Gratuitous Self-Care

Here's a thing.

You know how when you look at someone else's life and admire that person's accomplishments and general ability to lead forward into life? At the same time, though, when it's you people are affirming, what you're actually feeling is "#$)(, this is hard."

Yeah. That's where I am.

There's not a thing I want to give up. Well, I would make a few changes here and there. What I mean is that there's not a category of things I would give up. I want meaningful work (and I need to eat, besides). I want to work out. I want to create things and tend my home. I want to learn new things and chart a course toward academia. I want to hang out with my friends and family. I want.... I want...I want...

But there are days when I'm just bloody exhausted. Yesterday I took a nap at 6:00 because I literally could not do anything else. And I still went to bed at 10:30. I've been getting up at 5:15 so that I can have a 1/2 hour bike ride before getting ready for work and flying out the door. This morning, even with all the sleep, I convinced myself that it was still too dark to ride at that time. (And it is getting darker in the mornings which is going to throw a monkey wrench into my scheduling.) But what I really wanted was another half-hour of sleep. The darkness was a red herring and not even I was fooled.

All of which leads me to this conclusion. I have to ADD a category of things to my life. Don't you just love how I come to apparently insane conclusions and then try to argue that they are other-than-insane??

Gratuitous self-care. I need some. I go to yoga once a week. I get a massage about once a month. But I don't even mean (solely) things that cost a lot or involve me going somewhere. A bubble bath would count. A cup of peppermint tea while rocking in the rocker on my front porch would be lovely. But I need more ideas -things I can do on a moment's notice that take care of me. What have you got in the bright-idea department, oh wise ones?

And, you're free to borrow these ideas too, because I suspect that your life is no less complicated than mine.

Thalia Comes Through

Bless her heart, she always does! (Thalia is the green bike, in case you've forgotten.)

Two things: Today is my 27th wedding anniversary. Sigh. Heart ache.
I had swimming on the schedule as my fitness activity for the day.

But I worked all day. I always work on Saturdays, but I knew enough not to take today off, for sure. Keep busy. Then I thought I would drive straight to the pool, then do some yoga at home. Somewhere in there I would eat and fold those wrinkly towels that are still in my bedroom (see the Martha post). Then I could hold my school work in front of my face, pretend I was reading, and really fall asleep. They the day would be over, and I would have survived it. See? I can do this.

Here's what really has happened so far. Right outside my office -literally, RIGHT outside my office- is the Fox River Bike Path. While getting my car out of the parking lot (not always easy.... homeless people frequently have cars, but they aren't always mobile. It becomes a navigation problem, driving around the "stopped where they died" vehicles.), I saw a cyclist. A real one -the helmet, the gloves, the shoes, the whole thing. And he was working it. And I thought, "for crying out loud, I could go for a bike ride." What I really want is to be alone, anyway.

So Thalia and I went for a spin. I can't quite get over the notion that an hour on the bike isn't a real ride. Part of it is that Thalia is such an uber-bike, that riding almost feels like cheating. I'm hardly working. But my life just doesn't have 8 hour stretches in it that are available for biking. And don't tell Thalia, but I'm not quite willing to give up those other activities for her. Well, I'd give up my job, but I'd have to replace it with another one, so what's the difference?

But darn it, an hour long ride is long enough for a little fitness effect and a lot of cobweb-clearing in the old brain. I can get through this day. I know I can.

Heart ache, for sure. But a little smidge of heart song as well.

And I had another thought that's unrelated to these others, except for biking and homeless people. When I bike, I too have the helmet, the shoes, and the gloves... all of which is a little silly for short rides. But as I've mentioned, I have arthritis in my hands, and the gloves really help. Most of the people I work with have really compromised health. But they also contribute to their own misery, just a little, by not ever moving in an intentional way. They would say (and I'm not blaming them, at ALL), given arthritis, that they could no longer ride. I say I'm a cyclist who has arthritis, so I wear the dorky gloves. I'm still trying to figure out how to make fitness inviting for this population.

