My Angel's Whispers... a Conversation

January 1, 2012

I've been doing some thinking about writing, blogging, sharing... and my plans for this newest year include, shorter entries... like post cards.  The year I spent exchanging haiku with my sweet friend in California was not only fun but required creating snapshots of life, descriptive and revealing, distilled into three lines totalling seventeen syllables.  It was incredibly difficult, like trying to describe an emotion when the vocabulary has yet to be imagined.

I'm also considering using this format, intimate, solitary, to write letters.  There are so many things that are left unsaid when life ends unexpectedly.  No, I'm not planning on leaving any time soon but who knows.  If I discovered that I only had a year to live how would I want to do that?  The truth is ... we always live as if we have forever.  As if tomorrow will always be there to do the fun things that today's chores don't allow for.

I want to try, with your help, to find what really matters in every moment of this newest year... and to appreciate, to savor, to enjoy.  I thought after Shannon 'left' that happy wasn't going to be a part of my life.  Happiness was frivalous and periferal and if I could embody a quiet joy, that would be enough but now I'm not so sure.

Yesterday was planned.  Our beautiful live tree from "Crazy Joe's" is just beginning to drop needles and I'm ready to take it down and move it into the woods.  New bedding for Shannon's room, a way to create a space for both of us, brighter, lighter, subtle shifting.  Wash curtains and iron the new dust ruffle, but plans are not to be a part of 2012 without embracing, whole hearted-ly, flexibility.

Pondering a return to work on Tuesday without my splicing partner makes me sad.  He was part of last years' reduction in force and is moving toward bigger and brighter things.  I will miss him.  His favorite response to any of my moaning was, "It is what it is Miss Jan".  I learned a great deal from this young man, two years younger than Shannon.  With any luck the truth of  his words and his positive outlook will buffer my attitude when patience runs thin.

There is a gentle stirring, like a whispered excitement that there are wonderful things just over the horizon in this new year.  I feel it in that tender spot just below my breastbone, just above my navel.  It brings tears to my eyes when I acknowledge it.  Perhaps that is where we experience what we can't always see.  The memory of who we really are, our unspoken connection to the Divine.  I'm not sure but it fills me with a calm that is all too often missing in the whirlwind of my life.

So I breathe it in.

Sweet, gentle, peaceful moment.

I remember you.

 

Holidays

I've been up since four. So many things that NEED to be done to be ready for Christmas and not nearly enough time. I tried to go back to sleep. I tried to override the to do list.

"Thank you for a cat by my legs and another by my head. Thank you for the memories this room holds safe for me. Thank you for warmth and comfort. Thank you for compassion. Please watch over and bless my family, especially the tiny ones, new to the planet and those whose years have brought them countless joys and sorrows. Thank you for snoring that drives me crazy but reminds me that I'm not alone. Please bless those who are sad, or sick or lonely. Please fill me with your love and light so that every step I take or heart I touch is left with an assurance of that love and light. Help me to know that even though I will never be who I was when Shannon was here, I can be someone that still makes her smile, someone that finds joy in the ordinary and never forgets to be grateful for the little things that make life twinkle and shine. Help me to realize my purpose and place, to really be until I'm through. Thank you for the purr of ceiling fans, the sparkle of Christmas lights, the soft blue glow of Wall Flower Night Lights, the fragrance of fir, Jules' coconut cream sugar cookies, King Cake, shea butter, pink boots, birdseed bells, sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and fathers and mothers and friends and the million reasons that coax me into climbing out of bed and facing each new day as the gift it is, yet unopened."

When I realized that I was not going to go back to sleep despite my prayers, I made a cup of coffee, Pumpkin Spice with cream, grabbed a blanket and curled up in the recliner to watch the last half of Nights in Rodanthe.

I cried. To know, to see played out in fiction, that love is love regardless of the relationship and when someone you love is beyond reach, the bittersweet sadness is the same, touched that deep tender place where Shannon is ever present and ever missed. The holidays are a time of wonder and togetherness, a time of celebration and exchange. The to do list... the wrapping and cleaning and baking and shopping and decorating and racing in front of the holiday train may be part of the seasonal expectations, but not if the life you cherish is flying by, a blurr of color and frenzy and short tempers and emotional disconnect. Not if you miss what is so very precious and so fragile.

