Nothing like rain

Independence Day is almost upon us, and the corn is mostly not *knee-high by the Fourth of July.*  We drove out west to pick up our daughter from camp in Oregon yesterday (Illinois)(not the western state!), so we got to eyeball the progress of the corn.   It is still too dry for fireworks in a lot of places.  Still... it is amazing what a little rain can do for the spirit when no rain has been forthcoming.  The lawn is already a little greener.  

There is nothing like rain,

When rain has almost

Been forgotten;

Nothing like rain,

When it is almost

Childhood memory,

Puddles and splashes,

Face turned to the sky

Mouth open

To catch the drops;

Eyes peeled for greener grass;

Feet and ankles stretched

To walk there,

Feel the fresh between

The toes.

There is

Nothing like rain.

Reminder of green

I am reminded again that life is always out the other side.  Sometimes it*s the slight green from a few drops of rain.  Sometimes it*s a friend who closes the blinds so I can see, weep my own few tears, find the hint of green on the other side.

Yesterday brought

Those few drops of rain,

Enough to bring the bare reminder

Of green

To the lawn.

The weather is out of whack

For late June.

The hints of life

Require a search

Through Colorado wildfires,

Early hurricanes

In the Gulf.

Yesterday I sat with a friend.

He closed the blinds

So I could see

Through my few tears,

Through

To the ever-present reminder

Of green.

Six more months, at least

There is a possibility I will never drive again.  Third time around, there is a possibility.  It*s not a fluke of some sort.  I figure I*m getting practice in letting go.  Not easy, to be sure, but still... practice.  For at least six more months.

Six more months

At least

To figure how I will get

From here

To there

And back again.

Six more months

To learn the cracks

In the sidewalk,

The shortcut through the bank parking lot

To the drugstore.

Six more months

To learn the company

Of the people

Who live in assisted housing

Next to the train station.

Six more months

To live life smaller,

Realize once again

The things I missed

When I lived larger.

Six more months

At least

To learn the ins and outs,

The loops and whorls of my brain

As individual as a fingerprint.

At least six months.

Filling the fissures with gold

I suspect I will learn to make friends with this odd seizure disorder, to pace things differently, even to learn to fill the cracks with gold.  Third time around it is no longer a fluke, even an every nine month fluke.  I know it will take time to come to terms with this, shake hands, fill the fissures in my brain with gold.

I am more ready now

To honor the fissures

In my brain.

I am not quite ready

To name them beautiful,

Fill them with gold.

Two weeks ago

I stood next to the strawberries

In the supermarket,

I knew I could not drive home.

Third time around I knew

Something more

Something sooner

I paid attention.

This next six months

As I walk

I will learn

Perhaps

To fill the fissures with gold.

I am glad for this week

These are interesting times.  I took this week to begin to work my way back into things, post-third-seizure.  Today was half a workout, and time at church.  Slowly, in bits and pieces, I am figuring things out.  Interesting times, indeed.  I am glad for this week.  I am glad for the gift of time.

I am glad for this week,

To begin to figure the whys and wherefores,

The new ins and outs,

In safe spaces.

I am glad for this time

To listen.

To pay attention

To my brain

As it comes and goes;

To notice what enters in

From outside my head,

Even to notice

What remains

Outside,

What stays alive

On the outskirts.

I am glad for this week,

For today,

Even for this moment.

I am glad

Even as I cannot predict

What will happen

Tomorrow.

Palette

I took this week off to get my bearings back.  It has begun well.  Somehow noticing more green after just a little bit of rain helps me know things are returning a bit to what they were.  This is hopeful.  I am grateful to notice.  Part of the noticing is the realization of a new homonym: palette, pallet, and palate.  Never thought of that one before :D

Today is brighter,

Yet somehow softer.

The tiny bit of rain yesterday

Added green to the palette

Of the browning lawn.

Today the spectrum

Of emotion expands

As well.

I see hope in the possibility

Of relationship

Swelled,

Contrast sprinkled

Into life,

More green in the palette,

More signs of possibility.

Brighter, yes,

Yet somehow

Softer.

Back to the cat

We have much to learn from the animals around us.  A mid-day siesta is not a bad idea.  Not a bad idea at all.

