Mobley's Ticker-Tape Parade

I'm mostly done raising my three children. I know we still have a long road ahead of us - even as adults, they'll still be our children and we'll be there for them come what may. But, gone are the days when if I turned my back for a minute I turned back to find children covered head to toe (between the toes, actually) in marker or someone with a new haircut (Shay curtesy of a very pleased Kit), or wearing a newly decorated shirt (Kit again, wielding her scissors).  I shan't again find baby Shay covered in paper towels (deposited by his siblings) while sleeping in his crib, or a naked Harry covered by the dozen books he tore to shreds (before undressing himself) as a prelude to his afternoon nap. And I must say I'm happy that I'll never again take my own time-out to calm down only to find that my dear darlings found every towel and wash cloth they could, soaked them and threw them around with wild abandon (apparently) while I sat downstairs, trying to breathe so I could make it through the day with three small children.

I love that they're teenagers now (okay, almost a teenager in Shay's case). I love talking about politics, current events, and our philosophies of life with them. I love to see them reaching for more independence and working to make sense of the world and themselves in it - and, finally realizing, that adults are just people, no different than them. 

So, why oh why oh why, have I saddled myself with another toddler? A four legged one at that, who has no hopes of ever growing up and becoming mature or independent. 

I love Mobley. I truly do. I love his beautiful furry brown body. I love looking at his regal jowls (they're my favorite part of his body). I delight in seeing his front paws when he stands and places them just so, like a ballerina in first position. He's got a great smile. He's a gentle soul. And up until two weeks ago, he was great company.

Now (I think it's the cool fall weather), he's a demon with the terrible twos. He took a flying leap on Saturday and snatched a fig newton right out of Harry's hand. He's been picking my papers off the table and tearing them to pieces. He barked for almost a solid five hours when Kit's friends were over the other night (we realized later that he might have missed Andrew, Kit's one friend who will play with him). But today, was the worst yet. 

Perhaps it was that Mobley sensed a holiday of sorts. I was mopping the floor. My bi-annual mopping. A cause to celebrate (certainly for him as he loves a good sponge). I thought Hank might have himself a silent celebration that I'd finally gotten to it (he who likes a clean house). I was feeling alternately happy that I had the energy to mop and was taking care of my family by doing so, and chagrined I was so darn proud of doing this at all, when I know that to have a clean(ish) floor, with five people and a dog living here I should be mopping it weekly (fat chance). I was also pondering whether living in a place with a floor this dirty qualifies as camping out.

The celebration started predictably enough. Mobley was In the house, out of the house, back in the house tracking muddy footprints on the newly mopped floor, back out of the house. You get the picture.

Then I went downstairs to clean the floor cloth we keep under Mobley's bowls.  Big mistake. I could hear the sound of paper being ripped. I couldn't quite get it - I'd put all my papers away (not an easy chore, that). I came back upstairs to....

The whole downstairs filled with shredded paper! A ticker tape parade of paper! Paper covering the floor in the great room, living room and den. Wet paper shreds stuck to wet floor. And a gloriously happy pooch shaking the remains of a ripped paper grocery bag. And laughing (yes, Mobley laughs - especially when I catch him doing something he shouldn't and he knows he's faster than me and not nearly as dumb as I've made him out to be, so he knows there's no way I'll be able to stop him until he's good and ready to stop. Which in this case...ah, I think you know what it was in this case.)

I finally remembered seeing a bag of shredded paper next to Hank's desk.  The good news is that no one is going to steal our identity. Nuh-uh. Mobley to the rescue. Just another dog protecting his master. And throwing himself one heck of a ticker-tape parade.

Worrying

Seneca said, "There are more things...that frighten us than injure us, and we suffer more in imagination than in reality."

Here's a dirty little secret: I worry. 

Okay, okay, those of you that know me can now pick yourselves off the floor and stop laughing.

I have news for you: it is a secret from the many people I know who think I'm calm.

Alright already, I said,  "Quit laughing!"

There are people out there - friends even, lots of them, who have told me over the years how calm I seem.

Really, I'm glad for all the rest of you who know me better than that, that I can provide you with so much fun right now.  I bet you never knew that I'm such a good actress.

But I have an even dirtier little secret: I really am worrying much less these days. I can - and do - turn off the worrying most of the time.

Gone are the sleepless nights where I stared at the ceiling, willing to see the future, with whatever concern I had resolved. When Harry was little and having all his medical and developmental issues, both Hank and I spent night after night, lying stock still next to each other with out worries for him wrapped around us like blankets.  I can still feel the tears trickling down the sides of my face as I cried silently for my son, who was constantly ill and weaker even than the preemie triplet I knew who had numerous heart surgeries as an infant. Gone are the fall nights when I wondered how the bills would be paid for the next few months, because for some reason, that was the time of year when we were always running dry. Gone are even the days when I worried over the playground politics, both for the kids and myself.

