Lessons Learned from Exhaustion

    ex·haus·tion

iɡˈzôsCH(ə)n/

noun

1. 1. 

   a state of extreme physical or mental fatigue. 

   2.  the action or state of being used up completely.

     Like I really needed a dictionary for this one. But it's been my experience that when life sends the same lesson around more than twice, I should probably take note and dig deeper into the core of the matter.
     When I think of exhaustion, I think in two forms: physical and mental.
     To the former: there's exhaustion from moving furniture; selling a condo; running a business. There's exhaustion from day to day maintenance of things like houses, gardens and critters. In short, there's exhaustion in simply keeping up with life. No matter how much you love all these things, there's an expenditure of energy that goes along with the formula, that if not allowed for and treated properly, can deplete you if you don't pay attention.
     But then there's a deeper exhaustion.
     The kind that comes from caring for others and feeling helpless when they suffer. There is an exhaustion that comes from empathizing, not only with the pain of that loved one, but an extension of that care goes likewise to those who've been caregiving up close.
     And then there's the exhaustion of sheer loss.
     Physical or mental, exhaustion is exhaustion, and in my book, not something to treat lightly...If it's physical, our bodies will often slow us down, but if mental, that demands a whole new tact, as this state of emotion is not a mental visitor I want to overstay its welcome.  As Americans, I think we pride ourselves in our exhaustion. We wear it as a badge of honor, as if to say "Look how hard I'm working. My life has value. Just see how tired I am." But this is not a badge to strive for...not a word I want synonymous with my name. Not an energy I want to be known for.
     To my way of thinking, exhaustion is a lens through which we view life...and if we're not careful, it can become our lives, and I'm convinced, if not yanked up by the roots, it can take over our the garden of our lives like crabgrass run amuck.  I for one want to pluck it when I spot it...Pull out the exhaustion herbicide and say "Not in MY garden you don't!" My garden has a greater purpose than this. I will NOT let exhaustion take over the rows I've just hoed to make room for things vibrant and life sustaining."
     Having recently faced a series of challenges within a fairly short window, I've finally decided to stop and listen to my exhaustion...to literally ask it "Why are you here?" For if I'm honest, I have to admit as one who lives to create,  I've now come to recognize, I've left very little space in between projects for life to be...life.
     No doubt, my last two weeks have been doozies. I've spent way too much time in hospitals, stayed up way too late on deep phone conversation. I've prayed at the bedside of transitioning friends, and been there to share in the pain of saying goodbye with those likewise feeling the loss.  I've closed a chapter of my life lived in the city, and suspect I'll forever hate the tedium of taxes. But in the end, while exhaustion, may be unavoidable, how I dance with it is my choice. I can decide to keep going at the pace I tend to do things and hope for a different outcome (age old definition of insanity), or I can embrace exhaustion for the gift it brings and say  "Ok. Body, mind, life...Teach me how to do this better....or at least show me how to pace my life so as to make room for the sad times as well as the glad."
     I do not have any one answer for how to properly address exhaustion, save to say time and space are our friends, and meditation has been a ritual I shall no longer ignore. Throwing myself rapidly into another project is habit for me...It's my drug of choice. If I can redirect my thinking, shift my focus and energy, I have up till now, usually been able to distract myself from the pain of the losses...convincing myself that the energy once again, is going somewhere positive.
     But if I'm honest, I must admit that's a temporary fix. For friends loved deeply, life experiences lived richly turn to memories cherished fervently, and this is a good thing. I wouldn't take anything for it.  Therefore it stands to reason that life lived richly will make for losses felt deeply. And this is not a bad thing. In truth, these things are as much a part of what make us human as the happier times we strive for and tend to prefer.
     So if my body and mind suggest "perhaps a slow down to process this grief you carry" perhaps I should listen. After all, the older I get, the more I'm reminded, I'm in charge of very little, save for the way I interpret the experience, and the choices I make going forward.

No more death, no pain, nor fears...

For there is no night there...

One death too many this week.

I miss my blog. I miss my life.

Rallying to regain my emotional footing...
Until then, I offer this song stuck like an ear worm in my head...

1. In the land of fadeless day
   Lies the city foursquare;
   It shall never pass away,
   And there is no night there.
   • Refrain:
     God shall wipe away all tears,
     There’s no death, no pain, nor fears,
     And they count not time by years,
     For there is no night there.
2. All the gates of pearl are made,
   In the city foursquare;
   All the streets with gold are laid,
   And there is no night there.
3. All the gates shall never close
   To the city foursquare;
   There life’s crystal river flows,
   And there is no night there.
4. There they need no sunshine bright,
   In that city foursquare;
   For the Lamb is all the light,
   And there is no night there.

