Dogs Change Lives

I have thoughts about where -and why- this blog is going. And I considered "the final resting place of defunct blogs" as one of the options. However I decided that there is still too much to do and too many things upon which to reflect. But that's tomorrow's story.

Today's story is this. Pets can change lives. And, as crazy as I am about Claddagh and Cillian the Cats, dogs can change lives in stupendous ways. Susquehannah Service Dogs, a favorite charity of mine, is having an on-line contest for the best story of how a dog has changed a person's life. There are prizes and fame for the author of the story, and lots of good hugs for the canine star of the show (assuming he's still with us). But the important thing to me is that we ponder the joy that animals can bring to our lives and that we think about what it means to be appropriately responsible-yet-humble caretakers of these awesome animals who trust us to care for them.

Want my story?

It's about Wyatt the yellow lab, my sister's dog. He's getting old, bless his heart. He's famous in the service dog industry for an amazing insightful discovery that protected some girls from further abuse from sexual predation. Somehow, he saw their pain before anyone else did. So, we know he's amazing already. But that was a long time ago, and Wyatt is retired now.

But then my life took a turn for the surreal. My husband discarded me, in a hailstorm of gratuitous cruelty and disorienting pain. Psychologically bloodied, I showed up on my sister's doorstep in a state of near-total disarray. I know that she and her family cared for me very tenderly. I know that because I wrote it in my journal, but I really don't remember much about those first few days of my new life.

But I do remember Wyatt. He came out of retirement for me, rarely leaving my side. I think he's not supposed to sleep in the guest room. But because he's a service dog, he knows how to open doors, and he made a judgment call. He opened that door in the night and slept by my side. He sat at my feet while we ate, with his head resting in my lap. Sometimes it almost seemed like he was trying to crawl into my lap. He's too big and my lap is too small, but I appreciated the thought.

And when nothing else worked, and I had to just sit on the floor and cry, Wyatt would come up behind me. He's quite a big dog, so when he settled right behind me, I could lean up against him with no worries that I was hurting him. He would snuffle in that dog way, and then settle in and breathe. He would wait until my breath steadied to his, and then -apparently- decide that I had it together for the next little while, and would wander off.

There were no words that could comfort me in those first few days. The righteous indignation and anger my friends expressed helped later. It helped immeasurably. But in those first few days, those sentiments just jangled me further. Wyatt saw what needed to be done, and offered his huge gentle heart, and just breathed with me.

Man, I love that dog.

So... tell your story. The online entry form is here: Dogs Change Lives. You can submit a story until February 28.

You Know What I Hate?

Aww...come on.... you're not the least bit curious???

I hate it when people say "one step at a time" -that's what I hate. You know how when you're already a little irritated and someone sanctimoniously says "temper, temper" that what had been a little angst has now become much (and needlessly) bigger? That's what I feel when people tell me to slow down. I don't have time for once step at a time. I'm not completely naive or grabby (or the emotional equivalent of a 2-year-old); I don't want everything right this second. But I do want to take several steps at one time.

And, I might point out, I am not alone in this. Dear friends have pointed out that I'm a bit obsessive with my lists, and my lists about my lists. But, I would contend that, however people keep track of it all, healthy people have goals on several fronts. Having no goals at all (and I've been there, done that) is frequently a sign of a depressed person. One might (and I do)have goals about health and fitness, even goals about appearance (The braces aren't just for the cross-bite, after all). There are goals about education and career. I have goals about my home and my free time. I have a general sense of what I'm knitting next and reading next.

How can a person newly engaging with life NOT have goals on multiple fronts?

And yet, wise readers and friends will remind me that I also spend quite a bit of time feeling frantic and frightened. There's too much to do and too little time to do it in. In spite of my lists and my plans, I don't want the only possible solution to be an absolutely rigid daily plan, allowing, say, for reading from 5:42 until 6:00 a.m., at which point I make my breakfast, read the news, and then take my shower at precisely 7. I've made those lists too, but I subvert them immediately. I need more room for spontaneity than that, apparently. Anything less and I get fidgety and worried -and there's a sub-grade fear that I carry around. That's not a good way to live, either.

