Yopping Update #28 - You'd think by now I would learn

 Before I get to the title of this post I want to post my finished Topsy/Turvy doll.  I am so ridiculously proud of how she turned out.  Now that the Christmas decorations are put away, she alone is adorning the piano - and she makes me so happy every time I see her. 

After all the sewing together (which wasn't as hard as I thought it would be,) I turned to my tried and true cast-on when I can't think of anything else to knit - socks. 

Since CinnaofDoom posted her new sock pattern last week, Say Yes to Pie, I thought I would give it a try.  It had an afterthought heel which I think I have never done, or maybe once long long ago, and it was for a shorty sock which was good because I only had a 50g ball of Felici.  I knew that wasn't enough wool for even a short pair of socks so I rummaged around in my stash for something to use on the heel and cuff. 

Well, it was all going along swimmingly until I got to the beginning of the cuff for the first sock.  I decided to put it aside and start the second sock to make sure I didn't run out of wool.  For some odd reason I decided to make sure the striping on the socks was going to match - which proved harder than I thought as I unravelled the remaining wool looking for a good beginning place.  I found it (after a lot of dyslexic which end is which moments) and knit up to the place where you put in the contrasting yarn to hold your place for the afterthought heel.  

This is where things became a little sticky.  I realized I wasn't going to have enough yarn to knit the 2nd sock to the same place as the first.  So, I frogged the first sock back to where the 2nd sock was - about 2 inches and then the nasty process of picking up the stitches again.  I had to break the remaining yarn into its individual colours and then split each colour into two equal lengths.  So, yes, I know, now I have a lot of ends to sew in.  By the time I ran out of wool I was at the cuff, but now the stash I had chosen didn't seem to be consistent enough.  I unravelled it (because it was also self-patterning) until I got to a colour that would work, and after 5 rows of that I finished it off with 5 rows of grey in my stash that matched the grey of the self-striping Felici.  I bet you think all this is why the title of my post is 'You'd think by now I would learn'.  But no....keep reading.

I finished both socks with a stretchy bind-off as suggested by the pattern and then started the first after-thought heel.  

The heel itself was easy but unpicking the row to pick up the stitches was awkward and seemed to take me forever (by the 2nd sock I had perfected  doing this - but for the first sock I was a slow learner).  

So, first sock finished!  Ta-Da!! I tried it on, worried that I might not have place the heel in the right place and I had.  Double ta-da!!.  However, the cuff was much too loose.  No problem, right?  Just unpick the cast off and re-do.  Well?????  

The problem was I had already woven in the end.  I KNOW I shouldn't weave in any ends until a project is completed, but I guess I was over-confident.  I mean I have knit at least a hundred pairs of socks.  

Well, let me tell you.  I am brilliant at weaving in ends. Brilliant!  After at least 30 minutes I finally thought I found the end, but really I had found the join for the final grey which meant I ended up having to re-knit the last 5 rows before doing the cast-off.

I was determined before going to bed to fix the cuff of the 2nd sock before starting the heel.  It proved someone easier because I eventually found the cast-off end, but it still wasn't a lot of fun.  Today I just have to cast-off again, and finish the heel. 

So there you have it - words to the wise 'Don't weave in any ends until the project is done!

I am very proud of my matching stripes though - so there is that!.  It is a great pattern, easy to memorize the textured part, but next time I knit with Felici yarn I will purposefully aim for fraternal socks!

I have been walking everyday averaging about three miles a day.  I have been taking pictures while walking as I sort of photo log of my days.  Today I think the picture was a beautiful metaphor of life.  

Life is full of 'rooty' bits

I also came across this a couple of days ago - the face on this little rock is the perfect face of determination.

Determination, or WTF?

I figure after my sock fiasco I am going to just bite the bullet and tackle another General Hogbuffer pattern - Slippery Slope Socks.  Let's see if I have learned from my mistakes.  

Hope everyone's week is safe and if there are 'rooty' bits in your path may you have the courage to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  

Or as Dory says 'Just keep swimming'. 

One more thought - is it grey, or gray?  

Yopping Update - Week #1 - Testing Testing

On strict orders from my daughter I was not to knit for a week.  My arm has been very sore and I have to teach starting in a week and I need to be more mobile for sure.

So.....what did I do? 

I spent hours re-editing my novel and then I took it to the printer to get it ready to give copies to beta readers.  What?  I know, right?  I also sent pdfs to three readers and it seems that after almost four years this whole novel thing might be becoming a reality.

What is a beta reader you might ask?  I will let Wikipedia answer:   

"A beta reader is a test reader of an unreleased work of literature giving feedback with the angle of an average reader to the author about remaining issues."

Now I want to start organizing my poetry into a single collection.  I thought I had already done this, but it must have been a dream because I cannot find it on any computer anywhere.  How weird is that?

There was a tiny bit of crafting - crochet, and after trying for a little I switched back to my left hand only.  These produce bags are quick and easy to make.  Good television crafting once the increase rounds are done.

Two done and the third just needs the handles.

I had an epiphany about my fisherwoman's sweater this past week.  It seems for me that knitting truly is a metaphor for my life.