Too Much Stuff!

   

     While my "21 Days to Minimalist Living" was a total bust, I must confess that a basement crammed with enough belongings to furnish a small village isn't the answer either.... How one little person could accumulate so much "stuff" in such a short life is beyond me.
     I gifted myself the weekend not to think about it. The junk will still be there tomorrow.
     What I can say is there's a momentum that happens when you clear out space (for me personally, I closed on a condo, chalk full of additional belongings I kept distancing and distancing from until one day: It's a jailbreak!  As city overnight stays gave way to the heart tugs of goats back home and gardens symbolizing a far more peaceful life back in the country), all I can say is there is something to be said for unblocking energies when one finally makes the decision consciously to simplify, even downscale, after years of equating material possessions with success or (God forbid) peace of mind.
     Wisdom must come with age for I'm honestly starting to get that whole Einstein /E=MC2 equation, as it dawns on me that matter really is energy, and at this stage of my life, give me energy any day. Ironic to discover that the less I trip over (literally) the more peaceful my daily flow of life and energy. The less to maintain, the more time for doing, or better yet, Being. The thought of redirecting newly released thoughts and energies toward causes and people I love ...Well, let's just say, I find myself stuck in internal debate between "Is this a trick question?" and "OK Evins. What took you so long?"
     The real trick is to not abhor the vacuum ... while it's a new love, the fact that I'm discovering I love space more than material stuff may just be the love of my life I've been waiting for.
     I will say this: It's sure as heck easier to buy things than to sell them... the concept of liquifying seems a swimmingly good idea as I think everybody's life could use a little more flow and a lot less clog in their veins. (Then again, maybe that's just me...I'll report back when I know more.)
 

A Week of Goodbyes

   
 

      Been away from pen and pad this week...An odd feeling for one who writes for a living. I feel as if I've come back from a foreign country. Nothing about this week was routine. Why it unfolded as it did has me reflecting still.
     Some life events demand that you simply be...as in fully present...as in doing less, releasing more. This was a week of those lessons, again and again.
    Goodbyes are tough on a good day. But to have three deeply emotional farewells in one week is rough on anyone...perhaps doubly so for the hopelessly sentimental...for a girl who adds meaning to the most banal of things.
     But nothing about this week was banal. Nothing trivial. Nothing trite. Rather than try to control it, I had no choice but to dance with it and accept it, and am no worse for the wear, though it has made for a lot of soul searching and contemplation about this thing called life. If I didn't know better, I would say that the moral of the story is to be prepared to let go at all times. For truly, anything I thought I must keep, control or otherwise possess, life has taught me this week, releasing is the only way to cope.
     From praying at the bedside of a cancer-ridden friend, to preparing meals for a bed-ridden mother, the first thing I'm grasping is that bodies aren't forever...not theirs, not mine, not any of ours.

Beautiful Lily

     And while it took 3 days, 4 friends and some (literal) blood, sweat and tears, homes aren't forever either. Saying goodbye to my last tie to Nashville was bittersweet, though the freedom it now affords me to focus entirely on farm living is a blessing to replace the sadness as more focused energies slowly replace the scattered ones.
     And then there was Lily.
     For reasons I can only attribute to God's timing, Lily appeared on my scene a week ago when someone reached out saying "This Pyr needs a home." My home was not the forever solution; I knew that going in. And as much as I knew a week of juggling a new pup only to kiss it goodbye would be tough, I chose to do it anyway because something in my heart said I should. While logic said, "This is not a good week." My gut begged otherwise, and so I gave in.
     It all began last Saturday morning when an early morning check of Facebook netted me that all too familiar sad moment when someone you know loses a pet. In this case it was Tina, my producer from Channel 4 days who I'd not seen in 20 years, but thanks to Facebook we had now reconnected.

     Like everyone's puppy grown old (15 1/2 years her golden had made it; speaking volumes to the life and love it lived), the expression in Lacy's eyes said it all.  I knew the pain too well from losses past and ones to come. I added my note of sympathy to the litany of others, promising prayers and lit candles...as I paused extra long that morning to hug each of my own.
     It was a busy day here on the farm. Owing to time lost the week before, my workers worked overtime, sewing grass seed and getting things ready for spring. Around 3 o'clock my phone rang.
     "Can you take another Pyr?" another friend I had not seen in years, likewise now FB buddy had  a "teenage" Pyr for a neighbor who was jumping fences to make new friends.
     "I wish I could" I offered. "But it would not be fair to my own. We are just now getting our pecking order in perspective. I think Hix might blow a gasket." (Turns out Hix was not my problem; Rosebud was.) But that the call came on the same day as the morning's loss, I said, "It's a long shot, but let me make a call."
     First off, I know about grieving the loss of a pet. Going from 15 year old dog to new puppy energy is not something I recommend, for I'm a believer we all need that window to grieve our goodbyes. But for reasons more spiritual than logical, I reached out to my friend, now 10 hours away...I had seen just one picture, but something about this dog spoke to me.

