I wanted to run away.
Still do, but the voices are receding. Still there, whispering… but easier to ignore.
This is away, I say to self. Tucked inside, shelter at home. This is away…
Then the space – the distance my eyes can stretch – closes in on me. My eyes need to ssttrrrrrrrrre……tttccchhhhhh.
I can say it differently, but not well.
I get the desire, an ache and longing for my eyes to see across distance. The reach of view is something base and needy in me.
Not claustrophobia. No. That’s not it. It’s a visual space sighting that takes the mind and soul along, freeing anxieties, calming tension and overriding thought patterns – sending the everyday adrift on a sea of calm.
And so, I’ve redirected. Frantically perusing the real estate posts, I had obsessed on the away of the running. I wanted a space, a place, a seat at a location that would allow my eyes their desire – an owned space, one that I could count on to go for retreat. A place where I could gaze out over a horizon, or toward water, or along a long stretch of trees… It was such a delicious dream. I could nearly catch hold of it, clench my knobby fingers around it.
Dream bubble burst when hubby reminded me “I know you. I know you. You’ll be ‘over it’ in two weeks.”
What? What? Two weeks? Huh??
No. No way.
But I mulled. I stepped back and realized that I was planning in my head and pressing my plans on him. I didn’t notice. My eyes hadn’t been able to stretch outside my needy little vision field.
So I told him the next time it came up, when he said finally that he really just wanted to focus on home, here, now, this space… that’s when the words that had been percolating spilled out. “Yes. We will wait, I agree with you.” And that’s when I stopped the perusal. Cold turkey. I had to – it was addictive.
Now I’m still working on what to do with that time. Past the first stage – no longer top of mind, that search. That’s where the night skies salvaged my angst for escape. The long view. That’s what I needed… and hubby reminded me of that once I listened.
I found that I can get the long view with night skies.
Why not overhead day skies? Likely because the mind cannot fathom past the blue, grey, white…? Who knows.
I think I simply find the view straight up into the night sky more immense, implying great space and vastness and beauty beyond the traverses of my vision.
The pull of the internet is overreaching. Search for answers, quest for options, finger clicks for food and need and want orders, looking perhaps for community or commonality or simply agreement. It’s alluring. And dangerous.
We’ve become a nation, a world of wants. We want much – respect, youth, admiration, plush, adventure, fun, to LIVE. Oh my. We’re such easy targets when driven by the fear we’re fed. The fear of death, of others, of disrespect, of lack, of displeasure, of appearance, of loss, of despair, of settling… The system is powerful, and dependent on us.
It’s hard to be an observer. It’s hard to get caught up in the tide, the sweeping and overarching wave of discord, of division, of want and need and desire and … fear. Who wouldn’t want to run away? Right?
That’s how I felt looking up and to the vastness surrounding the lights and stars and moon.
Okay – confession. Pissy in between. Mad at the inability to discern which lights are natural and which are not. But I digress.
Grounded. I can do similarly when laying under the tree in the warm seasons.
How do a people ground themselves? Unlock the chains of persuasion and simply find that internal calm. Calm that gives assuage to the nagging, gnarling thoughts bred by the divisive words we’ve been fed.
Grounded. Then the need to run will dissipate and we’ll figure out where we are. Right?
I confess. I creep around social media, reacting in my head, sometimes enraged, mostly feeling ever so more disconnected from people I have known over decades… sometimes feeling the need to avoid family. Emotional and passionate claims from all avenues. Staunch defenses of opinions and line in the sand drawn disclaimers for those who do not agree.
Reacting automatically, my fingers are nearly drawn to the keys. No, stop, don’t… this is not the mountain I want to die on, ya know? So I harbor little nigglings of resentment – or simply avoid those with statements that deny others similar rights.
What lies underneath this, the discord, is the run away obsession. We all want to run away from reality – we want to create different realities, we have different needs, wants, feelings – but we’re all in run away mode, addictively pounding those social media keys, those remote control keys, those smartphone keys, looking for more, for inclusion, for agreement, or for a fight.
We need to be grounded. Allow the voices to subside. Reach deeply for calm.
Shabbat shalom all. I hope you find your calm.
It’s Sabbath morning and quiet surrounds me, envelops me. The cat lies curled at my feet, steamy coffee sits nearby, soft light clears the darkness and the background sounds of the house tick and whir around me.
