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Sometimes Things Go a Bit Wrong

July 14, 2020 //
1

First there was the sound of a loud bump or bang. I heard that through the wall of my studio, where I was working. Then, I heard the sound of… running water? Like… loud. Splashing. From a room with no source of water… Shit. The aquarium… I pushed my chair back abruptly and went quickly to the room next door. There was water pooling on the carpet and soaking in, everywhere. Shards and chunks of glass. I could hear the water still flowing and see my Traveling Partner trapped on the other side of a tall bookcase, standing off-kilter, askew, leaning against the wall, above and into the shattered side of the 10 gallon aquarium in the room I call “my library”. Fucking hell. I helped push the bookcase into a standing position, to allow my partner to get around it, and out. He was doing the “calm-but-freaked-out” thing that happens to people when they are mired in an unexpected disaster. “I don’t know what to do, here…” he admitted. A different section of my brain than is the typical day-to-day was still engaged; I’d been working on a complex problem against a deadline. I hear my calm firm voice reply “move the bookcase out of the room so we can get started on clean up; I’ll get towels”.

I handed my partner the entire towel-content of the linen closet, and while he began mopping up water, I began picking up the biggest pieces of glass with great care, avoiding areas that appeared covered in small shards. Task by task we got the worst things handled straight away. Fish, snails, and shrimp, the living creatures were recovered and put into suitable water as quickly as we spotted them. Our tiny portable shop vac, advertised as “wet or dry” definitely wasn’t up for this challenge. Creatures retrieved and placed into water, I headed purposefully to the nearest hardware store for a proper shop-vac worthy of a garage that is planned to become, over time, my partner’s workshop/maker space. While I did that, my partner stayed behind, cleaning up more water and throwing the used, soaking wet towels into the wash. He placed the shattered aquarium, improbably still held together by a cheap plastic bottom frame and silicon-sealed joints at the corners, into a plastic tote big enough to hold it, and then supported one side a bit higher, allowing a pool of water to remain – a haven for any shrimp or fish we hadn’t netted successfully earlier. He moved the almost-new wooden aquarium stand (a cabinet type) off the soaked carpet beneath it, and into a dry place in the garage, with a breeze on it, so it would, perhaps, dry out.

…Sometimes a project goes very wrong, without any provocation or obvious cause…

I decided to re-home the now-homeless creatures (surviving in a small pitcher) by putting them into my big aquarium (and because there was little opportunity to acclimate them well or quarantine them, I was explicitly also choosing to “hope for the best” on their survival – and that of the community they joined so quickly). The big Mystery Snail was unfolding from her shell and beginning to explore almost immediately. The wee delicate Otocinclus, which were spotted and carefully netted by my Traveling Partner during the chaos and clean-up, surprised me with their resilience when I encouraged them out of the small pitcher they were in, and into the large community tank; they quickly joined the three Otocinclus there and began to settle in. The Blue Velvet Shrimp… well, they’re hard to spot against the dark substrate of the broken aquarium, honestly. Did we get them all? Really? I’m not certain, but I think we did. Later this morning, I’ll check for dead, dying, or injured creatures, and salvage the substrate, and decor, from the shattered tank (the plants have already been moved to the big tank). I don’t yet know if I will set up a second tank, again… for now that’s only a thought. More a question.

She doesn’t even have a name. I’m nonetheless surprisingly attached to her.

Funny thing… during the first days moving in, I carelessly spilled 2-3 gallons of water on our beautiful living room floor. I wailed in disappointment and self-inflicted emotional pain, in that moment. I cried – for nearly an hour, almost in hysterics over the mess, and throughout the time it took to clean it all up. I felt I had “ruined everything” in some catastrophic way. (I hadn’t. Clean water, vinyl floor… it was mostly just a pain in the ass, and very annoying after working with such care to bring the aquariums home to the new house.) This time? 8 gallons or so of actual “fish water”? Spilled into carpet? With living creatures tossed out into open air? A small hole gouged into the wall by the falling bookcase? Broken glass everywhere? This was a much bigger deal…  and I was beyond calm about it. Stressed, sure, but also measured, reasonable, practical, and purposeful. No tears. Still, even now, no tears. No one bleeding. No one died. House still standing.

