The Retreat (Learning to Stay)

“What have I got myself into?” I was thinking by the end of day one.

A couple of other members of Windsor Meditation Group have gone over for the weekend meditation retreats that are offered every two months at the Midwest Buddhist Meditation Center in Warren.  Sheila said it is something we all should experience at least once. She said if for no other reason, do it for the cultural experience. Do it to find out what gentle people the Thai are.

What made me decide to do it?

Well, I am considering…maybe…just possibly…one day…if I can condition myself to that point….doing a ten-day silent retreat at the Ontario Vipassana Centre. I have been trying, without much success, to train myself to sit for longer periods in the mornings and on weekends. I don’t have a whole lot of self-discipline when it comes to this.

So I thought a 3-day retreat would be just the thing…to force me to learn to sit longer. Or to reveal to myself whether I have what it takes to stay on the cushion for an hour, an hour and a half, two hours.  The 10-day retreat would entail sitting for even longer.

I was not told very much. The center was 3 little white houses in a row, Sheila had told us. The men sleep in one house and the women in another, she had said. Monks do not eat past noon, so if I wanted to eat anything past lunch, I would need to bring snacks and keep them in my room, Dawn told me. Oh, and bring some white clothing to wear, my pals from WMG said.

On Wednesday it occurred to me to ask for a few more specifics of the woman who was hitching a ride with me. “Do I need to bring a sleeping bag?” I asked her. “Yes,” she said.

Good to know. So off I went to Sears when meditation let out at 8:00 to buy said sleeping bag.

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We made it through the border quickly and arrived by 8:45, giving us plenty of time to chuck our things into the small bedroom in the third house where the two of us would be sharing floor space. At 9:00 we had to be upstairs in the meditation room of the big house.

There were a total of eight of us–all women–doing the retreat. D and I from Windsor were the only two who were able to come Friday morning. Five more, all Thai women my age or older, showed up after work that evening. One younger woman came Saturday. Dawn and I do not speak a word of Thai. A couple of the Thai women spoke almost no English, a couple spoke a word or two and only one spoke enough to be able to explain what was going on or being said around us, which she stopped and did once or twice during the weekend.

So, wordlessly, I followed what the Thai women did. They prostrate themselves 3 times to the Buddha on the ground floor when they enter the big house, so I also kneel and touch my forehead to the floor three times to the gold Buddha statue when I enter.

There were four monks, all looking just like the ones I’ve only ever seen on the evening news…with shaved heads and wrapped in the saffron-coloured robes that go over one shoulder. Everything they have has been dyed this colour, even their toques and hankies, I noticed.

Ajahn Tamapat is the new abbot and he speaks basic, broken English. There is another resident monk, who is too shy for me to know if he does or doesn’t speak English, and two new arrivals from Thailand.

In the meditation room, we prostrated ourselves three times to that big gold Buddha and settled on our mats. I managed to find a bean-filled round pillow to put on top of my flat, square cushion, which made my western bum very happy. For a while, anyway.

Ajahn T led the Thai women through some sort of “repeat after me” ceremony and then turned to me and asked me…I THOUGHT he asked me…if I wanted to take five or eight princes. What on earth is he offering me five or eight of? I just came right out and said it: “I haven’t the slightest notion what you mean.”

Someone near me whispered “PRECEPTS” and started to rattle them off. Then I remembered! Oh, yes, I had read over those in the pamphlet about the Vipassana Center that gives the 10-day retreats. And Dawn had warned me that taking all eight would mean no supper for me, nothing past noon.

“Since I am such a wuss and think I am going to die if I don’t eat every three hours Since this is my first time,” I said to the abbot, “I would like to take the five precepts.”

And so he had me repeat after him…in PALI!

1. Pānātipātā veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from killing or harming any living being).
2. Adinnādānā veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from taking what is not mine).
3. Ahbrahma cariyā veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from sexual misconduct).
4. Musāvāda veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from telling lies)
5. Surā meraya majja pamādatthānā veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from intoxicating liquors & drugs)

My friend took the next three as well:

6. Vikāla bhojanā veramanī sikkhā padam samādiyāmi (I undertake the training rule to refrain from eating after noon & before dawn).
7. Naccā gīta vādita visukkadassanā mālā gandha vilepana dhārana mandana vibhusanathānā veramani sikkhāpadam samādiyami (I undertake the training rule to refrain from dancing, singing, music, watching shows, wearing garlands, beautifying myself with perfumes & cosmetics)
8. Uccasayana mahāsayanā veramanī sikkhāpadam samādiyami (I undertake the training rule to refrain from high & luxurious seats & beds)

Then we heard a little dhamma talk. Interestingly, the monks face the Buddha on their cushions in front of us, so that the teacher has his back to us when giving the talk. After the 20-minute talk, we sit in silence with focus on the breath. The abbot did his best to repeat the talk in English for D and me.  Though his vocabulary is quite limited, I am pretty sure he was telling us to focus on the way the belly rises and falls with the breath. This is the way everything in the world rises, stands, and passes away. Every thing in the universe is transient. Each of us rises, stands for a while, then passes away. Ajahn Chuen rose, stood in this life for a time, then passed away.  The same with thoughts. When you are meditating, a thought will come. Maybe a thought from the past, a memory. Maybe a good memory or a bad memory. Know that you are thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Then back to the breath. Let the thought go. Some thought might come about the future. Know that you are thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. And let the thought go. Everything in life is like this. You let it arise, stand, and pass away.

