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Air Angels

Have you ever had one of those days? You know, one of those days. The days that leave you edgy and short of breath, time and patience? I had one or two of those days this week and it got me thinking. I talked a little bit last week about the noise that we allow to seep in and steal our peace, but really the internal noise we create is far more insidious.

 

Internal noise? That could be anything really, anything emotional we carry around with us. Whether it's for a moment, an hour, a year or a lifetime. It's the extra 10, 20, 100 pounds we bash ourselves about not being able to shed. It's the "What did I do to her (or him) to make them dislike me so?" It's the jealousy of others possessions or station in life, the feelings of being inferior. It's guilt for being successful, having things. It's internal noise caused by fear of being a target of the gossipers around us who take such pleasure in dragging us through the mud. Our amusement at their entourage because they think they're immune to their vile-tongued friend. It's guilt for forgetting birthdays, not keeping the house spotless or even close to spotless. Guilt for moving to a small town where your child ended up being bullied. No one can quite create noise and distraction and steal our peace quite like we can and no one can beat us up better than we can beat up ourselves.

I have to learn to breath deeply, be still, calm the noise. Make air angels.

 

I think the key to this is different for everyone. For me, it's yoga (Remember me? "Hi, I'm Raine, I'm a Pisces and I make hemp soap." I joke only because I would really love to make hemp soap!) and writing. For my husband it's computer gaming and fishing (real fishing, not virtual fishing) For some, it's running, reading, crocheting, knitting, shopping, gardening. Some folks talk to friends and loved ones to help spread the load, making it easier to shoulder. Some turn to God on prayer, some meditate.

Whatever the medium you choose for painting your air angels, it comes down to one simple premise. Quietening the internal noise enough to be able to hear yourself being thankful. There is an instruction in my favorite yoga practice that says for you to pause and think about what you'd like to heal of what you'd like to practice gratitude for.

Practicing gratitude. Even in my worst moments or the times during my life when I'm faced with the biggest struggles I can find something to be thankful for, even if it's only "thank goodness it wasn't worse." When I practice yoga, my gratitude in the moment is that my body is strong enough to go thought even some of the postures. My form may not be ideal, my stamina may be lacking, but I can move and I can practice and I can become stronger. I can practice. Practice.

I will practice quietening my internal noise. I will practice gratitude. I will practice making air angels.

Namaste ya'll.

boxers photo credit: Foxtongue via photopin cc

early morning stretch (air angel) photo credit: Anemone Jones via photopin cc

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Noisy McNoiserson and the Peace Theives

Do you ever feel like The Grinch? Boy, I realized this week that I do. I was pretty possessive of my inner peace to start with, feeling unsettled as folks slice tidbits away. Not that they were going to use it for themselves. That's not what happens when you take someone's peace. You don't gain peace, you take theirs and you lose your own as well. It's a sticky wicket. I digress...

This week I have had blessings and lessons starting with the morning of my husband's outpatient "procedure". His doctor quipped that it was his early 50th birthday present, no thank you note was necessary. While I waited for him during the procedure in the ambulatory procedure unit bay (which is a collection of gurneys sequestered in each corner of of the room separated only by medical equipment and curtains that don't quite enclose the entire gurney space. You almost feel you have a bit of privacy, but not quite.)

In the bay with me was a couple a little older than my husband and I. We sat quietly waiting, each of us entertaining ourselves, they with cryptic crosswords in the newspaper and I read. Then they entered. This shuffling mob of a young family. They exuded chaos. As they clambered to the check-in desk, I found myself praying, "Oh, PLEASE direct then to another bay." Prayers are always heard and answered. This prayer was met with a resounding "No." And the McNoiserson's came to roost behind the next curtain.

Mother McNoiserson proclaimed her indifference to the lack of privacy as she grappled her way into the hospital gown. "Dang near everyone in this hospital has seen me naked anyway, I'm not worried about it." I wondered if I would be allowed to vote on the matter. I didn't get a vote. Once Mother McNoiserson settled into her gurney the real fun began.

The TV went on loudly for the older McNoiserson daughter and about that time Mother M. discovered that someone posted something ugly about her on Facebook to which she responded by texting very loudly (yes, even her texting was noisy.. Clack, clack, clack-clack clack.. Mumble, mumble. "I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map, I'M THE MAP!"). Mr. McNoiserson rises to defend his wife's honor by promptly calling up a video on YouTube and watching it mindlessly, ignoring everything that was going on behind that very thin curtain. Clack-clack. "I'm the map". Then the baby, the little Cindy Lou Who of the McNoiserson clan began to cry. I was astounded and now feeling quite cranky. I had skipped coffee that morning because Tim couldn't have anything, and I didn't feel that would be fair of me. I was beginning to rethink my conscientiousness. Dr. Seuss said it best, "There's one thing I hate, all the noise, noise, noise, noise."