I started this sweater with wool I had re-purposed from a sweater that didn't fit me anymore.  It was a long line vest, and I figured I had enough yarn to make a cable-knit sweater for camping.

Once the back was almost complete I started to wonder if I woud have enough wool to finish it.  I stopped knitting the back about two inches from the end, and cast on the two sleeves.  When the sleeves were almost finished I weighed the parts that were already knit.  Then I weighed how much yarn I have left.

I think I don't have enough yarn, but rather than soldier on to see if the imaginary is reality I just put the whole thing on time out.

Why? 

What is the worst that can happen?  I can either make the sweater shorter if I need to because I haven't cast off the back as this point, or I can go and buy a suitable yarn to finish the sweater.

It is a camping sweater afterall, not something I want to exhibit at Vogue knitting.

This got me to thinking about what I have been going through over the past year.   I have been looking at what strategies I have been using in my life, that no longer serve me, that I wish to let go, or change.

Change is hard.  It is easy to go back to old patterns, or put things in a time out.  It is harder just to move forward and face whatever it is I need to face head on.

If I don't see this sweater through to the end I won't ever know if maybe  a) I will win at the yarn chicken, or b)  I won't win at yarn chicken but I will experience the success of finding a solution of either modifying the pattern, or finding some yarn to finish it.  It is natural undyed aran wool so I really don't think getting a close enough match will be a problem.

Besides, I can't go back.  The old sweater that didn't fit anymore cannot be put back to the way it was and the new sweater is shaping up quite nicely.  Change is not comfortable.

Pretending the problem isn't there won't make it go away.

Are you listening, Mary-Anne?

Yup, I am listening, and as soon as I can knit again I will cast on the front and let the chips fall where they may.

To following the other intrepid souls that are going into Year Nine with me check out their posts here.

On turning 30

Today I got to gaze at my daughter as she gazed at her daughter. 

I have been her mother for 30 years.  As of today.  And we spent the day in her new home country.

She had her first child just before her 30th birthday.  So did I.

Something we now share in common. 

It has become a 'thing' that I write something about her on her birthday. 

So her goes:

On turning 30    (my apologies to Billy Collins)

Arriving as the blizzard ensued
Stopping traffic in the big city
But not stopping you.

You came - into my life
into your dad's life
a shining angel
of light and joy.

You charmed me with
your smiles and intensity
My velcro baby who wanted her mum
and only her mum.

A Capricorn
Just like your daughter
Destined to want independence early.

Just like you.
Just like your Oma
Just like your Grandfather

Just like your Great-Grandmother

Ah yes, You know what it will be
to raise a Capricorn daughter.
and I will try to help with the
few lessons I learned:

Listen to her sixth sense
Trust her intuition
Believe her when she says it is time to move on
Let her go.

Tell her the truth
Be honest
Be there
Even when it is hard and every ounce of you wants to hide yourself away.

I have treasured the times when we are sitting and talking or walking in easy companionship.When we have shared tears, and fears and truths.

Your daughter is lucky to have you
and the bond between you two will be unbreakable.

30: wife, mother, seeker of soul
striving to understand your universal spirit

You are well on your way
having learned more about yourself in the last 30 years
then I have about myself in the last 63.

I will share with you and your daughter things I have learned
And you will teach me
And you will teach your daughter
And your daughter will teach me.

The circle of life.

Coming Clean

I have been wanting to write a non-knitting post for a while, but I keep getting waylaid.  Well, not waylaid exactly, more like I keep chickening out.  As if putting the words down will mean it is true and the truth is hard for me, for others, and I do care what others think of me.

I have been working hard on my mental health for the last six months.

I started meditating everyday.

I started taking Bio-K pro-biotics every morning (because I read an article about how depression has been linked to an imbalance of the flora and fauna of our gut, and my gut and I are not on the best of terms.)

I started seriously tackling my French lessons.

I started to learn Croatian for myself and to support my daughter who is living so very far away.

I started Lumosity brain training.

I went to my Doctor.

Who referred me to a counsellor.

Who referred me to a psychiatrist.

Who suggested group therapy.

I was referred to a group for trauma recovery.

Trauma?   Yes, trauma. 

I took the test y'all, and I passsed - with almost all of the symptoms of someone with ptsd.

In the last couple of years I have mentioned to those very very close to me that I felt like I was suffering with ptsd, but to hear it aloud, from a counsellor's mouth, that was hard.

So that is where I have been over the past ten weeks.

And it has helped.

A lot.

I don't feel as crazy.  I feel like the way I behave in certain situations has some context.

I realize I have been a product of trauma in my life for a very very very long time.

And now I have a tool-box to deal with my anxiety.

Literally, I have a tool box filled with things that help me when I am triggered.

And I also have a figurative tool box.

But back to my earlier list.

I started to get obsessed with not losing my streak in Lumosity, Meditation, French and Croatian.

It was exhausting.

I never really got the counter to work on the Croatian app.  But I did do it every day until the short course was over - yay me.

I lost the Lumosity streak first.  no biggie.

Then I lost the French one after about 230 some days.

