Universal credit

In the way of all things, I know someone is going to explain to me that the phrase "Universal credit given to all other professionals" makes complete sense.  For now, however, my mind spins with all the possibilities for the accumulation of universal credit, no matter what profession I embrace.

Among the details

Of continuing education

Available to those

In the counseling profession,

I find the following:

Universal credit

Given to all other professionals.

Where does the credit come from?

The Universe?

Who counts as a professional?

And bottom line:

Who really cares?

I wonder if this is attached

To all continuing education events,

If the Universe is indeed in charge

Of the distribution,

Where are the credits registered?

I rather like the idea

Of Universal credits.

God only knows.

Only God knows

Really.

I met people all day in different spaces

Usually I write in the morning, but this morning I barely made it out of bed in time for morning ablutions, breakfast, and making it to my 10:00 AM appointment.  Now it is cold and snowy.   This is one of those significant days, where everything was planned, at least time-wise, yet unrehearsed.  I am now home for the unplanned part of the day.  Soup for dinner sounds like a good idea.

I met people all day

In different spaces.

Here it is 4:44 in the afternoon.

I consider writing the day.

It passed

Before I knew it.

There is more yet to come.

I met people all day

In different spaces.

I will have to figure out

Where to sit in my consultant*s

New office:

I went with the sofa,

But the sofa is now

In a different place.

Maybe next time

A chair

Perhaps the floor.

At noon I lost track of my lunch partner.

We waited for the other

In a different part of the restaurant

For twenty-five minutes.

Both of us

Had full view of the only door

Into the place.

The funeral brought me

To new places yet,

Despite the familiarity of the space,

The liturgy

The people.

Now I know there is a place

For

I Want to Walk as Child of the Light

In the service

When I die.

I imagine when I die

I will meet new and old people

In different spaces,

In unexpected places.

Time left open

Sometimes circumstances help me practice waiting.

Tonight a client does not show.

I write this in the time

He left open:

Clock ticking

People leaving Zumba in the basement.

I think on the life of today

Pray for tomorrow.

I open my journal

Fill two pages

With open time.

I prepare for the next client

To appear.

Yesterday I waited

To leave the clinic.

All the doors were locked.

The last remaining key

Was in someone*s pocket.

That someone

Was in a meeting.

I checked every door.

Each was locked.

I called my daughter,

Settled down,

Settled in.

I waited for the key,

Thought on the day,

Prayed for tomorrow

Time left open

Until it was time

To leave.

Paperwork Queen

Part of my learning these days is to fill in the blanks while standing on my head, to figure out the logic behind the forms so I don*t have to learn each piece by rote.  Of course this assumes there was some logic to begin with.  I admit I hear the Red Queen shouting in the background:  Off with her head!

Yesterday I learned

I will never be a paperwork queen

Or princess,

Or probably even

A paperwork vassal.

Alas.

Alack.

The GAF score is meant to be

The DLA divided by two,

Except

Except

Except

The two do not measure the same things.

And

The highest score in the past year

Must not include today*s score.

That

Of course

Is different.

I will never be the paperwork queen.

Of course

The queen sets the rules,

Is never questioned.

Hers is the new logic.

Off with her head

Shouts the Red Queen

The quintessential ruler of all paperwork.

Off with her head.

Brain exercise

My mailboxes (snail and e-mail and Twitter) are swamped with different ways to exercise my brain, to calm it down, to change it up and switch it out.  Brain exercise seems to be the latest thing to take control of aging, and face it: more of us are living longer and longer.  The baby boomers (including myself) are a large group.  My namesake aunt who died at 92 did the NY Times crossword most days.  She is my anecdotal example of reasonable aging.  She was also an editor for years at the University of Chicago Press and was one of the authors of the Chicago Manual of Style during her time there.  An impressive accomplishment.
The last couple weeks have shown me once again that some of us still die far too young.  Whatever we can do to forestall death in all of its forms seems worthwhile.  The latest thing seems to be brain exercise.

The latest thing

Is brain exercise.

The latest thing

Is that Alzheimers

May be forestalled,

Even prevented,

By exercising one*s brain

With crosswords and Sudoku,

Finding different routes

To take to work,

Different places

To park the car.

The latest thing

Is to find new paths

Through the forest

Of getting older.

More and more of us

Are getting older,

Living longer.

Some of us,

As always,

Die far too young.

The latest thing

Is brain exercise.

If only

If only

We exercise our brains enough

Then everything

Will come out right.

All are safely gathered in

Now it comes:  the ice storm.   One hundred percent here, though I suspect it will not play out the catastrophic proportions in the forecast.  The family has returned home, earlier than I expected.  It seems a sleepover is planned.  Surprise: no school tomorrow.  A teacher institute day.  Nothing to do with the weather.

All are safely gathered in:

My loved ones.

It seems we will now be hosting

A sleepover

In the midst of ice.

I listen to the rain

Upstairs

Against the windows.

Now I wait for a phone call.

It may come

Or not.

I suspect the crisis

Of yesterday morning

May have subsided

By now.

Still I wait.

I listen to the rain.

I practice calm

With the cat,

My loved ones safely

Gathered in,

Honey vanilla chamomile tea

In hand,

Rain on the window.

Waiting for ice

The ice cometh.  The chance is one hundred percent (they say), as if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat.  My beloved has gone out to pick up our daughter from a church gathering in another community.  They are ending early... due to the ice.  The prediction is one hundred percent possibility of ice.  As if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat in my lap.

I wait for ice.

It draws the lines

For the morning decision

To attend the middle service,

Look for salt trucks

All the way home,

Eat breakfast,

Read the paper

With the cat

Changing laps at feline whim.

I wait for ice

Peruse the ailing ash tree

In back,

The downy woodpecker

On the potentially dying branch

Pecking.

I wait for ice

In the warmth of home

And cat,

A kitchen almost done.

I wait for ice.

I pray it will not come

Until all are home and safe again.

Until all are safe indoors

Taking turns

With the warmth and weight,

The sheer cat presence.

Home.

Waiting for ice.