Wearing Triple Ds

Dear Disaster, Disappointment and Disease,

I wear you well. You've tried to destroy me.
No.
You can't take away my eyes that see what it looks like; clouds clinging to the sky while hugging the earth-like me. You don't rob me of feeling my heart flutter in awe at the mountains when I look down on them through white light of morning from an airplane seat. I'm above you.
I see and I feel what can't be torn or ripped away or taken against my will. I soar above the highest peaks... Propelled here by you, but floating by my own grace.
I wear you well as I keep ascending, while I watch from my vantage point tens of thousands of miles above you. You're only experience; nothing less, nothing more.
I am so much more than what I wear.
I can take you off... Exchange you for a different size, shape, color, style. Thank you and no thank you. I can take you with me or leave you. You're nothing without me. But everything with me.
I hold up my head, stick out my chest, and flaunt you.

Mid-Life Opportunity and Smiling at the "Crisis" of Old Age

I have a friend who once told me "you're not going through mid-life crisis, you're going through mid-life opportunity".  I also have an uncle who once told me as a family member I was entitled to have ONE bad day a month.  That's what was allowed.  I'm so lucky to have the people in my life I have in my life.  The words, the role models, the encouragement when needed.

Yesterday was my one bad day of the month.  I dove face first, belly-flop style into a pity party, drowning myself in the feelings that come when I can't control certain things outside of me.  And by nightfall, I had cried a bucket of tears, eyes puffy and head hurting.  Then all of a sudden, like a bolt of lightening pulsing through I had an epiphany.  I have a gypsy heart.  I joke around about being a "pirate".  Wanting to always roam the seven seas.  It doesn't take much for me to begin feeling restless, feeling like there's something "out there" tugging at me, pulling at me... beckoning.  Some people label it depression.  I used to when I listened to doctors who wanted to prescribe all kinds of band-aids.  What I've learned is that when I go through those times, it's my inner voice saying, "Come on!  Let's go!!!"  It's time for me to listen to what my heart is trying to pound into my head.  Time to take footsteps towards the thing or things that fill up my soul.

All it took was that one moment of recognition to ignite a flame inside that prompted me to search out what exactly the universe had in mind for my day.  And by the time my head hit my pillow, several things had happened that made me smile and think to myself...  THAT'S the door I was supposed to knock upon!!!  And now, today, I have new opportunities waiting, new joys to discover and uncover... all because I pulled up some bootstraps and moved myself a few little steps into a new direction, through a new door.  And all of a sudden, more things in my life make sense and feel "right" and "good".

I even found myself today, thinking about mom.  Thinking about how I've gone through the aging process, dimentia and Alzheimer's with both my grandmothers.  And now my mom's brain is beginning to change in a direction none of us can control, especially her.  And all of a sudden today I find myself smiling.  Is that sick?  I am actually looking forward to the opportunities that I think are before her.  Before me.  Before all of our family.  Sure, I know the difficulties that my grandmothers' diseases brought.  But I would never trade what I gained from being present in their lives during those experiences.  They made me better.  They made me stronger.  They made me able to stand back and look at everything from a slightly different stance.  Today I look forward to who my mom becomes.  What she'll teach me.  What she'll demonstrate.  I'm looking forward to the silly things that will happen that will make us all laugh.

All it takes sometimes is to change one little word.  Last night's change?  Alternate the word "crisis" for the word "opportunity" and watch the flood gates unlock themselves and rain down blessing upon blessing.

Squelching Fire With a Li'l Hot Chocolate

At Starbucks this morning I was waiting in line when I heard the conversation start up between the Barista and a little boy who was waiting for his morning's hot chocolate.  It went something like this:

Little boy standing on tippy toes, chin resting on counter ledge, "My mom brought me in for a hot chocolate."
Barista:  "That's so nice."
Little boy:  "She brought me once because I was being good."
Barista:  "Were you being good again today?"
Little boy:  "No.  I heard fire trucks last night."
Barista:  "Oh really?  What were you thinking?"
Little boy's mom:  "We've been through two fires....  (quietly) two deaths.  He gets freaked out when he hears the sirens."
Barista:  "So your mom brought you here so you can have hot chocolate and relax, huh?"
Little boy:  "Yeah.  So she (mom) can relax, too."

I left feeling like sometimes you just get to be in the right place at the right time... hearing the right stories that speak to you.  I love what was given to me this morning.  We all go through terrible things.  Throughout our childhoods, our younger years, our older years.  Traumas.  Hardships.  Heart breaks.  It's how we choose to calm down those fires that leave ashes in us that matters.  And today I find myself smiling and thinking, maybe sometimes all it takes to put out the fires that give us nightmares is a cup of hot chocolate.

What About Bob???

I wrote this while still living in Des Moines, spending time at the art museum taking a break from preparations to move.  For some reason, I've thought about it again tonight.  Maybe because it seems that life sometimes completely catches you off guard some days and grants you inspiration and encouragement.... 