That was hard - and the program even said I could get in back for $17.99.  Really?

(Ok, I was tempted for a bit).

The meditation one was the hardest.  Some days when I didn't feel like meditating I would put on the app and turn off the volume so it would count my day without me doing anything.

See?  I was cheating to maintain my meditations streak!   How embarrassing to admit.

But then, earlier this week I lost it for real.

And it hurt.

And then my son said - 'Mom, it is about non-attachment.' 

Duh.

So now all my streaks are gone

Except this one.

I will keep moving forward on my mental health.  I am making progress and I don't need a counter to tell me that.

And one last thing.  I have a friend who speaks Croatian.  I am going to contact her today and see if she will give me private lessons.  We can knit and talk and have tea and I will learn something new.

Without the counter.

Without the stress.

I don't need an app to tell me I am doing ok.

I know that I am getting better and doing ok.

And now?

Now I am off to teach twenty-four thirteen year olds about Copernicus and how he rattled the world by proposing something different.

I can relate.

I bet, so can they.

Why I am a Feminist

I don't have to like the things all feminists do or say because I am a feminist.

I don't have to like the things all humans do because I am a human.

I don't have to be black to believe that black lives matter.

I do have to respect that some blacks do not want me in their spaces because I don't make them feel safe. Because I trigger something in them.

I do have to respect that queer, transgendered, or lesbian people may not want me, a cis-gendered woman, in their group.

I can be angry about things some men have done to me, and my sisters-in-arms and not be angry at all men.

I am a feminist because I have sat at meetings and said things that have been ignored but when the very same thing was said by a man at the table it was applauded.

I am a feminist because I have come up with good ideas at meetings that were later attributed to a man.

I am a feminist because I was assaulted in a pub by a table full of boys and I didn't do anything about it. Nor did anyone else.

I am a feminist because I quit a sewing course I was enjoying because a group of boys taunted me on the bus ride home.

I am a feminist because a boy tried to force me to have sex with him and I apologized to him as he drove me home.

I am a feminist because my father wouldn't let my mother work.

I am a feminist because 100 years ago I wouldn't have been allowed to vote.

I am a feminist because women are still considered to be chattal in some cultures and not too long ago in mine.

I am a feminist because a strong women is still considered bitchy, or whiny, and a strong man is considered powerful.

I am a feminist because there still is a glass ceiling.

I am a feminist because there still isn't equal pay for equal work.

I am a feminist because I see all those aged, white men in boardrooms, and parliaments and senates and it makes me crazy.

I am a feminist because I want life to be fair, and it isn't.

I am not throwing out the baby with the bath water.

Just because I speak out for women, or blacks speak out for blacks, or queers speak out for queers doesn't mean that other lives don't matter.

It just means that the lives that are needing to be heard at that moment matter and their cause does not need to be diluted.

Of course we all matter.

Of course we all should be kinder to each other.

We should all be human, just human, but we aren't there yet, and just because a movement makes some mistakes, or gets too militant, it doesn't mean the movement is or was a mistake. It just means we are growing, and learning, and striving.

Maybe being angry isn't the best way, but it is a necessary step in the way.

I don't think we should ever talk in absolutes about all men, or all women, or all blacks, or all muslims, or all christians.

We should talk about behaviours and consequences, causes and effects.

It is true that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

But an eye for an ear makes it harder for me to see you or you to hear me.

Changing my header

As I posted my New Year's blogpost on facebook, my blog description jumped out at me.

Well, not the whole description, just the word depression.

It didn't sit well with me.

"Thoughts on an empty nest, depression, love, hope, faith, grace, humour and chronic illness. Not necessarily in that order".

Not necessarily in that order, and yet that was the order I listed them.

It took me a while to find where that description was - and then I changed it.

Thoughts on the second half of a life. A life that includes swimming, knitting, love, hope, faith, grace, humour and depression."

I know that depression is still in there. But it isn't front and center anymore.

I don't want it to be front and center anymore.

I am more than that.

And maybe, just maybe, part of healing is to change how I describe myself.

It's the little things.

I don't describe myself as someone living with chronic illness anymore, even though 'technically' I do.

I don't describe myself as someone living with chronic pain, even though I currently am.

I do have so much love in my life.

I do have faith.

I do experience grace in my life.

I do have humour and can see the glass half full most of the time.

I have hobbies I love, friends I love, family I love.

Depression is there too, in and around and amid all the other things, but it is not the only thing. It is not what describes me even though it is part of me.

So yes, I have changed my header.

I am going to change the headers I give to others too.

I believe changing those headers can change people.

I really do.

If I expect the worst of another they won't disappoint me.

I believe if I think the best of another it can only help.

My thoughts, our thoughts, are powerful things.

Our words are powerful things.

Sharing the negative images, and negative words of another, only strengthens the negativity.


"Mind is the Master power that moulds and makes,
And we are Mind, and evermore we take
The tool of Thought, and, shaping what we will,
Brings forth a thousand joys, a thousand ills: —
we thinks in secret, and it comes to pass:
Environment is but our looking-glass."

James Allen, As A Man Thinketh (1902).


