At least

I read of a man with epilepsy who, in the midst of a seizure, knocked on a stranger's door and demanded to see the giraffes in her backyard. Of course she called the police. Of course they arrested him. Then they found his epilepsy bracelet. At least I've never done something like that, I thought. Then I remembered my last visit to the ER, after I had an accident I don't remember, at an intersection I never drive to, having gotten there through five stoplights and a train crossing. I will not be driving again, even though I've never demanded to see the giraffes in anyone's backyard, even though I know giraffes live in Africa, or in zoos.

At least

I’ve never done that

At least

I’ve never said that

At least

I’ve never made

That mistake

No

No

No

I’ve made others

Equally bad

Equally weird.

Sometimes,

Actually often,

There are others there

To save me

From myself.

So we can cry

Maybe even laugh

Together.

Adjustment

Making the next adjustment. Then the next one.

Adjustment takes tears

Many tears

Looking out the window

At the 92 year old colleague

Getting in

To drive his car

Watching him pull out

Of the parking lot.

Adjustment takes a lot

Of why me?

Then why not me?

Then

Why me, once more?

Then come the tears.

Finally again

The figuring out

What comes next,

And next

And next again.

Then more tears.

Then

The next thing.

Occasional services

What if this were the last day you could drive? So many face it every day. It is usually not scheduled. Such things come suddenly, or maybe they only seem sudden when they happen to us.

There are stages

To this letting go.

First comes the accident,

The emergency room,

The letter from the state.

Now comes

The farewell

To the driver’s license;

The hello

To the state ID.

The car keys

Go last.

I think they require a ceremony

For removal from the wallet.

I wonder if a liturgy

Has been written

For this occasion,

This odd poignant occasion.

I wonder if there is a book

For such occasional services

Which I know

Are more

Than occasional.

Not right

I think...some day I may handle all of this with more grace. Of course some days are better than others. 

On the other side of the world:

Another earthquake.

It seems

Not right:

Two earthquakes

Within three weeks of one another

Not right

As if even one

Is right.

Here

On this side of the world

My friend tells me

She has planted six birch trees

On her lawn

They remind her of the presence

Of God.

Here

On this side of the world

I cannot drive for now

So others drive for me.

These things are not right or wrong

They simply are:

Like earthquakes.

Like birch trees.

Reclamation

Driving or not driving... a decision made day by day, sometimes hour by hour.  I am still getting used to this part of my identity.  Some days it comes easier than others.

I drive home

Alone.

My music plays.

I sing along

Loudly.

For these moments

I remember who I am,

Even if tomorrow

I ask for a ride.

This is also part

Of who I am

These days:

She who asks for rides;

She who drives when it is safe

For her to drive,

Plays her music

Loud

And sings along.

My best-laid plans

Coffee with a friend this afternoon.  Yeah!  I am back on foot, so she will meet me here in town,  Of course I am reminded again that driving is not what it's all about.

My best-laid plans

Have come un-laid.

There must be other

Things to do

Games to play

Words to be written

Or perhaps it is simply

A walk in the sun,

Coffee with a friend,

Learning once again

I am not in charge.

One more break

Epilepsy is an odd thing.  Usually I have indicators.  I did this time too.  Who knew Yoga for Beginners would set me up for a seizure?  I thought it would be an easy beginning.  No.  I will skip the next four sessions.

Nothing like waiting an hour

After beginner’s yoga

Before completely

Losing it.

The family has different stories

Of me

In seizure mode.

Now I am back to walking

Surrounded by the fall colors.

The cat is happy

For a lap.

Speed up

Slow down.

Take another break

From driving.

Convergence

Ah.  So many things to consider today.

31 years a deacon

Today.

The large item

On the agenda

Is replacing the dead allysum

In the front planters.

Of course this first means

The arrangement

Of a ride to the nursery.

I may also harvest

The rhubarb

And pull weeds.

The convergence of life,

The acknowledgment

Of limitation,

The possibility

Of rhubarb pie.

So many things

Oh so many things

To consider.

Today I do not have to be brought anywhere

Today the calendar shows no appointments.  One car is with my daughter at camp.  The other car is with my beloved at work.  Today is a day of planting purple in the front and yellow in the back, whichever spot is shady.  It is HOT today, so time in the sun is not in the cards.  Today is a day to be thankful for air conditioning and time with the cat.

Today

I do not have to be brought

Anywhere.

I have enough flowers

And laundry

To keep me occupied here.

The altar flowers

Have finally succumbed

On the front table.

Today I breathe

In place.

I roamed Target yesterday

With my beloved,

Dreamed school dreams

All night,

Awakened to the knowledge

I am done with tests

And final exams.

Today this

Is what I get. 

I do not have to be brought

Anywhere.

This means I am able

To be here.

Mackerel sky

Today I drive again.  My first venture was to the doctor to get blood drawn.  Hardly something to look forward to, but still... I traveled alone, listened to my choice of music.  On the way home I saw the mackerel sky.

Today I determine

When I leave,

When I return home.

The car travels the route

I determine.

Overhead the clouds

Proclaim

Mackerel sky

Mirror fish scales

Out of sight

Swimming

Swimming

In lakes and ponds,

Oceans and seas.

Today I swim

Determine the venue

How I will arrive

How I will leave

Road or stream

I see

Mackerel sky

Mackerel sky

The clouds proclaim

Endless possibility.