As of now, this morning, I don’t think even one creature actually died during the mishap… and the new shop-vac did a great job of pulling the water out of the carpet. My Traveling Partner was skillful, effective, and cooperative; we worked together to deal with the worst of things, allowing me to return to work (first day back!); he finished the clean-up.  We began again. We hung out. We watched videos. We ate salads.

I sip my coffee this morning, preparing for the day ahead, reflecting for a moment on yesterday’s successes – and challenges. Wondering at the differences in the way I handled two somewhat similar small disasters, and learning just a bit more about what makes the woman in the mirror tick. I consider the day ahead and hope for an easy, uneventful, day – relaxed and productive, would be ideal, I think. I’ll be quite appreciative and grateful for a day approaching routine and ordinary. I give thought to my sleeping partner in the other room, hoping that he wakes well-rested, and feeling good.

I glance at the time. I’m unsurprised to find that it’s already time to begin again. I could use another cup of coffee…  🙂

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, Uncategorized

Politics Over Coffee

July 12, 2020 //
3

It is the Sunday before a Monday – the Monday that I return to work, after taking time off to move, actually. I woke peculiarly early on a day I could have slept in. My Traveling Partner was also up early. We enjoyed our coffee together, listening to jazz, and discussing politics in a genial, civil way. We disagree about some things, small details mostly, and it’s rather pleasant to share, discuss, and acknowledge those differences without a shit-storm of drama or ire. Reasonable people, discussing things in a reasonable way. 🙂 Nice start to a Sunday.

In most regards, today, specifically, is a day I’ll use to “get back on track” with various routine matters of home-care and quality of life management. I’ll do some basics that generally “feel like” Sunday to me, personally. I’ll take out the trash (making a point to empty all the little waste baskets that sit conveniently in every room), and the recycling (making a point to break down any recent boxes that have arrived in the past day or two, preventing those from piling up unattractively). I’ll double-check that the pantry is well-stocked, and make a list of things that are running low or gone; I may not go to the store on a Sunday, but I like to have a list ready. Today, on this particular Sunday, I’ll also log into all my work tools, here in my new studio/office, and make sure that I have reliable connectivity, and that my tools and equipment are wholly set up and ready-to-go for what will likely be a very busy week. I’ve made little notes for myself, too, and these I’ll add to my Sunday “to do list”, too, there are various small useful errands on little notes in my notebook (we did not have connectivity for nearly two weeks, so a lot got written down on paper). One of those notes reminds me “write a blog post”, and so, of course, I do… 🙂

Most of my lists are simply practical reminders of what I’d like to get done. I carry a wee Rite in the Rain notebook, tucked in my purse, or a pocket, for convenience. 🙂

I sip my coffee, eyeing the worn rather old etched slate coaster on my desk. It’s been thoroughly cleaned since the move, but looks perpetually dirty. The worn inelegant surface hints at many years of use. The thin crack that runs across the surface suggests it has been kept for some reason beyond function or aesthetics. I smile. It reminds me of my Granny. It came from her kitchen. “Can I have this one?” I’d asked, on a visit to her home on Frenchtown Rd, many years ago (1997?). “Sure, Sweetie.” She’d replied with an indulgent smile. I didn’t expect it to be my last visit. I’m sure she didn’t either. We are mortal creatures, and our lives are finite, each moment precious. I find myself tearing up a bit, wishing sentimentally she had lived to see my Traveling Partner and I moved into our home together. She would have been so pleased for us. There’s even room for her to have visited, quite comfortably…

A souvenir of “home” – or, at least, of the places I come from.

The open window beyond my desk doesn’t have much of a “view”, and I already love the view it does have. It functions a bit as a “blank page” for writing, and has few “distractions” or features to draw my eye inadvertently. The two rather poorly pruned pear trees dangle fruit-laden branches over the new fence. I smile, even at the less-than-ideally leveled fence boards. Our neighbors replaced the falling down fence between our yards the very week we moved in. It’s clear they had not built a fence before. Funny that the quirks of this new fence provide more kind humor than irritation, for me. The neighbors are pleasant kind people, and the community is very welcoming. This new place already feels like home. In short, I like it here, and I love this house. 🙂 I expect I’ll spend many contented hours writing, and painting. (The closet in my studio is filled with stored art. I chuckle to myself at the possibility that what stops me painting, often, is more to do with having so many laying about than any lack of inspiration in the moment. LOL)

A closet full of paintings, neatly stacked by size. Some will hang, some will sell, some will linger waiting for their moment.