After the talk, the monks turn to face us and we bow to them three times. “Respect monk,” the abbot explained. He asked us each if we had a problem or question for him. He asked me about my meditation practice. I told him I meditate every morning and each time it is different. “Sometimes it is difficult, I cannot seem to let go of every itch and ache and pain in my body… other times I seem to rise out of my body and leave all the itching and aches behind.”

When he finally said “done” and “take a break,” I thought I had never heard sweeter words. In fact, I was already considering the decision to come there a mistake. I could not sit. I was in pain. Could I undo the five precepts and tell the abbot it had been really nice meeting him, but I was clearly not ready for this?

Having been told when next to report for more meditation and seeing that I had time to lie down, I made a bee line for house #3 and my bed roll. Who knew sitting and focusing on the breath could be so tiring? I zonked out and snoozed for almost an hour before it was time to sit again.

The next session was easier. The sitting was broken up by walking meditation. Basically this means we were guided by a monk using vocal instructions (in Thai) to walk slowly from one end of the room to the other and back again over and over. Each step is taken mindfully, broken into the 3 parts of lifting the foot, sliding the foot forward in space, and setting the foot down. It’s like Zen tea ceremony for the feet! When we reached the end of the room, we stood, saying “standing, standing, standing.” Then “wishing to turn, wishing to turn, wishing to turn.” Then “Turning, turning, turning, turning, turning, turning.” Then standing, standing, standing and wishing to walk, wishing to walk, wishing to walk. Then the commands for lifting the right foot, sliding it, setting it down. Now the left foot. And so on. This goes on for a bloody long time.

At this point all I could think about was that while walking it was easier for me to sneak in some extraneous movements to ease the tension that had built in my shoulders and back while I was sitting!

I was nowhere close to the “zone” I sometimes reach while meditating at WMG or in my living room and I knew it. My mind was fighting every second of these sessions.

I would try to settle my mind and keep my mind in the breath. Breathing in, breathing out, **NOSE ITCHES** . Nose, hello. I know you itch. I know my nose itches. Breathing in, breathing out, ****NOSE REALLY ITCHES**** MUST. MUST. SCRATCH. NOSE.

Argh, I think I might diiiiiiie if I can’t scratch my nose. Okay, nose. Nobody is looking. The monks have their backs to me and the others have their eyes closed. Ah, ah yes. Nose is scratched. Hey, I did it slowly, okay? I mindfully scratched my nose.

And this is how the whole first day went for me. LOTS of wiggling and changing position and scratching and trying so hard not to crack my knuckles. My trapezius muscles were burning from the weight of my arms. Whatever that muscle is in the inner thigh that gets stretched out when sitting cross-legged was burning. I was not a happy meditator.

Lunch time was a welcome respite. Volunteers had cooked food in their homes and brought it in for the monks and for us, the people in white. The ritual for offering food to the monks is beautiful. Those who have prepared the food get on their knees and reach upward toward the table in an offering pose. The monks chant a special passage for accepting the food.

The women, with no common language between us, managed to ascertain that I don’t eat meat. Yes, even chicken. Yes, even fish. Dawn said that it would be insulting if I did not eat at least a bite of everything, but I didn’t buy that. I stuck to my vegetarian guns and it went just fine. The women pointed out to me which dishes had no meat or fish, which left me with wonderful noodle dishes, a fascinating array of herbs and leaves, and piles upon piles of rice, plus fruit for dessert. Always mounds of fruit.

I did manage to learn all the women’s names, though I had to ask some of them to tell me again how to spell and pronounce their names throughout the weekend. Ahn, who spoke not one word to me the whole time, showed me how to take a big leaf off the salad plate and fold it like a cup to hold noodles. “Taco!” another woman explained, and we all laughed.

That night we did chanting in Pali. Chanting I can do. When I lived in Japan, we sat for an hour or more at a time and chanted sutras. Different Buddhist sect, very different practice. But I learned there that I could sit on my heels until far after my feet had fallen asleep and not squirm. Chanting in another language…getting each syllable right…took my mind away from my numb and tingly feet.

These syllables were brand new to me, so it took all my concentration to follow along. What a beautiful language Pali is! I really like the diphthongized final Os and the long, stressed As. Chanting time flew by and I did not wiggle on my cushion nearly as much. I might have to change from feet in front to feet in back once in an hour or hour and a half. I found during the weekend that if we started by chanting, I was later able to settle down better during the silent sitting part.

I slept like a log Friday night and learned two things the next morning: 1. The houses are not divided by gender, we were co-ed. The third house is home to Git, an engineering student, an ex-monk and the older resident monk. 2. The loft is full of the Thai women…and all of these people are going to be lined up by 5:00 for the one bathroom.

Fortunately, due to multiple naps Friday, I was up by 4:45 and got the second shower…a quick “Navy shower” that left plenty of hot water for the rest.

Saturday went much better. After morning chanting, a breakfast of soup was served. I put cilantro in mine and the Thai women put all sorts of interesting things in theirs, like pieces of meat, green eggs, whole fish. Well, the heads and tails ended up back on the serving plate, an deep-fried eyeball looking my direction.

