I've just heard from the rescue society in Long Island. They have found someone to bring Franklin-the-cat across tomorrow. Alrighty then! This time is later - they would take the 2pm ferry and get to Clinton about 4pm. That means I need to cancel my oil change.
It also means I can't make it to Niantic tomorrow to get to the bookstore. (That'd be too much driving in one day.) The two spots - the bookstore in Niantic and the Dunkin Donuts in Clinton, are only 18 miles apart on I-95, but the off-highway trip is 40 miles because the Connecticut River must be crossed in New London and there's only one bridge and that's 95. Forget it. Google says that the entire day would be 102 miles.
I will think about it, though. It would be an adventure. The main issue is that my right knee is killing me. Plus it's swollen. It's odd. I woke up Friday. My leg feels as if it wants to go into a charley-horse, so it's not just the knee. I took two Advil about 4:30pm but it's still not pleasant.
Typically if the knee is sore, walking around cures it pretty quickly. That's not the case today. Maybe I'm low on potassium. Anyway, that's why I don't want to drive a hundred miles tomorrow.
And, Dad's here.
Been reading "We Are Not Ourselves," a new novel by a fellow named Matthew Thomas. It really is an outstanding novel, but I'm 53% in and I need to stop. One of the central characters has Alzheimer's, has clearly been sick for a while and (in the novel) has just been diagnosed. The gut punch of the initial doctor's visits hollowed out my chest last night. I have to put it aside. The story is too close to my own - Irish family, legacy of alcoholism and its resulting familial behaviors, the long slow radiating torture of dementia. Yeah, too soon. Too soon.
That said, the book is a luscious treat of a story and I'm someone who tends to prefer genre fiction instead of novels such as this. This book has had me fully ensnared since I began reading it on Thursday. (LOL I feel as if I need to say here that the book is 600+ pages, so I've spent hours with it so far.) I'll come back to it. I requested the author to be a friend on Goodreads and he accepted.
I need to take my shower and get cooking. Need to cook for my own lunches this week and I want to send Dad home with some bites to eat. I can't send much or he won't eat it. First, finish the coffee.
Didn't go anywhere this weekend other than the grocery store. No new experiences, other than watching episodes of The Blacklist and reading this book.
Friday afternoon I stumbled across this beautiful Terry Pratchett reading guide. Spent a while looking up a few books and figured out that I have read 12-15 of the books pictured. Soul Music and Small Gods are still my favorites, but I did really enjoy Going Postal and Making Money. I've read all of the Death books. I haven't read a single Rincewind novel. The Watch novels are blending in my head so the best I can figure is that I've read 3-6 of them. And I've read four of the nine books in the Witches line.
I was thinking yesterday that I'm good with expanding into a new life that I haven't lived yet, as opposed to trying to get back to a life I've already lived.
The flavor is incredible. Wow. I do hope it sets. It wasn't setting fully with the freezer plate test. We'll see. I'm not a big fan of raspberry as a flavor, but I love raspberry-lime.
1 bottle Framboise Lambic beer (raspberry beer)
3.5 cups of sugar
Pectin, I put in about 4tbsp, which I think was too little
Zest and juice of one lime.
I did reduce about a cup and a half of the lambic first, so as to intensify the flavor.
(EDIT) The finished jars:
Dad was here, doing his thing. And it was fine.
Title: "The 12-step dogma - The new science of addiction makes 12-step programmes seem like folk medicine. Is the concept of a higher power obsolete?"
It's a "long read" so I'm not going to paste it in here, especially as everyone should experience Aeon. Full text of the article is located here.
"Many mornings I check out the news as soon as I wake up, because if it turns out that the world is coming to an end that day, I am going to eat the frosting off an entire carrot cake; just for a start. Then I will move onto vats of clam dip, pots of crime brûlée, nachos, M & M's etc. Then I will max out both my credit cards.
