![]() Ever had a day where you feel like you're crawling out of your skin? Nothing feels quite right? I don't usually but today I've changed my top four times, finally comfortable with what I've chosen. I've been negligent in checking my blood sugars lately--they never really varied from the norm--but this morning I was going to be home and so could do the pre-meal/fast then check-in two hours later. My first reading was 14 when it's supposed to be between 4-7. That was quite alarming! But accounted for a general feeling of sluggishness. Two hours later, after breakfast, my body had got itself back under control and my reading was 8, within target range. I read up about it on line and figure erratic sleeping patterns due to lack of discipline and midnight shifts have a lot to do with it. I think I'll monitor it more closely in future. Dane called to chat while driving between Sudbury and Kapuskasing for his job but we lost connection twice. He was just checking in. He'll call again when settled in Kapuskasing. Rob and I couldn't decide if we wanted to go out for lunch or not. Finally we decided not. The weather feels cooler which is very welcome, but also unsettled, shifting from sunshine to wind and clouds. I'm itching to make changes in our home, clearing clutter, trying to not let the tasks overwhelm me into immobility which is what usually happens. Little x little = LOTS + LOTS This is my mantra even though the little things sometimes (often) don't get done, little 10 minute tasks which will move everything forward. All change begins with me. I watched Sunday's service from the Centre For Spiritual Living Toronto (where my son-in-law Jonathan used to be the spiritual director) this morning and they played a song which Jonathan and the Queen Street Band used to play: Michael Jackson's "Man in The Mirror" which is all about making changes within yourself. When Jonathan sang it, I listened more closely to the words and gained a stronger appreciation for the message: If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself then make a change. At the beginning of this post, you can see the painting I finished. I had shared its caterpillar/chrysalis stage in my last post about feeling awkward with children and looking to change that. The piece is heavily influenced by Effy Wild's work but I'm pleased with the catch phrase I came up with: To Receive, Radiate. It encompasses everything about being the change you want to see. On a day that started with feeling unsettled, this is another good way to settle back into myself, holding myself with compassion and looking inside to see what I really need to tend to in myself right now. May you feel at peace with yourself today. I wanted to end with this lovely heartwarming song. I'm stealing this idea from my friend, Debbie Metzler, who used to close her weekly radio programme with the same song. I was reminded of this during a shared trip to Winnipeg last week. I love these kind of 'blessing songs' and I wish for you everything in this blessing:
Til We Meet Again (possibly Johnny Reid? Can't find the writer) May the sun shine on your shoulders May luck and love be your friends For now, always, forever; til we meet again May your troubles be few I hope life's good to you May your heart beat steady and strong Yeah I wish you the best May you find happiness Every step of the road you're on May the wind fill your sails through the rain and the hail Carry you safely back home May your journey unfold to a big pot of gold At the end of your way home May the sun shine on your shoulders May luck and love be your friends For now, always, forever; til we meet again May life fill you glass May the memories last Let the whiskey kiss you good night May you wake every day with a smile on your face And the ones that you love by your side May the sun shine on your shoulders May luck and love be your friends For now, always, forever; til we meet again
1 Comment
Kids easily intimidate me. And I seem to scare them. With my grandkids I sometimes see this as a real struggle. They run to their other grandparents, arms flung wide open for hugs and kisses. But they slink back when their parents suggest hugging me too. I try not to take it personally, wonder what I can do. Two things come to mind: allow myself to be open with them, not let the algae film of my past cling to me when I'm with them, and be more involved.
I love all my grandkids dearly. But the truth is other than a couple to one, kids unnerve me and exhaust me. But one on one I'm fine. One on one with no one else around. I can go goga over animals no matter who's around but I tend to feel very wooden and self conscious being so free with children if others are around. I used to babysit. One terrible awful horrible completely yuckky time comes to mind when I was 16 and in college and learning psychology and i was babysitting the kids next door. The kids started to misbehave, really act out, and i felt helpless. Never feel helpless. Never even have a flicker of doubt that you can handle the situation with kids because they sense it and become wild beasts. These two kids ran circles around me, swinging off the drapes, yelling and screaming. I tested psychology: ignore the unwanted behaviour. So I did, as they destroyed the house around me. Eventually I think they exhausted themselves and flopped into bed. It was a night from hell that I had forgotten about until i started to investigate this subject. A year or two before that, in England, I remember my little cousins being forced to kiss and hug me. We all dreaded it. None of us wanted