Facing forward

I am back to riding shotgun for the month of March.  I expect to drive again in April.  But for now I remember some of the best conversations happen with two people facing forward, eyes on the world, eyes on the road ahead.  It provides a different kind of catching up.  No matter who is driving.  No matter who is riding shotgun.

I find

Some of the best conversations

Are had

Both participants

Facing forward.

One driving

One riding shotgun

Both looking out

On the world.

This seems true

No matter the age

No matter the relationship.

I most always find

New things to hear,

New things to say,

Facing forward.

It matters not

Who drives

Who rides shotgun

There are always

New discoveries.

More wise counsel

Okay.  I will stay home today.  Not that I want to (mind you) but I will stay home, drink hot things, gallons of water.  maybe leave the house tomorrow.

I remember praying

For just enough snow

So a friend

Would have to stay home

Not make an unwise decision.

I recruited friends

To pray with me.

They did.

There was enough snow

To stop traffic

Everywhere,

Just enough snow

For my friend

To stay home.

Today every time I consider

Leaving the house,

My right nostril

Opens like a spigot.

I get it.

Just because the calendar says

I can drive,

There is more wise counsel.

It suggests:

A nap,

Gallons of water,

Microwaved

Chicken soup.

Maybe driving

Tomorrow.

Labor Day

There are things to be done, but nothing which can be ordered or begun today.  Labor Day does not bring with it an obligation of labor or anything religious, despite being a holiday.  Today is an unplanned day... my favorite kind.

This is an unplanned day:

My favorite kind.

The house is quiet.

The cat washes himself in the sun,

Carefully

He cleans between his toes.

My husband is asleep upstairs.

Daughter?

 Summoned

To walk with a friend.

Despite its name,

This is an unplanned day,

My favorite.

I cannot drive.

There is no business

That can be done,

No phone calls

Except perhaps the leisure kind.

A holiday declared

With no

Religious obligation.

Preparation

In the aftermath of yesterday*s storms, the day felt edited to me.  Knowing I would be on foot, I packed everything I could possibly need, and then...  barely needed anything.  It was as if extraneous things had been cleared away, and there were huge swathes of blue sky opened up.  I even had the gift of a ride home from a new supervisor who lives six blocks away.

I packed everything

I could possibly need and barely

Needed anything.

Without the car I was free even

To consider errands to Menards.

The clients were each

Fifteen minutes late.

There was time to finish the Sudoku

In between.

I packed everything

I might need.

I barely needed anything.

In between

It seemed

There were huge swathes of blue sky.

In the end

I got rode home with someone who lived

Six blocks away.

In the end there was time

For a nap.

I packed everything.

I barely needed anything.

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.

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.

Driving again

I may not have to learn to drive, but I do need to learn to drive again.  It takes more concentration, particularly in weather like the rain and sleet at dusk last night.  Of course I thought it would be an easy run with my daughter to Panera for supper.  I already knew I would need my own driving chops again, until I will be able to supervise her driving.  I was not prepared for the difficulty driving at dusk in sleet last night.  Now is my time learning again to concentrate, to focus on different things from the driver*s side.  Alone.  Me and the car.  Learning each other again.

Like my daughter learning to drive

For time number one,

I search for my driving mind

Again.

I figure at least a week

In sun and rain and snow,

In various stages of dark and light,

Sun in my eyes,

Sun at my back.

It will take at least a week

Driving by myself.

I remember it takes time

Oh yes time

I remember it takes time

To get up to speed.

I have my license

And

It still takes time.

Walk for short, drive for long

Often I do not figure out what I need to do or not do for Lent until Lent actually arrives.  Lent has now arrived.  I will blog in a separate space for Lent (considerthisskipforlent.blogspot.com)  but because I am one person, Lent will most likely permeate this one as well.  Next week I will move back to driving myself (Yeah!), but I am also aware of what I have gained in walking places.  For Lent I will continue to walk those shorter distances, and drive the longer ones.

They say it will snow today.

We will see.

The duck lady across the way

Wears a red vest.

Perhaps she knows something

I don*t.

Perhaps she prepares for the winter

We have yet to really see.

Perhaps she has an extra supply

Of corn.

She waits for the snow.

Today I am home.

I savor my last week

Of chauffeured freedom.

After next week

I will maintain the freedom

To walk,

To see other walkers,

To note the time it takes

To go from point A

To point B,

To pay attention to the line

That connects

The two.

For Lent I will walk

For short,

Drive

For long.

Every day

I will walk for short.

Every day

I will drive for long.

Every day I will endeavor

To savor

The choice.

Late valentine to the chauffeur, for all the world to see

I come to an end of my time as only a passenger.  My beloved has been my chauffeur.  I am glad for the coming independence.  I am also grateful for morning and evening conversations, the ways we both point out particular birds or signs or possibilities, the talk of the day ahead, and the day behind.  Most of all I am glad for the talk.

No one sits in the front seat

With the chauffeur,

Plays footsie or alternatively

Handsie,

Comments on the odd street signs,

The way the clouds move,

The particular order

To the day ahead.

Shall I pick you up at 4:30?

He says.

4:30 is good,

She says.

No one kisses the chauffeur

Goodbye,

Then waits to kiss him hello

When he returns.

No one that is,

But me,

Sits in the front seat

With the chauffeur without a hat

Plays handsie,

Waits to kiss him hello

When he returns.