Romancing the Stove

I like to eat lovely things. I like to cook lovely things. Why am I not doing that??? I seriously considered (but didn't do it,just so you know) stopping by McDonald's after spending some time at the yarn shop today. McDonald's??? Do I have no shame???

Then I came home and opened the freezer and found some bread my friend Tom made. SCORE!!! I had French toast for lunch, made with Tom's sourdough. And I remembered again that part of graceful living is eating well. And it's not hard. Well, it's certainly made easier when friends leave bread in your freezer. But really, it's not hard.

I could make this a huge dramatic project. I could marry a chef -not that any have come calling. "Will trade inventive sex for elegant food." Probably that's not going to work ;) I could contract with one of those services where someone delivers your meals. That just makes me feel sad and lonely. Or I could assess where I am right now, where I want to be, and chart a gentle course for getting there. I don't know how to cook in small quantities. I come home from work exhausted. My schedule is quite peculiar. Two nights a week, I work until midnight and eat supper at the shelter -and I've blogged before about the food there :( I need portable food to help me avoid unimaginable junk food. My situation is unusual, and clever googling isn't going to give me the plan that will work for me.

I don't need homemade sorbet at this point. I need breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What will help me the most? Do I have to know? Do I have to know right now? If I need everything, maybe I don't need a plan. Maybe I just need to do something. Anything.

Tomorrow I will eat breakfast. I have sourdough bread, after all ;)

Another "Martha Moment"

I'm guessing Martha Stewart doesn't have a laundry basket full of unfolded clothes in her bedroom. So, any comparisons of me with Martha are stretching the truth rather a bit. But I remembered how fun it was at the beginning of spring to go buy the geraniums that graced my front porch all spring and summer. And I remembered how plunking two plants down on the front steps helped me to claim my space just a bit.

Yesterday, Victoria and I went out for a girls day. She kept calling it a "mums with mom" expedition. Egad, child, stick with dancing. We bought these:
See the knife? I have a plan.

Pumpkin guts: I wanted the neighbor boys to help me with this part. It's just disgusting enough to really please children of a certain age, but I guess they weren't home from school yet.

Then this happened:

Everybody who walked by had to vote. Did the pumpkins get grouped or separated? Do I need more, or do I perhaps need a basket filled with a mixture of mums on the top step? Should I stick some ivy in the pots? I love this puttering.


And yes, even as modest a project as this helped me to claim my space in the house and on the planet. Martha knows how important that is.

I Have No Voice

My throat is fine. I can talk. I have no writer's voice. I don't know what to do about that.

One of the things we talk about in social work is self-authorship - a particularly cruel metaphor when part of the person's self-image is as a writer. But the idea (from Freud, who really did have some brilliant thoughts) is that our life is a narrative. There are many competing stories we tell ourselves about who we are. One or the other of them will float to the front of our brain at any particular moment, but they are all rattling around, making noise in our subconscious. It is our work, our meaning-making-work, to edit those stories. We have to figure out which stories are true, remove the power -the voice- from the false ones, and create a narrative that makes sense. We have to author a life.

We are all authoring our lives all the time, whether or not we claim the task. But I feel like I've been given (forced to undertake) the opportunity to do that quite explicitly. Sometimes that's wonderful. Sometimes that's terrifying. Sometimes it's lonely. Sometimes it just makes me unspeakably sad.

Things are not like they were last year at this time. My life is vastly better. But it's hard in different ways -ways that defeat me sometimes. The "I can't do it" voices can be quite persuasive.

If we move on to Jung, we are encouraged to assign an image to those emotions that rise up and seem disproportionate. I have to be the least visual person on the planet, so I've never been able to do that. But I can hear the voice of those nasty thoughts. I know exactly whose voice it is. Hint: it's male. We are supposed to stop asking "why" questions -which is very hard for me to do. We are encouraged to replace them with "what" questions. What happens if I calm myself, and step into these new roles as though they were already mine? Which really is nothing more than claiming a little of the "entitlement" that seems to have gotten other people so far.