What About Bob???

I watched as one by one people glanced, then walked past.
That in it self drew me in.
White walls, lights glowing yellowish, but clear, canvas hung, apparently “just a white” painting was on the wall.  Same as the walls.  White.  White on white.  With only a hint of shadow in places that made you realize a picture was hung.
Most saw boring.
Or nothing at all.
Maybe carrying an air of “that’s dumb”, and a desire to walk away to find something more dynamic and colorful.
I remembered the old joke, showing someone a blank piece of paper and asking, “What’s this?”  Them saying, “I don’t know.  An empty piece of paper?”  “NO!!!  It’s a cow in a snowstorm!!!!”
I remember this joke from my childhood and I'm thinking it’s still kind of funny.  And who is to say it isn’t real?  Isn't true?
That is what I first saw on the wall.
A cow in a snowstorm.
White on white on white on white.
But since everyone else was moving away from, moving past, moving farther, ignoring…  I was drawn in.  Curious.
Got closer.
Then saw.
Hundreds of intentional brush strokes.  Movement.  Lots of movement in the stillness.  Intentional design and flow.  A mastery of subtleties.  Tricking the untrained eye or the eyes of someone not willing or able to come closer, dig deeper, discover and uncover.  Changes so soft and so naturally embedded, one would never notice from a further distance.  They couldn't unless they stepped away from what was comfortable.    Move into it.  Directly inside the painting.  Almost literally.  Nose up against canvas.  Little hints of disguised color…  but not the artists color.  The observers.  Color collected from the play of light on form.  The reflection of rays off of structure.  A powerfully beautiful dance completely missed by most.  Unseen by all the others who went before me.
Genius.
I’ve studied the artist before.  But I didn’t really understand.  I criticized his work.  Thought anybody, any age or training could throw white paint on a board and call it art.  Interesting how a lifetime of experiences brought me to a new place.  A place where my eyes are more opened, but more importantly, my heart seems to be able to recognize and embrace it.
Next to his painting was mentioned that he “didn’t want anything in the paintings that didn’t need to be there.”  He focused on essentials:  the medium used, (choosing all white), the support (canvas, gesso, all the elements needed to complete the work) and the way the work is (actually) attached to the wall.  He believed it was never a question of what to paint, but rather how to paint it.  By choosing what elements to completely leave behind, leave out, Ryman somehow captured something that spoke of mysticism to me today.  Something so simplistic yet so complicated I found an almost religious experience inside his work.  Something that took me beyond normal conceptualizing, random thoughts and interpretations and into something grander.  All it took was for me to shift my stance.  Change my point of viewing.  Look beyond and through what others thought they saw, what at first, I thought I saw.
Totally inspired…..

Perfection Takes Practice, Practice, Practice

“I can’t force you to practice.” 

That memory hit me like a board in the face today.  My mom introduced me to her piano.  Gave me a few of my first lessons.  But like with most parent/child relationships, it was like pulling teeth for her to get me to listen to her advice, and I imagine it was just as difficult for her to listen to me.  In the end, I relied largely on teaching myself and eventually learned some of the basics from a local piano teacher for about six months. 

Mom would tell me I wouldn’t learn, wouldn’t get better at the art unless I worked at it.  Practice.  Practice.  Practice.  Looking back, I realize now that sometimes sheer belligerence held me back from excelling during times my stubborn streak took hold.  I’ve also understood, though, that some of us are simply born needing music, having to sing, play, explore and learn from sounds upon sounds upon sounds.  And bonding time with my mother’s Gulbransen showed me that practice isn’t tedious or harsh, it’s freeing and hugely powerful.

Why was I reminded of “practice makes perfect”?  Today a friend commented on a thread I posted yesterday on Facebook which said something to the effect that life this week has been reminding me that it works itself out if you have patience.   He stated that he wasn’t there yet, implying that I was.  Instantly, upon reading his words, I recognized that life keeps giving us opportunities to practice… to rehearse.  And one of the things it allows is the space to develop the art of choosing how we feel in the present moment, in the here and now.

The morning was filled with little girls (my nieces) running late for a soccer game and their parents prodding them along.  iPads were keeping them from staying focused on the job at hand, so they were promptly removed and immediately anger and sadness and frustration set in.  You could feel it coming from them, almost thick enough to cut with a knife.  I suddenly, on the drive to the park, felt so grateful for what they are showing me, what they are teaching me.  They sometimes seem caught in their own emotions.  Sad begins with one little rock thrown in and it ripples outward, growing in dimension and size until I’m sure from their perspectives it seems as though life is horrible and they will never know joy again.  I had one of those “eureka” moments.  If we can harness staying with ourselves, within ourselves, each moment while it happens, we can also consciously pick how we want to feel, how we want to spend our time and energy, our only TRUE commodities. 