Gentle friends respond to that feeling of angst with concern; the right answer seems to be "slow down." That translates, though, as an inadvertent hegemony -women perpetuating the cultural requirement that we should dream less, hope for less, accomplish less. It feels like the message is "it's unseemly to want so much." I know that no one intends that message. I appreciate that it's my own little head translating concern into a justice issue -and the wrong side of a justice issue, at that. I'm accusing no one. Of anything.

But I do need some velocity. And need is the right word. I have a LOT of things to do before I meet my maker, and I'm just getting started. Maybe the answer isn't slowing down. And it's pretty clearly not frenetic forward motion. Can one make great strides, with great intention? I have deliberately stepped back from many obligations this semester, in order to think about questions like this. I need to lay the groundwork for the changes to come, and I need lots of energy for that work.

Might there be a difference between "one step at a time" and "all in good time"? (That assumes, of course, that you can cancel out the voice of the Wicked Witch of the West saying, "all in good time, my pretty. All in good time.") I want it ALL, I'm a little embarrassed to admit. I know, from hard, hard experience, though, that rushing things doesn't work. When the time is right, the next step feels easy -or at least possible. I don't mind (much) being gentle with myself and letting things unfold. But I want to start a lot of things right now. I want full days and lots of forward motion and a kind of focused frenzy.

You know what it is, actually? I just realized. It's Csíkszentmihályi's concept of flow that I'm looking for -that feeling of complete absorption that arises when you're working right at your edge of competence and comfort. And mindfulness, meditation, and yoga have all been reported to increase a person's aptitude for flow. As I feel frantic and fidgety, doing more of the right thing (as in a yoga class) might be the ticket. Must muse.....

But for now, I'm going to post, since this has been in the "draft" stage for three days.

The Envelope Please.....

The competition was ferocious, but this year's Math Rat Award for Gratuitous Cruelty in the Divorce Process goes to.....

the husband of a friend of a friend. My friend in this saga has a child with an unusual childhood cancer (who is doing well at the moment, thank you for asking). While in the hospital hovering over and tending to her daughter, she met another mom with a similarly-aged child with the same cancer. They became fast friends in their time of terror.

So, okay.... the children are in the hospital because of low or no-count white blood cells. The parents of the children are hovering and waiting and worrying. Except for the husband of my friend's friend. At this point, he is sneaking off to be with his mistress.

Seriously? Dude? Everybody's terrified here. Zip up your pants and go be a dad and a partner. Keep your promises at least until your child gets better. Then, if you have to leave your wife, be a grownup about it.

The award? A wheel of karma. These wheels may be slow but they grind exceedingly fine. And yes, I aw aware that I may have cooked my own karmic goose for posting this, in this way. Yet, I continue to be amazed (appalled) at the sense of entitlement that seems to be available to men as they try to justify untoward behavior.

The Pleasure is All Mine

I say that. I wonder if I mean it.

When I say it, I mean that I'm celebrating the good things about living alone. And there are many. If I want pink ruffly dishes I can have them. If I want to leave lights on in rooms where I am not, no one sighs that sigh. You know the one. I can cook and eat what and when I like. I can have kittens. I can go for adult beverages on Thursday nights and try to drink shots in one drink. (I did it for the first time last week. And it's one shot per week, so don't go getting worried.)

I have many people around. Even though the house is far from ready -whatever that would even mean- there are frequent guests here. I am not lonely. In fact, I find myself craving the quiet times, too -which is a new thing for me.

But I can be such a disappointment, as my ex-husband will surely agree. Have I taken on too much? Was there always this much to do and I just didn't notice because there were two people working at it? I'm supposed to be feeling joy and success and pride, aren't I?

The pleasure isn't all someone else's, but lately I'm not sure it's all mine, either. Just do the next right thing. Never give up; never surrender. All that stuff we say when we know we don't mean it. That's where I am tonight.

It'll pass. Knowing that -if I've learned nothing else in the lsat two years- is a kind of bliss.

Our Little Sock Summit

I have to be the worst photographer anywhere. Ever.

But we had a good little time last night, in my still messy, still not enough furniture home. But I just decided I was happy to share what IS here, and these knitter-friends are good sports of the highest order.

