Indeed Precious

Some months back I visited a friend and her little one at their house. When we first met she was pregnant with this child. He is now 6 and a half. A darling, darling little boy. When I walked into their home he was sitting at the table playing with some figurines.  I love engaging with young children especially when they are playing with something. Turns out the figurines were these really cool Star Wars legos characters and he shared the names of each one.

Then all of the sudden he jumped up to show me his light saber. The light beam flipped out and even made that amazing buzzing sounds. Needless to say I was as delighted as he was.

When I left I couldn't find my keys and he said to me, "If you can't find your keys you can spend the night with us!" It just tickled me. As I walked out with my friend she said he really liked me because not everyone gets invited to spend the night.  Just then he came running out of the house to show me his light saber again...precious, truly precious.

* ~ * ~ * 

In pondering this memory I am struck by the truth that all humanity is special, deeply loved, and indeed precious.  I want to remember this especially when one of my inner voices speaks a different message.

A day I'd do over...

March 20, 2012 is a day I'd choose to live again.  It was a breakthrough day as several things came together for me.  I've been working on some new behaviors/responses over the last several years and on this day I watched myself actively put them into practice.  I was confident, yet teachable, present with the frustrating circumstance.  I weighed choices, made some decisions and implemented them.  I asked questions when I didn't understand, requested clarification, and repeat instructions when needed.

These behaviors have been very difficult for me especially when asking for help.  Growing up I would push away my fears and "negative" emotions.  I would move to a place of "observing and watching" overwhelmed and paralyzed by tension, yet not able to name or acknowledge the myriad of feelings.

Back in May 2009 I enrolled in Susannah Conway's eCourse, Unravelling: Ways of Seeing My Self, but did not finish.  During Week Two on Reflections, I had a health scare.  It turned out to be nothing, but the fear overwhelmed me, tormented my thoughts, and twisted up my emotions for several weeks.  Facing the fear and "Unraveling" at the same time was too intense.

I wrote ferociously in my journal, sobbed buckets of tears, but during that time I faced the tormenting fear of receiving a life threatening diagnosis.  I like to say that I faced DOWN the tormenting fear and learned I could be present in the fear without it overwhelming me.  I learned that the fear came in waves, but would soon go back out.  I learned I could get through each wave.

During lunch the next day with my dear friend, I shared the health news (still undiagnosed at the time).  I asked where the fear comes from and why it comes.  I was in tears and feeling the fear again...feeling each moment of the tormenting fear.  But in the safety of her friendship I could acknowledge that the wave would not kill me.  In that moment my feelings, thoughts and observations were integrated and "with me".  I didn't push away the fear, but let it be present in the same room with my thoughts and observations.

This was a new behavior for me and brings me back to March 20th and why I am so proud of myself.  I almost gave up something I enjoy very much, but in the discouragement and frustration I took some courage and asked for help.  It seems kind of silly for it to be about snow skiing, but I'm okay with that.

I grew up skiing and skied regularly through college, but over the last several years (after a 15 year hiatus) I could only ski 3 to 4 hours a day.  My thighs would be completely shot for the rest of the day.  I blamed it on being out of shape (which is true), but recently something made me wonder if maybe my technique needed help especially since skis now days are shaped differently.

So on our most recent trip to Taos I decided to take a lesson.  My ski instructor was wonderful and I could tell an immediate difference.  I relearned how to turn, to allow the skis to do the work and not muscle each and every turn myself.  I skied the full day and my last run was an absolute blast.  With arms raised in sweet victory I finished my last run with a huge grin on my face.

I heard something revolutionary (at least to me) from a friend about ten years ago about emotions.  She said we can pay attention to our emotions and understand the signals they send without being controlled by them.   It's taken me some time, but I think I'm getting the hang of it.

A Connection to my Grandfather

On our recent trip to Taos, we stopped at a Texas rest area just outside the OK-TX border.  I took the camera with me, not even sure why.  I'm sure glad I did.  Inside the ladies room the walls were tiled with an interesting mosaic of the North Texas landscape.

The tile work triggered a special memory of my grandfather.  He and my great uncle designed a number of buildings on the University of Wyoming campus and one in particular has a special place in our family's lore.  The story goes that the inspiration for the Classroom Building came from one of my mom's casserole dishes.  The exterior of the building is quite stunning and for its time was forward thinking in the amenities for classroom instruction.