Do I want to waste even one precious moment dwelling on something invisible?  Something I can’t reach back and grab onto, no matter how hard I try sometimes?  Or do I want to keep my eyes and heart open and sit in the park and notice the beautiful colors of fall trees?  Notice the laughter around me, the love exchanged by human kind?  The beauty that surrounds me on every side?

Practice.  Life is one event after another, affording us practice to get things "right".  I cry.  I get sad.  I get angry.  I get disappointed and hurt.  But I hopefully am learning that I can guide my own energy.  I can shift it and shape it until maybe someday, one day, it will flow freely and won’t be so difficult….  Like playing the piano.

Thank you, mom.

Big Girl Lost, Little Girl Found

Hush, Mama, it breaks my heart to hear

That this is hard for you.

Your tears,

Tumble from your eyes

When you describe

How it feels….

Brain turning to mush….

Hush.

I can’t bear the thought

Of your thoughts being lost

The cost…

Is too great.

You’ve been GREAT.

How do I find the way

To carry this

Or let it go?

I let my tears fall, too,

I guess.

Joined with yours

Until they dry up finally

And turn into laughter.

Giggles and wiggles

Like little children…

Running

From everything

Anything.

Bursting at the seams

Neither of us screams,

Yet it’s there.

The shrillness of the invisible sound

Of not knowing how to be…

With this.

Quiet, Mom. Let’s look away

Or stay

Within ourselves looking out

Confused

At what it’s all about.

Not able to be

Free

Of the fear

Underneath dread

Inside your head.

And you tell me

Just let it be

What it is.

Cry.

Laugh.

Fear.

Until there isn’t any more.

What are we here for?

Shhhh… Mother.

Dry your eyes and I’ll dry mine.

You and I

Thanking Life for one more day.

One more smile.

One more tear.

What's Behind Door Number Three?

There’s an old quote I’ve hung onto for the past couple of years that says, “When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.” (Alexander Graham Bell)

I feel like this week has made me take a long, hard look at myself and how much energy I continue to waste staring at the old knobs of the doors which have closed.  Or worse, how much time and effort I’ve spent pulling on a locked handle;  pushing, wailing, screaming, wishing my brute force could create the desired effect.  This morning I woke up thinking how ridiculous it seems, watching myself from the outside in. 

A few months ago I challenged myself to do one thing each day that propels me forward.  Something intentional, deliberate before I allow myself to fall asleep at night.  Make the time and twist it around to form itself to my will, a way to move toward a desired outcome.  I’ve spent years studying others beliefs and ideas that life is an illusion, that we create our own environments, our own worlds.  Now is the time to begin putting it into practice, into motion and into action.  And it’s a bit uncomfortable.  Mainly because I’ve taught myself over and over that what’s real is what’s behind the closed doors.  The shift of expecting something more miraculous and more fulfilling coming my way, or of discovering something more powerful and more beautiful than what has been is a bit hard for me to embrace.  Yet life has brought me to the point of realizing that maybe it’s time to leave fear behind and begin opening the doors I’ve been ignoring or too afraid to explore.

I haven’t yet conquered losses.  Maybe we’re not supposed to.  I haven’t figured out how to keep from crying when I see certain things, certain places, certain people.  Haven’t yet mastered my own heart.  But what dawned on me (kind of like a lightning bolt) this morning is that I can either dwell and keep putting energy into rooms that don’t serve my life, waste time and thought and tears… or I can repackage that amount of “umph” and I can project it onward, upward and outward and spend the time improving life.

How much potential can we unlock if we learn to stop allowing a draining of our “natural resources”… our personal energies?  If I can effectively recognize when those times happen, when I start remaining stuck or frozen, or get pulled backwards, then pull myself around and anticipate the hidden power of what’s behind another door, I uncap endless possibilities, an endless amount of unexplored options and life becomes my ocean rather than my chains.  And suddenly I'm a pirate sailing through an exciting, ever changing sea rather than a turtle stuck inside its own shell, too afraid to come out.  Ahoy!

Do Things Happen For a Reason?

Half my friends say and firmly believe, yes... everything happens for a reason.
The other half...  "nah".  It's all by chance.

I keep trying to figure out which I believe in...  maybe neither.  Maybe both.

But what I do know is this, life happens.  Moments stack on top of moments and we are changed.  Sometimes profoundly... other times, a small seed is planted and doesn't really nudge at us until years later, when we realize that little element of hope sprouted and grew while we weren't watching or cultivating.

For the first time, I think I've mentioned this before, for the first time in my life I am taking one day at a time.  No expectations for my future.  No solid game plan.  In a way, and I don't mean to sound dark or bleak or morbid, but in a way, I honestly think life broke me into pieces.  I think to a large degree at least once or twice in our lives it does that with us all.  My friend Justin would remind me that there are moments, in fact, each second where we die and are reborn again. 