But... anyway... my voice... my self-authorship, it's all taken a little bump. I don't know why I expect it to be a smooth road, but I clearly do. I'm hunkering down trying to move through it. And in the meantime, I don't have that much to say. I'm just surviving. Right now, that's my task, I guess. Perhaps doing that -just surviving- helps to remove some of the power from my "I can't do it" fears. I hope so.

More iPod Love

It's been a long time since I had an iPod love post. One thing I've always liked about the iPod is how it allows me to reconnect with music I'd forgotten about. Putting songs together in playlists would jog my memory about some song from way back when. It would frequently also send me off on peculiar google searches; it's a bit of a challenge when you don't know either the song or the composer. Or I would start badgering my family.... "what was that song that was playing at the restaurant that time we...." That kind of thing.

I'm still getting my new iPod organized, eliminating songs and playlists that are sad for me, making new workout playlists.... And I discover that iTunes has made this process of rediscovering music even easier. The Genius feature looks at a highlighted song, scans your playlists, and suggests other things you might like. OF course it isn't perfect (and for all I know there are privacy concerns), but it's really really smart.

The forgotten song? Paint Me a Birmingham. For crying out loud, how did I not have THAT?

I Think I'll Learn Japanese Today

Or maybe I'll finally scrape the 1940s wallpaper off the basement stairwell walls. Or I could cook. I need to cook.

The psychological principle is this: anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment.
("How to Get Things Done," in Chips off the Old Benchley, 1949)

I am supposed to be writing. Well, look at me. I AM writing. OK, I am supposed to be writing a proposal for presentation at a conference. Thinking about it makes me ill. But it also makes me wildly inventive.

I could start that quilt I've always meant to make. I could call the dentist. Oh wait, I really do need to do that. Hang on. I could play with my virtual puppy on facebook. That has to be a low point.

Or, I suppose, I could just pull up my big girl panties and get to work.

If I write one paragraph at a time, can I have some ice cream?

Hold On Just a Minute

Today I went to the gym and did a lovely yoga practice and a weenie-workout that nonetheless left me feeling quite worked. There's this thing that happens when I'm exercising, and I can't explain it. Maybe it's because I don't have the energy to tangle myself up in mental knots. The clouds in my mind open a little, and things become clear and easy that before had me all in a muddle.

And, I hadn't grumped about Dave and my marriage in...days... so I thought it was probably time.

I've been repeating this nauseating platitude that the marriage was a failure for both of us and needs to be put to rest. I was trying to make it be true by repeating it -and then I was surprised when it kept sounding hollow and silly. That's because it's not true, for crying out loud.

Here's the thing. Dave had ALL the resources in the marriage. He had the power. He had all the money, for longer than I've admitted. He could keep me from having something just by quietly being stubborn. Things just plain didn't happen if he didn't want them to happen.

It absolutely IS true that I could have called him on this nonsense, and possibly by demanding an equal role I could have saved the situation. And even if I couldn't single-handedly have saved the marriage, it would have been better for me if I had done that. But if, with all the resources, all the power, and all the love by the way, he STILL feels that the marriage truncated him, I'm thinking the problem wasn't me. That's saying that my very existence is so strong that, even with money, time, and love he couldn't live his life fully. Wow, I'm quite the force of nature. If that's true, divorcing me doesn't matter. I'm still here, exerting my dark will, working my magic. Or maybe my magic only works if you're close to me. Who knows???

The simpler answer is that he took all the resources to shore up his crumbling sense of personal power. However subconsciously(or not), he made me small and made it clear that he was more powerful than I was-so he was powerful, by definition. How sad is that???

So my bizarre fantasy (or fear)that we'll stand in front of the judge at the end of the month, and Dave will see the error of his ways and ask to stop the proceedings in the nick of time.... not only will it not happen -which I knew. But even if it did happen, I should say no. I would just do the thing I do -love with my whole heart and forgive as best as I am able. He would do what he can do, which is somewhat less than that.

That marriage didn't fail him. He failed him -and the rest of us besides.

Ten Minutes at a Time

Can a book be written ten minutes at a time?

This might be the Shakespeare/Shakespeare's Sister dilemma. A real writer, a true writer, a person who's already written something famous-ish, can sit in his or her library all day. There's an eloquently documented terror in that kind of life (try Bird by Bird by Annie Lamott), and I don't mean to minimize the stresses of it.