Gary learned to knit and has quite a respectable little red square to show for himself. And, he left a beer in my refrigerator. What's not to love about a guy like that? That's Joan, teaching him.
Note to self: those curtains are worse than you thought. It's time to let them go.














The Earlville kniters (and crocheters) came out in style. And they were totally brave about moving furniture around and working in my quirky-to-say-the-least kitchen.





I took a terrible picture of the DeKalb knitters, and there was mass rebellion when I posted it ;) Imagine them, if you will....


And if Cillian doesn't get off my knitting, I won't be able to finish, much less felt, his bed. Although, apparently, it's already a bed.

Worry Much?

There was panic a few years ago, but you guys talked me off the entirely metaphorical ledge. On the other end of the drama there's the fretting and stewing I do about choosing the right dress or the right word of the year. Even I know that's silly and that it's not really worrying me. Then there's worry, and that's been occupying rather a lot of my psychic space these days.

Reasonable? Unreasonable? I really couldn't say. Things might, in fact, go badly, and my worrying will be proven true. Those of us who are worriers think that, on some level, our worry holds the universe together. What, I ask you, will happen if I stop worrying about my children???? It's not the only thing I do with (or for, depending on your perspective) them, but it's one of the services I provide.

Yet, as I stared at the ceiling for most of last night worrying -and most emphatically NOT sleeping- I realized two things. First, while I worry about anything and everything, I worry most uselessly and repetitively when I feel powerless -frequently about a particular thing. So the thrashing around about many little things is to hide the really big thing I can't/won't/don't deal with.

OK. There's probably a solution for that.

Then... worry is sort of the antithesis of the word of the year. I don't want to get all The Secret-y about this, because there is so much absolutely dangerous crap in those ideas I'd scandalize myself by allying with them. But, let's try this line of thought. With our words of the year, we say to the universe and our subconscious, "here's the dream." I'm working toward.... this. It might be balance or zest or courage or architecture, in my case. We know -really, we do- that the universe might provide something quite different. But we're saying that we are opening up space for this new perspective or focus in our lives. To borrow from my latent Catholicism, we are co-creators of our reality.

Now -and bear with me, here- couldn't worry do the same thing, only backwards? With all the time that I spend fretting about the jillions of things that could go wrong, am I not a little bit guilty of using that power of co-creation thoughtlessly? I throw these thoughts out into the universe, my subconscious hears them, and sets about creating exactly that scenario? Establishing a word of the year is a mindful process. Worry is mind-less, in a big, big way.

So... what to do? I need to acknowledge the things I'm feeling powerless about and claim the power that is authentically mine in those situations. There are things I can do to change the powerlessness (to some extent) and there are things I can do to create an entirely new situation. These are long-term plans. Right now, I have to ride out the storm and live toward my word of the year, actually. Build the infrastructure of this new life not so that you have perfect control (what is that, anyway?) but so that fewer things terrify you.

And I need to be mindful. I need to pay attention to where I put my thoughts. I need to do more than that, of course, but that would be a good start. When I was most panicked about my life, you all encouraged me to think of one small thing I could do to move forward. Tiny was entirely acceptable. (You're a great crowd!) The second one of those repetitive thoughts happens, I can replace it with "What is this trying to teach me? I am powerful. What can I do about it?"

If nothing else happens, maybe I'll get some sleep.

Getting a Little Trashy

Literally. The trash.













One of my many New Year's Goals is to get re-organized in the "green" department. I have too much trash, plain and simple. For one day, I am going to embarrass myself and admit what goes into my kitchen trashcan. I'm quite sure that there are other possibilities for much of it. (I just threw coffee grounds into the trash, for instance. I know better. I really do.) And then I'm going to figure out a plan for reducing the pile.

Today's list includes:

• coffee grounds and filter
• kitty litter
• the kitty litter box -whoops
• a pillar candle that had finished its useful life
• the remains of a loaf of bread that I had made before leaving town for Christmas
• the wrapper from a stick of butter
• the plastic bag the bread had been in
• a piece of wicker that broke off the laundry basket
• the box that my bath pillow came in (clearly recyclable)
• a dryer sheet
• the plastic bag that the brown rice came in

Ok, the sad truth is that the kitty litter, the wicker scrap, and the candle are probably the only things that needed to be in there -and even there, there are changes that could be made. But, now we know the baseline. There's nothing to do but start from here.

