Embrace The Suck

In a short conversation with Alana Sheeren (see previous post) she asked "what's the worst that can happen." Knowing it was only a 15 minute call and I didn't have time for a laundry list of "worsts" I blurted out failure. Yeh, I'm pretty afraid of failing even though I've had some mighty successes in my life. Weird. Later on Alana asked me what would I say to Little ME.  As I did in my therapist's office a few months ago after an EMDR session, I imagined holding her hand and saying, "it's going to be okay." There I am feeling so scared I'm almost paralyzed with moving ahead in my life and at the same time I'm telling my inner child everything is going to be ok. I used to be like that with my children.  For example, when traveling, I'm a worry-wort of the highest degree. I check my ticket, put my i.d. in a place where I'll find it easily, check my ticket, shuffle through my purse looking for my i.d., go to the

Seems like no matter what I do/how hard I try I'm still hanging on to some old stuff that comes out in the form of grief.  My fears of the unknown and resistance to change is, for reasons I still haven't figured, is stronger than my desire for something new.  It makes me feel silly, stupid and even a bit "less than." That kind of thinking only adds fuel to the negativty fire. Don't get me wrong, I know I've come a long way, but the road ahead still looks like Rt. 66 through Arizona and New Mexico where you don't see much except the expanse of land and sky.  Good thing I wasn't a pioneer woman trying to get somewhere in a covered wagon.  I might have been left on the side of the trail to howl at the moon with the coyotes. Over the summer, in an attempt to rid myself of grief, I've scattered my parent's ashes, traveled the roads they traveled as a kind of goodbye gesture. I've cried and rejoiced over old memories and new discoveries. I

Ed. Note: This might fall into the category of "too much information." If so, just scroll down to the middle. My "friend" stopped visiting me rather abruptly back in 2003. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised because I'd been peri-menopausal for years. Now it seems like forever since I've had a period. But I can still remember some of those times as being a big fat, icky mess. In the big scheme of being a woman, I miss my memory more than I miss my menses. That said, there's something so awesome about being a woman - cramps, bloating, whacked out emotions and all - it's hard not to stand in awe of the process. Certainly menstruating is not something that should hold a girl back. I think I read once that Billy Jean King won Wimbledon while she was on her period. Good golly, that was back in the day when you still had to wear those little white skirts, wasn't it?  The thing is there are countries all over the world where for reasons of

I'm not a very politically minded person. Personally I think everyone in Washington should be sent home and learn to live in the real world of their constituents. Maybe if they spent longer than a 5 second photo op in soup lines, homeless shelters, day care centers, hospital waiting rooms, cancer clinics, VA hospitals, Rape Crisis centers, Abortion clinics, Suicide prevention hot lines, junior high school cafeterias, churches and synagogues, discount grocery stores, American factories, farms and foreclosed on/ blighted neighborhoods instead of their bureaucratic ivory towers the only thing that matters in this country would be change. Change for the better. Not Republican change or Democrat change, red or blue state change. Change that would re-kindle the American can-do-spirit for longer than Gabby Douglas' balance beam routine. Maybe if insurance and pharmaceutical executives stayed home and tried to care for their moms and dads by walking the labyrinth of regulations like

Dictionary.com deinfes nostalgia as " a   wistful   desire   to   return   in   thought   or   in   fact   to   a   former  time   in   one's   life" For the last few weeks, I've been feeling nostalgic for those months before my father passed away. I know, it's crazy. Still my mind seems to wander back there when I least expect it. Sometimes it feels like a sucker punch, other times, a simple remembrance, not sad or painful, of something that I connect with Dad. Today it started with a post on my friend Wholly Jeanne's blog and this picture: Picture by Wholly Jeanne, http://thebarefootheart.com/ A tin box. That's all it took to be transported to a former time in my life. It reminded me of the green file box, probably pilfered from the Navy 50 years ago (does that make it an antique or evidence in a court of law?) that sat among the other geegaws on my father's desk. The box was a holdover, actually, from my mother's very organized Christ

I love listening to NPR when I'm driving around town. I like Talk of the Nation (if it's not too politically oriented) and Fresh Air during the week. And really like whatever the show is on Saturday afternoons where people read their stories. There is an inherent problem with listening while running errands because I often only get the beginning or end of a story. If I'm really hooked I've been known to sit in a parking lot or the garage until it's finished. Another problem is wanting to take notes while driving - not advisable. I have to rely on my memory until I get to a stopping place and dig a pen from the bottom of my purse and a receipt or old napkin to write on. Relying on my memory is not the best way to get key pieces of information down on paper. So yesterday  on Talk of the Nation there was a discussion about an exhibit currently at the Library of Congress called the Books That Shaped America. The goal of the exhibit is to "spark a national convers