But I don't live that life. I live this one, where I have something like zero-sum time management. Yet here I am, dressed and ready for work and I don't have to leave for 10 minutes. The laundry is started. Sean Connery, the red Roomba, is vacuuming upstairs. My bed is made. My gym bag is packed; my stuff is gathered for the day. I'm going to stop for gas and the world's fastest oil change (they PROMISED!) on the way to work. Good enough.

Today I'm apparently using that available ten minutes for blogging -a good thing in my world. But some days, surely, I could use it for other kinds of writing.

Here's the project: Just over a year ago, my brother and his wife lost a premature baby. Well, they didn't lose her; they know where she is. She died, because she was born wildly prematurely and with no lungs to speak of. Rachel Grace still lives with us, in a real way, even though I never saw her and she only lived about 24 hours. She was the baby we were meant to have at that time; I absolutely believe that. She changed us.

And there's this other truth that I'm a knitter, and a knitting teacher, and a thinker about knitting and women's communities.... Slowly, slowly, the idea is coming together: a book of knitting patterns for premature babies dedicated to Rachel. I have two knitting patterns in my head that would work for premature babies, I think. One is a sweater that instead of buttoning down the front has a front panel that buttons down the left side and the right side (side-front, essentially at the clavicle...does that make sense?). That would allow the baby to wear cute sweaters made by doting aunties AND be attached to life-saving machines (that have cords and leads and things). If I'm a clever girl indeed, I could figure out how to turn this pattern into a sacque or even a jumpsuit sort of thing. (A slight pause here while I wish I still had access to geometrically-trained in-house help.) The other one is just a pretty blanket, with a satin binding. We don't use multiple fabrics much in knitting, and I don't know why. The thing babies LIKE about blankets is the satin binding, in my experience.

There will be more patterns if my brain remains active and appropriately caffeinated. Each pattern could be (will be) associated with an essay. I need these essays to be, well, fabulous. So far what they are is platitude-filled drivel. This is not an auspicious beginning. But again, I refer to Anne Lamott -shitty first drafts, is her advice. That we have ;)

But the question on the table is, can a person write in 10 minute slots of time? It will annoy me, no question about it. It's like snacking, rather than dining. On the other hand, it might provide some needed urgency. "Get some words on the page; the timer is about to go off."

So, what happens if I stop wondering if I can be (if I'm allowed to be) a writer and just step into that role? A real writer -a true writer- couldn't let 10 free minutes pass by without writing -any more than a dancer could avoid dancing when she hears a scrap of music or a singer could avoid singing in the shower or the car. Writing. That's why the universe provided those 10 minutes in the morning. I should honor that gift and claim them. Eventually I'll have a book, and eventually is better than never!

Remember This?

It's the 18-month plan that on a lark I wrote up in January. Some things I didn't even dare to dream about (such as reclaiming my academic self) -and therefore didn't make the list- have happened. Other things (ummm...weigh 110???) are not even close. But all in all, I'm making progress.


Anatomical/Gastronomical/Sartorial

Weigh 110 by August (N's graduation) -AHEM, I can only be called off-message on this one.
Train for a triathlon –whether or not you do one! -nope
GITAP (long-distance bike ride) -scheduling trouble for this particular ride, but I have been riding
Daily yoga practice -not yet, but I'm edging closer
Have people over for brunch regularly -not brunch, but I have been having people over -and I have some better ideas here.
Build a wine collection -yes!
Keep a bottle of good champagne in the fridge -yes!
Find a neighborhood bar -yes!
Exercise 6 days a week -not yet, but I'm edging closer
Maintain relationship with Sarah the wonder-hair-dresser -yes!
Rock climbing –the goal is weekly climbing, but I’d settle for twice a month –in March, become a member -yes!
Get better work clothes -yes!
resume daily riding as soon as the weather allows -well, it's not daily, but it's frequent
go to the gym at least three days a week -probably I'm at two days/week, and that's new. But it's progress.
set up workout room and yoga space -getting there, slowly

Romantical/Platonical/Familial
Figure out a way to do this relationship demise thing gracefully and how to survive it. -I'm surviving.
Send birthday cards -so-so
Get an address book -yes!
Update it yes!
Write to out of the area friends -yes!
Update emergency contact information -yes!
Get a will and advanced health care directives -not yet
Update funeral arrangements -yes!

