My Sacred Life, Day 12

It’s been roiling around inside me…this need to get my craft area up again.  We’re working on it, mind you.  Sylvain has donated a few old computers and held a humongous garage sale. It’s all part of making space for my sewing machine and craft cabinet.  That’s where I’ll unpack my coloured felt squares and magic markers, my little containers that hold the various colours of beads, findings, clasps and crimps, my huge honking set of coloured pencils, fifty-one spools of thread in every colour you could ever need, my protractor and ruler, crayons and watercolours.  Then I’ll have a place where I can sit and create when the mood strikes.

This feeling inside me, the need to do something with colour…it’s been building and building inside until I can’t put it off any longer.  Even if I just sit at my tiny desk that we crammed into one corner of Sylvain’s den and colour in some mandalas, it will do for now.

Must.  Must must must.

Now.

My Sacred Life, Day 11

I’m finding this difficult. Is any one part of my day or any one object in my surroundings more sacred than the next? What connects me to Spirit?

It all does. Everything has the potential to stir me, awaken me, speak to me.

Puttering in the garage, putting new lights on my bike is a meditation. I love fixing things. Just being surrounded by all of Pa’s tools makes me happy. The labels on the drawers of the red tool cart make me smile: marteaux, tournevis, stuff.

Last night a storm was coming and the neighbour across the way had left his van door open. I proposed knocking on their door to tell them. This is a neighbour whose behaviour has not won him favoured neighbour status in Sylvain’s mind.

“He wouldn’t do it for me,” I think I heard Sylvain say. I vacillated for half a second before I realized I had no choice. It’s about continuing to be who I am.

Today Ma and I found a pigeon in the garage. It was shaking and wobbling around, but it wasn’t clear if it was injured and in shock, or had one of those viruses that affects the nervous system. Ma was pleased that it only took me 3 minutes on Google and two phone calls to find out how to get the bird to the nearest bird rehab.  She was also pleased when I humoured her by washing my hands three times after handling the bird: once with Lava, once with the Lysol wipes she held out to me and once more with anti-bacterial soap.*

After about two hours of housework, I treated myself to a tea at Darjeeling Cafe, where I sat with Sacred Contracts and the notebook I have dedicated to working my way through that guide to awakening [your] divine potential. The part of the book I’m reading now deals with the stages of divine awakening (Contact, Heeding the Call, Renaming, Assignments, Surrender). Here are some passages that struck me as worth sharing:

“Divine influence is evident when a cluster of disasters occurs in a remarkably short period of time and reroutes your life.” (p. 81)

“Once you make a conscious connection with divine energy, that Presence is forever within your awareness and life.”

“Ram Dass has said emphatically that genuine spiritual awakening always manifests as a desire to be of service to others.” (p. 84)

“Your compassionate acts are the physical manifestation of all the inner spiritual work you are doing.” (p. 84)

After Ma’s good supper, Sylvain and I took a walk up to the grocery store for pie shells, as I was in the mood to bake. “Shall I make two so you can take one to work?” I asked him. His eyes lit up until he remembered he’s off tomorrow, making this a four-day weekend for us. “Or we can take one to your neighbour Mark,” I said.

“I’m sure we can eat two…for my dad one piece is a quarter of the pie,” Sylvain said. I was quiet for a minute. I couldn’t find the words to explain that it wasn’t about whether or not our household of five people could or could not consume two pies.

And why did I wilt a little bit inside when I yielded to his logic, saying, “Oh, okay.”

I thought about it some more and figured it out. Sharing my baking with people I don’t know or just barely know is in the same category as grabbing my umbrella and running across the street to ring the doorbell. I need to continue doing those things. It’s a part of being who I am… a part I don’t want to lose.

*Do not try this at home disclaimer: I later read I should not have touched a sick bird with my bare hands.

My Sacred Life, Day 10

What does it mean, “to miss?” Elspeth asked me that when I said I missed my kitchen, my house, my little cafe. I said that for me, to miss means to remember how it felt to have someone or something and to want to have it again.

Now I know perfectly well that Elspeth is one of the most articulate speakers and eloquent writers of the English language I know.   So her question left me unable to move past a nagging in my mind: why did she ask me that?

Her question forced me to face the truth. I wasn’t in the moment. I was not embracing the Now. I was clinging to the past, hence my suffering.

Today I find the same message in almost all the blogs I read daily. The lesson of today is about detachment. Surrender. Yielding to the Flow.
Elspeth, in her aptly named blog Now Is Wow, is talking about letting things go when they are over.

Carla found a dead bat at the bottom of her curly willow, which prompted her to look up Bat Medicine. “When bat appears it is asking you to surrender yourself to the process of change.”

Dove Love’s post about change and about paying attention to the messages around you reminded me to put my antennae up and pay attention to messages and guidance.

Claire is talking about surrender to surprise.

And Patti Digh is talking about being attached to something, and that attachment being the source of our suffering. You can be attached to things or to the past situation, or to being right.

If ever there was a reminder of the transience of the things of this world… last week there was a house where you now see charred rubble.

My Sacred Life, Day 9

It’s been almost 6 weeks since I moved my entire life into someone else’s home.

When I first got here, I wanted to make myself as small as possible. I wanted to make sure Ma knew I wasn’t eating anything in the house I hadn’t gone out and bought with my own money. As many times as they offered, I refused to borrow their car for any of my errands. I’d bike an hour in the 90 degree heat before I would risk inconveniencing them any more than I already had by crashing into their life and house. I didn’t even feel comfortable coming into the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed to get myself a glass of water.

I wanted to make myself smaller than a mouse. No trouble.

It takes a huge amount of outside input to drown out the tapes that get to playing in my head.