A week long shutdown, the usual for this time of year, for hubby and I. We’ve always remained at home – joining throngs of travelers in questionable weather conditions never made sense to us for this shutdown week – and this year is no different… except.
The guys are still sleeping, stirring a bit, beginning to ease out of their deep sleeps. And I, quietely awake with my thoughts, my anticipation. Planning. Imagining.
We will arrange to pick up sweet granddaughter tomorrow. She will come and stay with us this week, merging into our household patterns and creating new ripples. I’ve puttered and shuffled and fussed this week, to create spaces throughout the house to give her entertainment nooks, and creativity niches and playtime crannies. Some spaces are for time spent in the great grandad area of the house, and some spaces are for time spent in the grandad area of the house, and a little bit of space set aside to relish as her own.
It’s new to us still, this sharing of our lives with my dad – and the temporary addition of sweet granddaughter is another new to add to the experience. He’s not an overly involved elder, and I expect he’ll sit amused for a spell and then be ready to resume his standard schedule.
A lot of new to us happened this calendar year, nearly all of it beginning in this biblical year as well. Pandemic announce and response, fear and anxiety settling into actions and acceptance; my dad’s hospitilization in the throes of the fear and feeling the helplessness of a loved one held captive in the healthcare system as we worried from the other end of the phone signal; awareness of dad’s near-death and bringing him home to care for him – then watching over the months as his physical health stabilized; accepting that he wasn’t going back to his rented house and then packing and storing his lifetime goods; finding ourselves with a rental house and a resident elder and not having prepared for this scenario – and then deciding to finish and sell the rental, as time constraints and wisdom caution us to not overbook ourselves with responsibility; finding out during this phase that my siblings are only ever self-serving and our open door policy has, over time, created their expectation that we are only for serving their needs — an awareness that we countered by setting firm boundaries; the delight in a week spent lakeside in fall, to rest and refresh our overwrought minds and bodies; a surprise opportunity for a quick first time visit with a long-time friend, the Hebrew priest, who has been a long-distance community member for over a decade – to finally meet he and his youngest son, and receive garden advice at our home – a poignant segment of time by which to remember this year.
And now, tomorrow, to host our granddaughter for the week – she’s six now and will perhaps receive and participate in memories during this stay that will last her lifetime – the memories will certainly last my lifetime.
Ah, shabbat. The anticipation is savored and held close to my heart on this day of rest.
Original plans were to fly to the Northeast and spend the Sukkot week roaming the national treasure of fall color with another of the Hebrew community.
COVID-19 changed those plans, dashing them solidly in July when it was apparent that there would be no quick recovery.
With life still wreaking havoc to our prior routines, and no rest to be found among the necessary tasks, I determined to find another option.
Hubby and I had made an anniversary trek, just days before my dad arrived as our new household resident. The trek included several bodies of water over a two day drive, to determine if we would like to consider options for vacation, vacation home, or other. We liked what we saw.
With a notion of my favorite locale, I was able to secure a vacation rental that encompassed all of the ingredients for a substitute – within our driving range.
Time leading up to Sukkot was harried. So much to do, so much to plan. We knew we would be bringing dad along for the trip, and never considered setting up alternatives. Hospice smoothed the way by making certain his meds were in place and that there was a local hospice standing by should there be any needs.
We arrived, vehicles loaded down with our assemblages. Dad’s sister, her husband and son all arrived just before us, so they had the home opened up and ready. We all enjoyed a first weekend of family time, food and drink.
With nothing planned, we lolled through the rest of the week and into the weekend, recharging, unwinding, relaxing and allowing the sights and sounds of nature to soothe us.
How necessary it is to slow down, to see the grandeur of Creation, to allow our busy selves to reset and acknowledge our lack of importance. To find respite.
Here’s what happens when a logical type gets sideswiped by emotional drain – damage. Angry words. Stiff-necked positioning. Self protection.
In order to protect from any further impact, I put up the overall force field. I lashed out at the hospice assistant who had repeatedly cancelled days and firmly stated don’t come here if I can’t count on you — I’ll do it myself. I backed off family who gave me the response of being overwhelmed too — stop coming in early, come in later and I’ll handle it til then. I held off my boss who said cut your help and began taking back tasks, cutting help hours. Overwhelm on top of overwhelm.
