When I was teaching “Choosing to Change”, a course for Tobacco Cessation, I used several experiential techniques to help smokers handle cravings so they could become non-smokers. I never promised them their cravings would go away, but I did promise they could survive them. I ran across these exercises again today when I was cleaning my office. I needed the lesson, not because I want to stop smoking, but because I just want to stop feeling sad.
Our minds are so strong. Mental images dash about from one picture to another and can leave us confused or out of sorts. Other images can fire off all manner of hormonal releases in our bodies. Just remember a romantic encounter and feel your sexual organs perk-up. Focus on every strange sound around you while walking down a street at night and feel adrenalin rush in as your heart beats faster and your breathing shallows.
When we’ve experienced any kind of trauma or ecstasy, imprints remain. All our experiences involve not just a brain memory but a physical, emotional, and spiritual memory of that experience as well. The next time a similar situation of greater or lesser degree occurs, we can have a similar response either appropriate or inappropriate to the degree of that trigger.
One of the techniques I employed required that a clothes pin be attached to a finger. It was meant to cause a bit of discomfort. Each class participant was told to concentrate on the pinching sensation and report the degree of pain. The longer they concentrated on it, the more intense the pinch became. Then I had them slap their other hand against their leg and asked again for a report on their degree of pain. They admitted there was less sense of pinching but they really felt the slapping. When they focused entirely on the slapping, they had no feeling of pinching. I had them switch their attention between the pinch and the slapping several times until they finally got the point. They could choose which sensation on which to focus.
All this now helps me realize again I am responsible for what my mind can do. I can rerun my current situation which involves a high degree of loss and see all the details of my last two years of experiences, or I can look outside myself and see what there is next to do: turn oak leaves into the garden, change the generator oil, finish sewing a birthday present. I can choose to focus on my pain of aloness, or I can call someone to share a dinner or an outing. Even with regards to the events in the world, I have a choice: I can watch every news program and worry about the bombings in Israel, the loss of life in Afganistan, the value of the dollar and the state of the economy, or I can cook soup and take it to someone alone and on chemotherapy. I have any number of other things I can do to help myself or others within the framework of my life.
I can choose to change the focus of my mind. My situation and that of the world may not change, but I will survive and move through it all.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Another Beginning
Since a journey begins with a single step, then perhaps a blog can start with one word. That, at least, was my thought as I stared at this blank page.
My inclination to write my thoughts has been tempered by my hesitancy to share the repetition of my emotions which have ridden higher than the summer sun as it crosses the sky and lower than the deepest rift in the ocean. I fell into this inability to write by getting caught in the admonition that what if no one wants to read about this emotional rollercoaster ride of mine. Everyone is having their own problems these days. Everyone has lost, is losing, or is about to lose someone or something dear to them. It might be a loved one, and it could be their home. I am not the only one, and with this I became self-conscious about my runaway emotions, not wanting to admit that I might be having trouble with my ‘insights’ by not being inspired by my own revelations. They weren’t sticking to me.
I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t stable, that I couldn’t be an example of how to be in control of my situation, let alone myself.
A friend reminded me I wasn’t supposed to be. My focus was my process, sharing the difficulties of widowhood with all its stumbling moments, sharing the fact that somehow I was getting through it, and sharing the glimmers of hope I saw periodically.
I pondered this. There have been times when I was in fetal position and didn’t know what to hope for except that the pain in my belly might go away.
It, I am glad to report, is lessening. My mind has alternately moved from numbness to one with an occasional idea that has led to an action but then back to a period of paralysis until I can get up again.
I don’t know what I would be doing without the women friends who take turns calling and checking up on me. I couldn’t get through many of my days without my growing relationship with flower essences and my personal processing supported by several techniques I’ve been learning, such as process coaching, EFT, and of course Reiki and praying with my chanupa.
After a sauna session last week, I looked out the glass door at the decking. To the right I saw a fuzzy caterpillar purposely scuttling across the slatted deck. He/she followed some unseen path, once getting sidetracked by a scratch in the weathered wood. He/she returned to is chilling path next to an abyss much larger than its own width between the wooden planks. He/she would veer toward the dark pit then save itself. Finally it stopped, seemed to assess its position. Aiming directly at the far plank of wood, he/she pitched itself across what must’ve seemed like a ravine then pulled its many legs onto a new 'terra firma'. Head down, he/she continued to the left of me on the new board, its many feet following each other.