But you know what? Contradictory outside messages have been coming so frequently and with such force, my old tape is having trouble keeping up.

Like the other night when Sylvain and Pa needed help with a project out in the garage.  Sister M isn’t very good at those things and Ma isn’t keen on being interrupted once she has her jammies on and crossword puzzle book out.  “I could ask Kelly to help us,” Sylvain had suggested.  “Oh yeah, ask Kelly,” Pa had said, his eyes lighting up.

Like today when Pa offered me some of his spare ribs…when really I know there was exactly enough left over for his lunch and no more.

Like every night when Ma says, “Fais de beaux rêves” as she heads off to bed, and I call “Fais de beaux rêves” back to her.

A lot has changed since those first weeks when I spent my days hiding downtown crying, despondent and homesick for my recently sold housie, my Waterloo, my job and sense of usefulness, my friends. In those first days, Ma and I tiptoed around each other, being painfully polite.

Something has happened… is happening. I almost hesitate to put it in writing without holding my breath or touching wood.

Sylvain nearly fell over the first time I announced it:

“I like your mum.”

“No, really,” I told him. ” I like her. She just needs some attention. She wants nothing more in this world than to be helpful and to have that recognized. A little appreciation goes a long way.”

I like Ma’s childlike wonder at life’s simple pleasures. She can go on and on about the last time the family drove out in the county to pick strawberries and how they tasted and how many they picked and all the preserves she put up that year. She likes to show me her coat hangers that she covers by braiding colourful strands of Nylotex over them. I show her how to save the photos her brother emails to her into a folder we named “Ma’s pictures.” I show her again each time she forgets how.

Ma and I both love fresh local fruits and vegetables.  I appreciate how she makes a home cooked meal five nights a week, something I didn’t have growing up.  And unless you call by 3:00 to say you won’t be there for supper, there will be a setting for you at the table, too.

I love how doting Ma is with my little Owen. We once feared I wouldn’t be able to bring my pet rat with me from Waterloo. It would be too upsetting to Sylvain’s parents to have a rat in the house. But I did bring him. Now Ma gives me regular reports on what Owen was doing when she opened the den door that morning to tell him hello. She washes his little hammocks, opens his cage so he can climb on top. She pinches off pieces of banana and lets him take them from her fingers.

The other day Ma was fretting over an upcoming appointment with a new audiologist. She doesn’t like going to such things alone because sometimes she doesn’t know all the English words the practitioner uses. Sylvain often takes time off work to go with one or the other of his parents to appointments, but this is his busy season. I overheard the conversation that was going on partly in English and partly in French.

“I can go with your mum,” I whispered to Sylvain.

It worked out great. My appointment to review my lab results and ultrasound with my doctor was one hour before and three blocks away from her appointment with the new hearing aid supplier and audiologist. So we went together.

I don’t quite know how to explain it, but … I think we actually had FUN today.

As we pulled into the driveway well past lunchtime, she was still bubbling about how nice the doctor was, how impressed we both were by this doctor’s approach and service policy and her endless patience.

“Would it be okay if I took the car after lunch to get groceries? I’ll put gas in it while I’m out,” I ventured.

Today’s photo was taken in the backyard.

My Sacred Life, Day 8

Laundry Day

There is a sound the wind makes

flapping in the billowed sails

of shirt tails on a clothesline.

Peach tree shadow shapes

dance and fade

as clouds play hide and seek

with the sun.

The pulley squeak-squeak-squeaks

as I bring the washing in.

Ma has a sprinkle bottle just like the one

my great aunt had.

I would watch her ironing my grandfather’s shirts

when I was eight and a half years old.

I don’t use the Coke bottle with the dented aluminum top.

I take it out, though, and let it sit on the counter and watch.

Every quarter hour the grandfather clock chimes

to keep me company.

The smell of sunshine rises from cotton

as steam iron taunts sprinkle bottle

with its rhythmic hiss.

My Sacred Life, Day 7

Windows have always been important to me. I need sun. I need to be able to see the sky. It’s for my sanity.

Everywhere I’ve lived, I have filled all the windows  with plants. I love the juxtaposition of as many different shapes and textures possible, the way blade-shaped leaves look next to lacy ferns, the way geraniums soon arch upward to fill the entire window frame–like small trees.

I need plants that hang by jute from the ceiling, their tendrils trailing down. I need sturdy aloe vera, hens and chicks, plump and shiny jade plants. I am grateful to spider plant, filling my rooms with oxygen and blessing me with lots of babies to root in jam jars and give to friends.

When I saw the room Sylvain’s family was able to hand over to me to do with what I will, a place for my little bed, a place where I can escape when I need my quiet time… when I saw that room, I thought, “I can do this.” I’ll need a rug between my bare feet and the cold tile. I’ll have to be resourceful. Creative. But I can do this.

My room is in the basement and has one little window that looks out onto the corrugated aluminum window well. As windows go, it’s homely. But it’s the only window I have in my Kelly room, so it will have to do.

How will I make this window a pretty window? I decided to take the curtain off and fill it with tiny houseplants in tiny pots.

Today during our weekly check-in talk, I told Sylvain, “I appreciate the way you take even my small needs seriously.”

I had told him I needed to go to the big grocery chain because I’d seen some teensy potted ferns there. “I want to find little plants for my window,” I said.

“I know where I need to take you,” he told me. Yesterday, he surprised me with a trip to Colasanti’s Tropical Gardens. I found tiny ferns, a little spider plant, an air plant, and an African Violet. The variety from which I had to choose was almost overwhelming.

As soon as we got home, I rushed down to my room with my bounty of miniature plants. I spent the next hour fussing over which plant went in which little pot, the arrangement on the window sill, water for the ones that were dry.