What if I, we, stopped sharing the mean or intolerant things people said or did, and only shared the kind, and the tolerant.

Would it make a difference in my life.

In the world.

I think so.

Yopping Update 22 - Putting it all in perspective

This is a shortish update. I have been working diligently on my sleeves and have about 12 inches done on each sleeve with all the increases, so I just get to knit for awhile (haha - just knit - what with the lace and cables and all), before I start to decrease for the cap of the sleeve. I should be finished by next update.

Last night I started a secret Santa gift for my knit group's annual Christmas get together. I can't post anything about it here, but I can tell you that it was a new technique that I have never tried before, and I am so excited about the finished product (I finished it this afternoon), that I cast on another one straight away. Profuse apologies to my sweater that I had promised I would finish before casting on anything new.

I was looking for this technique and this pattern on Ravelry and I found just the pattern. I went to the designer page and here is where I found a message from my angels.

You see, I have been feeling quite down these past weeks and thinking I just wasn't able to think of anything to make for the secret Santa, so perhaps I just wouldn't go to the get together this year.

But then I went to my knit group last Thursday and felt the love and warmth of this fine group of women.

So, I went home and starting to search for patterns on Ravelry.

And when I found the designer's page she had a long apology about being unavailable because her sister-in-law had committed suicide, and then her brother had died, and she was in the middle of settling the estate and taking in and caring for the two young children who had lost both their parents.

Kinda puts my problems into perspective.

So yesterday I went for a swim. And today I went to yoga, and then started to think about Christmas, and presents, and despite my sore back, and despite the rain, I am picking myself up and dusting myself off and getting on with things.

Because that is what we do.

Putting it all into perspective my problems right now seem mighty small.

Peace and love to you all.

It's Advent. The very best time of the year.

I shall light candles.

I shall eat mandarin oranges.

I shall drink gingerbread spice tea.

And on December 1st I will begin knitting the Project Peace cowl.

It can't hurt.

It can only help.

Swimming uphill

You have all heard the story that someone of the older generation tells when the younger generation is kvetching about how hard life is.

"When I was a child I had to walk uphill to school. Both ways."

I think it is possible they were telling the truth.

I discovered something similar recently at my community pool.

I like to swim in the smaller seventeen metre pool if it is available. There are various reasons for this.

It is warmer.

It is shallow at both ends.

It is beside a huge floor to ceiling window so there is lots of natural light.

Because of the current from the nearby river feature in the adjoining pool area, when I swim west to east in the lane it is easier than swimming east to west. This gives me a good workout as I swim against the current.

Usually this smaller pool is roped off so you can only swim in the lane closest to the window.

The other day the whole pool was available and I decided to swim in a big circle rather that just an immediate turn around at the end of each lane.

And you know what?

If I swim west to east on the far side it is against the current, and when I come up the lane near the window from east to west it is also against the current.

One day while swimming another swimmer stopped me and commented that swimming against the current was like swimming uphill.

And it is. I count my strokes when I swim and with the current I complete the length in 14 strokes. Against the current it takes me 22 strokes. The current works against my glide.

When I swim with the current I feel like I am flying through the water, but when I swim against the current I feel all my muscles working to propel me through the water.

Swimming with the current feels great. It is swimming with ease, gliding with speed, breathing easily, feeling free.

But, lately, I prefer swimming against the current.

It allows me to feel all my muscles. It allows me to experience the hard pumping of my heart, and heavier breathing in my lungs. It makes me pay attention to my balance in the water and the position of my head when I breath on the right side. How is it different than when I breath on the left side? How does using a six beat kick change my forward progress versus my usual two beat kick?

I learn a lot swimming against the current.

But, then again, I already knew that.

I have been swimming against the current most of my life.

I learn the most about my self in this life through the challenges I have faced.

It is hard being human.

But we knew that before we incarnated here.

Hard is how we learn the lessons we came here to learn.

So, I will continue to swim against the current.

And build muscle.

For what is still before me.

Dying

Ok, the title isn't as morbid as it sounds. But I have been thinking alot about a certain expression. Let me explain.

I just have returned from travelling in New York, Europe and London. I was fretful about going away in the current climate, or seemingly current climate, of terrorism. The thought of being in airports, on airplanes, and in crowded cities caused me some anxiety.

One day while in London I decided to tame my anxiety by doing the only thing that works for me - going for a swim.

I headed for the Olympic Park, because hey, how often do you get to swim in an Olympic venue pool?

As I was swimming my laps I started to think that if I was a terrorist I could come to a pool, like this one, and throw some plugged in device into the pool and all of us in the pool would die, literally, of shock.

Don't blame me. I can't control my thoughts when I swim.

So then, my next thought was that my obituary could read something like: She died doing something she loved.

My next thought was - that's stupid.

Why does our culture think that dying while doing something you love is a good thing? It means you don't get to finish doing the thing you love.

Wouldn't it make more sense to die just before having to do something you hated? Like cleaning the toilet, or going for a root canal. Then, at least, dying would have an upside, you know?

Anyhow, this is how my mind goes.

And then again yesterday as I was swimming laps, I thought about it again. I am doing something I love.