I attended a luncheon at church today. It's theme was centered around a woman's journey of grace. One speaker spoke of her experience teaching prenatal classes to Hispanic women. Another, a hospice chaplain, talked about giving and receiving grace at the bedside of one who is dying.  Well, I don't have to tell you that I cried, those silent tears dripping down your face kind of crying, through the whole thing.  Seriously, folks, I have to get over this. I've cried so much over the past few years, I've learned not to let them get in the way. Through the misty haze of tears, I looked at the 35 women in the room. Most I have known since coming back to Jacksonville. Others, are faces only. I don't even speak their language. But there we sat, together in a small room, over good food (delightfully prepared by grace-filled hands) sharing the experience of God's grace. We ranged in age from pre-teen to 103. We come from different places and backgrounds, yet, toget

(I started this post yesterday, then got distracted...) I'm not sure going to the movie is fun anymore. Packed my Sweetie up for an afternoon matinee - $5.00 right? Wrong.  Even though we were two seniors at a 2:35 showing, since the movie (Hope Springs) just came out yesterday, you have to pay weekend prices.  And, as  we found out last time we went to a movie, weekend prices start on Friday, not Saturday. Then, of course, we had to have some refreshments. I printed out a 50% coupon before leaving home, for a #1 special. It's a popcorn and soft drink combo but I'm not sure of the size. Fifty percent off would  put it into the somewhat reasonable price range.  Alas, the coupon wasn't good til tomorrow. What do you want to bet, popcorn and soda prices are also raised to weekend prices? So we opted for a #1 light. An old fashioned-sized bag of popcorn and a small coke, which is not to be confused with the Kid's pack small size. $8.99 a piece. The movie was sup

Today was another first in my post-caregiving/grief journey. Just when I think I've rounded the corner and have a long, smooth road ahead of me, I trip over a bump I didn't see. I need a job. Not just because I need the money. I need to have something to occupy my time and mind. I need to feel useful again. I need a purpose. I signed on with care.com months ago. Filled out a profile, had a background check, applied for a few jobs and heard nothing back. Nada. Zero. Zilch. I suppose I have to take partial responsibility for that. I have not been terribly pro-active. After my first few unanswered applications to jobs that sounded like a perfect fit, I ran out of steam. I was surprised to get an email from a guy yesterday who needs a caregiver for his mother. She has cancer. She's in hospice. The job would not be all that different from what I did for my parents. I jumped at the opportunity. Then I slammed on the brakes. I was overcome with doubt. Funny. On one hand, I

Sitting in my chair at the end of the day, I asked myself yesterday's question. Where did I see God today? Since I didn't leave the house I had to check my surroundings pretty closely to see where Holy might be hiding in plain sight. Since the den looks like a fabric volcano erupted, to find God in here would be to crawl around on my hands and knees and risk being stuck by straight pins. But I didn't need to go any further than my trusty laptop computer and bloglist. Wholly Jeanne, author of a couple blogs I follow, is working on a creative project that I find delightful and inspiring at the same time.  One day after watching her developmentally disabled sister-in-law, Nancy, draw in a notebook using a pen of her favorite color, WJ decided to transfer each drawing to fabric then embroider them with purple thread. It's a wonderful idea for a quilt. With the only problem being Nancy is nothing if not prolific and WJ may be stitching for awhile. If all the squares are p

We had a visiting priest at church today. As much as I like to hear Fr. Miguel preach, it's good, I think, to open one's heart to the words of a new speaker -to hear another's interpretation of scriptures that have been homilized (is that even a word? I think I just made it up.) for years upon years.  Today's sermon was about an area between heaven and earth that the acncient Celts refer to as "thin places." A thin place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God.* I've heard of thin places before. Maybe even written about them here. I've experienced a thin place as recently as a month ago when I stood on the top of Buck Bald. I did more than just take in the view. I rejoiced in it. As if I was in a holy place. I suspect each of us has encountered our own thin place. That place where we can feel the presence of the holy. Sometimes it is expected, like sitting still on a b