The preface to it all was the final straw – the addict brother who has lost nearly everything, making another imposition, expecting that he could treat our home as his own, not asking – just taking. That drew the line in the sand and we posted no trespass signs on our properties. Then I told him to his face. Then he read it on the private family blog to keep closest family notified of the stages my father is going through. I am now enemy number one on his list. Does he remember the times I faced down guns he held? Does he remember putting my son at risk? Does he recall that I took his babies and sheltered them for a summer? No, he only takes and takers forget to pay attention.
So, the drama had unfolded, and I played victim. Overwrought, feeling the approach of a total meltdown. You likely saw the last post. I had reached the end of my endurance.
Then we went camping, hubby and I. Left on Friday afternoon, and by sundown had set up the camp and moved into full relax mode. I enjoyed my first Shabbat since my dad arrived at our home three months ago. It was simply wonderful. Cooling breeze, sounds of leaves rustling and birds and insects fluttering and futzing about. The lake water off in the distance and wafting sounds of people frolicking in the waters.
I have some reserve now. A store of patience, and some energy reserve to see us through the next steps.
We have emptied the rental house of my dad’s belongings and will now begin the last steps to prepare the house for sale. We will have to continue our day jobs and care of my dad as well, but once that is done, one major task is lifted from the plate of overwhelm.
We’ll get there, right?
From the first moment that I awake and step from my bedroom space to the kitchen space to start the morning coffee…
At the last moment of the day, as I move to the bedroom to make my rest…
Every movement in between.
Watching, waiting, needing.
It’s hard not to be resentful.
I say to those around me – I’m breaking.
They respond – me too.
I don’t know how not to be resentful, when I’ve always done what I can when others were breaking.
Roles were cast at the workplace to assist with the overwhelm – and then they were removed.
This too will break me. I don’t know how not to resent that.
The shards will fall.
They will scatter.
I imagine that I will find the glue to reattach the pieces. Perhaps I will be stronger then.
There is a reason that YHVH created Shabbat. One day again I will find rest. For now, and since May, not a single day of rest has been found.
I imagine myself with no resentment. But until rest comes, I am breaking. And I resent that.
The thing about dying is that it’s a matter of health.
My dad arrived at our home following a hospital stay during the peak of COVID regulations. We could not see him during the stay, and we were harassed by the nursing staff for calling daily. We did not find out until after he arrived and we reviewed the discharge papers that he nearly died there. It’s a long story involving his care and I’m saving it for a very well put letter to the hospital authorities once I’m no longer seething over it.
He arrived with the appearance of death hanging over him. I summoned the siblings and let them know we were on short time. Then my husband and I set about the act of nursing him and caretaking his property. That was 7 weeks ago.
He had pre-qualified for hospice before the hospital, but had refused to accept a terminal diagnosis, so had settled for home health. We didn’t know this until we asked about getting some medical equipment.
Now he is in hospice, safely ensconced in a hospital bed in his new ‘bedroom’ which was once our living room. We’ve changed up our furnishings and set up his desk and PC in the spare bedroom and handed off our main bathroom for his needs.
He’s gone from near death to being nutritionally balanced and hydrated. Before the hospital visit, he had lost track of doing the basics – proper food and fluid intake, taking his meds timely – and was not in a healthy environment as he had fired the housekeepers that I hired to take care of his house.
He can’t fire me, he’s stuck. Hubby and I have become the groundskeepers, nursing aides, financial advisors, chefs and housekeepers, with other duties as assigned. We do have some family assistance as well.
Death is still looming, but it has been delayed. There will be quality first, health. The mental health has vastly improved with the improved physical nutrients. Now it’s up to the disease. Poor health conditions are no longer driving this bus.
It appears that we will have a resident here for a while.
I don’t know what to say except that there’s always another something to take your breath away.
Retreat necessary for me, as I expect to be quite involved with end of life care for my dad.
I recognize that as painful as this is, it is an opportunity for much – and I intend to do this as best as I must.
I hope for this to be the absolute most pleasant option for him.
Spring has sprung and the fireflies have arrived. It feels early. It’s only been days since the last freeze. . .
I watched one alight on the garden bed beam, and as I peered closer, it flashed wings at me with agitated antennae. I took the hint and retreated back – and it was gone in that moment. Absent.
We are in the midst of this storm of no precedence. The unknown. Varied in strength and strike and form.
The storm activity has been one of ‘take shelter’ here. In tornado country we know how to be prepared for a short and harsh duration that may cause a term of duress… but this. . .