How could I deny the lesson? ‘Keep going forward, Earlene, and, when it’s time to make the leap to another plank on the path, just do it. Just take the next first step; just write the next first word.’
My inclination to write my thoughts has been tempered by my hesitancy to share the repetition of my emotions which have ridden higher than the summer sun as it crosses the sky and lower than the deepest rift in the ocean. I fell into this inability to write by getting caught in the admonition that what if no one wants to read about this emotional rollercoaster ride of mine. Everyone is having their own problems these days. Everyone has lost, is losing, or is about to lose someone or something dear to them. It might be a loved one, and it could be their home. I am not the only one, and with this I became self-conscious about my runaway emotions, not wanting to admit that I might be having trouble with my ‘insights’ by not being inspired by my own revelations. They weren’t sticking to me.
I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t stable, that I couldn’t be an example of how to be in control of my situation, let alone myself.
A friend reminded me I wasn’t supposed to be. My focus was my process, sharing the difficulties of widowhood with all its stumbling moments, sharing the fact that somehow I was getting through it, and sharing the glimmers of hope I saw periodically.
I pondered this. There have been times when I was in fetal position and didn’t know what to hope for except that the pain in my belly might go away.
It, I am glad to report, is lessening. My mind has alternately moved from numbness to one with an occasional idea that has led to an action but then back to a period of paralysis until I can get up again.
I don’t know what I would be doing without the women friends who take turns calling and checking up on me. I couldn’t get through many of my days without my growing relationship with flower essences and my personal processing supported by several techniques I’ve been learning, such as process coaching, EFT, and of course Reiki and praying with my chanupa.
After a sauna session last week, I looked out the glass door at the decking. To the right I saw a fuzzy caterpillar purposely scuttling across the slatted deck. He/she followed some unseen path, once getting sidetracked by a scratch in the weathered wood. He/she returned to is chilling path next to an abyss much larger than its own width between the wooden planks. He/she would veer toward the dark pit then save itself. Finally it stopped, seemed to assess its position. Aiming directly at the far plank of wood, he/she pitched itself across what must’ve seemed like a ravine then pulled its many legs onto a new 'terra firma'. Head down, he/she continued to the left of me on the new board, its many feet following each other.
How could I deny the lesson? ‘Keep going forward, Earlene, and, when it’s time to make the leap to another plank on the path, just do it. Just take the next first step; just write the next first word.’
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
More Than I Thought
When I received the call from Harry Charger last November that he wanted to honor Y at “Healing the Earth” Sundance, I didn’t give a second thought to saying, “OK, I’ll be there.”
From there, I figured blithely, in my head, “Why not head up to the Manitoba Sundance too?”
And so a plan was formed, a focus created, and I worked toward the goal of making things for two giveaways, plus gathering what I might need for a road trip and two sessions of camping. I don’t know what I was thinking!!!
In fact, I might not have been thinking at all, especially when the invitation came in the mail for the wedding of Shamla, Y’s niece. That was scheduled for the weekend between the two Sundances, and of course, I again, without batting an eyelash, sent in my RSVP. I called my sister-in-law to see if I could stay with them for the weekend and drive the two hours to and from the wedding. I was even more pleased to learn Kate was having a small family reunion to introduce her daughter Sara’s new husband and his daughter to everyone. “Wonderful,” I thought. “What a perfect way to connect with friends and family.”
It wasn’t until the hour before I got in the car and left on this trip that I realized how massive a challenge I had set before me. “Who in the world thought this was a good idea?” I asked as I stomped around the stuffed car the morning I had to leave. I couldn’t get into the car. I hadn’t been on a road trip by myself since 1968 when I drove from California to Colorado to meet my first husband at his new duty station. That time I’d been snowed in for three days at Rawlins, Wyoming. What was going to happen this time?
After crying, hollering, and calling a long time friend, I finally managed to get myself into the car and pull out of the driveway. My only recourse was to keep the overview in mind and make a decision as each was needed.
The first day saw me dealing with a flat tire. That’s another story.
The second day had me driving over part of a truck tire which dislodged something under my car.
The third day I got my first ticket ever. I was only going 52 mph in a 40 mph construction zone, but it was Wyoming. I had to pull off the freeway to sob and stomp around the car again.