“You can’t imagine how much this means to me,” I said to Sylvain. “It’s a different room now. Those little plants have transformed it from a cold, barren basement room to a place where someone lives.  Every time I walk into that room and see the window brimming with life, it makes me smile.”

My Sacred Life, Day 6

In Carla’s introduction to this My Sacred Life project, she talks about turning off the shadow comforts. You know, the television, the computer game. Instead of opening the refrigerator door or checking e-mail again, turn toward life. Get outside. Look around you. Breathe. Give Spirit an opening to your heart.

Today Sylvain took me out into the county, as he calls it, to pick blueberries at Klassen’s.

We got rained on a bit, but it was fine. Sylvain picked all the ripe berries within his easy reach while I got the high up berries and the down very low berries. We make a good team.

As we were quietly moving along the row of bushes, our fingers busy rolling the bunches to allow the ripe fruit to tumble into our buckets, it occurred to me: this is as far from shadow comfort as it gets. I am alive. I am aware of my breathing. I can smell the rain on the earth.

When Sylvain gets stuck in the muddy ruts, we work together to rock the chair back and forth and back and forth until he gets traction again.

The sun comes out, and the raindrops on the blueberries glimmer like jewels.

Taloola Cafe

This funky little café is the kind of place where I could spend an hour just gazing around me…at the deep scarlet Victorian cameo back sofa, at the deep scarlet Victorian lampshade, at the Victorian chandelier with rainbow beaded fringe, at the bare-breasted ship’s figurehead mounted on the exposed interior brick wall, at the woven area rugs, at the inlaid tables. Oh, my, it’s a feast for the eyes. Did I mention there’s a lot of deep scarlet? There is a deep scarlet theme going on here. Think Moulin Rouge meets Seattle smoothie bar.

The menu is no less dazzling. They have:

• raw juices (beet, spinach, celery, ginger, apple)
• exotic smoothies, such as the Masala (date syrup, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, ginger) or the Figlioni (yogurt, milk, fig puree, pecans and pure vanilla extract)
• vegan salad dressings
• organic flavour syrups
• buckwheat crepes with mascarpone, basil pesto and/or savoury jelly

I ordered the Hawaiian smoothie and was very pleased with it.  I don’t have all good things to say about my visit, though.  After my smoothie, I decided to have a bite of lunch.  I was so impressed to see “The Gluten-Free” listed under sandwiches, I had to try it.

The adorable waitperson with sleek bangs, tiny ponytails and a vintage apron brought me…well… what DID she bring me? It wasn’t a sandwich in the traditional sense.  It was a corn tortilla that had been folded in half, pan-fried a bit and cut in two.  Inside was a slice of tomato, a bit of shredded cheddar and some sprouts.  It was not especially tasty.  Next to the “sandwich” on my plate was a tiny smattering of corn chips, or rather bits of corn chips suggesting they’d been from the bottom of the bag.  And they were most definitely stale.  I couldn’t quite bend them, but almost.

The other less than wonderful aspect of my visit was the staticky music.  Ack!  If you’re going to deliver music to your patrons, at least get good speakers and make sure you don’t have a shorted out wire nor are broadcasting a radio station with bad reception.  Thank goodness I carry earplugs wherever I go.

Sylvain and I agree we always give establishments two chances, so I will be returning to Taloola Cafe.

Now all they need is a wheelchair ramp!

Taloola cafe is located at 396 Devonshire Road in Old Walkerville. Phone: (519) 254-6652

 

Hours are :
Tuesdays and Wednesdays from 7:30 to 3:30
Thursdays and Fridays from 7:30 to 10:00
Saturday from 8:30 to 10:00
Sundays from 10:00 to 4:00
Closed Mondays

Windsor (Thus Far)

I am discovering this city. A few times a week, I set out on my bike in hopes of discovering a place that speaks to me. In Waterloo, I had my café where they knew my name. I knew where to go when I wanted to sit with my laptop and enjoy free wireless. I knew where to go to be left alone and where to go if I felt like talking to people.

Now I am in Windsor, and it’s a whole new ball game.

Some days I set out on my bike and go toward the wilderness area, trails and park. The photo on my previous post was taken in that area. Anytime I want to see orioles and catbirds, flycatchers and red-winged blackbirds, I just put my Peterson’s Field guide and binoculars in my saddle bags and go. That is a blessing.

Some days I set out for the city centre.

Peace cranes

On a nice day, you can sit here and play a game of chess or checkers. One day I saw a couple of men who’d brought their own game of Go and were enjoying the shade of the buildings on either side to shield them from the hot July sun.

 The entire history of the city is told by way of a series of murals found all over town.

 You enter The Tap by way of the side alley.

Another mural.

If there is one thing this city can boast about, it’s the gardens.  There are the Dieppe Gardens, the Odette Sculpture Park, gardens and more gardens all along the riverfront.  Oh, and benches.  There are benches overlooking the river, benches under huge willow trees, benches at the public marina.  There are small parks everywhere, too.  Many of them have jungle gyms and swing sets.

Next I will review a few restaurants and places of interest that I’ve discovered, one at a time.

My Sacred Life, Day 5

I love my bikie. Did you know I won this bicycle? I did.

Shortly after moving up here to Ontario from Little Rock in 1999, I sold my trusty Mazda hatchback. Long story. To get around and stay in shape, I got the Canadian Tire anniversary special edition cruiser, a darling bike with pedal brakes and only one speed. It didn’t quite have a basket on the front with plastic flowers, but almost. You get the picture. Well, when I came back for the bike after winter was over, it was no longer chained up in the parking garage. That is the only crime that has touched my life since my move here. I’m not sure if the management thought my bike was abandoned and cut it loose to toss it in the dumpster or if someone stole it. In any case, I was without bike.