Habitational
Buy the house -very close now
Get a new furnace and central air -not until I own the house
Re-create the gardens -no, still lost here
Buy some new furniture -new couch and some outdoor furniture -I got the outdoor furniture and a kitchen table, instead. The couch is disgusting and must go, but I haven't figured out what I want.
Focus on safety, security, and grace -YES!

Professional; Financial; Educational
Re-learn to do a cartwheel -haven't even tried
Take a few yoga workshops -I went to one, so far
Think about the next job –craft the plan -working on it
Write the preemie knits book -yeah....about that.... this is slow
Get the preemie pattern book published -gotta have a book before it can be published
Work for the 18 months I promised at Hesed House. -getting there
At 12-month anniversary, start looking for the next thing. Keep working until you find it. -I'm not waiting.
Keep planning interesting things at the yarn shop. -hmmm..... musing, here. I DO want to plan interesting things with knitters, possibly not with the yarn shop as the focus.
Attend an international conference. -working out the details; this could happen
Keep the idea of a social justice institute alive in your heart and mind -what can you do to make it a reality? -every day, I think about this!
Retirement planning, in this brave new single world :( -yeah. yuck. but I'm doing it.


Spiritual; Communal
Find a volunteer opportunity that nurtures you and does some good. -my job is essentially a volunteer position, I'm paid so little :(
Buy flowers once a month -I just get them out of the garden now.
Join a book club -yes
Donate blood -I haven't.
Become an NPR member -yes
Get back to buying organic and fair trade whenever possible -yes
Advocate for bicycling in town and elsewhere -yes
See if Newman can still be your spiritual community -haul your sorry self back to church! -I tried. It hasn't worked just yet.
Reconnect with almost-lost friends -yes!
Nurture connections with all friends -I could do a lot better at this.
Daily meditation as part of yoga practice -well, it's not daily, but I'm getting there.

Expeditional; Recreational
Go to the movies once a month -probably
Travel outside of the US -not yet, but there are plans
See live music and dance -yes!
Stay up dancing until the wee hours of the morning -not yet!
Sib trip -YES!
GITAP -scheduling problems
Start planning for a volunteer vacation –internationally -I had forgotten about this one.
Figure out a way to go to an international conference. -yes
Save for Tuscany trip -well, the savings are modest, for sure, but they're there.

I Didn't Know my Own Strength

Yesterday was a bad day. Bad days happen in perfectly wonderful lives. I know that. Of course, knowing that to be true doesn't make dealing with those days any easier. This day held many forms of ickiness. Work was hard and unrewarding and unsupported. I got some bad news about a house project I want to undertake. I couldn't spend time with friends when I wanted to, because of legal tasks that had to be completed. Whine, whine, whine...

The point is, I had a split second of thinking that I couldn't handle all of this, that I wanted someone else to fix it. I don't want that, really. I can fix it. I am not powerless here. It's just that things don't always turn out the way I want them to turn out. But engrossed in self-pity as I was, I almost didn't notice this song playing on the new iPod:

I've been livin' with a heart on the mend
Wonderin' how will I ever be strong
I know I'll live to love again
I just leaned on
you too long
It's been an uphill fight
But I'm gonna be alright

CHORUS
I didn't know my own strength
'Till I had to pick myself up
And carry on without your love
I'm gettin' back on my feet
It's been a long hard fall
But I'll make it after all
I didn't know my own strength

I've had oceans of tears to get through
And the weight of the world on my mind
There've been mountains of memories to move
And I've been beating back the blows to my pride
But 'til the times got tough
I never knew what I was made of
CHORUS
Then the times got tough
And I knew what I was made of
CHORUS

It's Lorrie Morgan. Go to iTunes and download it and sing it with me ;) I downloaded it in 2007, before I ever had the slightest inkling -in my conscious mind- that I would need it.