I used to think that if the world--or I--were coming to an end, I'd start smoking again, and maybe have a cool refreshing pitcher of lime Rickeys. But that's going too far, because if the world or I was saved at the last minute, I'd be back in the old familiar nightmare. In 1986, grace swooped down like a mighty mud hen, and fished me out of that canal. I got the big prize. I can't risk losing it.
But creme brûlée, nachos, maybe the random Buche Noel? Now you're talking.
The last two weeks have been about as grim and hopeless as any of us can remember, and yet, I have not gotten out the lobster bib and fork. The drunken Russian separatists in Ukraine with their refrigerated train cars? I mean, come on. Vonnegut could not have thought this up. Dead children children on beaches, and markets, at play, in the holy land?? Stop.
The two hour execution in festive Arizona? Dear God.
And let's not bog down on the stuff that was already true, before Ukraine, Gaza, Arizona, like the heartbreaking scenes of young refugees at our border, the locals with their pitchforks. The people in ruins in our own families. Or the tiny problem that we have essentially destroyed the earth--I know, pick pick pick.
Hasn't your mind just been blown lately, even if you try not to watch the news? Does it surprise you that a pretty girl's mind turns to thoughts of entire carrot cakes, and credit cards?
My friend said recently, "It's all just too Lifey. No wonder we all love TV." Her 16 year old kid has a brain tumor. "Hey, that's just great, God. Thanks a lot. This really works for me."
My brother's brand new wife has tumors of the everything. "Fabulous, God. Loving your will, Dude."
My dog Lily's ear drum burst recently, for no apparent reason, with blood splatter on the walls on the entire house--on my sleeping grandson's pillow. Do you think I am well enough for that?
Let me go ahead and answer. I'm not. It was CSI around here; me with my bad nerves. And it burst again last night.
Did someone here get the latest updated owner's manual? Were they handed out two weeks ago when I was getting root canal, and was kind of self-obsessed and out of it? The day before my dog's ear drum first burst? If so, is there is an index, and if so, could you look up Totally Fucking Overwhelm?
I have long since weeded out people who might respond to my condition by saying cheerfully, "God's got a perfect plan." Really? Thank you! How fun.
There is no one left in my circle who would dare say, brightly, "Let Go and Let God," because they know I would come after them with a fork.
It's not that I don't trust God or grace or good orderly direction anymore. I do, more than ever. I trust in divine intelligence, in love energy, more than ever, no matter what things look like, or how long they take. It's just that right now cute little platitudes are not helpful.
I'm not depressed. I'm overwhelmed by It All. I don't think I'm a drag. I kind of know what to do. I know that if I want to have loving feelings, I need to do loving things. It begins by putting your own oxygen mask on first: I try to keep the patient comfortable. I do the next right thing: left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe. I think Jesus had a handle on times like these: get thirsty people water. Feed the hungry. Try not to kill anyone today. Pick up some litter in your neighborhood. Lie with your old dog under the bed and tell her what a good job she is doing with the ruptured ear drum.
I try to quiet the drunken Russian separatists of my own mind, with their good ideas. I pray. I meditate. I rest, as a spiritual act. I spring for organic cherries. I return phone calls.
I remember the poor. I remember an image of Koko the sign-language gorilla, with the caption, "Law of the American Jungle: remain calm. Share your bananas." I remember Hushpuppy at the end of Beasts of the Southern Wild, just trying to take some food home to her daddy Wink, finally turning to face the hideous beast on the bridge, facing it down and saying, "I take care care of my own."
I take care of my own. You are my own, and I am yours--I think this is what God is saying, or trying to, over the din. We are each other's. Thee are many forms of thirst, many kinds of water."
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing to you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~
By Annika Martins
“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals.” ~Pema Chodron
After college, I was hustling hard to get a work visa so that I could stay in the US.
But then my mom got caught up in a political scandal, and without much reflection on how much this would alter my life’s plans, I dropped my dream of staying in America, drove 1,000 miles, and flew another 500 to be by her side.
Would she have crumbled without me there? My mama is a tough chick, so I highly doubt it.