How do I know I worry less? The financial news for one: with Lehman Brothers filing for bankruptcy and the cautionary emails from our financial advisor coming every couple of days, I realized this morning that I reacted to the news with aplomb. No one really knows where the economy is headed. As long as we have a roof over our head and food on the table, we'll be okay. I finally understand that my worrying will not change Wall Street and what happens on it one bit. 

Likewise, Kit's MRI will show a problem with her pituitary gland or it won't (actually, I totally believe it won't), the pain in my heel will go away or it won't, my father-in-law will have to go back to the hospital or he won't, etc., etc. etc. 

That I'm not worrying about these things doesn't mean I don't care about the outcomes. Of course I do. But worrying will do nothing to insure that what I want will come to be. I want what I want. What will be, will be. Do-be-do-be-do. As an unknown author said, "For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe." I resign.

There may be things I can do to try to influence the universe to align for what I want. This is manifesting, which I mentioned very briefly a couple of posts ago. I'm not ready to write about that yet. This jury is still out on that. And this jury isn't worried about coming to a verdict either.

One last thing: I'd be lying through my teeth (or my phalanges) if I didn't own up to the fact that there is one thing I worry about. A lot. Meditation doesn't help. Logic doesn't help. Maybe a good stiff drink would help, but that might be illegal under the circumstances and it would certainly make me a really, really, really bad role model. I worry about being in a car driven by my sixteen year old son. And Harry, if you're out there, I swear it has nothing whatsoever to do with your driving....

A Dialogue

God: I read yesterday's post, Madelyn. You're absolutely right. I've been having a good laugh, it's one of my favorite things to do.

M: I'm happy to do something for you!

G: But you know, I have a little secret for you...

M: Wow! A secret for me! What did I do to deserve it?

G: You are. That's all you ever need to deserve it all. Anyway, ready for the secret?

M: You bet!

G: Quit planning. Start doing.

M: That's it?

G: That's it. Quit planning, start doing. It leaves me less space to work my mischief. 

M: Huh. That's it?

G: That's it. Trust in me. Trust everything around you. Trust yourself. This is all one and the same. When you really know your purpose, I don't have to throw down roadblocks to get your attention or if I do, you forge ahead anyway as if they weren't there. That's what I do, that's what I want you to do. Remember, your job is to learn to find your way to me - which means you have to be more like me. Would I let anything stop me?

M: No you wouldn't! And I'm doing it now- I'm writing, not thinking about writing, not writing in my head, not finding what else I can do besides writing.

G: Good girl!  One more thing - 

M: Anything for you, G!

G: Quit referring to me as "he". I don't like that. As a matter of fact, if I weren't universally and unconditionally loving, I'd even say I hate that.

M: I'm sorry. How should I refer to you?

G: First of all, don't be sorry. You can't insult me - I'm God, I know I'm perfect, I'm not dependent on your opinion of me and I love you no matter what you do. To answer your question, I'm fine being called God, Allah, Krishna, and a gazillion other words and sounds. But "he" or "she" just add to your thinking of me as that old guy with a beard. Remember, you were created in my image, you are part of me. But I did not create your body or your male or femaleness or any part of your form in my image. Referring to me thus confuses you. And that's a problem for you. 

M: Yes, it is confusing. I struggle to find a name for you that feels right.

G: Maybe you can google my rapper name...

M: It's worth a try.  Thanks, God. I'm eternally grateful.

G: You're welcome. And I'm eternally here. 

God's Big Belly Laugh

There's a quote, "Men plan, God laughs". If this is so, God's having a good laugh on me. 

I had many plans for this year: a pile of books to read as research for a few stories I wanted to write, writing those stories, blogging more often, art book making, felting, etc., etc.  Who knows? Maybe even cleaning the house and cooking dinner.

God had other ideas. I'd laugh, too, except his idea is that I learn Trigonometry.

This of course, is only part of the story. So, to give you the full historical perspective, let's go back a mere three weeks.  That was August 21, the day after we returned from our blissful vacation to the Eden of the north: Canada, aka "Heaven on Earth". I was joyful. I saw a joyous year spread ahead of me. I didn't even care that the basement had flooded while we were gone. A tiny blip on the screen. Nothing to be bothered by.

The next day, Kit got sick. That was harder. She had lots of tests, mostly blood tests. We're still waiting for an MRI and a diagnosis (but she is much better). One car needed repair and now needs another. Bar Mitzvah lessons for Shay are starting almost two months earlier than expected. Hank had knee surgery. I had issues with Shay's school schedule. Harry had issues with his school schedule. There were issues and details and distractions too numerous to write about.

What was happening to my plans? I wasn't getting to any of them.