Sometimes I look at my mom, knowing she doesn't feel the "same", often times doesn't feel "normal", more often I'm sure she is afraid and confused a lot.  I look at her and I see my own reflection to an extent.  But there is something incredibly freeing when you are in a state of complete "absence of".  A place where you have either willingly or unwillingly had to release more than you ever thought you could.  Let go of your identity.  Let go of things that once comforted and felt secure.  Let go of home base.  Let go of all the expecteds that once felt like they guided you in the direction you thought you were meant to travel.  Let go.  Let go.  Let go.

I think mom and I are maybe designed to help one another through that process and reach the point where a friend reminded me yesterday of "flying".  Expanding so much because of what has been added as replacement to what is lost that you can't help feeling the exhilaration of the free fall and the rush of wind, air, LIFE that starts being the thing that grounds you and makes you feel completed and pieced together in a new mosaic of perfect design.

Maybe sometimes it's best not to set a course for yourself.  It's too limiting and stifles the ability to find endless possibility.  Breathe deep, Rhonda.  Breathe deeply, friends.  Fill your lungs with joy and with life and love.

Falling Into Place

Job interview soon.  An opening, hopefully, into a place I see myself being involved with for a long time.  The Ronald McDonald House Charities of Oregon.  Either way, whether I work there or whether I volunteer there, the idea feels like a "finding of myself" or a return to my true nature. 

When I started Dumpster Diving (and before while I was making the choice to come and be closer to my mother), I had no idea so much more would unfold, and so quickly.  What I'm finding is that there are things very hard for me to write about.  Certain situations that I didn't count on experiencing, had no way of predicting.  Hard stuff that is tied in so emotionally for me that the words illude me.  I try to type, and I'm struck with the heaviness of what I see and feel.  My mind goes blank.

I realized this morning, that regardless of circumstance and situation, everything almost always falls into place.  Even when the beginning feels like being shoved from a plane and the fall seems without a parachute or a net.  Even when the landing gets tricky, bumpy or harsh.

My mom and stepdad are struggling.  Of course.  My mother suffered a stroke a year and a half ago, which prompted the onset of Azheimer's.  My stepdad has really bad knees, high blood pressure, diabetes (complete with daily insulin shots), back issues.  Day after day he does his best.  Goes to work, gives it 150%.  Takes care of my mom.  Medical bills mount.  Water heater breaks.  Car troubles.  There's this sliding backwards effect that takes place... takes its hold.  Month after month becomes harder to make ends meet.  A proud man finding himself facing life's hardships in a way he never anticipated.  Making decisions that go against his belief systems and his hopes and dreams for his and her lives. Tough stuff.  But what I see is this:  my parents are made of "tougher".  Still they rise.  Still they forge ahead.  Still they march on, accepting what is, trying their best, and giving life all they know how to give.  Sometimes I think people aren't made of flesh, bones and blood.  But rather steel.  Or maybe gold.  I'm amazed at the armor that sometimes takes shape and assists us through what is hurled our direction.  Watching them from the sidelines, or through the embraces of hugs when possible, I feel completely helpless.  And faced with a decision.  I either let what is crushing them slowly crush me completely down... or I stand tall, with shoulders back and chin up, like their example.  And keep reminding myself that we all fall into place.  Always.  The landing spot might not be where we intended or how.  But nothing gets the best of us if we don't allow that result.  Nothing robs or ruins us unless we allow ourselves to be robbed or ruined.  Fall and rise.  Rise and fall.  All part of the game we're playing as inhabitants in this place. 

My son recently reminded me during a time when I was completely panicked and stressing about something totally out of my control that we should all be prepared each and every day to just "be surprised".  I had asked him to help me "see the funny" in the situation I was experiencing.  Hoping to lighten myself up a bit.  After a few minutes of thinking... he came up with that response, which at the time didn't seem humorous at all.  Until later, when my sister and I were travelling together and uncomfortable situations would happen and we'd look at each other and both yell, "Be surprised!!!"  I found myself able to laugh off the stresses.  Put things in perspective.  Giggle rather than cry.

Sometimes I think that is why I made the choice to come to this place.  To help my mom and I (and the rest of the family) find some kind of lightness and ability to keep grinning even when the darkness settles in.

Charge

I've been pouring through monologues, stretching once again, pushing myself to learn lines and practice pretending to be someone else.  One that I'm especially drawn to is by a character from a play by Eric Kaiser called "Charge".  In it, Martha is basically wishing her life could be like the stories in songs... stories where people suddenly realize their life needs to change, and then it changes within the span of three minute's worth of music.  She leads you into that short, yet completely transforming process, through making choices and seeing things in a new way, quickly.

I think about how powerful it is when a person realizes they need to charge forward into life.  I know several people who have lived that example.  People who have inspired me to dive and leap and twist and stretch more than I ever dreamed I could.  It's such a scary thing to do; no guarantees, no reassurances that what is waiting on the other side is something better.  I've thought about how life makes the choices for us... sometimes too quickly, too unexpectedly.  And we're left feeling like we have no options or we didn't have a warning sign or time in which to deal with all the emotional upheavals.  I sometimes think a person gets to a point, eventually, after either one such event... or a series of like events... where they feel propelled into.  Pushed forward, even though they might not have thought they wanted to go in that direction. 

