Advent

BEHOLD, how lucky I am: an Avent calendar of SHINY ROCKS. HUZZAH. We do love a shiny rock.

Day one: Tiger's eye. Incredibly appropriate, for Reasons. 

Nice. 

The Things We Carry

 Herself speaks.

Offspring the First and her charming husband were in town over the weekend, and we were able to see them briefly for a bit. It was lovely, as always, to see her and her smiling face. Offspring the Third was there as well, and it was reassuring to see him too, as always, and delightful to have the two of them in the same room together. There was an Offspring the Second-shaped hole in the room; I have missed his presence so much, and am trying to walk the line of respecting his independence and freedom, while still wanting to reach out and encourage him to come home for a bit to ease the ache of his absence. 

I don't know when I will have all three of the Offspring together in the same room at the same time again. I try not to think about it. The weight of that unknown future can be a heavy grief for me if I allow it to grow in my heart, but I will not do so. It is important to be glad for the Offspring as they move forward with their unique lives, and not to try to hold them back out of any sort of obligation. 

I will not ask the Offspring to help me carry my own feelings. That would be unfair to them. They should be Free.

Fly, Offspring, fly.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

-Kahlil Gibran, On Children

Legacy

 Herself speaks.

My lovely Daddy left me a small amount of money. It was thoughtful, and kind, and helpful - just like Daddy.  

Because of the way the money was left, I need to take out a little bit of it every year from where it is, and move it elsewhere. It's up to me to figure out what to do with the slice of the money each time. That's surprisingly harder than one might think. Right now, it has very much been on my mind since the end of the year (and money-withdrawal-time) is nigh. 

One the one hand, the sensible thing to do would be to pay off a few debts. Or invest it in another place to save for retirement. Practical. 

On the other hand, though: it's an unexpected gift. I did not have this money in mind when accepting responsibility for debt or for building my retirement plan, so it's somehow free money, if that makes sense. I would like so much to take this gift, to use it in a way to make a difference somewhere, somehow. It's not enough to make a dramatic difference -- we're not remotely talking Bill or Melinda Gates here -- but I could perhaps make a teeny impact for the people who are important to me. 

Daddy was always so generous, and so quiet about it. I only learned in passing about all the ways he financially helped other people, because he never mentioned it. It was always someone else who brought it up -- someone to whom money was more important, or who felt it was necessary to give Daddy  recognition for his acts -- and Daddy always deflected, changed the subject, moved the spotlight elsewhere.

When I think of him, I am reminded of Kahlil Gibran's On Giving: 

There are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;
They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.
Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth.

I remember Daddy, and I want to carry his legacy on, in this small but meaningful way, however I can.

It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give unasked, through understanding;
And to the open-handed the search for one who shall receive is joy greater than giving.

Jewel: My Father's Daughter.

Let Us Try

Every time I have one of those infrequent opportunities to spend concentrated leisure time with one of my Important People, I am very conscious of the rarity both of the moment, and of the feeling of peace that accompanies the occasion. It is not at all often that my brain, so constantly full of Work and Volunteer Commitments and Ordinary Obligations, is able to relax and unwind enough to feel unhurried and at peace. I am so grateful to have had one such opportunity this past weekend, and it was Lovely.

Now, as I sit in limbo in an airport in the pre-dawn hours, I am trying to adjust to the inevitability of re-entering the hustle and bustle of my Ordinary Life, while simultaneously holding on to  the Intangible Joy of the time of the past weekend. I am trying, too, not to let Grief creep in - although I know that is inevitable.  As Kahlil Gibran reminds us in The Prophet, Joy and Sorrow are inseparable:

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

They are, in fact, opposite sides of the same coin:

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

The hardest part, is knowing that Sorrow is necessary, in order to have Joy.

-----

I'll do my best to focus on the mundane for now. I'll go get an overpriced airport snack, continue my DuoLingo streak, and then I'll be boarding the plane back to my desert homeland soon. I will be glad to be back there. Even though I leave a piece of myself behind here. 

We will do our best to move forward, day by day. 

