Coloring with Happy Crayons

It seems that the end of the year warrants a certain amount of reflection and philosophizing, at least in my household. As a visual thinker, my philosophies tend to pictorial elements, ones that I can paint with words and view in context, as needed. To that end, I have formulated a tentative model for managing certain life events that hopefully will bring joy into 2011. In my mind, I can imagine that these events start out like line drawings in a coloring book. Black and white, simple scenarios, without emotion or portent. The owner of this coloring book also owns the crayons that will be used to complete the pictures. In this box of crayons are a wild array of colors, like Crayola's big box of 64, which includes the cool metallic ones like copper, silver and gold. In this box are also greys, browns and black. It is totally possible to use whatever colors you choose, but each choice brings something to the picture, be it warm or cold, bright or dark.  The picture will change from a neutral line drawing to one filled with emotion, character, drama.  I am choosing to break the black, brown and grey crayons, and use the happy colors for 2011...I imagine the 11 as bright pink and silver crayons, ready to bring life into my coloring book.

Golden Hours

My husband and I were talking about how we could find time to do the things we like to do. Like knitting, exercising, reading, or building something. We figured that there is at least one hour every day that could be dedicated to those things. So I am making a list of what I would like to do in that daily golden hour. Monday it was a home pedicure, yesterday it was Zumba, today it is sewing, tomorrow it is dinner with friends. In fact, I have decided to keep a separate agenda book with only the golden hour events in it. That way I don't have to also look at the doctor appointments and tests that are the opposite of golden. As each day goes by, I can look in my little book and think about what joy awaits me when I finally can get to my special hour. 365 hours a year. That is time enough to finish that scrapbook, knit a few scarves, soak in a tub, down a delicious dessert and read Pilgrim's Progress.

Sweet Endings

I would have to say that this year, 2010, has been one of the very hardest ones my husband and I have ever lived. We have battled job loss, financial downturns, cancer recurrence, fatigue, depression, grief. Of course, it has not all been dark...we have had job found, financial blessings, watched our youngest give her Master's dissertation, walked on the deck of a Carnival cruise ship in the Caribbean, swam in crystal blue seas. At the close of this year, we are learning to savor the sweet moments, and not let a one go by without fully experiencing all it has to offer. Our girls were together with each other and us this Christmas for the first time in 3 years. I put reason and some frugality aside and decorated the house like I haven't done in a long time. We stayed up late every night we all were together and ate candy and played games. The warmth and light that filled our home is still glowing tonight, even though they are on planes back home. This is the best ending to a hard year: the ability to take it all in, hold it close, breathe in the fullness of joy, and spread it back out again.

Unpacking Faith

Finding a faith in God can be a difficult and circuitous journey. I was raised in a formal church, where the place felt cold and I was judged by how well I dressed and how many friends I had. That certainly did not interest me, so by age 13 I no longer wanted to, nor was made to,  attend. I had friends through the years after that had a bent toward God that I did not understand, and it wasn't until 14 years later that I finally began to make sense out of what I had gleaned from the bible lessons of my childhood. It was such a wonderful transformation that I raised both my daughters in a very focused and diligent dedication to those same bible teachings, determining that their journey to faith in God would be easier than mine. My oldest daughter followed that path without ever wavering, but my second daughter seemed to find our choices for her did not fit her choices for herself. She has chosen the same circuitous road I chose so long ago, maintaining about the same pace and maybe for the same reasons. Her childhood faith has been packed away with other childhood experiences, tucked in the basement of her soul. One day that box will be opened, and the faith that was put there will come out, and God will be found.

Christmas Party

I have interlocking circles of friends, most of them don't know each other. Each group has their own special qualities and gifts. Tonight one of these groups gathered for supper and a gift exchange. This is mostly what this group does. I have never been to some of these gals' houses, don't even know where some of them live. We never worked together, or raised kids together. We know each other through these dinners, and we gather together and eat and talk like old friends. This is mostly because of our mutual friend Lynn...who has known all of us for years and years and organizes these events. Anyway, we share a meal and gifts because that's what we do, and it is always fun to see what comes out of the cute little gift bags filled with tissue paper. Earrings, homemade jams, ornaments for the tree, gift cards to Starbucks...tokens of love and respect that come from belonging to a circle of friends. No matter how loosely woven, this friendly cloth is warm and comforting. I am wearing a new fuzzy hat, and a sparkly ice cream cone necklace is now in my jewelry collection. Thank you all for  a wonderful evening!

Nitrous Oxide

I visited a periodontist today for a gum graft. I have had gum surgery before, and it was hard to think about going through it again. This time the pain at the tooth drove me to the dentist, and I was glad that he opened his office on this snowy day to take care of it, since it has been hurting for 2 months. When we set this up, the assistant offered me nitrous oxide, for a nominal $50 charge, during the procedure. I initially balked, first at the $50, and second at the idea that I was not brave enough to face the procedure fully awake. We talked about the benefits of it a little bit. Ever since I have had to deal with cancer, I have taken off the mask of the persona of the stoic, surgery by surgery. Referring to my last post, I have decided that I have nothing to prove. The strangers at the dentist office are not judging me. The nurse in the preop room, pushing Versed, is not judging me. The nurse in the recovery room, pushing morphine, is not judging me. Adjunct medicine is there for me, not to test my stoicism, but to provide relief from the anxiety and pain that come from needles and scalpels and sutures. So I agreed to the nitrous. It was $50 well spent.