It is back to learning

From the cat.

He is ready

For the midday nap.

Eyes half-mast,

They invite the same

From me.

He tilts his head

For a scratch

Behind the right ear,

Now he tilts the other way,

My hand needs never to move.

Back to learn what I can

From the cat,

Sit in one place

Purr

Half-mast eyes

Anchor myself

Wait for the next thing,

Lucky is coming your way

I figured I was due for a good fortune.

I don*t really believe

In fortune cookies

Except when I*m looking

For good news

Or perhaps

An explanation:

Lucky is coming your way

OK

Lucky is coming your way.

It came with the wonton soup,

Tonight,

The potstickers,

The white sticky rice,

Lucky is coming your way.

I wonder what Lucky

Looks like.

Normal

OK.  This morning I read Dr. Kelly Flanagan*s blog on Life is a Mistake http://drkellyflanagan.com/2012/06/22/life-is-a-mistake-and-so-is-this-title/#comments

Now that I know how this seizure thing goes (third time around), I realize I don*t have to put my life on hold (or even semi-hold) for the time I am not driving.  This time I knew standing next to the vegetables in the grocery store that I needed to call home for a ride.  An hour later the seizure came.  This is progress, though maybe not the ultimate progress I would like.  Still, life continues right along as normal.  Just as I sit with clients and friends sit with me, life helps us consider our old normal and new normal.  Sometimes we even need to ask for a ride.

Sometimes I think

Life needs to go on hold.

Really it continues right along

As normal.

It is only my normal

That is different.

Life continues right along

As it always does:

In season,

Out of season.

Me?

I am back into

No-driving season.

It means

Once again,

I will have to depend

On others

In a different stage

Of normal.

Life continues right along.

It always does.

Equilibrium

I am working my way back into normalcy, whatever that is.  I have a gradual plan for the next week, by the end of which I aim to be re-calibrated.  Of course I*ll have to see how that goes.  My sweetie is helping me by pushing me a bit and holding me back a bit.  I, for once, am listening to him.  Meanwhile, regular life continues.  Once again I am on a hiatus from driving.  I*ve been here before.

I am not alone

In seeking equilibrium.

Today I practiced

On the new balance beam,

Monitored where I began to notice

The tipping point.

It is different this week

From last week

Or even

The week before that.

Equilibrium

May even be

An illusion,

A balancing act I pretend to practice

On the floor.

Really I am always

At least sixty feet

Off the ground.

My toes grip the edge.

On the new balance beam

Equilibrium awaits

Discovery.

The Mayans

The Mayans never meant their calendar to predict the end of the world.  If all goes well, I will be able to drive in December.  For at least three months, maybe.  

The Mayans never meant

The world would end

In December.

It was just as far

As the calendar went.

Still we look for signs

Of the final

Apocalypse

Written in stone.

The end of days

Pre-determined

Predicted

Written in stone.

We are not Mayan.

Yet even still

We hold the card

In our wallet

As possibility.

Come December

Most likely

We will find the new calendar

In the mail.

Solstice

I am curious about these seizures every nine months.  They seem to coincide with the solstices.  First one: winter; second one: fall; third one: summer.  I think I will take a vacation next spring.  Yep.  March seems a good time to lay low.

Today marks

The longest day.

I do not feel

Like dancing,

Except perhaps

Dancing in place,

A slow singular circle

Of a dance.

There is more than one way

To enjoy the light.

In nine months

Now I*m using sports metaphors.  Things may be worse than I thought :)  At least this time I knew the seizure was coming.  An hour*s notice.  A definite comfort.  

You better believe

She says

We will be watching you

In nine months,

To see what happens.

I envision that month

Wrapped in cotton padding

Until the danger

Is past,

A month in catcher*s garb,

As I wait for the pitch,

Behind the mound;

Pray for the batter

To hit it

Clear out of the park,

Completely out of sight.

The morning seeps in

It is clearly a day to hang low.  So I am.   I am waving at the trees from the sidelines, like the Queen of England, only without the matching hat, or crown, for that matter.

The morning seeps in,

It seeps in.

The robin hops and hopes for worms

On the lawn.