As the French say: Essayons. 

You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place. ― Miriam Adeney

Thirty-fifth

Item one: I recently attended my thirty-fifth college reunion.

It seems absolutely impossible that so much time has passed since I graduated from college. So much water under the bridge. 

I saw my roommates from that time. Such lovely women, so kind and warm and witty and thoughtful. I feel that I am undeserving of them -- why should they be so very kind and warm to me? Who am I? I am nobody. I am History. 

To experience affection from someone, due to shared history and experiences from thirty-five years ago with little contact in the intervening decades, is an odd thing. Yet on the other hand, it felt so natural to me, to want to hug them and spend time with them and be near them. I am extremely fond of them. They are genuinely marvelous people. I appreciate them so much more now, than I did in my youth. 

And to love them is, in a weird little way, to also love the me that I once was, thirty-five years ago. That me does deserve a little love, after all. She was underloved by me back then. 

I do need to see these lovely women more often. I should make it a mission, to let them know how much they mean to me now. Because life is short, and people should know that they are important. 

The world needs a little more love in it. 

Gratitudes

 Herself speaks.

Typically in November, Facebook abounds with a month of postings about gratitudes, in keeping with the Thanksgiving theme of the month.  I did not participate this year, because I am (as is no doubt obvious) still quite mired in my own personal morass. Nevertheless, it occurs to me that if I take a moment here and there to reflect on the things for which I am in fact truly grateful, perhaps I might find a way out of the mental quicksand in which I so often find myself floundering. 

Let's do bullet points:

• Moments of meaningful purpose at work
• A hug that feels both genuine and unrushed (especially because, in this culture of youth and thinness, and in my current state, I feel so very... untouchable)
• Occasions when I can pay a genuine compliment to a stranger
• Undivided attention, and feeling heard
• Being outside, to enjoy trees, animals, nature
• Taking a walk or a hike with good company
• The right words, at the right time: to give them, or to receive them. 

These things seem small, but they are not. At all. As I grow older, the fewer things I want, and the more intangibles I long for. These are the things that are the most important to me. The things that quiet the rage and the grief within me, that bring me momentary tranquility. That lessen The Void. 

I am grateful for the moments of Peace that I can find. And for the people who bring them to me. 

Kindness

 Herself speaks.

The most remarkable thing about Daddy's passing away: the pure kindness from other people.

I couldn't figure out at first why this was somehow so surprising to me. It's not that I expected people to be mean. Perhaps I expected people to be more indifferent? I'm not sure what I was expecting, to be honest. People have reached out to offer condolences, and have said thoughtful and meaningful things. And they don't expect anything from me, as far as I can discern. 

Perhaps that is the strangest part. On the whole, people don't communicate with me, unless they want something from me. So to have someone send an email or a letter solely to express sympathy for my loss, seems very unusual. 

It also brings to mind something that worries me a little bit right now -- I am not particularly able to be giving right now. I am preoccupied, grieving, self-centered. I do not have a lot to offer other people. And there's that teeny little fear way down inside: will the people who are important to me, abandon me because I have so little to give right now? Perhaps this is what Death does: it makes us fear loss more. 

And so I'm grateful for these kindnesses, because they are reassurances that perhaps I do have some value to others, independent of my ability to do anything for other people right now. 

Thank you, kind people. 

Limbo

 The trip to and from Oceanside requires flights with a stopover -- it's very difficult to get directly from the Desert to anywhere else. The trip out to Oceanside was mercifully uneventful. The trip back, however, has been a bit... complex. And is still ongoing. 

The first leg of the flight was fine; the bad weather had not yet arrived in the stopover city.  It blundered in shortly after the plane landed, however, and then things devolved. The three-hour layover was sprinkled liberally with gate change notifications (I think there were ultimately about a dozen); when the intended plane finally arrived, there was further delay while there was "mechanical work" performed. Then decisions were made somewhere, a different plane was identified for use, and a full terminal change was announced. The hopeful passengers moved en masse through the airport, like salmon hopefully swimming upstream: up the escalator, onto the tram, off three stops later in the new terminal. The flow of people slowed and idled at the new gate. As we waited, the giant sign over the gate unexpectedly and unceremoniously changed to CANCELLED. 

