Blasé

I call it blue because it gives it a less clinical and feels more personal.  No one can know what it’s like to be blue and to be me.  Most people don’t know that I’m blue, or how long I’ve been blue.  Life has been so full of doing, trying to keep everything going after a series of decisions that may have taken me down the wrong path.  When I didn’t run for council last fall, I remember being surprised at the realization of the sacrifice that I had made.  I had begun to see the ripple effect on my businesses from the time spent away doing council work during the last couple of years of my tenure.  The month leading up to the election and immediately afterward the stark realization of the ‘things that had fallen off my desk’ was so very obvious.  The economy had been difficult, business was slow, the bills had piled up, the accounting was far enough behind to be problematic, but I could at least begin to tackle the challenge.  However, I have been blue.  So as we move onto a year since stepping down I’m still struggling with making headway on the issues.  I have made some to be sure but the effort that I need to put in far outweighs the energy (or is it motivation), that I can seem to muster.

Today is a day off from the restaurant, and I’m trying to do a little self care among the business tasks that need to be dealt with.  My coping strategy today to do things in 20-30 minute blocks.  Strangely this post was meant to be a poem.  I guess that it will continue to rattle around in my head and gush out later.  Perhaps tonight.

Blasé.

Few know I’m blue and,

have been off and on for a couple of years.

That I wake throughout the night and,

stare at the ceiling,

both wanting to be asleep or finally free of worries.

The morning comes, and I don’t want to get out of bed.  Don’t want to shower, eat, move.

I take everyone moment I can before obligation moves me on its own, through the shower, the kitchen, the city.

I smile when I greet people.  I laugh at their stories.  I tell my own stories, and make them laugh. I make the spaces I go feel good for visitors and also for myself.

Issues come and go, staff come and go, sometimes well, sometimes sick and absent.

Sometimes they look to me to solve their problems.

I hold the mirror steadily for them to see their challenges and help them ask better questions, find better perspectives to see from.

I help them stand back, to examine the details, to engage with what needs to be engaged with no matter how frightening.

I hold their hands as they grow.

Where they cause turbulence in my business, I pick up the pieces where others can not or will not.

Mostly customers are happy.  Mostly I shield them from the hidden workings of the business, from my struggles.

On good weeks I find some way to do a few things, small things that take the business into a better future.  On those weeks hope and happiness begin to stir.

I try not to create my own turbulence. It’s easier to do when I’m alive.

Just for a while it would be lovely if the world would just stop, if time would stand still.  To give me the time back I need to regain my footing, to do my laundry, catch up my accounting, to rediscover my passions for things creative.

Perhaps today candlelight will turn blue to flickering gold..

Just for a while..

Long enough for me to get a glimpse of myself…

of my own hopeful becoming.

Sweep

When life feels crazy,
And the world spins out of control,
Sweep your floors.
Tidy your closet.
Do your laundry.
Buy a real card, one with dog-eared edges, that many people have touched,
but no one wants anymore.
Send it to a real friend, not a meme or an email.
Write something that you’d be awkward to say face-to-face.
Accidentally put a coffee ring on the envelope.
Press in it a flower from your garden,
or a dandelion from the park, or
Some old rose pedals from those flowers you dried ten or more years ago and which now fill a dusty bowl on your dresser.
Those pale papery reminders of important times.
Of love.
Of laughter.
Of getting older and perhaps wiser.
Post it with a bunch of old one cent stamps.
Shop at the florist on the way back from the postbox.
Pick up a single rose.
For yourself.
Nothing that requires arranging.
Pet your cat for as long as she likes.
Open all the windows as wide as they’ll go.
Line up your shoes.
Throw some out.
Sew on a button.
Flip through some recipe books but in the end put a roast, carrots, onions, potatoes, in a pot.
Splash it with red wine.
Salt and pepper.
Into the oven on 225 for the day.
Walk to the grocers.
Buy chocolate amaretto ice cream which you’ll eat in bed later without guilt.
Put on a favourite album. Ponder what albums are called these days.
CDs? Discs?
When it’s over embrace the silence.
Sit on the front step.
In the sun.
Listen to the sounds of the neighbourhood.
Smile.
Say hello to the letter carrier.
Keep a pad of paper handy.
Put a row of numbers down the side.
When a task invades your day.
Write it down.
Forget it.
Weed a bit.
Smell the roast cooking.
Plan to be in bed two hours early,
with a book,
that you’ll read until you fall asleep.
Scoop a moderate serving of dinner into your favourite bowl.
Light a candle.
Dine alone.
Slowly.
Savour.
Use a cloth napkin.
Buy a beautiful bar of soap.
Clean white sheets.
Bath before bed.
Appreciate what is simple,
what stays put after you touch it.
Embrace what is kind,
to a friend,
to a stranger,
to yourself.