I'm finding it incredibly amazing what happens when you decide to listen to your heart, let go of your fears, rise through your insecurities, take charge, grasp the unknown and hang onto nothing but your boot straps.  Surround yourself with the kind of people who value your worth.  Who genuinely believe in you.
Those who help you find your inner compass that tugs and nudges, lighting the way through any darkness.

Life humbles us.
It reshapes us.
It takes us on this ride that sometimes feels like we're hanging upside down.
Life.

Life.
Just saying it seems to evoke something deep inside that makes me want to open my arms as wide as they can open and run into it as fast and as long as I am able.

Three minutes.  That IS all it takes sometimes.  The length of one beautiful song.  Decisions made.  A breath taken.  A heart beat.  A turning point.  A recognition.  A realization.  A shift.

Charge!!!  And keep charging....

Gracefully Rise

Today was another typical day.
Got up, searched for potential jobs, gave myself a pep talk, filled out apps, sent in resumes. 

Not once have I doubted that something will come along.  Even with my mind wide open to the realities around me.  I tell myself if I can't find something, I'll manage to create my own thing, carve out my own niche.

But it is honestly scary - what my eyes see and my ears hear.  And because I have a roof over my head and food to eat, I continue to feel safe.  But sadly, too many around me don't.

Every day since moving here, I keep overhearing the same story.

A husband with tears in his eyes explaining his wife is out of work.  He is out of work.  He's been diligently trying to find something for two years and is tired of trying.  He would do anything, but can't get hired.  He tries to be creative.  Tries selling artwork.  Gets turned away time after time and is totally desperate and not sure how he is going to feed his family, let alone keep them clothed, in school and warm this winter.  At this point, he would be grateful to be flipping burgers at McDonald's, but he can't even get in there.

A man sitting with a minister at Starbucks, pouring out his heart about how humbling it is that he is having to ask for a loan.  He has tried every other option and can't take care of his family.  He tells his resume list of things he has done in the past, things he is qualified for.  But nothing is falling into place.  And he is frantic and this, he believes is his last resort.

And then I look across the table at my mom.  Here's a lady who raised four kids without much help at all.  Four different jobs, including one winter of shoveling snow off of walks and driveways for pennies, going door to door with her daughter by her side, freezing and shivering in the cold, thankful for every dollar added.  A mom who was never home, hardly ever able to attend school events because if she wasn't waiting tables or pumping gas, she was so exhausted she couldn't keep her head up.  Worlds away, so long ago.  Yet staring me blatantly in the face again, only this is a different time and a different place, different players around me.

I grew up knowing the kind of poverty I'm witnessing here. 
The fear of not knowing from where the next meal was coming.  If there would be a meal.  That kind of fear is, in my mind, the most powerful kind of fear.  Panic. 

We come from a land of plenty, but we've managed to get ourselves into this place.  Into this loop of bad karma.  I have never felt more connected to my fellow man and woman than I do living in the northwest.  I felt it when I saw a woman shoving free peanuts in her pockets, filling them so full that they kept falling out on the floor, embarrassing her as she tried to nonchalantly work her way towards the door.  I felt woven to her by an invisible thread.  Cause and effect, effect and cause.  When one member falters, we all falter.  When one child goes hungry, we all go hungry.

I find myself feeling guilty to some degree that I always feel hopeful.  That I have this built in trust that in one way or another, life will unfold and something will come along.  The "best for me" thing will eventually present itself.  The "best for you" thing will find its way to you. 

That doesn't take away reality.  It doesn't make anything easier.  Doesn't help me sleep sometimes at night.  And I definitely don't have answers for myself or others.  But I'll continue carrying the torch of hope.  Keep encouraging those along the way, whose paths cross mine for one reason or another.

What I have to wonder, though, is if a sense of hope allows for an energetic charge within and without that somehow beckons and calls in the "good"... or at least the "essential".  I'm putting it to the test.  The gift my mother shared with me.  Call it determination or blind faith.  And I might be singing a different song in a few months. 

I've thought how it seems we sometimes "fall from grace".  And I deliberately tell myself to flip it around and make sure I "gracefully fall".  Knowing there will eventually be a net below that catches. 

At the end of the day, I'm happy.  I'm loved.  I'm healthy.  I'm capable of movement.
I'm thankful.

Tide Dance

Reading through some things that I've written in the past, I came across one that just about brought me to my knees this morning.  I wrote it right after I realized mom had suffered a stroke, after which we were all informed that her brain will no longer be the same.  At that moment, I felt the loss of my mother.  The woman I had known better than any other person on this planet, the woman who knows me better than anyone else knows me.  She had always been my inconsistent constant.  (Our mom wasn't always the type who would send out cards or make phone calls on a regular basis, but when we needed her wisdom or advice, we knew all we had to do was get in touch and she would have the magic words to help guide us through.)  She had always seemed like my very best friend.  And she always made me laugh.