My New Toy

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth here in the cornfields. You thought that noise you heard was, possibly, the aftereffect of Hurricane Fay. Nope, that was me howling. My workhorse of an iPod -to whom (whom???) I had not been overly nice- died. I thought perhaps it was the battery, and brought it in to the apple store. Nope. They replaced the battery, for a reasonable fee, but that was not it. I had dropped the poor dear into a puddle. She seems to have gone on to meet her maker.

I apparently can not survive without an iPod. Well, I could survive. But... music in the house is essential. Music when I work out is absolutely essential. Music when I walk across campus is certainly nice. So, here she is. The new silver 160 gig iPod. 160 gig, forcryingoutloud!!! Who needs that? But it was cheaper than the 80 gig, because of a weird sale at Best Buy, so there you go.

Now she needs a name. I'm leaning towards Calliope.

My Manga

Jill over at Writing or Typing knows all the cute new internet tricks. Her manga looks like her. Mine is cuter than me. I suppose I ought to have included some gray in my hair. Or eliminate it from my actual hair ;)

Happy happy day, dear one

V holds N -many moons ago
Originally uploaded by Andrea1

See how Victoria is staring at you, as though you were a gift from the universe? She still thinks that! And it's just mildly possible that I do, too!

Here's a more recent photo. You've become quite the man -if somewhat irritated with me for taking your picture in public ;)



HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETIE PIE.

On-Board Navigation

NO!!! She's not going there! I will NOT use my new Tom-Tom navigation system as a metaphor.

Life is a journey. Show me the way. Chart a course. Plot your path.

Oh, just gag me with a spoon.

Stop bossing me the #($* around, that's what I think. But... the truth is, along with one of my sisters, I have a SPECTACULAR ability to get lost. Huge. Knows no limits. Truly a thing of astounding power. That's my ability to get lost. I ended up in Battle Creek, Michigan once when I was supposed to be in Milwaukee. Wrong state. Yeah, I know. In a tragic marital moment, I took us across the same bridge in Montreal THREE times, because I was reading the map rather than driving. That wasn't a good day. And then there was the day when the similarly-impaired sister and I were wandering around Philadelphia, looking for each other. We found each other because her son was with her and my phone had a fairly primitive navigation service. And even then, we almost missed each other because we were on opposite sides of the street. Viewed from the sky, it was probably hilarious. Not so much, when viewed at street level!

When one has an impairment, it is not weakness to ask for help. It's just plain sensible to use assisting devices and assistants when, otherwise, life would be smaller and more limited.

I use mapquest a lot. It has saved my backside more than once. There are several things that mapquest won't do for me, however. If, you know, just for the sake of argument, I turn left when it says right -and then completely screw up the correction and become hopelessly turned around- mapquest doesn't know what to do. It knows how to get me from where I started to where I said I wanted to go, assuming I do what I'm told to do. Ask my mother how likely that last bit is.

Tom-Tom will at least figure out where I am and allow for mid-point corrections. So far, she hasn't said "For the love of God, I SAID turn LEFT." I work in a town I don't live in -a town there's really no point in being in, except for work or living. It's not as though one seeks out Aurora, Illinois as a destination. People live there because it's close to Chicago. People work there, because....well, in my case, because poor people live there and someone was willing to pay me to help them.

I've worked there eight months and I've figured out a few different ways to get to work and back, how to get to the Panera for coffee, and how to get to the gym. That's it. But I could, hypothetically, go from work to the city (meaning Chicago) and THEN go home. Except my brain starts to melt at the navigational challenge. Or I could go rock climbing with my son and boy buddies and then go to Panera and then go to work. After I breathe into this paper bag because I'm sure I'll end up in Indianapolis by accident.

Tom-Tom was on sale. It's a bargain, even if the navigator is a little snotty. My life will get a little bigger -and all for under $200. I'm good with that.

And life actually is a journey.

Rigor Vita

That's probably the wrong declension of vita, and I'm too tired to go look it up. A thousand apologies.