Finally on my way, I asked the powers that be, “What am I suppose to be learning here? What are you trying to tell me?”
A sign passed me on the right. “Pay Attention or Pay the Price”
That’s when I realized there was more to this trip than my going where Y was to be honored. It was more than my ‘bringing’ giveaway items to say thank you to everyone who had prayed for us and been a part of our lives for all our years on the Sundance trail.
I was on a quest of my own. It hadn’t occurred to me!!! I had to make this trip to touch more of those who had been so much a part of our lives and in some cases, say goodbye. I needed to be with people who had their own memories of him and us and the way we had lived. I needed to pray in ceremony and ask for help. And I definitely needed the reminder to pay attention to all the thoughts in my head, the offerings from nature, as well as the short, personal contacts I would make on the road. Everything that had happened, was happening, and was going to happen was to give me messages and ideas of what I am to do next.
I’m on my way home now. Shared tears and laughter have helped to mend this woman’s broken heart. I’ve found strengths I didn’t know I had. I’ve been lectured and pampered. I’ve been hugged and pinched. It’s been a trip I thought was going to bring closure and instead has helped me make a new beginning.
From there, I figured blithely, in my head, “Why not head up to the Manitoba Sundance too?”
And so a plan was formed, a focus created, and I worked toward the goal of making things for two giveaways, plus gathering what I might need for a road trip and two sessions of camping. I don’t know what I was thinking!!!
In fact, I might not have been thinking at all, especially when the invitation came in the mail for the wedding of Shamla, Y’s niece. That was scheduled for the weekend between the two Sundances, and of course, I again, without batting an eyelash, sent in my RSVP. I called my sister-in-law to see if I could stay with them for the weekend and drive the two hours to and from the wedding. I was even more pleased to learn Kate was having a small family reunion to introduce her daughter Sara’s new husband and his daughter to everyone. “Wonderful,” I thought. “What a perfect way to connect with friends and family.”
It wasn’t until the hour before I got in the car and left on this trip that I realized how massive a challenge I had set before me. “Who in the world thought this was a good idea?” I asked as I stomped around the stuffed car the morning I had to leave. I couldn’t get into the car. I hadn’t been on a road trip by myself since 1968 when I drove from California to Colorado to meet my first husband at his new duty station. That time I’d been snowed in for three days at Rawlins, Wyoming. What was going to happen this time?
After crying, hollering, and calling a long time friend, I finally managed to get myself into the car and pull out of the driveway. My only recourse was to keep the overview in mind and make a decision as each was needed.
The first day saw me dealing with a flat tire. That’s another story.
The second day had me driving over part of a truck tire which dislodged something under my car.
The third day I got my first ticket ever. I was only going 52 mph in a 40 mph construction zone, but it was Wyoming. I had to pull off the freeway to sob and stomp around the car again.
Finally on my way, I asked the powers that be, “What am I suppose to be learning here? What are you trying to tell me?”
A sign passed me on the right. “Pay Attention or Pay the Price”
That’s when I realized there was more to this trip than my going where Y was to be honored. It was more than my ‘bringing’ giveaway items to say thank you to everyone who had prayed for us and been a part of our lives for all our years on the Sundance trail.
I was on a quest of my own. It hadn’t occurred to me!!! I had to make this trip to touch more of those who had been so much a part of our lives and in some cases, say goodbye. I needed to be with people who had their own memories of him and us and the way we had lived. I needed to pray in ceremony and ask for help. And I definitely needed the reminder to pay attention to all the thoughts in my head, the offerings from nature, as well as the short, personal contacts I would make on the road. Everything that had happened, was happening, and was going to happen was to give me messages and ideas of what I am to do next.
I’m on my way home now. Shared tears and laughter have helped to mend this woman’s broken heart. I’ve found strengths I didn’t know I had. I’ve been lectured and pampered. I’ve been hugged and pinched. It’s been a trip I thought was going to bring closure and instead has helped me make a new beginning.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Today's Life Metaphor
OK, more lessons. Walking behind a three-wheeled cart this morning with laundry from the kitchen and the nurses’ dome, plus facing piles of sleeping bags in which a few campers had accidents during the night, I wondered what my metaphor of learning for the day was.
