Embrace The Suck

"God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens he left for you. Paulo Coehlo The Alchemist I believe God, the Creator, Spirit, the Divine Know-It-All, speaks to me. Sometimes the voice is nothing more than a soft whisper of wind blowing through the trees, or the roar of the ocean inching toward the shore. It might be in a bird's song, a baby's laugh, or an old person's remembering. Sometimes I hear God in a crowd and sometimes when I'm alone in my car. The other day I overheard him in the conversation of those 3 young Scouts. Personally I would prefer God speak more in words that I can understand and less in signs I have to interpret for myself. That said, I'm getting better at recognizing the little (and sometimes not so little) nudges. Like the other day I was thinking about contacting a priest friend to discuss once again what it means to be called to the ministry. It's a recurring question I have. One I am pretty good a...

"It's a time to remember the Veterinarians"* My Dad is buried at the National Cemetery in Jacksonville. It has become a kind of sanctuary for me. I love to go and sit at the base of my father/mother's headstone. I cry [of course]. I run my hands of the granite feeling each letter of their names. And I look around me at all the names of people who have served our country. Just to the right of Dad's grace, the marker says, "I did my best." As epitaphs go, I'd say that one is short, sweet and to the point. I did my best. If at the end of the last day each of us can look at our Creator and say, I did my best, then I believe that is a life well-lived. Maybe it's not a life without regret, or sorrow, or pain, but undoubtedly one of truth. On Saturday morning I joined Boy Scouts from Pack 541 and some attending adults in placing a small flag on each grave in a Memorial Day tribute. Before we actually began the work, a retired Marine who was heading up t...

"Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength." Ovid Four months and 3 days down, the rest of my life to get used to the idea that my dad is gone. At the 3-4 month mark, so the pundits say, the numbness and shock of grief have pretty much worn off. In the beginning of grief maybe you didn't realize you were feeling like a zombie; or like a cry baby; or like you wanted to smash into the car in front of you for no other reason than it is the car in front of you; or like you want to stay in bed all day because you've got a 2-ton elephant is sitting on your heart. At the 4 month mark you are aware of these things, but still at a loss to change them. What that means for me is that I seemed to have crossed over into the anger stage of grief. I wonder what I'm going to do when I no longer have grief to blame my erratic behavior on. Sweetie asked me this morning why I'm feeling angry. Who knows? I fired back. Pick a ...

"Fears are nothing more than a state of mind." By 12:23 it was over. All the fears, the nausea, the rapid breathing. In fact, most of my symptoms went away as I stood in front a group of my peers, other writers traveling a similar path, and said, "Hi!" Of course I still had my presentation to get through but if I could have I would have turned around to face myself and say, " see. SEE. you can do this. it's not so bad. I'm so proud of you. listen to them laugh." I tried saying those same words to the shaking girl in the mirror before I left home but she wasn't really listening. I have to say there is something kind of heady about hearing an audience's reaction to your work. They laughed in all the right places. Places I'd written so many times I thought they'd failed to be funny at all. When it was all over I looked at my Sweetie and breathed a sigh of relief. He was quietly proud, "the wind beneath my wings". I stood wit...

what i wanted today was their stories, their energy, their presence. i think we forget sometimes just how important 'presence' is. i soaked theirs up this morning.... i don't think i'd be able to survive without women in my life....... Terri St. Cloud "Fears are nothing more than a state of mind." By 12:23 it was over. All the fears, the nausea, the rapid breathing. In fact, most of my symptoms went away as I stood in front a group of my peers, other writers traveling a similar path, and said, "Hi!" Of course I still had my presentation to get through but if I could have I would have turned around to face myself and say, "see. SEE. you can do this. it's not so bad. i'm so proud of you. listen to them laugh." I tried saying those same words to the shaking girl in the mirror but she wasn't really listening. I have to say there is something kind of heady about hearing an audience's reaction to your work. They laughed in all th...

"Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage, and confidence in the doing." I can barely remember what I did yesterday, but I can still remember things from when I was a little, little girl. Like the time I was in a ballet recital. I was one of the three blind mice. I wore a gray leotard, a cute little mouse hat my mom made, and long tail attached with snaps so when the farmer's wife came after the mice she could pull on the tails and off they would come. At the dress rehearsal my tail was the only one that stayed on until the pivotal moment. The other mice's moms were sent home to sew on more snaps. As you can probably imagine, during the live performance my tail fell off while we mice were still blindly pirouetting around the stage and when the farmer's wife got close to me with a carving knife she had to ad lib. It is not one of my most horrible memories as it was most likely blotted out by other dancing nightmares. Much as I may have wanted to be a b...