I finish the last sip of my now-cold coffee, and think over the day ahead. I hear my Traveling Partner call my name from somewhere else in the house; we’re still not used to having the extra bit of room that makes trying to talk to each other from different spaces sort of silly. I smile. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Taking Care

June 27, 2020 //
1

I’m awake. I’m groggy. I’m drinking coffee. My calendar is full. My list of things to do seems as long as it has been for days. We’re definitely moving. In past moves, this is the part of moving when the self-care tasks fall by the wayside, and I typically find myself trapped in a cycle of “overdrive” and exhaustion, working unrelentingly until I collapse for minutes or hours, then back at it for every minute I can squeeze out of this fragile meat-based machinery, until fatigue finally nails me to a bed, a couch, or the floor, and I sleep for a few hours, and repeat the process day after day until the move is completed. Then, I spend days feeling disrupted, moody, bewildered, and overwhelmed, as I get used to a new place. Bleh. It’s not fun, but it’s “worked okay” for me, for many values of “okay”, generally. It’s often simply what I’ve had to work with, or perhaps I just didn’t understand it could be done very differently?

New day, new move, and a very different plan. My Traveling Partner keeps me self-care focused (“Hey, you’ve been out here working in the sun for awhile, are you drinking enough water? Have you taken a break?””Have you eaten something today?”). We each work on the things we’ve committed to with real purpose. We take time together to chill, to play, to laugh, to consume comfortable amounts of media content, and to enjoy each other. Hell, I even slept restfully last night, and woke at a fairly normal time this morning! He woke in a good mood, himself (we’re both fairly grumpy, many mornings, until we sort ourselves out and are properly awake). This move doesn’t just feel “different” – it feels good. 😀

I sip my coffee and look at my list. Nodding to myself, I double-check the details (“when does the donation drop-off open, today?”). My Traveling Partner comes into the studio, and says something pleasant, and rubs my neck for a few minutes, and reminds me about my posture without nagging. He puts on music in the other room, and I feel myself beginning to really wake up for the day ahead. There’s so much to do, and in a practical sense, with all the paperwork out of the way, the real work “begins” – building on the real work we’ve been doing for weeks, boxing and packing things. I smile to myself. There are certainly a lot of verbs involved, and this time? This time, those include self-care verbs, and verbs to do with love and loving, and shared verbs – so many shared verbs. It feels good to have my Traveling Partner’s help with this move. The last couple had some fairly poignant lonely moments (his, for him, too, I know). This feels very different.

My smile turns to a grin, and I feel filled with joy. It’s already time to begin again. 😀

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Categories Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

There’s a Tool for That

June 24, 2020 //
0

I was sipping my coffee on a morning after my Traveling Partner had returned home from some trip or another. It was quiet in the room, and in our home, and even out on the street beyond. I woke ahead of the alarm by quite a bit, and there was no hint of dawn-to-come in the sky. Not at that point. My coffee was too hot to easily drink. Based on a couple hesitant, testing, sips, it was also not very good. I pondered the variables in a cup of coffee, mystified and still groggy; how is one cup so crappy, and another so sublime? Don’t I make them all the same way? Do the tiniest subtle differences in timing or process make that much difference? (Are the differences, perhaps, not with the coffee, itself, at all?)

I sighed quietly, a measured, careful, observed exhalation, slowly released following a deep breath. I felt my chest expand as I inhaled, contracting as I exhaled. A cough interrupted the quiet. Another sip of coffee. That moment was okay, and I remained with it, centered and calm, for a while.

(This particular moment was almost a year ago – a blog post written, never published. It finishes thusly…)

It was an okay homecoming. I knew, when I arrived home, that my partner was wholly exhausted, having driven 1800 miles straight on home, then on arriving, unable to actually sleep (coffee is an excellent tool to keep one awake for a long drive, and the risk to our sleep, later, is often one we find acceptable at the time), until much later – shortly before I went to bed, myself. I made dinner. We ate it. Shared a couple of anecdotes. Managed to be contentious and at odds with each other for a moment, and got over that. We are, unavoidably, quite different people, and also quite similar. Neither of those things is an assurance of always being comfortable together, or always being in genial shared space, or even holding the same opinion about literally anything. We’re individuals.

The evening passed gently after dinner. We entertained ourselves with conversation and videos. Eventually, he called it a night, and later so did I.

