Through the Struggle

Little by little, I am getting "it" all back.  All of me.  

It wasn't long ago that my days felt like an endless tick of hours that were spent only doing the necessary things like tending to the kids (lots of taxiing), work, eating, cooking and enough cleaning and tidying to get by. The next day meant a repeat of the day before. Then, I didn't realize that perhaps I had lost myself.  At the time, it was what it was. 

The shift in my thinking and patterns began with walking.  This past spring my dear neighbor Nicole and I would walk several times a week after supper.  It began in the coolness of early spring with empty sidewalks.  By the time she started a new job and I began to walk alone, the sidewalks were clogged with tourists who tended  to walk side by side or stop suddenly unaware that there was a stream of people behind trying to navigate a space much too narrow for crowds.  Nonetheless, I made it a challenge to maintain my pace and dodge around people without knocking them down or sending myself off-balance. This became a playful ritual; I would find myself laughing out-loud at the sheer joy and craziness of the scene. Taking several long walks each day afforded varying place and energy.  Walking in town and on the shore path where the sea pounds the shore or empties itself on schedule was energizing. On the other hand, hiking into Acadia and into the woods was quiet and calming where I seldom met people and I spent much time in my head; figuring things out.

All summer, I struggled to get my footing.  There was a deep core of myself that was grieving; deeply sad and unhappy despite the bounties around me.  Each work day, I packed two salads, some fruit and water and met my husband for a picnic lunch.  We ate on the shore.  We breathed in each other's presence.  Some days we were silent, but content.  Other days we chatted between forkfuls.  I trusted that walking, making deep connections with my husband and preparing healthy foods was what I needed to heal whatever needed healing.. 

My interest in regaining myself and becoming healthier ignited my former need to spend hours in the kitchen preparing food, trying new recipes and critiquing each bite.  Food nourished my curiosity about vegan cuisine as a way of supplementing an already healthy diet.  This satisfied my need to express myself creatively.  Despite the fact that I yearned to read books and sit and write, I couldn't.  I remained restless and uneasy.  I had to trust that little by little and overtime, I would feel better.

To this day, I don't quite understand my struggle.  Maybe it is not for me to figure out and analyze, but to just accept.  My days remain full taking care of myself physically and emotionally.  It's funny I measure my health not so much on the scale as I do with my ability to be at home in my own skin, inside my own head. I needed to go through struggles (whatever they were) to land where I am presently.  For now, today I feel happier.  I feel grounded. I am grateful.  

Coming Home

When you are going through the terrible twos, adolescence is certainly not on your mind.  However moments, weeks, and months during the stage of adolescence has occasionally sent me to the brink of wanting out. Give me a room of two year olds and I'm good.   It is understandable why some mothers  abandon their children for a time.   For me, a walk in the woods for an hour tends to revive my spirit.  

The anticipation has been building for a few months since I made the plane reservation.  After being away at college since August, one of my teens is returning home to his family, his home in Maine.  Adventurous, he wanted to experience another part of the country and never come home again.  Yet after these months away he admits he misses us.  He admits he misses Maine.  

Those trying years never prepared me for the ache that I would feel in his absence.  Tomorrow my boy is coming home.  That is all I can think about.  I may just not sleep tonight anticipating his return home.  His stay here will be for over a month-not long enough for me.  

Twilight

Early morning. The words flow onto the page. My editor is still snoozing.

My friend Kimberley has been practicing early morning writing for more than a year .  Every day. She read that one author describes the time as twilight; when the writer is half asleep, half awake. The premise is that hopping out of bed and writing before rubbing the sleepy seeds from your eyes promises the words to come easily. 

Here I am. Early morning and it is still dark. Things are not going as I planned. Every light in the house is on. The weatherman blares-clouds expand...cool...slippery spots. My husband sitting nearby on the couch lifts his coffee mug and takes a sip. I hear the slight smack of satisfaction with each taste. I am not alone with my words. My purring kitty slowly creeps across my chest looking for love. She becomes an obstacle between me and the keyboard. The dog jumps up and also leans in from the opposite side pressing against my leg. I am not alone as planned, yet the words still come.

It must be the magic of twilight. I am not alone, yet it is a perfect time to write.