"Clutter is a physical manifestation of fear that cripples our ability to grow." H.G. Chissell I was having a conversation with someone recently about clutter. It was kind of strange to be listening to this certain someone expound on the virtues of de-cluttering because except for me, she is one of the clutteriest people I know. Or used to be! Motivated by the conversation I got up yesterday and cleaned both the refrigerator and the cabinet under the kitchen sink. I think there is some kind primordial growth taking place in the dark recesses of that cabinet. In the same way that microscopic organisms evolved to populate the world, cans of Pledge, bottles of Iron removing cleanser, metal polishes and sponges have expanded to fill their damp dark habitat. I find it highly unlikely that I would have bought TWO cans of oven cleaner when the whole time I've lived here I've had a self-cleaning oven. (What kind of a mis-nomer is that? No oven actually cleans itself, it jus...

Like the days in the life of a new born, mourning is often characterized by a year of firsts. First hour after the world changed. First night alone. First meal without someone else "suggesting" how you could do it just a little better. First load of laundry sans the deceased two-pocketed long-sleeved shirts. First trip to the grocery store. First trip past the Longhorn without ordering a Flo's filet. First time making scrambled eggs the way you like them, not to please someone else's idea of delicious. First time making it through a church service without bawling. First time you don't feel the need to shout at an innocent phone solicitor who is simply doing his job that your father is dead and you will no longer be supporting the Republican Party or the NRA even if he was a lifetime member. First birthday, anniversary, holiday without the beloved person. Sweetie took me to the cemetery today. Tears streamed down my face as I ran my fingers across Dad's name an...

Note from ME: As you might be able to tell, I started this yesterday but never finished. Perhaps that will be the story of my life. Mama & ME Mother's Day was overshadowed this year by the fact that it fell on the eve of what would have been my father's 94th birthday. I've been pretty busy missing him, feeling sorry for myself, and wondering how I'll get through a day that if he were here he'd be saying he's old and what's the point in celebrating but waiting with barely disguised anticipation for a stack of presents and a German Chocolate cake covered in candles. Imagine, that, me feeling sorry for myself. No mother to honor. No father for the Birthday Fairy to harass. Boohoo. But wait. I'm a mother. Shouldn't I honor ME? And what about my sisters who all have children and some have grandchildren? Grandmother's are mothers who deserve a double dose of honoring. And what about all those other mothers out there? Tall ones, short ones, happy on...

"When Life Gives you Soap, Make Bubbles." The Bubble Fairy Several years ago, as editor of her school's yearbook, my daughter, Weneki , spent a week away from home studying the ins and outs of great yearbook making. I'm sure she learned a lot of things that served her well that year. The thing I remember most, however, is the advice she came home with. Blow bubbles, they told her, when deadlines roll around and the work isn't done, or the stress of Calculus's finals coincides with copy editing. There is something so very soothing about blowing iridescent bubbles from a 4 inch plastic stick. I wonder if it's the bubbles themselves or the place and time they magically transport bone weary adults to. That place of childhood where cares float away on bubbly air and where, with sticky, soapy fingers the world's only challenge is catching a freshly made bubble without it popping. Perhaps I don't do it as often as I should, but bubble blowing is still ...

"Grandchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation." Lois Wyse Meet my great-granddaughter. May your world be filled with the magic of children, Merry ME

I should have stayed up after letting the dog out. But the sun was still snoozing, so I hopped back into bed. A couple hours later I awoke feeling drugged and scared. I'd had a bad dream (you know it's bad when the serial killer you've been trying to ditch is moving in next door to care for the woman who lives there and nobody but you knows he's a killer. Yikes!) that even a hot shower couldn't wash away. I should have leashed up Miss Suz and gone for a walk. I thought I'd read just one email and a few blogs then be on my way. Of course the first thing I saw when my computer booted up was the scary face of America's Most Wanted who isn't wanted anymore. I breathe a sigh of relief that there is one less evil person in this world. I suspect there will be lots of news coverage of "civilized" Americans dancing in the streets. Somehow I can't bring myself to rejoice. All I can think of is that there is one more mother, or wife, or child who wil...