I wrote words that came to me through the pain of knowing - and those words were raw and completely hurled from my heart and mind into my computer.  Angry.  Distraught.  Mad at the world.  Mad at "God".

I was amazed to see how far I've come from being there.... buried in complete misery and self pity.  And so many life events have happened in between that time and the present.  Everything, everything, everything is so temporary.

Somehow, slowly over the months, there has been a shift within.  And I now look forward to meeting my mother all over again.  Each time I am with her, I get the joy of finding out who she is.  In that moment, on that day.  I can't rely on her to be the one I've always thought I knew.  I can't depend on her being silly or calm or laughing or crying.  It's all a surprise. 

I saw her over the weekend and played a video of a song I had recorded/sung on my iPhone.  And my mother, who now has fewer and fewer inhabitions, started dancing unlike I've ever seen my mother dance.  She got completely carried away in the sound of my voice singing and I was completely moved by her reaction.  Moved by how beautiful she appeared in that moment, outside - mountains surrounding us, tall trees encircling us, green grass under our feet and a big beautiful blue sky above us.  There were other people nearby watching their kids' soccer games, but she and I were all alone sharing something I will treasure the rest of my life.

Do we ever REALLY know one another completely?  My mother's experience is teaching me that we all change constantly.  Sometimes the changes are soft and subtle, but once in awhile drastic enters in and the changes seem harsh and difficult, sudden and unexpected.  If we can incorporate honoring that simple little fact, that I am never ever the same me and you are never ever the same you, that we are this constantly changing ball of energy, motion, physical form - maybe marriages would last longer, relationships would grow with such intensity that there wouldn't be room for negatives to invade and bombard.  Just a thought.  I used to get completely depressed, so bad that I thought there would never be a way out.  Somewhere along the way, I've learned that it all goes away.  It all comes back.  There's this phenomenal ebb and flow, "tide dance" of emotions that we all experience.  And when you can find yourself dancing with and to that motion, all of a sudden it doesn't swallow you and take you out to sea or pull you under.  But rather, it gives you freedom to move, to sway, to feel gracious and empowered, and carried.

I love meeting my mom for the first time each time I see her now.
And THAT... is gifting me with an ability to meet people in a new way... all people, those I thought I had known forever and those new acquaintances who enter in each day.

"Life is either a daring adventure....  or nothing."  ~Helen Keller

Boxes Inside of Boxes

During my session with Dr. Kojis (chiropractor) this morning I realized how tense my neck muscles were.  Something I’m used to dealing with in my own clients and was kind of surprised to find considering I thought I wasn’t very tense. 

As little children, we’re programmed by parents, grandparents, adult influences in our lives.  We’re told to calm down, restrict our enthusiasm, hold back our tears, be quiet.  Don’t be too excited, don’t be too upset.  We’re taught at an early age to control as much as we can.  Control our surroundings.  Control our emotions.  And control others.

All the “controlling” we manage for ourselves locks us up, chains us and manifests in our bodies physically if we aren’t careful.  In our muscles, our tendons, fascia tissue, our organs, our blood stream, our cells.

I used to love spending hours and hours just listening to the sounds my mom’s old piano created when the keys were struck.  I would take the piano apart and watch the vibration of the strings from the strike on out and through.  From as young as I can remember, I was totally fascinated and eventually learned how to control the piano.  I would play for hours.  Especially when life seemed rough around the edges; which quite often were the times when my dad would come home drunk and angry.  I would escape into my music. And then get yelled at for being too loud.  Shut up.  Control and stifle what wanted to be free flowing, what NEEDED to be free flowing.   I responded by adopting “quiet” and stillness as part of my nature.  Even when I wanted to scream.  When I wanted to shout.  When I wanted to sing for the whole world, I found a way to sing softly… supporting others, blending myself into the background. 

We box ourselves in.

Then layer the boxes. 

While Kojis’s hands energetically lifted my soul and created a better balance within the structural part of me, my own healing response took me through layer after layer of packaging.  Layer upon layer of “control this, control that”.  And I came out of it all wanting to open them one by one and be appreciative for the gifts inside.  Rather than smashing them open, as I think we tend to try to do during the healing of the body, mind and spirit, I found a power in opening up the parts that need open just like I would a Christmas present… only all these little gifts are wrapped up by life through us, uniquely because of us and our reactions. 

Some people, especially those who study and practice Asian modalities, talk about healing being like a lotus flower; layers opening up to reveal a more healthy, more authentic person underneath.  I’ve always viewed it as a painful process.  Today, though, I saw it as a beautiful, freeing process.  One that gives us the power to stop trying to control and simply allow ourselves to be and to experience life more deeply, more richly.  A way to open up and release into grander living.

