ponderingsat80’s posterous

                                       (for J/9)

 “Mommy, Daddy, come see what I did.  I weeded the whole garden!”

 Sweet words from our sweet little daughter the first summer we lived in the country.  She was so excited and proud of herself, as she led us down to the garden we had planted after buying the house in the spring.

 We looked at the garden, then at each other, but did not yet have the heart to tell her she had indeed weeded the garden – there was not a weed in sight - but neither was there any asparagus!  She had completely pulled up the asparagus left over from the previous owner of the house.

 We did, of course, eventually explain to her the difference between a weed and asparagus, but not right away – it was important for her to relish the sensation of having done something wonderful for us – and for our garden.

 Today, this sweet little girl is a grown woman with a garden of her own, and no doubt, she has asparagus.   Has her little daughter weeded the garden, I wonder?  And if so, was the difference between a weed and asparagus pointed out to her before it was too late?  Or has history, in some sweet and mysterious way, repeated itself?

“Please let us to sleep in a cell!” we begged the police at Les Sables de L’onne.

We were on our way to Le Havre where we were to take Le France home after a year in France.

 We stopped at various places to sightsee on the way.  My husband had the annoying habit of always being late.  He would linger at art galleries and antique shops, never worrying about reservations, or if we happened to have them, arriving on time was never a priority. 

 This one time, however, proved to be a disaster.  Arriving 45 minutes past check-in time, our rooms had been given to other travelers.  Horror of horrors, they had no other rooms!  Neither were there rooms in other hotels or pensions.   Where would we spend the night?  We were desperate!  We stopped at the police station to ask for help, but they knew of nothing. It was then we begged them to let us sleep in one of their cells . . .

 We ended up in the station wagon at the beach.  The little ones stretched out in the far back where we’d flattened the seat.  My niece and our 12 year old daughter stretched as best they could, on the back seat, and my husband and I did likewise in the front.  Our 14 and 11 year old sons got into sleeping bags and slept on the beach.

  Except for the little ones, oblivious to the situation, it was a sleepless night. By dawn it turned so cold that we decided to build a fire to warm ourselves. At 6 o’clock we went looking for hot chocolate for the kids and cafe-au-lait for ourselves. 

 We came across someone just opening up for the day, and all nine of us stumbled to a table grateful for the warmth and something hot to drink.  Finishing a light breakfast, we inquired as to where we might find lodging for the night.  “As a matter of fact, we have 2 rooms available immediately.”

 We spent two glorious days in the sun on the beach and ate muscles which, to our surprise, the kids could not get enough of.  Needless to add, from then on, there was no lingering in galleries and shops as we continued on our journey to Le Havre, and no need to go to the police and beg for a cell.  

I moaned, cried and howled like a sick animal when a pinched nerve took over my life and kept me from sleeping.   Unable to move or manage by myself, I was forced to depend on my husband for everything for over two months.

 This all took place last winter when one morning I developed excruciating pain in my leg.  As I waited to see a doctor at the clinic, the pain became so acute that I worried I might begin to scream.   X-rays showed that I had severe arthritis in my back but the pain was coming from a pinched sciatic nerve.      

I was close to tears by the time the doctor gave me the results, and announced there was nothing she could do for me - it was a pinched nerve and I needed physiotherapy.  With that she wrote me a prescription for morphine and sent me home    

 Thus began my journey into hell that lasted well over three months.

 The morphine made me nauseous and dizzy, and Advil or Tylenol did nothing to relieve the pain.  The pain was so intense that I could not sleep.  I averaged 4 hours a day – a day!   It was impossible to find a comfortable position - stretching out my leg was pure agony.   I ended up on the recliner in the living room because I could not lie still.  Later in the night my husband would sit with me and prepare ice packs or hot pads to help soothe the pain.    We sat sipping coffee at 4 in the morning and when later he went back to bed, I would sit waiting for the sun to come up, and eventually collapsed from exhaustion into a deep sleep.  For some reason the pain subsided in daylight and returned in the evening.  And just as I looked forward to the sunrise, I dreaded the sunset, when the pain always returned with a vengeance.            