And, then....

Harry's math was changed. From Intermediate Algebra to Trig. Gulp. It's a stretch. We're looking for a tutor. So far, the ones I've contacted want to work with him right after school. Fortunately, God, or the universe, or whatever you call it is understanding and realizes that straddling a 16 year old with Trig., Chemistry, and a Spanish class taught all in Spanish AND taking away sports is just too mean. So, neither the almighty nor Hank or I will make him give up the team.

So I decided I'd better learn Trig. as a backup plan so I can tutor Harry.

Which is really funny as I didn't even realize that Trig. is the study of triangles (actually, now that I'm studying it, I know it is technically the study of the measurement of triangles) until decades after I finished high school. I kid you not. Hank's fond of saying, "Trig, get it, like a tricycle? or like a triangle?" To which I like to reply, "It's not a trigcycle or a trigangle, so how was I supposed to know?" 

In any event, it is enough for you to know that I had two standard answers in high school. When my French teacher asked every Monday what I did over the weekend, I responded, "Rein" (nothing.) At least, that was my standard answer for about a year and a half until she informed me that I had to do better than that.  So, from then until the end of my high school French experience (another year and a half), I responded, "Je vais au cinema." (I went to the movies.) If she asked what I'd seen, I responded, "Rein", or simply shrugged. (It's a good thing I'm not one of my kids, I'd be really ticked off at myself for being such a slacker!). My other standard answer was, you guessed it, in math. Any trig. question (which I now know, since I'm educated in such things, were questions about the measurement of triangles) was answered by me as "Sohcahtoa." It's amazing I ever graduated.

Clearly, God has long range plans. And since I didn't bother learning Trig. in high school, it seems I've only postponed the inevitable. I sure hope God is not quite so focused on having me learn a foreign language (although my attempts at Japanese are always good for giving Kit a laugh).

Wish me luck.  And maybe after I complete my research I can write a story about a reincarnated psychic who comes to earth to save a family through trigonometry.  I'm pretty sure it hasn't yet been written.

By the way, at least one website credits the above quote to a rewriting of the Biblical verse Psalm 33:10 which is, "The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing. He frustrates the plans of the people."  Hmm.  I do believe there's much truth in many ancient text, the Bible among them, but I'm not going to get all serious on you today.

Letting Go, Living with Joy, and Other Lessons from the Pacific Northwest

Kit never thought I'd do it. She was proud and vowed to brag about it to her friends. Shay never thought I'd do it and shook his head in wonder.  "Did you really?" he asked.  "See for yourself," I said and showed him.  I never thought Hank would, but he did and I was a witness. Neither of us would ever do it again, but I, for one, am not sorry. It was a moment of sheer abandon, of breaking away from old habits, fears, and definitions of who we were and what we'd do, and those moments are exhilarating.

At approximately 4:00 p.m., PST on August 17th, amidst a crowd of the coolest-looking mountain bikers you could imagine, with the P.A. system blaring the start of the Kokanee Crank Works award ceremony, Hank and I each drank a bottle of Monster energy drink. It's not for the faint-of-heart. It's not for my generation. And, frankly, it tastes like crap. But, in some weird, overly caffeinated, overly sugary, and much-to-my-chagrin not-even-vegetarian way, it was fun. Another barrier overcome.

I admit it, had I not just free-styled on the zip-line (which means I zipped upside-down, Dude - oh, sorry, my inner mountain biker is coming out), had I not Frankenstein-walked down a glacier, had I not been watching the bikers who all look like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles come to life in their body armor and too hip for mere mortals clothing all weekend, I'd have passed up the Monster in favor of a more grown up drink (say, bottled water).

The backstory: I'd been reading Dr. Wayne Dyer's, "Manifest Your Destiny: Nine Spiritual Practices for Getting Everything You Want" all week. I do have a problem with manifesting: do I really even want to? I'm not sure. And maybe that's because for the past few months I've been working on.....letting go. Accepting. Trusting (or trying to) that everything happens as it should, or, at least, realizing that most things are really out of my control anyway so it's high time I give up any illusions to the contrary.  Whether I'd use it to manifest or not, I was finding the book meaningful and inspiring.

Further backstory: I was conflicted about this vacation. The kids are getting older so I thought we shouldn't waste the chance to do something cool with them. I like (or used to like, or think I should like) traveling. However, I don't like planning our trips. I picked Vancouver partly because it looked like there'd be lots of fun outdoor activities (which there were), it would keep the city-slickers in our group happy (it did), and I figured I'd make a hotel and plane reservations and the planning would be done (what was I thinking?). There was way more planning and pre-trip decision-making than I'd expected. I got more than a little cranky and stressed over this. After too many bad moods, I planned whatever I did and left the rest to chance. 

