Lessons From A Cat

Charlie’s motor is robust when I really listen, the purr much like the sound that comes after a tight winding of a rubber band that sends the propeller whirling.  I’d like to say that Charlie rubbing his head across my face nudging me into affection, is distracting, but it isn’t.  It just makes me multi-task.  Type and smile, type and smile. Charlie is just as quickly off the porch, stepping through the cool green grass.  Julie takes his place-her soft fur brushing against my face, her purr so much louder than Charlie’s, in comparison.  A nudge, then she has hopped off the worktable and rubs against my leg.  Sitting closely, her ears twitch, her eyes ever vigilant for a nearby bird.   It is much too hot for birding.  She plops herself down on the porch with a thud and sprawls out, front paws folded at the joint under her chest.  Grateful for life’s choices: to nap rather than go birding on this hot day, grateful for the close human contact or just plain grateful. Clearly, my cats live in the moment and are content.

 Although, I continue to work during the summer on school responsibilities and tutoring, for the most part I can make my own hours.  I can stroll in the garden and discover new cucumbers, just the size of my thumb.  I have the luxury of roaming through the island early, dropping kids off and picking kids up or weary from little sleep, I can nap.  Gratefully, I have choices.  Like my cats, I can live in the moment and be very content under all conditions.

Worth It

Disclaimer:  My purse is slung over my torso making my girth much wider than it is in reality.

Is my reality, really reality?  Much time is spent pondering this notion.  Is how I am viewed in this world congruent with my thoughts about myself?  I think not. 

“I am really shy,” I admitted to a long-time dear friend.  She burst out laughing, not able to hold the hilarity of that statement within. I am really, really shy, I thought.  

When I was a kid, I remember being pretty confident and sure of myself.  Somehow, somewhere along the way, I have lost this.  Sometimes, I stand on shaky ground. I go through periods of confidence and then it vanishes and I have to fight to wooo it back to where it should reside within.

I see other busy mothers working out at the Y.  They make time to exercise, relieve stress and tune-up their bodies.  I can’t seem to sustain a focus on myself month after month, year after year.  There are too many other bodies I am responsible for nurturing and protecting.  I know, I know that is a cop-out.  This self-care thing has been an elusive goal that I grasp for a year or so at a time, but them I flail about over and over like trying to get the wooden ball attached to a string into the cup.  Impatience gets the best of me.

Writing is one way I take care of myself.  The act is purely spiritual.  I bought myself an orchid, a deep fuchsia-colored orchid.  We both need attention on a regular basis-my orchid and me.  My body, mind and soul need to be revered and nurtured.  My incongruent reality, does it really matter?  My current focus:  I am worth the bother.

All So Real

          As the temperature rises, I head for the porch protected under a canopy of leaves created by an ash tree we planted years ago.  Honestly, I can’t complain a warm breeze brushes against my bare arms and across the back of my neck.  Warm, but somehow cooling as well.  This is the perfect place to write.   My mother loved to be surrounded by greenery and bird song.  Right here, I have both.  In the distance, a dog barks, in rhythmic yaps sounding so much like my husband’s iphone that it prompts me to search each corner, under cushions and beside his beloved tower of library books.  No phone.  It must be a dog.  Chuckling, I recall times I have been initially duped by imposters-fake flowers presenting as real, a pelican statue on the Florida gulf and plastic wood.  It is all in the touch, the eye, the ear (in the case of the phone), that at first, I cannot always decipher authentic from fake reproductions. 

         When I am surrounded by real, my heart quickens and I feel the blood course through my veins.  Pausing, I note this particular moment birds singing some near, some far, yet positioned to create a symphony of sound from all directions.  Rushing out of my daughter’s elementary school, delicate white petals catch my eye along the stair railing.  I bend low to get an eye-level view of the white roses. With each moment that passes, I reposition myself to get an alternate view of the bush, laden heavy with bud.  It’s all so real.

         It is with each morning upon rising, I commune with the living.  Pails weigh on either side as I trudge out to the coop, to greet my hens.  This routine grounds me and awakens me, opens me to the possibilities of this world.  Slowing down and noticing the details of the living fills me with gratitude.  Those details are spiritual and there can be no substitutions.

Erroneous Thinking: (Re)purposeful Living

Despite our nearly thirty-three years of marriage, my husband and I are not good for each other.  We don’t throw anything away.  I tend to re-purpose, but while waiting for functional re-purposing, the stuff has to go someplace.  That someplace is not good.  I do not open the cellar door.  Just imagining the piles of “we might use this someday” stuff, my breathing quickens and my body is stiff unable to move.

On optimistic days I ponder, If I sort through one box a day, by the year 2014 I will be nearly done, I think quietly enough so no one will hear me.  If someone hears me, then I will be committed.

This morning my husband retrieved a big floppy hat to protect me from the sun’s rays.  I vaguely remember owning the hat, yet I do not remember where I got it, a sure sign that I own too much. 

I dream of an empty room, just my own with a few pieces of art for color and pleasure, a  winged-back chair, a cot, a bookshelf lined with my favorites, and an easel with some art supplies neatly tucked away.  Stark, for the most part.  That is only a dream.

Now that brings me to the photo of the teacups.  I visited a sweet little Antique shop in Franklin near camp with my daughter.  The garden displayed the teacups, chipped but repurposed.  I don’t have any teacups.  Perhaps I will have to get some.

Uniting in the Familiar

         Periodically the dog wades into the shallows, mouthing sips of pond water. It is hot, must be in the 90’s. Today is the first day that I swam back and forth to the second buoy approximately one mile.  Cutting through the water flows that flushed warm and cold, I stroke my way toward the marker.  With face in the water, the escape of air bubbles propels me forward, then my head turns to the side and I gulp in one big breath of air.  The same synchronized movements I learned so well years ago during swimming lessons,  I reach with a long right arm, hand cupping water, slowly releasing bubbles, left elbow out of water, turning my head for air. The cool water supports my body as I slip through toward my destination. The rhythm is familiar.   This motion unites my mind, spirit and body as I slice through the water surrounded by wild beauty.  This is just what I need.  There is magic in Donnell’s Pond.

Topsy Turvy

When I was a kid, I would sprawl out on the long, scratchy couch in the living room and instead of dusting, I viewed the world from upside down.  An undetermined amount of time would be spent this way my upper torso bent, my head almost touching the floor, everything topsy-turvy. The same chair or for that matter the same face I had intimately known was unrecognizable with a simple tip of the head.  Yesterday as I lay under the shade of a maple, I watched people walk with my head tipped.  Interestingly, from this perspective movement was halted, jerky not at all fluid when viewed upright. 

Life is complex and can be viewed from various perspectives.  Things are not always as they seem.  I would like to think that I am flexible and open, viewing arguments and decisions from various points.  Yet sometimes, I know I am guilty of rigid thinking.  I have lost that childlike curiosity carefully dissecting the world from varying degrees of experience and vision.  If only I could trust the Universe, just a little more.  My rigid thinking would be gone and I may move about this world with a little less fear.

The Shadow

Honestly, I thought that I would

Excel as always,

Not burden anyone

With

My Grief.

Get over it,

Be done.

I was wrong.

Sneakily

It creeps

Behind me

Surprised,

I look over my right shoulder,

I begin to run,

Hiding behind

My smile,

My laughter

And books,

Piled high,

Peering out tentatively,

I retrace my path.

Expecting to be alone

Yet grief follows,

Always there.

Grief.

A shadow marking my

Path.