You thought I was going to talk about hockey, didn’t you? But I’ve already exhausted my knowledge, except to say that whoever scores the most goals wins, and I’m not sure a remedial hockey course is in anyone’s best interests.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Hockey! And Love, Mostly.
You thought I was going to talk about hockey, didn’t you? But I’ve already exhausted my knowledge, except to say that whoever scores the most goals wins, and I’m not sure a remedial hockey course is in anyone’s best interests.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
When You're Having One of Those Days
If this means shutting yourself away and eating cookies, then do so so. (This is not a bad idea actually. I have some cookies on my desk . . . )
If this means cuddling with your dog and taking said dog to the park, then do so.
If it means going on a shooting spree, you need medical attention, and quickly. Call 911. They'll know what to do.
If you need to be sad, let yourself be sad. For a few minutes, anyway. Let yourself be sad knowing that you're not going to let yourself be sad for a long period of time, just a little while. (The time period invoked by "little while" varies from person to person and can't be defined any better than that.)
Seek out sun, if at all possible. In mid-February this may seem amusing more than useful, but we do what we can. I know people who've had tremendous success with light boxes.
Not me. I'm more of a vampire. "Close the blinds!" I screech, "The sun's coming in!" As if I'm going to start smoking (my body, not me) and then go up in flames.
I am, as you can see, a vampire of the old school variety, not the new.
But even for me, being out in the sun, when I do go out, forces my body into a lighter place. Too much sun, and I'm back to, "Aaaahhhhh! The sun! Get me out of here!" But some sun is good.
Don't forget the sun screen.
Exercise, if you can. This may sound odd coming from me, since I've managed to convince people that I'm part sloth. But even I enjoy a healthy dose of exercise from time to time. It makes my body think of other things, for one, such as, "What the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?" (After a good workout my knees, in particular, are quite put out for days.)
Go to a movie in a darkened theater where you don't have to interact with anyone. Interacting with people can be very hard work, after all, and you don't want to exert yourself.
Make plans to interact with people later, assuming you like this sort of thing, so you have something to look forward to. (I like this sort of thing when I'm not sulking, but most of my people are too far away to interact
with, so that makes me sulkier.)
Which is not to say that my sulking is anything like anyone else's inability to deal with the day. In my case it just happens to be me sulking because I know what the problem is and refuse to do anything about it. This, then is
sulking.
Weird word, sulking.
I feel I should offer a disclaimer. "Should you feel sad for an excessively long time and hopeless on top of it, seek medical attention. Should you feel fidgety and are considering harming yourself, seek medical attention
immediately."
But if you're just unable to deal with the day, call me. Or someone you actually know, because you might not want to talk to a stranger. I'm just saying. Have a cookie. Burrow, if you want to. Indulge your day. You are more important than the things you were meant to do today.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
A Vacuum for Valentine's Day
The Stew Project
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Dreams Starring My Mother
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Goodwill
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Football and Hot Wings
Friday, February 5, 2010
Red Lentils
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
A Dream About Life and Death
Mom was cheerful about her looming death. This was like real life too. She didn't show us any regret or sadness, she talked bravely about her new adventure, and we fluttered around her in our attempts to make her comfortable. It was all we could do, you see, and there was nothing else to be done for it.
Mom and I went somewhere, for some reason, one of those places and reasons that pop up in dreams and make sense at the time, but in the light of full consciousness are meaningless, and can't ever be recalled. It didn't matter. I was taking Mom somewhere and making her comfortable. As we waited for drinks and food at the counter of a deli the people behind us grew impatient. I'd asked for tea for Mom, and the owner gave me a tea bag and a small amount of hot water, not nearly enough to fill the cup. I asked for more. Our supplies were mounting on the counter, and the people behind us grew more impatient and started making sounds. And this is odd, but one of the sounds they made was that they were servicemen and servicewomen, from the Air Force no less, and who were we to make them wait?
Who were we? Mom wasn't there with me. I'd had her sit down so she could be more comfortable.
Who were we? I told them I'd been in the Air Force myself, thank you very much, and so had my Mom, thank you very much (the first part is true, the second part is not, but when I went into the Air Force my mother, though
she'd never said a word against it, fretted and worried, as mothers will. She worried about me, not knowing exactly how I was. It was long ago, and our exchanges were by mail, not email, so there was a delay, like the time I
had surgery and without knowing what was going on she'd called the Red Cross, who called my commander, who sent the first sergeant out to my house in rural Germany where I was recovering from my surgery to tell me to please get in touch with my mother before she drove them all bonkers with her questions. So, in that sense, my mother was also in the Air Force, wasn't she?
Anyway, that seemed to quiet them down. For added emphasis, I told them, "And my mother has cancer and is going to die soon, so just shut up!"