I am not sure now the order of things, but training was broken into about four sessions: the 6 a.m. session includes chanting and the 6 p.m. session does as well. Some sessions include a dhamma talk and some include walking meditation. All include sitting meditation.

During two of these sessions, my mind finally began to settle. In fact, it was about 20 minutes into one session that I blessedly reached the zone where I can’t hear my muscles and bones and itchy nose talking to me at all. Oh, I like it there. And do you know what happened just as I was settling into that happy place? The bell rang. Yes, the monk rang the bell; it was time to stand up and do walking meditation. I wanted to say, “Excuse me, I just reached my happy place, could I please remain sitting while you all walk?”

Nevertheless, Saturday’s sessions were no less draining and again I took as many naps as I could sneak in between sessions.

That night my new friend Payang, the best English speaker of the group, told me she had only gotten two and a half hours sleep, as she was up cooking for the monks all night. I asked her if she had gotten a nap and she said oh, no, way too much work to do preparing for Sunday’s celebration (no connection to the retreat, just happend to be taking place the same weekend).  She had decorated the inside of the garage, arranged all the flowers, strung lights. Her back was killing her, she said.

All weekend I had felt useless since eight women do not fit into the tiny kitchen at once, and I don’t know my way around that kitchen nor do I know how to prepare Thai food. So I had sat aside and let the Thai women do the work, feeling I was more in the way than a help. But now there was some way I could contribute: I offered Payang a massage. She took me up on it and we sat on a bench where I kneaded her tight back muscles for a little while.

When I was done, Janthorn smiled at me and turned her back to me. “Me too,” she said. She pointed out the exact muscle she needed massaged. “Do you like it hard or soft?” I asked, silly question to ask a Thai now that I think about it. “As hard as you can,” she said. And I worked her neck muscles.

The next thing I knew, one of the women was summoning me and two others. “The monk wants to see you in the back room.” This was a special curtained off room none of us had yet seen. My Canadian friend, who is a good generation older than I, got up to accompany me, but she was motioned no, no, not you. Sit back down.

What special honour could possibly await me that he wanted me included but not D? When I got to the back room, I found one of the young monks doing Thai calligraphy on poster boards. The three of us were to cart the two dozen or so large, heavy gift baskets out to the celebration area.

Walking across the lawn with my arms loaded down with baskets, I felt the first twinge of joy since arriving. The evening sun fell on the grass. A ground hog eating plantain leaves a few metres away stood up to watch me pass. Way out back by the fence sparrows, grackles, starlings and even a robin were foraging in a tray feeder where leftover rice and other morsels had been tossed out for them.

By bedtime the urge to ditch had passed. It was far from fun, but I could do this. I wanted to stay, to finish what I had started.

Sunday we had rice soup (I put peanuts in mine) and the regular chanting session, but Ajahn explained to me and D that the rest of the sessions were being cancelled so they could all focus on the big celebration and skit that would be held after lunch. We were welcome to stay, but D had already made arrangements to be picked up by a friend and I had committed to a baby shower back in Windsor.

There was time for group photos and exchange of email addresses. (When I get a copy of one of the photos, I will post it here.)

The abbot debriefed us, gave me a yellow bracelet, gave D a package of gifts to carry back to the group and welcomed us back in two months’ time. I put the American money I had brought for that purpose into an envelope, wrote “thank you for the retreat” on it and slipped it into the donation box, prostrated myself three times in front of big gold Buddha and let myself out.

Grace in Small Things – 84

• The venerable Ajahn Chuen was WMG’s teacher for nine years, though he passed away last summer. Nevertheless, because of the affiliation, I am welcome to the weekend meditation retreats at the Midwest Buddhist Meditation Center in Warren, Michigan, just across the river.  I managed to accrue enough comp time to have Friday off and I am going to my first ever meditation retreat.  I bought a sleeping bag and white clothes just for the occasion.
• How much better I feel just having applied for another job recently, even though it might not pay a living wage. Because it is an internal posting, I was required to notify my manager that I was applying…which, by the way, has completely changed the power balance between us this week.
• Sitting outside on Sheila and Gerry’s porch tonight, petting Tom Cat while holding an umbrella over both of us in the light drizzle. Cat contact is good for the soul.
• Having someone from another department say to me today, “good letter to the editor.”
• The fifth little Grace doesn’t fit in a bullet point. I have to tell you the background…

Over ten years ago I was hired as office manager of a little indie bookstore in Little Rock. I am a bit, er, fastidious you might say, and took my job very seriously. I worked with a number of artistic types and scatterbrained folks. I was quite the mother hen, making big labels for all the drawers so people would put things back where they belonged, otherwise the tiny basement office would constantly be a hazard zone with tape guns and scissors and packing peanuts strewn everywhere. If I did not stay on top of the situation, before I knew it Mr. UPS would be ringing the back door buzzer with a dolly full of boxes of books and no room on the floor to unload them. SIGH!

I came up with creative ways of getting the booksellers to cooperate with me in keeping the store running smoothly. For example, they had a tendency to let me know we needed to order more shopping bags when they were giving away the very last shopping bag. So I made a sign that said “TELL KELLY TO ORDER MORE BAGS” and inserted it into the stack of handled paper bags under the counter about fifty bags from the bottom of the pile.