I hope I don't die until it's over.

I didn't.

It was a good swim.

I am going again tomorrow, these rain won't stop me, I am going to be wet anyways.

So, what do you think? Is there a better time to die than doing what you love?

Or is that just me.

Being morbid.

Again.

Not my fault.

Lost and Found

This cat of mine is certainly keeping us on our toes. Two months since his broken pelvis and we decided to let him outside during the day. Sunday and Monday he went in and out, in and out.

Tuesday morning he went out.

And didn't come back.

Not Tuesday night.

Not Wednesday.

Not Thursday morning.

I was up and down the street, and the property, calling and whistling for him.

I was sick at heart.

Last night I went out around 8pm and searched the property and, again, under the neighbour's shed.

Nothing.

I settled on the couch, shed some tears, and picked up my knitting thinking that Game of Thrones would take my mind off this loss.

I was such a bad cat owner.

I shouldn't have let him out.

I should have a collar with ID on him.

I should have gotten him his shots.

Shoulding on myself.

And then?

Then at 9:30, over the mayhem ensuing on the television, I heard him mewing from outside.

I rushed to the back door, and in he came. Wet. Complaining. And very very hungry.

But fine otherwise.

Totally fine.

Where was he? He talks alot (I think he is part siamese) but he is hard to understand.

We have been having lots of cuddles.

I think he is glad to be home.

I am certainly glad he is home.

Stupid cat.





See how I am letting him lie on the blanket I am knitting?

That's how much I missed him.


PS: I miss Prince too and while I was fretting about the missing cat, I finished this.

Darn socks

I spent Saturday darning socks. It all started because I couldn't find my 1.5mm double point needles anywhere, and finally I found them in my darning basket. Six pairs of socks, one darning egg, and my 1.5s holding stitches of my husband's sock ripped back to the gusset.

That isn't actually darning. Not technically when I have to re-knit the whole foot.

Anyways, I digress.

For small holes I darn with a needle and yarn of the same or close to the same matching colour and weave the hole together. Sometimes, if the hole is quite large I pick up stitches and knit the sock back together. Sometimes, I re-knit the whole darn thing.

See what I did there? Darn? Darn!

I like darning socks once I get down to it. I usually wait until I have a few to do. Like Saturday.

Darning socks makes me feel close to my grandmother and aunt. I am certain they darned many socks in their day.

Darning socks makes me feel useful, and thrifty. Besides my hand-knit socks all mean so much to me, I couldn't bear to throw them out.

Once a sock is darned it isn't the same as the new sock was. The yarn might not match perfectly. The fit may be a little different. It is often noticeable on the bottom of my foot where the repair is.

But over time the repair felts in with the sock, joins it inextricably. It is like a scar. When I see it I remember when the sock was perfect, and how it feels different now that it is repaired. Not better or worse. Just different.

When I thought about re-knitting the sole of my husband's sock I knew the difference in yarn texture and colour would be quite noticeable. But they are my husband's favourite socks so I keep them even though this time I thought I should just throw them out and make some more.

But then I was visiting my sister and I started to tink back on the sock to get to the place where I had 72 good strong stitches and started to move forward.

I finished them that night. Flawed, and old, but finished and my husband was so happy to have them back in rotation.

Fixing things in life is a similar process. Sometimes our fixes leave scars, but the scars can join in with our lives and represent something new, something different, something repaired.

Our mistakes felt into our lives and can no longer be removed, nor would we want them too. Not really. Because they make us who we are today. They remind us of lessons we have learned. Or perhaps, are still learning.

Those socks I re-knit on Saturday will always remind me of my sister. Who was there for me. Who is always there for me.

Our lives are felted together.

And the socks I am wearing right now? The one with the weave right under the ball of my foot? I feel it there and it reminds me that fixing things that are broken is worth it.

Darn socks. I just wanted to get them off my to-do list, and yet they taught me another life lesson.

Darn.

Monkey Mind

Yesterday was the first day in a while that I had 'off'.  I didn't have to be anywhere, or do anything.

So of course I had to DO something.  So I went to this great Button store, and surprisingly I was in and out with the perfect buttons in ten minutes.

It was a beautful sunny day so I suggested to my husband that we head to the beach to have lunch at this lovely restaurant that overlooks the water.

We got a window seat, and we had a delicious lunch.  I was the designated driver (so my hubby could have a cider with his fish and chips) and so we headed back home around four with me in the driver's seat.

I kept feeling that I should be somewhere.  I kept telling myself, that, no, I had a free day.

I sat on the couch, caught up on a couple of episodic firehouse dramas, and worked on the test knit I am knitting.

Still, my mind was relentless.

I know what you are thinking.  That I had indeed forgotten something I was to do, or somewhere I was to be.

But no.  It truly was a free day.

Today I had an appointment at 8 am, and afterwards i decided what I really needed was a couple of hours at my favourite Korean Spa.  I am fighting a cold, and figured all the sweating would be a great idea.

I first went into the Earth room, which is a warm room heated with infrared.  I lay there, happy to be warm and decided to breathe deep, mediate and let the warmth build in me to sweat this damn cold out.