The Importance of Persistence

When my kids were young chasing chickens and playing ball in the field, expressing myself creatively was a thin thread that I was able to grasp only now and again.  Journals holding vignettes and conversations I was sure that I would never forget, journals venting the ups and downs of building a marriage, a family and a home are in drawers, on shelves and in closets, seldom were completed.  Those years were both rewarding and trying.  I think that in the attempt to balance everyone's needs including my own  took the most energy.  Some days  I felt incomplete, yearning to create and express myself.  I would read about mothers/writers who rose at three or four in the morning to write high up in attics or at the kitchen table.  But, that is not me.  It is a bit too extreme for someone who is sleep sensitive to try. (Just ask my husband, I require 7-8 hours of sleep or I am beyond grouchy.) Recently I have committed to rise a bit early (maybe I will need to set an alarm) each morning and write.  It has been three mornings so far and the pesky itchiness to create has been relieved.   My blog is ever so grateful, I just know it.  The trick is to sustain. Persist. It's funny, I talk grit and and the importance of persistence with my students all the time.  These are key elements to success as a writer. Inner wisdom; sometimes I just don't listen, but I'm learning. 

Save the Teeth

It is three in the morning.  I'm roused from sleep thinking about dentists, the cost and inefficiency of dental insurance and the state of my mouth.  You see, I have an appointment with a specialist for a root canal in mid-January.  There are many opportunities for sleepless nights between now and then.  Yes I have some regrets.  I distinctly remember my mother would sweetly remind me as an eight year old to brush my teeth.  Early rebellion.  Delayed misery.  I don't think dental floss was invented yet.

Growing up I loved going to the dentist.  Dr. Petrin who had a gaggle of children in his own house was adept at making each appointment fun liberally blowing air here and there to incite laughter in his young patient.  My father would sometimes come along and visit with Mr. Petrin, the dentist dad.  It was a place where I felt safe despite the smells and sounds and I could get Chiclets gum after the exam.

Come adulthood.  I am terrified.  Hence the three a.m. wake up call.  Now, local dentists tend to farm patients out to specialists.   They don't know my mouth.  They don't know my history beyond what's on paper.  They don't that it took weeks to stir up enough courage to call the dentist on a Friday and the office was closed.  My second attempt, weeks later in a moment of strength was made on the eve of a holiday-closed again.   The appointment should have happened months ago.  They don't know of my sleepless nights. My TMJ... They don't know.  This root canal guy could only talk root canal.  He did not talk other options, cost or anything.  Ugh.  Each office is a sequence of terror.

Just before bed (bad idea), I read an article about the connection between breast cancer and root canals.  While I don't believe everything I read, it makes me think and I ain't smiling.  Clearly, I am in a fix.  

OK young ones.  Listen to your mother.  Brush your teeth.  You will save yourself some sleep...and likely your teeth. 

My attempt this morning was thwarted, after all!

Lessons From My Dog

Outside a foggy haze has draped itself allowing a pink smudge of light.  It is that light that I count on however dim as I sipped my latte foaming with almond milk and establish a new morning routine as I write.  The house is quiet.  I swear I can hear the flames flicker from the wood stove.  I have stirred the dog into wanting to begin his day.  I let him out and soon he barks to come in. Anticipating his routine, I expect that Rex will jump onto my lap, then I will have to juggle the computer and an oversized dog onto my lap at the same time.  It doesn't happen.  Instead he goes back to bed where he can rest his head on the pillow pretending to be human.

For the past five months, I have inched my way toward health.  A champion at losing and gaining weight again and again.  Edging toward 60, I am determined to make these changes take hold.  Daily long walks in the thick of the forest or  along the ever-changing sea sustain me on this journey.  This morning my goal was to wake early between darkness and dawn and write.  One more habit to make me whole.  

It turns out, I can learn from Rex who has a  predictable routine, but not always.  He has a gentle predictability that can run off course now and again like on this easy Sunday morning. That is O.K.  Tomorrow morning a week day with a certainty, Rex will be on my lap while I steady a computer atop the both of us and write.  Thinking about this makes me happy.

I have learned a lot from Rex.  

A Recipe

Do we really have to listen to a major news broadcast and then PBS too? 

There is much suffering. I know. Do I have to be reminded everyday? I pray. I reflect. I realize that some of my life is not congruent to my spiritual philosophy, but it is a process right? Discipline. Goals. Goals? My goals in the last 5 months have been to learn to be gentle with myself, eat right and walk. Take long walks along the sea. Take walks brushing against evergreens and breathe in the earth. Breathe and surround myself in all that is positive and good in this life. Otherwise....I will crumble under the weight of sorrow. What good would I be then? Surely a recipe for resiliency in tough times.