That worked. That word has so much power over us, doesn't it?
Later I looked for a comfortable place for us to sit, out of the sun. Mom poked around at a bed that was part of an outdoor display, but it was all cushy and soft, like a water bed, and far too much movement for her, with cancer. The salesman tried to sell her on the benefits of the bed, and Mom, in her bathrobe, told him it was just too soft for someone who was going to die soon, and she said it with a smile and a twinkle in her eye that indicated she knew what a fine joke it was, and he let up.
We found a place to sit, and we drank our tea and ate our snacks, and we talked about life and death and the price of fruit, or something equally innocuous.
And so when the alarm went off I woke up reluctantly, wanting to stay with my Mom, knowing that when I did wake up she'd be gone, and has been gone since November. But I dragged myself awake, knowing that Mom wouldn't want me to stay when I had so much of life to get through, and there's so little time to waste.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
So Many Disappointments
Monday, February 1, 2010
Another Death
They keep happening, these deaths, time after time, as if there’s an exhaustible supply of people who can die and leave us, when we really don’t want to be left. It’s . . . unpleasant. Let’s go with that.
Last night I received notice of the death of a good and valuable Internet friend. I’d met her in person a few years ago, stayed at her house with a few friends from the same group. It’s a large group though, and we never manage to all be in the same place at the same time. But we manage small get-togethers here or there, this coast or that coast or Australia, or right in the middle of the U.S. Nothing like a diverse group of people for perspective. I heard about this particular friend’s death from the blog of a gentleman in England who’d found out by checking the friend’s blog. She’d been silent lately, and we knew she’d been having health issues. She’s older, a tiny wisp of a woman with a fabulous outlook on life and she was dearly loved. I notified others, and from coast to coast there’s shock. It’s not that we didn’t expect her to die . . . eventually. We just thought we’d have more notice. Or we thought she’d keep going on like she always has, sending out delightful emails, blogging about coffee and cooking, and just being there for us whenever we needed a cheerful word.
Just a couple of weeks ago I’d received an encouraging note from her. Her name was Dee, and here is her blog: http://cbg-dee.blogspot.com/
Life goes too fast, and while we’re busy managing our schedules, which are filled with all the things we ought to do, and planning our futures, which are filled with things we want to do, life keeps going. If we don’t pay attention, the future becomes now and we’re still thinking of the things we ought to do, and the things we want to do keep getting pushed ahead to a future we may never see.
I’m still coming to terms with losing my Mom. Was it only in October that I saw her and she seemed almost herself? Weaker and not eating, but still getting up, still eating a bite here or there, still wanting us to know she was fine and normal. Then in November my sister and my brother and I all showed up at her bedside together, the three of us, a very uncommon sight, and her eyes lit up, her entire face awash in the light that comes from knowing one’s most precious possessions are present and well, and she laughed. She was happy, though so close to death, and that one moment would be one of her last lucid moments before she went to sleep for the last time.
We didn’t always see eye-to-eye, my mom and I. But she loved me with a passion reserved only for mothers and their children, and no matter what I chose to do with my life, she thought I was perfect. While I saw someone who spent so much time floundering, never finishing anything I started, my Mom saw someone who was fabulous. None of this was clear to me growing up, during the years when I was always wondering where she was and why she didn’t come to see me more often, but I know it now.
And people loved my Mom. She had a wide circle of friends and relatives who loved her, and she knew how lucky she was. She insisted on looking at the positive side of things, no matter how it would infuriate me, and she insisted on being upbeat and cheerful, refusing to let the past sabotage the present.
There were things in her past she could have used as an excuse for sorrow, but she refused, adamantly, to do so. It just wasn’t going to happen.
My mom would have loved Dee. My Mom loved everyone. Years after leaving my first husband Mom would still keep asking how he was, though she loved my next two husbands just as much. But she’d known the first one for a long time, and so she kept asking. Until I finally told her that he’d hurt me, so I wasn’t as fond of him. Then she wasn't either.
She always asked after my Dad, how he was, and she also asked about my younger half-brother, who she wasn’t related to, and especially my older half-sister, who she’d stepmothered for a time. She asked about my ex-in-laws, and she was happy when everyone was doing well. All these people mattered to her, people she’d divorced when I was so young I can’t remember them together, people she’d never met, people she’d met only briefly. Always.
Like Dee. People mattered to Dee, people and relationships and sharing pieces of our lives, which is often the best thing we can do. Just being there, listening and hearing what we’re saying, even when it seems we aren’t being heard by anyone else.
I miss my Mom, and I miss Dee, and I miss Stew, all of whom taught me to do what I want to do now, because tomorrow might be too late. Especially Stew taught me that, for he never had enough time to do what he wanted, and now it’s time for me to finish what he started. Will you listen to me along the way?