Then I participated in the region’s annual commuter challenge. For every day of that week that you carpool, walk, bike or bus to work, you get your name put in a draw for prizes. I won a lovely 21-speed bike.

Since moving to Windsor and into Sylvain’s little family co-housing project, my bike has become more important to me than ever. When the walls of the air-conditioned house start closing in on me, I put a couple of books and journal in the saddle bags, grab my helmet and take off.

Today I met Ma and Pa in the mudroom just as I was about to leave and they were returning from aquafit class.

“Are you leaving?” Ma asked.

“Yep, going downtown,” I said.

“On your bike?” Ma asked, alarmed.

“Yep,” I replied.

“It’s too hot!” they chimed in unison.

“How hot is it?” I asked.

Thirty and humid was the answer I got. I still think in Fahrenheit for warm weather, though my brain has switched over to Celsius for winter climes. I wasn’t sure how hot 30 was and didn’t feel like doing the math.

“I’ll come back if it’s too hot,” I promised as I opened the garage door. “Remember, I’m from Arkansas,” I added, smiling.

It takes me about an hour to reach the city centre by bike. I could probably get downtown faster if I were not stopping every few blocks to take pictures and explore.

My Sacred Life, Day 4

I was probably about 9 years old. I remember standing in Penney’s department store with my mom, who was trying to get me to pick out a dress I liked.

I shuffled my feet and said, “But mom, we can’t afford it.”

“Don’t worry about that part.  Which dress do you like? Do you like this one?  What about this one?  Do you like any of these?  We can go to another store if you don’t like any of these.”

I looked at the ground.  “Mom, we can’t afford it.  I don’t want one.”

Very irked with me, my mother said, “Yes, we CAN afford for you to have one new dress a year!”  But I wouldn’t budge. I refused even to consider which dress might look nice on me.  I just could not accept her spending that much money on me when we barely scraped by on the veteran’s benefits checks that had been supporting us since my father died in 1969.

I remember another day.  My mom asked me if I wanted to come with her to a place called the Bargain Basement.  It was a charity-run thrift store. She said they had children’s clothes for a quarter.  If I came with her, she’d let me pick out some pants and tops or whatever I wanted.  I was curious.  I said okay.

We walked down some concrete steps and entered the basement shop. There were huge boxes, like the ones appliances come in, all around the room filled with second-hand clothes.  Mom said I could have anything I wanted.  Each item was only a quarter, so I could pick out as many as I wanted.  I fantasized about the kids at school not teasing me anymore about wearing the same outfit every day.

I still remember just exactly how that felt.  I could ask for something and not feel guilty.  I knew my mom could afford this.  I found some paisley bell bottoms!  I found a top that was so wonderfully loved soft by its previous wearer, I couldn’t stop stroking it.  I was in heaven.

My whole life I’ve been shopping at Goodwill, yard sales. I’ve made a lot of my own clothes.  I will go into a boutique, but only to scan the sale racks at the back.  Occasionally, if there is a really good 75% off sale, I might come home with a bag full of new clothes.  But that shopping trip must last me a year or two.

Mind you, I have managed to overcome this complex when it comes to shoes.  It was my mother who pointed out that by buying cheap shoes, I wasn’t saving any money.  The cheap shoes wore out quickly and I had to replace them often.  She convinced me that investing big bucks in a really good pair of shoes was actually a frugal move.  And so I found a way to trick my brain into letting me indulge in really nice shoes.  My favourite shoes are Naots.  You were right, mom.  They really do last a million years.

After weeks of scanning the job websites daily and getting very used to the same routine (truck driver – nope; mushroom picker – nope; software engineer – nope; mig welder – nope, and so on),  yesterday I finally saw something I can do.  The job is only a 2-week contract, but still…the description made it sound tailored for me and only me.

Suddenly I was in a panic. If someone were to ask me in for an interview, what would I wear?  I have one pair of Dockers and a nice golf shirt, nice loafers, but no belt.  My belt was worn out, so I tossed it before the move.  Yikes! I need a belt!

I approached Sylvain right after dinner with the idea of a run to the mall.  He wasn’t in the mood to do that, but he said, “relationships are about compromise,” and off we went.  After I got my belt, Sylvain spotted some dresses.  He made that face he makes when there is something I could do to make him really happy.

“Would you like me to try it on?” I asked.

Sylvain made his big-eyed, panting, rapid nod that means “yes yes yes yes yes yes please.”

I emerged from the dressing room for Sylvain’s opinion.  Apparently garments that show off my derrière inspire Sylvain to dig out his debit card.  In a few short months, I’ve gone from being a woman who thinks of herself as having a fat ass to a woman who thinks of herself as having one of the sexiest bottoms on the planet.  That is what an adoring lover can do for ones self image.

Before I knew what was happening, Sylvain and I were loaded down with shopping bags.  I am now the proud owner of two new dresses, a gorgeous business suit and three blouses that will go with the suit.  From the look on the clerk’s face, I’d say she was on commission.  It was a very happy face.

This feels strange.  More money than I have ever spent on clothes for myself at one time.  Yikes.

But in a strange way, it feels okay, too.  The little voice in my head that wanted to say, “no, it’s too much,” and “no, I’m not working yet…we can’t afford this,” and “no, I’ll come back and get that in February when it’s marked way down” was just a tiny whisper buried way at the back of my head.

Thank you, sweetie.  Thank you for helping me say yes to myself.  Thank you for all the times you tell me I’m hot.  Thank you for helping me see myself as worthy of such treatment.  If that company has any sense at all, I’ll be getting an interview soon.  And when I do, I’ll be able to walk in feeling that much more confident…knowing I look like someone who respects herself.