You could say at some point of the planning, I let go. And, everything, I mean everything, worked out perfectly. We took a stretch limousine to our hotel (and back to the airport) which was both unplanned and less expensive than taking cabs or the bus, we stayed in a two-floor penthouse suite (which we hadn't booked and didn't pay extra for), Harry and I zip-lined (we hadn't planned to do so - he because of his fear of heights, me to keep him company when the others did), we white-water rafted on a 95 degree day (unplanned), when the rains finally came, we didn't sea kayak - because, although I'd wanted to, I hadn't made the reservation and therefore, we weren't committed to going! The list goes on, but I won't bore you will all the details. Basically, for eight blissful days, we lived charmed lives (okay, maybe not Harry, who might have spent the week wondering why he was on a family vacation instead of working toward his driver's license). I can't remember ever feeling so peaceful or that I was in a safe bubble where good stuff just kept coming our way. 

Which doesn't mean we didn't have cranky too-much-togetherness moments. We did. Life is life, after all. As Zen teaches, "Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water." But still, I don't need anything to ever be better than they were that week. It was a gift. And I am grateful for it.

So, aside from the Monster and how things just kept working out for the best over and over again, one of the highlights for me was the glacier hike. I didn't realize we would actually be walking up a steep glacier (which just goes to show that even when we have hard evidence in front of us - in this case, a very good description of the trip on the website (which I'd read), we can believe what we want to and not what is real (I'd assume we'd walk across a flat glacier as Hank an I had done before. I thought the crampons, climbing tool, and ropes mentioned on the website would be for show and to give the tourists a thrill). But, we needed all this gear and at least a few of us actually used our climbing tool to keep from sliding down the glacier when first my crampon fell off and then, like ducks in a line, Hank, Harry, and Kit went down (when you're roped together, it really is all for one and one for all). I'd never said my mantra so much or with so much feeling as on the hour and a half climb. When we got to the top, I thanked our guide Alex for getting us to the top and stopping us from sliding all the way down (btw, Alex may be calmest person I've ever met, which is really interesting considering his passion for extreme back-country sports - this winter he plans on doing a 12-day back-country ski trip in 24 hours). And I thanked Leonard for teaching me my mantra.  

Of course, what goes up, must come down, and that meant us.  Without our crampons, which I tried not to think too much about, having just developed great love and affection for my crampons. "Going down is counterintuitive but trust me," said Alex. "Lean your body out, take a big Frankenstein step and....let go." That last part took me a while to get, but I did, and to my immense shock and relief, walking down a snowy mountain is actually fun. And, as Alex promised, and what I think makes this a great metaphor for life, you take a big step trusting that it'll be okay, you slide....but then you stop.

Zip-lining, by comparison, is easy. You wear a harness and the harness is attached to the cables. We did five lines, zigzagging fifteen stories over Fitzsimmons Creek (the name of which doesn't do it justice - it's more of a raging river - albeit a thin one - than a mere creek) in the rain forest between Whister and Blackcomb mountains. For the last zip, our guides informed us that we were to "freestyle", which means zip upside down. Scott, one of our guides, helped us get in position and just as he was about to push me off, he said, "It's all about letting go." It was pure fun. The only problem with zipping is it's over too fast.

I let go in the city, too. The one thing I really disliked about Vancouver is that there is a large homeless population (a recent count estimated 1,500 in the city proper, which is not a particularly large area). I feel compassion for these people, but was still disconcerted by seeing so many, especially downtown where we were staying. One day Shay lamented that he had no change to give these people as he walked by them. The next morning, I emptied the change I had into his hands and told him to give it as he pleased. We spent the day walking around the city. Shay gave my change to as many people as he could. I replenished his supply whenever I got more. Harry and Kit had their own change which they gave out. The kids felt badly that no matter how much change we had, there were still more people to help. They did feel good though, when I heard one man say to another after Harry gave them money, "Come on, we've got enough to get breakfast." Toward the end of our walk, we went into the 7-11 across from our hotel. We'd noticed that there was usually one homeless person or another hanging out there, opening the door for customers in hopes of a tip. As we came out of the store, a man opened the door. I had no change, and without thinking, I looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you but I'm afraid I don't have anything for you." With the nicest smile, he looked back at me and said, "You're welcome. And it's no problem." I suddenly realized, that through witnessing my children's generosity all day and how they opened their hearts to these people, I'd come to accept the homeless of Vancouver as Vancouverites like the rest of the city's people. I'd been afraid of these people and it was a relief to let go of that fear.

Lastly, one thing I love about Canadiens is their, "No worries" attitude. Here in Averill Park, when you thank someone, the response is often "Yup." (what does that even mean?)  In Canada, the response is usually, "No worries" or, "No problem." I love that. And I'll keep work on remembering that it's all about letting go.