The Cillian and Claddagh Report

This story ends well, in case you're one of those people who reads the last page of a book first ;)

A few days ago, Cillian started this weird thing. He was skittish, and crying constantly, and would run away from me when I walked toward him. It was just awful to see, and I couldn't imagine what had happened. It didn't seem as though there was an injury, and the obvious indicators of illness weren't there. But clearly, he was sick. I called the vet, nervous first-time cat mom that I am. And they sounded worried, too.

The first night after I noticed this sadness, neither cat tried to sleep up on my bed. This is unusual. Weirdly, missing that annoying behavior made me more worried. When the clock went off, I had to go look for them.

I didn't have to look far; their beds are in my room. They were cuddled up in Claddagh's much bigger bed. Usually if they sleep together, they're jumbled up, like puppies in a pile. This time, they were spooning. I'm not kidding. They were nestled in, and Claddagh had his paw around Cillian's little tummy. I wish I had taken a picture, but I didn't want to disturb them.

Did Claddagh know that Cillian was sick? Probably. Did he surmise a stomach ache? OK, probably not. Probably they just wiggled around in the bed until they were both comfortable. And yet, it's hard not to anthropomorphize when it comes to Claddagh. He knows stuff, I swear.

And this morning, Cillian jumped on my bed for his morning snuggle, and now they're fighting over the toy mice. We're back to normal, apparently.

Training Indignities

So I hired a personal trainer. That was the source of the self-doubt the other day, by the way. I could hear Math-Rat's voice, suggesting that doing so was less-than his "just get on the bike and ride until your nether parts are blue" strategy.

But see... he knows not of personal trainers, and now I do. Young Aaron the Trainer is the reincarnation of Attila the Hun, and he's going to make a warrior out of me. No, that's not quite right. God love him, I walked in and subjected myself to being weighed and having my fat measured with calipers and my waistline measured, and thought I would expire from the shame. Aaron knows all these numbers. He is practiced at not saying "OH MY GOD" when he sees the results. Moreover, he just grabbed my crafted-during-my-lunch-hour training plan and reviewed it as though it were the Rosetta Stone. He takes me seriously. He is on board to get me through this, but I have to do the work.

He does, however, recognize a lost cause when he sees one. He has these cards that he carries around; each card has an exercise. I'm supposed to do each exercise for a minute; he shuffles the cards again while I'm doing my one-minute. The theory is -it's only a minute. He had me doing those pushups where you push off the ground and clap. Yeah... about that.

For the last one, there was no clapping. None. Just a sad little push-off. And as sometimes happens with random shuffling, that card came up again. Young-Aaron-the Tactful suggested that I just do pushups "seeing as you're likely to break your nose, otherwise." So, he's not beyond some gentle teasing, which I like very much.

I may become strong yet. We shall see.

The Financial Report

Three people have donated to support the beneficiaries of the Chicago AIDS Ride. Thanks, dears! I appreciate the support. It makes me think you think I can do it -even though, I get it, you probably donated to, oh I don't know, the CAUSE!!!

If someone else wants to contribute, that would be great. Here's the link: Donate.



href="http://www.fundraiserinsight.org/thermometer/">Thermometers to
track fund raisers
- even href="http://www.fundraiserinsight.org/ideas/">simple fundraisers

Self-Doubt Sucks -the post in which she lectures herself

For this insight, I went to graduate school?????

The insidious thing about self-doubt is that, when you're in the midst of it, it feels so justified. You know that other people occasionally feel doubt, but that they're just being humble or experiencing a momentary lapse. You, on the other hand, really are incapable, and everyone is about to know.

Sigh.

The truth? EVERYONE experiences authentic self-doubt sometimes. Presidents, philosophers, activists, writers, parents.... everyone. Some of us do live there a little more than others, this is true. The top ten reasons why I am inadequate can spring to my mind with very little prompting, and this training I'm undertaking is activating that process quite nicely.

This is a strange twisted path for me. The link between being told repeatedly (however subtly) that you're inadequate and then coming to believe that to be your own thought, is well documented. People participate in their own oppression all the time. But honestly, I thought it was more likely to apply to children and, well, people less gifted in the intellect department.

Really, you want to make this argument?? I'm smart enough that I ought to be impervious to insidious emotional abuse. Therefore, I must be authentically incapable. Isn't this kind of the opposite of self-doubt? Well, no, on two fronts. First, arrogance and self-doubt are quite frequently the same thing. And secondly, the more fundamental (primitive, as in "first in time") parts of our brain -which have nothing to do with intellect- understand repetition and rehearsal. And the "Andrea's not as good as Math-Rat at just about anything" message (everything from higher-order reasoning to washing dishes and grocery shopping were covered, believe me) has been widely repeated -frequently by me. Rather, repetition over decades will penetrate even the toughest of shields; very few people are that resilient in the face of abuse.

So, now what? It's not so much about re-erecting the shield, these days. There's no one -other than me- trying to bash it in. It's about changing the messages. Dave's strategy, conscious or subconscious, I really can't say, was to take a strong person, and set it up so that everything he did was better than what that person did. Therefore, he must be a strong person. When that person (me) was fully broken, I could no longer fulfill my assigned role. Being discarded was inevitable.