Yes/No Meme

Oh, I must must must do this meme I found on Violet’s blog. The exhibitionist in me can’t NOT do it.

YES OR NO
Only two rules– and you MUST follow them then repost this:
1. You can only say Yes or No.
2. You aren’t allowed to explain anything unless someone asks you.
———————
1. Taken a picture fully naked? Yes
2. Painted your room? Yes
3. Made out with a member of the same sex? Yes
4. Driven a car? Yes
5. Danced in front of your mirror? Yes
6. Had a crush? Yes
7. Been dumped? Yes
8. Stolen someone’s heart? Yes
9. Gotten in a car with people you just met? Yes
10. Been in a fist fight? No
11. Sneaked out of your house? Yes
12. Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back? Yes
13. Been arrested? No
14. Made Out With A Stranger? Yes
15. Left your house without telling your parents? Yes
16. Had a crush on your neighbour? Yes
17. Ditched school to do something more fun? Yes
18. Slept in a bed with a member of the opposite sex? Yes
19. Seen someone die? Yes
20. Been on a plane? Yes
21. Kissed a picture? Yes
22. Slept in until 3? Yes
23. Love someone or miss someone right now? Yes
24. Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? Yes
25. Made a snow angel? Yes
26. Played dress up? Yes
27. Cheated while playing a game? No
28. Been lonely? Yes
29. Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes
30. Yelled at a friend? Yes
31. Felt an earthquake? Yes
32. Touched a snake? Yes
33. Ran a red light? No
34. Been suspended from school? No
35. Had detention? No
36. Been in a car accident? No
37. Hated the way you look? Yes
38. Witnessed a crime? Yes
39. Pole danced? No
40. Been lost? Yes
41. Been to the opposite side of the country? Yes
42. Felt like dying? Yes
43. Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Yes
44. Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Yes
45. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? No
45. Sung in the shower? Yes
46. Made out in a park? Yes
47. Had a dream that you married someone? No
48. Glued your hand to something? No
49. Got your tongue stuck to a pole? Yes
50. Ever gone to school partially naked? Yes
51. Been a cheerleader? No
52. Sat on a roof top? Yes
53. Didn’t take a shower for a week? Yes
54. Too scared to watch scary movies alone? No
55. Played chicken? No
56. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? No
57. Been told you’re hot by a complete stranger? Yes
58. Been easily amused? No
59. Mooned/flashed someone? Yes
60. Cheated on a test? No
61. Forgotten someone’s name? Yes
62. Slept naked? Yes
63. Gone skinny dipping? Yes
64. Blacked out from drinking? Yes
65. Played a prank on someone? Yes
66. Gone to a late night movie? Yes
67. Made love to anything not human? Yes
68. Failed a class? No
69. Choked on something you’re not supposed to eat? No
70. Played an instrument for more than 10 hours? No
71. Cheated on a girl/boyfriend? No
72. Thrown strange objects? No
73. Felt like killing someone? Yes
74. Felt like running away? Yes
75. Have you ever run away? Yes
76. Made a parent cry? Yes
77. Cried over someone? Yes
78. Had sex more than 3 times in one day? Yes
79. Dated someone more than once? No
80. Had/Have a dog? Yes
81. Own an instrument? Yes
82. Been in a band? No
83. Drunk 25 sodas in a day? No
84. Broken a CD? Yes
85. Shot a gun? Yes
86. Had feelings for one of your best/good friends? No

My Sacred Life, Day 3

Today is my cooking day. Ma and I have cleared some cabinet space for me by the stove, so now I have a spot for my balsamic, extra virgin olive oil, pepper mill and a few other things I use. Eventually I’ll be getting sesame oil, capers and other items I like to have on hand. There was room next to her knife block for my knife block, and Ma likes using my ten inch professional chef’s knife. No more sawing through broccoli stems.

I’ve found the bike trail that takes me to a better grocer than the closest one to our house.

For me, food preparation is a meditation. When I’m chopping herbs for a quiche or rubbing oil onto portobello mushrooms, nothing exists in that moment but my hands and these gifts from the earth. I try to think about where the food came from. We do our best in this household to buy local, in season produce. I like that.

Little Rootlets

photo: Liz Priddy

Each day seems better than the one before. I don’t know which recent change is helping, but something is most certainly shifting now for me. The Omega 3 fish oil could be helping. I am working hard on good self-care, and in turn my angels seem to be sending me people and messages. And three nights in a row back in my old bed is without a doubt helping. I am now walking around with no lower back pain and no abdominal cramps. It’s a LOT easier to be in a good mood when you are not in physical discomfort.

Today’s small act of self love was to plant the cutting I brought with me from my house in Waterloo. I sold or gave away my many, many house plants before I moved here. On the day of my moving sale, just before my favourite plant was taken by a young couple, I had the brilliant idea to snip a cutting off of it. I put that cutting in a maple syrup can with some water and stuck it in the cup holder of the U-Haul truck cab. That little cutting has been living in the maple syrup can on the bedroom window sill for a month while tiny rootlets grew. Today was planting day.I asked Ma if she had any potting soil. Silly question. This house has three of everything. Sure enough, in the garage were two partial bags of potting soil and one bag of cactus soil. I’d bought a little glazed ceramic pot last week at the dollar store. After I planted my little sprig, I washed the miniature window to my basement bedroom so little plant can get light.

My carrying this little bit of life with me from my former home brings to mind this story and poem by Naomi Shihab Nye (which I discovered via 37 Days not too long ago). Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

My Sacred Sleep Space

Two people in my life have just started blogs.  Please check out Lynn-Getting My Feet Wet and AbitibiSouth to welcome my friend Lynn and also my sweetheart, Sylvain, to the blogosphere.