 A few weeks before this all began we had acquired a new puppy – a 1 and ½ year old Maltese named Boo.  It was amusing and oddly moving to watch my husband take care of her - no easy task, as she was not yet potty trained (to use a litter box) and needed constant supervision.

 When the powerful anti-inflammatory, muscle relaxants and anti-anxiety pills finally kicked in, I began to feel better.  Medication, combined with rest, physiotherapy - and most of all, time - finally got me to where I no longer needed a cane except to walk outdoors.  And it was cause for celebration when I finally was able to sleep in my bed again!

 Excruciating and relentless pain, combined with lack of sleep was a dreadful experience – it was pure torture.  I would have confessed to any crime to make the pain stop – if only for a minute!  I would not wish a pinched nerve – or two months of this kind of hell - on my worst enemy.

How dreadful is the attack of the early morning demons.  They catch you at your most vulnerable – when you have no resistance.   It is almost impossible for me to get back to sleep once the struggle to control negative thoughts begins at 4 o’clock in the morning.

 I twist and turn, but eventually have to get up.  I pour myself a glass of milk in hopes that this might relax me.  Nothing seems to help – it is a fight until daylight and then it’s time to face the day.

 What is the answer?  How does one overcome these demons?  Do they lay there ready to pounce when one is weak or tired or sick?  Why do they appear so often and so early in the morning? One should only have to fight negative thoughts during the day when one is armed with reason and prayer.  Well, I do pray when this happens – I try to meditate.  But all too often,   the battle is lost and I begin the day feeling tired and stressed.

 What to do? . . .   Should I just accept that this is part of the human condition and not get all upset, which only begins a vicious circle?  Does not everyone have similar battles?   And do our problems - for this is what it’s all about – get resolved when we are fortunate enough to win the battle with the early morning demons? Do they? . . . 

 The amazing symbolisms in dreams . . . My daughter is going through a painful divorce; we have likened it to a death.  There is the breakup of a family, the loss of a husband and adjustments that need to be made.  We are all suffering.

 In the dream, I am visiting her in-laws; I am giving her mother-in law a gift-wrapped wedding present.  The gift is a platter.  I am handing it to her upside down with the bow facing the ground. I am puzzled - why is the package upside down?  Suddenly her father-in-law enters the room followed by two women dressed in mourning clothes complete with hat and veil.  He greets me with a polite but stiff smile.  He then turns to the mourners . . .

 I wake up and am shaken by the dream.   What does it mean? Why do I present the wedding gift upside down?  Why is my daughter’s father-in-law polite but stiff?  And who are the mourners . . . ?

 The symbolism seems clear:   The marriage has gone wrong; the family unit has changed; and my daughter is  mourning the loss of a husband, and I,  a son-in-law.

 I am shaken and I wonder . . .  do we carry our emotions into our dreams?  Is it possible - if we pay attention and understand the symbolism - to clarify the situation so that we can finally, if not fix the problem, perhaps accept it?

 I continue to wonder?

 One day a monk was asked,   ”what is it you do?  What is your mission? Do you comfort the sick, feed the hungry - give to the poor . . .?   ” In a simple and reflective manner the monk replied, “I do whatever presents itself. I do not go looking – there is always someone nearby who needs love.”

  .   

Mother Theresa used to say, “if you feel lonely, go out and help someone.”

Jean Vanier says, “love the person next to you.”  

We need not go far  . . . . ‘Love the person next to you’ is not as simple as it sounds:  How easy is it to love the person who drives you up a wall because of his or her behavior or demeanor.  How easy is it to love someone who seems to not need it – or refuses it out of stubbornness and pride.  And oh, how difficult it is to love someone you don’t like!  . . .  Then again, sometimes it takes only ‘hello’ with a genuine smile to lift another person’s spirits when they are feeling low.  I know it does mine.

In the past I was able to help people by doing things with or for them:  

There was Hugh – the sweet and gentle man who possessed such wisdom and had a wonderful sense of humor.

 And Angie . . . - she became a good friend.  She was sweet and simple but very smart – a no-nonsense kind of person.  How I loved her.

 I helped them, yes – and many others  . . .   but always, I received more than I gave.  And, as suggested by Mother Teresa, always, my loneliness was lifted - Being with these people taught me about love.