 

Like so many years before, the coming of a New Year offers the opportunity to look back ... and forward with gratitude and regret, hope and promise and plans... oh the plans !

In April I returned to work ... not the "job" of my dreams, because I'm still not sure what that might be, but the job I knew. I try to imagine as I splice magical threads of glass that carry the light of connection and entertainment, communication and Google, into the homes of people I will never know, who will never know how the magic happens or who might be responsible, that I do have purpose... and income, and that's not bad. But I miss having time. Time to breathe. To write or take walks with my camera, to clean house or tackle clutter, to enjoy the feel of earth between my fingers instead of on my pink boots.

In an effort to rearrange the misplaced priorities, I chose to start this day, this day before Christmas Eve, to breathe and express my gratitude to friends I know and those I don't, for always, despite the illusion of frenzy, being there to gently remind me to breathe.

I wish for all of you a Christmas of shared memories, both past and in the making, of gentle joys and unrestrained compassion, and a New Year of blessings beyond your imaginings.

Tiptoeing into the future

Sitting at lunch. The lunch I finally opted to pack instead of purchase marvelling at the wonder of my phone. I didn't want a phone that would tether me. I didn't want a phone that did more than ring and dial. I was foolish.

Now I have a phone that rings like a cricket's song, greets me each day with a photo of family, leads me in guided meditation, brings me my mail , morphs into a flashlight , a mirror, a camera, a taperecorder and a crackling fire. It would correct my spelling if I let it but I have to take some responsibility!
As I said.... I was foolish, and I admit it. Truth is, there is comfort in knowing that as long as my phone is on I can't be lost, you aren't too far away and moments are never wasted! Lunchtime is over : )

You made me smile today ~

Some days the path is easy, especially when we aren't walking alone.

You made me smile today.  I was blowing hurricane debris around in the back yard, mosquitoes snacking on my sweaty skin, and you blew through on a breeze.

   You didn't have to call, or write or email or 'friend' me.  You didn't have to wave.  You didn't have to help me find the perfect shade of lipstick.  You didn't have to ask if I was okay.  You didn't have to help me change a tire.  You didn't have to remember Shannon's Heaven day or worry about the storms and earthquakes a half a world away.  You didn't have to explain, I already understood.  You didn't have to touch my arm, gently, knowingly.  You didn't have to let me go ahead of you in line.  You didn't have to tell me how much you admire your son in law, but he smiled when you did.  You didn't have to spend your day off with me.  You didn't have to text. You didn't have to share your life on Facebook.  You didn't have to 'photo walk'.   You didn't have to find the perfect crystal and mail it to me.  You didn't have to miss me.  You didn't have to offer me your seat on the Metro.  You didn't have to marry me.  You didn't have to love me.  You didn't have to send flowers.  You didn't have to be there to hold on to.  You didn't have to offer me your heart until mine mended.  You didn't have to listen.  You didn't have to care.  You didn't have to worry when I wrapped myself in silence.  You didn't have to sit on the roof to watch the meteor shower.  You didn't have to apologize.  You didn't have to trust me with your secrets.  You didn't have to choose me to be your Mom.

So many times you made me smile, filled my heart, touched my soul... and you didn't have to try. 

I don't say it nearly enough but thank you for sharing the path. 

 Thank you for being you, each and every one of you. 

 Thank you for making me smile today !

 

Would we fly?

 

As I looked at this photo, I couldn't help but wonder if we are... at times, like the horse tethered to the weather vane.  Do we gaze into an incredible unknown fantasizing about flight?  Do we miss the feel of damp grass beneath our feet or warm mud between our toes as we imagine the delight of floating into some great unknown?

Or could it be that the security of the tether is what makes the dreams possible?

I'm learning to question, knowing that the answers are already mine.

 

 

Today I gave up on the search for perfection !