Thankfully, I took from my answered prayer its intended lesson. The lesson of seeing the chaos that surrounds distraction, and how I would tend to hide in distraction to escape that chaos. One feeds the other. I would escape to try to find peace, or healing, but how can you find anything when you're distracted and surrounded by chaos, however minor.

It's only been a couple weeks now since I gave up distraction for Lent, but my mind is just a little clearer, my heart a little fuller and my home a little cleaner. I have been present with my mind, my heart, my ears and my shoulder for my friends and family and myself. I'm quieting the noise around me and in turn it's quieting the noise inside. I can't control the McNoiserson's of the world, but I can work toward not letting them steal my peace.

wicket photo credit: jronaldlee via photopin cc

noise photo credit: BarelyFitz via photopin cc

hospital curtain photo credit: withassociates via photopin cc

 

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The Cheese Stands Alone

When my sister, we call her Dibs, encouraged me to begin blogging, I thought, "Oh my God! What on Earth would I write about?" I tossed the idea around for a long while, read other blogs, trying to get a feel for other bloggers styles and content. I tend to be a perfectionist (who is FAR from perfect, mind you) and when I set out on a project of any sort, I need all the information I can get on the subject. I think it's more a matter of being fearful of looking silly if I don't know all the ins and outs of what I'm doing.

There are some bloggers I identify with, others I don't. I may like their work, I may try every recipe they share and love them. But something doesn't click for me. I thought a lot about why I didn't feel a connection and it finally hit me a few days ago what it is. Dibs and I were discussing a very well-liked blogger and I enjoy her work, her style, her recipes. She has it going on. But I don't read her blog. She intimidates me. Hmmmm... Why? She's too organized and he life seems too much in control (no, I'm not talking about Martha Stewart, I promise). I can't relate to her. She doesn't seem real. She works very hard, but things are just a little too perfect.

Now, this may be the hardest part of what I intend to do here. Be real. Or at least be as real as practical and still provide some entertainment, or information. If I constantly write about how disorganized I am, or how cluttered my closets are, what do I really have to offer you? I may not share photos of my cluttered closets, but then again, I may! I will eventually share recipes and artsy projects here, I'm sure. But I'm going to start by exposing myself a bit (not in a lewd and lascivious sort of way.)

I wonder about a lot of things. A lot of times I wonder if other people feel the same way I do about things. As long as I can remember, I've always felt slightly out of sync with other people. I don't say this to garner sympathy at all, it's just how I felt. Like I'm perpetually outside the circle looking in. Dramatically, the cheese standing alone. (If you never played "Farmer in the Dell" as a child, you won't get that reference)

It used to make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. As I've grown older, I've begun to feel differently about it. I wonder if everyone feels that way to some extent. If we are self-aware, we are bound to recognize our uniqueness, our individuality, the things that set us apart from everyone else. The good and the bad. We seek out people who we can connect to, we seek out similarities so we are not standing outside the circle alone. I think we also look for shared failings and weaknesses. We look to connect with people who are real, or at least share as much realness as we are prepared to handle.

On Facebook and Twitter, we tend to share the shiny bright things of our lives. The things that glimmer on the surface of us. The things we want our friends and families to "like". These things are real, but they're not necessarily REAL. Not the whole story, it's the photo that excludes the crap inside the cluttered closet, and that's okay. But I hope to share some things about lessons learned from time to time, I'm going to let my defenses down a bit and be real. Nothing too heavy, I promise, just every day stuff I hope some of you can relate to and maybe we will have a smile together as we spin inside this circle not standing alone.

flasher photo credit: David Blackwell. via photopin cc

closet photo credit: Travis Mortz via photopin cc

 

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Cleaning the Lent Trap

Today is the first day of Lent. I established in my last post that I'm not Catholic. I'm one of those silly girls who flips my hair off my shoulder and says breathlessly, "Hi. My name is Raine. I'm not overly religious, but I'm very spiritual" okay, except that, obviously my name isn't "Raine", but I think you get my point.

I pray, I feel close to God, I do everything in my power to be a good person, treat people as fairly and kindly as possible. Abide by the Golden Rule, the Ten Commandments. In fact, I think above anything else that can be said about me, I think it might be agreed that I am kind, unless you are not kind to me or someone I love, but I think that's most anybody.

We had a very fancy front-loading clothes dryer until recently. It was top of the line, had all the bells and whistles. It tumbled, it buzzed. It did everything except dry our clothes. If I washed even a small load of clothes, I would have to run them through three 90 minute cycles and would still end up with a load of considerably damp clothes.

We replaced heating elements, tried everything. Finally, our fancy dryer died. Flat out died. No bells, no whistles, just a hunk of metal and fried electronics. So, we got a new washer and dryer (the fancy washer that matched the fancy dryer had been limping along for years)

When the new set arrived, I excitedly (yes, excitedly) set to sorting clothes. I washed my first load and it was like the first load of laundry there ever was. Everything clean and fresh. I tossed it all in the dryer and ran the first cycle. The timer buzzed to indicate the completion of the cylcle and... Huh. Everything was still damp.