Out the window

The trees are green and silver,

Silver and green.

The leaves wave at me

Through the glass.

I wave back

Like the Queen of England.

From the sidelines

The trees invite me

To dance with them

On the lawn.

Third time around

I have now had three seizures.  Nine months apart.  What kind of a disorder manifests every nine months, punctuated with no driving for six months each time?  At least this time I got to have it at home sitting in my favorite chair.  No public spectacle or Emergency Room.  This time I knew enough to call.

This time I knew it was coming

Next to the blueberries

In the grocery store,

After the aisle

Of gourmet cheese.

I knew

I should call for a ride home.

Next to the blueberries,

A turn around the pile of navel oranges,

After the gourmet cheese,

This time

I knew enough

To call.

Cake

Another Saturday morning dream, or part of a dream.  In the dream I was going to get married. This was the cake that was served first, before the wedding.  It seemed the round one layer cake came with a template of uneven pieces.  The dream (and cake) carry echoes of Communion.

The round cake came already cut into pieces:

An uneven jigsaw puzzle:

A perfectly crumbed,

Sweet enough,

Confection puzzle.

When the plates were passed around

Everyone got exactly

His share,

Her share.

We knew it.

There was a piece left over

For the person who wasn*t there.

The cake pan

Baked it that way.

The baker said:

It*s a family recipe.

It goes way way way back.

When I woke up

I thought to make the cake myself.

The pan is nowhere

To be found.

The pan must be passed down

With the recipe

Baked and served

With just enough irregular pieces,

Always

One left over

For the possible 

late-arrival.

Hands open

I have two new meetings today, new situations, new possibilities.  I have (mostly) stopped waiting for the ideal situation to land in my lap or someone to rescue me from all this.  No, these are not job interviews.  And all this is a wonderful adventure (and this is not Pollyanna speaking).  So I drink my coffee and prepare for meeting number one.  I do not have a leadership role here.  I am a volunteer, and will know hardly anyone.  Hands open to see what comes.

Today

I will hold my hands in my lap,

Open to the ceiling,

And the sky above it,

The sun and moon and stars

Beyond that.

Today

I will hold my hands open

Palms up.

I will see what lands there,

What sifts through

My fingers

To the floor,

The earth beneath,

Fertilizing the ground

Under my feet.

Pitching pennies

I began the daily writing of reflections and sent them to a few people on a list I had compiled.  There were some who felt I wrote too often.  Being the good Minnesota girl I am, and not wishing to be an imposition, I switched to the blog.  I still do not know exactly how this works, but I seem to have several readers in Russia and Brazil, even in Belarus.  Really?  Sometimes a word from someone else, somewhere else, is pitched into the same circle, and there is conversation.  When this happens, I feel like I*ve won the jackpot.

So often it feels my words

Are pennies,

maybe nickels,

OK, sometimes quarters.

I throw them in the wishing well,

Or maybe

Watch them roll round and round

On the vortex coin collector

At the mall,

Until they finally drop

Out of sight.

Sometimes I speak

And a penny

Comes back,

Sometimes a quarter,

Then it ends.

I long to pitch pennies

Nickels

Dimes

Quarters

With friends, acquaintances,

Those I do not know,

Even enemies.

I yearn to pitch words like coins

With others,

Stand on the edge of the circle,

Pitch pennies,

See which ones get close to the center,

Which ones land together,

Cheer,

When all of us

Win.

Older eyes

It seems I will never get an exact diagnosis, and I figure I really don*t need one.  When my eyes are blurry, I don*t drive.  When they are clear, I do.  The blurriness comes and goes with bright light, the barometer, hydration, sleepiness, and stress, to name a few things.  I pay better attention these days, cut myself some slack, and know better and better what is important.  Older eyes, that*s it.  Doctors don*t have everything figured out.

The specialists never did figure out

Why my eyes go blurry

From time to time.

The retina guy

Said it must be the optic nerve.

The optic nerve guy

Said it was the retina.

The neurologist says

It is migrainous activity.

I have decided

The correct diagnosis is

Older eyes.

Now I focus on different things.

Bright light makes me squint.

I cannot read and lead worship

At the same time.