Breathe In.  Breathe Out.  Think of nothing but your breath.....

Hmmm.  I wonder what time it is?

Breathe.

Am I lying too close to the next person?

Breathe.

I am going to stay here at least five minutes.

No I am going to leave when the person beside me leaves.

Breathe.

F It.  I am going to go to the charcoal room, it is too hot in here.

The Charcoal room is a cooler room with Charcoal on the walls and buckets of charcoal set on tables.

Ok, here I go, meditate in this cool room for fifteen minutes.

I wonder why they put the charcoal in that design?

Breathe.  Focus.

I wonder what those women are whispering about?

Ahem.  Ok, monkey mind.....back on track.

I should have brought water with me.

What?

Now I have to go to the bathroom.  I always have to go to the bathroom after I have been in the charcoal room.

Ok,  maybe lying on my side would be better.  No, I know....the Salt room.  Yes I need to go lie on the blankets that are atop the hot rock salt.

Ahhhh..   this is perfect.  I could stay in here forever.

Man, it is so hot in here.  Maybe I could wiggle my sore elbow down into the salt.

Nope.  Too hot.

Ok, clearly time for the hot tub.

Yes the hot tub - I will set the timer for ten minutes, then I will have a scrub.

Wow, my breasts sure look odd the way they float up to the surface.  Really odd - like balloons or something.

At least the jet feels good on my low back.

Ok, I am done - must be almost ten minutes (more like five).

Clearly I need to shower and scrub away all this dead skin with the loofa.

Ya that is good.  Then I will go into the steam room.  That should help my cold.

Lying in the steam room I thought about all the steam room scenes in movies and how you can't see anything except steam.  This room isn't like that.  I wonder why?

I closed my eyes and kept trying to tame the monkey - when I opened my eyes the room was so full of steam I couldn't find the door.  And I forgot I was on the top tier and almost fell as I stepped onto what I thought was the floor but was actually nothing.

Hm?  That isn't safe.

Ok.  Back to the cold shower and then I will air dry in the sauna..

Nice....except now I am sweating, and I just showered, so I should go back to the charcoal room to cool off.

I lay in the charcoal room and started to recite the 23rd Psalm (which I never get in the right order) and so I switched to the Lord's Prayer.  I went back and forth a few times between the two prayers which made me think of a group called New Hope that used to sing a version of the 23rd psalm back in the 70s
.
I hummed it to myself a few times but then my monkey mind headed in a whole other direction so I decided it was time to get dressed and head home.

I had been there trying to relax for ninety minutes.

Now I am home.  I am going to watch some mindless television.

It is called mindless, because it is, but it also fools my monkey mind and allows me a break.

And even if the meditation was a fail, the spa experience wasn't.  My cold feels a bit better, and the heat and salt and charcoal made me feel better inside and out.

And now I can knit.

There is always knitting.

Because counting stitches, and reciting the pattern as I knit calms the monkey mind.

Until it doesn't.

And then my monkey mind convinces me to cast on something else, despite all the unfinished projects still on needles.

What?

I have to finish this post.  The dishes need doing.

After I finish this last row.....

Carrying On

This has not been an easy year, There is no point going into details here.  Those who know, know.

Suffice to say I am hoping 2016 will be kinder and gentler, but I fear it may not be so.

For my own mental health I need to focus on the good things in my life.

I have many awesome friends, who are there for me even if months have gone by without contact.

I have young people who love me and like to sit on my lap while I read to them, or sit beside me while I knit with them or hold my hand while I walk with them.

I have relationships with students from years gone by, who call me up to have tea together and chat about their future.

I have my swimming.  Thank God for my swimming.

I have my sister and brother who are there for me while I babble on through tears, and I know my other sisters and brother would be there for me if I opened up to them with my broken heart.

I have my work - which fulfills my need to feel respected and worthy.

I have the love of my husband of thirty-eight years which is constant and profound.

I have the love of my son, who is there for me, who can make me laugh and is so very wise.

My daughter told me last summer that 'we have time'.  I have faith that this is so.

I have my weekly knit group and people there who care for me and reach out to me when I start to withdraw.

And my knitting, I always am creating something.  So there is that.

I have the birds at the feeder.

I have cedar forests to walk in, and those magnificent trees give me strength and some peace.

I have the daily chores.

I have my weekly yoga practice.

I have the sunrises and sunsets (except for when it's raining) and then I have the rain, and now the snow tires are on I can look forward to the snow.

I have the cat, for now, who seems to know I need his company in the evening.

I have my writing: this blog, my poetry, and a novel to edit.

I have a talisman from \Saint Joseph's Shrine given to me by my dear cousin and aunt.  I carry it in my pocket every day.

My mother used to tell me, and my daughter has it tattooed on her arm, "This too shall pass."  I am praying that this is so.

I can't imagine Christmas this year, so I won't, but I have my Advent candles to light my way through this, the darkest of months.

And, I have you, dear readers, and I am thankful for your comments and support.

Dinosaur bones

We spent part of our camping trip in Dinosaur Provincial Park.  We had briefly stopped there in 2010 on our way across Canada and I have always wanted to go back.