But the point is there.... I've hit a spot in my life where I'm feeling rigid, literally and metaphorically. I've watched other women in the middle of a divorce go through this. There have been unspeakable, shaming boundary violations. Then, as part of healing there's a time when, truly, compromise is possible. But instead she draws a line in the sand and defends it for all she's worth. The line is not important, possibly even to her. It's the defense that's important. I WILL stand my ground. I will NOT permit boundary violations. There will be NO compromise.

Subtext: Because I'm afraid that if I give you even an inch, and you hurt me again, I will die.

That's the part I didn't know before. It's interesting.

Yes, I drew a line. I defended it. Possibly, modest defense was appropriate; rigidity was unnecessary. I'm not apologizing, exactly. He deserves all I can dish out and more. But I am saying that rigidity is uncomfortable for me. I don't care whether he likes it or not. I don't like it. I just don't know how to be both flexible and protected -or strong and open -or fierce, but not snarling.

This kind of rigidity really is rigor mortis, or rigor vita, I suppose, since I'm not dead. Life unyielding. That's not what I want. I want my life to soar, but something is weighing me down again. How can it be a person's presence in a community? Well, it can't be. It's the power I assign to that person's presence.

And wandering down the curvy pathways of my mind.... we get to yoga. Again. (I know... just hang on. There may be a point here, somewhere.) There's a "reclaiming my body" post rattling around in my brain, but it's not finished. But I do know that yoga -literally and metaphorically- knows something about strength and flexibility, and fierce concentration with an open heart. If I have lost my mental and emotional agility, I have also lost my (formerly considerable) physical flexibility. Both can come back, but it takes work.

From psychology, we know that sometimes people store unexamined (not-yet-examinable, frequently) pain in a physical body part. There's a reason that people get chronic stomach aches or neck pain or headaches or... whatever. A single individual typically gets a certain kind of stress pain, not all of the kinds. Without going overboard, the pain tells us a little something about what the unexamined issue is.

We usually think that therapy or time will heal the issue, and the body pain will ameliorate. But it can go the other way. Sometimes there's a physical release first; yoga and dance are frequently the agents here. The pain gives way, and the emotional issue...well, it doesn't go away, but it becomes available to examination.
Its power to frighten is reduced.

Good lord, is anyone still with me????

Here's the point. (and the crowd breathes a sigh of relief) I can confront these issues from both sides. I think. I muse/brood/reflect. I write. I talk. I post here. I have a long-suffering life coach. I'm doing what can be done on that side of the equation for my own healing and thriving. Yet, for so many reasons, I could try to reclaim some flexibility from the physical side. Even if the emotional breakthrough isn't sudden and momentous (and for most people it isn't), there's power in following my goals and dreams in the physical arena. That power could inform all the other dream-building that I'm doing.

And, my back might hurt a little less ;)

Mamma Mia!

Go see Mamma Mia! Really.

Well, go see it if you're a woman of a certain age. It's hilarious and campy and charming. It's got Colin Firth AND Pierce Brosnan. I mean, for heaven's sake, it's a bargain at $8 and some popcorn ;) You'll be embarrassed to notice that you know all the words to all the ABBA songs, but so does everyone else in the theater.

Meryl Streep can just plain do anything. She makes being the mother of a too-young bride and working as a struggling hotelier glorious. She wears her scroungy overalls and fixes shutters and dances and is crazy-sexy.

The characters are under-drawn,I admit. The girlfriends are kind of caricatured, and we never really figure out the boyfriends at all. But it's a movie based on ABBA songs; stop looking for art!!!

Compare it to Sex and the City-which I've seen all of once, but that doesn't stop me from making proclamations. There we have 20-something gorgeous girls in their uncomfortable shoes that cost as much as my car. They sit around in coffee shops and agonize about how miserable they are. The women in Mamma Mia have suffered, right enough, but they dance through it.

Except for the personal quibble that it mometarily gave me hope that love thought to be long-dead can come back -which is not where I need to place my hope- the movie was a non-stop delight. I'd see it again, if anyone is up for it.