Certain things

Are more clear

Than they have ever been.

Older eyes

Help me claim back

What has been mine

From the beginning.

Ivory-billed woodpecker

Here it is almost 5 PM.

I have yet to write

The morning reflection.

I take comfort in the fact

It is morning somewhere

Even if not here.

Somewhere on the other side of the world,

It is 5 AM.

I wonder,

When everything falls in line,

The way I always imagined it would,

If I will have to awaken

At 4 A.M.

To do this

Or whether writing will go the way

Of the dodo,

Or the passenger pigeon

Or perhaps hide

Like the ivory-billed woodpecker

In the Cache River refuge

In Arkansas.

I wonder if it will still pop up

From time to time.

White tuxedo

There are experiences, stories in my life, which seem to come in groups, as if there is something cataloging and categorizing them.  I used to think some were possible books, like the two white tuxedo stories, or the three rose-breasted grosbeak sightings, or even the multitudinous hawks.  Now I think they are stories to remain part of the warp and weft of my life, God-stories which may illustrate something for me or perhaps someone else, if it seems right, and if I can share it loosely enough.  They are not books.

Years ago

I was going to write a book

About white tuxedoes,

Red cummerbunds,

But I only had two stories

That fit.

Two chapters don*t make

A book.

Years later

I was going to write a book

About the times I experienced

A rose-breasted grosbeak.

Only three stories there.

Again

Three chapters

Don*t make a book.

Now the stories

Are woven

Into the fabric of my life.

They resonate like the ongoing thrill

Of the singing bowl,

Its rim circled again

And again.

Now

I write particular pamphlets

To advertise

What I have to offer

As a counselor.

I have a singing bowl full

Of offering:

White tuxedoes,

Red cummerbunds;

Rose-breasted grosbeaks; and oh yes,

There are still hawks

Everywhere.

I have a warehouse

Of hawks

To offer.

Life begins

Once more the temptation of eugenics hits the media.  The more we find out, the more temptations we wrestle with, it seems.  Of course every new bit of information, of testing possibility, offers the thought that maybe now we will fully understand.  The Tree of Knowledge continues to bear fruit.  The fruit always comes with temptation to consume it in ways which don*t comprehend lasting consequences.

Life begins

Way before conception,

Before the twinkle,

Before the imagination

Of any two people,

Way before any two people,

Even the original two.

Life begins

And begins

And begins again.

There is no end

To its beginning.

Life does not depend

Upon tests or knowledge,

No permutations

Our minds and hearts may allow.

Life begins when God separates

The light

From the dark.

Oh and even

Before that.

Insurance

I often remember Saturday morning dreams.  This morning, as I went in and out of sleep (it is a luxury to be able to sleep in a bit) I had this dream.  I*m sure it has something to do with my work at DuPage Community Clinic and my own waiting to give birth to a new profession (and of course figuring out how and through what door to show my insurance card).  Right now I am thinking about do-overs, a concept which came more naturally when I was a kid.  Ah, Saturday mornings.  Priceless.

Last night I dreamed I was in labor.

As I waited to deliver,

I lay on a gurney in the hospital lobby.

People came and went.

When my husband finally got there

We agreed I was in the lobby

Because

 I had forgotten to show

My insurance card

And

I had come in the wrong door.

We agreed we would name the baby

Thomas:

His mother*s maiden name,

The first name

Of my great-grandfather.

He wrote Minnesota bird books.

Then

We decided to go out,

Come in again by the right door

As if we were arriving

For the first time.

We decided we would

Show our insurance card

At the door.

Pick a category

At lunch with a friend, we considered marketing.  I have not been a good self-promoter.  My excuse is introversion and Minnesota and all.  My sister is much better at this... but she is an extrovert (still from Minnesota) but an extrovert.  Me?  I would like to cram everything into one piece, mail it out, be done with it, and wait.  No.  No.  No.  One category at a time.  Then another.  Then another.  Pick a category.

Pick a category,

Any category.

Make a sign, a poster,

An email blast,

A Facebook page,

Even a tri-fold brochure.

Post a card

In the local supermarket,

Or on a telephone pole,

If you can find one

Unburied.