One change. One little change. That's all I have to do today.

Careful in Choosing your Word of the Year

As I have mentioned, my word is "architecture." I want to build the foundations and the systems that will support and fortify this beautiful new life I imagine. To that end, I have intentionally chosen to have a slightly slower semester in order to have time to tend to the infrastructure. Somehow, I assumed that meant that I would start the year in a clean, beautifully decorated home, either wearing an apron and wafting cinnamon about as I baked in my newly re-organized kitchen or sitting in my new (orange!) home office, wearing my school-girl glasses, and thinking great thoughts. The cats would no longer shred my curtains or shed on me or my furniture. I would never run out of milk, and the laundry would all be folded. I would be calm and welcoming at the center of the home, moving gently from one task to the next right task, certain that all would be accomplished in its appointed time.

I've always been a fan of mythology, because truth be told, this is more like the reality.



Seriously, this is not how I planned to start the new year. Start as you mean to go on, and all that. It all began with 13" of water in the basement. Apparently, while I was away, there was a sump pump failure. I do acknowledge that it had been making odd noises before I left, but in the horrors of finals week I forgot about it. Alas, mechanical problems rarely heal themselves, and in the midst of a midwestern blizzard, when no one was home to tend to its consequences, the sump pump failed and the deep part of the basement filled with water. Fortunately, my new furnace is not in the deep part of the basement.


But it's not just the sump pump, of course. I have set aside this time precisely because the systems are not in place for me to do many of the things I need to do. For two years I have been fixing some problems and working around others. Yet mostly, I have been working toward other goals -a slightly new career path, finding out who I am in the midst of a life debacle.... These were essential (and in the end, delightful) tasks, and they could not wait while I figured out where, in the best of all possible worlds, the baking bowls should be stored or while I cleaned and primed walls that had seen 15 years of growing-up-boy with only cursory attention.

So, the systems of life, the underpinnings (and quite literally, the stuff in the basement of my home) received little attention. I somehow assumed, though, that assigning this time to tend to these questions would immediately result in calm. Moreover, I assumed that the answers would be quickly discoverable. Neither turns out to be true. I have to think about why a particular task is not working in order to understand what might fix it. Which in turn means confronting the consequences of, in some cases, decades of working around the problem.

It goes like this.... WHY are you not writing when you say you will? It could be that you are, indeed, a lazy good-for-nothing, or that you have no ideas. But let's consider other possibilities. Do you have a place to do it? Do you have the tools you need? Are there too many tempting distractions in the place where you write? What would fix THOSE problems??? I have to acknowledge the emotions, and wonder why I ALWAYS go to "you're a lazy failure" as the most likely explanation. Then I shut that voice up and consider the possibility that there may be other explanations. Then I have to figure out what those solutions might be, understanding that if I fix the problems and STILL don't write that it's either not really a goal or I really am a lazy good-for-nothing who would rather watch hulu than think. So, the risks are kind of high. But they're high either way, I suppose.

So, in truth, while this semester is lighter in one category of my life, it will be a while before the pace slows down and my environment becomes more filled with grace and ease. I am almost sure that I can make that happen, but the situation is a little out of hand here at the moment.

Word of the Year

It's a tradition, celebrated here and there around the internet. I joined the yoginis over at YogaLila in this undertaking. Last year my word was "emerge," which turned out to be fairly prescient. The word, of course, signifies an intention and a point of view for the coming year. Which means that it is important to choose a good word, whatever that might mean. Yet whatever it means, assigning the process such importance guarantees that I will fret and fuss until I am satisfied with my choice. Things are right on schedule here.

My dear friend Lianne suggested "architecture." I mused for alarmingly long about the relative merits of verbs vs. nouns for the word of the year. (Seriously, is there no end to my geekery??) While still, I must tell you, slightly preferring verbs in these matters, I am going with "architecture."

This word works on several levels. First and foremost, I am dedicating much of this year to building the underpinnings, the foundations, of this new life that I want. I have a tendency to go for the visible over the structural. I will buy the pictures to hang on a wall that I have yet to paint.... that sort of thing. To me, this backwards sort of process actually works. By doing the little, easy thing, I've moved the project forward, making it real and visible. So then it becomes more likely that I actually will paint the wall -or whatever the task of the day is.