A Cracked Egg

I was thinking this afternoon about a piece I've read in the past about how a little chick/duckling/gosling/bird needs to peck its own way out of its egg.  I remember hatching babies before and it is so hard to keep from helping them once you start seeing their beaks pecking through the outer layer of the shell.  The secret is; if they are deprived of doing the hard work themselves, they don't develop enough strength to survive.  I've actually seen this happen, where a chick was helped too much and it wasn't strong enough to stay alive.

Isn't this true to a large degree with all of us?

With our children whom we want to save from suffering any hardships?  With our spouse?  With our ailing parent?  With our grandchild who seems to need divine grandmother intervention?

As much as we would all love to fix everything for those we love, most often the ones we love most need to go through the chipping away at life largely on their own or they are deprived.  If someone from the outside intervenes too much, they are denied their own journey; their own path.  They aren't granted their inner strength and knowledge to learn to trust their own coping abilities.  They aren't allowed to try and fail, and learn from the failing.

When my grandmother was put into a nursing home, I found myself giving beyond what I should have given.  I spent hours upon hours by her side, helping her do some of the things that she should have tried doing for herself.  I look back and see how even though she was weak and suffering, I think a better sense of "dignity" would have remained had she been given the opportunity to struggle.  I don't mean to sound harsh.  But that situation and the way I handled it actually ended up taking away from both of us.  Hindsight is so much easier. 

I think there is a fine line between trying too hard to help those who seem to need help and staying back a healthy distance.  Sometimes I think it's our need to feel needed that interferes with a more natural process.

Still searching for all the answers.....

How does a daughter watch her mother change and allow her to grow into those changes?  And how do I listen to a little girl (granddaughter) who I'd like to be able to scoop up into my arms 24/7?  It takes a lot more letting go than I think I'm capable of right now.  But hopefully I'll figure it out more and more as each day leads into the next.

Stepdad's Surrender

Today was a little tough.

Two things that really pull at my heart strings:  hearing and seeing my granddaughter cry and hearing and seeing my mother cry.

I went to pick up mom to take her to a dentist appointment and spent the day which was kind of emotional for her.  (Hope you don't mind my sharing, mom, but your stories are my stories... they teach me.  Thank you for them.)  Throughout the afternoon, several things happened.  At the dental office, she picked up a newspaper and saw a story about a young man who had been killed in Afghanistan, a former Cornelius firefighter.  She was reading, started quietly sobbing, tapped me on the shoulder and showed me the story.  Sometimes I don't demonstrate a lot of patience.  After all, I was busy playing "Words With Friends" with my sister and didn't want disrupted.  Lame, I know.  I kind of dismissed mom, saying, "You need to stop reading the news if it upsets you so much."  And she quietly responded that the story she read was about a boy she had taught and loved when he was a first grader.  Right at that moment the dentist walked in to take her and I was left sitting there, feeling like a complete heel.  The rest of the afternoon, little things pulled tears from her eyes and by this evening, I experienced my granddaughter on the other end of the phone, crying, telling me she wanted me to come home. 

Tug at the heart.  Tug at the heart.

In the midst of it all, I got to spend some time alone with my stepdad.  Always wise.  Always surprising me with what he quietly offers and puts before me to think about.  I know a lot about him, but so often I find myself realizing I really don't know him that well.  Today was no exception.

He's been sober close to twenty years.  Pretty amazing feat considering his cultural heritage/background/genetics and his susceptibility to alcoholism.  (Navajo)  He has touched on a few stories surrounding the time of his life when he chose to make a drastic change, but has never really uncovered specific details.  Today he shared his story, humbly and with a powerful message attached, just like his other stories he has given. 

He wanted to stop drinking.  And couldn't.  He got to a point in his life where he saw himself becoming just like his dad who apparently left an impact and some "imprints" on him emotionally and physically while growing up.  He realized he was going down the same road and he wanted to turn himself around but came face to face with the fact that he couldn't even go one week.  Feeling extremely frustrated and defeated, he reached a point where all he could do was to "give up".  And he said that was the moment when surrender took over.  He completely surrendered and accepted the fact that he couldn't do it alone.  He needed help.  He searched, found support, found "answers", then ended up searching and finding something different, something that met him where he needed to be met.  A friend who took him under his wing.  A friend who had been through a similar trial, walked similar footsteps on the road to recovery.  I don't have the ability to capture my stepdad's eyes.  The look on his face as he spoke the words to me today.

In his soft spoken way, he once again gave me something of himself to help support my life, all of our family's life as a whole.  He reminded me how powerful is the moment when we get out of our own way, when we fall or falter to the place where all that is left is to step aside and let something greater take over and take charge, entering in such a way that new doors and new ways to see become clear.  Along with the surrendering comes a letting go of distrust, a letting go of failures and disappointments, expectations and "woulda, shoulda, coulda's".  A detachment that sometimes feels like a death... but a death where you eventually find yourself rising from the ashes and becoming new.

I look back over my day and I'm thankful for the little girl tears.  The big girl tears.  And for the love they represent.  I am thankful for the look in my stepdad's face where I found reassurance that it's ok for all of us to relax into what lies ahead...  That it's ok for us to allow rather than try to control things that cannot be controlled.

