January 31, 2024

Hand It Over...

Too often when I sit down to write something for other ears or eyes, I end up frustrated. I get too entangled with details and backstory. Plus, my mind isn't as adept as it once was; it's hard to find the right words. It's like my vocabulary has waned. But I think the real issue is living over a decade with fatigue and pain and weakness, over a 1-1/2 years with sleep deprivation, medications that dope me so I can fall asleep, and the plethora of tasks involved in my self-care. 

In the morning, around 7:30 to 8:00 after I've opened my eyes from twilighting through my second shift of quasi-sleep which begins anywhere between 1AM and 4AM, I arise slowly, get my trekking poles from beside my bed, and carefully make my way to bathroom to relieve my bladder. Then I lie back down for one to two hours, accompanied with guided meditations, until my body says that it is okay to get up now.  If I get up too early or overexert, my gut responds with nausea. It's a fine line to balance. Thus begins my workday of self-care. 

The workday is filled with administering herbs, supplements, and pharmaceuticals at specific times; charting my symptoms and activities; going to my one to two per week healthcare appointments; feeding myself including my (mostly organic) nutritional smoothie which contains nine different nutritional food powders, adaptogenic tea formula, tart cherry juice, lemon juice, spinach, liquid COQ10, soaked chia seeds, frozen blueberries and filtered water; inverting in the morning before I eat or drink; lasering my body in part or whole; walking outside with trekking poles or my walker or riding my indoor bike; stretching my body as best I can in hopes that I can build some muscle and help relieve pain; keeping my various herbs and supplements and pharmaceuticals in stock; and more. Once a week, and occasionally twice, I bathe. Showering is harder, so I take Epsom salt baths. I can't dry myself, so I air dry while lying on the bed wrapped in my towel and a throw. Bathing and dressing are two of my hardest tasks. Recently I turned taking my socks off into a game I call "Kick the Field Goal." 

It's all day long, and it's detailed work from light reaching my eyes in the morning, through the day, and into the night. I take the final doses of herbs in the wee morning hours at my 2nd shift of sleep; two herbal formulas I drink and one herb I chew. One could say those are my first herbs of the day. 

Each day, I have to begin my wind-down bedtime routine around 5:30. I'm typically in bed between 8:00 and 8:30. So, it's a lot to get done in eight to nine hours for a body that has to move slowly and deliberately, traverse pain, and adapt to how much the body-mind is capable of on any given day. 

I've barely just scratched the surface. I'm not complaining, but rather trying to give a glimpse of the work involved. It really is a full-time job.

After typing all this I ask, Carol is this what you really want to read at the workshop? No, it isn't. I want to write a poem for my good friend Susan who died on January 21, but nothing's flowing yet. 

***
So, what song can I post to go along with this wordage? 
Hmmm...
Got it! 

January 15, 2024

Real...

 Write what is real and true and tied to our experience... (M.S.)

~*~*~

I think of the Velveteen Rabbit. 
He so wanted to be real. 
And he was real to the little boy that would carry Rabbit almost everywhere Boy explored. 
Boy slept with Rabbit. 
I feel sure Boy held Rabbit closely to his heart while in his night dreams. 
Rabbit sat with Boy after Boy fell ill with scarlet fever. 
Doctor said all Boy's toys needed to be burned for sanitation reasons. 
Rabbit was stuffed in a bag and put in the garden awaiting cremation. 
His heart was broken, and he shed Velveteen tears. 
But then a magic fairy appeared to Rabbit. 
Fairy transports Rabbit deep into a forest, places him with other bunnies that can hop and breathe and wiggle their ears. 
Fairy gives Rabbit a magic kiss and Rabbit's fur turns from tattered velveteen to soft, warm, rabbit fur like bunnies of the forest are clothed in. 

I have felt like the Velveteen Rabbit after he was put in the garbage bag. 
No longer needed. 
Tossed aside and eventually forgotten about. 
Broken. Tattered. Lonely. 
Without purpose, other than to make it through another day. 

Did a fairy come along and pull me up? 
If so, I could not see the fairy with my head eyes. 
But in my imagination my Insiders were born. 
Though they had probably always been with me; I was just too preoccupied with pleasing people and obeying the Word to allow my imagination to wander that far for fear of devil spirit possession.

How silly for a woman in her early 60s to have relationships with imaginary beings that live inside her. 

There is Pog who first appeared as the steward of the pond of grief; that's how he got his name, Pog. Then the pond of grief slowly transformed into the pond of gratitude. 

There is Itt, who looks like Itt from the Adams Family. 
He first appeared as anger. 
He would shiver and all his hair would shiver with him. 
When he felt rage all his hair would stand up on end, stretched as straight and far as the hairs could go. 