I am short. I depended heavily on the two little blue step stools when I needed to reach items on high shelves. But every time I turned around, someone would have unpacked a box of new books onto my stool.  As if it were a table. We had an unloading table.  A large one. And it was available for unpacking books so long as you didn’t clutter it up with scissors and tape guns and all those things you should have put back in the labelled drawers when you were done with them! So I politely told the receiving clerks please not to do that.

They kept doing it.

I asked them again please to keep the stool free, as I needed to grab it all the time to step on and reach things.

Sigh. There was just no winning this battle. Nobody was listening to me. What? Was I not queen of the office? My office. My rules. NO STACKING BOOKS ON THE STOOL.

So one day in my exasperation I grabbed the black marker we use to label boxes of returns and wrote across the top of the stool: “THIS IS NOT A TABLE.”  I added a smiley face for good measure, just in case that might help me not to come across as the meanest office manager ever.

I had a coworker, the sweetest young woman you could ever hope to meet in your life.  I love her to death. We all did. She just thought I was the cat’s meow, too. A few years after I had moved to Canada, the store owner and I were talking about this young woman. He was telling me how much she adored me …so much so that she made him GIVE HER the little blue stool after I left.

A little while ago I was on her social networking site and decided to look at her photo album. Do you know what I found?

Being Here Now

Last night before sleeping I prayed hard. That is what I do when I don’t know what to do and it feels like I am lost and sinking. That is what I do when my mind won’t stop spinning crazy worry stories about the future. I get down on my knees and I have a begging session with God.  I say God, you have to take this from me because I can’t handle it. Sometimes I stay there on the floor a long time. My…well, you can’t really call it a religion since it’s just for me…but my set of rituals is patched together from many traditions, from Islam to Kundalini Yoga, from Native American to Tibetan Buddhist. I do what feels right to me. Sometimes it feels right to prostrate myself or touch my forehead to the floor.

This morning Peace settled on me like a dove.  The words popped out of my mouth: “Be here now.” So I kept that mantra going as I moved from room to room. Mindfully I poured my cereal, saying “be here now, taking a bite of cereal.” I noticed the way the rice milk filled in around the edges of the millet flakes. I noticed the veins on the backs of my hands.

“Be here now,” I said, “taking a step, a step, a step toward the bathroom.”

In this way I mindfully moved through my entire morning routine.

It was magic.

In one moment, nothing existed but me and my bar of lavender soap.

I noticed everything as it arose. Sometimes thoughts arose and I acknowledged them, letting them slip back away as I focused again on my surroundings.  A squirrel in a yard by the road. My belly rising and falling.

I noticed when a thought came that caused my chest to tighten. “There’s anxiety,” I said, nodding to it. “Be here now, noticing the tightness in the chest.”

And the day was good. The day was light. I even had a bit of fun, though it was of a mischievous sort.

Grace in Small Things – 83

• Friends like you and your caring, loving words. Your encouragement makes more difference than you can ever know.
• A boyfriend who–seeing me overwhelmed by a huge list of errands and things to do–offers to go get the money order for the State Dept. so I can renew my US Passport, offers to pick up the package in the mail room, since said mail room is never open before I leave for work or after I return from work, offers to help in any way he can.
• A coworker who saw me staying late trying to finish off just one more claim in the interminable stack of files I was supposed to have finished adjudicating in one day and who came over to offer me a hug.
• Another coworker who finished her work early and took work off my desk without being asked. There are good people in the world. There are.
• My cushy, wonderful bed to which I am headed right now with its pocket-coil, cloud-top mattress that was obscenely expensive and worth every single penny. Sweet dreams!

Grace in Small Things – 82

• Falling asleep consumed with dread and anxiety, then having an amazing dream in which a disowned part of myself presented herself to me in the form of a dark-skinned girl of around nine who was livid with me. She was coming toward me in a menacing way, so I stepped toward her and embraced her tightly, saying right into her ear, “I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOUR WHOLE FAMILY.”
• Going on a long drive in the country with Sylvain. Although the crazy head and anxiety followed me like a puppy all day, it was better to be out in nature with my crazy head than home alone all day with crazy head. Anne Lamott is funny. She calls it KF_CK Radio.
• Stopping at Holiday Beach Migration Observatory and seeing Mute Swans with fuzzy little cygnets, Sylvain’s first Blue-winged Teal, listening to the cow-cow-cow-cow call of the Pied-billed Grebes and watching a pair of swans do a synchronized, perfectly symmetrical dance of tight turns and spins around one another that was still going on when we left.
• Watching a pair of Tree Swallows take turns bringing food into a nesting hole in a tree.
• Receiving a copy of Man’s Search for Meaning in the mail for free. Thank you, Ryan somewhere in Canada!

Grace in Small Things – 81

• This post. Thank you, Patti, for pointing us to it.
• Being mindful of my fear and dread around returning to work Monday morning after the other of my boss’ two Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde personalities popped out on Friday. Sitting with my dread and anxiety, just watching it with curiosity and breathing.
• A walk to the marina with my sweetheart.
• Planting rosemary. I hope it comes up.
• Getting some chores done today so tomorrow I can afford the time for a drive in the country with Sylvain to get strawberries.