     After a bit of catch up on where life finds us now (both farming), I addressed the big question:
     "I know this is soon, yet the fact that this happened today, prompts this call...Do you know much about Pyrs?"
     If nothing else, the conversation was uplifting. Already (site unseen) this angel of a pup had contributed to the healing. An hour and a half later, we left it that Tina would talk with her husband....Take all the time she needed...Make a decision in a week.
     But that didn't solve the Lily problem; for Lily's owner (unbeknownst to me) had likewise adopted Lily, not knowing how much space the breed requires. It was a responsible decision to recognize this was not a sub-division dog, though like everyone who met Lily, the goodbyes would not come easy.
     Rather than risk her going to another miscalculation, ( the size and the needs of a not-quite-grown Pyr are major decisions) I offered to take her. I had hopes for Tina, but I had another friend who (again, same day) had reached out in search of a Pyr to protect the chickens on her farm. While I did not know where Lily would land, I knew she would be loved and I felt I was handed the role for a reason.
     Had someone told me: you're taking on a lively bundle of new-puppy energy mid-move, mid-crises, mid-everything else that transpired this past week, I would've logically agreed, this was not the best timing. But what I didn't know then that I firmly believe now, is that this was this was not about Lily....I think it was more about me. After hospital visits and healthcare decisions for an ailing mom, through tearful evenings and long drives home, this dog just kept looking up at me as if to say "God sent me to you ...said you were running a quart low...thought you might need extra love this week."
     Two days later, I heard from Tina who, overloaded with family matters herself (a husband in chemo and a farm of her own to tend to), perhaps this was not the best time to add in a new addition. I could not disagree. Only the evening I got her message, I was too tired to call back, thus my only reply was "Let's decide this thing tomorrow. I'm calling no shots in this much exhaustion."
     I texted back the next day with a picture of Lily perched perfectly mid move, as if pouring energy into a room whose life force was leaving with each furniture haul... By evening a text "I'm coming for my dog. Please don't let her go."

     The reunion was more than confirmation. Lily not only has a new home, she has a purpose. She has family to love her, and who need her love back; she has donkeys to play with and cats to learn from. What's more she has 7 acres on which to run freely, which for a dog this size is the greatest gift of all.

Love at first sight...A forever moment~

   
     While I miss her dearly, I will forever marvel at the timing of this 4 footed angel who showed up for a week to sustain me. She made lots of friends (though not Rosebud...not Boo). But most of all she made an impression as I learned once again that life is not about owning or controlling, but instead about living in the moment...accepting the gifts handed to you without clutching... and releasing to the universe all that was never intentioned to stay forever in the first place.
   

No Stress Here

   

     I'm told there's a stress chart out there somewhere and you can add up your points to see if you're alive. Things like "death of a spouse" and/or "divorce" usually top it, so I suppose things could be worse. Still and so, I'm pretty certain most people have buckled for less.
     Let's see...
     Last week it was emergency-room-turns-hospital-stay...(with a bleeding ulcer no less; if you're gonna do this thing, let's do it right, that's my motto~)
     This week, my mom's in the hospital, dehydrated from food poisoning...(At least we didn't land there together. I doubt seriously they could've handled us both, but at least we now know all the nurses.)
     I've officially moved from the city...(kept a condo for years, but since raising goats, I seldom get to see it, so this is best...Still, the move came at an unusually busy time.)
 

      Just for grins, we rescued a dog and are fostering till the new owner can get to us. (The stress here is dreading goodbyes. Yes, there's been an additional mouth to feed, and overall newness factor, but the hard part is trying not to bond, emotional exhaustion being the worst kind of tired there is. The good news: Lily's adorable. The bad news: Lily can't stay. Rosebud and Boo don't like her and stressing them stresses me.  Still and so, she's a sweetheart --(a sweetheart with abandonment issues, which means she will not let you out of sight and cries for whoever petted her last. That Lily...Such a good gurrrrrl.)
     Today she will accompany me again as I move the last of my boxes just before meeting with my closing attorney and handing keys over to new owners.
     Oh, and for good measure, you simply MUST lock your keys in your vehicle...Why it wouldn't be a move without those AAA guys~

     But hope springs eternal. Tomorrow's a new day...We'll be paying off the mortgage...Doing that Ramsey debt-free scream and rolling up our sleeves to finish Cookbook 3 and start this year's garden...
     All in a day's work. (It's just been one heck of a long day).
   