Pick a category.

Advertise that you are available:

To fix a roof,

Clean a house,

Bless a bicycle or turtle or boat,

Stand behind an altar,

Sit in a chair and listen

With special ears.

Pick a category,

One category.

Offer your simple availability

To God and everyone.

Then

Do it again.

Fish

When my now-25 year old son was little he had a series of small board books which told Bible stories in six pages.  There was one which was about the disciples fishing, and Jesus telling them to throw the net out the other side of the boat.   I remember page one:  Jesus* friends went fishing.  Page two said: No fish.  Sitting in the doctor*s office, I remembered the board book.  I know: quirky.  But there it is.

My urologist*s office

Is decorated in tropical fish.

There is even a fish tank (not tropical)

In the waiting room.

Fish

Everywhere.

I wonder if all that water

Helps the patients

Urinate

On demand.

There was even an ocean pier

In the examining room.

More water.

I am now in the

Every six month appointment period.

I got my first FISH test

Three days ago.

It was sent to California,

With results to return home

Next week.

The reason I went to the doctor

In the first place

Is gone.

When I asked Why the FISH?

He told me it was standard protocol

But he found it

Of little use.

I*m a bit of a maverick,

He said.

No FISH.

I replied.

So he crossed it out

On the test order.

Chair

So, Vee, you asked about the chair.  Yesterday I lost my wallet in the layers next to the chair I have had for twenty-three years.  I found it when I got home after lunch.  It was sitting on top of everything.  Sometimes this old blue chair feels like the center of the universe.  Everything spirals out from here.

This chair has carried me

For years.

In sickness and in health,

When I could not move

Or merely rested.

Here I watched the hummingbird

Drink the columbine

Next to the window.

Here I have written reflection

Upon reflection

Upon reflection.

Here I have seen the years

Advance.

Here I have added or subtracted

Blankets and pillows

When they were needed.

This is my thinking chair,

My creative chair.

This is my learning to get older chair,

My chair in which I realize

I am not that old,

I have years to go.

Here I did

All the reading and writing

For that final graduate degree.

If I mine the stacks of books

Next to my chair

I find pieces of the strata

Of my life.

Sometimes

The recliner part

Sticks,

But I know

That is mainly

A metaphor

(for something).

Peonies, behind the garage

Maybe this is the week to monitor the out of sight peonies behind the garage.  I often forget.  

When the peonies

Next to the church door

Bloom,

Then grow blowsy,

I know it will be at least two weeks

Before I can expect

My out of sight,

Out of mind,

Behind the garage

Peonies

To show pink

At last.

Sometimes I forget

To count the days.

Sometimes I forget

To look.

I miss them entirely,

Even the blowsy stage.

Whoever planted them

Must have needed reason

To travel back there

Out of sight

Out of mind

Behind the garage.

Cancelled plans

Now that I can drive and go places and plan and do things without having always to consult someone else, I am brought up short once again.  Oh, yeah.  I*m not in complete charge of my schedule.  I knew this.  Any plans which involve other people are not just my plans.  They are our plans.  Everything is subject to change.  And new possibility.

My plans get cancelled.

Possibility now rains.

New thoughts reign supreme.

Venus

At 6:09 PM Eastern Time, it will take six or seven hours for Venus to travel the distance of the sun.  We are looking for possible trees.

Venus will pass by the sun

This evening.

We can note its passing

By the sun shining

Through the traditional pinhole

On the sidewalk.

Do not look directly at the sun.

I repeat:

Do not look directly at the sun.

My husband says

The last time there was an eclipse

He went to the top of a parking garage

To get a clear pinhole view.

On the way there

He passed under a tree.

On the sidewalk

The light reflected through the leaves.

It showed crescent suns,

Seeming thousands

Of crescent suns.

Venus will pass by the sun

Early this evening.

I aim to find the perfect tree

Through which

To see it.

Snicker

I did not have that much scheduled for the week, but it seems that whatever I thought would happen, well, it won*t.  One more exercise in learning flexibility.  After all, I would be bored if everything went as planned, right?  Right?  I hear the snicker.

I hear the snicker.

It underlies the plans I made

For the week.

Certain clients:

(Two of four appear).

