Taking the Scenic Route

Thursdays are for Thankfulness: An anniversary of sorts.

Here in the Pacific northwest it's almost spring.  It's the season where the temperature of the rain shifts and suddenly the daffodils are poking above the mud, not quite open yet, a periscope checking to see if winter has cleared out.

Sunday was a glorious pre-spring day, the kind I call the February tease.  And I was so happy, just giddy in that sing out loud kind of way.  The kids and Bob and I all working together inside and out, no big line between work or play or what had to be done.  Just really enjoying being at our place on a beautiful day. Being together.

It's not quite time for most planting, though I did get the peas in the ground on Sunday.  They may get frozen out yet, but the point is, I got them planted.  They're in the ground.  And it's been years since I actually got peas in the ground before the start of April, much less March.

And, let's tell the truth.  The real thrill is that I am here to plant them.  I have enough energy, I have enough strength.  I am still here.  

So, I am thinking a lot about seeds, and planting, and seasons turning.  I am also thinking about the big wheel of life turning: while this February brought an unexpected death of an old friend, it also brought news from other friends of a new baby, a new adopted daughter, and new weddings in the works.  There is still so much to be grateful for.

It has been a hard winter.  And I am tired, and I am tired and sick of the chemo regime I have been on since December.  But I am grateful that I can still muster a positive attitude, I am grateful for joy, I am grateful to have the relative ability to pass as "life is normal" in my community and daily life.  I have kept my head down this winter, tried to keep our family and kids operating in as much "normal" as I could muster.  Most days I have succeeded amazingly. Some days I have needed rescuing, but as my rescuer has usually been Bob, I think it's actually made our marriage tighter, more honest, happier.

Tomorrow (Friday) marks for me the one year anniversary of the day I stepped through the door into cancer-land.  A year ago was the day I went in to get the mammogram and ultrasound.  Within the next couple days I had started the first of my emails that led to writing here.

I think you can all make guesses about how thankful I am for this year, and for the support so many people have shown our family.  What you may not know is how strongly I feel about the practice of being thankful, as an activity in and of itself.  For me it is something like prayer, with no asking, just appreciating.

When I turn my thoughts to being thankful, it's a way to show my gods/the universe that I am paying attention to the abundance and opportunity of this beautiful life.  I have said for years "The universe not only appreciates it when you notice beauty, but often rewards you for paying attention."  The universe loves love, gratitude is awareness of that love.

I have also come to appreciate (!!) in the last year how the act of being thankful can reinforce the habit of thinking positively rather than negatively.  It's too easy to believe the little voices in our heads that talk smack to us: the ones that judge others and ourselves, the voices of fear and shame and worry.  It's too easy to look at the awful, unjust and unexpected tragedy in the world and only see the negative.  When you start saying thank you, you focus on the good.  It's simple to the point of sounding inane, but it is a true thing: the more you can focus on something, the more you find of it.

I am choosing to find good.

So, think of your gratitude like a seed that you are sowing.  Cultivate it, water it, weed it.  Imagine how beautiful it will be when it is grown.

What are you going to be thankful for today?

Meditation in the morning.

I have a tendency to fall into the perfectionist's trap, you know: "if I can't do it just right I am not going to do it at all."  Those of you who share this bad habit know what I am talking about.  Motherhood has given me many life lessons about how to step away from that, but I do feel I have to be on the lookout for that Miss Perfect voice in my head, and make sure that she's not stopping me from doing something that I need to feed my soul.

Meditation is one of those areas where I let Miss Perfect and other voices interrupt and corrupt a good thing.  But sometimes I manage, and this morning was one of those perfect imperfect meditations.

First, let me clarify any misconceptions: I have never been able to maintain a regular meditation practice.  I have started with great intentions more times than I can count.  I usually manage to go daily for a week or so, and then allow myself to be distracted away from it before it becomes habit.  But I know it's good for me, I can FEEL it.  It is probably for me what regular prayer is for many of you who do that.  It's my chance to get quiet inside myself and try and be closer to god, or as I often call him/her, "the universe".  But before this morning I hadn't taken the time to sit and meditate for at least a couple months.

So, this morning: I woke up at six, early for me, and like many nights in the last few weeks, I'm not sleeping well.  I lay in bed awhile, listening to Bob "not snoring" and Emme across the hall, stirring in her last hour of sleep.  Started thinking of all the millions of things I should be working on, my mind worrying over it all.  Then remembered yesterday's promise to myself: slow down, feed the soul.  Decided to try and start the morning right.

Got up, found my pile of yesterday's clothes in the dark, went out and started a fire in the woodstove (yes, that's right, there's no furnace here, just the woodstove for the main part of the house.)  Got my sitting cushion, dug my mala out of my dusty knitting basket, and sat.  Knew I was clumsy at it, couldn't stay focused, couldn't remember to breathe, couldn't decide what my meditation focus was going to be.

Finally I just gave up and started breathing.  The sitting part wasn't hard, after all the MRI's and scans and the biopsy, I think my brain/body knows that sitting for 40 minutes in front of the wood stove is a comparative treat.

After about 10 minutes of mental flopping that inner voice finally gave me the new mantra I need, and it's simple: "I am getting more healthy and balanced."  Perhaps not grammatically correct or elegant, but terse and to the point.  So then I finally started counting beads: new bead with breath in through the nose, breathe out through the mouth and mentally say my new mantra, move fingers to the next new bead and start again.  Breathe deep and slow, try to keep the mind focused on the breath and words, and clear it of everything else. But here's the key: keep forgiving myself when inevitably I don't "do it right."  Just keep going,  Just keep breathing.  Just keep returning to the idea of "healthy and balanced."

How many beads on a mala necklace?  A lot!!  About halfway around the beads on the mala, the rainy light outside was getting brighter, and I could hear the roosters were past their warm-up mode and into a full throated triumph about their place in the new day.  Then footsteps, and sleepy Jack coming down the stairs.  Jack goes to the bathroom, comes back, climbs onto my lap.  We chat a bit then I continue the breathing and counting with a Jack on my lap.  I am cross legged, he is snuggled into my lap his back to my belly, and he pulls the sides of my cardigan around him and the mala necklace down around in front of it so he can hold it too while I keep counting.  We breathe together, him yawning and scratching, and my leg falling asleep from his 40 pounds, but I just keep breathing and forgiving.  It is so easy because he is so beautiful, so warm. 

When I am just ten beads from the end the black cat Midnight finds us.  He climbs up into Jack's lap and then there are three of us breathing and purring together.  And that's how we finish our meditation session.  I am pretty sure that you can't find that in any "how to" instructions, but it was a great new promise on how to imperfectly keep at it.

Just keep going,  Just keep breathing.  Just keep returning to the idea of "healthy and balanced."