Inspiration Shared

     I'm often asked about my church....(not the one I live in, but the place I worship...the faith I hold... the tenets I subscribe to as part of a larger worship experience...)
     Growing up in the South,  I'm the product of a Church of Christ father and Southern Baptist mother (faiths I revere to this day; memories from each, I deeply cherish). Today I practice a faith known as Religious Science, wherein affirmative prayer is central, faith and belief are key and walking your talk is the best way to inspire others if inspiring is your thing.
     I'm not the type to brow beat, nor do I insist you believe as I do, though it has been my personal experience and observation that if your faith is working for you, people will know it simply by the way you live your life (i.e. no pamphlets necessary).  Recently I've been a tad more vocal about things of a spiritual nature owing to some very close friends undergoing some seriously trying times, for which prayers (if you're the praying type) are the kindest gift you can offer, so I've openly asked.
     I believe we all need reminding...A little inspiration can go a long way in the day to day of this earthly, worldly life, especially on those days when things aren't coming up peaches and cream.
     Along those lines I share a message posted by a friend of mine...a video/audio of Dr. Michael Beckwith of the Agape church in LA ~ The music is beautiful if you have the time to hear it. Otherwise, his message starts about 45 minutes in if you want to jump ahead.
     Arrived on a day when I needed to hear it...Perhaps it will prove timely for you as well. (Timing being a God thing, not a human, logic thing...) Blessings~
http://agapelive.com/streaming-archives/wednesday-03-11-2015/#.VQVcXSn4_7W

Sweet Hour of Prayer (Holding JK in this Moment)

   

     I spent yesterday in a courtroom, pouring over pictures of faulty barn construction. With lawyers and workers by my side, and former worker across the room, hours were spent going through receipts and testimony and otherwise critical details for a not-so-critical life event (unless it happens to be you that gets stuck with it).
     It was dark by the time I got home. An errand for my mother, a few hugs for the pups and I collapsed to the sound of rains with a pounding headache.
     This morning I awake and for the first time in a day, check emails to see what's been happening with the rest of my world, when a flurry come regarding a friend (of whom I wrote two days ago) whose day was trying as well. Only her trials didn't involve lawyers. (More like doctors.) Her focus, not on material, worldly concerns, save for the physicality of her own earthly body. Her energy spent on nothing so trivial as faulty barn construction. Her energy is needed for purposes far loftier...Her energy needed purely for life.
     I am reaching back out to friends when the phone rings. The news of a situation intensifying, now surges through the spiritual grapevine of our church family, as folks are asking "What can we do? How can we help?"
     "I've sent you a picture" my friend offers...I took it last fall on a camp out with our church. It's of beautiful JK and precious Colette. I just really like it...You're free to share it. I thought it captured her spirit so beautifully"
     (First, may I say, Blair undersold the capturing thing. My photographer friend has a masterful eye and he did, indeed, capture pure spirit...pure essence on this one.)
     A picture was precisely what I needed this morning. It was a gift, straight from heaven. No room for anything less than perfection in this mental moment. No ICU or hospital gown. I want to hold purely in thought, this woman, this moment in life and all its natural glory, which is what we all know JK to be...even now. ESPECIALLY now.
     To know her is to love her. For those of you who do, here is a picture to go with your prayers...
     With all my heart I believe "when two or more gather" miracles can happen. There is no denying, there is power in prayer. I've seen it happen. I've lived it happening. I'm calling on you to see, feel and know it's happening too...NOW.
     I invite you to join me as we picture JK, just as she is here in perfect health...whole and happy...peaceful ...perfect.
     (Colette we picture you too. These prayers go double for you sweet friend.)
     Knowing God's Spirit enfolds you~
     We are one in this life...one in this moment with you.

(For those who've asked, "What can I do to help, now is the moment. Now is the time. Please pause for a moment of silence. Please hold these dear women in prayer. Please give what you can TODAY.  Our girls need us. Please pray. Please give: http://www.gofundme.com/jkstrongcancergone)

The Silence of Cancer

     I have three friends battling cancer.
     One ovarian. One colon. One leukemia.
     One is married. One has a life partner. One is single. Otherwise they are the same woman, the same personality type, living the same life journey right now, which brings to mind: common denominators.
     Each woman has been a powerhouse, vivaciously active in her church...deeply engaged in causes...passionate about her own life, deeply invested in her family and friends. Each is known for her caring heart...compassionate about those she loves. And those that love her back, love her deeply.
     Each never met a stranger and has often been known to take a few in. Each loves doing for others. Each is the first to recruit, spearhead, launch a cause, and each is known to see any such causes through to the end. Each is a servant at heart.
     Each of these women is known for her giving (and giving, and giving).
     Each is charismatic...a magnet of loving energy; not afraid to speak up, speak out ...speak her mind, especially when it comes to justice and right and all things "fairness" ...especially when it comes to those less fortunate.
     Each has a reputation for reliability and tenacity, professionally, personally....most of all spiritually. Each has a vast network of spiritually-minded friends who have not stopped praying from the time we got the news.