Oh, dear.

I wasn't speedy enough in the airline app on my phone to nab the one last available seat on a different flight later that afternoon. The best I could do was accept the rebooked flight the following day (today). Plan B took shape. I had a thoroughly mediocre meal at the airport, figured out a nearby hotel that was neither too expensive nor too seedy, and inwardly marveled at the submachine-gun-toting police officers patrolling the outside of the terminal while I used a rideshare app to arrange transportation to the hotel. I checked in, verified the time for the airport shuttle the next day, found my surprisingly spacious room, and shoved the coffee table in front of the locked door for good measure. Slept like a rock. Exhausted.

It's now the crack of dawn here in limbo-land. Windy, but the rain has left. Dark outside still. 

The new plane doesn't leave until this afternoon, so I am left with ample time. These hours should be well-spent processing the visit to Oceanside, here in the quiet, propped up on fluffy pillows of a king-size bed in a city In Between. Yet it is difficult to do so. There is so much. And so much of the so much is made of ordinary moments: strolling, sitting, Scrabble-ing, talking. It seems almost surreal -- a life briefly stepped into for a few days. (Where does my regular life go during that time? I do not know.) I have been trying to recall all the tiny pieces and affix them somehow in the Oceanside box in my brain. 

Inevitably, as with my last trip to Oceanside several months ago, I encounter in my mental review a minute moment that sticks, larger than life, and encapsulates the visit. The sight of a fish jumping out of the water. The sound of a squirrel rustling in a tree. The scent of the ocean on the breeze. The texture of the handmade blanket adorning the back of a couch. And I try to weave a spell around that moment, to save it for use as a Patronus. The spell must be strong, though, because the moment is strong and will threaten to be overpowering if it is not protected properly. I touch it in memory only for a microsecond here and there, long enough to become used to it without being burned. And the spell becomes complete. 

-----

The ultimate lesson, I think, is to take the magical ordinariness of a visit to Oceanside, and to apply that same lens to review my everyday, regular life. Can I find minuscule moments to form as additional Patronuses, in between the mundane of laundry and grocery shopping and cleaning the rabbits' litter boxes and the eight thousand pieces of paper at work? Can I make the ordinary into something magical every day? Appreciate all of the things -- and all of the people -- in a new way? Make my entire life uniquely enchanted?

Imagine how marvelous that would be.

It's time to try. 

Riches

I arrived home from work yesterday to an embarrassment of riches: four separate unexpected packages for me, in anticipation of my birthday in a few days. 

I'm not worthy! 

I am saving one for my actual birthday, but with encouragement from Offspring the Third (who thoroughly enjoys packages of any kind, even not for him), I opened three of them -- the ones from my siblings.  They included a marvelously humongous plush rabbit. Hilarious. Excellent. 

My siblings are truly wonderful people. I wish I could be more like them. I'll try harder. 

Thirteen

 Thirteen years ago, I arrived. 

Thank you, stalwart readers, for following these meandering, introspective ruminations over the years. I am grateful for your presence.

Onward we go. 

Nice Things

Herself speaks.

"You deserve to have nice things."

I was recently told this. And it surprised me into silence.
Why do I deserve to have nice things?
-----

One of my Facebook ladies - a lovely woman whom I befriended first on AOL eons ago, and then on Facebook - out of the blue sent me the recent plague doctor, for no other reason besides "she thought I needed it".  I was so touched. And you'll recall that another one of my Facebook ladies also sent me a stuffed guinea pig, just because. I am so charmed, and honored, that these women took the time and effort to purchase, wrap and mail delightful things to me. Such kindness. 

Why is there this tiny voice in the back of my head that is critical of my receiving gifts? 

You don't do anything for them, why should they do this for you? 

You don't do enough for other people.

You are thoughtless -- unlike these people.

You don't deserve such kindness.