Grace in Small Things – 80

• One of those heart-opening, breakthrough moments with someone (you know which someone) I was having problems with–the kind that cannot come from any amount of training or trying or breathing, but can only come through some crazy, fluke event and a heavy dose of Grace.
• Getting off my butt and firing off a letter to the city with CC to the newspaper and Environment Canada warning that should the city workers’ strike end anytime soon, the city should consider very carefully when to resume mowing since protected migratory birds have already begun nesting in areas that are normally mown.
• Asking for a dream in which I ask for help and then–within 3 nights–having a dream in which I asked for help from other people in the dream. I dreamt my step-father had two of these buggy like things but I did not know how to operate them. I saw a group of young people driving some of the same vehicles. So I approached the group and asked them please to teach me how to operate one. The vehicles looked like something that could drive itself on the Moon, and were armed the way war planes are armed with guns.
• Hot weather.
• A wild rabbit frozen a few feet ahead of me, the sun almost shining through the pink membranes of its erect ears.

Grace in Small Things – 79

• Having an extra 45 minutes this morning to spend on the Ganatchio Trail looking for more spring migrants. I got a great view of a Blackburnian Warbler (only my second lifetime sighting) with the sun lighting up his fiery orange throat, a Black-throated Green Warbler, and male and female Magnolia Warbler. There was a fellow there with a huge honking camera scope who had come in response to my posting about the Cape May Warbler on ONTBIRDS yesterday.
• Pema Chodron’s Tonglen CD, which reminded me to practice opening my heart and turning toward that from which I would run and hide.
• That my good friend K has met the man of her dreams.
• That another friend is going to have a baby girl soon!
• Being able to go straight from work back to the Ganatchio Trail for more exciting finds. Sylvain joined me and we saw the female and male Bay-breasted Warbler! I also MIGHT have seen a female Connecticut Warbler. We listened to a Philadelphia Vireo, too.

Grace in Small Things – 78

• Sharing my cooking last night with a friend.
• Queen Victoria. Happy birthday and thank you for the long weekend.
• Thank you to the stranger who posted to ONTBIRDS after a warbler “fall-out” the other day in my neck of the woods. I woke up today feeling lazy and blah, but the thought of seeing even one spring migrant was just enough impetus to get me moving. Sunshine! Exercise! What mood lifters.
• Seeing my first ever Cape May Warbler just off the Ganatchio Trail. He was singing and having lunch in a conifer and stayed there long enough for Sylvain to join me in the fresh air and sunshine and get a look for himself.
• Wandering under the forest canopy in a state of bliss as I spotted one migrant after another: Blackpoll, Palm, Black and White, Magnolia. The locals were charming, too, all busy starting families: Red-winged Blackbirds, Yellow Warbler, Baltimore Orioles with their long, sock-like nests.

Joy Rebel Mission – 10 Aspirations

The mission is to come up with 10 commandments, but I don’t want to lay this big guilt trip on myself for breaking my own commandments. So let’s call them aspirations. These are the rules I try to live by. I do my best. I don’t always succeed, but when I slip, I guide myself back on track as soon as I realize I’ve strayed.

• Take good care of Kelly. I know the old analogy of putting on your own oxygen mask first is true. If I do not have it, I don’t have it to give. This means eating right, getting enough sleep, setting healthy boundaries with others, not committing myself to a stressful schedule but keeping things simple and restorative and sane.
• Be honest. This rule also starts with me. I strive always to be honest with myself. This is a hard one, since we all have this thing called a blind spot. We all have built-in psychological defense mechanisms that sometimes prevent us from seeing our own behaviour and motives as clearly as others might see them. This is one reason I commit to the inner work I do…to help uncover the areas of self-deceit.
• Leave the world a better place than I found it. I strive ever to lessen my footprint on the planet, keeping future generations in mind when I make choices about how and what I consume. I strive to spread joy and hope.
• Savour life. Cook slowly, eat slowly. Smell my food. Taste my food. Take walks instead of having TV. Meet my neighbours. Smile at people, at insects, at clouds, at the moon and stars.
• Help out.  No matter how old I get, I hope I never lose this part of my personality. I am a natural born helper and take so much joy from the smallest of opportunities to help a stranger or a friend. Sometimes I’m shy and don’t speak up when I’ve noticed a way I could offer help. I hereby ask the Universe to give me more courage to speak up and offer my assistance when I see someone in need of it. When I am feeling shy, I can help humanity in my small, quirky ways…like by being a leader in the Joy Rebellion: skipping down the street, blowing bubbles, leaving encouraging notes in public places, writing JOY on the sidewalk.
• Honour my intuition. Do not let others with self-serving agendas, people or corporations, talk me out of what I know. I know what I know.
• Lighten up. Laugh more. Remember that I am always safe, always okay.
• Practice dying. This means using every experience, comfortable or uncomfortable, as an opportunity to learn to relax into what is, accept what is, love what is, be at peace with what is.
• Be an example. Be the change I wish to see in the world. Show others that it is possible to live a life free of complaining, whining, criticizing or gossiping.
• Forgive, starting with myself. Remember that these are all good goals, but that I am human and will sometimes fall short. And that’s okay.

Dream: Pumpkin Cake

I’ve never had a dream like this one that I can remember. I was in the middle of a restaurant kitchen. The chefs and sous chefs and female owner, who reminded me very much of the owner of Eating Well Organically in Waterloo, were bustling about the kitchen doing their thing. I had brought two of the ingredients from home to make a cake…some pumpkin and some milk and I had parked myself at a wooden island with butcher block top where I hoped not to be in others’ way while I made my cake.