     But oddly, there's another common denominator I'm noticing here of late.
     These once vibrant women, known for giving everything they've got to most anyone who asks, they've had to learn boundaries. They've had to learn "No." Time once given freely is now a precious commodity second only to their energy, which they're likewise learning to preserve.
     While those of us helplessly watching may want an update, a visit, or direction on how we might help, we too must learn patience. In their silence, we grow. We seek answers from their care-givers (who likewise must conserve energy) but now is not necessarily the time...Something as simple as a phone call is costly; energy once easily shared, now must be spared.

     Odd thing about cancer: it packs a silent punch.
   
     Each of my friends is a leader. Their magnetism for recruiting others... their passion for causes, it's contagious. Yet as vocal and visible as these women have been in the past, today each lives a silent existence, encircled by caregivers faced with the uncomfortable task of keeping others at bay as they circle the wagons to help them conserve precious fuel, for their energy once freely given, today must be paced. Their very lives depend on it.
     God bless their caregivers and significant others, no doubt zapped to the max physically, emotionally, spiritually for what they're living each day. These precious jewels that share their homes, their beds, their day to day lives, are now jewels buried deeply within the sands of their own private lives. The energy it took to shine for us, they now need turn inward for themselves.
     I came to know these women through serving. A homeless board here, a charitable trust there. I go to church with a third. They are servants at heart...Glowing gifts to this planet...Angels, sorely needed on earth.
     I can only pray earth hasn't used them up. I pray that for all they have given to others, they are able to give themselves.  My prayer is yes, for them, but selfishly for us. May the silence heal you...for in these moments, you teach and touch us still.
   
   

Mr. Rogers Would've Moved By Now

     I admit, I've always been blessed with good neighbors.

     Even in my city-dwelling days, (with one exception, when one mean neighbor who hated children made the kids on the other side of her walk to the shoulder of a busy highway when coming to visit my goats) I have always been blessed with the best. But tonight's episode of the Perils of Pauline, (her Pyrs and her Pygmies) takes the cake. I believe we have a new winner. Let's see if I can paint you a picture...

    So Ron is the best neighbor ever. (Period. End of story.)

    It has nothing to do with the fact that he has a tractor...or a truck...or a lawnmower...or a seeder. It's not just because he knows more about guns (as does his SWAT officer son) than I'll ever hope to learn. Forget that he knows how to fix a flat, a lawn-mower belt, or smooth out a drive with a scraper. Forget that he repaired my culvert after the rains, and pushed up my topsoil when it wound up downhill. Even if he didn't have attachments galore, even if he didn't dig up (and deliver) his extra monkey grass so I could trim my own flower beds...So what that he has a seeder and spent the weekend spreading fescue seed and clover; never mind his John Deere comes with umpteen attachments, or that he knows how to sharpen tools and replace weed-eater twine. Forget all that. He's just a darn good fella. He'd win the prize even if he didn't have all that other stuff going for him. He's the epitome of a neighbor watching out for a neighbor. (I have a sinking feeling that by now, hearing the words, "Hey Ron, Are you home?" sends a chill down the man's spine. Amazing he even takes my calls anymore, for anymore, the calls grow stranger, and the requests more time-consuming, not to mention they come at the oddest of hours and for the darnedest of reasons, tonight being no exception.)

     So I'm in late from Nashville. My church-hosting duties for Room in the Inn now complete...all that's left of my night is to get the goats in, and tote one more water bucket out for the pups.

     Only the pups don't come running like they usually do..They've got something cornered; they're circling and growling, snarling and howling by the time I hit the gate. 

    "What if it's a coyote?" I think. After all, it's their their job... Why that would be exciting! Whatever it is, it's Hix's prize...(In moments like these someone has to win; not a lot of sharing when it comes to claiming a critter.) One flash of my flashlight and everything's clear: Possum-0/ Hix-1... Only the possum isn't dead. Heck, he's not even faking.

    Instead, he is quaking (poor little thing), literally teetering in shock and trying to escape having been mauled to the brink of death, but not quite to his death, nor does it appear he's about to meet his maker anytime soon. In a word, the little dude is suffering.