For most of my life I've felt "not quite good enough".  Never was this more apparent than when I retired and attempted to find a "new direction". 

I had dreamed of finally having my own Polarity Therapy practice.  I had worked toward that goal for years.  Once I retired I converted our dining room into a 'therapy' room.  I had business cards printed.  I filled small white shelves with flower essences and essential oils and continued to take classes and frame certificates.  I gifted sessions, and imagined the satisfaction in "working" at something I love.

Then I decided that I wasn't comfortable charging for something that came straight from my heart... but I realized quickly that most of us are not comfortable accepting things for free.  I think we have some misguided notion that if something is free, that is exactly what it is worth...nothing.

Okay, so photography was another love.  I completed my Professional Photography training, framed my diploma and purchased equipment.  I created a web site, had business cards printed, took more classes and studied more books.  I took photos and spent months attempting to PERFECT my skills.   I taught myself PhotoShop, LightRoom, Portrait Professional and Digital Professional.  Again, I wasn't convinced that I was adequate to charge for my time.

Lastly, I decided that it was finally time to write that book that I have been working on since Shannon went to Heaven.  I took more classes, read more books on writing books, started this blog and allowed my soul to spill onto blank pages, trying to find the courage to allow my 'writer's voice' to be heard.  So many of you have encouraged me and given me a sense of purpose and I will be eternally grateful, but when the opportunity presented itself to put it out there between two covers, I choked.

Then Verizon called, and I was once again able to utilize the only skill set that had ever earned me a living.  A skill set that I knew I had perfected ... THREE YEARS ago.  Now... I'm older, and apparently not a damn bit wiser.  It's hard to work at the top of telephone poles when the heat index is hovering at 111 !  It's harder to be corrected by people who are half your age.  Even with almost forty years of experience, there is no money in the budget for equipment ~ tools and a truck for "Working Retirees"... so I have to beg or borrow, which for three months has felt for all the world like grovelling, each and every day, to be able to do my job.

So... the idea that I was going to feel confident and successful going back to cable splicing was a bit of a fantasy... a fantasy with a weekly paycheck though, and you can do a lot of grovelling when there is a financial reward for your hard work !

Okay... so hang in there with me because there is a point to all of this rambling.  I joined Weight Watchers  AGAIN !  I purchased a skin care regimen guaranteed to erase the lines of time spreading across my face.  I started reading more articles and books on self improvement... and got more and more anxious.  All I was able to see were my shortfalls.  Once again, perfection eluding me at every turn.

THEN... the epiphany !~   I will never be perfect.  Honestly, I don't want to be perfect.  The best at anything only means that at least one other well meaning, hard working, disappointed over achiever is NOT AS GOOD AS... and I don't want to be the reason for that sad face !

It's amazing how much better I started to feel as I realized that I am a good wife, a good Mom, a good neighbor, a good friend, a good splicer, a good photographer, a good writer, a good cook, a good daughter, a good sister,  a good person.  I have good health, a good job, a good heart and a good outlook (most days).  I have good skin that reflects a life that has been filled to overflowing with love and laughter and a sorrow that I continue to learn to live with.  As I embraced my "good"ness, I had one of Oprah's "light bulb" moments and as if the universe was rewarding me for finally 'getting it', the radio was announcing that someone on Capitol Hill had just said, with regard to the Debt Ceiling Bill, "Don't let perfection be the enemy of good" !  I couldn't believe it.  I was on the same page as a politician !  How scarey is that?  Truth is, the quote is Voltaire's but even so the timing was beyond belief.

So here I am, and this morning, in this moment, I'm good.

Thanks for letting me share.  I had to have these thoughts in writing because I'm relatively certain that I will allow life to make me think, probably more than once in the days to come, that good enough isn't really good enough....but I'll revisit this Saturday morning epiphany, breathe a sigh of relief at not having to try so very hard, and smile  !

Where does time go?

It's hard to believe that it's already the middle of July. 

Working again appears to be draining me of every ounce of creativity.  Today marks three months and I'm still searching for some shred of balance. 