A Rocky Patch

I'm ok. I really am. I know that. But this is a bit of a rocky patch, and I might as well acknowledge that too.

Dave is back in town, and I realized that once again I am living my life as though he were watching. I know he isn't, and I had let go of doing that months ago. But it's back; I'm doing it again. For example, a good person would be out on her bike now; it's a beautiful day. But I'm tired. I worked a full day today and it's bloody Saturday. What I wanted to do was read my mail while sitting outside in my pretty yard. That's what I did. But the voices in my head weren't quite still, as you can see. A good person... a worthy person... would be....

Oh, shut the #)(* up. I'll do some other exercise tonight, and it will be fine.

And last night I went to Barnes and Noble for some R&R, and saw Dave's picture on the cover of a book. I had NO idea that was forthcoming. I think I visibly recoiled and audibly gasped. He looks good. He looks happy. He's not wearing his wedding ring. (Well, duh, neither am I.) He's doing fine without me. Plotz, went my self esteem.

And I have to, absolutely have to, confront the legal details of the end of my marriage. I have to decide what I want and need to get as part of the settlement. Child of the South that I am (channeling Scarlett O'Hara as I write) I've been avoiding it. "I'll think about it tomorrow," in good Southern tradition. Scarlett needs to vanish for a little while, and competent Andrea needs to show up.

There's some good forward motion here. I'm making progress in some really good ways that have absolutely nothing to do with Dave. I'm following my dreams and my strengths toward something wonderful. I knew this evening-I absolutely knew- that having Dave sitting in the other Adirondack chair reading his own mail or chatting idly with me would never happen again. I knew I was okay with that. I know that I did good work today. I knew that I had made some good professional strides.

It just doesn't matter that I'm tired being brave. I have to keep on being brave.

Damn it.

I know. I'm the last to know about wordles. Jill has one on her blog and I thought they were charming. Then I did one, and Dave had the biggest word cloud that day.

There are going to be some changes around here, thought I! You can be all kinds of things, buster, but you can't be my biggest word cloud. Of course, no one put him there but me.

Then I did one yesterday, and toilets figured fairly prominently. Nope... that's not right or representative, either.

This is better. Sisters. Brothers. Thought. Words. Fix. That's more like it!

But the only way I could figure out how to get it here on my blog was to save it as a screenshot. There must be a better way. I defer to finer minds.

Cover Me! I'm Going In!

There are two toilets in my home. Alas, neither of them is working perfectly.

Thought 1) Perhaps a husband does have a use.

Thought 2) Nah...toilets don't break often enough.

Thought 3) I can't do this. My home-fixing skills extend to changing lightbulbs, IF I can find the ladder, a light bulb, and the time. Otherwise, I wait until hanging out in the dark gets ridiculous.

Thought 4) Oh for heaven's sake. I can learn this. (Because no folly was ever preceded by those words!)

So far, I've done what I would do -asked people, downloaded information, and bought a book. St. Paul, the maintenance director at work, knows my skills. I described the problem of toilet #1 and asked if I could fix it. He paused. He grimaced a little. He said that this isn't the easiest fix to start with, but that if I put his number into my phone's directory, he would authorize it. Trixie, the hardware goddess, was more empowering. She just handed me the parts I need, said "don't forget to turn off the water and stay calm," and sent me on my way.

Did you know that there's a "fix my toilet" blog? I certainly didn't. It hasn't been updated in a while, but it's a ...ummmm..... font of information. (sorry) Fix My Toilet.

Here's the thing. I don't particularly crave knowing how to fix my toilet. There are people who need to earn a living who are willing to do these gross things. I could call one of them -and I have one on speed-dial, just in case. But I DO crave not being craven, if you will. I want to conquer one more thing that I would casually have handed off to someone else, in my old life.

I'll keep you posted! I'm going in.



I think this is where I need to be working:











Oh my LORD.... there are no WORDS on these directions. Just pictures. And TELL me that thing is not called a ball cock. Really. Little wonder I can't do this!!!


Much later... I DID IT. You'll just have to picture me having a celebratory glass of...something... in the bathroom ;)