Well, now I have both real and metaphorical walls to paint. I want to continue emerging as a scholar, as a friend, as a sibling, generally as a grown-up in my own story. I want to do the work that will allow me to be an athlete again. (Building muscle... get it?) And I have real, architectural work to do on my house, in order to make it more fully mine. On some level, this work isn't sexy. How much can really be said about sending manuscripts in, getting a new furnace, or ripping up and rearranging you-know-who's gardens?

Being me, I will find something to say, I suppose ;) But really, to me, these projects are exciting. And there will be enough froufy details to keep me enchanted with the process, I'm sure.

Sleeping Around

*giggle*

OK, I'm over it. What this is really about is where I traveled this year. Here's 2008's summary: sleeping. It was good given the circumstances, but things are looking up in the adventure department.

This year included:

• Washington, D.C.
• Hummesltown, PA
• Birmingham, AL
• Greenwood, MS
• San Gimignano, Italy
• Beloit, WI
• Oranjestad, Aruba
• Chicago, IL

And that doesn't count miscellaneous on-the-road stops in hotels on the way to somewhere else. And actually, it seems like there were more trips, but that's all I can account for.

Trips I know about in 2010: Washington, DC, New York City, San Diego.... It's possible that my sisters and I will get together for a beach trip. And I have Cape Cod on my mind as another beach trip. We'll see what shows up this time next year.

You'll See It When You Believe It

OK, for many MANY reasons I don't actually believe the title of this post. If it were, strictly speaking, true, no child would ever be sick, no perfect prayer would go unanswered, no selfless cause would remain unacknowledged by the universe's powers. I certainly do not want to be involved in an insidious The Secret-like process of blaming people for not believing fervently enough.

And yet, there is an element of truth to the statement for more mundane beliefs and hopes. When we believe we can do something, we do it. And sometimes, if we don't know we can't, we just do that thing anyway. Belief and manifestation are not entirely unrelated, I think.

And it's that time of year for me. I know that it's chic to forgo New Year's Resolutions. Mostly they are broken and forgotten. Worse, they sometimes become whips for people to beat themselves with. And seriously, who needs more of that? Not I, said the cat. (That's a quote from the Little Red Hen -a quote my mother and sister and I each use quite a lot.) But we have in this blog already established that I LOVE New Year's resolutions.

I like to think of possibility and hope and moving forward and claiming power that is authentically mine (as opposed to power taken at someone else's expense.) With Anne of Green Gables, I like to think that "tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet" And with Anne, I admit, I stand in wide-eyed wonder, looking at a world that leaves so much scope for the imagination.

So, in that spirit, I am picking up my colored pencils, my glue stick, my journal and pen, as well as my thoughts and hopes, and turning my thoughts to the coming year. How will I be different this time next year? How will I be closer to my goals? (And have I mentioned what a delight it is to actually have goals again, for the first time in forever?) How will the world be a tiny smidge better because I spent those 365 days on the planet? How will I be more grounded and more willing to fly, all at the same time?

My goals are a mixture of the mundane and the important -tending slightly toward the mundane, truth be told. I want to become a 5.8 climber. This is the definition of mediocrity in the rock climbing world. Tragically, it would be an improvement for me. Enough said ;) I want to paint my walls and buy furniture. I want to play with my children and my kitties. And yet, I have the chutzpah (I almost wrote "balls" but I have just spent several days in the American South where we do not speak like that. Possibly it will rub off on me, this gentility thing. Hush there, in the cheap seats. It could happen.) to hope that I can make an important contribution. Can homeless people and refugees be better off because I turned my thoughts to their situation? Can I figure out this forgiveness thing that eludes me -because I really do want to be that person? Can I become other things that I still hold close to my heart and only speak in a whisper?

So... pick up your pencils and open your blue books ;) It's time to get to work. What are you hoping for? Write it down. Dare to dream it, first. Then, if you dare, speak it. (This part is harder.) Then, with Anne and the cherry tree outside her bedroom window, bloom as if you mean it.

What's on your list? I'll post mine as it develops.