I soon realized I had only brought two out of many needed ingredients for the cake: the pumpkin and some milk. I did not know what to do. Should I borrow ingredients from the kitchen I was in? After all, I was doing a good thing…making a cake for everyone to enjoy. Should I go home and get the rest of the ingredients? Well, my dream self seems to have gained some knowledge from a lifetime of being in my dreams. My dream self knows that anytime I leave one dream location to go to another location and get a needed item, I never manage to make it back to where I started. So I knew going to get the other ingredients was a lost cause.

I stood there with this “I did not think this out very well” and “this was not a very good decision” feeling. And under this was a sadness, because my intentions were good. I had wanted to create something delicious to share with everyone.

Grace in Small Things – 77

• Thunderstorms during the night, a day that started out moist and overcast, giving way now to clear skies and sunlight reflecting off the white, white boats on the teal water.
• A new dream and spending time today pondering its meaning.
• That my sweetie IS home from the hospital and enjoying his own bed and his own pillow. Whew.
• Preparing pea soup today and not having any waste. I used up all three leeks and all the mint.
• An interesting adventure tonight that takes me across the bridge and into Detroit.

Grace in Small Things – 76

• As good as it felt to have my loved one in that nice, cushy, spacious room, watching him give it up at a nurse’s request so that it could fulfill its intended purpose (palliative care) for a family who really needed it for that tonight felt even better.
• My sweetie might get to go home tomorrow.
• Yesterday, as I returned from the hospital before dusk, I saw them…the huge masts of the sailboats sliding past one by one, single file. First regatta of the year! They will do this every Wednesday of the warm season.
• That two friends are feeling better after illnesses.
• Getting a prompt “no problem” response from my former boss’ boss when I asked if he would be a reference. It sure looks good to have a vice president of something on your list of references.

Job

Now that it’s over, I can share my good news. I have been watching the job ads for a few weeks but I have not spotted anything that interested me and paid enough. But in the past week or so, I’ve fired my resume off twice. The first time was a rather lackluster attempt and I got no response. The second time I decided to get serious with a cover letter that could not be ignored. I sent it off over the weekend and by noon Monday had already received a call asking me to come in for an interview.

So that was my good news…having an interview.

After I wrote the “knock-em-dead” cover letter, I was feeling so confident that I went out and bought the clothes for the interview on Sunday.

The initial screening interview by the recruiting agency went well and I was sent home with the job description so I could think about whether I was still interested.

I’m not.

The position is more for someone with a business or marketing degree and background, and the setting is a global corporation and manufacturer. I hate sales and I am not that keen on huge companies. I want to get into either a non-profit setting or a small, independently owned business.

I don’t want to jump ship and run off to another job just to escape the present insanity. I want my next job to be one I can LOVE, as I have loved many of my jobs over the years.  I loved my library job. I loved my bookstore office manager job. I loved my job as a System Specialist in a group insurance setting. So I know what it can feel like to look forward to Monday mornings. I want that again.

In the meantime, things at work have been uncharacteristically sane and reasonable. No witch hunts. No bullying. As long as that is the case, I can hang in there a bit longer.

Crow Comes with Sparklies

What an amazing two days I’ve just had.  I am happy to report Sylvain has been moved off ICU and into a private room. I’m not sure how he rated that, since the extended benefits through his employer only pay for an upgrade to semi-private. But he emailed me at work today to tell me about the flat screen TV, laminate floors, crown moulding, and large accessible bathroom. Mind you, he is once again having trouble getting help with things like transfers, but at least he is being ignored in plush surroundings.

Yesterday I got mail of the most special kind from a secret pen pal on the other side of the world. Letters from her make me feel warm  inside. They remind me that the world really is a good place because we have one another.

Yesterday I also got exciting news on another front, which I will share soon.

And today I met for the first time and had supper at Taloola cafe with a new friend from Trinidad, sent my way courtesy of Elspeth. We had an absolute riot of a visit, talking and laughing and getting goose bumps from learning of all the things we have in common. It felt really, really good to laugh out loud.

While I was sitting in my car waiting for her, I discovered the fat sticks of chalk in my glove box…still never used from a Joy Rebel mission handed out when there was still snow on the ground here. So I got out of my car and wrote JOY on the sidewalk.

Angels All Around Us (GIST 74, 75)

• An angel named Andrea who listened to our concerns about the response rate to the call bell in light of Sylvain’s breathing issues and got him transferred to a unit where the nurse-patient ratio is 1 to 2 and the nurse has a desk right there in your room.
• A wonderful, amazing nurse named Michelle who epitomizes professionalism, compassion, patience and competence.
• The wrinkled, little old man who was sitting in a wheelchair, sneaking a smoke in the parking lot. As I was standing in front of the Pay & Display machine, reading the very steep parking rates and trying to decide whether to go back to the $3-all-day lot a block down, he called out, “Ma’am, don’t put no money in there. They’re on strike. Ain’t nobody going to ticket you.”
• The man who held the elevator door.
• The man who did not just tell me how to find Sylvain’s new room on a different unit, but walked me all the way there.
• Elspeth, for putting this mantra in her blog comment. Oh my goodness, is this ever restorative.
• Everyone who has been praying for us, leaving comments, giving me advice and encouragement. Bless you, bless you, bless you.
• Sylvain’s loving, caring family who came to his bedside and brought things and made me feel it was okay for me to leave sometimes and take care of my needs.
• Ryan somewhere in Canada who is sending me a book I’ve been wanting to read for a very long time. Free! He is paying postage and everything.
• A very special couple of friends out there in blog land who shared medical expertise with us and thereby armed us with all the terminology and knowledge to help us understand exactly what was happening with Sylvain’s body. That was so empowering and allowed us to relax and trust and tell the difference between irrational fears and reality.

