Joy Defined

Personal Thought for the Day # 25

It occurred to me that a positive spin I might take on this annoying condition known as frozen shoulder is that all the exercising and stretching might bring me a bit closer to Michelle Obama arms over the next 47 days. At a minimum, I can dream.

Migraines Suck

Potential Migraine Triggers:
everything I love.....

sugar
chocolate
nuts
bread/wheat
diet cola
cheese
watching TV in the dark

using my laptop (too long; how long is too long BTW?)

playing PoppIt on the computer

breathing

Notice I didn't say alcohol; haven't had a drink for 2 months. Haven't missed it either. Eliminating the wine hasn't helped a bit.

What am I going to do? I'm fed up, worn out, shipwrecked, desperate. I could try this ancient Egyptian cure shown in the drawing here. Who knows; it might work.

This is a devil of a disease, chronic and tenacious. It will get fixed. It will. Tuesday I see the doc again and we'll re-negotiate another tactic. There's got to be something out there that will work.

Second Seating Goes Live

My very talented sister, Mary Margaret and her co-artists, opened Second Seating in Houston last night. This amazing art installation located in an old warehouse in Houston's East End showcases the heart and soul of the region and the beauty of recycled products. Mary Margaret dedicated the show to our mother Doris, an inspiring woman who knew how to pull talent from the unlikeliest places and dazzle with her performance. I believe my sister has done the same.

I'm so proud of my sister. This work has all but consumed her over the last months. Her enthusiasm for the process has been fascinating to witness, almost as much as the artwork. I guess that's the message: "Success is the quality of the journey."

Check out the local television coverage from yesterday. Wonderful! I'm thrilled that I'll get to see the show in October; a quick trip to Houston is in my plans.

Autumn's Arrival

September 22, 2009; the first day of Autumn.

I'm glad to say goodbye to summer. Blasphemous talk? I don't think so. I'm ready to surrender the summer to autumn, to let one season pass into the next. Maybe it's because the colors of fall have always been my favorite. Maybe it's because autumn marks the start of reflection, quieter times, indoor activities, cooler weather, balmy skies. I'm ready.

Today I looked back at a blog post from this date in 2007. I posted a poem called Resignation, by J. D. McClatchy, a lovely tribute to the beautiful stoicism of trees. As we transition into a new season, trees remind us again of the richness of living; the cycles of life, death, growth, transformation, injury, loss, repair, and inner strength.

Today I looked into my own backyard and pondered the bank of Leyland cypress that we planted a year ago (left); young trees that took hold in the spot where neighbors had so cruelly and thoughtlessly felled mature Leylands several years prior. Our new young trees absolutely loved the summer of 2009. They grew at least 3 feet in height and spread out to touch one another in warm embrace, filling in the wall of green that will cover once again the fence line that separates our properties. The photograph I took this morning shows how much they've grown over the past year.

Trees. Healing sorrows. Standing proud. We have much to learn from trees.

Happy Autumn all.

Conversations with my Mother

"I bought Mama* a new purse. It a nice one; it'll hold all her things. Lots of pockets on the inside. I must pack it up and send it off to her. Funny thing about Mama though; she'll have to think about it awhile before she comes around to the idea of a new purse. Eventually, she'll like it."

"She's a bit stubborn, is she?"

"Oh, yes. But she'll come around."

"Good, I'm glad she'll like the purse."

______________________

"I'm worried about Mama. I've tried to call her but the phone just rings and rings. I can't seem to reach her. She must be out at church."

______________________

"I want to get over to the mall. There's a coat I've been looking at. Mama needs a new winter coat. She doesn't have one and the winters are so cold where she is. I want to buy her this coat for Christmas, get it sent off to her in time for the holidays. Your Dad's going to drive me over there today. I wish I could drive but they say I can't anymore."

"Dad doesn't drive anymore either."

"Really? Since when?"

_______________________

"Why does everyone tell me I can't go back to teaching?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone says I can't teach anymore and I'm just wondering why not. I'm a good teacher."

"I know that, Mom. You're an excellent teacher. I think it has something to do with your health and your age of 92. I don't think you'd able to hold down the job predictably. Grading papers, preparing lesson plans, getting to and from the classroom; it's all very rigorous. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, I guess you're right."

_________________________

*Mama: my maternal grandmother (1882 -1965)

8 Miles, 26 Stop Lights, 28 Minutes

A one way trip by car to see my Mom and Dad at their adult family home involves a circuitous 8 mile road trip. There's no such thing as "hopping on the freeway" from where I live; it's more of a "cross town trip" or worse yet, a diagonal northeasterly trek. The drive, depending on traffic, time of day, day of the week and other variables like road work, takes 28 minutes (that's average). Today I counted the stop lights along the route; twenty six. Groan.

I travel this 16 mile round trip at least three times a week, sometimes four. That translates to 48 miles, 156 stop lights, and 2 hours and 48 minutes per week driving time. Sadly, many days I spend more time in the car commuting than I do actually visiting with my parents When I don't go to visit for a few days, I begin to feel "the pull"; the not-so-subtle commentary that comes from both Mom and Dad, the "we're pretty lonely" language interspersed with the everyday conversation we have by telephone. Most of the time when they see me coming through the door I'm greeted with large smiles and am made to feel welcome. But sometimes, especially when I walk in to find them both drowsy or involved in a TV show, my presence is neither here nor there seemingly. There's something wrong with this entire picture I tell myself.

I do my best but I could always do more. When my out-of-town siblings visit they are bastions of energy, coming up with creative ideas to entertain Mom and Dad in and out of their usual surroundings. Me? I'm stalled out and stuck in a rut most of the time doing the best I can to ease my conscience. I so wish I could fix or change what cannot be fixed or changed.

So, every now and then I resort to a whine like today.

I'll go back again tomorrow and do the same thing(s) all over again.

What would I do if I had those extra hours each week?

Probably nothing. Moot point.