Dottiness Abounds

I'm getting ready to leave town for Christmas. I'm leaving the house and its resident kittens well supervised, but I'm still feeling worried. And of course, there are two essential decisions to be made prior to any trip: the playlist and the knitting.

I have the Christmas music queued up on the iPod and the knitting project has revealed itself. Dottiness for the dotty:


It's called the Dotty Cat Bed, designed by Kelly Porpiglia from Kelp!. It's a free download, and I bought yarn to make two. I'm thinking if the girl-child's cat wants one, though, she can have one, too.

So, with those two things taken care of, I'm now freed up to deal with trivialities such as an oil change, and a new sticker for the car, and clean clothes. Details! Pish-posh. The important stuff is done.

2008's 18-month List

It all should have been done 6 months ago:

(Bold equals done)

Weigh 110 by August (N's graduation)
Train for a triathlon –whether or not you do one!
GITAP (long-distance bike ride)
Daily yoga practice
Have people over for brunch regularly
Build a wine collection
Keep a bottle of good champagne in the fridge
Find a neighborhood bar
Exercise 6 days a week
Maintain relationship with Sarah the wonder-hair-dresser
Rock climbing –the goal is weekly climbing, but I’d settle for twice a month –in March, become a member
Get better work clothes
resume daily riding as soon as the weather allows
go the gym at least three days a week
set up workout room and yoga space

Romantical/Platonical/Familial
Figure out a way to do this relationship demise thing gracefully and how to survive it.
Send birthday cards
Get an address book
Update it
Write to out of the area friends
Update emergency contact information
Get a will and advanced health care directives
Update funeral arrangements

Habitational
Buy the house
Get a new furnace and central air
Re-create the gardens
Buy some new furniture -new couch and some outdoor furniture
Focus on safety, security, and grace

Professional; Financial; Educational
Re-learn to do a cartwheel
Take a few yoga workshops
Think about the next job –craft the plan
Write the preemie knits book
Get the preemie pattern book published
Work for the 18 months I promised at Hesed House.
At 12-month anniversary, start looking for the next thing. Keep working until you find it.
Keep planning interesting things at the yarn shop.
Attend an international conference.
Keep the idea of a social justice institute alive in your heart and mind -what can you do to make it a reality?
Retirement planning, in this brave new single world :(


Spiritual; Communal
Find a volunteer opportunity that nurtures you and does some good.
Buy flowers once a month
Join a book club
Donate blood
Become an NPR member
Get back to buying organic and fair trade whenever possible
Advocate for bicycling in town and elsewhere
See if Newman can still be your spiritual community -haul your sorry self back to church!
Reconnect with almost-lost friends
Nurture connections with all friends
Daily meditation as part of yoga practice

Expeditional; Recreational
Go to the movies once a month
Travel outside of the US
See live music and dance
Stay up dancing until the wee hours of the morning
Sib trip
GITAP
Start planning for a volunteer vacation –internationally
Figure out a way to go to an international conference.
Save for Tuscany trip

I'm pretty okay with this, especially given that some of this undone stuff is well under way. I've started the preemie knits book. I'm exercising and doing yoga again. Moreover, I did huge stuff that wasn't even on the list. So the fact that I haven't yet joined a book club... well. I can live with that.

Being me, my mind is turning to the next guideline for my time. So, I thought that revisiting the current one would be the intellectually honest thing to do. Now to decide if those undone things are all still really goals.

The Christmas Letter

Dear Ones,

I hope all is well in your world. I look forward to hearing from you this Christmas –and any other time, of course.

This year, like last, had a little heartbreak for me. My divorce was final in February. We all know dozens of people who survive that, and of course I have survived it, as well. Christmas letters are, by tradition, recitations of success and glory, so I won't burden you with a recounting of that appalling process. The real story is that this year has not, in the end, been about heartbreak at all -a truth which leads me straight to you. I have learned a small measure of confidence and a large measure of love because you held them for me when I could not and offered them to me when I needed them. Thank you for that. You are the bright spot in this year, and that’s the truth!