I don't know where this voice came from, or why it tries to make me feel sad and guilty an inadequate. It needs to be quiet. And perhaps I need to learn how to be grateful without being self-critical. 

I give people gifts because I enjoy doing so. Surely, some other people are the same. 

I'm grateful for kindnesses, even when I don't feel as though I deserve them. 

Little Things

Herself speaks.

I have been feeling completely out of sorts of late. Because coronavirus.

No one I know has yet been infected. Yet worries still abound and float freely, from concern about the impact of 'social distancing' and restrictions related thereto, to concern about the already-significant economic impact; and these are compounded by the knowledge that so many people I know and care about are in higher risk groups, and by a vague panicky feeling about having adequate food (which, of course, we do) and avoiding shopping. I fear the unknown and having additional responsibilities foisted upon me by the situation. I am exhausted from trying to peer into the unknown future. I want to lie down. Or to run away.

And then, this happened: I got home from work this evening, and a household member had done a handful of chores -- emptied and refilled the dishwasher; hand-washed the giant storage container; folded the dishtowels; and run the towels I had left in the washing machine through the wash, and then dried and folded them. It was a balm to my soul: all the small things magically taken off my plate, even if for just an evening. My soul unfolded a bit.

Later we sat outside with a cup of tea and chatted about television shows and this and that. And this delightful normalcy made such a difference. I felt such relief from the seemingly-omnopresent strain of the past few weeks; it washed over me, all the way from my eyebrows down to my toes.

Just when I could not do any more things, the pile of little things was done for me. I could not be more grateful.

Advent

Herself speaks.

I have an Advent calendar this year, for the first time ever. It is a Harry Potter Lego Advent calendar, and it is MAGNIFICENT.

Every day has a new little happiness inside. Some of the days, it's been a challenge to put together the items (see, e.g., Day 4, which was the large snow-covered Christmas tree), because I am not-visually-inclined-to-the-point-of-almost-being-visually-challenged when it comes to rudimentary Lego assembly directions. I persevere, though, and then have the added satisfaction of successfully assembling a wee little figurine. 

I cannot express how delighted I am with this. HUZZAH.

Missed

Yesterday, I ran a couple of errands with Offspring the Third. I had forgotten how his company on errands is enjoyable. We had run errands together over his winter break -- why did that seem so long ago?

And later, while I was working in the kitchen, my phone rang. It was Cherished Friend, who apparently had dialed by accident. We spoke briefly, and I wondered: when was the last time I had heard his voice? It was not that long ago, I know, and yet it seemed ages.

And in the evening, when all three Offspring and Beloved Husband were laughing and joking together, I thought about the last time they were all in the same room -- was it Christmas?

Ordinary life gets in the way of these relaxed moments together.

It is these occasions that remind me of the self-protective mechanisms I have put in place over time: life is easier if I do not think about how much I enjoy their company -- because then I miss them less during their absences. My heart can only bear so much.

There is never enough time with these, my People.

Bless them. I wish All Good Things for them, always.

Four

Herself speaks.

Yesterday on the 7th of December, I thought to myself, it has been four years now since Cherished Friend moved to a different corner of the desert. I checked back here in the blog to see what was written then, to discover that the day I went to his house at the crack of dawn to wave goodbye was, in fact, the 6th of December.

I am glad that the precise day is not fixed in my mind: that tells me that his move was not, in fact, so terrible as to be etched painfully on my mental calendar. I do not dread the anniversary of the day, because it was not an ending, as it could have been.
-----

Maintaining any kind of relationship with another human being, over space and time with sporadic in-person interaction, is not a challenge for the faint of heart. It takes patience, perseverance and effort. An understanding of silence. Communication. Reciprocation. A willingness to try.  Kudos to Cherished Friend, for taking the time to sustain our friendship over the miles and the years.

And more: knowing that he is an inherently solitary individual with a rather Vulcan-like stoicism, I am well aware of what it must cost him. It has no doubt been a challenge, given his temperament, to meet me in the middle the way he has. I am grateful for his efforts. He is a Good Man, and my life is better for his presence.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

-- Kahlil Gibran, On Friendship, The Prophet

Je Me Souviens

Souvenir. (French.) memory, remembrance. 