The first thing that crossed my mind was, "We got a dud!" Figure the odds, swapping one crappy dryer for another. My husband and I troubleshot and although we were faithful about cleaning the lint trap, we felt that might still be the root of our wash day woes.

We finally bought a duct cleaning contraption that cleaned the full length of the duct. Things were better, but still not right. My sweet husband, Tim got on the roof to clean the duct from the roof side and this is what we found

If you can't tell what that is, it's felt. Not lint. Felt. A one inch thick layer of dryer lint so compressed and mashed, it became felt. So much dryer lint had accumulated in the trap on the roof, there was no hope of any damp air escaping. We had essentially asphyxiated our poor dryer, and a similar fate would have befallen our shiny new dryer.

Looking at that lint, I realized that is how my mind feels most days. So full of mashed, compressed information my brain and spirit is suffocating. It takes me three times the effort to wade through the lint between my ears. Today is the first day I've cleaned my mental lint trap. When I got home, I practiced yoga, cooked dinner, cooked a dish for Tim's potluck tomorrow, sorted though a mound of documents to shred and cleaned the kitchen. Over dinner, we talked about our day. It was a very nice beginning to this lint-free journey.

Over the next forty days I hope to share some projects and some accomplishments, some ideas as well as some thoughts. I'm also going to encourage you to clean your lint trap.

 

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Birthday Presence

 

I love New Orleans, I always have. From the first time I visited in 1972. I remember seeing the streetcar named Desire, long before I ever saw A Streetcar Named Desire. The food, the architecture, the people, made my heart sing. It still does. I have decades of memories and aspirations centered around New Orleans. My best friend in high school and I vowed to move to New Orleans before college, we would work and become absorbed in the culture and the lifestyle. Our life plans took different paths than that but the thought of it still makes me smile as I imagine how movie-perfect that summer would have been. The reality would most likely have been quite different, not as shiny and bright as the teenaged imagination tends to make things. There are simply some places that immediately connect with our souls. There are simply some people who do too.

Because of my love for New Orleans, I also love Mardi Gras. Now that I have lived in the Deep South for over twenty years I have come to really appreciate the flavor of Carnival. At first it was an excuse to keep my shiny Christmas tree up for just a little longer, swapping out the red and green bobbles for purple, green and gold. Then, although I am not Catholic, I began observing Lent, I've successfully lost weight, quit a not insignificant shopping habit, practiced random acts of kindness for 40 days. By Easter, I would come out lighter of heart, of pounds or heavier of pocketbook.

 

 

Occasionally, Mardi Gras (Shrove Tuesday) falls squarely on my birthday, this is one of those years, the next time this happens will be in 2025, so this feels like the year to do something really meaningful. A few weeks ago. I began pondering what I would do for Lent. I began thinking about the things in my life I would like to achieve. Writing, house projects, art projects, focusing less of my mental energy on things that don't serve me or my loved ones. I began thinking about the things that take so much of my mental energy, things that suck up so much time, things that make me feel like a hamster in a squeaky wheel that gets no grease. I've taken a hard look at the things that have become gap-fillers, I've forgotten how to be quiet with myself and with my loved ones. I've filled every moment with some type of visual or mental stimulation. There is no mental and very little emotional bandwidth going spare.

This year I am giving up distraction for Lent. Whatever that means. I am re-dedicating my attention and my focus on the things that matter. The evenings being so tired from work and commuting that we vegetate in front of the television, or absorption into our various electronic gadgets, the things distracting us from each other. We are going to focus on our home, our health and our hearts for the next forty days, allowing ourselves one hour a day for devices of distraction, but no more hamster on the squeaky wheel syndrome. We will be focusing on being present. I'm excited and curious what we will be able to accomplish in the next forty days. I'll keep you posted.

Happy Mardi Gras everybody!

 

 

 

 

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Stalker Mom

We have just enjoyed another terrific Independence Day. For our family, the arrival of Independence Day brings forth a landmark birthday for our daughter, Sarah. This Independence Day, I struggle with the ever-nearing independence of our eighteen-year-old daughter as we ready her to embark on her newest exploration, college.

It seems as though I have been gently led through baby steps toward Sarah's awakening independence. I am convinced that these baby steps are for me, not for her. She seems ready to spread her wings. It's me continuing to bite my tongue to keep from saying, "No! Your wings aren't dry yet!" But her wings are dry, and strong and she is ready to take flight on them.

Today, Sarah is off on a grand adventure. She is flying to London to meet our British family. These better-than-best friends have been part of our lives for more than twenty years. After eighteen years of hearing us say, "Oh, I so hope you get to meet them one day.", "Oh, Sarah you would just love England. I really wish you could see it." Today is the day... Actually, tomorrow is the day. Tonight she is halfway there, skimming across the Atlantic Ocean. I know this because thanks to technology, I am doing what any mother of an eighteen-year-old girl would do. I've got her on low jack. Her wings may be ready but I can still watch her fly.

 

 

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