So, now I get to meet the challenge of thriving rather than merely surviving. That process is a delight. I have purposely kept the pace a little wild, figuring that it would be healthier in the short-term to stay busy. I’m working on some research that is important -to me, anyway. It has to do with social justice and transformational learning applied to the population of refugees and to the questions of forced migration. I am still rock climbing. I am absolutely unexceptional at that, but I get a kick out of it anyway. I also love my job –which was new last Christmas. I am still learning it, which makes me a little crazy. I am repairing, decorating, and generally tending to my wonderful old house. The garage has been torn down and will be re-built –well, eventually. I have a new super-efficient furnace and central air, which is altogether new for this old barn. I am turning the rooms to new uses, entertaining in new ways, and generally claiming the house as mine. Well, I share it with the two new kittens, Claddagh and Cillian, who keep me nicely humble. I have done some traveling for work and pleasure: New York City, Washington, D.C. and a tiny little village in Italy.

So now I know that I can do all those things. This coming year will be about slowing down a little and steadily building the infrastructure that will hold this new life and its dreams up. I am ready now to meet quietness and calm with delight rather than fear.

Send me e-mail. Call me. Come by for a visit. I really do want to know how it is all going for you! You are in my thoughts and prayers, always.

Have a wonderful, joyous Christmas!


Andrea

The Star in the Midwest -The Stellated Dodecahedron

We've covered that I'm reclaiming Christmas and deciding what it's going to be for me in this new life. I'm still discovering what's what, in that department. But as you know, I have a tree.
That tree has ornaments and there's a tree skirt, and there are three stocking hung in the stairwell. We are moving along.

Yet, the tree has no star on top. A long, LONG time ago, a young mathematician, who was still widely believed to be a nice guy, made me a star for my tree. I had a tree-decorating party at my college-apartment, and he found aluminum foil, poster board, and a compass, calculated the angles, and made me a star for the tree. It was of course The Star, for the rest of our life together. I simply could not bear to look in the box where it lives. In fact, the girl-child came and took all the old ornaments from my house and she has the star now. But my tree-top is naked.

But today I think I found the right star. Nora Gaughon designed a knitted stellated dodecahedron. Seriously, is this perfect, or what? It's knitted. It's geeky. It's me ;) I haven't started it yet, because I'm still working on presents. But it can be made after Christmas and stored away to be next year's progress. It's a free pattern on Knitting Daily.

That, and solar powered outdoor lights, and I will be in business!

My Crystal Ball is Broken

I used to say that to the children, meaning... "I don't know where you left your Germany report, or your shoes. I don't know if he will call. I don't know if you'll get that job." And of course it led right into an annoying momily, about putting your shoes where they belong in the first place or how you deserve the job, or the boyfriend doesn't deserve you.... whatever the situation called for.

But this morning I had a terrifying realization. I really can't see into the future. Did I think I was being falsely modest when I claimed to have a broken crystal ball??? For heaven's sake, I, who thought I had a life plan for the next 50 years, two years ago had to make a new one, and I'm just now understanding that my crystal ball is out for repair????? Seriously, did I need more evidence?

It started stupidly. I was writing Christmas card addresses, and I wondered if I should put everyone's address into my phone as I go along. It's very little trouble, and it would help the GPS navigation get me where I am going. And then I started to wonder if I would have this phone this time next year (who cares?)... and then I started to wonder where I would be next year for Christmas(marginally more important).... and my brain just froze. I can't see next year.

At all.

I make no claims to being organized in a traditional sense. (You should SEE the desk where this is being written. No, I suppose you shouldn't.) But I do like to chart my course. I make New Year's Resolutions, and 101 Goals in 1001 days. I have plans for my writing and plans for my knitting. I have plans for this house and plans for books I want to read. And I have fledgling, spoken-only-in-a-whisper career/vocation plans. And here it gets a little untoward, perhaps. I have more than a little bit invested in being seen as a high performer.

Or... I don't know, perhaps that's not a bad thing as long as there is substance behind the image. But there won't BE substance behind the image if I don't know where I'm headed.

Darn that crystal ball, anyway. Is anyone else's in working order??? I'm freaking out over here.

A Hundred Wishes

The little neighbor boy had an eyelash on his cheek yesterday. I scooped it up and said "make a wish!" Being a small person, he said "I want a HUNDRED wishes!!" If you knew this child, you would know that it wasn't greed that motivated him; I'm quite sure it is just that he is still alive with the sense of the possible. A hundred wishes would not be at all out of line.