I am so glad Sylvain didn’t let me talk myself out of bringing my bed with me to Windsor.  I believe in spending money on good food to nourish my body, and I believe in spending whatever it takes to provide myself with a comforting sleep environment.  I love good sheets, feather beds, mattress toppers, antique quilts, hand-woven throws and blankets.  I love my bed!

My Sacred Life

Carla has invited me and you and anyone who wishes to join her in the My Sacred Life Project.  I’ve decided to join in.  So every day for a month (or more), we are going to post a photo from our daily lives.  This is something I need right now… to become more aware of the sacred in the everyday, to see the holiness in my own life, in my surroundings.

I send thanks to my friend Linda–rescuer of abused and abandoned hedgehogs and other small animals–who got me interested in rats a few years ago.  Nine rescued rats later, it’s now down to Owen.  He is the oldest rat I’ve ever known, now going on 2 years, 9 months.

Last night as I stood in the kitchen mashing up some avocado for Owen’s treat dish, Sylvain commented, “you take such good care of him.”

I hope so.  To be entrusted with the welfare of a living being is quite a responsibility.  The nine rats I adopted–and the three left in my care for a while before that–taught me so much during their brief stays with me on this earth.

Thank you Ernie, Princess and Pizza.  Thank you, Chino and Bella.  Thank you, Monty and Carlo.  Thank you, little Archie. Thank you, Stella and Luna and Vern and Owen.  You enriched my life so much.  You will live in my heart forever.

Boundaries

Another very timely bit of connectivity came when I read The Importance of Practicing Clear Boundaries at Women at Rest.  This is just the exercise I needed right now.

This exercise can help you identify your boundaries or those you want to set. Give several examples each:

I have a right to ask for –

1. Quiet time.
2. Time to think about decisions.
3. Space for my things.
4. The salary my skills are worth.
5. Accommodations for my dietary needs.

To protect my time and energy, it is okay to –

1. Close the door.
2. Take a long walk or bike ride.
3. Say no.
4. Sleep when others are not sleeping.
5. Eat when others are not eating.

People may not –  Actually, I can’t come up with five nor even one item to list here.  Nobody in my life is treating me in a way that is unacceptable or unkind. Nobody is taking advantage of me, abusing me.  Quite the contrary, I am surrounded by people who only want to help and are trying to help.  I am my own worst enemy! So perhaps I’ll ponder what it is my Shadows should not be allowed to continue to do.

We all have an Inner Critic voice or more than one,…a negative anima and negative animus.  My friend Suzanne calls her negative anima “Piranha Woman.”  What a great image comes with that, eh?

I know Carla won’t mind if you borrow the above exercise for yourself.

Knock and…

Today has been full of learning and blessings.

Sylvain was sick and so we decided it might be good for me to sleep downstairs on the bed I brought with me from Waterloo. See, I have not been able to adjust to his mattress. So uncomfortable me means a less restful night for both of us. And though we missed each other, we both got a fantastic night’s rest for the first time in a month. I was in a better mood Saturday. So with Sylvain still a bit under the weather, we decided to try it again last night. This time I slept even better and we both awoke more refreshed and rested.

So there’s a lesson. We’re not sure yet what to do with this new knowledge, as we are not keen on the idea of sleeping apart every night. Might have to change the mattress. We’ll see.

It rained all day. I spent a good portion of the day doing laundry, including ironing, so by the time supper was done I had cabin fever. I didn’t realize I was about to go bonkers until some little thing triggered tears. I said to Sylvain, “I have to get out of here. Can we GO somewhere?”

“But it’s raining,” he said.

“We could drive to the Marina and have our Sunday check-in there,” I offered, desperate to get out even for an hour. I know this about myself. If I don’t get outside once each day, I go mad. (Insert cuckoo noise here.)

Sylvain was up for that, so we sat in the van and had our weekly State of the Relationship talk with the waters of Lake St. Clair lapping at the docks just a few feet away. Gulls careened in front of grey rain clouds and lit on the wooden posts nearby.

It became crystal clear to us both this past week that the better care I take of myself, the more my moods improve, and the easier I am to live with. The more I communicate my needs and wants, the more smoothly things go for us all around. Sylvain said he was shocked and proud of me when I asked if we could stop at the grocery store on our way back from Chalk & Chocolate Saturday.

He said he was surprised because that’s so out of character for me.

What?

Wow, my perception of myself must be WAY off.  In my mind, I see myself as asking for things constantly.  Whiny, needy, high-maintenance.

Hmmm. But come to think of it, I can recall at least three different men telling me, “wow, are you ever low maintenance.”  Easy to please.  One guy referred to me jokingly as “a cheap date.”  What are all the other women out there asking for?  Trips to the Bahamas? Diamonds? Come to think of it, yeah, they probably are.  Me?  I feel hesitant to ask for a carton of rice milk.

When we returned from the Marina, I still had a tiny bit of cabin fever left in my system. I wanted to walk up to the store and get more things to have in the house that I can eat: celery, grapes, almonds. I said so and Sylvain came with me. Wow, this feels good!

What stuns me about this small event is:

• That I’m 44 and still grappling with these demons, still trying to learn this simple behaviour–clearly and honestly communicating my needs and taking responsibility for getting them met. Had Sylvain not felt like walking up to the store with me, I was ready to go by myself.

• That there is this very insistent tape in my head that always tries to talk me out of communicating my needs. It says things like: “You are being selfish. You don’t really need that. You don’t need that right now. You can get that later. It’s too expensive. You have reached your quota of needs for the day/week/month. “

—–

Something else I notice today is that since that tiny fissure opened in my heart to allow hope to slip inside, the blessings have been pouring in. I am grateful to Dove for pointing me to her blog and to the near-death-experience story she shares there. Many people might read that story and think it is hogwash or a fabrication. The main reason I don’t doubt its veracity is due to an experience I had about a year ago. The experience I had is not something I can put into words, so I won’t try. But I thank Dove for reminding me of it. Just remembering it makes me feel peaceful and loved.