“Keep it clean!”
“Air my darkest secrets in the sun.” (There is no dryer so I hang everything out.)
Nothing seemed to fit til I realized every step I took with this make-shift cart required I tilt it onto its back tires and shift the direction of the front one so I can keep heading in the direction of the wash house.
A teen staff member passed me and asked, “How're you doing?” My flip answer was “I’m constantly making adjustments.”
He had no idea what I meant. I could tell by the nod of his head and the fact he kept walking.
And that’s my truth today.
I was living in a bubble before Y died. We had a predicable routine because we lived for ourselves, his need and mine. Family was non-demanding and actually lived in other towns. Like most of the snow birds parked in RVs on the desert in winter, we had separated ourselves from hometown life and built a unique community where planning games and songs and barbecues were the biggest challenges.
That’s not what my life is about anymore. I’ve thrown myself into quilting, pillow cases for Hospice, volunteering at the library and local little theater and other self-assignments. These activities have filled a few hours and helped me meet people.
Underneath it all are the demands of keeping my home intact, cooking for one, paying bills, and developing a routine for one where once there were two.
Each day, I have to make another adjustment in my attitude about life or what works or doesn’t work as a problem solving technique.
Just like the way we move into a relationship with another person with communication and compromise, now I’m making a relationship with myself, finding out what I like and don’t , where I want to go, what I want to do, and making this life work again for me. If I make a change, and don’t like it, I get to adjust it again, and again. I guess we all do. It just happened to come up as my understanding for this day.
“Keep it clean!”
“Air my darkest secrets in the sun.” (There is no dryer so I hang everything out.)
Nothing seemed to fit til I realized every step I took with this make-shift cart required I tilt it onto its back tires and shift the direction of the front one so I can keep heading in the direction of the wash house.
A teen staff member passed me and asked, “How're you doing?” My flip answer was “I’m constantly making adjustments.”
He had no idea what I meant. I could tell by the nod of his head and the fact he kept walking.
And that’s my truth today.
I was living in a bubble before Y died. We had a predicable routine because we lived for ourselves, his need and mine. Family was non-demanding and actually lived in other towns. Like most of the snow birds parked in RVs on the desert in winter, we had separated ourselves from hometown life and built a unique community where planning games and songs and barbecues were the biggest challenges.
That’s not what my life is about anymore. I’ve thrown myself into quilting, pillow cases for Hospice, volunteering at the library and local little theater and other self-assignments. These activities have filled a few hours and helped me meet people.
Underneath it all are the demands of keeping my home intact, cooking for one, paying bills, and developing a routine for one where once there were two.
Each day, I have to make another adjustment in my attitude about life or what works or doesn’t work as a problem solving technique.
Just like the way we move into a relationship with another person with communication and compromise, now I’m making a relationship with myself, finding out what I like and don’t , where I want to go, what I want to do, and making this life work again for me. If I make a change, and don’t like it, I get to adjust it again, and again. I guess we all do. It just happened to come up as my understanding for this day.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
One Giant Step for Earlene
As anyone can tell who’s has been waiting for me to add to my blog, writing has become a secondary activity recently. I needed something else to get me up in the morning and through my day. My interest in flower essences has not waned. Yet, worry about my situation and of course my future was overwhelming me. So when the opportunity came to work as the Laundry Lady at Camp WinnaRainbow, I took the job voluntarily.
Not only did I get up in the morning, I started walking and using muscles which didn’t remember the last time they’d been used.
To me the main benefit has been I’ve gotten out of my rut. Set-up for camp was hard but the main reward was being served breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Especially so since I hadn’t eaten three meals a day in over nine months. My body packed it in til I realized my size 14 clothes were too tight and wouldn’t stretch another millimeter. I was able to participate in some of the classes during Experimental Adult Camp and thoroughly enjoyed the production numbers in the evenings.
Life got full, too full, if that’s possible. Along the way I found someone willing to weed-eat my yard for $10/hour, and a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders to have the house more fire defensible.
Now ‘we’ (I feel like staff although just as an ancillary one) we have 150 campers and 80 staff members with seven administrators. Seems like a lot but it keeps the ratio of two campers to one teen staff or adult staff. The organization and caring at this camp is astounding. I'm not seeing any camper fall through the cracks, whether he or she is homesick, befuddled, excited about stilt walking, or tired.