There is something about camping among the hoodoos, and the cottonwoods that I find oddly satisfying.



We spent four hours at the Tyrell Museum, our third visit in five years and it again rekindled my love of, and fascination with, dinosaur fossils. 

I remember studying dinosaurs in grade four, when a brontosaurus was a brontosaurus, and my favourite book as a child was about a young boy who finds an egg and out hatches a stegosaurus that then becomes his pet.  When I close my eyes I can still see the pictures in that book. 

Because it was early in the season there were not so many tours, but I did book a sunset tour into the hoodoos. 

It was a sunny evening, cameras at the ready, and the park guide took us into areas of the park where the public cannot go on their own. 

The views were gorgeous, but at the first stop we discovered we were standing on an ancient bone bed.  Once we attuned our eyes to what to look for there were 65 million year old dinosaur bone fossils all around us. 

We could hold them if they were loose.  We were not allowed to dig them up if they were still embedded, and of course they had to be left there.

I would be lying if I said there wasn't a moment that I though of slipping one into my pocket. 

Spending three days in the dinosaur park, camping at the base of glaciers, driving through the Rockies somehow began to put my little wee life into perspective. 

Some say that we can make mountains out of mole hills. 

 (Can you see the face?)

Sometimes mountains can illuminate the mole hills of our own existence.

It is so fleeting. In perspective my life is so tiny in the big scheme of things.

And I don't imagine in 65 million years anyone will be holding my fossilized bones in their hand.

Just don't lie to me

I can take a lot.

The thought that people lie.

That is a hard one.

Sure, you will say.  Everyone lies.

True, I guess.  but there are lies, and there are Lies.

It is hard when someone claims to lie to spare my feelings.  Or to spare their's.

It was hard the first time I realized my children could lie to me.

It was hard to acknowledge that I lie.

To myself.

To others.

To make a story better.

To make a conversation less painful.

But I have a spidey sense about lying

I sense that things don't add up.  Or the time line is wrong.  Or someone is trying too hard.  Or looking uncomfortable.

I don't want to ask in those situations.

Is this true?

Are you lying to me?

Are you lying to yourself?

I heard something many years ago that has stuck with me.

There is your truth.  There is my truth.  And there is God's truth.

Sometimes it isn't about lying.  Sometimes it is about seeing a situation from a different perspective.  A personal perspective.  An uncomfortable perspective.

Would I want to live in a world where everyone told their truth all the time?

No.

I am too sensitive and melancholic for that.

But if I ask you for the truth?

Respect me enough to know that I am wanting the truth.  And it is ok to tell me that it is none of my business, or that you don't want to tell me the truth.

I can live with that.

Just don't lie to me.

Deep down, I know.

Deep down.  I am keeping count.

Deep down.  I can't forget a lie.

Deep down I am afraid it can't be forgiven.

Really? Really.

Most days I think I don't have much to do. But in reality my days can be somewhat hectic.

Today, for example:

Hair appointment at 12

Dr appointment at 1

Meet my nephew at 1:30

Babysit from 3:15 - 5:15


I wish I could say this was an unusual day, but it really isn't.

My anxiety is still in full swing.

I talked to a good friend last week and realized that I need to be more judicious about booking my time.

I need to learn it doesn't all have to happen today, or at once.

I need to learn to give myself more time in between things.

To find the space in between the moments so it is not all such a rush.


One thing I know.

From 5:30 on I will be knitting.

And that is a good thing.

Journey Through Wellness - Life is a Puzzle

Originally posted on Journey Towards Wellness.


Life is like that puzzle.
It is full of delights, surprises, struggles, disjointed parts, empty gaps, lost pieces and things that don’t belong. Sometimes our lives fall apart and need to be reconstructed. Sometimes our lives become mixed up with the lives of others, and we can’t be sure where our life ends and their life begins. Sometimes we may mistakenly think we need things that are part of someone else’s life when we really don’t. We try to fill in the gaps of our lives or make connections. Sometimes we can put our lives together ourselves and other times we need help. Sometimes we try the wrong thing, and, more often than we want, we have to go back and start again. Living takes lots of perseverance and patience. When we get tired or discouraged, that is when we most need God incarnate in our loved ones. My life was like that puzzle. I couldn’t find a church and wondered if I was supposed to be a minister. My dreams and hopes were gone and my life was broken apart into pieces. I wasn’t sure how to put it together or if I’d be able to do it. Fortunately, I had friends and family who stood by me.


View Original post here

Flashback Friday - Three things about me

Original post - Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I am an Introvert

People who knew me in elementary and high school would say I was shy. People who know me in my 'teacher' mode might see me as extroverted. I am not.

Taking a Myers Briggs tests years ago confirmed what I always have been, but didn't always know. I am an introvert. I first truly realized this at a dinner party about fifteen years ago. It was a Greek restaurant, and, you probably guessed it, the belly-dancer showed up.

I hate belly dancers, mostly because they come over to your table and try to get you to dance too.

Three women at my table leapt up and starting dancing with her. There I was, luckily sitting with my back against a wall on the bench seat, with two male colleagues on either side of me. I grabbed the arm of each of them and whispered urgently that they were not to move until the dancer had vacated the premises! Thank God they complied.