     With Rosebud and Tj no longer contenders, the thrill is now gone. Hix sees me coming, and with the attention span of a gnat, comes bolting, tail's a-waggin'just in case I've brought food.

     Meanwhile, the possum is pitifully writhing in pain.

     Regretting the hour, I text the farm hand anyway...(Should I shoot him? Yes, definitely. It's the humane thing to do.) Only I have 4 very large dogs that at any moment could spring back to play time. What's more, it's now late. Loud shooting wouldn't be neighborly, plus it's hard to hold a flashlight and a gun at the same time...What's a girl to do? (I know. Call Ron!)

     He says he was watching a ballgame, but I'm pretty sure he was sleeping. "I'm so very sorry to wake you..." I tell him my saga. The little guy's suffering, and what if I miss?

     "You say it's a coyote?"

     "Uhhh, No. It's a possum."

     (I sense disappointment...Or maybe exasperation. Probably both.) But in true Ron fashion, Ron says, "Ok. Give me a couple.")

     Ever heard the expression "chicken with its head cut off"? Well they should make one for possums, cause after 6 - 8 rounds with his 22, the thing is still moving. Ron says it's reflex. "Trust me it's dead." (We are, after all, at fairly close range.)  But I'm not so sure.

     "Can I shoot it too?"

     "You want to shoot it?" (He looks a tad surprised, but then a slight grin...While earlier debating the matter, I had gone for my Glock, just in case...)

     "I need to know for sure. Plus, might as well practice." (I think I sensed pride, but to my way of thinking, the man had come out for a possum no less. No guts. No glory. Least I could do was learn from the experience, after all, next time Ron might not answer his phone.   

     With rain softly starting, the creature's STILL moving...(his little feet pawing, his tail furling, then unfurling) I take aim, line sites to head...and BOOM! (Probably not a lot of possums packing as much lead as this little guy is tonight, but at least I didn't miss.)

     What I did do was place my left hand in the wrong position, knocking the crap out of my grip...(Same hand that had an IV drip in 2 days ago; it's pretty much a sea of purple, reds and blues right now, but we got him, dang it. There was definitely no faking for this possum.)

     "I did it!" (It was a combination of emotions actually. No fun straight out killing; on the other hand, it was definitely out of its misery.)

     Ron tosses the carcass; I tend to my hand... my mind now debating: Casserole or pot pie? Homemade bread or scratch cake? What does one bake for a deed such as this? 

     After all, it's not every neighbor who'll get out in the rain, kill your possum for you, then allow you to kill your possum all over again for good measure just to add to your late night target training.

     Then again, around here, it's just another day (or night) in the neighborhood.

     

     

     

A Letter to A Friend

     If you've ever been through something traumatic, you've probably experienced the whole "I'd rather not repeat this story again" routine, so for the sake of time and energy, I am taking the liberty of sharing "A Letter to A Friend" written shortly after a brief hospital stay that encompassed my own NDE. (I didn't see a bright light, but I did face my own mortality, thus I share.)
     Lest this come across as trite, it was anything but...And while I can look back on it now and say "Thank God I dodged a bullet" in truth, I DO thank God, not simply for sparing my life (for it is my belief that life continues with or without a body), but for once again, lending that all too important ingredient of "perspective" that I think all of us secretly, sorely long for...

              (To my friend who reads my blog, you've already read this once, so skip ahead...Tomorrow's a new day.)

Dearest ___,

Been meaning to sit down and write for awhile, but as with our phone calls, so go our missives. (Some people you don't just "jot a note" to...right?)

For the past 3 days I've been in the hospital. How I got there is a story unto itself, but like Mary*, I got a good dose of silence.  Several times tonight I've awakened, to see the moon through my stain glass window and I start thanking God all over again, thinking "I'm HOME! Thank you God, I'm HOME!" I hear Minsky snoring next to me. I can walk down steps and throw myself on my big white Rosey dog...I don't think I was taking any of this for granted before, but they certainly take on all new depths of meaning now.

(*I am presently reading and re-reading the Gospel of Mary; a book voted out of the Bible by no doubt, well-intentioned men. If anyone had a friend in Jesus, it was this woman, thus her perspective is to me, worthy of intense study...how she dealt with his bodily departure from this planet, much less the pain and anguish she witnessed, is worthy of many a dissertation. AJ be warned.) 

The (hospital) stay itself wasn't bad. Because of the snow it was unusually quiet; when I checked myself in (at my dr's advice--go straight to ER), I was the only one there. I got in rather quickly. The techs and even administrators were peaceful (hoping to go home early I'm sure; I got there just before it all hit). My only bobble (to this point anyway) was with the CAT scan. I've never been one to get claustrophobic, but this time I did...Had more to do with the dyes they ran through my veins than anything. I nearly threw up and it triggered a panic attack, but once out (as they're looking at me like: "Go easy with the crazy girl") all was ok. I really do have such a tremendous respect for what those people have to do everyday.