(June 27, 2016)

Identity

I’m thinking about how we make new connections with people who come together for the first time. We bring with is a series of relationships with others, with place, and with ideas. These form perhaps our identity. Who we are in that given moment is perhaps based on which relationships are most active.

Iceland

Our friends, Terry and I enjoyed such a fun afternoon and evening. We were all deep in conversation from the time we gathered until we parted that there were no pictures of proof. We spent a lovely two hours in the public pool and hot spa splashing around and enjoying debates about everything. The meal tonight was at Fish and More. We sat at a table on the sidewalk for dinner under a light mist, nearly rain. The food was fairly traditional and so very tasty. The bread was unbelievably good. At the end of the night I recounted how when I’d read a book called Bliss, a few years ago, about a traveller’s search for the happiest countries in the world that I’d decided that I would go to Iceland to experience this happiness with dear friends. And celebrate my 50th birthday — even if that meant a delay. This time here and this day has been magical in so many ways. Time with beautiful friends, laughing and teasing. We never heard an argument in the streets. We never saw fighting or crime. We saw a lot of culture and expression. People were so very pleasant and genuine. There was a lot of respect for one another here. People seemed relaxed and cared about getting along together. At the end of the night I saw a hanging in the restaurant. “Happiness is not a destination. It is a way of life.” A fitting ending for a lovely visit to a lovely place. I’m better for being here, and for being here with wonderful friends.

Forgive yourself for doing your very best when more seemed required. And forgive others for the very same reasons. – Paul Harris

To realize our dreams we must become experts at getting out of our own way. – Paul Harris

Being me.

At this moment,
life is perfect.
White sheets,
belly full with good Iranian food,
laughter, plotting, possibilities.
Siamese purring, Montana my buddy.
Beside, lover breathing quietly,
drifting away into the night.
Me reading.
A small book of philosophy,
inspiration, complexity, words with fluid meaning. Worlds being constructed and reconstructed.
Poststructuralism, a very short introduction.
Nodding off with enjoyment and intrigue.
Not wanting this good moment to pass.
Synapses slow.
Connect random thoughts, day’s events waiting to be sorted, filed, stored, solved.
Perrier.
A gentle breeze.
Peace outside and in
Alive and still.
Just being me being me.
Being.

Anticipation.

In a darkened room waiting quietly,
For the show to begin.
An audience of one,
still with anticipation I sit.
Opened wide, the windows.
Damp cool air flooding in around my feet.
My skin tightens.
Sweet reprieve from the heat of my office.
Accounting.
Paper.
Progress.
The network says eleven it begins.
Wild wind at first.
Already black shadowy trees sway back and forth across the solid grey sky.
Bending gently, deeply,
Like they’re stretching before taking their part on stage.
Limber lumber.
First the rain.
Then lightening will waken colour.
Deepen silhouettes.
Just before thunder sends cats scurrying for box spring cover.
Waiting.
Enjoying the fresh heavy air.
Dancing shadows on plate glass.
The network may be wrong.
Glad I didn’t make popcorn.

Sparkling crazy.

