefinite length of time. "I've gone to the beach" the note I leave on the refrigerator might say. And after a while everyone who knows me would also know that I could be gone for an hour or a week, but when I got back I'd be a happier person. Well, maybe not necessarily happier, but more ...

What is it they say about the best laid plans? Obviously my decision to post some meaningful bit of prose every day, has not quite turned out the way I had hoped it would. I'd like to say I have a good excuse, but would I just be making excuses to myself? It doesn't say so in my blog profile, but I am my Dad's fulltime caregiver. It's a strangely rewarding job, yet at the same time occasionally fraught with friction and generational dysfunction. If I were better about journaling and there weren't so many other baby boomers in the same place - sandwiched between caring for their children, grandchildren and parents - the story of our life together could make for a good book, followed by the movie version, starring Meryl Streep as ME and a "Grumpy-Old-Man-esque" actor as the loveable curmudgeon. But I digress. On Sunday morning, last, I got one of those adrenaline pumping calls from across the hall. "Mary," my dad yells and no matter what stage of s...

Last night I awoke from a rather peculiar dream. But that's not really so strange. I think if there was ever a weird dream contest I could probably win it - or at least be a top contender. Take for instance the dream I had a couple of nights ago. I can't recall the whole thing, but what I do remember, clear as the proverbial bell, is that I had this pink-colored,coral reef-shaped growth between the toes on my right foot. I tried to explain it to Jack and my best description was that it looked like red play dough that had been squeezed through a garlic press. If you've ever done that, then you know you get these stringy, wormy threads that you can turn into hair for your play dough people creations. If you can, imagine one of these wormy globs resting between my toes. In the world of dream interpretation, I doubt this subject has ever come up. I'd had a rather bland dinner of potato soup, the night before, so I don't think the dream was gastric related. I also don...

Last night I sat in this very spot and wrote my first post. I did what journaling experts say to do ... just start writing and see where you go. It was a fairly good piece of prose if I do say so myself. Short to the point, yet profound and witty. But just to check myself, I decided to "preview" this literary accomplishment and within minutes I'd pushed a button that, in the blink of an eye (or touch of a finger, as the case may be) erased everything that had taken me about an hour to write. Needless to say I was a litle peaved. I pushed every back button I could think of that might produce a screen with my words on its face. All to no avail. I guess when the warning came up that said something like, "hey, you haven't saved anything are you sure you want to do this?" it meant it saved as in, SAVE or you're going to lose everything. Finally, I gave up and went to bed, wondering if I was meant to be a blogger. I confess when I turned the computer on this m...