So now I’m looking forward to my first day off. I’m ready to start putting my camping gear together for my treck this summer. Best thing I ever did was volunteer to step out of my routine and step in to a different life. I recommend the action wholeheartedly.
Not only did I get up in the morning, I started walking and using muscles which didn’t remember the last time they’d been used.
To me the main benefit has been I’ve gotten out of my rut. Set-up for camp was hard but the main reward was being served breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Especially so since I hadn’t eaten three meals a day in over nine months. My body packed it in til I realized my size 14 clothes were too tight and wouldn’t stretch another millimeter. I was able to participate in some of the classes during Experimental Adult Camp and thoroughly enjoyed the production numbers in the evenings.
Life got full, too full, if that’s possible. Along the way I found someone willing to weed-eat my yard for $10/hour, and a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders to have the house more fire defensible.
Now ‘we’ (I feel like staff although just as an ancillary one) we have 150 campers and 80 staff members with seven administrators. Seems like a lot but it keeps the ratio of two campers to one teen staff or adult staff. The organization and caring at this camp is astounding. I'm not seeing any camper fall through the cracks, whether he or she is homesick, befuddled, excited about stilt walking, or tired.
So now I’m looking forward to my first day off. I’m ready to start putting my camping gear together for my treck this summer. Best thing I ever did was volunteer to step out of my routine and step in to a different life. I recommend the action wholeheartedly.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
A Tangent
Twenty five years ago, my family would be rolling their eyes and saying, “There goes Mom again. Off on another one of her tangents.”
And, Yes,I am. Now it’s only my friends who are rolling their eyes and sighing while I go on and on about flower essences. One would think I’d discovered them for the first time in the history of man or woman kind by the degree of my enthusiasm.
The fact is I’ve been toying around with their magic since the mid eighties. I just hadn’t truly understood them before because I categorized them under the heading of magic. I thought these little bottle of tinctures were there as helpers from beyond me, my self hood, my world. The fact of the matter is that they are co-creators with me.
It seems that the unifying concept I’ve been espousing all these years of ‘We are all one.” Is more than what I conceptualized after reading the book by the same name. The scientific, metaphoric, and spiritual truths I tripped over while reading that book (and yes the family rolled their eyes for months as I ranted over these concepts) made such sense and has influenced how I live my life every day.
Now through the writings of Machaella Wright, (Behaving as if the God in all Life Mattered) I’ve gotten a step closer to living in even closer relationship to this oneness. She describes her growing a veggie and flower garden in such balance that insects are helpers rather than destroyers. Our bodies have the same relationship with viruses, bacteria, and fungi. These can be helpers not destroyers. When we (or they) become imbalanced, disease and illness can occur. When we (and they) are in balance we help each other. We don’t have to fight a cold. We come into balance with ourselves and all that lives within us. Pretty cool!
The other wondrous thing is that when I test for an essence that I might need to help me through times when I’m not feeling well, the description of what that particular essence assists with on an energetic level fits my emotional imbalance as well.
So I’m just riding the wave of this particular insightfulness while treating my educational process to the books, essences ,and workbooks it needs to learn all it can. It’s given me a new focus and another tool to help me meet the challenges of my present situation. It’s also helping me with my concerns about the future downturn of the economy I sense coming.
I had to smile when I read Michaella’s paragraph detailing her enthusiasm for her work. She admits to having “…this overwhelming urge to grab them (people) by the neck, shake them silly, and shout ‘Don’t you understand that these things could be one of the most important things you’ll ever incorporate in your life?’”
I’m sure she’s met her own share of eye rollers. I feel I am in good company.
And, Yes,I am. Now it’s only my friends who are rolling their eyes and sighing while I go on and on about flower essences. One would think I’d discovered them for the first time in the history of man or woman kind by the degree of my enthusiasm.
The fact is I’ve been toying around with their magic since the mid eighties. I just hadn’t truly understood them before because I categorized them under the heading of magic. I thought these little bottle of tinctures were there as helpers from beyond me, my self hood, my world. The fact of the matter is that they are co-creators with me.
It seems that the unifying concept I’ve been espousing all these years of ‘We are all one.” Is more than what I conceptualized after reading the book by the same name. The scientific, metaphoric, and spiritual truths I tripped over while reading that book (and yes the family rolled their eyes for months as I ranted over these concepts) made such sense and has influenced how I live my life every day.