Thank you all so much for being there. Tonight I found Sylvain sitting up in his own wheelchair, no longer on his night ventilator, breathing on his own, NG tube out and sucking ice chips! Woo hoo! Today ice chips…tomorrow…who knows, maybe popcicle!

Update zzzzzz

What I really need to do now, even though it is only 7:31 on a Thursday evening, is go to bed. I promise to do that next, right after I give a brief update on Sylvain’s condition.

Sylvain is in the hospital. Since I last blogged, he has been to the ER at Metro. I slept through that one! Then he had to go back to ER, this time to Hotel Dieu. That was very touch and go all night with crazy, rare complications and health mysteries and conflicting recommendations from doctors and stress and tears and mindfulness exercises and prayer and lots of hand-holding and love and tubes and learning so much about the human body…and human spirit!

One of us will write about it eventually, but right now I have to sleep. I got two hours of rest from four to six a.m. in a plastic reclining chair by Sylvain’s gurney and still reported to work.

He is out of the woods. That’s the bottom line.

Tonight I rest knowing he is once again in very good hands. Good night. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Grace in Small Things – 73

Sunday a friend came over and with sledge hammer and a lot of might, managed to remove the lock-in platform on the driver’s side of Sylvain’s van so the driver’s seat could be retrieved from the basement and put in. He also removed the passenger seat and attached the tie-down belts so Sylvain could ride as a passenger.

Grace #1 – having a friend who is ready and willing to do things like that when you call and say “I need you, buddy.”

That had to be done so I could drive Sylvain to London on Sunday and back Monday for a procedure to be done early Monday morning. He will probably be blogging about that shortly. He had to wake up at 3 a.m. and I had to wake up at 4 a.m. so as to be checked out of the hotel room and at the hospital by 6:30.

Grace #2 – the very kind and compassionate nurse (Lynn Reynolds) who took care of him from 6:30 until after the procedure. She knew just what to do for each of our areas of apprehension.

Grace #3 – the kind woman in the Family Waiting area who saw me nodding off using a backpack as a pillow and ushered me into a little room with a couch where she told me to put my feet up and proceeded to put a fresh pillow case on a little pillow and cover me with a WARMED flannelet.

I had a wonderful nap and emerged refreshed from the Quiet Room, but my name was not called. All the other families in the day surgery area were called to go back and be with their loved ones who had come out of the recovery room. Hours passed and my name was not called. Finally I asked the woman at the desk to double check…had I missed my name while I was napping? No, she said they had it written down that I was in the Quiet Room. Sylvain had come back to Recovery at 10:35 but I could not yet see him. I should hang tight and wait some more.

Finally I got to see Sylvain, who was not comfortable. It was taking way longer than usual for the doctor to be able to give the okay for him to be released, as well.

Grace #4- the very kind nurse (Louise) to whom we were passed when our first nurse’s shift ended at 2:30. She was also a dear and brought biscuits and apple juice, fetched the paraphernalia we needed, as well as carrying out her medical duties.

While we were waiting for the sign that would allow the doctor to okay our leaving, I went to get the prescriptions filled. I took the long way around the outside of the hospital in order to get some fresh air and sunshine…my first all day.

Grace #5 – the astute and very helpful pharmacists who noticed something amiss in the dosage of the pain med and paged the doctor to have it clarified.

The most important blessing of the whole day, of course, is that Sylvain did eventually get to leave in one piece–by then we were on nurse number three, another Lynn, also very kind and helpful.

Oh, and I’m already to five of my Grace in Small Things list, but I still have to say a big thank you to Dr. Ngozi Imasogie, who went out of her way to see that Sylvain got the best people lined up for his respiratory and anaesthesia handling. She also came by to check on him and say hello. What a warm and beautiful doctor!

I want to issue a public and very heartfelt thank you to the wonderful staff of St. Joseph’s Hospital in London, ON for their professionalism and courtesy and kindness and patience and compassion in every step of our care. I say “our” because they not only took good care of Sylvain, but took my needs into consideration, as well.

P.S. and a big thank you to CANADA because we won’t be getting a bill in the mail for any of the above.

A Birdy Day

With ten minutes to kill before Sylvain was to pick me up, I headed out in full birder regalia to explore the trees around the condo building. Hm, familiar trill coming from the top of a pine tree. What could that be but a Pine Warbler? I got a good look at this handsome species. Our day of birding was off to a good start.

On the way to Point Pelee National Park we saw: American Crow, Great Blue Heron, Canada Goose, Ring-billed Gull, American Robin, Scarlet Tanager. Entering the park, we saw three Wild Turkey. After we parked the car, we peeked out at the water and saw lots of Lesser Scaup, Red-breasted Mergansers and a few Bufflehead. The Bufflehead were a stone’s throw from shore. What a great view…and life bird for Sylvain.