 

I carry a notebook and pen in my purse at all times.  I have one of those little calendars that looks like a checkbook, with blonde cherubs on the cover.  I have an on line calendar that I try to record all upcoming appointments... and yet, this week, I missed my Tuesday afternoon doctor's appointment, showing up instead on Thursday !  How did that happen!

Mornings on the front porch with a cup of coffee and a Woman's World crossword puzzle seem like such a distant pleasure.  Traded for traipsing through utility "right of ways" pulling cable through muddy ducts when the heat index exceeds 107.  What was I thinking?

Oh, I remember... routine.  Familiarity.  Skill set.  No need to sell talents that I'm not totally sold on myself.  Work done, pay received.  Simple concept, that I know and trust !

There is something to be said for the cellular memory that comes from thirty five years of experience.  I don't necessarily like being dirty and sweaty all day, or so tired that I can't think.  I don't like spider bites or the kind of dirt under my nubby fingernails that refuses to come clean.  I worry that my yard has become a jungle and I'm losing the battle with the indoor clutter, but I have had some revelations that I am incredibly grateful for.

My brother and mother are doing amazingly well adjusting to their new electrical implantable heart healing devices.  Melissa is optimistically holding her own as she endures dialysis once again.  Sue posts messages on Facebook that let me know that she is okay.  My sister and I have actually talked on the phone despite the fact that I now have an iphone and can both send and receive text messages.  Jules' bee sting didn't turn into an ER visit.  Jane celebrated another birthday.  Patricia is following her path.  Friends and family all around me are embracing life one moment  at a time and as I wiped the mud from my forehead this week as I slid down a pebbly embankment, I thought about how lucky I am. 

Lucky to be healthy enough to do my job.  Lucky to have the "jungle" to tame.  Lucky to wake to another day with purpose.  Maybe not the purpose I fantasize about, but purpose none the less.  Lucky to know that life doesn't ask questions without offering solutions. 

There are more new babies coming to Earth in the next few months.... What a gift.... and those that are here are walking and talking,  allowing us to see through their eyes with the wonder and curiosity that is so easily forgotten with age.

Through another series of "coincidences", I'm reading a book by Byron Katie.  She has a teaching that she calls "The Work".  Simply put, she teaches that we can learn to see what's real if we recognize that our thoughts can hold us captive to something that isn't. 

As I was driving home from Culpeper on Friday afternoon I was listening to one of her lectures on CD.  The first part of the process is to capture one of the thoughts that is causing you to be miserable.  Her example was "No one hears me."   The next step is to ask, "Is that really true?"   Immediately the mind starts screaming that of course it's true, but when pressed to find proof, we miraculously realize that it's not.  If we are willing to be honest, we find more examples that prove we are heard.  Next we turn the statement around, to see it from an alternate perspective.  "I hear no one."  That's when it hit me. 

It was ridiculous to think that I hear NO One.  Or was it?  How often do I look into someone's eyes as they talk, writing mental grocery lists, imagining a new hairstyle, worrying that my tummy is rolling over my waistband or fuming that once again 'it's all about them'.

I don't want to be that person.  I want you to know you have my undivided attention.  I want you to know that in our shared moment, you are all that matters.  I want to trust that for every thought that makes me miserable there is an equal and opposite thought that will fill me with joy if I take the time to acknowledge it. 

So here I am once again.  A new day, a new week, a new plan, a new promise, a new intent.  Sometimes, that's all we can hope for.... and then see what unfolds.

Just Float

Learning to Float

It's hard to believe that it's been over a month since I found th...no that's not true... MADE the time to sit and think, to find my quiet and embrace what most resembles clarity in the never ending flow of my life.

Jules turned 59. My brother was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, an illness that has a genetic component and serious familial implications. Jules and I both came down with a summer flu. A freak hailstorm decimated Mom's newly coiffed country acre, we made it to Alabama to spend time with our precious, and much missed, southern family, my dear friend from California arrived, the balancing act between home and work that I had mastered (almost) pre retirement, eludes me post retirement and I seem to be tired all the time !