Now through the writings of Machaella Wright, (Behaving as if the God in all Life Mattered) I’ve gotten a step closer to living in even closer relationship to this oneness. She describes her growing a veggie and flower garden in such balance that insects are helpers rather than destroyers. Our bodies have the same relationship with viruses, bacteria, and fungi. These can be helpers not destroyers. When we (or they) become imbalanced, disease and illness can occur. When we (and they) are in balance we help each other. We don’t have to fight a cold. We come into balance with ourselves and all that lives within us. Pretty cool!
The other wondrous thing is that when I test for an essence that I might need to help me through times when I’m not feeling well, the description of what that particular essence assists with on an energetic level fits my emotional imbalance as well.
So I’m just riding the wave of this particular insightfulness while treating my educational process to the books, essences ,and workbooks it needs to learn all it can. It’s given me a new focus and another tool to help me meet the challenges of my present situation. It’s also helping me with my concerns about the future downturn of the economy I sense coming.
I had to smile when I read Michaella’s paragraph detailing her enthusiasm for her work. She admits to having “…this overwhelming urge to grab them (people) by the neck, shake them silly, and shout ‘Don’t you understand that these things could be one of the most important things you’ll ever incorporate in your life?’”
I’m sure she’s met her own share of eye rollers. I feel I am in good company.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Not a Good Day
I wasn’t having a very good day today. It’s not like there was anything life-threatening that happened. Just a lot of little things started overwhelming me.
There is no doubt in my mind that many things went wrong at once or over a period of time when my husband was alive. Machines stopped working, orders got mixed up in the mail, and plans went awry. However, I don’t remember them being as traumatic as they are now.
I only remember the two of us working through each catastrophe or upset. If he had the better expertise to deal with the situation, I would step back and watch him take care of it. If I had the better handle on the problem, he’d stand beside me as I took up the responsibility to make the situation better. We were a team.
Now, it’s like I’ve got no right arm.
In the beginning, I must’ve been in some kind of bubble. I really thought that I was going to be able to handle this new life. Today, I’m not so sure.
The weeds are over knee high, and I can’t seem to get up enough nerve to try to start the very tricky weed eater. At least I found the two cycle oil and know the proportion to put into its gas tank. My salvation is that it’s going to rain tomorrow so I might as well wait until after this next batch of rain and try the weed eater later. I can pull the weeds into the veggie garden by hand if need be and wear high boots so I don’t step on a snake.
I only want to grow three tomato plants, some broccoli, some chard, and some green beans and cucumbers. I need to turn over the soil in the blue barrels we set up to prevent the moles from eating the bugs around any plants’ roots and making them topple over. However, the ground has gotten hard. Maybe if I wait until the rain comes through, the ground will be softer and I can handle the turning fork in the clay. I’ve got a chance to dredge some mushroom compost from the remnants of a pile my neighbor got. I can’t for the life of me figure out how to cart it up from down the hill. I don’t have the strength to wheelbarrow it up. Maybe I can put boxes in the back of the Tracker and shovel some into them then drive them up and put them in the wheelbarrow and get it to the garden. It seems like such a little thing for me to do, but it’s overwhelming without the man strength I depended on for so long.
And then there’s the motor home I’ve been trying to keep running for the past eight months in the hope I can sell it. Now there’s a little red light on the screen that won’t go off that looks like it means I need to put water in the radiator. I can’t figure out which tube goes to the radiator and what to do about it anyway. Fortunately I met the Diesel Repairman at the post office who has promised to come out to see what I’m talking about.
That’s the other thing. I’ve contacted a solar expert who was going to help me figure out the solar and battery system who has never returned. I had someone who was going to weed eat, but they got poison oak and haven’t been able to work in the sun. Two people have said they would come out and help me chain saw the oversized oak wood into smaller pieces so I can use them in the wood stove. Another one has said he would come and cut the downed wood into smaller pieces from the fire break I hired done. And another person said they’d come and help me clear out the second room in the shed so I can convert it into a work space. No one’s showed up. I’m living on ‘promises’ and I’m frustrated.