The flip side to that same thing is that the game only works if it starts with a strong person. Ergo... I'm a strong person. Or at least, I was, once. But who cares if a person now known to be shallow and sad himself recognized me to be strong? I don't, actually. But it's time to acknowledge that many many of the negative messages in my own head are actually his. His game. His narrative. His needs.

I'm not quite up to replacing those thoughts with happy, uplifting self-talk, but I can acknowledge that many of the negative thoughts are NOT MINE. And, I do at least know that I'm smart enough to have thoughts of my very own.

Training Geekery

For one thing, I apologize. Apparently, all I have to do is announce to the the universe that I intend to start training outside. We are now scheduled for 16 days straight of rain. Perhaps I should take up ark-building?

Let's do the numbers -my weight is n-1.4. This is a trend I can live with.

My training went pretty well, but not perfectly last week. I would feel great about it if I could revert to my "you have a lifetime of getting and being fit; relax" attitude. So, I'm trying for that attitude again, even though there is this looming deadline in my head. And there was a certain amount of moping and sadness, which I expected, since I had hoped that biking would be a "together sport" for my ex-husband and me. Now I get to turn it into a solo-sport, which is just a different kind of fine. But I get to mope sometimes, too; even expected grief is grief. At least it wasn't debilitating.

This week's training plan:

Sunday: rock-climbing (which I'm thinking of as fun as well as lower-body strength work) at the 5.easy, 5.6 or maybe5.7 level- and abs yoga
Monday: 30 minutes of steady-state stationary cycling (or outdoors, if possible); Yoga for Strength
Tuesday: swimming (I hate to admit this, but I'm starting out with 9 laps, which is just 1/4 mile), abs yoga, and lower-body strength work
Wednesday: 1/2 hour walk on the treadmill and yummy yoga
Thursday: 9 laps swimming, abs yoga, and lower body strength training
Friday: 45 minutes of cycling, including intervals, and yoga
Saturday: long ride -just to see how long is comfortable. Surely I can do 15 miles.


There is no rest day, which worries me. But a) one will probably just happen, and b) Wednesday is pretty easy. There is also no upper-body weight work. I'm getting around that by claiming that swimming is gentle cardio as well as upper body strength work. I've always been an upper-body swimmer. And when you add in my generally woeful fitness level, my arms will be sore from swimming, I'm quite sure.


So, there you go. Physical health, emotional health (to use the word "health" somewhat loosely!), and marching orders for this week. It's coming together.

She Considers her Equipment Needs

When confronted with a big new project, my first (unhealthy) thought is, "ooh, I get to buy things." This strategy is weak because it hurts the pocketbook and does not, in and of itself, move the project forward. It's the same as the tendency I have to buy more books than I can read. Or more yarn than I can knit. Or.... well, you get the idea. If I am not going to use the piece of equipment right away, then perhaps I should consider more carefully.

That said... CAN I go shopping?

Bike shorts: Given the Montana-sized person that must be stuffed into them, I think I need new ones. These shorts are horrifying enough, without having them be too small. And I need enough of them that they don't have to be laundered every day, because what are the chances of that happening??

Long-sleeved bike shirts: These have such a short shelf-life that I have avoided buying them. Similarly, I don't have lycra sleeves. Why would a person buy just the sleeves of a garment?? Well, because they want to ride outdoors when it's really too cold yet to be doing that.

Clipless pedal shoes. Mine are just plain worn out. I would like to have the sandals, but I can't have everything all at once!

A trainer? Math-Rat ended up with the trainer, which at the time I thought was fine. Well, it was fine, but now I might need one of my own. This is a maybe; I do have a spin bike.

Cool sunglasses. Sunglasses aren't optional. But I don't WANT to just go to Target and get sunglasses. I either need to get prescription sunglasses, or get cool biker's glasses and wear my contacts for riding. Thoughts?

Tunes: I need some more biking playlists for indoor training. Ideas?

Yoga media: DVDs... podcasts....I don't care. But I need something new. I received Rodney Yee's new (to me) Yoga: Core Cross-train from netflix and tried it last evening. Ahem. About that. As I've been saying rather a lot, "at least I know the baseline now." I'll keep the DVD for a couple of weeks and see if I can make some progress.

I went to Wrench Night last night, met up again with some wonderful people, and learned a bit more about my bicycle. And, I heard the good news that the green bike is ready. I'll pick it up today and, if there is still enough daylight enough after work, I'll ride tonight. Otherwise, tomorrow for sure!

Today's training plan: either cycling outdoors or a golden-oldie step workout and a yoga podcast. Probably I should stick with the actual plan and do the step workout. There was a method to my madness in putting that workout there in the rotation. We'll see if I have that much self-control!