But in the midst of all the craziness there are moments that touch me and lift me and reassure me that even though it all feels off kilter, and I do battle with the resulting vertigo of living, everything really is okay. I just have to learn to float and stop trying to swim against the current.

I got an email from a lovely woman just writing to say that Shannon had touched her heart when she was feeling at her lowest, and I felt a wave of relevance. My Mom and Brother are sharing the experience of ICD ~ Implantable Cardio Difibrillators and I am extremely grateful for advancements in modern medicine.

Yesterday my friend and I walked a mountain creek just before sunset. She discovered quite by accident that water snakes like the warmth and relative safety of the large smooth rocks that form the craggy banks of mountain streams. With respect we moved quietly in the opposite direction only to discover the newly shed skin of our soft copper friend. It felt like a message, and you know how I love those subtle messages.... that in order to move forward in life, to grow and expand and embrace what is yet to come, we sometimes have to leave something behind...some semblance of our former selves. This often leaves us vulnerable, searching for a quiet place to harden just a bit and get familiar with the new.

I think I may be ready to shed this old skin. I've joined Weight Watchers again... and it's okay, go ahead and laugh, I'm sure Shannon and all of Heaven is getting a chuckle but I feel that I have to narrow the focus just a bit. This penchant I have for trying to move in twenty directions at once simply isn't working and like so many before me... I'm convinced that losing weight is the key to all of my personal issues. That and the fact that I miss my sister.  No she's not missing, we just lost track somewhere and I'm not sure how to fix it... hence this mornings purchase of "My Sister, My Self: Understanding the Sibling Relationship That Shapes Our Lives, Our Loves, and Ourselves". 

I don't always realize when I've gone off track. Only when I find myself spinning in circles, going nowhere in particular, wondering what I was doing before I forgot, do I imagine the quiet serenity of not thinking anything at all... gazing lazily into the trees that are passing overhead as I gently float through life.

But floating requires trust.  Trusting that you won't wind up in an ocean with no oars and no land in sight.  Trusting that there are no thousand foot waterfalls just around the bend.  Trusting that while you float, someone else is mowing the grass, doing the laundry, paying the bills, feeding the cats, balancing the check book and updating the calendar.  Or maybe... it's just finding a way to trust that none of that really matters. 

Because in the over all scheme of things, I'd rather wrap my arms around my husband than mow the grass, hear my Mother's voice on the phone than do the laundry, have lunch with my brother and sister instead of pay the bills and sit on the porch with the incredible women in my life watching humming birds play than worry about the dust bunnies reproducing under the sofa. 

I'm not there yet but I have my boat in the water and that is without a doubt, a start !

May 18... Truth

I've been told that including a definition of a word to be used in a prose piece is a contrivance that should be avoided but sometimes that is the only place to start, except when the definition is totally unsatisfying...as with Truth  ~ "the quality of being true".

I watched Oprah's interview with James Frey yesterday, and the day before.  I can see where Oprah has grown and I was proud of her for acknowledging and apologizing for a public display that appeared painfully harsh.  I never read "A Million Little Pieces" but I couldn't really understand what all the fuss was about.  Here is a man who wrote a book about himself.  He embellished to make the story more interesting to his reader, a reader that he was trying to touch and inspire, to offer hope, and he was horribly and publicly chastised. 

I saw the original interview and all I felt was sad for James Frey.  He was brave, accountable and admitted to making a mistake.  Oprah was ruthless.  I hate it when Oprah is ruthless. 

When Jules and I were asked to come to Chicago six weeks after Shannon's accident, we were told by a very sweet producer that they were doing a show on Gratitude and they thought that Shannon's story would touch many people.  We agreed to go because we believed that it was a message, a gift, a prompting from Shannon and how could we say "No" to Shannon? 

Sitting in the audience, no where to run, no way to escape, we discovered that the show was about "Letters to Oprah", and not all of them were nice letters or positive letters.  As a matter of fact, the opening letter was from a professional basketball player's wife who was totally pissed (sorry) that Oprah had criticized and stereotyped professional athletes as "deadbeat Dads".   She fussed and fumed and Oprah tried to explain and Jules and I looked at each other wondering how we could have thought this was a good idea.