Nothing to Prove

One good thing about middle age is the collection of volumes of experiences one gathers through the years. Like a fantastic library, housed inside our minds and souls are millions of moments lived, each one unique. Just like books, some of these moments are fascinating, thrilling and compelling stories, some are scary or sad, many are predictable, even boring. If lived well, upon remembering these experiences, it could be determined that there is nothing left to prove. There have been gains and successes, defeats, times when it was better to start over, challenges overcome...or not. The wins and the losses even out, and one can choose to go after the new thing, or stay the course. Sail a boat around the world, or sit by the fire and play with your grandchildren. Nothing to prove means it is fine either way. It is your life, your one beautiful and priceless life.

Breakfast for Dinner

IHOP serves breakfast for dinner. Eating there feels like the day is starting instead of ending, even drinking decaf coffee. Sometimes my mother would fix breakfast for dinner, and it was always a treat. I think I like it when things are turned around. As a kid, I used to lie on my bed with my head hanging off the edge and pretend the ceiling was the floor. It was clean and uncluttered, ready for play. We would play backwards day and walk backwards up the steps and in and out of the house. Or opposite day, and we would say yes when we meant no. Today I felt turned around when I found out I have the BRCA 1 mutation that might have caused this ovarian cancer, and might have been passed down to my daughters and granddaughter. I felt the ceiling become the floor, I heard yes when I wanted no. Then I remembered I was in control of the game, and I could turn it right side up. Knowledge is power, a gift to use to make wise choices. We are a large family of women, my sisters, nieces, great nieces, daughters, granddaughter. No one else in the family might ever have to be surprised by advanced cancer. It is safe to lay my head down and imagine the obstacles disappearing and dream of pumpkin pancakes.

Kindness

Sometimes I say things I wish I hadn't. My sister says I have no filter. I think I do better now than I used to, but sometimes words come out that I wish were more like Scrabble tiles than air. Then I could rearrange them and phrase the comment differently, with more kindness. At any rate, I said something about our church carpets needing cleaning to one of our staffers. The staff decided to rent carpet cleaning machines today, and recruit volunteers to do the work. Since I made the observation about the need to clean, I felt that I should volunteer. Somewhat grudgingly, as I had another event I wanted to go to tonight instead. I drove to the church from a long day at work, not looking forward to several hours of wrestling a big and messy carpet cleaner around the church basement. When I arrived at the empty parking lot, I sighed. Would I have to do this alone?  Inside the dark church lobby were the two large machines...but tucked inside the wrapped cord was a note that said: "All rooms and hallways are done". I walked all over the building and down to the basement, just to see with my own eyes the kindness that someone else had done all the work. My Scrabble tiles now say: Thank you whoever you are!

My mother's mink

I have my mother's full length mink coat hanging in my closet. It is probably about 20 years old, and a beautiful deep black. It has been a point of conversation over the years between my mother and us girls. My mother has a large amount of joie, and the coat was one of those moments when temptation overrode practicality. I wore the coat, for the first time, to a fancy party last very cold and icy night. My friend wrecked her car while driving us to the party, due to the ice on the road. After the accident protocols were finished, we walked out into the snowy street, police lights flashing and flares burning behind us, to our waiting ride. I felt warm and wonderful, wrapped in black fur, almost glamorous, emerging from what could have been horror but was not. The joie and immense gratitude settled into my spirit as we drove on to the party. I wonder what I have been missing all these years, living in a tight little circle of duty and it's residual anxiety. This joie, and the gratitude that comes with it, can define a life that is lived to the uttermost. I have a constant reminder of this in my closet, waiting for the next adventure.

Gratitude

Personal gratitude is contextual. It is an act of one's will. For example, I have heard people tell me I should be grateful that my cancer is under control. This is the context, and in this context I am grateful. However, in the big picture, I am not grateful that I have cancer. Applied across the spectrum of life's pressures and challenges, contextual gratitude is a hard won and fragile point of weak light. In the New Testament, Paul talks about a different sort of gratitude or thankfulness. This thankfulness is beyond context, based on a faith we have in a God who loves us and will never forsake us. Gratitude for grace that sustains us in the chemo room, or in a collapsed mine in Chile for 2 months, or at the cemetery as a young son is lowered into the ground. This gratitude knows no limits, has no fear, runs wild and free, leaping over every barrier. It is a deeper than a mine, or a grave, and soars all the way to heaven.

Zing

I miss my zing. It is that energy that sets words and works in motion, formulates ideas and plans. Zing adds power and lift to hopes and dreams. Zing cannot sit still, or wait, or tolerate sloth. Zing sings in the shower, laughs at stupid jokes, gets silly on coffee and candy. Zing lives extravagantly, rising to help, to serve, to give.
I would trade a full freezer of ice cream for a day of zing.