Much as I begged "Please don't admit me. Check me out. Send me home. I've got a Jeep. I can drive through the snow and be back at the dr's office first thing tomorrow, after all, he's not gonna have time for me today anyway" Just make sure I'm not about to die or anything, then we can plan a scope tomorrow...

But they said uh-uh. No way.

I had lost way too much blood (which is what sent me there in the first place). They slapped that little band on my arm so fast it made my head swim. And then they slapped a second one to start cross checking blood types and donor bases.

I just kept thinking "But I'm not in pain...How serious could this be?"  Turns out that non-pain thing... BIG gift. But it has precious little to do with the overall of if you're going or staying on the planet. Matter of fact, it can be downright misleading.

Bottom line, I've been asking God for more depth, more meaning...to understand at all new levels the reasons for the lessons and the overall of this thing called life...Well, times like these sharpen your focus quicker than anything. Not that any of us sit around asking for painful lessons, but once in them, better yet through them...on the other side of them (be it this side or that) there's depth alright... Gives life a whole new meaning.

Even as I write, I stop to love on Minsky. I smile as Boo swooshes his tail around his bowl. I set my water glass down and throw my body on top of Rosey...These tiny things ...They are me. They are my life. Not the life everyone sees (save for the occasional blog reference). But I do these things 1000 times a day. May I never take a single time for granted...ever. Never again.

Furthermore, you know what kept me sane while IN the hospital? The fact that I had, just a few short weeks ago, sold a bit of gold and set the money aside for a farm hand to come a day or two a week. (OK. Let me back up...GOD kept me sane, but here's what God did for my monkey brain that helped)...Much as it PAINED me to think about my critters back home (AND during a blizzard, no less) I knew One person knew what to do...and WOULD!

Same person drove me TO the hospital. (I know. I have many who would; heck, I could've driven myself. I wasn't in pain. I was just low on blood.) But that same person was on hand, AND that same person kept saying "Don't worry. Got it covered. Don't worry." And because I knew he KNEW all my routines with the animals (when I feed them, what they like, be sure and count before closing them in at night) I was afforded a lot more peace.

It's the book I've been saying I was going to write...Well, consider it started.

Single folks in particular (though ALL folks really...for there are a lot of couples out there who are singles simply cohabiting...otherwise, total strangers) ...We need to know there's someone who could run our gauntlet....do our chores...Make sure our library books get returned...That sort of thing. 

More on this later...

Right now, my heart is so full of gratitude for being home...for my doctor...for Mary, my nurse...for my little goats who jumped on my back when I knelt down to hug them...for my helper who came for me before I even called...There's a long, long list. You're on it too~big time.

As with my garden, so with my life...What am I learning that might benefit others ? If it saves time, adds insight, offers help...Go fish. Any card from my hand, I'm game for sharing...

I share all this simply to say there's more behind the smile than most will ever know. Honestly, as I watched them put (what they called) the Michael Jackson drug into my veins, I knew "whatever happens after this is going to change my life forever." I'm sorry to say, I imagined that would be a fatal diagnosis. (Honestly, for the amount of blood I'd flushed down my toilet, I didn't see how it could be anything but...I'm ashamed of how poor my faith was in that moment. The good news is, I didn't care about me so much as I worried for my critters.) 

When I came to, the doctor asked, "Is anyone with you?" I asked "Why?" He said, because you're groggy and most folks usually have someone to take notes. I said "I'll take my own notes. I'm awake." (Thinking to myself, if it's bad, I don't want anyone knowing anyway. My mother will shudder to read this, but honestly, she was the last person I wanted or needed worrying.)  Not to say it's not serious, but it wasn't cancer (oddly, that's the only thought you're thinking at a time like this) ...He explained the blockage...What had probably happened....At that point I heard precious little more and will take more notes when I go back in another week....My mind was too wrapped around ThankYouGodThankYouGodThankYouGodThankYouGod.... The rest was like that Farside cartoon of what dogs hear ..."BlahblahblahGINGER!"  (Priceless timing...Literally as I type this, Minka's chasing a bunny in her dreams~ I stop to pet her and her whimpers turn to deep snores :) How precious is that?)

About as precious as me being home writing my dear friend to say Let's talk through our plans...Not in morbid ways, but in everyday, "The cat loves it when I do this" ways....

These physical bodies aren't the answer...The Spirit that rushes through them...that animates them...THAT's the answer...