We decided to do the point first, hopping on the trolley for the ride down to the 42nd parallel. There we got Tree Swallow, Mallard, Common Grackle, Double-crested Cormorant, Barn Swallow, Northern Cardinal (heard), Killdeer (heard), Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Northern Flicker, Grey Catbird–which gave Sylvain a nice view of its rusty vent for future mnemonic reference, Chipping Sparrow, Yellow Warbler, Blue Jay, White-throated Sparrow. Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Blue-grey Gnatcatchers were everywhere. I walked out to the tip to ask a couple of knowledgeable looking fellows if they were seeing anything good. They said no, it was not a very good day for it and all they had seen were both scaups, both scoters, one loon, three gull species.  Both SCOTERS? I tried not to sound too eager as I asked if the Scoters were still around. “Oh no, they are occasional flybys.” Well then. I wouldn’t know a scoter in flight from a …well…anything, so I headed back to where Sylvain was patiently waiting stuck in the sand.

The treat of the point was a Red-headed Woodpecker who let us and everyone we told get a good view for at least ten minutes.

On the trolley ride back, my vest covered in patches from the parks I’ve birded in North America prompted a fellow passenger to tell us about the time he and his partner were last in Corkscrew Swamp. “Did you see the storks?”  They had seen the storks. This is the kind of comraderie I so enjoy among birders. Sometimes my vest causes people to think I am park staff. Last week the vest prompted, “you look like a birder, which book should I buy?”

We had a snack at the van, ticked our sightings off the big checklist in the Birder’s Roost tent, checked the map for new sightings and headed off down the Woodland Trail, planning to make the loop and get back by lunchtime. The Baltimore Oriole was near the visitor centre, as it is every spring. On that trail we came into a cloud of Yellow-Rumped Warblers and kinglets with Black and White Warbler, a Black-throated Green and a Black-throated Blue Warbler thrown in for good measure. I heard a Carolina Wren, and saw a Common Yellowthroat duck into the reeds in a marshy area. I pished and pished but for the first time in my life, could not entice it up for a game of peek-a-boo.

Some very nice folks advised us of a Veery running about on fallen logs and branches in a watery area, and we both got a nice look. Sylvain saw a wren, probably a Winter.  We passed some more helpful people on the trail who told us we were headed toward a boardwalk over some water where we would be getting a great view of the Prothonotary. I was getting mighty hungry for a veggie burger, and had picked up my pace, but we stopped to admire this striking bird as it hunted for little insects right down near the surface of the water, just exactly like the picture on a Point Pelee tee shirt I used to have.

Not far after the bridge, we stopped to see what a couple and their yellow dog named Fannie were doing. They had TWO Chestnut-sided Warbler overhead, so we stopped for a good look. What a precious face! They also pointed out the Rusty Blackbird along the water’s edge. I saw a thrush, but am not sure which thrush. An Eastern Phoebe flew in and lit on a slender branch overhead before we headed on. It was getting later and I sure did not want to miss getting a big old sloppy veggie burger.

As we neared the end of the loop, someone was kind enough to point out a great view of a Palm Warbler running and hopping about on the ground, the sun shining down on its chestnut crown!

Turkey Vultures circled overhead. Maybe they were ready for burgers and hotdogs, too.

A fellow approached me to ask how far it was to Rondeau Provincial Park. I told him I didn’t know, but they could surely tell him at the information desk. The park today was too “dead” for him, he was going elsewhere. Dead? I pulled out my notebook and counted. We had seen 46 species before lunch.  Poor fellow. Sylvain observed that the camera people seemed to need a lot more action and excitement than the binocular people.

Well, our dawdling on the trail cost us. Our goal had been to make it back to the grill lineup by 11:30. We got there at 12:45, which was 15 minutes till they shut down for the day. The veggie burgers were sold out. This aspiring Boddhisatva turned into Miss Cranky Pants. Fortunately, we found a suitable repast at the Cattail Cafe.

Re-energized, we struck out on the Tilden Wood and Schuster trails.

Then it was time to head home. As we were putting things away, an Osprey flap flap flapped past as leisurely as you please. I saw it before Sylvain, was swallowing water and couldn’t talk, so I pointed and made frantic grunty noises until the water was safely down the right pipe.

Sylvain dropped me off at the Marina at my request, as I wanted to add a few more species to the day’s count. At the marina I added Mute Swan and  Common Tern to the day’s sightings.

As I crossed the road to go back home, I noticed that the Pine Warbler was still singing nearby.

Grace in Small Things – 72

• One of us escaped. Yes, even in this economy, and even in this town built on the auto industry–whose unemployment rate is the highest in Canada–there are jobs to be found. I feel a little like the guys in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest when someone got to go home. Family comes to pick them up, leaving the rest of us staring through barred windows in awe. This lifts my spirits like crazy.
• Getting laundry done tonight, one chore that won’t be hovering over my head the rest of the weekend.
• Packing the many pockets of my field vest with nuts and sunblock and Peterson’s and pen and tiny notepad in anticipation of a pre-dawn escapade to Point Pelee tomorrow for SPRING MIGRATION.
• Seeing a handwritten note on the bulletin board in the laundry room: “I can’t knock on your door, but you can knock on mine.” I wonder how many people will go knock with a donation for the Alzheimer’s home fundraiser? I will.
• Beautiful, bursting blossoms in my window–a yellow and white bouquet my sweetheart brought me the day I was having a meltdown.