UW Classroom Building (center) - Photo courtesy Wyoming_Jackrabbit
via  Creative Commons copyright

My grandfather and great uncle envisioned four mosaics in each of the directional corners to represent the state of Wyoming.  Each mosaic was designed by an art professor at the university.  As a little girl I remember my grandpa sharing about the project at their dinner table and I remember seeing the mosaics for the first time.  The building was dedicated in 1971 and underwent significant renovations in 2007 to bring it to current standards.

Several years ago at the suggestion of one of my husband's friends, B and I got copies of the architectural plans from the UW archives (American Heritage Center) and put together a beautiful remembrance for my mom and dad.  We spent several hours looking through boxes and settled on a few drawings.  It was a sweet treat to watch B in the archives, a place where he's spent many hours.

Here is a picture of my dad after opening the Christmas gift.  I know that gift touched a deep place in his heart that day.

4 pairs of gloves

Somehow I ended up with four pairs of gloves on our trip to Taos. I needed ski gloves and wanted a pair of light gloves in case it was too warm. I also wanted my driving gloves and on the first day I found a pair of gloves in my pockets. So between the two of us, B and I had maybe 9 pairs.

At first this felt very uncomfortable to me and a bit extravagant. Perhaps it is, as I am well aware that many people have no gloves.

I could feel myself tensing up and becoming critical toward myself and toward B. I realized something, though, as I started listening to my thoughts. I realized that the four gloves are kinda how we live life right now. It works for us and when we let go of how we "should" be living, we are more comfortable with how we are living.  We are at peace and more open to others. No justifications, no defensiveness, no comparisons, just our delightful selves.

Today's Smiles

* Venti half-caff one-percent latte

* Lunch with my best friend who happens to be my husband

* An email from my mother-in-law about her great visit with one of her grandchildren (one of my nieces)

* Nuzzling with my kitty, Molly

* Looking out my front window at our beautiful daffodils and pansies

Happy Spring from Oklahoma

   

 

Waiting for me...

When my husband calls from our home phone this is the image that displays on my phone.  It makes me smile.

When I leave in the morning I see a similar pose when I look back at the house.  This view breaks my heart, but the good news is I often see this pose when I pull into the driveway.  Usually she's sitting on the couch and then jumps up when she sees the lights of the car.

As soon as I open the front door her wiggly body makes it clear she's glad I'm home.

I'm glad, too.

Second Blessing

I hand wrote a blog entry about Abbie back in the spring of 2008 about 8 months after Alafair died.  I found it the other day and decided today seemed the perfect day.  :)

~*~

I've been wanting to post this story on my blog for awhile and today seems the perfect day.  Both B and I feel a lot of sadness over missing our Alafair.  Although we think of her daily, the tears are not as frequent.  For whatever reason we miss her very much today.

Earlier this year over New Year's weekend two of our nieces and my in-laws came for visit.  During a conversation with the 16 year old, she asked why we named our newest addition "Abbie".  

Our Abbie -
taken Jan 1, 2012

Abbie came to us named "Maggie", but one day shortly after we adopted her from Second Chance, I was hugging on her and talking to her.  I accidentally called her "Abbie" without even thinking.  After the words passed my lips tears unexpectedly welled up in my eyes.  The name seemed a perfect fit. 

I told my niece this story and she said the sweetest thing.  She had wondered if we named her Abbie because the name means "Blessing" and she saw Abbie as being a "second" blessing to us.

The thing is Abbie has been so good for us since the first day we adopted her just a few weeks before Alafair died.  When Alafair was so sick Abbie would do something to make us smile.  And after we said our goodbyes once again Abbie helped us get through those initial heart breaking days.

She loves us and we love her.  Abbie truly is a "second" blessing.

 ~*~

As I complete the finishing touches on the blog entry, my Abbie is sleeping right next to me on the couch with her head touching my thigh.  Yes, she is an Abbie.

The Sound of Music

Of late I've found myself listening to George Winston's December in the early pre-dawn hours.  Waking about 3am racing thoughts of incomplete projects and open issues swirl around my brain.  Listening to these piano compositions slow my heart rate and calm my thoughts.  Usually I fall back to sleep during the opening track entitled, "Thanksgiving."

I first heard the album in 1982 while studying in the Music Lounge during my freshman year of college.  Several years later we bought cassette tape and eventually the CD.  Fast forward to 2006 and the music found its way onto my first iPod, but remained unplayed for many years.