to. They were all snot and drool. I'm pretty sure I wasn't but I sensed their hesitancy and it built up my self doubts. But my aunt Barbra and my Nanna (my paternal grandmother)insisted. Then as my cousin (one in particular, Lynne) was hugging me, my aunt and Nanna said between themselves, "Lynne never has liked her, has she?" "No. I wonder why." In my haste to get it all over and done with, I kissed the tip of Lynne's nose, making it red as Rudolph's from my lipstick. This caused a lot of concern over a cold between Nanna and my aunt. So be it. I said nothing. Since finding out the truth about my birth, I understand now that Barbra and Nanna were often looking for the differences between me and them, often accentuating them. When I was much younger they made me scrub and scrub my teeth to get rid of the yellow, making my very self conscious about them. I later discovered that my teeth were yellowed due to bronchitis medicine I took regularly when very young. Similarly with the Lynne incident. Decades later it all made sense but the damage had been done. Eventually, standing behind bushes at the top of the street, I waited until Barbra's visits were done before I went back to Nanna's for the week (I was living with Nanna and Grandpop for a year before joining Mam and Dad in Canada). At the Westfort Street Fair the other day, my youngest grandchild, Ollie, went running to one of his other grandmas. He fell into her arms while she showered him with kisses. He didn't want to come and hug me even though we had shared a nice hug a few days before. Finally he warily walked towards me sucking his thumb. I embraced him in a tight hug while Carole snapped photos. But Ollie simply stood still, no arms around me. When i released him, he went running back to his dad. "That wasn't a hug, that was a capture!" I laughed. I'll take them how I can get them sometimes. But i would like to be freer with my grandkids. I have less problems now with the oldest ones and i love being in their world and chatting to them. But I still feel a world removed from them all. Obviously something for me to work on, if it's not too late. I have had wonderful relationships and kindred spiritedness with some kids. I know i can do it. Being more involved is huge. Losing self consciousness, too. Towards this effort, I'm working on an art spread. This is the 3rd layer. It's all about radiating love. To have love, be love. May your day be full of love of all sorts. ![]() In her wonderful book, The Great Spring, Natalie Goldberg writes of our interconnection: If we can sit in a cafe breathing, we can breathe through hearing our father's last breath, the slow crack of pain as we realize he's crossing over forever....When a bomb is dropped, it falls through history. No one act, no single life. No disconnected occurrence. I am sipping a root beer in another cafe and the world spins and you pick up a pen, speak, and save another life; this time your own. You can be coasting through a green light on the highway and I can be admiring a gift you gave me years ago. I could be at work alone on a midnight shift and you could be reading this blog. Such little acts weave themselves as nets between us. Invisible nets. We may never speak of them to each other, may never know our invisible affect upon someone else. This realization gives me hope, keeps me persevering in areas of my life which I sometimes feel like abandoning. In our online art witchery class, Moonshine, someone painted sources of support in her life as a checkered pattern illustrating a net. Brilliant. Natalie's words made me think of all the nets of support we build around ourselves, often subconsciously. I have invisible nets in many, many areas of my life: some quite specific, designed to support in designated areas only ie tai chi or painting or co-workers; others very general, designed to support in most areas without boundaries ie friends and family. Who forms your invisible nets? How many do you have? Any you didn't realize or contemplate until now? Dad's recent surgery coincided with reading this section of The Great Spring and made me realize what a strong net of support he has around him. We're so fortunate for that. He has doctors, physiotherapists, friends, neighbours, Sandy and other family. At such a time the net pulls tighter to catch us and we notice the netting, spotting individual strands. Most of the time we are simply aware of something vaguely supporting us...or not aware at all until it's needed. One of my favourite, most memorable quotes that Julia Cameron mentions in The Artists Way is "Leap, and the net will appear" by John Burroughs. Over our decades of friendship, Linda has given me many precious gifts. One that I read and reread and that I find especially comforting is the simple ceramic fridge magnet pictured below. When I read it, I feel loved and protected, secure in my place in the world. I think of my friends, and especially Linda, and send love and white light. We are rarely aware of how much our everyday acts or gifts can affect someone else, of how interconnected we truly are. It can be fascinating to think about it. For me, that's the stuff stories and poems are made of. Although we may think we know for sure how some presents or actions will help someone, we may be surprised by others --like a fridge magnet given as a gift many years ago. "I SHALL PASS THIS WAY BUT ONCE; ANY GOOD THAT I CAN DO OR ANY KINDNESS I CAN SHOW TO ANY HUMAN BEING, LET ME DO IT NOW. LET ME NOT DEFER NOR NEGLECT IT, FOR I SHALL NOT PASS THIS WAY AGAIN.”—Etienne de Grellet *Warning...trigger alert.