While contemplating Elderly Three-toothed Dog yesterday evening, my mind wandered to other things and occasions that I miss. It was not a wishing for a return to such times, necessarily; rather, it was nostalgia. Saudade. Hiraeth. Small moments, lost to time.

* School. I loved school: learning new things, and the feeling of success when academics went well. Sometimes, I feel as though school was one of the few things I was truly good at doing.

* That one fuzzy sweater I had in college which, when it was worn, inspired boys to flirt with me.

* The ritual of the liturgy.

* Those Friday evenings in the first few years of marriage, when Beloved Husband would bring me a simple bouquet of flowers that he picked up at one of the subway interchanges during his commute. Though I have never been adept at keeping flowers alive, it was heartwarming to know he thought of me on his way home. 

* The slow, sea-creature-like movement, deep within, of gestating Offspring.

* Family vacations on the road. Beloved Husband would plan the route and the destination, and I would determine the meal plan and carefully pack all of the snacks and toys and entertainment into the trailer.

* Waiting for the next Harry Potter book or movie to be released.

* Tae kwon do. All of it. The physical ability; the sense of camaraderie; the forms and the serenity.

* Companionship while running weekend errands.

* The parts of my former employment that showed me new and fascinating scientific inventions.

* Constitutionals along the walking path.

* Guinea pigs.

All these pieces, come and gone. I should find some new projects and hobbies to fill the voids. What shall I do? We shall see.

Critter

Herself speaks.

Earlier this week, a woman with whom I work brought me this wee critter. She knows that I am overloaded with A Million Different Projects right now, and thought it would cheer me.

It did. Thank you, lovely coworker. 

I confess that I have very mixed feelings when kindnesses are bestowed upon me. My first thought is to feel guilty that I am not the one delivering kindnesses; my second thought is to be concerned that I have let slip some sign that I am not handling all my Many Things as well as I should -- shown some sort of vulnerability -- that has occasioned the kindness, and that I might thus be in some sort of danger by virtue of such a display of vulnerability. There might be some background feelings of I'm not worthy floating in there, too. 

Perhaps one day, I will simply be pleased and grateful, without all the clutter of negative feelings. I look forward to that day. 

A Drive

'Tis a slightly tedious drive betwixt here and there - but it is always worth it to visit Cherished Friend. And if I am lucky, I can catch a glimpse of a lovely sunset along the way home.

A Good Day

Today's agenda:

Achieve some sense of order

To start the new year.

Herself speaks.

Today, I accomplished A Few Things. 

I organized cabinets; scrubbed the stove; repotted a plant; denuded, disassembled, and put away the Christmas tree and all its accoutrements; rearranged the furniture in the front room back to its ordinary, Christmas-tree-less layout; made chili; fixed the vacuum with the help of a screwdriver and a bit of luck; prepared Offspring the Third's favorite lemon chicken; washed, folded, and put away five loads of laundry; cleaned a bathroom; scrubbed Rocky the hamster's habitat; made lunches for tomorrow; prepared a muffin mix for the morning; and made a quick run to the grocery store for additional supplies for the week. I think that's all. 

There are still More Things To Do. Nevertheless, I feel as though I have made a Good Start. And as an added bonus, there was a lovely sunset this evening. 

It was a satisfactory day, indeed.  

Nest

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. - William Blake

-----

While out hiking near the Rio Grande Gorge this past weekend, a stunning bird flew by - a bird so blue, blue like the sky. When I sat at the end of the trail, I saw a bird of prey circle and soar near a cliff wall, and watched its shadow swooping in harmony with it. While I walked back along the path, I thought about the birds, and about birds' nests. And the quote above, as well as the blessing below, came to mind. The friendship nest - such an apt metaphor.  

-----

A Friendship Blessing, from “Anam Cara” - John O’Donohue

May you be blessed with good friends.

May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.
May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and may you be there for them;
May they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.

Picture copyright 2016, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.