Oh, and Dove started talking to me about the archetypes in the Tarot and which one I might resonate with the most. Wow, how timely is that? I just started reading Sacred Contracts and was just this morning lying abed with Sylvain (having come upstairs after waking) and was talking about archetypes with him.  I told him that Myss says we each identify with at least a dozen of the archetypes in the human collective unconscious.  What’s an archetype? We were exploring that together.  It’s a template of sorts that is universal across cultures and across time for humanity.  The Father, the Mother, the Shaman, the Child, the Healer, etc.   I haven’t read very far yet, so haven’t yet gotten to the exercises that help you see which archetypes your energy aligns with most in this life.  So we were just guessing at ours.

Anyway, synchronicity.  That is always a sure sign that I’m headed back into the Flow (Tao)…when coincidences start to come faster than I can write about them.

Asking

On finishing Traveling Mercies, I decided to head to my own modest library and pull down the one book there I’ve not yet read, Sacred Contracts by C. Myss. I also have decided to re-read Dancing in the Flames: the Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness by Elinor Dickson and Marion Woodman. I was urged by my then Jungian analyst to read it the first time because the Black Madonna had begun visiting me in dreams quite relentlessly. Reading that book changed my life. If Mary is visiting me now, perhaps it’s time to delve back into that book.

Sylvain is fighting off a bug of some sort and not feeling well, so I was hesitant to bring up that today was Chalk and Chocolate, a community festival sponsored by Windsor Eats, the Arts Council, et al. that I’d been looking forward to for a couple of weeks. There was to be a competition among sidewalk artists for prizes and, well, supposedly some chocolate.

He did feel up to getting out for some fresh air instead of moping around the cool, dark house all day and ended up thanking me for getting him out. “I needed this,” he said. The day was warm with a nice breeze.

The chocolate part seems to have mostly gone out of the festival since the two chocolatiers in the area closed. Perhaps they should call it Chalkfest from now on. It was a small festival, but fun.

Friends and blog readers have been encouraging me toward good self care, and so in spite of the fact that Sylvain wasn’t feeling well, I asked him if we could stop at the shopping centre so I could get the things I’d just run out of: gluten-free bread, iron supplement, rice milk, millet cereal. If I don’t have those things in the house, I start eating whatever is in the house, which means slipping off the regimen that makes me feel my best.

See, you guys do make a difference. I hear your comments in my head sometimes when I’m grappling with a decision. My little martyr voice says, “don’t ask Sylvain to stop; one day won’t make a difference.” Then I visualize my friend Mary’s airplane and oxygen mask analogy or hear Annie’s words about turning some of that nurturing energy on myself and it gives me that little boost I need to open my mouth and speak up.

After my grocery stop, we made a run out to Lafferty’s produce stand for some freshly picked corn.

I have more to say, but it’s time to rest.

Starving Animals Dream

It’s becoming a recurring theme in my dreams now. Last night it was a large barn-like structure that hadn’t been used for a long time. I was wandering around inside and kept finding vestiges of pets or animals once kept there. I found a rat cage and was surprised to see two female rats still in there, just barely alive. I thought, that’s odd…after all, they still have food in their dishes. But when I took a closer look, I saw that the stuff in the dishes was plastic, or just wood shavings…other inedible bits. Those two rats had nothing to eat but dust and hadn’t had anything in a long, long time. It was a miracle they were still alive. In fact, they were in a state of suspended animation.

As I always am in these dreams, I felt panicky and desperate and guilty all at once. Where do I get food? Am I in time? Did I do this? Am I the one who was supposed to be feeding these animals all along? Where do I get food? Can I leave and come back? Will I be able to find my way back here? Will they die while I’m off finding food?

While fretting about the rats, I found a little female kitten just barely past weaning age, if that. The poor thing was weak and just hanging on. I tried putting her under the faucet of the farm sink, but the water punctures holes in the back of her neck and she began to bleed. Now what have I done, I thought.

It’s a miserable dream that leaves me with an ache in my heart.

If I were still in Jungian analysis, I know where we would start. What part of me do these creatures represent? Well, note that they are all FEMALE. Cats in particular symbolize the instinctive feminine. But my instinctive feminine is nascent and badly neglected. Do the rats represent my nesting instinct? Whichever part of me it is, my dreams are sounding alarms to tell me that this part of me is desperately in need of attention and nourishing. It’s starving.  And it’s a part of me that depends on me and only me for nourishment.

I don’t know what to do. I am quite lost. The other day, feeling empty and sad and lonely and desperate, out of nowhere came the idea to do a search on the term “dark night of the soul.” I stumbled onto a website and began to read. Wow…this author has put into words exactly what I’m going through. That much was heartening, if nothing else.

In the dark night you feel profoundly alone. …[Others'] words of kindness are valued but you feel you’re somehow incapable of responding well. Your heart is numb. At these times your friends try to cheer you up. They invite you to dinner. You seem to perform fairly well, despite the emptiness you feel inside. What else is there to do? You wonder if you have any right to be in their fellowship at all. You think of leaving town, but where would you go?….

…Your sense of alienation intensifies. Your sense of inadequacy and not knowing what to do next becomes gnawingly constant. You feel you would do anything to get out of this state, yet it is only your ego which is keeping you in it. However, this insight is impossible for you to grasp while going through your long night.