There is Owl who first appeared when Woman was having some gut trouble. 
With his beak, Owl carefully plucked dark pellets from woman's belly and her gut trouble eased. 

There is Troll who is gnarly with a heart of gold. 
Troll is strong and a shape shifter who helps give woman's limbs strength. 
He carries a golden sword, probably related to the Greek myth Chysaor whose mother was Medusa and father was Poseidon.

There is Martin, a golden star who used to tremble with fear. 
Pog has helped Martin to find peace. 
They both help Woman to sleep.

There are Campfire Stewards, Unicorn, Winged Fabio, Eagle and Raven. 
And two of the most beloveds of the woman, Whale and Elephant. 
And there is a giant tree where the Campfire Stewards have built treehouses.
From a different decade there is Nanna, the girl, Sally the horse, Tender the aged steward, and Giant John the gardener.

All the Insiders love to dance as Woman listens to dancing music. 

How silly for a woman in her mid 60s to count inanimates as friends, treat them kindly, talk with them and feel them talk back. 
Similar to the trees who hold her and cradle her and let her know how much they love her and how happy they are to see her. 
She has been known to break into shadow dancing, the sun behind her back as she dances with Tree. 

Truth be told, it's not silly at all...
It is survival...

*~*~
The Village, 2022
It has since grown...

December 31, 2023

Rolling by...

Yesterday I was driving home from my daughter's and needed to potty. Parks are my regular go-to for potty breaks, if I find a park in time. Thing is, around here, once the seasons have turned cold, park bathrooms are usually locked. Often a port-a-john or two are placed at the park since bathrooms are locked. But that's not always the case. 
(Like the time in Damascus, VA, when I had to go bad. I got to the park, grabbed some tissue in case there wasn't any in the bathroom or in case the bathroom was locked. It was locked. I saw a bridge that is part of the Creeper Trail. It had a good enough cover. I've had enough practice peeing in public covert places.)

I pulled into the park; it is a huge park. One I'd never visited before. I drove around looking for a port-a-john. I saw a couple buildings that probably had bathrooms, but would they be locked? It wasn't worth getting out of Edward the Explorer to find out.

Some walkers were near one the playgrounds. I stopped and rolled down my window, "Hi. Do y'all happen to know where there might be a bathroom or port-a-john?" 

"We wish," responded one couple. 

Then a man standing near the couple came over, "If you drive down to the Field of Honor, there's a building there with bathrooms."

"Thank you! Happy New Year!" I responded. But I was thinking, Will it be unlocked? *sigh*

I drive around that parking lot out to the park road and follow the signs to the Field of Honor, scanning the woods for places to relieve myself if the building is locked. Maybe, since the Field of Honor is a military memorial, maybe the bathrooms stay open all the time.

I find the Field, its USA flags flying high blowing in the breeze. I drive looking for a building. I see one. It's right near the handicap parking. I pull into the handicap space and sit for a moment in Edward. I see two people walk out of the building. 

Yay! They're open.

I make my way as quickly as possible to the relief station. A ways across a field (but not the Field of Honor) a gathering of maybe 100 people are celebrating. Music is streaming through the speakers. Kids are playing pick-up soccer. Food is being grilled. 

I asked a lady in the bathroom what they were celebrating. She responded with a smile and Latino accent, "Pre-New Year's Eve!" 

After I walk out of the bathroom, a soccer ball comes my way. It makes me smile. I gently kick it a few yards back into the field. A young person runs over to get it. We exchange a couple dance moves to the music, and I ask, "Where is the dancing?" The young man points over to the shelter where folks are gathered. 

I can't see anyone dancing. It's a bit of a walk. But I have my trekking poles and the sun is shining. Why not? I ask myself. I could use some exercise.

It was a blast!!! I ended up dancing my heart out to two different Latino songs. (I can dance more easily than I can walk.) There were only about 10 of us dancing. The folks then invited me to join in on some grilled chicken. But I still had a 40-minute drive to get home. I was going the back way to avoid the ZOOMING interstate. I had driven to my daughter's place via the interstate, and that was enough interstate for me for one day. 

I so desire to get back to living life again.
To roaming the woods and mountains and meeting trail folk.

On the way home, on the back roads which I love to drive, a quieter-than-a-thought whispered as tears welled in my eyes... 
I'm gonna ride again...
("Ride again" refers to my bicycle.)

I don't make New Year's resolutions... 
But I have a new mantra for 2024...
I'm gonna ride again... 


One of my new favorite songs by the band Mipso...