The last thing that went wrong today was the computer wouldn’t boot up. I sat and prayed and cursed and prayed some more. I turned it off and on several times and still it wouldn’t boot. I finally hollered and screamed and turned it off and left to go into town where I promptly lost it and cried like a baby in someone’s arms (I don’t remember her name, but she knew me.) I asked a few people for help, and we’ll see. The hardest thing in the world for me is to ask for help. When it doesn’t ever come, I feel like maybe I wasn’t supposed to ask or that somehow I don’t deserve it. I can do a great number on my own head where this topic is concerned.
But I did ask, and now when I got home, for some unknowable, but magical, reason, the computer decided to work. Gratitude showers through my body and clears my mind with thanksgiving for any small bit of grace the universe would like to provide me. Hopefully the rest of the mundane problems with the physicality of life will begin to be answered as well. (Maybe even magically!!) I can only hope!
There is no doubt in my mind that many things went wrong at once or over a period of time when my husband was alive. Machines stopped working, orders got mixed up in the mail, and plans went awry. However, I don’t remember them being as traumatic as they are now.
I only remember the two of us working through each catastrophe or upset. If he had the better expertise to deal with the situation, I would step back and watch him take care of it. If I had the better handle on the problem, he’d stand beside me as I took up the responsibility to make the situation better. We were a team.
Now, it’s like I’ve got no right arm.
In the beginning, I must’ve been in some kind of bubble. I really thought that I was going to be able to handle this new life. Today, I’m not so sure.
The weeds are over knee high, and I can’t seem to get up enough nerve to try to start the very tricky weed eater. At least I found the two cycle oil and know the proportion to put into its gas tank. My salvation is that it’s going to rain tomorrow so I might as well wait until after this next batch of rain and try the weed eater later. I can pull the weeds into the veggie garden by hand if need be and wear high boots so I don’t step on a snake.
I only want to grow three tomato plants, some broccoli, some chard, and some green beans and cucumbers. I need to turn over the soil in the blue barrels we set up to prevent the moles from eating the bugs around any plants’ roots and making them topple over. However, the ground has gotten hard. Maybe if I wait until the rain comes through, the ground will be softer and I can handle the turning fork in the clay. I’ve got a chance to dredge some mushroom compost from the remnants of a pile my neighbor got. I can’t for the life of me figure out how to cart it up from down the hill. I don’t have the strength to wheelbarrow it up. Maybe I can put boxes in the back of the Tracker and shovel some into them then drive them up and put them in the wheelbarrow and get it to the garden. It seems like such a little thing for me to do, but it’s overwhelming without the man strength I depended on for so long.
And then there’s the motor home I’ve been trying to keep running for the past eight months in the hope I can sell it. Now there’s a little red light on the screen that won’t go off that looks like it means I need to put water in the radiator. I can’t figure out which tube goes to the radiator and what to do about it anyway. Fortunately I met the Diesel Repairman at the post office who has promised to come out to see what I’m talking about.
That’s the other thing. I’ve contacted a solar expert who was going to help me figure out the solar and battery system who has never returned. I had someone who was going to weed eat, but they got poison oak and haven’t been able to work in the sun. Two people have said they would come out and help me chain saw the oversized oak wood into smaller pieces so I can use them in the wood stove. Another one has said he would come and cut the downed wood into smaller pieces from the fire break I hired done. And another person said they’d come and help me clear out the second room in the shed so I can convert it into a work space. No one’s showed up. I’m living on ‘promises’ and I’m frustrated.
The last thing that went wrong today was the computer wouldn’t boot up. I sat and prayed and cursed and prayed some more. I turned it off and on several times and still it wouldn’t boot. I finally hollered and screamed and turned it off and left to go into town where I promptly lost it and cried like a baby in someone’s arms (I don’t remember her name, but she knew me.) I asked a few people for help, and we’ll see. The hardest thing in the world for me is to ask for help. When it doesn’t ever come, I feel like maybe I wasn’t supposed to ask or that somehow I don’t deserve it. I can do a great number on my own head where this topic is concerned.
But I did ask, and now when I got home, for some unknowable, but magical, reason, the computer decided to work. Gratitude showers through my body and clears my mind with thanksgiving for any small bit of grace the universe would like to provide me. Hopefully the rest of the mundane problems with the physicality of life will begin to be answered as well. (Maybe even magically!!) I can only hope!
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