Certain supervision:

(She may cost me nothing

But is currently contagious for five days

With an unknown quarantine-able disease).

Certain tests:

One which can only be read in California

By West Coast light.

It will take seven to ten days.

Maybe the results will arrive

When my supervisor reappears

Or perhaps my clients.

I hear the snicker.

It underlies the plans I made

For the week.

It is only Monday.

I should write in longhand

I write every morning.  It clears the path for the day.  It is part of preparing to see what I need to see.  I do not know what button I clicked in Microsoft Word this morning (I usually write on the computer), but now I am stuck with paragraph symbols and line breaks, and they won*t go away no matter what I do.  Writing with subtitles?  Ugh.  I am now sitting and breathing, and getting ready soon to meet with clients.  Deep cleansing breath.  Deep cleansing breath.

I should write in longhand.
Something has inhabited
The word processing program.
Formats are everywhere.
It*s writing with reminders
Here*s a paragraph
Here*s a line break
All I want is the words.
Period.
The words.
I do not want subtitles,
Subtext
or translation
before I*ve begun to write.
I should write in longhand.

Opting in

OK.  I am naturally an introvert.  I have to make active choices to attend things like church picnics.  I enjoy them once I get there with my bowl of fruit.  And I actually love informal worship services, of course... once I get there.

I have a natural leaning

To couch potato.

When something changes

I am infinitely creative

At solutions

To opt out.

Today is the church picnic

At a different location,

A different time.

I signed up to bring fruit

Two weeks ago.

If I sign up for something,

If I don*t take my name

Off the list,

I am likely to show up

With my bowl of fruit

So I don*t let anyone down.

Once there

I will find no couches.

I*m sure someone signed up

To bring

Potato chips.

Now I wait for the rest of the family

To crawl out of bed.

The picnic basket and I

Are awake.

The bowl of strawberries waits

Beside the front door.

So we sat in different chairs

One of the knowns in the world of systems is that one change in the system calls for things to reorganize around that change.  It is true in marriages, in families, in businesses, in churches.  Yesterday I sat in that different chair, and so did he.  We were level with one another.  It was enough to change the dynamic for me, and, it seemed, for him.  Now the trick is to hold this loosely, not set it in stone, feel This is the Answer.  It*s not.  This is a beginning, a glorious beginning.

So we sat in different chairs.

So we found

It was different there.

A simple change

But simply

Profound.

One change made two and three.

Different chairs

Different levels

Of call and response,

Response and call.

So we sat in different chairs.

So we found a difference

There.

Adolescence

Today seems to remind me that I am never fully grown, even as I have the fantasy that some morning I will wake up... and it will have happened overnight.

Adolescent birds are everywhere today.

The fledgling robin learns about worms

On the front lawn.

My daughter passed a mother goose

With two gawky almost full grown

Teenage geese.

They were learning

To eat grass.

The mother hissed as my daughter rode past

On her bike.

Today the piercing shop was not open

At 10,

Like it said it would be.

My daughter,

Her friend

And I

Stared at the pictures

Of possible piercing opportunities.

We will return to the store at 3

After I have made yet one more change

To my fifty-seven year old

Itinerary.

I am still on the learning curve

Of worms and grass,

Even piercings.

Alternately I hiss and let go.

I am a parent

I am parented.

I am gangly and solid

All at once.

I still like to imagine

Some day

I will be all grown up.

Some things should be done before going to bed

OK.  I know I*m not the only one this applies to.  I am still not a morning person, despite the children.  Some things, maybe most things, should be done the night before, or at least wait until the afternoon.  Today I am grateful for a husband who brought in the newspaper before he went in to work.

Some things should be done

Before going to bed.

Dinner dishes,

Paying the water bill,

Reading the fine print.

It helps to wake up

With clean plates,

A clean slate,

The cat in the lap;

A cup of coffee

Set to brew

The night before;

The morning newspaper retrieved

And thrown

In the living room,

So walking out to retrieve it

From the end of the driveway

In floral flannel pajamas

Does not create scandal

In the neighborhood

Or among the scandal-prone children.

It helps to wake up

And not have to do

Almost anything

Immediately.