We learn differently as we get older. I'm not sure that it's "knowing better" though. Could I come up with a hundred wishes? Could I feel like those things were possible?

I'll have to muse on this. Please feel free to add yours.

Tending a Different Infrastructure

Because isn't THIS the picture you want in the almost-winter? It's my old furnace, in the back yard. That's not where you store yours??? Huh. Perhaps I have to rethink my strategy.

Sigh.

It was, apparently, 35 years old. Possibly older. So, there's no pretending I didn't get my money's worth (not that I chose it or bought it.) But it is now replaced with a state of the art 95% efficient furnace with central air. And many thousands of dollars have been removed from my wallet. Oh well. In my Great Life Plan of Aught-Nine (and no, I don't really call it that), this was on the schedule for 2012. The best laid plans, and all that....

Next summer I'll stay in my comfortably-cool house and pretend like I'm in Paris ;) I'll look lovingly at my air conditioning unit and pretend that it's a different kind of Arc de Triomphe.

And since this is what I woke up to this morning, I suppose it's a good thing I got this done.

Tending the Infrastructure

I've made a decision. Apparently, I find this so stunning that I thought I should share that fact with you ;)

I am taking a step WAY back next semester -or so it will appear, anyway. I am not (NOT, I tell you!!!) abandoning my dreams. I am just considering the possibility that those dreams need a different kind of attention from me. The truth is that meaningful dreams need strong foundations, and I have let that part slip -favoring the super-structure, I suppose.

I am not saying it's wrong to focus on the "pie in the sky." I'll always be an idealist and a dreamer; the world needs us. Yet, for really the first time in my life, I mean it when I say that I am following my bliss. I don't have time to kid around about that. So, in order to make that happen, there is a metaphorical frame to be built and concrete to be poured. It's not glamorous, but I can't afford to skip this part.

Silly stuff has been left languishing. I haven't finished changing my name -all the way down to the last magazine and credit card. That makes me crazy, but there has been no time. My passport needs to be renewed. I haven't made a five-or-so year plan as to what I need to do; I have been hopping sort of willy-nilly from one -very useful- thing to another. I have a boat-load of foundational reading that needs to be done. Heaven knows that I don't have a body that will take me healthfully into old age -much less one that will allow me to trek around in rural India figuring things out. I have to engage with the work I am doing now -for its own sake, because it's interesting and important, AND because it is the foundation for what comes next.

So, a few more days of this semester, with what remains of my grace and general oomph, and then it's on to a different kind of work. It will look slower, but it's just as important as the flashier stuff.

I'm terrified. I know I can live on fast-forward; it's my favorite mode. Can I really methodically build something? We shall see.

Claddagh and Cillian are Cilling Me ;)

We've had some cat dramas around here. My daughter and I aren't very good at this. We inherited Claddagh -a maybe 6-month old cat when he found us. Seriously, he is the best kitty in all the land. He gives hugs. How many cats do that?

At the time that we got him, Victoria lived with me. Very shortly thereafter, though, she found a sweet little house just perfect for her. She moved out, but no worries. We figured Claddagh would have two mommies; he would stay with me for a while and then with her for a while. Claddagh is quite a large cat. I am assured that he's not fat, but he's big. His brain, however, is the size of a walnut. This having two mommies thing was just too hard for him. He needed to have one home.

At the time that Victoria and I confronted this, Claddagh was with her. Along came a second kitty. Simone. Simone is 12 weeks old, and TINY. Perfect. Now Victoria can have one, and I can have another. We separated them.

Claddagh pined. We should have separated them immediately, apparently. And, we now know, loyalty can fit inside a walnut-sized brain. That, or it resides in the heart. So, here comes Cillian, an 8-week-old little warrior. He fits easily into my palm, and my hands aren't what you would call large. He bounces everywhere, rides on the Roomba, hides under tiny little spaces, and terrorizes me and Claddagh both. I'm exhausted. I have this nice, large house, and yet we are all three, at this moment, in one chair. Claddagh is grooming Cillian. Cillian is snoring, exhausted for the time being. And I'm trying not to get scooched off onto the floor.

But my life is that much bigger. (I'm done now, though. Two cats are entirely enough for me.)