I woke easily, and well-rested. I’ve already forgotten some useful habits for shared space. lol I think about the commonplace usefulness of any basic tool, whether it is a screwdriver or a habit; lacking the most appropriate tool for any given task is likely to result in greater than average difficulty, increased task complexity, frustration, and time lost to struggling with pieces that don’t fit. In the same way a screwdriver isn’t the correct tool to fit a pipe, good self-care practices are not likely to also be good communication practices (although good communication is a part of good self-care, when it comes to boundaries and expectations). It has been a common (and way too real) experience on this healing path that my own wellness does not change the general state of wellness for any one other person – and they still live their life, and see things through the lens of, their own perspective on life, on circumstances – and on the relationship we share. We are each having our own experience – and we’re not all using the same tools to get any given job done. It’s pretty complicated stuff, and a lot of human beings are barely managing their own bullshit; it’s a lot to ask that people also be kind, compassionate, patient with one another, assuming positive intent… it starts to feel more like juggling than living, at some points. It’s still worth making that attempt, in my own experience.

…It also takes practice. As with using any unfamiliar tool, it definitely takes practice, and some basic knowledge. Your results may vary – particularly where relationship skills go! (You’re not doing that job alone, and even such things as “getting along” and “communicating” and “sharing” require practice, and a commitment to learning and growing, and you can only do your own.) It can be seriously frustrating, however familiar and commonplace a task seems, to grab that screwdriver, and once already frustrated, realize that the damned thing is a Phillips-head screwdriver not a flat-head. Well, shit. That got complicated fast. True in life, love, and home repairs. LOL

So… I guess I keep practicing. 🙂 Honestly, in every practical way, I only need to practice my own practices, and handle my own self-care. The relationship stuff works out much more easily when I give other people room to be themselves, care for themselves, and we’re open to both the differences, and the things we share – while still understanding that however close we are, or may become, we are nonetheless quite individual. I smile and drink my coffee; nothing new here. I struggle, mostly, when I forget to let go. Attachment to assumptions, expectations, or internal narrative can quickly sabotage an otherwise good time.

…Strangely timely as we two individuals prepare to move. I found it “by mistake” (or at least not looking for it) moments ago, as I considered writing something that, oddly, feels pretty well-covered by the draft I opened with an errant mouse-click. Helpful circumstance. One that puts me gently “back on the path” feeling I’ve understood myself just a bit better in this moment right here, right now… I settle myself into work, and begin again. 🙂

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Uncategorized

Gray Monday

June 22, 2020 //
2

I woke early. I laid awake awhile, content and not in any hurry to start the day. Maybe I could drift off again, I thought, several times. I didn’t. I got up a few minutes ahead of the alarm, made coffee, and got the day going.

I spent yesterday, Father’s Day, with my Traveling Partner, relaxing together – what else? I mean, seriously? The pandemic isn’t a hoax, and there is still a lot of risk out there in the world, although many places are beginning to open. I went out, briefly, for a walk. Getting to the unpopular trail I’d selected (because it is unpopular), I passed several local restaurants, now open for dine-in service. The parking lots were packed. Father’s Day. I get it. I also don’t get it. Do people think the virus will take a holiday? I found myself wondering how many days it would be, following Father’s Day, before the next spike in new cases?

I sip my coffee and let all that go, this morning. Just another morning living life in the time of pandemic. 🙂

I’m tired, but not groggy. I’m in pain, but it is manageable. I struggle with that juxtaposition of circumstances that is the collision of inspiration… and the lack of ability to act on it; the studio is packed for the move. I shrug it off; the feeling of inspiration, at least for now, is not unpleasant. Soon enough, there is a new studio to set up. New work to plan. I’m excited about the move, and my excitement stokes my inspiration. Plein air watercolors of roses painted from on the deck, perhaps? 🙂

I breathe, exhale, relax, and sit quietly sipping my coffee after taking time for meditation and a bit of exercise. I look over my “to do list” from the weekend. Most of the items are related to the upcoming move. I got quite a few things done, and I make sure each completed task is struck through. 🙂 Satisfying. Another week begins. The wheel continues to turn. The path ahead unfolds, ready to be walked. I let the morning unfold gently as I sip my coffee. So much to do…

…I guess I’ll go ahead and begin again. 🙂

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Free Will, inspiration, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being
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