"If it wasn't for these dogs, I'd have gone in that garage, turned that car on..." I don't know how many times Dad told me that over the last four years. When he was angry or hurting after Mam died and after I told him I had found out the truth about my birth. At first I was startled that he would threaten to kill himself so openly. But it soon triggered my own startling response: anger. I asked Dad not to lash out with that, told him I was sorry he was feeling that way but when he mentioned killing himself, it brought me to my own dark place: years ago my then-husband went through a deep depression and he threatened to kill himself, telling me exactly what he would do. I tried to get help for him. In the meantime I came home from my evening work and stood at the front door listening for and dreading to hear the sound of running water from the bathroom. I explained all this to Dad in the hope that he would stop his threats. Above all else, I was extremely grateful for the comfort and distraction that his two dogs, Vinnie and Tally gave him and I dreaded anything ever happening to those dogs. When Vinnie died about 9 months after Mam, Tally became Dad's shadow. A little soft-haired, white dog with floppy ears, short legs, a long tail and a sweet expression, Tally was a rescue dog along with Vinnie. They arrived at the Humane Society together from the same home and they left together to live with Mam and Dad. Before Dad got his hearing aids, Tally let him know that the phone was ringing by running to him then running to the phone. Dad took Tally everywhere and everyone knew Tally--tolerant with people but intolerant towards other dogs, people loved her. Dad was a familiar sight each day in all weather walking down Rosslyn Road with Tally trotting by his side on his way to pick up the mail. A man with his cane and his dog walking down the road. People honked and Dad waved with his cane or, if he had time, transferring Tally's lead to his cane hand so he had a hand free to wave. Tally went everywhere in the car. Dad timed all his outings so she would be warm enough or cool enough depending on the season. They played games together. Dad would give Tally one of his gloves after a walk and she would run round and round through the house with it before returning it to him. She snuggled next to him or on his knee and followed him whenever he went outside. After a walk in the rain, Tally would lift each of her paws in succession, even her back paws, so Dad could dry them. When Dad met Sandy, his lady friend, in April, his life changed. And he changed. He drove out to Lake Shebandowan regularly (an hour's drive away) and stayed at Sandy's. Of course Tally always went along even though Sandy's cat had a lot to say about that. Sandy immediately understood the importance of Tally in Dad's life, saying that Tally could go down to Florida to visit in the winter. Tally's welfare was considered in every move Dad made. But Tally began having health issues. Last Wednesday, when I last saw her, she was diagnosed with liver disease but it seemed like she might have had months left. However, she became increasingly disinterested in life and food which was her second biggest love, Dad being her first. My son Dane, who is presently living with Dad, had asked me to let him know if anything happened to Tally as he was going out of town on a business trip this week. He had seen a rapid decline in her and was worried. As it turned out, Dad was out at Sandy's when Tally seemed to "completely shut off from everything." Dad somehow made the drive in to town and to the vets. Sandy followed. And Dad had to put Tally down. He called me at work to tell me through confusion and tears. The world seems a little emptier without Tally, Dad a little more hollow, his house echoingly quiet. But we are all enriched by knowing such a devoted little soul. A little dog with a huge heart who completely embraced her role of faithful companion. I believe that Tally was getting tired, no one knows her real age as she was a mature rescue, and that she realised that her role, while still vital and important, was not as essential any more. Dad had turned a corner in his life and Tally had guided him there, been beside him every step of the way. What more could anyone ask? I wish I could have said goodbye to Tally. I wish I could have thanked her for all she was to me, to everyone, but especially for all she was to Dad. Especially during those times when humans and life itself seemed to fail him. I wish I could have thanked her but as I sit here writing this, finally able to fully cry for her, I have a feeling that she knows. Rest in peace, little one. Your work on earth is done. This morning at the Marina I saw a white-winged crow. Two days ago my uncle in England died. The two things may not be related. But they may be. White-wing crows fascinate me. I didn't know such an anomaly existed until several years ago. After attending the funeral of a young client who died unexpectedly and tragically, I was driving home when I wondered how he, our client, was, if he was at peace. As soon as I wondered that, a bird practically flew into my windscreen, so close that I followed its path, thinking I must have struck it: a crow with a white stripe across each wing. It settled in a pine tree. An intense feeling of deep peace settled over me and I knew that our client was okay. I also believed that he had sent the crow as a sign. I did everything I could to find out more about white-winged crows but found very little. A few years ago, a crow with white-striped wings frequented our bird feeder for a couple of days. Nothing happened. A week later, our neighbour died unexpectedly. The crow I saw this morning, from a distance after I noticed white splotches on the wings of another pecking at grass, had all white wings as it flew. A sign from my uncle? Something yet to come? On a much less mystical note, Rob and I went to see the Magnus play Back to '59 on Saturday night. Dad had been to see it with Sandy. They both really enjoyed it and Rob had seen it when he volunteered at Magnus on Wednesday. As soon as he had finished volunteering that night he said for me to get tickets. The play was full of old songs, the four actors filled with energy for singing, dancing and acting. They launched into one of my all-time favourite songs, The Lion Sleeps Tonight and I could sense Rob getting antsy beside me. Immediately following that, one of the men sang a solo, another of one of my all time favourite songs, Sukiyaki. My heart swelled and I swayed in my seat, tapping my feet. Beside me, Rob was practically bouncing in his seat and finally whispered, "Once I heard that song, I knew you had to come to see the play. " For sure! Those two songs are popular and I have a few versions of each one: my favourite versions of each which I thought I would share here. Hopefully these songs are amongst your favourites, too. The Lion Sleeps Tonight has been a favourite of mine since I was a child, a wonderfully comforting and uplifting song, an African lullaby I believe. Acapella mesmerises me and I totally love The Nylons., a Canadian group. Watching them perform this live was bewitching.
May all your lions be asleep. |
AuthorWelcome! I'm Sue Blott: a writer of all things, a poet at heart, mom, wife, daughter, step-mom, grandma, tea drinker, tai chi-er, mystic, artist, dreamer...and now a blogger! This is my world. Categories |