And you feel so totally alone. Sure, you have friends and you appreciate them, but you are keenly aware they are not capable of feeling what you are feeling or knowing what you are going through. Sometimes they seem like clowns, sometimes they seem empty-headed, caught up in meaningless pursuits. They do not understand, you think, how much you are suffering or how you cry out and pray deep into each midnight. You try their advice but it doesn’t seem to touch the heart of the matter.

You begin to enter the dark night in earnest when you feel completely stranded. In the fullness of the dark night you don’t know where you are spiritually. You’re separate from God and man. You do not know where to turn. Your friends love you and wish you well but your condition does not improve.

The dark night is a very private matter. The person in the dark night is generally able to function quite well despite inner suffering. Often your acquaintances never suspect that you are going through the dark night — they probably do not even know what it is. Only people close to you — especially friends along the path — can recognize your pain.

You feel like a hollow person doing the activities of life with no motivation except expediency. Your eyes seem deeper in your head. You are profoundly aware of the suffering of humanity and the cruelty of one person to another. You feel that cruelty and negativity far outweigh love and constructive action.

…

God and higher consciousness seem so far away that perhaps they are unreal.

Helpless, totally helpless, as well as ever so alone, you abide in this condition. And you accept your predicament. You accept that there is really, except for a murmured prayer to a remote Lord and a remnant of a shredded faith, nothing else left.

Suicide would be absurd. Suicide would be an act of arrogance and vanity. You have grown far beyond such primitive responses to your private agony. No, nothing to do. Nothing remains in this lonely helplessness. There is, without question, nothing you can do.

You abide. You accept your state. How have you gotten to this place? That’s insignificant. Musings and feelings aside, you wait. You feel you may have to stay this way forever, doing the regular day-to-day things, but in this mood of emptiness. Nothing. Nothing.

This is very much lik what I’ve been feeling of late. And it is SO not like me. I’ve always had my faith…since I was 18 or however old I was that day, I’ve had my faith. And I’ve always seen the half full glass, not the half empty one.  But not now. Now I wander through the streets and see so much ugliness, so much vanity and superficial bullshit around me. Generation after generation doing the same inane stuff, killing this planet, killing themselves slowly, killing each other, dirtying everything. Making everything cheap and profane. I can’t get away from the cigarettes, the loud stupidity.  What is the point???

I return to the closest thing I have to “home” and can’t find a comfortable place to sit and write. I sit in the public library for a few hours. Ah, a sunny corner with a desk! An agreeable room temperature! Nobody will speak to me. I can have some Kelly time here. I can recharge my batteries for a while.

At some point over the past week, I began to mull over the question of just where God went. What happened to my lovely prayerful relationship to my God/dess? Now I know full well God/dess isn’t the one who wandered off. I am. But how to get back? I was led to read Traveling Mercies. Anne Lamott showered me with reminders of what Grace feels like.  Some of you know what I’m talking about.  It’s that moment when in your darkest hour, you feel something or someone lift you up into the sun.  This Something speaks to your heart. It fills you with a deep knowing beyond all doubt why life is worth living and why you are meant to be here.  For her, for Anne, that something ends up being Jesus, just so you know.  I love her story of just how this happened.  He followed her around for weeks like an annoying stray cat, then sat in the corner of her bedroom on his haunches just waiting. Patiently waiting.  Having been raised by intellectual humanists and taken in by a circle of Jewish friends when she was a teen (even given a Bat Mitzvah), Anne could not picture herself ever converting to Christianity and becoming one of those Bible thumping morons that her parents had always looked down on.  “I would rather die,” she said to the presence in the corner as she rolled over, turning her back to him.  (He didn’t take it personally.)

The website I quoted above (Graham Ledgerwood) continues with:

Then, it happens. A holy presence comes into your room — sweetly, softly. You feel it filling you. Your mind is filled with mellow or bright light. Your heart, your still heart, is permeated with peace. This peace moves through your body like a cold spring of mountain water. It flows in your spine, your brain, and under your skin. Everywhere.

Also, this presence, this comforter, moves like a breeze across your arid mind and numb heart. Then, or a few days later, the fire of joy begins to smoulder. Here, abiding with nothing more to do, your ego drops away! Your ignorant, arrogant, fearful sense of self falls away from you. You stand in light — a new being, a free being — transformed.

No, I am not there yet. Even my Black Madonna visitor is just a curious play of shadows cast by the glow of a motion detector. I don’t feel a protecting or communicating presence. But my seeing her in those shadows tells me that something is trying to happen for me.  It’s not so much that I feel hope so much as I feel hope that there is a possibility of hope down the road.  The edge of the edge of the light.

The closest thing to relief came about three days ago. I’d been reading Lamott and reading things like that Mystic.org site, had been living up in my very tortured head for days and days, mulling this situation and beating myself up up up for this corner into which I feel I’ve painted myself. When. Well… it just came to me. It’s not all on me. Something Carla says a lot on her blog was bouncing around my head, too. I can’t remember exactly how it goes…something like Just show up. Have an open heart and just show up. That’s the best you can do.

Well, my heart has not been very open lately. I’ve been protective of it.  This heart has been feeling rather crusty with a bit of barbed wire wrapped around the outside for good measure. Just show up? But I’m the one who has to find a (good) job and start helping with the bills or move out into a place of my own (oh, glorious Kelly space of my own) and figure out why I keep fucking up relationships and stop doing it and figure out why I keep losing my sense of self, losing my Inner Wise Voice when in relationships and STOP DOING IT and and and and and and and. It’s all on my shoulders.

Then it hit me.  Maybe…just maybe… I am not wholly responsible for keeping the planets rotating on their axes and revolving on their perfect orbits.  What a novel idea.

And just maybe there is a bigger picture I cannot see right now.

And maybe I should just frikkin’ RELAX.  The planets won’t fall out of the sky.

At that thought, the tiniest, most fleeting moment of peace came to me.