It was really my first inkling that I am indeed an introvert....those three women dancing on the floor out there? Extroverts!

This is not to say that I can't be funny and entertaining at parties. If I have a good yarn to spin, then I will spin away.....

But mostly at parties, and gatherings, I sit and watch and think that everyone is having a much better time than I am. Everyone seems to be being greeted by long lost friends. Everyone seems to be having a much more interesting conversation than the one I am having, or not having.

Me? I like dinners with one person, maybe two. I love to be around people who are entertaining. I love to watch the interactions of others. I don't like to be watched.

I am an intuitive

I am not an academic. I try to read academic journals, and articles, but I can't follow them, can't quote them, can't really get into them. I just know what I know intuitively. I used to try to pretend to be an academic but it was too stressful. I now tell people, out loud, "I am not an academic", just so there are no surprises, or disappointments.

I protect my heart

When something isn't right in my life, or in the lives of people close to me, my heart hurts. This isn't metaphoric. It actually begins to ache. I have learned in my life to listen to my heart when it aches. It is never wrong.

When my heart aches then I know there is something I must say. I know that I have to say it. It always turns out to be that which had to be said. You can imagine, for me, and perhaps for those around me, this can be a curse, and perhaps sometimes a blessing.

My heart also aches when I stand between two people who are in conflict with each other. It doesn't have to be spoken. My heart knows when conflict is there. It took me years to protect my heart from issues that weren't mine. Years.

So I have to protect my heart.

That is really all you need to know about me. I am an introvert, and an intuitive, and I have to protect my heart.

Learning to say no

I get asked to do things, often work-related, or sometimes volunteer things and I pipe up and say yes when I really mean no.

I am getting better about this, but not all better.

"They need me."
"If I don't do it I am letting them down."
"They can't find anyone else to do it."
"I am flattered to be asked because they value my abilities so much."

That internal dialogue is only some of the things I say to myself.

I am learning to listen to that still small voice. The one that says what my heart really needs to hear.

"You don't have to take this on."
"This is not your problem."
"You are only doing it for the money and that is not a good enough reason at this point in your life."
"You retired for a reason, and committing to something for three months (or whatever) is not really being retired".

But, really, what I need to say to myself is "It is ok to say no."

No excuses, no apologies, just no.

Sometimes I say yes because I am afraid they will never ask me again. Sometimes I say yes because I want everyone to like me. Sometimes I say yes because it is a way to procrastinate and put off other decisions I need to make in my life.

I will sleep on the current decision I am living with for one more night. Perhaps my angel has some words of wisdom for me.

I already know the answer.

I am just biding my time.

A bird in the hand - a parable for our times

I heard a story at a school assembly many years ago.

A sly young man approached an elder and said, "I know you have wisdom and know all things. I hold in my hands, behind my back, a small bird. Tell me, wise one, is the bird alive or dead?"

The wise master knew that he was being set up and so he thought very deeply for some time.

He knew if he said dead, the young man would bring his cupped hands forward and release the bird alive.

If he said the bird was alive, the young man, with his hands hidden behind his back, could quickly crush the bird and produce it dead.

The elder finally responded, "The bird is as you will it. It is either alive or dead. In your hands you hold its fate."

This story was told to a group of students entering high school. The parable being, high school will be what you make it.

To me, it has become more.

There are those who will want to win at all costs. If you succeed they will credit themselves. If you fail they will lay the blame squarely on your shoulders.

As the saying goes if you think you can do something, or think you can not do something, you will be right.

Thoughts are powerful things. Thoughts create reality. Every time we think poorly of someone we are attaching negative energy to them. If enough bad energy comes our way it can make us sick. I know. This happened to me many years ago and a wise friend told me I needed to take up a spiritual or meditative practice to protect myself, to shield myself, to heal myself. I went back to church. It helped.

The Dalai Lama has made two statements that I often reflect on:

1) What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult for each other.

2) Without the human community, one single human being cannot survive.

Each one of us can make a difference in the lives of others. We can think positively about them and support them in their journey. We can make their life less difficult. We can.

We can begin with our thoughts.

I am reminded of a story about a school teacher who came to teach the gifted class. As expected her students performed very well on the end of year testing.

Only one problem.

The student records had been incorrectly filed and she had actually been given the class that was considered unteachable.

She had no doubts they would succeed. And they did.

Thoughts made manifest.

The fate of that bird is in your hand. What you believe will come to pass. And often, when something good, or bad, happens to an individual it is because another individual has influenced the outcome.

So the Dalai Lama is right. Our own human existence is so dependent on the help of others.

We can strive to be clever, like the young man in the story above, but we could also strive to be kind.

I remember teaching a lesson about the hebrew peoples to a grade three class many years ago. In the lesson I brought the idea that there are four kinds of people in the world.

Those who are clever, and unkind.
Those who are ignorant, and unkind.
Those who are clever, and kind.
Those who are ignorant, and kind.

Something to think about.

What if we all were just kinder to one another.

To ourselves.

What if?