Shopping for new cushions to replace faded ones,
Used only by stray cats that make our zen garden their home.
Snoozing comfortably but always alert,
On the sky blue adirondack chairs,
That call to us too,
To be still and relax,
To purr in the warm summer sunshine.
We rush past from work to work,
Too often.
Credit card out,
Slips casually onto the counter,
A pleased salesperson.
Exhilaration.
Choices made.
New cushions, gingham and stripes.
Cheap and cheerful.
Glasses.
Orange and yellow citronella candles.
A red ice bucket, big enough.
An owl candle holder and a yogic cat,
Especially for the observant in our congress of literarians,
And for Max.
Things to renew, to amuse, to welcome friends.
To hold a space open for connections to gently grow.
Packing my car, the skies open,
Torrents of rain.
A garden party being washed away.
Disappointment.
Grey turns to blue.
It’s meant to happen.
Amber wine glasses sparkle in the afternoon sun,
Adorned with small bees pressed into moulded glass,
A dozen for ten friends
Waiting for name tags that,
A fellow shopper implored me to tie on them — with raffia,
Down aisle eight,
Past the fake flowers.
But, I’m too pressed to hunt.
Still needed gin and sushi.
String ties are fine and,
How the group will describe each other,
That will be pure inspiration.
Wild enthusiasm.
Modifiers that invite being.
Friend, the _____________!
Six bottles of champagne.
As many hours of sunlight.
Laughter until our cheeks hurt.
The good,
The glorious,
The other old actor,
The valiant,
The magnificent bacon zen master,
The connector,
The chivalrous,
The warrior hobbit.
The true.
The goddess.
Sparkling crazy.

Moonset

It’s dark and I’m alone on the beach in a place that I often come to think. My dreams had been full of troubling relationship issues, replaying past hurts, mistakes, and attempts at repair. Even in the quiet dawn, it’s immensely difficult to quiet the my mind, particularly those voices that, in hindsight, can see how things could have happened differently. The remind myself that I’m only one in a relationship and I can’t alone control outcome — that it’s always jointly created by all the participants. And besides, the past is past. I’ve been involved with others that bring so much negative personal history to the relationship that it’s like swimming against a tidal wave. It’s those ones that cause me the most anxiety, always feeling that just perhaps I could say or do something that would make a grand difference. It’s those ones that find their way into my dreamscape and begged to be sorted, that wake me feeling anxious. This morning sitting here I need this time alone to be with myself, to remember my own humanity, to practise self compassion, to forgive myself for doing my best when more was required, and to forgive others for the same reasons.

The rhythms of the earth are supportive — I focus on my breath. I grow more and more appreciative of being in quiet relationship with this space. Slowly, I return to a position of knowing that my best intention and open invitation remain my most precious gifts.

The full moon is high in the sky, descending. It’s bright and round and softly illuminates the earth. There are no clouds between the moon and me. The ocean rolls in one wave at a time, slipping onto the short a few feet from where I sit to contemplate the things I’ve encountered during the past few days.

I learned yesterday that one can reset the intention of a crystal by placing it in moonlight. I wonder what it might be like if I thought of myself as a crystal sitting there in a moonbeam. The thing about moonbeams is that follow you wherever you go. This one sparkled across the waves in a loose triangle shape, its gentle point of light settling between my eyes.

Perhaps what I was doing this morning in the moonlight was renewing my invitation to allow my best to be and to accept my humanity.  I’ve reset my crystal thanks to communal time with the ocean and the moon. I remember the Japanese speak of perfection of anything being in the imperfection.  The crack in a bowl, worn leather, a dog-earred book.

The ocean continued to roll in as the moon slow moved toward the horizon.  The sun rising on the other side of the island, blocked from view by Haleakala, gently warmed the sky. No shadows as whole vista, the ocean, sand, and sky transformed into pale shades of green, blue and grey.  As the moon approached the water it grew bigger and became pink.  Then it disappeared.