I'm not sure what prompted me to call up the album recently.  Of late I've discovered that music infused with piano leaves tracks of something good in me.  My husband and I recently heard Jimmy Webb play his original compositions on a huge grand piano in a 100 seat venue.  At times tears welled in my eyes from an unknown place.

As I've been musing about this, I remembered that most afternoons while growing up my mom played our piano for an hour or so before starting dinner.  I expect this was something she did even before she and Dad married.  I can't help but wonder if since my conception piano instrumentals have been part of me.  Who knows and in some ways it doesn't matter.  I just know that this sound of music is delicate and tender in my soul.

Our Loyal Streak

I've been needing and wanting to write this blog entry since we said our last goodbyes to our faithful and devoted Streak.  It still hurts very much when I reflect on his last 7 months after we discovered he had lymphoma.  At the time he was still strong and had much life for a 13 year old.  He still wanted to be with us and none of us were ready to say goodbye.  But by the time of his last treatment 8 months later we knew it was time and Streak let us know as well.

A good friend of mine shared something that comforted me during Streak's last year.  She said Streak had a God appointed job to be with us.  His job was to be fearlessly loyal from the first day he came to us to his last and Streak did just that especially with Brad.  He was appointed to be Brad's guardian.  To bring Brad life and to bring him healing.  To be his companion and to demonstrate loyalty and devotion.

One of my favorite memories is seeing Streak and Brad as they walked up the stone path we laid in memory of our Alafair.  Streak would be right next to Brad as they walked to the house.  Another special memory is of Streak wanting to be with Brad after he finished breakfast.  After his last bite he would trot back to the bedroom and wait for me to open the bedroom door.  Up on the bed, he would jump and most times snuggle in next to Brad; always close and always there.

We called Streak "our sentry".  When we let him outside he took several laps around the yard, not playful but very deliberate and dutiful.  Once secured then it seemed he relaxed.  Streak is the first dog I ever saw smile (or that I realized smiled) ~ His eyes bright, ears high on his head, tongue visible with his cheeks pulled back to his ears.

Our last day with Streak was April 7.  It was a Thursday.  A week earlier we realized that an additional treatment would be too much for our little buddy.  Reconciling to that reality was hard, but we knew the time was coming.  His breathing seemed labored and his panting more frequent.  We could tell the pain in his eyes had intensified.  On Wednesday night we decided it was time and we would take him to the vet in the morning.  That night I slept at the foot of the bed with him.  I wanted to be close and to comfort him, pet him, and talk to him.

Without a doubt Streak completed his appointed purpose on this earth and in his death he gave us two gifts.  He gave us back our memories of Alafair and delivered us our sweet Grace.

July 2007 - Alafair, me, and Streak

In retrospect neither Brad nor I really worked through losing Alafair.  Her last days were so unexpected and so, so painful.  When we needed to put her down it was too painful and neither of us could be there.  Deep down I always felt I'd let her down.  I decided with Streak that no matter how painful that I would be with him through the end.  Brad and I both stayed with him and as it turns out it was peaceful, sacred, not scary.  I stayed a few moments alone with Streak.  I bent down, kissed his muzzle and then whispered in his ear to tell Alafair that I was so very, very sorry and that I loved her and missed her.  Tears rolled down my checks and I said goodbye.  The next morning for the first time since Alafair died in 2007, I looked at pictures of her and watched several videos.  Hearing her bark and watching her play with Streak was so tenderly sweet.

A week or so after Streak died Brad's Mom called and said her friend's daughter wanted to give us a Border Collie.  She heard about our Streak, never met him but knew how much he meant to us.  During the conversation my mother-in-law mentioned that if we didn't want the puppy that she might take it.  She'd been thinking about adding a dog to their family, too.  Brad and I talked about it but decided it was too soon.  So Brad called to say we would pass.  Turns out they were offering two puppies: one for Brad's Mom and Dad, and one for us.  At this point we knew it was meant to be.  Three weeks later we drove to Colorado to meet our new puppy.  We named her Grace.

So Streak knew better than we did.  He knew we needed Grace.  He knew the grief would be too much.  He knew we need not hang onto regrets and we needed to receive forgiveness.  He hung on through the treatments to the most perfect day when we all could say our earthly goodbyes and then soon would be able to welcome another bundle of puppy joy into our home.

Streak, thank you for loving us.

Thank you for your loyalty and devotion.

Thank you for being Brad's friend and companion.  

Thank you for getting us out to meet our neighbors

and teaching us to appreciate and enjoy the little things

especially puppy smiles.

We miss you dearly.