Prepare for taking care of family – too many in the scary category to comprehend.
Prepare to be home for extended periods… write lists, revise lists, check lists.
The theme has been prepare.
Work was deemed essential. Many hours were spent by the team to set up and roll out that particular preparation. I and my office mates are nearly full remote now – a jerky transition wrought with change and chaos and frustration – then sprinkled with joy and anticipation from my perspective. What I have oft longed for is now short term reality.
And so, after so many means of preparing in and around my own realm – I recognize, once I’ve slowed down, that I’ve gone bouncing and careening along this whole storm prep while moving over and through several stages of grief.
My emotions must also have been setting up buttresses of potential realities and … well … here we are. I imagine you or someone you know has been staging through grief steps as well.
Fireflies have been spotted. So have asparagus beetles. I’m awaiting a particular wasp to cart in luggage and set up home base.
It’s been a while since I’ve been ‘present’ here. I’m surprised to recognize that. If you’ve been along for the telling, we moved a few years back, leaving established garden spaces behind. But we’ve been busy here, building new spaces and options… and I had opportunity to .. inhale it .. breathe it in. Absorb it.
It’s good – we’re a good building team.
Greens are growing. Life is abounding here. Breathing space exists and just in time.
I hope this finds you well. Recovering, or surviving, or staging the grief steps – no matter where you are, I hope you find well .. are well, .. will be well.
I am trying to reconcile life. It’s going to get a bit messy in here, I’ll warn you now.
My last post (mere minutes ago) was about those considered essential workers for essential businesses in the good ol’ us of the a.
Feeling betrayed, seething with an underlying resentment. I now understand why my recovering sorta alcoholic has resumed a pretty high daily dose of his favorite drinky-drink. Why discussions are less comfortable and so we retreat to our spaces as his buzz wears off, hoping that I’m not falling asleep before we can have a comfortable discussion.
It’s not terrible. Honestly. We’re loners, both of us, so we do retreats well in our house. Then we share space and chat, working through the daily grind, and sharing perspectives, sometimes debating, often agreeing… Good stuff overall.
Back to the point, back to where I was heading with this – divisions. Resentments. Differences.
Today, I am looking back. Reading Exodus (Shemot) and thinking about the history, the story of the Hebrews being released, rescued from bondage by their Almighty, YHVH.
Much to think about there. Instructions. Inclusion or exclusion. Divisions. Consequences. Definitions. Schedules. New normals.
And I mesh the news that I read this morning, the catch up information I received last night, the things I’ve seen and felt and overheard over the past week.
Churchgoers in my state are pressing against the gathering confines to be able to assemble in large groups on their holy day, my guess is that they are thinking themselves exempt from what may befall them should there be a shared germ amongst them.
I live in a state that is predominantly catastrophe denounced. Most of the population that I have experienced are treating the current situation as an overblown attempt to control them, and so will not give space to those who are trying to be safe. Their leader taught them well and they are holding fast to the early sermons from that pulpit.
And so my initial thought is – fine, let them assemble. Germ in, germ out, populations decreased, so be it. Because I am a witness to hearing a child two fences over – who in the midst of playtime with other kids announced “I wanna be Hitler!!!!”
But that was a fleeting thought. Because who am I to judge, truly? And the child may grow up and realize the truth of the past and be truly remorseful for childhood play actions.
Here’s the serious part of my ramblings though – if you’re still here to read, and haven’t denounced me as a hate-filled anti-christ.
Quick truth – the same as I am not anti-social, but rather reclusive (assemble, I don’t mind – just don’t expect me to be there). I am not anti-christ, rather I believe that the worshipped beings are false gods, of no worth or purpose and that only the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is the True God, Almighty. One. But I don’t have any problem with others worshipping their version of god.
So. Again, the serious part.
Economy is only kept alive by the standard of debt. An economy will only survive if peoples, companies, entities, feed the debt burden. That’s economy in a nutshell.
So why is economy so important. Consider that.
Why is safety not as important as economy. Consider that.
Why keep the masses in debt and call it the health of the nation?
Barter. Learn to garden, learn to barter. Self sustenance. Back to simpler lives, simpler times.
An extreme period of duress, for certain. Hard changes, hard truths. Hard struggles.
Hasn’t it already been hard amidst all the fineries?
Peace out, again.