The monk was right – we need not go looking - we need only do what presents itself.

So quiet, so peaceful

 Here on the mountain top.

I gaze at the valley, lakes and rivers,

At the city below.

The wind in the grass, what grass there is, whispers,

 Rejoice and be glad

 For the God who has made all this,

Is HERE!

I search and I wonder,

My spirit cries out,

Where are you Lord?

Where are you!?

 The breeze picks up

 And gently brushing my face,

Urges me to be still,

To look, to listen – feel His presence.

My heart relaxes, my mind is quiet

 My senses quicken to it all.

I am filled with joy, I am filled with peace

And I know – yes. I know - He is HERE.

While walking my dog yesterday, a small terrier charged at us from across a very busy street.  “Oh, no!”   I screamed as I saw it heading our way.”It is going to get run over!”     Certain that this was about to happen, I stood hands over eyes waiting in horror.  Instead, I heard the screeching of tires as cars jammed on the brakes and came to a halt;  the little dog, oblivious to the danger, crossed safely, and ran towards us.  The two dogs exchanged greetings, sniffing and inspecting one another, as dogs usually do, and I tightened the leash around my hand, hoping everything would be friendly.

 Having satisfied his curiosity, the little dog started back towards his owners who stood chatting, oblivious – or worse, indifferent - to the problem.  I was terrified, and  I screamed at them to watch out for their dog.  “Why is he loose!?” I cried – “He’s going to be killed!”   And again the traffic stopped – cars braking - just in time!   “Stupid and irresponsible dog owners,” I yelled, shaking my head. "Bet you don't scoop the poop either."   I continued, under my breath

I'm sure people thought me crazy as I stood there shouting and hurling insults, but I’m  also sure  it was the scream, as much as anything,  that stopped the traffic and saved the little dog’s life.

(for Claude and Dee)

While visiting Butchart Gardens one Christmas with our son his wife and our 4 year old twin granddaughters.  We came across a woman with a little dog, and we stopped to say hello.  “What lovely little girls you are.”   The woman said as the girls began to pet the puppy. “Thank you,” they responded.  Then one of the girls looked up with pride and announced, “we’re twins!”  “Are you?”  The woman responded with a smile.  “Yes, and we’re sisters too!”   The other exclaimed, feeling the need to explain.       

 The innocence of this exchange filled us with delight and it became the highlight of the evening.  We went on our way laughing and enjoying the spectacular Christmas displays, but nothing quite thrilled me as much as my little granddaughters' proud declaration of not only being twins but of also being sisters! --  Truly that was sweetness itself.   

“Come on in!” They shout with enthusiasm from the middle of the pond.  “The water’s great!”   “NO.” I answer.  “You know I hate it.   I am perfectly happy just watching you.” 

 We’ve been given permission to swim in the neighbour’s pond at the back of their property next to ours.  My children, my husband – even our dog tags along to join in the fun.  To get there we walk through a path in the woods and wear heavy shoes to protect our feet.  I am sitting with sunhat secure, head back and eyes closed, facing the sun  – perfectly content.  I’ve done this many times. This is what I enjoy. Not for me, the cold water and creepy crawlers that I’m sure lurk at the bottom of the pond and whatever else swims in the water.  Just the thought of that causes me to shudder.

 It is a perfect July day; the sun is warm, I am relaxed and everything is good.  Until ...

 Someone sneaks up from behind, picks me up and throws me in the water!  I land with a splash and quickly surface coughing and gasping for air.  “Are you insane!?”  I snarl.  “I might have drowned!”  Of course, that would not have happened – not only can I swim, they would have jumped in to rescue me, if necessary.  But my  pride is hurt and I am furious.   Meanwhile the dogs – our shepherd and the neighbour’s black lab - have jumped in the pond - not to save me – to rescue my hat that flew off and is now floating away. 

 I hear laughter and hi-fives being exchanged as the culprits, my husband and son, enjoy the fun.

 I climb out of the water, my clothes soaking wet and my hair hanging down; embarrassed and upset, I head back to the house slipping with every step because of water- logged shoes.  Forget about my hat - by now the dogs, playing tug of war, have ripped it to shreds.

 Did I go back to the pond, you wonder? What do you think?