After commercial break, Oprah shared Shannon's story.  The gratitude journal, the accident, my letter expressing my gratitude for knowing what had made Shannon happy, having heard about the gratitude journal on Oprah's show, all the while watching photos of my precious beautiful Shannon flashing on a huge screen to Oprah's right.  After the segment, Oprah presented us with beautiful, soft leather bound journals, that she had had "made just for " us, so that we could continue writing our own thoughts on gratitude.  The journals were in boxes and we didn't open them until we were on the plane flying home.

Just inside the front cover I found a typed card expressing holiday wishes to Oprah's friends. 

Thirteen years later I realize that it made for good television.  A compassionate gift for the grieving parents, but did she lie?  Or did she simply embellish like James Frey?  Did she even remember that she had given the same journals as Christmas gifts? 

I'm certain that her producers made the suggestion with the purest of intentions, thought it would be a nice gesture and it is a beautiful journal that I started one of my "Million Little Attempts" at writing a book, in that journal, but the TRUTH was, that she had NOT had them made "Just for us".

I'll have to go back and watch the tape sometime... she may not have even said that but it is what I remember so does my memory, my interpretation determine whether it is the truth or a lie?

I used to illustrate this point by saying that we had a 1966 GTO convertible in our garage.  To those who know cars, that was apparently a big deal.  I'm sure they imagined shiney paint and flawless apholstery, sunny windblown drives down country roads...the truth was  ~    

and to those who knew cars, they could see the potential but it was, let's face it, ugly !!  

Now later, after many long hours,  incredible friends who worked tirelessly with Jules to bring that GTO back from the brink the truth looked more like this ~

 

but perception played a huge part in what was true.

How do we know?  If you get a haircut that you love and you ask my opinion and I think it looks like the back end of a squirrel in a wind tunnel and I tell you that you look beautiful and you believe it, I've told the truth.  Your truth.  Why on earth would I tell you what I really thought... my truth?  Why would I want to hurt your feelings?  "Kill your buzz"?  I guess what I'm saying is that there really is no good definition for "truth", and the truth is that most of what we perceive is subjective and we all view life through our personal and individual filters, so maybe we just need to relax a little. 

There are paintings on the walls of all great museums that I might look at and wonder "What was he thinking?"  You might look at the same white canvas sporting one bright blue dot and be overwhelmed with wonder and admiration for such artistic vision. 

Religions, I think, should consider these same things when insisting that theirs is the only truth.  I'm sure that God would laugh, hearing us spout with such certainty that there is only ONE truth, if it weren't so sad.  We hurt each other because we need to be right.  Need to trust in truth.  Our truth.  The one and only truth.

Maybe I just wanted to congratulate Oprah on outgrowing her ego.  Thank her for being compassionate and gentle with a man who didn't mean to hurt anyone, he simply wanted to tell his story, his memory, his truth.  Maybe I'm just trying to understand truth as I continue to write from the center of me, searching for words that share emotions that defy definition. 

Truth is, I try really hard to always tell the truth in my writing... but what if my memory is different than yours?  What if you remember a red two stick popsicle and I remember orange?  What if I remember Red Lobster and you remember Sammy T's?  What if I remember a graham cracker/marshmallow cookie cake and you remember chocolate chip?  What if I remember that you were wearing brown pants when you sat with me in the Emergency Room and you know you never owned brown pants?  Will it really matter?   Will you think I'm telling a lie?  Will you doubt my sincerity or my desire to share?

Doubt the popsicle color, or the time of day or the restaurant or the brown pants but know this for certain,  when I tell you that Heaven is real, that Shannon lets me know she is near, that those we love are never just 'gone', that love is stronger than fear and death is an illusion... it's true !

May 17

"Thank you for Avery and Hayes.  Thank you for baby wrens knowing to avoid Sam.  Thank you for uneventful thunder storms.  Thank you for Jane's safe return.  Thank you for Jules' enjoyable conversation with his family."