Mine blew a gasket this week (my body, that is)...A serious hole we're working to patch. But the fact that it appears (from this vantage point anyway) as something "patchable" speaks to me. It says, "Don't take this for granted. Take it as a sign that whatever it is you THINK you are here to do, get busy girl! DO IT. Snip! Snip! Time's a-wastin' ~)

Meanwhile, my waking thought is

Thank you God for sparing me the drama... 

(Thank you God for sparing me period.) 

Thank you God for adding yet more meaning 

Thank you God for a new pass at another day 

Thank you God for gentle reminders to get going with ideas on the sidelines

Thank you God for souls like this one to share such thoughts with.

Love you dearly~

Talk soon/See you soon~

There's No Place Like Home. There's No Place Like Home.

    While lacking the slippers  (and a bunch o' the zeal)
    Heartfelt thanks to the doctors and nurses who watched over me at Lebanon's UMC these past 3

 

Sustainable Living: A Saint (Bernard's) Life

     There are some things you can't unsee...Usually when someone says this, it's in reference to something gross or shocking like those strangely dressed people of Walmart, pics and videos for which, circulate regularly on FB.
     But things don't have to be gross to be memorable. Just unusual or out of the ordinary. Sometimes you see something and it just sticks with you. The image gets caught in a loop and buries itself deep in your memory cells. You keep going back to it.
     Such was the case this week when someone sent me a news clip out of Canada regarding an island that is totally self sufficient. Roughly 400 acres, it was detached from the mainland and running totally "off grid" (a concept often talked about, but one you seldom seen done by an entire community, though I predict it's coming). It's a concept that seems to be intriguing to a lot of people these days, of which I am one, so I'm grateful to the friend who forwarded me the story.
     In the case of this island (called Lasqueti, one hour from Vancouver) its residents come in a variety of socio-economic varieties and wound up here for a variety of reasons. Some live more rustic  a life than I'd be ready to sign on for. Others could afford more battery packs; these live in houses complete with electricity and running water. (Note to self: afford more battery back ups before you begin.)
     But the image that stood out most in my mind...the picture that made me go back and watch the piece several times, was this lady who lived with 42 Saint Bernards and 2 kids under 2. As if having an infant and a 2 year old wasn't enough, this lady bred St. Bernards for a living and had kept one pup from every litter. The image of those dogs following her on a walk will forever be etched in my mind. ( I thought 4 Pyrs were a handful.) While the image made me smile (and made me really wanted to go visit for a day) the reality of what that lady must go through each day is the part that really stayed with me.

Rosey, with distance

     For starters, what do they eat? And how does she afford them? The news clip pointed to one small restaurant on the island, and a bunch of folks who grew their own food. It did make reference to a bunch of ferrel sheep that lived there. (I'm guessing the dogs help keep that population down. My guess is they're on their own. I mean, how would you even begin to put down bowls? "Brekfuss" around my place takes a good 45 minutes (granted we have goats in the mix, but they're nothing compared to making sure the big dogs don't get in each others' way).
     We have our routine down to a science. You put Rosey's bowl down first or you're in for a fight. And you sure as heck don't put Rosey's bowl anywhere near a goat's path, cause if they so much as brush past her while she's eating, well, let's just say it's not peaceful. The other three roll much better than Rosey does when it come to food. She's my aggressive eater for sure. Then again, she also birthed 11 puppies awhile back, so it's understandable how weaning and suddenly having to share with well-meaning (though pesky, hungry puppies) did a number on her head. We're all simply mindful when it comes to Rosey and her food.

TJ won't eat until everyone else has been fed.

      I couldn't tell from the clip which dog was alpha, but I did have to laugh at the reporter who marveled that the owner knew them all by name. (That part didn't surprise me. My goats all have names. Once you get to know your critters, even if they're identical in color or markings, they have unique personalities. Though I will have to say, a bunch of those St. Bernards did look a lot a like.)
     My biggest question was "how much time must she spend cleaning her sidewalk?" for when it comes to dogs this size, you aren't talking an average pooper scooper for clean up. (Think "horse".)
     I will say, everyone looked happy, and I really wanted to visit. But knowing precious little about the breed itself, I wound up googling (they are beautiful dogs, great with kids, though known to have terrible slobber problems). Most intriguing find for me, was there's a cross breed combining Pyrs and Saints. They're called a St. Pyrenees and since I already think of mine as this side of heaven, I wonder if there's anyone out there interested in a studly dog named TJ.

     To view the story, just visit:

http://www.trueactivist.com/just-one-hour-from-vancouver-there-is-a-secret-island-where-everyone-lives-completely-off-grid/