But at the time, I (subconsciously) believed that when the ones we love are hurting, their pain trumps everything. Their pain gets top priority, and whatever goals and dreams we’ve been working toward now pale in comparison.
At the time, I thought that love meant tending to the other person’s needs first—always.
And this form of self-sacrifice came naturally to me (I’d behaved this way even as a young child), so I was lucky, right? Having inherent caregiver qualities is a beautiful gift, right?
Yes. And maybe not.
Are You a Natural Caregiver?
You’ll know if you have this trait too, because people will often tell you their secrets mere minutes after meeting you.
When someone has just been in a car accident or broken up with their boyfriend, you wrap your arms around them and for the first time that day, their body fully relaxes.
People tell you they feel at home in your presence. Safe. Heard. Cared for.
There’s so much beauty in having a trait like this. Without much effort, you nurture and care for those around you. It is a gift you give us all.
But there’s another side to the caregiver coin.
Helping other people can become addictive. It can begin to feel like the only way to show your love is to prostrate yourself at the needs of others.
Oh, you’re hurting? Lemme swoop in and save the day.
Oh, you’re broke? Lemme dump my savings into your bank account and all will be well.
Oh, you’re single again? Lemme set you up with my neighbor’s son.
Whatever your ailment, I’ve got a fix for you!
And the gratitude from the people we’re supposedly ‘fixing’ tends to flow so steadily that we become convinced of the healthiness of our stance.
We’re confident that healing every sore spot we see is not only natural and enjoyable, but it’s the main reason we were put on this planet.
When you carry the Nurturer Gene, fixing other people can easily become a destructive self-identity.
You will martyr yourself over and over again in order to meet the invisible quota of Lives Helped that floats above your head.
You will obsessively analyze how every choice you make might impact those around you.
You will assess every meal, every dollar spent, every vacation taken (or not taken) based on how it will impact the people you feel a responsibility to care for.
Because, in this unhealthy version of caregiving, our understanding of love has become warped. Love now looks like a relentless string of sacrifice.
Your thoughts might go something like this:
If I don’t love her with my constant presence, she will feel sad and lonely.
If I don’t love him with my attentive eye observing everything, he’ll get sick again, or maybe even die.
If I don’t love them with my efficiencies managing everything, someone will get hurt. Things will go very wrong if I’m not here to take care of them all.
Sometimes, love calls on us to invest our energy and time in tending to someone else’s pain.
But not 100 percent of the time. And not with the nurturing going down a one-way street, pouring out of the same person, over and over again.
If you see this pattern in any of your relationships, consider what it would take to expand your definition of what it means to nurture, to love, to care for.
A healthy caregiver not only nourishes the needs of others, but also nourishes her own.
Holistic nourishment. Nourishment of the whole of us, for all of us—which includes you.
Self-nourishment might look like hiring a babysitter so you can have a romantic getaway with your hubby.
Self-care might mean taking the job on the other side of the country, even though it means you’ll only see your parents twice a year.
Self-love might be quietly soaking in a bubble bath instead of probing everyone for a detailed account of their day.
You are not responsible for the world’s pain.
Share your talents and resources. Generously give your time and attention. But you cannot pour a magical tonic on the wounds of every person walking the planet. It’s not your job. And if it were, it’d be a sucky job because you’d fail at it every single day.
Especially when we identify as being “spiritual,” we can lift up words like “compassion,” “generosity,” and “kindness” to such a degree that we forget that even “compassion” sometimes must say no.
Even “generosity” has to allocate some of her resources for herself.
And even “kindness” must muster the nerve to walk away sometimes.
If you are the person in your relationship or family or company that defaults to caregiver and wound-tender, give thanks for the ease with which you dish out your love.
But be careful about inhaling that caregiver role to such a degree that your identity becomes dependent on having someone nearby to nurture.
Give your love. Freely and deeply.
And trust that even if you’re not there to ‘fix’ them, everyone will be just fine.
Photo by Valerie Everett