The Post in which She Reveals the Baseline

Serious cyclists sometimes fret, trying to shave an ounce or two off the weight of their bicycles. I have a heavy bike and a light bike, and I absolutely agree that those ounces matter. But believe me when I tell you that the weight of the bicycle is not the problem, here. I find myself unwilling to reveal the precise number that showed up on my bathroom scale this morning, but at this weight I should at least be imminently delivering twins. Got the picture? For our purposes, we will call this number n. By race date, I would like to be discussing n-16, or even n-20 wouldn't go amiss.

Fitness-wise, I haven't been on the real bikes since last season, so it's hard to judge. Thirty minutes on the spin bike at a steady-state is pretty easy. Add some fictional hills and it feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. My uber-flexibility of days gone by is gone, but it's returning slowly. I've never been strong. Rock-climbing has made me somewhat stronger, but it's time to take that little problem in hand. Without strong abs, you can't ride 190 miles, and that's the truth.

Here's the training plan for this week. Questions, comments, suggestions are totally welcome.

Wednesday: 30 minutes of rapid, but steady-state (which makes it easier), cycling; here and there I did some Isolated Leg Drills. But holy mackerel with that. I didn't do many. And I did a shoulder-opening yoga sequence, for about 20 minutes. I was arguing with the cats about whose yoga mat this really is, so the practice was a little wonky. The upside? You have to do jump-throughs when there's a big fat cat sitting where you want to step ;)
Thursday: yoga only -This is my rest day, so I'll do some dreamy, flexibility-focused yoga.
Friday: yoga, a short step workout, and upper body strength training -The step workout seems counter-intuitive, but at my age I am reluctant to give up impact work entirely. My mom's already got mild osteoporosis. I need to do what I can to prevent it.)
Saturday: cycling and yoga. If the bikes are ready, I'll go for the first outside ride of the year!!! If not, I'll stick with the spin bike. Whichever, it's going to be 45 minutes.

It'll be easier to see where strength training and cross-training fit in when you can see an entire week. They are there, I promise.

The books I'm reading to focus my thinking: Shape Up with the The Slow Fat Triathlete by Jayne Williams. She is so wry and insightful, and at the same time so motivating. Like Ms. Williams, I will be an imperfect athlete, but an athlete nonetheless. I am also reading Total Body Transformation: A 3-Month Personal Fitness Prescription For a Strong, Lean Body and a Calmer Mind. Ummm... yeah... I'll take some of that. But the jury is still out on that book. We'll see. It might lean too much toward drinking some weird mystical Kool-Aid; it's a little cult-ish.

And Wrench Night at North Central Cylery is tonight. Hopefully I will get some ride sponsors and re-learn about caring for my bike. Anything mechanical is a source of existential angst for me. But, as with so much of this "brave new life" process, I need to tend to my own safety. Doing so carries some pride with it.

My New Focus

Well, the universe provided. And as usual, I'm quite nervous about the opportunities it seems to be...ummmm.... offering. It does have a rather heavy hand, the universe does. But perhaps light touches go unnoticed when it's me.

Here's the story.

As you probably don't remember -but I do- I stepped back from some commitments this semester in order to focus more attention on "life architecture" tasks. And that has been successful. My name is finally all-the-way changed (except today I detected a last little glitch in that process, but I will rectify it tomorrow). I've made some important progress toward furnishing and tending my home. Some other things are coming along as well.

I've even gently and slowly started to reclaim a fitness regimen. And then.... I was offered the opportunity to ride in the Chicago AIDS Ride. It's a 190-mile, 2-day ride from Chicago to Milwaukee and vice-versa. "Oh sure," I said.

And then I plotzed. What did I just say????? THe evil twin who lives in my head started talking, and the procrastination began. I won't be ready that early. I'm not good enough. I can hardly change a flat tire on the green bike of wonderment. (It really is hard, just to be clear.) Dave's the bike rider, not me.

Oh for crying out loud. Is there EVER going to be a point where he's not taking up space in my head?

Having noticed that this is -again-the problem, I plunked down my money to ride. I am not signing up any more to have him define what I do and don't do. I committed myself to raising $1000. (Please don't make me ride 190 miles AND donate $1000. Seriously.) I have readied the bikes to go to the bike shop for a tune-up. I must choose between Wrench Night at the bike shop and the ride orientation tomorrow night. I think I'd best go to Wrench Night, to get re-oriented to bike mechanics but also to find potential sponsors. There will be other ride orientations. I have signed up for a one-on-one tutorial about dealing with my particular bike issues. I have a training plan.

And.... we're off. The baseline sucks. Seriously, I have only once before been in this poor physical shape, and then I was coming off a serious illness. But I have committed myself -not to finishing elegantly, but to finishing.

Think about what this ride is for, for crying out loud. If people can confront the terror of an AIDS diagnosis, this fear of mine is put nicely into perspective. Get on the bike. How bad could it be, particularly when I love to ride my bike??? (Yes, I've ridden enough to know the answer to that question, but let's let the glow spread for a little while.)

So, I will be part of Team Youth Outlook, because a colleague and friend is on their Board. Go here to learn more about Youth Outlook and its work in the community. And go here to learn more about the Chicago AIDS Ride. And PLEASE go here to make a donation.

And I will report here how the training and the progress move along -even if it's backward from time to time.

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.