I see how fragile my mom seems.  I hear how fragile my granddaughter seems.  I see how vulnerable my stepdad seems.  But I know with certainty that underneath it all, they each have this magnificent warrior's heart that will keep leading the way for us all.

When all is said and done, when all of our hardest moments are conquered, love - plain and simple - is all that matters in the end.

Rejection Burns, Rejection Ignites

There is no sugar coating; rejection of any kind hurts.
Rejected by a lover.  Rejected by a friend or family member.  Rejected by a potential employer.  Rejected by anyone or any situation that seems to have power over or superiority over you.
A hard feeling to absorb, digest, let go of, work through.

Yesterday morning, after my week's worth of campaigning for work in a new locale, I received first a letter from a musician saying, "You're not what we're looking for."  (Of course my vivid imagination goes all different kinds of directions with that one.)  And another email from a potential publishing firm letting me know that "you don't have enough experience" (thus the creation of this blog site, please tell your friends so my numbers of followers will be recognized by The Powers That Be *shameless plug*).  Two incidents that sum up the results of searching, trying, knocking on doors...

After I allowed the sting, allowed the feeling of "ouch, that burns", I realized a fire had been lit inside me.  Fear was replaced by determination.  Anger was replaced by fuel that spurred me on.  And I applied to an ad wanting extras for the NBC up and coming series "Grimm".  I hurriedly threw together a short, but blunt and honest resume with a recent picture and fired it off before I could doubt or talk myself out of it.  A couple of hours later?  A phone call from the casting company asking if I could show up for work Tuesday.

Sometimes I think Lady Luck or God or "The Universe" opens up some flood gates once we jump over hurdles that if not jumped cause us to stumble or turn back.  More and more I'm questioning whether or not we have the power to shape our own outcomes.  And what I'm finding is, there is definitely power in taking plunges and letting go of the "what if"s.  And there's power in letting go of those who do the rejecting.  Not being allowed to go down one path opens up a new road, often times a better road and the one that feels most "right".  If I had landed a job before my phone rang asking if I could make it, I wouldn't have been available to do what I know I will love most.

One foot in front of the other.  Accept what is, let go of what can't be... what can't be controlled.  And embrace the new that washes in.  

Dumpster Diving or Making Lemonade Out of Lemons

I divorced after 22 years of marriage. 
Stability. 
Family. 
Home.
Business. 
Gone.
I fell off the proverbial life's cliff.  (Sometimes it seems I was shoved off.)
And I landed exactly where I was supposed to.
Within my own arms.

I had the idea to document/write about my experiences working my way through the aftermath of a divorce.  Then, after my mother's stroke and following diagnosis of Alzheimer's, I had the idea to document/write about my experiences dealing with that disease from a daughter's view point.  I've many times thought I'd "take up pen and paper" and begin writing after life's tragedies. 

We all go through them.  Mine are no greater, no less than yours.

But sometimes, it seems like some of us tend to collect more than our share.  My mother, a prime example.

It dawned on me today after all these years of going through one trial after another, from dealing with an alcoholic dad as a child to watching helplessly while my sixteen year old son underwent brain surgery to my current state of affairs (jobless, basically "homeless" *living in my sister's spare closet*, and pretty much penniless, starting life all over at age forty-seven) that we have this amazing ability to CHOOSE.  We choose how to view our lives, how we look at all of our difficulties.  We choose whether to label them good or bad. 

When I was younger, my older brother taught me how to "dumpster dive".  It took some brawn to overcome the desire to pull away when things got stinky.  Who in their right minds would open up a smelly trash container in search of some hidden, discarded treasure?  I was a GIRL!  But curiosity got the best of me and I tagged along.  Quite often he'd come out worse for wear, but every now and then, he would find something that he could fix up, repaint or restore, or something that he could sell.  I realized how life is like that.  Sometimes situations we find ourselves in REAK.  They aren't pretty.  They tarnish everything else that feels good and whole in our lives.  We shy away or run away or look away.  Anything to escape the unpleasant.  There are some, though, who fearlessly dive into life;  into the negatives, into the positives.  And they not only survive, they thrive.  They seek out and find and are able to identify the bits and parts that bring about an addition to their lives.  The things that come from places where you have to dig deep. 
Blessings. 
Gems. 
Treasures that once dusted off and straightened up create so much more than what was there before. 

So I'm beginning this blog from where I'm at.  Here.  With all of life's flaws and all the growing pains that I know are around the bend.  I made a conscious choice recently.  I'm going to view life not as a "series of unfortunate events"... but this big giant dumpster that contains all this stuff to be experienced.  No more negatives or positives.  Just experiences.  I'm diving in.  I'm writing about it all.  And I'm asking you to join me in the leap.  And if I can encourage ONE human soul to be braver, stronger and more courageous, more able to L.I.V.E. fully?  Then life is sweet.